The Greville Memoirs, Part 1 (of 3), Volume 1 (of 3) / A Journal of the Reigns of King George IV and King William IV

by Charles Greville

1830.

January 2nd, 1830

At Roehampton; William Howard, Baring Wall, and Lady Pembroke’s son;[4] the best sort of youth I have seen for a long while, and he will have 12,000ℓ. a year, besides what his mother may leave him. Vesey Fitzgerald is so ill that it is doubtful if he will recover, and, at all events, almost impossible that he should remain in office. It will be very difficult for the Duke to fill his place. There is not a man in office now who is fit for it, and where is he to look for anyone else? Yet I think almost anybody would take it; for although the late prosecutions are blamed, and the foreign policy is thought by most people to have been very miserable, there is an extensive disposition to support the Duke and to keep him at the head of affairs. Huskisson is the man whose knowledge and capacity would be of the greatest service just now, but the Duke will not like to apply to him in a moment of distress, because he would probably take advantage of that distress to make better terms for himself; at the same time, I should not be surprised if the Duke were to invite him to return to the Cabinet, and that he accepted the Chancellorship of the Exchequer or one of the Secretaryships without any conditions. Vesey will be a great loss, for he is clever and ready in debate, and by great diligence and application, and the powerful assistance of Hume and Stephen, he has made considerable progress in the science of trade and commerce.

[4] [Sidney Herbert, afterwards Lord Herbert of Lea, whose life and character did not belie the promise of his youth.]

January 5th, 1830

There are many speculations about Vesey’s successor; some think Lord Chandos or Herries; I think Frankland Lewis, but that Lord Chandos will have some place before long; the Duke has a great hankering after that set. In the meantime all accounts concur in admitting the great and increasing distress; and, as such a state of things not unnaturally produces a good deal of ill-humour, the Duke is abused for gadding about visiting and shooting while the country is in difficulty, and it is argued that he must be very unfeeling and indifferent to it all to amuse himself in this manner. Nothing can be more unjust than such accusations as these. The sort of relaxation he takes is necessary to his health, and, all things considered, it is not extraordinary he should prefer other people’s houses to his own, particularly when everyone invites him in the most pressing manner. But these visits by no means interrupt the course of his official business; all his letters are regularly sent to him, and as regularly answered every day, and it is his habit to open his letters himself, to read them all, and to answer all. He never receives any letter, whatever may be the subject or the situation of the writer, that he does not answer, and that immediately, to a degree which is not only unprecedented, but quite unnecessary, and I think unwise, although certainly it contributes to his popularity. It is another proof of that simplicity of character and the absence of all arrogance which are so remarkable in him, especially as he has long been used to command and to implicit obedience, and the whole tenor of his conduct since he has been in office shows that he is covetous of power and authority, and will not endure anybody who will not be subservient to him; still in his manner and bearing there is nothing but openness, frankness, civility, and good-humour. As to his supposed indifference to the public distress, I firmly believe that his mind is incessantly occupied with projects for its relief, and that when unwarped by particular prejudices, partialities, and antipathies, which have had a stronger and more frequent influence over him than befits so great a man, he is animated with a sincere desire to reform abuses of any kind, and is not diverted from his purpose by any personal considerations or collateral objects. The King is preparing for STAPLETON’S ‘MEMOIRS OF CANNING’ a new battle with him (stimulated, I presume, by the Duke of Cumberland) about the appointment of sheriffs. He has taken it into his head that he will not appoint any Roman Catholic sheriff; and as several have been named, and these generally first on the list, according to the usual practice, they must be chosen. The King will be obliged to give way, but it is an additional proof of his bad disposition and his pleasure in thwarting his Ministers on every possible occasion.

January 7th, 1830

Stapleton’s ‘Memoirs of Canning’ are coming out directly, but he is prevented from making use of all the documents he, or rather Lady Canning, has. She has had an angry correspondence with the Foreign Office. Every Minister takes away a précis of all he has done while in office, but Canning’s précis was not finished when he died. She wrote and demanded that what was incomplete should be furnished to her, but claimed it as a right, and said it was for the purpose of vindicating him. Lord Aberdeen declined giving it, and I think very properly. The reason he assigned was that a Minister who was furnished with such documents for his own justification was bound by his oath of secresy not to reveal the contents, but the secrets of the State could not be imparted to any irresponsible person, who was under no such restraint.

Vesey Fitzgerald is better, but will hardly be able to do any business. Some think he will have leave of absence, that Dawson will exchange offices with Courtenay, and do the business of the Board of Trade; others, that Herries will succeed Vesey, or Frankland Lewis. The revenue has fallen off one million and more. The accounts of distress from the country grow worse and more desponding, and a return to one pound notes begins to be talked of.

Roehampton, January 9th, 1830

Yesterday morning died Sir Thomas Lawrence after a very short illness. Few people knew he was ill before they heard he was dead. He was longè primus of all living painters, and has left no one fit to succeed him in the chair of the Royal Academy. Lawrence was about sixty, very like Canning in appearance, remarkably gentlemanlike, with very mild manners, though rather too doucereux, agreeable in society, unassuming, and not a great talker; his mind was highly cultivated, he had a taste for every kind of literature, and was enthusiastically devoted to his art; he was very industrious, and painted an enormous number of portraits, but many of his later works are still unfinished, and great complaints used to be made of his exacting either the whole or half payment when he began a picture, but that when he had got the money he could never be prevailed on to complete it. Although he is supposed to have earned enormous sums by his paintings, he has always been a distressed man, without any visible means of expense, except a magnificent collection of drawings by the ancient masters, said to be the finest in the world, and procured at great cost. He was, however, a generous patron of young artists of merit and talent. It was always said that he lost money at play, but this assertion seems to have proceeded more from the difficulty of reconciling his pecuniary embarrassments with his enormous profits than from any proof of the fact. He was a great courtier, and is said to have been so devoted to the King that he would not paint anybody who was personally obnoxious to his Majesty; but I do not believe this is true. He is an irreparable loss; since Sir Joshua there has been no painter like him; his portraits as pictures I think are not nearly so fine as Sir Joshua’s, but as likenesses many of them are quite perfect. Moore’s was the last portrait he painted, and Miss Kemble’s his last drawing.

The King has been very ill; lost forty ounces of blood. Vesey is better, but has no chance of going on with his office. The general opinion seems to be that Herries will succeed him. I do not believe he knows anything of the business of the Board of Trade. Charles Mills told me yesterday that a proposal was lately made by Government to the East India Company to reduce their dividends, and that at the very time this was done Rothschild, who had 40,000ℓ. East India stock, sold it all out, and all his friends who held any did the same. The matter was eventually LEOPOLD AND THE THRONE OF GREECE dropped, but he says nobody doubts that N—— gave notice to Rothschild of the proposed measure. The Company are mightily satisfied with Lord William Bentinck, who has acted very handsomely by them in this business by the reduction of the pay of the troops. He has written some very trimming letters to Lord Combermere, who is coming home, and if he had not been, would probably have been recalled. The Duke, as well as the Company, is furious with Combermere for the part he has acted in the affair.

Leopold’s election to the throne of Greece seems to be settled, and while everybody has been wondering what could induce him to accept it, it turns out that he has been most anxious for it, and has moved heaven and earth to obtain it; that the greatest obstacle he has met with has been from the King, who hates him, and cannot bear that he should become a crowned head. He may think it ‘better to reign in hell than serve in heaven,’ but I should have thought he had a better prospect here, with 50,000ℓ. a year and as uncle to the heiress apparent, than to go to a ruined country without cities or inhabitants, and where everything is to be created, and to sit on such a wretched throne as the nominee of the Allied Powers, by whom he will be held responsible for his acts; however, ‘il ne faut pas disputer des goûts.’

George Bentinck told me that Lady Canning is not satisfied with Stapleton’s book, particularly with that part of it in which he attempts to answer Lord Grey’s speech, which she thinks poor and spiritless; he is not disposed to be very severe on Lord Grey, being in a manner connected with him. She is persuaded that that speech contributed to kill Canning; his feelings were deeply wounded that not one of his friends said a word in reply to it, although some of them knew that the facts in Lord Grey’s speech were incorrect. He vehemently desired to be raised to the peerage, that he might have an opportunity of answering it, and he had actually composed and spoken to Mrs. Canning the speech which he intended to make in the House of Lords. A great part of this she remembers. It seems, too, that to the day of his death this was the ruling desire of his mind, and he had declared that the following year, when he should have carried the Corn Bill through the House of Commons, he would go to the House of Lords and fight the battle there.

January 17th, 1830

Charles Mills told me the other day that the Chancellor of the Exchequer has been making enquiries as to the fact of Rothschild having sold his India stock at the time he did. The two Grants (Charles and Robert) are always together, and both very forgetful and unpunctual. Somebody said that if you asked Charles to dine with you at six on Monday, you were very likely to have Robert at seven on Tuesday.

Edward Villiers (who has been living with Malcolm on board his ship in the Mediterranean) writes word that Malcolm told him that he had orders, in the event of Diebitsch’s marching upon Constantinople, to destroy the Russian fleet. If this is true, it would have been a great outrage, and a most extraordinary piece of vigour, after so much long-suffering and endurance.

The country gentlemen are beginning to arrive, and they all tell the same story as to the universally prevailing distress and the certainty of things becoming much worse; of the failure of rents all over England, and the necessity of some decisive measures or the prospect of general ruin. Of course they differ as to the measures, but there appears to be a strong leaning towards the alteration in the currency and one pound notes. It really does appear, from many representations, that a notion prevails of the Duke of Wellington’s indifference to the state of the country, and of his disposition to treat the remonstrances and petitions of the people, as well as their interests and feelings, with contempt, which I believe most false and unjust. He has an overweening opinion of his own all-sufficiency, and that is his besetting sin, and the one which, if anything does, will overturn his Government, for if he would be less dictatorial and opinionated, and would call to his assistance such talents and information as the crisis demands, he would be universally POLITICAL MORALITY voted the best man alive to be at the head of the Government; but he has such a set of men under him, and Peel will never get over the Catholic question. [Peel got over it, but not before he had expiated his conduct by being turned out.]

January 20th, 1830

The Duke and Lord Bathurst dined here yesterday, the former not in good spirits. The battle about Leopold and Greece is still going on between his Majesty and his Ministers. The Duke was talking about the robbery at Brussels of the Princess of Orange’s jewels, and that there is reason to believe that Pereira, the Prince’s friend, had some concern in it; many people suspect that both he and the Prince were concerned. The Princess was in the country, and only one maid-servant in the house where such valuable property was left. The jewels were in a case, and the key of the case was kept in a cabinet, which was opened, the key taken, and the large case or chest opened by it. Small footsteps (like those of Pereira, who has very small feet) were traced in the house or near it, and the day of the robbery the porter was taken by Pereira’s servant to his house and there made drunk. The robbery was discovered on Friday morning, but no steps were taken to inform the police till Sunday night.

January 22nd, 1830

I believe it to be impossible for a man of squeamish and uncompromising virtue to be a successful politician, and it requires the nicest feeling and soundest judgment to know upon what occasions and to what extent it is allowable and expedient to diverge from the straight line. Statesmen of the greatest power, and with the purest intentions, are perpetually counteracted by prejudices, obstinacy, interest, and ignorance; and in order to be efficient they must turn, and tack, and temporise, sometimes dissemble. They who are of the ruat cœlum sort, who will carry everything their own way or not at all, must be content to yield their places to those who are certainly less scrupulous, and submit to the measures of those who are probably less wise. But though it is possible that the less rigid and austere politician may be equally virtuous and disinterested, the whole context of his life must be such as to endure the most scrutinising enquiry, which unfortunately it will very seldom do, in order to establish a character for integrity. If Canning had had a fair field, he would have done great things, for his lofty and ambitious genius took an immense sweep, and the vigour of his intellect, his penetration and sagacity, enabled him to form mighty plans and work them out with success; but it is impossible to believe that he was a high-minded man, that he spurned everything that was dishonest, uncandid, and ungentlemanlike; he was not above trick and intrigue, and this was the fault of his character, which was unequal to his genius and understanding. However, notwithstanding his failings he was the greatest man we have had for a long time, and if life had been spared to him, and opposition had not been too much for him, he would have raised our character abroad, and perhaps found remedies for our difficulties at home. What a difference between his position and that of the Duke of Wellington’s! Everybody is disposed to support the latter and give him unlimited credit for good intentions. The former was obliged to carry men’s approbation by storm, and the moment he had failed, or been caught tripping, he would have been lost.

The Duke has lately given audience to the West Indians who came to complain of their sufferings and taxation and to implore relief. Murray and Goulburn were present, neither of whom, it is said, spoke a word. The Duke cut them very short, and told them they were not distressed at all, and that nothing would be done for them. He is like the philosopher in Molière’s play, who says, ‘Il ne faut pas dire que vous avez reçu des coups de bâton, mais qu’il vous semble que vous en avez reçus.’

Lawrence was buried yesterday; a magnificent funeral, which will have cost, they say, 2,000ℓ. The pall was borne by Clanwilliam, Aberdeen, Sir G. Murray, Croker, Agar Ellis, and three more—I forget who. There were thirty-two mourning-coaches and eighty private carriages. The ceremony in the church lasted two hours. Pretty well for a man DUKE OF WELLINGTON’S POSITION who died in very embarrassed circumstances. The favourites for the chair of the Academy are Shee and Wilkie, painters, and Westmacott and Chantrey, sculptors.

We were talking of Clanwilliam, who Agar said was the quickest man he had ever known; Luttrell said he and Rogers were ‘the quick and the dead.’ Looking over the ‘Report of the Woods and Forests and the Cost of the Palaces,’ somebody said ‘the pensive’ (meaning the public: see Rejected Addresses) must pay; Luttrell said ‘the public was the pensive and the King the expensive.’

January 26th, 1830

Yesterday afternoon Tierney died. He sank back in his chair and expired suddenly, without any previous illness; he had been in an indifferent state of health for some time, but he had resolved to make one more effort in Parliament and deliver his opinion on the present state of affairs. He is a great loss to all his friends; his political life was already closed.

Shee was elected President of the Royal Academy last night at ten o’clock. He had sixteen or eighteen votes; Sir William Beechey six, who was the nearest to Shee; Wilkie only two. He is an Irishman and a Catholic, a bad painter, a tolerable poet, and a man of learning, but, it is said, florid.

Had a long conversation with Arbuthnot yesterday, who is weak, but knows everything; his sentiments are the Duke’s. They are furious with the old Tories, especially Lord Lonsdale, and not well satisfied with Lowther, whom they suspect to be playing a sneaking, underhand part. The Duke is determined not to alter his Government, nor to take anybody in to strengthen it. Arbuthnot said that the Duke had shown he did not mean to be exclusive when he had taken in Scarlett and Calcraft, and that ‘his friends’ would not have borne any more extensive promotion from that party; that of all Ministers he was the one who least depended upon Parliamentary influence and the assistance of the great families; and that if Lord Lonsdale and all his members were to leave him to-morrow, he would not care a straw. Still he pays them, if not court, great deference, and he keeps Lowther, though he suspects him. Arbuthnot said that as soon as the Duke became Minister he said to him, ‘Now, Duke, for God’s sake settle that question’ (the Catholic), which was as much as to say, ‘Now that you have got rid of every enemy and every rival, now that you can raise your own reputation, and that you will share the glory with no one, do that which you would never let anybody else do, and fight for the measure you have been opposing all your life.’ It may be imagined he would not have said this unless he had been fully aware of the Duke’s sentiments on the subject. This speech was made to him eight months after Canning came into office, when they all went out, on the Catholic question. He says it is utterly false that the Duke is unconscious of or indifferent to the distress, but that it is exaggerated, and the Duke attributes it to temporary and not to permanent causes; that he labours incessantly on the subject, and his thoughts are constantly occupied with devising a remedy for it, which he thinks he can do. He adverted to the difficulties with the King, who is never to be depended upon, as his father was. He remembers upon some occasion, when Perceval was Minister, and thought the difficulties of his situation great, he represented to George III. his sense of them in a letter; Perceval showed him the King’s answer, which was in these words:—‘Do you stand by me as I will stand by you, and while we stand by each other we have nothing to fear.’

I told Arbuthnot it was reported that the Duke had given a very rough answer to the West Indian deputations, and that if he had it was unwise, as, though he might not adopt such measures of relief as they desired, he could treat them with soft language. He said that, so far from it, Lord Chandos had returned to the Duke the next day, and apologised for their conduct to him, assuring him that he was ashamed and tired of his connexion with them, and should withdraw from it as soon as possible. This I mentioned at Brookes’, but Gordon (a West Indian) said that they had all been shocked at the manner in which he had used them, that some of them had declared they would never go to him THE COMING SESSION again; and Spring Rice said that old George Hibbert, who has been their agent these thirty years, and had attended deputations to every Prime Minister since Pitt, had told him that he never saw one so ill received before. It is customary for every deputation to draw out a minute of their conversation with the Minister, which they submit to him to admit its correctness. They did so, but the Duke destroyed their minute, and sent them back one drawn out by himself, which, however, they declare was not so correct as that which had been transmitted to him; which I can well believe, but they had no right to complain of this, on the contrary.

January 30th, 1830

Laid up with the gout these last three days. George Bankes has resigned, and John Wortley is appointed Secretary to the Board of Control. He was of the Huskisson party, as it is called (though it does not deserve the name), and previously to the offer of this place being made to him was rather inimical to the Government; but the Duke proposed, and he accepted. I doubt his being of much use to them. Lord Ellenborough’s letter to Sir John Malcolm, which appeared in the ‘Times’ a few days ago, has made a great deal of noise, as it well may, for a more flippant and injudicious performance has seldom been seen.[5]

[5] [This letter, which excited much attention at this time, will be found in the ‘Life of Sir John Malcolm,’ by Mr. (now Sir John) Kaye, vol. ii. p. 528. It had been written a year before, and by some indiscretion obtained publicity in India. A warm dispute had broken out between Sir John Malcolm, then Governor of Bombay, and the Judges of the Supreme Court there. Lord Ellenborough took Malcolm’s part with great eagerness, and said of the Chief Justice, Sir J. P. Grant, that he ‘would be like a wild elephant between two tame ones.’ This expression was long remembered as a joke against Lord Ellenborough.]

The greatest curiosity and interest prevail about the transactions in the ensuing session—whether there will be any opposition, and from what quarter, how Peel will manage, how the country gentlemen will act and what language they will hold, and whether the Duke will produce any plan for alleviating the distress. I think there will be a great deal of talking and complaining, a great many half-measures suggested, but no opposition, and that the Duke will do nothing, and get through the session without much difficulty. There was to have been a Council on Thursday to prick the sheriffs, but it was put off on account of my gout, and I was not able to attend at the dinner at the Chancellor’s on Wednesday for the same reason. I remember once before a Council was put off because I was at Egham for the races; that was a Council in ’27, I think, to admit foreign corn.

February 1st, 1830

Stapleton’s book on Mr. Canning is not to appear. Douglas was sent to him by Aberdeen to tell him that if anything appeared in it which ought not to be published he would be turned out of his office. He wrote to Lady Canning accordingly, who sent him a very kind answer, desiring him by no means to expose himself to any such danger, and consenting to the suppression of the work. I am glad of it on all accounts.

February 3rd, 1830

Brougham has given up Lord Cleveland’s borough, and comes in for Knaresborough, at the Duke of Devonshire’s invitation. He is delighted at the exchange. I see by the ‘Gazette’ there has been a compromise with the King about the Catholic sheriffs; only one (Petre for Yorkshire) is chosen, the others, though first on the list and no excuses, passed over: they were Townley for Lancashire and Sir T. Stanley for Cheshire. It is childish and ridiculous if so; but no matter, as the principle is admitted.

I have just finished the first volume of Moore’s ‘Life of Byron.’ I don’t think I like this style of biography, half-way between ordinary narrative and self-delineation in the shape of letters, diary, &c. Moore’s part is agreeably and feelingly written, and in a very different style from the ‘Life of Sheridan’—no turgid diction and brilliant antitheses. It is, however, very amusing; the letters are exceedingly clever, full of wit, humour, and point, abounding in illustration, imagination, and information, but not the most agreeable sort of letters. They are joined together by a succession of little essays upon his character. But as to life, it is no life at all; it merely tells you that the details of his life are not tellable, that they would be like those of Tilly or Casanova, and so indecent, and compromise so many people, CHARACTER OF LORD BYRON that we must be content to look at his life through an impenetrable veil. Then in the letters and diary the perpetual hiatus, and asterisks, and initials are exceedingly tantalising; but altogether it is very amusing. As to Byron, I have never had but one opinion about his poetry, which I think of first-rate excellence; an enormous heresy, of course, more particularly with those whose political taste rests upon the same foundation that their religious creed does—that of having been taught what to admire in the one case as they have been enjoined what to believe in the other. With regard to his character, I think Moore has succeeded in proving that he was far from deficient in amiable qualities; he was high-minded, liberal, generous, and good-natured, and, if he does not exaggerate his own feelings, a warm-hearted and sincere friend. But what a wretch he was! how thoroughly miserable with such splendid talents! how little philosophy!—wretched on account of his lame foot; not even his successes with women could reconcile him to a little personal deformity, though this is too hard a word for it; then tormenting himself to death nobody can tell why or wherefore. There never was so ill-regulated a mind, and he had not even the talent of making his pleasures subservient to his happiness—not any notion of enjoyment; all with him was riot, and debauchery, and rage and despair. That he very sincerely entertained a bad opinion of mankind may be easily believed; but so far from his pride and haughtiness raising him above the influence of the opinion of those whom he so despised, he was the veriest slave to it that ever breathed, as he confesses when he says that he was almost more annoyed at the censure of the meanest than pleased with the praises of the highest of mankind; and when he deals around his fierce vituperation or bitter sarcasms, he is only clanking the chains which, with all his pride, and defiance, and contempt, he is unable to throw off. Then he despises pretenders and charlatans of all sorts, while he is himself a pretender, as all men are who assume a character which does not belong to them, and affect to be something which they are all the time conscious they are not in reality. But to ‘assume a virtue if you have it not’ is more allowable than to assume a vice which you have not. To wish to appear better or wiser than we really are is excusable in itself, and it is only the manner of doing it that may become ridiculous; but to endeavour to appear worse than we are is a species of perverted vanity the most disgusting, and a very bad compliment to the judgment, the morals or the taste of our acquaintance. Yet, with all his splendid genius, this sort of vanity certainly distinguished Lord Byron, and that among many other things proves how deeply a man may be read in human nature, what an insight he may acquire into the springs of action and feeling, and yet how incapable he may be of making any practical application of the knowledge he has acquired and the result of which he can faithfully delineate. He gives a list of the books he had read at eighteen which appears incredible, particularly as he says that he was always idle, and eight years after Scott says he did not appear well read either in poetry or history. Swift says ‘some men know books as others do Lords—learn their titles, and then boast of their acquaintance with them,’ and so perhaps at eighteen he knew by name the books he mentions; indeed, the list contains Hooker, Bacon, Locke, Hobbes, Berkeley, &c. It sounds rather improbable; but his letters contain allusions to every sort of literature, and certainly indicate considerable information. ‘Dans le pays des aveugles les borgnes sont rois,’ and Sir Walter Scott might think a man half read who knows all that is contained in the brains of White’s, Brookes’, and Boodle’s, and the greater part of the two Houses of Parliament. But the more one reads and hears of great men the more reconciled one becomes to one’s own mediocrity.

Say thou, whose thoughts at nothingness repine,
Shall Byron’s fame with Byron’s fate be thine?

Who would not prefer any obscurity before such splendid misery as was the lot of that extraordinary man? Even Moore is not happy. One thinks how one should like to be envied, and admired, and applauded, but after all such men WEAKNESS OF THE GOVERNMENT suffer more than we know or they will confess, and their celebrity is dearly purchased.

Se di ciascun l’interno affanno
Si leggesse in fronte scritto,
Quanti guai ch’invidia fanno
Ci farebbe pietà.

One word more about Byron and I have done. I was much struck by the coincidence of style between his letters and his journal, and that appears to me a proof of the reality and nature which prevailed in both.

February 5th, 1830

Parliament met yesterday; there was a brisk debate and an amendment on the Address in each House. The Duke had very indiscreetly called the distress ‘partial’ in the Speech, and the consequence was an amendment moved by Knatchbull declaring it to be general. The result shows that Government has not the slightest command over the House of Commons, and that they have nothing but casual support to rely upon, and that of course will only be to be had ‘dum se bene gesserint.’ For a long time Holmes and their whippers-in thought that they should be in a minority; but Hume and a large party of Reformers supported them (contrary to their own expectations), so they got a majority of 50 out of 250. The division was very extraordinary, Brougham, Sadler, and O’Connell voting together. It is pretty clear, however, that they are in no danger of being turned out, but that they are wretchedly off for speakers. Huskisson made a shabby speech enough, O’Connell his début, and a successful one, heard with profound attention; his manner good and his arguments attended and replied to. In the Lords there was nothing particular, but nothing was concerted by any party, for the subject of the amendment in the Commons was not even touched upon in the Lords, which is very remarkable. Lord Chandos has refused the Mint, because they will not give him a seat in the Cabinet, but many people think it is because he has been pressed to refuse by his High Tory friends. Charles Ross is the new Lord of the Admiralty,[6] and Abercromby Chief Baron of Scotland, which everybody is glad of.

[6] The appointment has not taken place.

There is a charlatan of the name of Chobert, who calls himself the Fire King, who has been imposing upon the world for a year or more, exhibiting all sorts of juggleries in hot ovens, swallowing poisons, hot lead, &c.; but yesterday he was detected signally, and after a dreadful uproar was obliged to run away to avoid the ill-usage of his exasperated audience. He pretended to take prussic acid, and challenged anybody to produce the poison, which he engaged to swallow. At last Mr. Wakley, the proprietor of the ‘Lancet,’ went there with prussic acid, which Chobert refused to take, and then the whole deception came out, and there is an end of it; but it has made a great deal of noise, taken everybody in, and the fellow has made a great deal of money. It was to have been his last performance, but ‘tant va la cruche à l’eau qu’enfin....

February 13th, 1830

In the House of Lords last night: Lord Holland’s motion on Greece; his speech was amusing, but not so good as he generally is; Aberdeen wretched, the worst speaker I ever heard and incapable of a reply; I had no idea he was so bad. The Duke made a very clever speech, answering Holland and Melbourne, availing himself with great dexterity of the vulnerable parts of their speeches and leaving the rest alone. I was sitting by Robert Grant on the steps of the throne, and said to him, ‘That is a good speech of the Duke’s,’ and he said, ‘He speaks like a great man;’ and so he did; it was bold and manly, and a high tone, not like a practised debater, but a man with a vigorous mind and determined character.

In the House of Commons Graham spoke for two hours; Burdett said not well, but others said the contrary. The Government resolution moved as an amendment by Dawson was better than his, so it was adopted without difficulty. Burdett said Peel made the best speech he ever heard him make, and threw over the Tories. Dined afterwards with Cowper, Durham, and Glengall. Durham said that Lord Grey’s THE ENGLISH OPERA HOUSE BURNT politics were the same as his, and that before Easter he thought an Opposition would be formed, and that the elements, though scattered, exist of a strong one. I doubt it.

February 16th, 1830

Last night the English Opera House was burnt down—a magnificent fire. I was playing at whist at the ‘Travellers’ with Lord Granville, Lord Auckland, and Ross, when we saw the whole sky illuminated and a volume of fire rising in the air. We thought it was Covent Garden, and directly set off to the spot. We found the Opera House and several houses in Catherine Street on fire (sixteen houses), and, though it was three in the morning, the streets filled by an immense multitude. Nothing could be more picturesque than the scene, for the flames made it as light as day and threw a glare upon the strange and motley figures moving about. All the gentility of London was there from Princess Esterhazy’s ball and all the clubs; gentlemen in their fur cloaks, pumps, and velvet waistcoats mixed with objects like the sans-culottes in the French Revolution—men and women half-dressed, covered with rags and dirt, some with nightcaps or handkerchiefs round their heads—then the soldiers, the firemen, and the engines, and the new police running and bustling, and clearing the way, and clattering along, and all with that intense interest and restless curiosity produced by the event, and which received fresh stimulus at every renewed burst of the flames as they rose in a shower of sparks like gold dust. Poor Arnold lost everything and was not insured. I trust the paraphernalia of the Beefsteak Club perished with the rest, for the enmity I bear that society for the dinner they gave me last year.

February 19th, 1830

In the House of Lords last night to hear Melbourne’s motion about Portugal—a rather long and very bad debate. Melbourne spoke very ill—case very negligently got up, weakly stated, confused, and indiscreet—in the same sense as his brother’s pamphlet, with part of which (the first part) none of the members of Canning’s Administration or of Goderich’s agree, and consequently it was answered by Lansdowne and Goderich. The latter made an excellent speech, the only good one that was made. Aberdeen was wretched; it is really too bad that a man should be Secretary for Foreign Affairs who cannot speak better. The Duke made no case for the Terceira business, and delivered a very poor speech; but I like his speaking—it is so much to the point, no nonsense and verbiage about it, and he says strongly and simply what he has to say. The other night on Greece there was a very brisk skirmish between Palmerston and Peel, and the former spoke, they say, remarkably well; the latter, as usual, was in a passion.

February 21st, 1830

Dined with the Chancellor; Granvilles, Hollands, Moore, Luttrell, Lord Lansdowne, Auckland, and one or two more; very agreeable. Lord Holland told stories of Lord Thurlow, whom he mimicks, they say, exactly. When Lord Mansfield died, Thurlow said, ‘I hesitated a long time between Kenyon and Buller. Kenyon was very intemperate, but Buller was so damned corrupt, and I thought upon the whole that intemperance was a less fault in a judge than corruption, not but what there was a damned deal of corruption in Kenyon’s intemperance.’ Lady Holland and I very friendly; the first time I have met her in company since our separation (for we have never quarrelled). She is mighty anxious to get me back, for no other reason than because I won’t go. Everybody is surprised at Melbourne’s failure the other night; some say he was not well, some that he did not like the business. I doubt if he is up to it; he did not speak like a man that has much in him.

February 23rd, 1830

Dined with Lord Bathurst and a dull party; but after dinner Lady Bathurst began talking about the King, and told me one or two anecdotes. When the account of Lord Liverpool’s seizure reached the King at Brighton, Peel was at the Pavilion; the King got into one of his nervous ways, and sent for him in the middle of the night, desiring he would not dress; so he went down in his bedgown and sat by the side of the King’s bed. Peel has got an awkward way of thrusting out his hands while he talks, which at length provoked the King so much that he said, ‘Mr. Peel, it is no use going on so (taking him off) WINDSOR CASTLE and thrusting out your hands, which is no answer to my question.’

Went to Esterhazy’s ball; talked to old Rothschild, who was there with his wife and a dandy little Jew son. He says that Polignac’s Government will stand by the King’s support and Polignac’s own courage; offered to give me a letter to his brother, who would give me any information I wanted, squeezed my hand, and looked like what he is.

February 25th, 1830

Yesterday at Windsor for a Council; the first time I have seen one held in the new rooms of the Castle. They are magnificent and comfortable, the corridor really delightful—furnished through its whole length of about 500 feet with the luxury of a drawing-room, and full of fine busts and bronzes, and entertaining pictures, portraits, and curious antiquities. There were the Chancellor, the Duke, three Secretaries of State, Bathurst, and Melville. The King very blind—did not know the Lord Chancellor, who was standing close to him, and took him for Peel; he would not give up the point, though, for when he found his mistake he attributed it to the light, and appealed to Lord Bathurst, who is stone-blind, and who directly agreed.

February 26th, 1830

Intended to go to the House of Lords to hear the debate on Lord Stanhope’s motion (state of the nation), but went to see Fanny Kemble in ‘Mrs. Beverley’ instead. She had a very great success—house crowded and plenty of emotion—but she does not touch me, though she did more than in her other parts; however, she is very good and will be much better.

The debate in the Lords was not lively, and the Duke, they say, made a most execrable speech. The fact is that he is not up to a great speech on a great question; he wants the information and preparation, the discipline of mind, that is necessary, and accordingly he exposes himself dreadfully, and entirely lost all the advantages he had gained by the excellent speeches he had previously made on other and more confined questions. He was very angry with the Duke of Richmond, whose opposition to him is considered by the Duke’s adherents as a sort of political parricide. Old Eldon spoke very well, and Radnor; the rest but moderate.

February 27th, 1830

Dined at Lord Lansdowne’s; Moore, Rogers, J. Russell, Spring Rice, Charles Kemble, Auckland, and Doherty; very agreeable, but Rogers was overpowered by numbers and loud voices. Doherty told some good professional stories, and they all agreed that Irish courts of justice afforded the finest materials for novels and romances. The ‘Mertons’ and ‘Collegians’ are both founded on facts; the stories are in the ‘New Monthly Magazine;’ they said the author had not made the most of the ‘Collegians’ story. Very odd nervousness of Moore; he could not tell that story (of Crampton’s), which I begged him to do, and which would not have been lugged in neck and shoulders, because everybody was telling just such stories; he is delighted with my note of it. Charles Kemble talked of his daughter and her success—said she was twenty, and that she had once seen Mrs. Siddons in ‘Lady Randolph’ when she was seven years old. She was so affected in ‘Mrs. Beverley’ that he was obliged to carry her into her dressing-room, where she screamed for five minutes; the last scream (when she throws herself on his body) was involuntary, not in the part, and she had not intended it, but could not resist the impulse. She likes Juliet the best of her parts.

February 28th, 1830

Dined yesterday with Lord Stanhope; Murray the bookseller (who published ‘Belisarius’), Wilkie the painter, and Lord Strangford; nobody else of note. Wilkie appears stern, and might pass for mad; he said very little. Murray chattered incessantly; talked to me a great deal about Moore, who would have been mightily provoked if he had heard him. An odd dinner, not agreeable, though Lord Stanhope is amusing, so strange in his appearance, so ultra-Tory and anti-Liberal in his politics, full of information and a good deal of drollery. Murray told me that Moore is going to write a ‘Life of Petrarch.’ Croker would have written Lawrence’s Life if Campbell [the poet] had not seized the task before anybody else thought of laying hold of it. He has circulated a command that all persons who have FOR ITALY anything to communicate will send their letters to his secretary, and not to him.

March 2nd, 1830

To-morrow I set out to Italy, after many years of anxiety to go there, without violent expectations of pleasure, but not thinking of disappointment. I care not for leaving London or anything in it; there are a few people whose society I regret, but as to friends or those who care for me, or for whom I care, I leave few behind.

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CHAPTER VIII.

Calais — Beau Brummell — Paris — The Polignac Ministry — Polignac and Charles X. — The Duke of Orleans — State of Parties — Talleyrand — Lyons — First Impressions of Mountain Scenery — Mont Cenis — Turin — Marengo — Genoa — Road to Florence — Pisa — Florence — Lord and Lady Burghersh — Thorwaldsen — Lord Cochrane — Rome — St. Peter’s — Frascati — Grotta Ferrata — Queen Hortense and Louis Napoleon — Coliseum — Death of Lady Northampton — The Moses — Gardens — Palm Sunday — Sistine Chapel — The Cardinals — Popes — Cardinal Albani — The Farnese Palace — A Dead Cardinal — Pasquin — Statue of Pompey — Galleries and Catacombs — Bunsen — The Papal Benediction — Ceremonies of the Holy Week — The Grand Penitentiary — A Confession — Protestant Cemetery — Illumination of St. Peter’s — Torlonia — Bunsen on the Forum.

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Paris, March 6th, 1830

I left London at three o’clock on Wednesday, the 3rd, and arrived at Dover between twelve and one. Went over in the packet at nine on Thursday, which was not to have sailed till twelve, but did go at nine, principally because they heard that I had got despatches, for I had armed myself with three passports couched in such terms as were most likely to be useful. A good but rather long passage—near four hours—and the day magnificent. Landed with difficulty in boats. Detained at Calais till seven. There I had a long conversation with Brummell about his Consulship, and was moved by his account of his own distresses to write to the Duke of Wellington and ask him to do what he could for him. I found him in his old lodging, dressing; some pretty pieces of old furniture in the room, an entire toilet of silver, and a large green macaw perched on the back of a tattered silk chair with faded gilding; full of gaiety, impudence, and misery.

Lord Tweeddale came over in the packet, and we dined PARIS IN MARCH 1830 together. He was full of the Duke of Richmond’s speech about the Duke of Wellington the other night, which he said had annoyed the Duke of Wellington more than anything that ever happened to him, and that the Duke of Richmond was now equally sorry for what he had said. He (Tweeddale) was employed to carry a message from the one Duke to the other, which, however, the Duke of Wellington did not take in good part, nor does it seem that he is at all disposed to lay aside his resentment. Tweeddale ranks Richmond’s talents very highly, and says he was greatly esteemed in the army.

Left Calais at seven; travelled all night—the roads horrid in most parts—and arrived at Paris last night at half-past twelve. Found everything prepared—an excellent apartment, laquais de place, and courier. Called on Lady Stewart and old Madame Craufurd, and wandered about the whole day. Paris looking gay and brilliant in the finest weather I ever saw. I find the real business is not to begin in the Chambers till about the 10th, so I shall not wait for it. Polignac is said to be very stout, but the general opinion is that he will be in a minority in the Chambers; however, as yet I have seen nobody who can give good information about the state of parties. For the first time (between Calais and Paris) I saw some new houses and barns building near Abbeville and Beauvais, and the cottages near Monsieur de Clermont-Tonnerre’s mansion had a very English look.

It is Lent, and very little going on here. During the Carnival they had a ball for the benefit of the poor, which was attended by 5,000 people, and produced 116,000 francs. Immense sums were given in charity, and well appropriated during the severe weather. There are also nuns (soeurs de charité), who visit and tend the sick, whose institution is far more practically useful than anything of which our Protestant country can boast. I shall only stay here a very few days.

March 8th, 1830

It will be difficult to get away from this place if I don’t go at once; the plot thickens, and I am in great danger of dawdling on, Yesterday morning I walked about, visiting, and then went through the Tuileries and the Carrousel. The Gardens were full of well-dressed and good-looking people, and the day so fine that it was a glorious sight. The King is, after all, hardly master of his own palace, for the people may swarm like bees all around and through it, and he is the only man in Paris who cannot go into the Gardens. Dined with Standish, Brooke Greville, Madame Alfred de Noailles and her daughter, and then went to Madame de Flahault’s to see the world and hear politics. After all, nobody has an idea how things will turn out, or what are Polignac’s intentions or his resources. Lord Stuart[1] told me that he knew nothing, but that when he saw all the Ministers perfectly calm and satisfied, and heard them constantly say all would be well, although all France and a clear majority in both Chambers seemed to be against them, he could not help thinking they must have some reason for such confidence, and something in reserve, of which people were not aware. Lady Keith,[2] with whom I had a long talk, told me that she did not believe it possible they could stand, that there was no revolutionary spirit abroad, but a strong determination to provide for the stability of their institutions, a disgust at the obstinacy and pretensions of the King, and a desire to substitute the Orleans for the reigning branch, which was becoming very general; that Polignac is wholly ignorant of France, and will not listen to the opinions of those who could enlighten him. It is supposed that the King is determined to push matters to extremity, to try the Chambers, and if his Ministry are beaten to dissolve them and govern par ordonnance du Roi, then to try and influence the elections and obtain a Chamber more favourable than the present. Somebody told her the other day of a conversation which Polignac had recently had with the King, in which his Majesty said to him, ‘Jules, est-ce que vous m’êtes très-dévoué?’ ‘Mais oui, Sire; pouvez-vous en douter?’ ‘Jusqu’à aller sur l’échafaud?’ ‘Mais oui. Sire, s’il le faut.’ ‘Alors IMPENDING CRISIS IN FRANCE tout ira bien.’ It is thought that he has got into his head the old saying that if Louis XVI. had got upon horseback he could have arrested the progress of the Revolution—a piece of nonsense, fit only for a man ‘qui n’a rien oublié ni rien appris.’ It is supposed the Address will be carried against the Government by about 250 to 130. (It was 221 to 180. —— has a tabatière Warin of that day, with the names of the 221 on the lid.) All the names presented to the King yesterday for the Presidency are obnoxious to him, but he named Royer Collard, who had twice as many votes as any of the others. It was remarked at the séance royale that the King dropped his hat, and that the Duke of Orleans picked it up, and they always make a great deal of these trifles. The Duke of Orleans is, however, very well with the Court, and will not stir, let what will happen, though he probably feels like Macbeth before the murder of Duncan—

If chance will have me King, why let chance crown me
Without my stir.

[1] [Lord Stuart de Rothesay was then British Ambassador in Paris.]

[2] [Married to Count de Flahault; in her own right Baroness Keith and Nairn. She died in 1867.]

March 8th, 1830, at night

Walked about visiting, and heard all the gossip of Paris from little Madame Graham, who also invited me to Pozzo di Borgo’s box at the Opera. I don’t mean to record the gossip and scandal unless when I hear something out of the common way and amusing. Dined with Stuart; Tweeddale, Gurwood, Allen, and some heavy attachés; no French. He appears to live handsomely. Afterwards to the Opera to see Taglioni, who did not dance; then to Madame Appony’s, to whom I was introduced, and we had plenty of bowing and smirking and civilities about my family. Rather bored at the party, and am come home quite resolved to be off on Thursday, but am greatly puzzled about my route, for everybody recommends a different one.

March 9th, 1830

Dined with M. de Flahault; met M. de Talleyrand, Madame de Dino, General Sébastiani, M. Bertin de Vaux, Duc de Broglie, and Montrond. Sébastiani and Bertin de Vaux are Deputies, and all violent Oppositionists. After dinner M. de Lescure, another man, and the young Duc de Valençay, Madame de Dino’s son, came in. They talked politics all the time, and it was curious enough to me. Bertin is the sort of man in appearance that Tierney was, and shrewd like him; he is brother to the editor, and principal manager himself, of the ‘Journal des Débats.’ Sébastiani is slow and pompous. The Duc de Broglie is one of the best men in France. They all agreed that the Government cannot stand. Talleyrand is as much against it as any of them. Sébastiani told me they should have 280 against 130. Talleyrand said that it was quite impossible to predict what might be the result of this contest (if the Court pushed matters to extremity) both to France and Europe, and that it was astonishing surrounding nations, and particularly England, did not see how deeply they were interested in the event. He said of us, ‘Vous avez plus d’argent que de crédit.’ He looks horridly old, but seems vigorous enough and alive to everything. After dinner they all put their heads together and chattered politics as fast as they could. Madame de Flahault is more violent than her husband, and her house is the resort of all the Liberal party. Went afterwards to the Opera and saw Maret, the Duc de Bassano, a stupid elderly bourgeois-looking man, with two very pretty daughters. The battle is to begin in the Chamber on Saturday or Monday on the Address. Talleyrand told me that the next three weeks would be the most important of any period since the Restoration. It is in agitation to deprive him of his place of Grand Chambellan.

Susa, March 15th, 1830, 9 o’clock.

Just arrived at this place at the foot of Mont Cenis. Left Paris on the 11th, at twelve o’clock at night. On the last day, Montrond made a dinner for me at a club to see M. des Chapelles play at whist. I saw it, but was no wiser; but I conclude he plays very well, for he always wins, is not suspected of cheating, and excels at all other games. At twelve I got into my carriage, and (only stopping an hour and a half for two breakfasts) got to Lyons in forty-eight hours and a half. Journey not disagreeable, and roads much better than MOUNTAIN SCENERY I expected, particularly after Macon, when they became as good as in England; but the country presents the same sterile, uninteresting appearance as that between Calais and Paris—no hedges, no trees, except tall, stupid-looking poplars, and no châteaux or farm-houses. I am at a loss to know why a country should look so ill which I do not believe is either barren or ill cultivated. Lyons is a magnificent town. It was dark when I arrived, or rather moonlight, but I could see that the quay we came along was fine, and yesterday morning I walked about for an hour and was struck with the grandeur of the place; it is like a great and magnificent Bath; but I had not time to see much of it, and, with beautiful weather, I set off at ten o’clock. The mountains (les Échelles de Savoie) appear almost directly in the distance, but it was long before I could make out whether they were clouds or mountains.

After crossing the Pont de Beauvoisin we began to mount the Échelles, which I did on foot, and I never shall forget the first impression made upon me by the mountain scenery. It first burst upon me at a turn of the road—one huge perpendicular rock above me, a deep ravine with a torrent rushing down and a mountain covered with pines and ilexes on the other side, and in front another vast rock which was shining in the reflected light of the setting sun. I never shall forget it. How I turned round and round, afraid to miss a particle of the glorious scene. It was the liveliest impression because it was the first. I walked nearly to the other post with the most exquisite pleasure, but it was dark by the time I got to La Grotta. I went on, however, all night, very unhappy at the idea of losing a great deal of this scenery, but consoled by the reflection that there was plenty left. As soon as it was light I found myself in the middle of the mountains (the Lower Alps), and from thence I proceeded across the Mont Cenis. Though not the finest pass, to me, who had never seen anything like it, it appeared perfectly beautiful, every turn in the road presenting a new combination of Alpine magnificence. Nothing is more striking than the patches of cultivation in the midst of the tremendous rocks and precipices, and in one or two spots there were plots of grass and evergreens, like an English shrubbery, at the foot of enormous mountains covered with snow. There was not a breath of air in these valleys, and the sun was shining in unclouded brightness, so that there was all the atmosphere of summer below with all the livery of winter above.

The altitude of some tall crag
That is the eagle’s birthplace, or some peak
Familiar with forgotten years, that shows,
Inscribed as with the silence of the thought
Upon its bleak and visionary sides,
The history of many a winter storm
Or obscure record of the path of fire.

There the sun himself
At the calm close of Summer’s longest day
Rests his substantial orb; between those heights,
And on the top of either pinnacle,
More keenly than elsewhere in night’s blue vault
Sparkle the stars, as of their station proud:
Thoughts are not busier in the mind of man
Than the mute agents stirring there,—alone
Here do I sit and watch.

In one place, too, I remarked high up on the side of the rugged and barren mountain two or three cottages, to arrive at which steps had been cut in the rock. No sign of vegetation was near, so exactly the description of Goldsmith:—

Dear is that shed to which their souls conform,
And dear that hill that lifts them to the storm;

In another place there was a cluster of houses and a church newly built. Not far from Lans-le-Bourg (at the foot of Mont Cenis) is a very strong fort, built by the King of Sardinia, which commands the road. It has a fine effect perched upon a rock, and apparently unapproachable. A soldier was pacing the battlement, and his figure gave life to the scene and exhibited the immensity of the surrounding objects, so minute did he appear. At Lans-le-Bourg they put four horses and two mules to my carriage, but I took my courier’s horse and set off to ride up the mountain with a THE MONT CENIS guide who would insist upon going with me, and who proposed to take me up a much shorter way by the old road, which, however, I declined; he was on foot, and made a short cut up the hill while I rode by the road, which winds in several turns up the mountain. Fired with mountainous zeal, I had a mind to try one of these short cuts, and giving my horse to Paolo (my valet de chambre) set off with my guide to climb the next intervening ascent; but I soon found that I had better have stuck to my horse, for the immensity of the surrounding objects had deceived me as to the distance, and the ground was so steep and slippery that, unprepared as I was for such an attempt, I could not keep my footing. When about half-way up, I looked ruefully round and saw steeps above and below covered with ice and snow and loose earth. I could not get back, and did not know how to get on. I felt like the man who went up in a balloon, and when a mile in the air wanted to be let out. My feelings were very like what Johnson describes at Hawkestone in his tour in Wales. ‘He that mounts the precipices at —— wonders how he came thither, and doubts how he shall return; his walk is an adventure and his departure an escape. He has not the tranquillity but the horrors of solitude—a kind of turbulent pleasure between fright and admiration.’ My guide, fortunately, was active and strong, and properly shod so he went first, making steps for me in the snow, into which I put my feet after his, while with one hand I grasped the tail of his blue frock and with the other seized bits of twig or anything I could lay hold of; and in this ludicrous way, scrambling and clambering, hot and out of breath, to my great joy I at last got to the road, and for the rest of the ascent contented myself with my post-horse, who had a set of bells jingling at his head and was a sorry beast enough. I was never weary, however, of admiring the scenery. The guide told me he had often seen Napoleon when he was crossing the mountain, and that he remembered his being caught in a tormento,[3] when his life was saved by two young Savoyards, who took him on their backs and carried him to a rifugio.[4] He asked them if they were married, and, finding they were not, enquired how much was enough to marry upon in that country, and then gave them the requisite sum, and settled pensions of 600 francs on each of them. One is dead, the other still receives it. As I got near the top of the mountain the road, which had hitherto been excellent, became execrable and the cold intense. I had left summer below and found winter above. I looked in vain for the chamois, hares, wolves, and bears, all of which I was told are found there. At last I arrived at the summit, and found at the inn a friar, the only inhabitant of the Hospice, who, hearing me say I would go there (as my carriage was not yet come), offered to go with me; he was young, fat, rosy, jolly, and dirty, dressed in a black robe with a travelling-cap on his head, appeared quick and intelligent, and spoke French and Italian. He took me over the Hospice, which is now quite empty, and showed me two very decently furnished rooms which the Emperor Napoleon used to occupy, and two inferior apartments which had been appropriated to the Empress Maria Louisa. The N.’s on the grille of the door had been changed for V.E.’s (Victor Emmanuel) and M.T.’s (Maria Theresa), and frightful pictures of the Sardinian King and Queen have replaced the Imperial portraits. All sorts of distinguished people have slept there en passant, and do still when compelled to spend the night on Mont Cenis. He offered to lodge and feed me, but I declined. I told him I was glad to see Napoleon’s bedroom, as I took an interest in everything which related to that great man, at which he seemed extremely pleased, and said, ‘Ah, monsieur, vous êtes donc comme moi.’ I dined at the inn (a very bad one) on some trout which they got for me from the Hospice—very fine fish, but very ill dressed. The sun was setting by the time I set off, it was dusk when I had got half-way down the descent, and dark before I had reached the first stage. When half-way down the descent, the last rays of the sun were still TURIN gilding the tops of the crags above, and the contrast between that light above and the darkness below was very fine. From what I saw of it, and from what I guess, straining my eyes into the darkness to catch the dim and indistinct shapes of the mountains, the Italian side is the finest—the most wild and savage and with more variety. On the French side you are always on the breast of the same mountain, but on the Italian side you wind along different rocks always hanging over a precipice with huge black, snow-topped crags frowning from the other ridge. I was quite unhappy not to see it. Altogether I never shall forget the pleasure of the two days’ journey and the first sight of the Alps, exceeding the expectations I had formed, and for years I have enjoyed nothing so much. The descent (at the beginning of which, by-the-bye, I was very nearly overturned) only ends at this place, where I found a tolerable room and a good fire, but the cameriere stinking so abominably of garlic that he impregnated the whole apartment.

[3] A tormento (most appropriate name) is a tempest of wind, and sleet, and snow, exceedingly dangerous to those who are met by it.

[4] A rifugio is a sort of cabin, of which there are several built at certain distances all the way up the mountain, where travellers may take shelter.

Turin, March 16th, 1830

Got here early and meant to sleep, but have changed my mind and am going on. A fine but dull-looking town. Found the two Forsters, who pressed me to stay. Made an ineffectual attempt to get into the Egyptian Museum, said to be the finest in the world. It was collected by Drovetti, the French Consul, and offered to us for 16,000ℓ., which we declined to give, and the King of Sardinia bought it. Forster told me that this country is rich, not ill governed, but plunged in bigotry. There are near 400 convents in the King’s dominions. It is the dullest town in Europe, and it is because it looks so dull that I am in a hurry to get out of it. This morning was cloudy, and presented fresh combinations of beauty in the mountains when the clouds rolled round their great white peaks, sometimes blending them in the murky vapour, and sometimes exhibiting their sharp outlines above the wreath of mist. I did not part from the Alps without casting many a lingering look behind.

Genoa, March 18th, 1830

Got on so quick from Turin that I went to Alessandria that night, and set off at half-past six yesterday morning. Crossed the field of battle of Marengo, a boundless plain (now thickly studded with trees and houses), and saw the spot where Desaix was killed. The bridge over the Bormida which Melas crossed to attack the French army is gone, but another has been built near it. The Austrians or Sardinians have taken down the column which was erected to the memory of Desaix on the spot where he fell; they might as well have left it, for the place will always be celebrated, though they only did as the French had done before. After the battle of Jena they took down the Column of Rossbach,[5] but that was erected to commemorate the victory, and this the death of the hero. I feel like Johnson—‘far far from me and my friends be that frigid philosophy which can make us pass unmoved over any scenes which have been consecrated by virtue, by valour, or by wisdom’—and I strained the eyes of my imagination to see all the tumult of this famous battle, in which Bonaparte had been actually defeated, yet (one can hardly now tell how) was in the end completely victorious. This pillar might have been left, too, as a striking memorial of the rapid vicissitudes of fortune: the removal of it has been here so quick, and at Rossbach so tardy, a reparation of national honour.

[5] The battle of Rossbach was gained by Frederick the Great over the French and Austrians in 1757.

The Apennines are nothing after the Alps, but the descent to Genoa is very pretty, and Genoa itself exceeds everything I ever saw in point of beauty and magnificence.

How boldly doth it front us, how majestically—
Like a luxurious vineyard: the hill-side
Is hung with marble fabrics, line o’er line,
Terrace o’er terrace, nearer still and nearer
To the blue heavens, here bright and sumptuous palaces
With cool and verdant garden interspersed.
* * * * * *
While over all hangs the rich purple eve.
Milman’s Fall of Jerusalem.

I passed the whole day after I got here in looking into the palaces and gardens and admiring the prospect on every PALACES AND CHURCHES OF GENOA side. You are met at every turn by vestiges of the old Republic; in fact, the town has undergone very little alteration for hundreds of years, and there is an air of gaiety and bustling activity which, with the graceful costume of the men and women, make it a most delightful picture. Genoa appears to be a city of palaces, and although many of the largest are now converted to humbler uses, and many fallen to decay, there are ample remains to show the former grandeur of the princely merchants who were once the lords of the ocean. Everything bespeaks solidity, durability, and magnificence. There are stupendous works which were done at the expense of individuals. In every part of the town are paintings and frescoes, which, in spite of constant exposure to the atmosphere, have retained much of their brilliancy and freshness. The palaces of Doria are the most interesting; but why the Senate gave him that which bears still the inscription denoting its being their gift it is difficult to say, when his own is so superior and in a more agreeable situation. The old palace of Andrew is now let for lodgings, and the Pamfili Doria live at Rome. The walls are covered with inscriptions, and I stopped to read two on stone slabs on the spot where the houses of malefactors had formerly stood, monuments of the vindictive laws of the Republic, which not only punished the criminal himself, but consigned his children to infamy and his habitation to destruction; though they stand together they are not of the same date. There is no temptation to violate the decree by building again on the spot, for they are in a narrow, dirty court, to which light can scarcely find access. The Ducal Palace now belongs to the Governor. It has been modernised, but in the dark alleys adjoining there are remains demonstrative of its former extent—pictures of the different Doges in fresco on the walls half erased, and little bridges extending from the windows (or doors) of the palace to the public prisons and other adjoining buildings. The view from my albergo (della villa) is the gayest imaginable, looking over the harbour, which is crowded with sailors and boats full of animation.

Evening.—Passed the whole day seeing sights. Called on Madame Durazzo, and went with her and her niece, Madame Ferrari, to the King’s palace, formerly a Durazzo palace. Like the others, a fine house, full of painting and gilding, and with a terrace of black and white marble commanding a view of the sea. The finest picture is a Paul Veronese of a Magdalen with our Saviour. The King and Queen sleep together, and on each side of the royal bed there is an assortment of ivory palms, crucifixes, boxes for holy water, and other spiritual guards for their souls. For the comfort of their bodies he has had a machine made like a car, which is drawn up by a chain from the bottom to the top of the house; it holds about six people, who can be at pleasure elevated to any storey, and at each landing-place there is a contrivance to let them in and out. From thence to the Brignole Palace (called the Palazzo Rosso), where I met M. and Madame de Brignole, who were very civil and ordered a scientific footman to show us the pictures. They are numerous and excellent, but we could only take a cursory look at them; the best are the Vandykes, particularly a Christ and a portrait of one of the Brignoles on horseback, and a beautiful Carlo Dolce, a small bleeding Christ. I saw the churches—San Stefano, Annunziata, the Duomo, San Ambrosio, San Cyro. There are two splendid pictures in the Ambrosio, a Guido and a Rubens; the Martyrdom in the San Stefano, by Julio Romano and Raphael, went to Paris and was brought back in 1814. The churches have a profusion of marble, and gilding, and frescoes; the Duomo is of black and white marble, of mixed architecture, and highly ornamented—all stinking to a degree that was perfectly intolerable, and the same thing whether empty or full; it is the smell of stale incense mixed with garlic and human odour, horrible combination of poisonous exhalations. I must say, as everybody has before remarked, that there is something highly edifying in the appearance of devotion which belongs to the Catholic religion; the churches are always open, and, go into them when you will, you see men and women kneeling and praying before this or that altar, PALACES AND CHURCHES OF GENOA absorbed in their occupation, and who must have been led there by some devotional feeling. This seems more accordant with the spirit and essence of religion than to have the churches, as ours are, opened like theatres at stated hours and days for the performance of a long service, at the end of which the audience is turned out and the doors are locked till the next representation. Then the Catholic religion makes no distinctions between poverty and wealth—no pews for the aristocracy well warmed and furnished, or seats set apart for the rich and well dressed; here the church is open to all, and the beggar in rags comes and takes his place by the side of the lady in silks, and both, kneel on the same pavement, for the moment at least and in that place reduced to the same level.

I saw the Ducal Palace, where there are two very fine halls,[6] the old Hall of Audience and the Hall of Council, the latter 150 by 57 feet; and the Doria Palace, delightfully situated with a garden and fine fountain, and a curious old gallery opening upon a marble terrace, richly painted, gilt and carved, though, now decayed. Here the Emperor Napoleon lived when he was at Genoa, preferring Andrew Doria’s palace to a better lodging: he had some poetry in his ambition after all. Lastly to the Albergo dei Poveri,[7] a noble institution, built by a Brignole and enriched by repeated benefactions; like all the edifices of the old Genoese, vast and of fine proportions. The great staircase and hall are adorned with colossal statues of its benefactors (among whom are many Durazzos), and the sums that they gave or bequeathed are commemorated on the pedestals. In the chapel is a piece of sculpture by Michael Angelo, a dead Christ and Virgin (only heads), and an altarpiece by Puget. Branching out from the chapel are two vast chambers, lofty, airy, and light, one for the men, the other for the women. About 800 men and 1,200 or 1,300 women are supported here. Many of the nobles are said to be rich—Ferrari, Brignole, Durazzo, and Pallavicini particularly. I forgot to mention the chapel and tomb of Andrew Doria; the chapel he built himself; his body, arrayed in princely robes, lies in the vault. There is a Latin inscription on the chapel, signifying that he stood by the country in the days of her affliction. It is a pretty little chapel full of painting and gilding. In the early part of the Revolution the tomb narrowly escaped destruction, but it was saved by the solidity of its materials. I gave the man who showed me this tomb a franc, and he kissed my hand in a transport of gratitude.

[6] They are left just in the state in which they were in the time of the Republic; the balustrade still surrounds the elevated platform on which the throne of the Doge was placed.

[7] The Albergo dei Poveri and the Scoghetti Gardens pleased me more than anything I saw in Genoa. I am sorry I did not see the Sordi e Muti, which is admirably conducted, and where the pupils by all accounts perform wonders. The Albergo is managed by a committee consisting of the principal nobles in the town. The Scoghetti Gardens are delightfully laid out; there is a shrubbery of evergreens with a cascade, and a summer-house paved with tiles—two or three rooms in it, and a hot and cold bath. It is astonishing how they cherish the memory of ‘Lord Bentinck.’[7a] I heard of him in various parts of the town, particularly here, as he lived in the house when first he came to Genoa. The Gardens command a fine view of the city, the sea, and the mountains. The saloon in the Serra is only a very splendid room, glittering with glass, and gold, and lapis lazuli; by no means deserves to be called, as it is by Forsyth, the finest saloon in Europe. It is not very large, and not much more gilt than Crockford’s drawing-room, but looks cleaner, though it has been done these seventy years or more.

[7a] [Lord William Bentinck was Mr. Greville’s uncle.]

Florence, March 21st, 1830

Arrived here at seven o’clock. Left Genoa on the 19th (having previously gone to see the Scoghetti Gardens and the Serra Palace), and went to Sestri to pass that evening and the next morning with William Ponsonby, who was staying there. The road from Genoa to Chiavari is one continual course of magnificent scenery, winding along the side of the mountains and hanging over the sea, the mountains studded with villages, villas, and cottages which appear like white specks at a distance, till on near approach they swell into life and activity. The villas are generally painted as at Genoa; the orange trees were in full bloom, and the gardens often slope down to the very margin of the sea. Every turn in the road and each SESTRI AND PISA fresh ascent supplies a new prospect, and the parting view of Genoa, with the ocean before and the Apennines behind, cannot be imagined by those who have not seen it. ‘Si quod vere natura nobis dedit spectaculum in hac tellure vere gratum et philosopho dignum, id semel, mihi contigisse arbitror, cum ex celsissimâ rupe speculabundus ad oram maris mediterranei, hinc aequor cæruleum, illinc tractus Alpinos prospexi, nihil quidem magis dispar aut dissimile nec in suo genere magis egregium et singulare.’[8]

[8] Burnet’s ‘Theory of the Earth.’

Chiavari and Sestri are both beautiful, especially the latter, in a little bay with a jutting promontory, a rocky hill covered with evergreens, and shrubs, and heather, and affording grand and various prospects of the still blue sea and the white and shining coast with the dark mountains behind—

A sunny bay
Where the salt sea innocuously breaks
And the sea breeze as innocently breathes
On Sestri’s leafy shores—a sheltered hold
In a soft clime encouraging the soil
To a luxuriant beauty.

The mountain road from Chiavari to La Spezzia presents the same scenery as far as Massa and Carrara, which I unfortunately lost by travelling in the night. I crossed the river in the boat by candle-light, which was picturesque enough, the scanty light gleaming upon the rough figures who escorted me and plied the enormous poles by which they move the ferry-boat. Got to Pisa to breakfast (without stopping at Lucca), and passed three hours looking at the Cathedral, Leaning Tower, Baptistry, and Campo Santo, the last of which alone would take up the whole day to be seen as it ought. The Cathedral is under repair; the pictures have been covered up or taken down, and the whole church was full of rubbish and scaffolding; but in this state I could see how fine it is, and admire the columns which Forsyth praises, and the roof and many of the marbles. The Grand Duke has ordered it all to be cleaned, and very little of it to be altered. One alteration, however, is in very bad taste; he has taken away the old confessionals of carved wood, and substituted others of marble, fixed in the wall, which are exactly like modern chimney-pieces, and have the worst effect amidst the surrounding antiquities. The exterior is rather fantastic, but the columns are beautiful, and John of Bologna’s bronze doors admirable. The Campo Santo is full of ancient tombs, frescoes, modern busts, and morsels of sculpture of all ages and descriptions. The Leaning Tower[9] is 190 feet high, and there are 293 steps to the top of it, which I climbed up to view the surrounding country, but it was not clear enough to see the sea and Elba. Here is the finest aqueduct I have seen, which continues to pour water into the town. Part of the old wall[10] with its towers is still standing. These pugnacious republics, who were always squabbling with each other and wasting their strength in civil broils, erected very massive defences. The Pisans are proud of their ancient exploits. The San Stefano or Chiesa dei Cavalieri is full of standards taken from the Turks, and the man who showed me the Campo Santo said that a magnificent Grecian vase which is there had been brought from Genoa by the Pisans before the foundation of Rome. There are Egyptian, Etruscan, Roman, and Grecian remains, which have been plundered, or conquered, or purchased by patriotic Pisans to enrich their native city. The frescoes are greatly damaged. I went to look at the celebrated house ‘Alla Giornata,’ a white marble palace on the Arno; the chains still hang over the door, and there is an inscription above them which looks modern. My laquais de place told me what I suppose is the tradition of the place—that the son of the family was taken by the Turks, and that they had captured a Turk, who was put in chains; that an exchange was agreed upon, and the prisoners on either side released, and that the chains were FLORENCE hung up and the inscription added, signifying that the Turk was at liberty to go again into the light of day. But it was a lame and improbable story, and I prefer the mystery to the explanation.

[9] There was another leaning edifice, but the Grand Duke had it pulled down; it was thought dangerous.

[10] It had been destroyed, but was restored by the Medici or the present family.

Much as I was charmed with the mountains, I was not sorry, for a change, to get into the rich, broad plain of Tuscany, full of vineyards and habitations along the banks of the Arno. The voice and aspect of cheerfulness is refreshing after a course of rugged and barren grandeur; the road is excellent and the travelling rapid. Yesterday being a holiday, and to-day Sunday, the whole population in their best dresses have been out on the road, and very good-looking they generally are. There are not more beggars than in France, and certainly a far greater appearance of prosperity throughout the north of Italy than in any part of France I have seen, although there are the same complaints of distress and poverty here that are heard both there and in England. Thorwaldsen, the sculptor, is in this inn, and the King of Bavaria left it this morning. The book of strangers is rather amusing; the entries are sometimes remarkable or ridiculous. I found ‘La Duchesse de Saint-Leu et le Prince Louis-Napoléon; Lord and Lady Shrewsbury and family; Miss Caroline Grinwell, of New York; the King of Bavaria (not down in the book though); Thorwaldsen’. Tuscany seems to be flourishing and contented; the Government is absolute but mild, the Grand Duke enormously rich.

March 23rd, 1830

Yesterday morning breakfasted with Lord Normanby, who has got a house extending 200 feet in front, court, garden, and stables for about 280ℓ. a year, everything else cheap in proportion, and upon 2,000ℓ. a year a man may live luxuriously. His house was originally fitted up for the Pretender, and C. R.’s are still to be seen all over the place. Called on Lord Burghersh,[11] who was at breakfast—the table covered with manuscript music, a pianoforte, two fiddles, and a fiddler in the room. He was full of composition and getting up his opera of ‘Phædra’ for to-morrow night. The Embassy is the seat of the Arts, for Lady Burghersh has received the gift of painting as if by inspiration, and she was in a brown robe in the midst of oils, and brushes, and canvas; and a model was in attendance, some part of whose person was to be introduced into a fancy piece. She copies pictures in the Gallery, and really extraordinarily well if it be true that till a year ago she had never had a brush in her hand, and that she is still quite ignorant of drawing.

[11] [Lord Burghersh, afterwards Earl of Westmoreland, was then British Minister at Florence.]

Went into two or three of the churches, then to the Gallery, and sat for half an hour in the Tribune, but could not work myself into a proper enthusiasm for the ‘Venus,’ whose head is too small and ankles too thick, but they say the more I see her the more I shall like her. I prefer the ‘Wrestlers,’ and the head of the ‘Remontleur’ is the only good head I have seen, the only one with expression. ‘Niobe’ is fine, but I can’t bear her children, except one. Then to the Casine on horseback to see the town and the world: it seems a very enjoyable place. This morning again dropped into some of the churches, after which I have always a hankering, though there is great sameness in them, but I have a childish liking for Catholic pomp. The fine things are lost amidst a heap of rubbish, but there is no lack of marble, and painting, and gilding in most of them. They are going on with the Medici Chapel, on which millions have been wasted and more is going after, for the Grand Duke is gradually finishing the work. The profusion of marble is immense, and very fine and curious if examined in detail; the precious stones are hardly seen, and when they are, not to be recognised as such. To the Pitti Palace, of which one part is under repair and not visible, but I saw most of the best pictures. I like pictures better than statues. It is a beautiful palace, and well furnished for show. Nobody knows what Vandyke was without coming here. To the Gabinetto Fisico, and saw all the wax-works, the progress of gestation, and the representation of the plague, incomparably clever and well executed. I saw nothing disgusting in the wax-works in the museum, which many people are so squeamish about.

Before dinner yesterday called upon Thorwaldsen, who FLORENCE was in the inn, to tell him Lord Gower likes his ‘Ganymede.’ He was mighty polite, squeezed my hand, and reconducted me to my own door. At night went to the Opera and heard David and Grisi in ‘Ricciardo e Zoraida.’ She is like Pasta in face and figure, but much handsomer, though with less expression. She is only eighteen. He has lost much of his voice, and embroiders to make up for it, but every now and then he appears to find it again, and his taste and expression are exquisite. To-night at a child’s ball at Lady Williamson’s, where I was introduced to Lord Cochrane, and had a great deal of talk with him; told him I thought things would explode at last in England, which he concurred in, and seemed to like the idea of it, in which we differ, owing probably to the difference of our positions; he has nothing, and I everything, to lose by such an event.

March 25th, 1830

Went yesterday morning to Santa Croce to hear a Mass on the completion of a monument which has been erected to Dante; very crowded and the music indifferent. Afterwards to the Gallery and saw all the cabinets, but we were hurried through them too rapidly. I began to like the ‘Venus’ better, best of all the statues. The ‘Niobe’[12] cannot have been a group, nor the children have belonged to the mother. Rode to Normanby’s villa at Sesto, five miles from Florence; a large and agreeable house, gardens full of fountains, statues, busts, orange and lemon trees, shrubs and flowers. He pays 600 dollars a year for it, exclusive of the race-ground. In the evening to Burghersh’s opera, which was very well performed; pretty theatre, crowded to suffocation. All the actors amateurs;[13] chorus composed of divers ladies and gentlemen of Florence, principally English. Here all the society of Florence was assembled in nearly equal proportions of Italians, English, and other foreigners. Nothing can be worse than it is, for there is no foundation of natives, and the rest are generally the refuse of Europe, people who come here from want of money or want of character. Everybody is received without reference to their conduct, past or present, with the exception, perhaps, of Englishwomen who have been divorced, whose case is too notorious to allow the English Minister’s wife to present them at Court.

[12] The ‘Niobe’ is supposed to have been a group upon some temple

so, of which the mother was the centre figure; this makes it more probable, but the difficulty to this hypothesis is, that there do not appear to be the necessary gradations in the size or altitude of the other figures; the sons in the ‘Laocoon’ are certainly little men.

[13]

Phædra	Miss Williams	Soprano.
Hippolytus	Madame Vigano	Contralto.
The Girl	Madame de Bombelles	Soprano.
Theseus	Goretti	Tenor.
Attendant	Franceschini	Bass.

March 26th, 1830

Yesterday morning to a Mass at the Annunziata, to which the Grand Duke came in state, with his family and Court. The piazza was lined with guards; seven coaches-and-six with his guardia nobile and running footmen; the Mass beautifully performed by his band, Tacchinardi (father of Madame Persiani, I believe) singing and Manielli directing. Then rode to Lord Cochrane’s villa, where we found them under a matted tent in the garden, going to dinner. He talks of going to Algiers to see the French attack it. He has made 100,000ℓ. by the Greek bonds. It is a pity he ever got into a scrape; he is such a fine fellow, and so shrewd and good-humoured. To the Certosa, on a hill two miles from Florence; very large convent, formerly very rich, and had near forty monks, now reduced to seven residents, though there are a few more who belong to it, but who are absent. It is in good repair, but looks desolate. There is an old monk, Don Fortunatus by name, who understands English and speaks it tolerably, delights in English people and books, received us in his cell, which consists of two or three little apartments, not uncomfortable and commanding a beautiful view; talked with great pleasure of his English acquaintance, and showed all their cards, which he treasured up. A very lively, good-humoured old friar. Returned to ride in the Corso, which is a narrow street going from the Duomo to the Annunziata, to drive up and down which is one of the ceremonies of the day (Lady Day), as the people are supposed to go and pay their respects to the Virgin. In the evening to the Opera and heard David again.

Rome, March 29th, 1830

ROME Set off yesterday morning at half-past seven from Florence, and arrived here at six this evening in a fine glowing sunset, straining my eyes to catch interesting objects, and trying in vain to make out the different hills. The last two days at Florence I went to the Gallery and Pitti Palace again with the Copleys. Half the rooms were shut up when I was at the Pitti before, but we now saw them all, and probably the finest collection of pictures in the world. The Raphaels, Rubens, Andrea del Sartos, and Salvators I liked the best. On Saturday evening went to Court and was presented to the Grand Duke, who is vulgar-looking and has bad manners; but the whole thing is rather handsome. Stopped at Siena to see the cathedral; very fine, the ancient fount beautiful. The mutilated Graces I am not connoisseur enough to appreciate, but the illuminated Missals of the thirteenth century I thought admirable, both for the colouring and the drawing, and as exquisitely finished as any miniature. The entrance to Rome through the Porta del Popolo appeared very fine, but I was disappointed in the first distant view of the city from the hill above Viterbo. I passed Radicofani in the dark, and saw little to admire in the Lake of Bolsena or the surrounding country. The women throughout Italy appeared very handsome, one quite beautiful at Siena.

March 30th, 1830

This morning I awoke very early, and could not rest till I had seen St. Peter’s; so set off in a hackney coach, drove by the Piazza della Colonna and the Castle of St. Angelo (which burst upon me unexpectedly as I turned on the bridge), and got out as soon as St. Peter’s was in sight. My first feeling was disappointment, but as I advanced towards the obelisk, with the fountains on each side, and found myself in that ocean of space with all the grand objects around, delight and admiration succeeded. As I walked along the piazza and then entered the church, I felt that sort of breathless bewilderment which was produced in some degree by the first sight of the Alps. Much as I expected I was not disappointed. St. Peter’s sets criticism at defiance; nor can I conceive how anybody can do anything but admire and wonder there, till time and familiarity with its glories shall have subjected the imagination to the judgment. I then came home and went with Morier to take a cursory view of the city and blunt the edge of curiosity. In about five hours I galloped over the Forum, Coliseum, Pantheon, St. John Lateran, Santa Maria Maggiore, the Vatican, and several arches and obelisks. I cannot tell which produced the greatest impression, St. Peter’s or the Coliseum; but if I might only have seen one it should be the Coliseum, for there can be nothing of the same kind besides.[14]

[14] Of the same kind there is, at Pompeii, but not near so fine; more perfect as a specimen, far less beautiful as an object. And the amphitheatre at Verona, but that is very inferior.

They only who have seen Rome can have an idea of the grandeur of it and of the wonders it contains, the treasures of art and the records of antiquity. Of course I had the same general idea of there being much to see that others have, but was far from being prepared for the reality, which exceeds my most sanguine expectations. The Vatican alone would require years to be examined as it deserves. It is remarkable, however, how the pleasure of the imagination arising from antiquities depends upon their accidents. The busts, statues, columns, tombs, and fragments of all sorts are heaped together in such profusion at the Vatican that the eyes ache at them, the senses are bewildered, and we regard them (with some exceptions) almost exclusively as objects of art, and do not feel the interest which, separately, they might inspire by their connection with remote ages, whereas there is scarcely one of those, if it were now to be discovered, that would not excite the greatest curiosity, and be, in the midst of the ruins to which it belongs, an object of far greater interest than a finer production which had taken its splendid but frigid position in this collection. We went to the Sistine Chapel, and saw Michael Angelo’s frescoes, which Sir Joshua Reynolds says are the finest paintings in the world, and which the unlearned call great rude daubs. I do not pretend to the capacity of appreciating their merits, but was very much struck with the ease, and SIGHTS OF ROME grace, and majesty of some of the figures; it was, however, too dark to see the ‘Last Judgment.’ I ended by St. Peter’s again, where there were many devout Catholics praying round the illuminated tomb of the Apostle, and many foolish English poking into it to stare and ask questions, the answers to which they did not understand. I have but one fault to find, and that is with the Glory, a miserable transparency in the great window opposite the entrance, throwing a yellow light upon the Dove, which has the most paltry effect, and is utterly unworthy of the grandeur of such a place.

April 1st, 1830

Yesterday morning at nine o’clock went with Edward Cheney and George Hamilton to Frascati to dine with Henry Fox, who has got a villa there. As soon as we arrived Cheney and I walked over to Grotta Ferrata to see Domenichino’s frescoes. The convent is about a mile and a half off, large, formerly rich, full of monks, and a fortress; also the scene of various miracles performed by St. Nilo, the founder and patron saint; now tenanted by a few beggarly friars, and part of it let to Prince Gagarin, the Russian Minister, as a villa. Domenichino sought and found an asylum there in consequence of some crime he had committed or debt he had incurred; he stayed there two years, and in return for the hospitality of the monks adorned their chapel with (some think) the finest frescoes in the world. They are splendid pictures, and all painted by his own hand.

At dinner we had Hortense, the ex-Queen of Holland, her son, Prince Louis Napoleon, her lady in waiting, Lady Sandwich and her daughter, Cheney, Hamilton, Lord Lovaine, and Fordwich. We dined in the garden, but there was too much wind for a fête champêtre. Hortense is not near so ugly as I expected, very unaffected and gay, and gives herself no royal airs. The only difference between her and anybody else was that, after dinner, when she rose from table, her own servant presented her with a finger-glass and water, which nobody else had. She is called Madame.

We returned by moonlight, and though I did not go into the Coliseum, because the moon was not full enough, it looked fine, and the light shining through the lower arches had a beautiful effect. This morning went a long round of sights—Caesar’s Palace, of which there are no remains but fragments of walls; it really does ‘grovel on earth in indistinct decay.’ Caracalla’s Baths, which are stupendous; the custode showed us a room in which were heaped up bits of marble of all sorts and sizes, fragments of columns and friezes; and he told us that they never excavated without finding something. And Titus’s Baths, less magnificent but equally curious, because they contain the remains of the Golden House of Nero, on which Titus built his Thermæ. The ruins are, in fact, part of the Golden House, for the Thermæ have been altogether destroyed. Then to the Capitol, Forum, Temple of Vesta, Fortuna Virilis, and other places with Morier. The Capitol contains an interesting collection of busts and statues of all the Emperors, most famous characters of ancient Rome and Greece together, with various magnificent objects of art. By dint of repeatedly seeing their effigies, one becomes acquainted with the faces of these worthies. These tastes grow upon one strangely at Rome, and there is a sort of elevation arising from this silent intercourse with the ‘great of old.’

Proud names, who once the reins of empire held,
In arms who triumphed, or in arts excell’d,
Chiefs graced with scars, and prodigal of blood,
Stern patriots who for sacred freedom stood,
Just men by whom impartial laws were given,
And saints who taught, and led the way to heaven.
Tickell.

There has been a wrangle about the Borghese Gardens which the Prince ordered to be shut up; the Government remonstrated, and a correspondence ensued which ended in their being reopened to the public, whom he has no right to exclude. Paul V. gave the Borghese Gardens to his nephew (Aldobrandini) with a condition that they should always be open to the public, which they have been from then till now. They were a part of the Cenci property, which was immense, and confiscated by an enormous piece of injustice.

April 3rd, 1830

SIGHTS OF ROME Went on Thursday to Lady Mary Deerhurst’s and the Duchess Torlonia’s, where all the English in Rome (or rather all the most vulgar) were assembled. Yesterday morning to the Colonna Palace, Museum of the Capitol, Baths of Diocletian, now Church of Santa Maria degli Angeli, which are very remarkable because built on the baths, of which it has preserved the form; San Pietro in Vincoli, San Bernardo, all built on the site and amidst the ruins of Titus’s and Vespasian’s Baths; in various parts the old pavement is preserved, which shows how magnificent they must have been, for it is all of giallo, verd antique, porphyry, &c. To the garden of the Maronite Convent to see the Coliseum, whence there is the finest view of it in Rome. Then to the Coliseum, and walked all over the ruins while a parcel of friars with covered faces were chanting and praying at each of the altars in succession round the circle below (called the Via Crucis).

I called yesterday morning on M. de la Ferronays, the French Ambassador, who was very civil and obliging. Dined in the evening with Lord Haddington, Lovaine, Morier, Prince Gagarin the Russian Minister, Cheney, and M. Dedel. After dinner George Hamilton came in and said that Lady Northampton had died suddenly at five o’clock. I never saw her, but they say she was a very good sort of woman, and remarkably clever, which good sort of women seldom are. She had written a poem full of genius and imagination. Lord Northampton was absent at a scavo he has forty miles off.

There has been no rain here for two months, and the clouds of dust are insupportable; as it is the town in Europe best supplied with water (there are three aqueducts; the ancients had sixteen) so it is the worst watered. The excavations which are going on (though languidly) are always producing something. Two busts, said to be fine, were found the day before yesterday at the Borghese Villa at Frascati.

I saw yesterday at San Pietro in Vincoli Michael Angelo’s famous Moses. It may be very fine, but to my eye is merely a colossal statue; the two horns are meant to represent rays of light; but how can rays of light be represented in marble, any more than the breath? It is impossible to make marble imitate that which is impalpable. The beard is ropy and unnatural; it is, however, an imposing sort of figure. But I am more sensible to painting than to sculpture. I delight in almost everything of Domenichino’s, who is only inferior (if inferior) to Raphael. As to Michael Angelo, he speaks a language the unlearned do not understand; his merit, acknowledged to be transcendent as it is by all artists, cannot be questioned; but he must serve as a model to form future excellence, and not be expected to produce present delight, except to those who, by long study, have learnt to comprehend and appreciate him.

Evening.—This morning to the tomb of the Scipios, Catacombs, Cecilia Metella (from which I wonder they don’t take the battlements), the Circus of Maxentius, Temple of Bacchus, the Fountain of Egeria, San Stefano Rotondo, Temple of Pallas, Arches of Drusus and Dollabella, and the Borghese Villa and Gardens. The ruins of the Gaetani Castle are rather picturesque, but they spoil the tomb, which would be far finer without its turrets. The Circus is as curious as anything I have seen, for it looks like a fresh ruin. Old Torlonia furbished it up at his own expense, and brought to light the inscription which proved it to be Maxentius’s instead of Caracalla’s Circus. The remains are so perfect that it is easy to trace the whole arrangement of the ancient games. Forsyth says very truly that the Fountain of Egeria is a mere trough; but everybody praises the water, which is delicious, and it falls with a murmur which invites to idleness and contemplation. This fountain has been beautifully sung, but it is a miserable ruin, ill deserving of such strains.

In vallum Egeriæ descendimus et speluncas
Dissimiles veris—quanto præstantius esset
Numen aquæ, viridi si margine clauderet undas
Herba, nec ingenuum violarent marmora tophum.
Juvenal.

A little wood of firs, and pines, and ilexes about thirty or forty years old is pointed out as the grove in which Numa THE SISTINE CHAPEL used to meet the nymph. In all the views on one side Soracte is a striking object, as it

From out the plain
Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break
And on the curl hangs pausing.

I like this side of Rome, where the aqueducts stride over the Campagna, and the ruins of the mighty Claudian tower over the pigmy arches of the Pope, like the genius of ancient over that of modern Rome. The Borghese is the beau idéal of a villa; lofty, spacious apartments, adorned with statues, busts, and marbles, painting and gilding, and magnificent gardens; but deserted by its owner, who has only been there once in the last thirty years, and untenable in the summer from malaria, which is very unaccountable, for it is close to Rome, high, and full of trees; but nobody knows anything about the malaria. The Gardens are the fashionable lounge, but after June nobody can walk there. Though the Prince never comes here he has just bought a large piece of ground between the Porta del Popolo and the Gardens, and is making a handsome entrance, has already built gates and some ugly Egyptian imitations, and is making a waterfall. I dined with Lady William Russell, and set off to go to Queen Hortense in the evening, but found so few carriages in the court that we would not go in.

April 4th, 1830

To the Sistine Chapel for the ceremonies of Palm Sunday; we got into the body of the chapel, not without difficulty; but we saw M. de la Ferronays in his box, and he let us in (Morier and me). It was only on a third attempt I could get there, for twice the Papal halberdiers thrust me back, and I find since it is lucky they did not do worse; for upon some occasion one of them knocked a cardinal’s eye out, and when he found who he was, begged his pardon, and said he had taken him for a bishop. Here I had a fine opportunity of seeing the frescoes, but they are covered with dirt, the ‘Last Judgment’ neither distinguishable nor intelligible to me. The figures on the ceiling and walls are very grand even to my ignorance. The music (all vocal) beautiful, the service harmoniously chanted, and the responsive bursts of the chorus sublime. The cardinals appeared a wretched set of old twaddlers, all but about three in extreme decrepitude—Odescalchi, who is young and a good preacher, Gregorio, Capellari [afterwards Pope Gregory XVI.]. On seeing them, and knowing that the sovereign is elected by and from them, nobody can wonder that the country is so miserably governed. These old creatures, on the demise of a Pope, are as full of ambition and intrigue as in the high and palmy days of the Papal power. Rome and its territory are certainly worth possessing, though the Pontifical authority is so shorn of its beams; but the fact is that the man who is elected does not always govern the country,[15] and he is condemned to a life of privation and seclusion. An able or influential cardinal is seldom elected. The parties in the Conclave usually end by a compromise, and agree to elect some cardinal without weight or influence, and there are not now any Sixtus the Fifths to make such an arrangement hazardous. Austria, Spain, and France have all vetos, and Portugal claims and exercises one when she can. To this degradation Rome is now obliged to submit. The most influential of the cardinals is Albani.[16] At the last election the Papal crown was offered to Cardinal Caprara, but Albani stipulated that he should make him Secretary of State; Caprara refused to promise, and Albani procured the election of the present Pope (who did not desire or expect the elevation), became Secretary of State A DEAD CARDINAL (being eighty), and governs the country. He is rich and stingy. The great Powers still watch the proceedings of the Conclave with jealousy; and though it is difficult to conceive how the Pope can assist any one of them to the detriment of another, an Ambassador will put his veto upon any cardinal whom he thinks unfavourable to his nation; this produces all sorts of trickery, for when the Conclave want to elect a man who is obnoxious to Austria, for example, they choose another whom they think is equally so (but whom they do not really wish to elect), that the veto may be expended upon him, for each Government has one veto only. The last veto absolutely put was on Cardinal ——, who was elected on the death of Pius VII. He had behaved very rudely to the Empress Maria Louisa when she took refuge in the north of Italy after the downfall of Napoleon, thinking it was a good moment to bully the abdicated Emperor’s wife. She complained to her father, who promised her the Cardinal never should be Pope. He was a young and ambitious man, and the veto killed him with vexation and disappointment.

[15] This, from what I have heard since, was not true of the last Pope, Leo XII., who was an odious, tyrannical bigot, but a man of activity, talent, and strength of mind, a good man of business, and his own Minister. He was detested here, and there are many stories of his violent exertions of authority. He was a sort of bastard Sixtus V., but at an immense distance from that great man, ‘following him of old, with steps unequal.’ He used, however, to interfere with the private transactions of society, and banish and imprison people, even of high rank, for immorality.

[16] Albani holds the Austrian veto, and is supported by her authority. But I have heard that since Clement XI., who was an Albani, there has always been a powerful Albani faction in the Conclave. This cardinal is enormously rich and the head of his house. The Duke of Modena is his nephew, and it is generally thought will be his heir.

Went and walked about St. Peter’s, and was surprised to find how very little longer it is than St. Paul’s. To the Farnese Palace, built by Paul III. out of the ruins of the Coliseum, which now, with all the Farnese property, belongs to the King of Naples, and is consequently going to decay. It got into his hands by the marriage of a King of Naples with the last heiress of the house of Farnese. The Neapolitan property here consists of the Farnese and Farnesina Palaces, the Orti Farnesiani, and the Villa Madama, all in a wretched state; and the Orti, in which there are probably great remains, they will not allow to be excavated. Many of the fine things are gone to Naples, but a few remain, most of which came out of the Thermæ of Caracalla, and originally from the Villa of Adrian. These two, principally the one through the other, have been the great mines from which the existing treasures of art were drawn. The frescoes in this palace are beautiful—a gallery by Annibal and Agostino Caracci, with a few pictures by Domenichino, Guido, and Lanfranco. Annibal Caracci’s are as fine as any I have seen; also a little cabinet picture painted entirely by Annibal, which is exquisite.

As we were going to this palace we drove by the Cancellaria (which was likewise built out of the Coliseum), and heard by accident that a dead cardinal (Somaglia) was lying in state there. Somaglia was Secretary of State in Leo’s time. Having seen all the living cardinals, we thought we might as well complete our view of the Sacred College with the dead one, and went up. After a great deal of knocking we were admitted to a private view half an hour before the public was let in. He had been embalmed, and lay on a bed under a canopy on an inclined plane, full dressed in cardinal’s robes, new shoes on, his face and hands uncovered, the former looking very fresh (I believe he was rouged), his fingers black, but on one of them was an emerald ring, candles burning before the bed, and the window curtains drawn. He was 87 years old, but did not look so much, and had a healthier appearance in death than half the old walking mummies we had seen with palms in their hands in the morning.

Took a look at Pasquin, who had nothing but advertisements pasted upon him. I had seen Marphorius in the Capitol; there has long been an end to the witty dialogues of the days of Sixtus V., so quaintly told by Leti; they are so little ‘birds of a feather’ (for Pasquin is a mutilated fragment, Marphorius a colossal statue of the ocean) that, residing as they did at different parts of the town, it is difficult to understand how they ever came to converse with each other at all. I remember one of the best of his stories. Sixtus V. made his sister a princess, and she had been a washerwoman. The next day Pasquin appeared with a dirty shirt on. Marphorius asks him ‘why he wears such foul linen;’ and he answers ‘that his washerwoman has been made a princess, and he can’t get it washed.’

To the Farnesina: Raphael’s frescoes, the famous Galatea, and the great head which Michael Angelo painted on the wall, as it is said as a hint to Raphael that he was too minute. There it is just as he left it. Here Raphael painted the Transfiguration, and here the Fornarina was shut up with POMPEY’S STATUE him that he might not run away from his work. It might be thought that to shut up his mistress with him was not the way to keep him to his work. Be that as it may, the plan was a good one which produced these frescoes and the Transfiguration.

I very nearly forgot to mention the Palazzo Spada, where we went to see the famous statue of Pompey, which was found on the spot where the Senate House formerly stood, and which is (as certainly as these things can be certain) the identical statue at the foot of which Cæsar fell.

Muffling his face within his robe
Ev’n at the base of Pompey’s statue,
Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.

People doubt this statue, because it is not like his busts. There is certainly no resemblance to the bust I have seen, which represents Pompey as a fat, vulgar-looking man with a great double chin. It is impossible for the coldest imagination to look at this statue without interest, for it calls up a host of recollections and associations, standing before you unchanged from the hour when Cæsar folded his robe round him and ‘consented to death’ at its base. Those who cannot feel this had better not come to Rome. Cardinal Spada was Secretary of State when this statue was found, and Julius III. (Giocchi del Monti, 1550) made him a present of it.

The Temple of Bacchus is one of the most remarkable objects in Rome; it is not in the least altered, merely turned into a Christian church, and some saints, &c., painted on the walls. The mosaic ceiling and the pavement are just the same as when it was devoted to the worship of the jolly god. The mosaics are beautiful, and perfect models of that sort of ceiling. The pavement is covered with names and other scribblings cut out upon it, all ancient Roman. Not a column has been removed or mutilated. The fact is, Rome possesses several complete specimens of places of heathen worship; this temple, the Pantheon, and San Stefano Rotondo are perfect in the inside, the Pantheon within and without, Vesta and Fortuna Virilis perfect on the outside.

In the Rospigliosi Palace is the famous Aurora of Guido. It is in excellent preservation, and three artists were copying it in oils. One copy was just finished, and admirably done, for which the painter asked forty louis. I begin to like frescoes better than oils; there is such a life and brilliancy about them. At the Quirinal, which was fitted up for the King of Rome and inhabited by the Emperor of Austria, we saw everything but the Pope’s apartments. It is a delightful house, and commands a charming view of Rome. The Pope always goes there the last day of the Holy Week, and stays there all the summer. Nothing can be more melancholy than his life as described by the custode; he gets up very early, lives entirely alone and with the greatest simplicity. In short, it shows what a strange thing ambition is, which will sacrifice the substantial pleasures of life for the miserable shadow of grandeur. Coming home we stopped by accident at the Capuchins, and looked in to see Guido’s St. Michael, with which I was disappointed till I looked at it from a distance. We then went to their catacombs, the most curious place I ever saw. There are a series of chapels in the cloisters, or rather compartments of one chapel, entirely fitted up with human bones arranged symmetrically and with all sorts of devices. They are laid out in niches, and each niche is occupied by the skeleton of a friar in the robes of his order; a label is attached to it with the name of the skeleton and the date of his death. Beneath are mounds of earth, each tenanted by a dead friar with similar labels. When a friar dies, the oldest buried friar, or rather his skeleton, is taken up and promoted to a niche, and the newly defunct takes possession of his grave; and so they go on in succession. I was so struck by this strange sight that, when I came home at night, I ventured on the following description of it:—

THE CATACOMBS IN THE CAPUCHIN CONVENT.

In yonder chapel’s melancholy shade,
Through which no wandering rays of daylight peep,
In strange and awful cemetery laid,
The ancient Fathers of the convent sleep.

No storied marble with monastic pride
Records the actions of their tranquil life,
Or tells how, fighting for their faith, they died
Unconquer’d martyrs of religious strife.

They are not laid in decent shroud and pall,
To wait, commingling with their kindred earth,
Th’ Archangel’s trumpet, whose dread blast shall call
The whole creation to a second birth.

But midst the mouldering relics of the dead
In shapes fantastic, which the brethren rear,
Profaned by heretic’s unhallowed tread,
The monkish skeletons erect appear.

The cowl is drawn each ghastly skull around,
Each fleshless form’s arrayed in sable vest,
About their hollow loins the cord is bound,
Like living Fathers of the Order drest.

And as the monk around this scene of gloom
The flick’ring lustre of his taper throws,
He says, ‘Such, stranger, is my destined tomb;
Here, and with these, shall be my last repose.’

At night I went with a party of English to see the Coliseum, but the moon was as English as the party, and gave a faint and feeble light. Still, with this dim moon it was inconceivably grand. The exquisite symmetry of the building appears better, and its vast dimensions are more developed by night. I long to see it with an Italian sky and full moon; but not with a parcel of chattering girls, who only ‘flout the ruins grey.’

April 9th, 1830

On Wednesday called on Bunsen, the Prussian Minister, who lives at the top of the Tarpeian Rock, in a house commanding one of the best views of Rome. He has devoted himself to the study of Roman history and antiquities, and has the whole subject at his fingers’ ends. He is really luminous, and his conversation equally amusing and instructive. He is about to publish a book about ancient and modern Rome, which, from what I hear, will be too minute and prolix. I then went to look at the Tarpeian Rock, but the accumulation of earth has diminished its height—there is the Rock, but in a very obscure hole. It was probably twice as high as it is now. I think it is now about forty feet. Bunsen says that though the antiquaries pretend to point out the course of the ancient triumphal way, he does not think it can ever be ascertained. The only remains (only bits of foundations) of the temple of the Capitoline Jupiter, to which the conquerors ascended, are in the garden under his windows. He thinks the population of ancient Rome may be taken at two millions at its most flourishing period. It is curious that there are hardly any houses on the hills on which ancient Rome was built, and that there were none formerly where modern Rome stands—no private houses, only public buildings and temples.

To the Mamertine Prisons, probably not a stone of which has been changed from the time that Jugurtha was starved in them. The tradition about St. Peter and the well of course is not to be believed; but it is very odd there should be a well there when there are so few in Rome. To the Sistine Chapel with M. de la Ferronays, and very much disappointed with the music, which was not so good as on Sunday; nor was the ceremony accompanying the Miserere at all imposing. Yesterday morning to the Sistine again; prodigious crowd, music moderate. As soon as it was over we set off to see the benediction; and, after fighting, jostling, and squeezing through an enormous crowd, we reached the loggia over one side of the colonnade. The Piazza of St. Peter’s is so magnificent that the sight was of necessity fine, but not near so much so as I had fancied. The people below were not numerous or full of reverence. Till the Pope appears the bands play and the bells ring, when suddenly there is a profound silence; the feathers are seen waving in the balcony, and he is borne in on his throne; he rises, stretches out his hands, blesses the people—urbi et orbi—and is borne out again. A couple of indulgences were tossed out, for which there is a scramble, and so it ends. Off we scampered, and, by dint of tremendous exertions, THE HOLY WEEK AT ROME reached the hall in which the feet of the pilgrims are washed. The Pope could not attend, so the Cardinal Deacon officiated. No ceremony can be less imposing, but none more clean. Thirteen men are ranged on a bench—the thirteenth represents the angel who once joined the party—dressed in new white caps, gowns, and shoes; each holds out his foot in succession; an attendant pours a few drops of water on it from a golden jug which another receives in a golden basin; the cardinal wipes it with a towel, kisses the foot, and then gives the towel, a nosegay, and a piece of money to the pilgrim—the whole thing takes up about five minutes—certain prayers are said, and it is over. Then off we scampered again through the long galleries of the Vatican to another hall where the pilgrims dine. The arrangements for the accommodation of the Ambassadors and strangers were so bad that all these passages were successive scenes of uproar, scrambling, screaming, confusion, and danger, and, considering that the ceremonies were all religious, really disgraceful. We got with infinite difficulty to another box, raised aloft in the hall, and saw a long table at which the thirteen pilgrims seated themselves; a cardinal in the corner read some prayers, which nobody listened to, and another handed the dishes to the pilgrims, who looked neither to the right nor the left, but applied themselves with becoming gravity to the enjoyment of a very substantial dinner. The whole hall was filled with people, all with their hats on, chattering and jostling, and more like a ring of blacklegs and blackguards at Tattersall’s than respectable company at a religious ceremony in the palace of the Pope. There remained the cardinals’ dinner, but I had had more than enough, and came away hot, jaded, and disgusted with the whole affair.

In the evening I went to St. Peter’s, when I was amply recompensed for the disappointment and bore of the morning. The church was crowded; there was a Miserere in the chapel, which was divine, far more beautiful than anything I have heard in the Sistine, and it was the more effective because at the close it really was night. The lamps were extinguished at the shrine of the Apostle, but one altar—the altar of the Holy Sepulchre—was brilliantly illuminated. Presently the Grand Penitentiary, Cardinal Gregorio, with his train entered, went and paid his devotions at this shrine, and then seated himself on the chair of the Great Confessional, took a golden wand, and touched all those who knelt before him. Then came a procession of pilgrims bearing muffled crosses; penitents with faces covered, in white, with tapers and crosses; and one long procession of men headed by these muffled figures, and another of women accompanied by ladies, a lady walking between every two pilgrims. The cross in the procession of women was carried by the Princess Orsini, one of the greatest ladies in Rome. They attended them to the church (the Trinità delle Pellegrine) and washed their feet and fed them. A real washing of dirty feet. Both the men and the women seemed of the lowest class, but their appearance and dresses were very picturesque. These processions entered St. Peter’s, walked all round the church, knelt at the altars, and retired in the same order, filing along the piazza till they were lost behind the arches of the colonnades. As the shades of night fell upon the vast expanse of this wonderful building it became really sublime; ‘the dim religious light’ glimmering from a distant altar, or cast by the passing torches of the procession, the voices of the choir as they sang the Miserere swelling from the chapel, which was veiled in dusk, and with no light but that of the high taper half hid behind the altar, with the crowds of figures assembled round the chapel moving about in the obscurity of the aisles and columns, produced the most striking effect I ever beheld. It was curious, interesting, and inspiring—little of mummery and much of solemnity. The night here brings out fresh beauties, but of the most majestic character. There is a colour in an Italian twilight that I have never seen in England, so soft, and beautiful, and grey, and the moon rises ‘not as in northern climes obscurely bright,’ but with far-spreading rays around her. The figures, costume, and attitudes that you see in the THE GRAND PENITENTIARY churches are wonderfully picturesque. I went afterwards to the Jesù, where there was a tiresome service (the Tre Ore), and heard a Jesuit preaching with much passion and emphasis, but could not understand a word he said. So then I called on Cheney and saw his mother’s illustrations of Milton, which are admirable, full of genius.

At night.—To St. Peter’s, where the Miserere was not so good as last night. It was reported that the Pope was coming to St. Peter’s, and the Swiss Guards lined the nave, but he did not arrive. Formerly, when the Cross was illuminated, he used to come with all the cardinals to adore it. Now the cardinals (or rather some of them) came and adored the Cross and the relics belonging to the church, which were exhibited in succession from one of the balconies—a bit of the true Cross, Santa Veronica’s bloody handkerchief, and others. There were, as the night before, several fraternities of penitents, some in black, others in white or brown, all disguised by long hoods, but there was to-night one of the most striking and remarkable exhibitions I ever beheld.

The Grand Penitentiary, Cardinal Gregorio, again took his seat in the chair of the Great Confessional. All those who have been absolved after confession by their priest, and who present themselves before him, are touched with his golden wand, in token of confirmation of the absolution, and here again that quality which I have so often remarked as one of the peculiar characteristics of the Catholic religion is very striking. Men and women, beggars and princesses, present themselves indiscriminately; they all kneel in a row, and he touches them in succession. In the churches there seem to be no distinctions of rank; no one, however great or rich, is contaminated by the approximation of poverty and rags. But to return to the Confessional. There are some crimes of such enormity that absolution for them can only be granted by the Pope himself, who delegates his power to the Grand Penitentiary, and he receives such confessions in the chair in which he was seated to-day. They are, however, very rare; but this evening, after he had finished touching the people, a man, dressed like a peasant in a loose brown frock, worsted stockings, and brogues, apparently of the lowest order, dark, ill-looking, and squalid, approached the Confessional to reveal some great crime. The confession was very long, so was the admonition of the Cardinal which followed it. The appearance of the Cardinal is particularly dignified and noble, and, as he bent down his head, joining it to that of this ruffian-like figure, listening with extreme patience and attention, and occasionally speaking to him with excessive earnestness, while the whole surrounding multitude stood silently gazing at the scene, all conscious that some great criminal was before them, but none knowing the nature of the crime, it was impossible not to be deeply interested and impressed with such a spectacle. Nothing could exceed the patience of the Cardinal and the intensity with which he seemed absorbed in the tale of the penitent. When it was over he wiped his face, as if he had been agitated by what he heard. It was impossible not to feel that be the balance for or against confession (which is a difficult question to decide, though I am inclined to think the balance is against) it is productive of some good effects, and, though susceptible of enormous abuses, is a powerful instrument of good when properly used. I have no doubt it is largely abused, but it is the most powerful weapon of the Romish Church, the one, I believe, by which it principally lives, moves, and has its being. That penitence must be real, and of a nature to be worked upon, which can induce a man to come forward in the face of multitudes and exhibit himself as the perpetrator of some atrocious though unknown crime.

At night I went to the Trinità dei Pellegrini to see the pilgrims at supper. The washing of the feet was over; a cardinal performs it with the men, and ladies with the women, but it is no mere ceremony as at the Vatican; they really do wash and scrub the dirty feet perhaps of about a dozen of them each night. I saw the room in which they were just clearing away the apparatus and collecting piles of dirty towels. The pilgrims sit on benches; under their feet PILGRIMS AT SUPPER are a number of small wooden tubs, with cocks to turn the water into them, and there they are washed. Afterwards they go to supper, and then to bed. The men sup in a very long hall—most curious figures, and natives of half the world. The Cardinal Camerlengo[17] says grace and cuts the meat. They are waited upon by gentlemen and priests, and have a very substantial meal. The women are treated in the same way.[18] No men are admitted to their hall, but we contrived to get to the door and saw it all. The Princess Orsini and a number of Roman ladies were there (who had been washing feet) with aprons on, waiting upon them at supper. Their dormitories were spacious, clean, and sweet, though the beds were crowded together. The pilgrims are kept there from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, when they are dismissed. Their numbers are generally about 250 or 300. The funds of the establishment are supplied by private subscriptions, legacies, and donations, the names of the benefactors, with the amount of their contributions, being recorded on boards hung up in the hall. There were a great many spectators, but the whole ceremony was ordered with regularity and decency, which is more than can be said for those of the Vatican. I walked to-night to St. Peter’s, to look at it by moonlight. From every point of view it is magnificent; the stillness of the night is broken only by the waters of the fountains, which glitter in the moonbeams like sheets of molten silver. The obelisk, the façade, the cupola, and the columns all contribute to the grandeur and harmony of the scene: but everything at Rome should be seen at night. The Castle of St. Angelo, the Tiber, and the Bridge are all wonderfully fine in these bright nights.

[17] Minister of the Interior and Chamberlain; but Gonsalvi deprived the Camerlengo of his Ministerial functions, and joined them to the Secretaryship of State, and so it has since remained.

[18] I met Lady ——, a very tiresome woman, a day or two after, who had been to see this ceremony, and was most devoutly edified by the humility and charity of the ladies. She told me a very old woman put out her foot to her, thinking she was one of them, and begged her to be very careful, as she had got some sores produced by the itch; but as it formed no part of her Protestant duty, she turned her over to the Princess Orsini, who handled this horrid old leg with great tenderness; and afterwards, when the same Princess was handed into the other apartment to see the male pilgrims at supper, by an attendant in the livery which they all wore, this attendant turned out to be Prince Corsini. It sounds very fine, but after all I don’t think there is much in it. It is ostentatious charity and humility, and though rather disgusting and disagreeable, it is the fashion, and those who do it are set up in a capital stock of piety and virtue. It may be both cause and effect of great moral excellence, but I think it questionable.

April 10th, 1830

In the morning to St. John Lateran, where, as my laquais de place said, ‘converted Jews, or Turks, or Lutherans’ were baptised; got too late for the baptism, which I believe is a farce regularly got up, but heard the High Mass. The churches were crowded all this week with pilgrims, whose appearance is always very picturesque. Went into the cloisters, and was shown by the monk or priest (whichever he was) some very remarkable articles that they possess—a bit of the column on which the cock stood when he crowed after Peter’s three denials; a slab showing the exact height of Jesus Christ, as he could just stand under it,[19] and two halves which had once been a whole column, but which was broken when the veil of the Temple was rent on the death of Christ. The column is adorned with sculpture, which they say is Jewish, and was brought to Rome with the Holy Stairs. Then to Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, where they were performing High Mass, with many assistants and a full choir, but without a congregation; there were not six people in the church. To Minerva Medica, a questionable and uninteresting ruin, and besides falling to pieces. To the Barberini Palace, where there is little besides the Cenci, which is worth going any distance to see. To the Doria, a magnificent palace, with an immense number of pictures, and some very fine ones, which I was hurried through. To the Pyramid of Caius Cestius, which is in the middle of the wall of Aurelian, and forms the back of a very pretty Protestant burial ground, the greatest number of those who have been buried there being of course English. It is on the side of a hill with high, turreted walls behind it. There are two rows of white marble tombs, whose diminutive proportions form a contrast with the enormous sepulchre of PROTESTANT BURIAL GROUND the Roman. Round some of the tombstones rose-trees and other shrubs have been planted, and all but one adorned with epitaphs and inscriptions in Latin, English, German, and Italian. That one is the tomb of the pretty Miss Bathurst who was drowned in the Tiber. Her mother was to have returned to Rome and supply the epitaph, but she has never come, and it has not even her name inscribed upon it. I copied the following, which are apparently intended for Latin verses, from one of the tombs—of Frederica Ursulina Arabella de Montmorency, by her father, Colonel Raymond Henry de Montmorency, whose feelings set quantity at defiance:—

Frederica quæ Claris fueram prælata puellis
Illa ego hoc brevi condita sum tumulo;
Cui formam pulcherrimam, charites tribuere decoram
Quam Deus cunctis artibus erudiit.

[19] He must have been just six feet high.

Clambered up Monte Testaccio, from which the view is beautiful, and then went on to the ruins of San Paolo fuori le Mure. The church, which was the finest in Rome except St. Peter’s, was entirely destroyed by fire; but although it is near three miles from the gates, and not the least wanted, and that there are hundreds of churches, half of which seldom or never have congregations to fill them, they are already rebuilding this at an enormous cost, and the priest told me, to my great disgust, that they had got all the materials ready, and in ten years they expected the work to be finished. There are plenty of fools found to contribute to the expense, the greatest part of which, however, is supplied by the Government. It is to be built just as it was before, but they cannot replace the enormous marble columns which were its principal ornament. To a church to hear the Armenian Mass. The priests arrived in splendid oriental dresses, but I did not stay it out. Walked to the Borghese Gardens, the fine weather being something of which no description can convey an idea, and in it the beauty of Rome and its gardens and environs are equally indescribable. Groups of pilgrims in their odd dresses, with staves, and great bundles on their heads, were lounging about, or lying under the trees. At night to the Coliseum (but the moon never will shine properly), and back by the Forum and the Capitol. The columns in the Forum look beautiful, but St. Peter’s gains at least as much as the ancient ruins by the light of the moon. The views from different hills, and sunset from the Pincian in such weather as this, and with spring bursting in every direction, are things never to be forgotten.

Sunday.

High Mass in St. Peter’s, which was crowded. I walked about the church to see the groups and the extraordinary and picturesque figures moving through the vast space. They are to the last degree interesting: in one place hundreds prostrate before an altar—pilgrims, soldiers, beggars, ladies, gentlemen, old and young in every variety of attitude, costume, and occupation. The benediction was much finer than on Thursday, the day magnificent, the whole piazza filled with a countless multitude, all in their holiday dresses, and carriages in the back-ground to the very end. The troops forming a brilliant square in the middle, the immense population and variety of costume, the weather, and the glorious locality certainly made as fine a spectacle as can possibly be seen. The Pope is dressed in white, with the triple crown on his head; two great fans of feathers, exactly like those of the Great Mogul, are carried on each side of him. He sits aloft on his throne, and is slowly borne to the front of the balcony. The moment he appears there is a dead silence, and every head is bared. When he rises, the soldiers all fall on their knees, and some, but only a few, of the spectators. The distance is so great that he looks like a puppet, and you just see him move his hands and make some signs. When he gives the blessing—the sign of the cross—the cannon fires. He blesses the people twice, remains perhaps five minutes in the balcony, and is carried out as he came in.

The numbers who come to the benediction are taken as a test of the popularity of the Pope, though I suppose the weather has a good deal to do with it. Leo XII. was very unpopular from his austerity, and particularly his shutting ILLUMINATION OF ST. PETER’S up the wine shops. The first time he gave the benediction after that measure hardly anybody came to be blessed.

At night.—The illumination of St. Peter’s is as fine as I was told it was, and that is saying everything. I saw it from the Pincian, from the windows of the French Academy and Horace Vernet’s room. He is established in the Villa Medici; a very lively little fellow, and making a great deal of money as director of the Academy and by his paintings. His daughter is very pretty. Here I met Savary, the Duc de Rovigo, a tall, stout, vulgar-looking man. We were introduced and conversed on French politics. Afterwards drove down to the piazza and round it. The illumination is more effective at a distance, but I think it looks best from the entrance to the piazza and the Bridge of St. Angelo; the blaze of light, the crowd, and the fountains, covered with a red glare, made altogether the most splendid sight in the world. (One poor devil was killed, and there is almost always some accident.) Eight hundred men are employed in illuminating St. Peter’s; the first pale and subdued light, which covers the whole church, is brought out by the darkness of night, the little lamps being lit in the day-time. The blazing lights which succeed are made by large pots of grease with wicks in them; there is one man to every two lamps. On a given signal, each man touches his two lamps as quick as possible, so that the whole building bursts into light at once by a process the effect of which is quite magical—literally, as the Rejected Addresses say, ’starts into light, and makes the lighter start.’

April 12th, 1830

At night at Torlonia’s to see the girandola, which is as fine as fireworks can be, but nothing will do after the illumination of St. Peter’s. All the world was there at an assembly after the ceremony, at which I was introduced to Don Michele Gaetani, said to be the cleverest man in Rome, and I had a long conversation with Monsignore Spada, who is a young layman with ecclesiastical rank and costume, and a judge. A Monsignore holds ecclesiastical rank at Rome, as a Lady of the Bedchamber at St. Petersburg holds military rank, where she is a major-general; there is no other. He is free to marry, and I presume to do anything else, but he must preserve a certain orthodox gravity of dress and conduct; he is a curious nondescript, about an equal mixture of the cardinal and the dandy. This Monsignore is a very clever, agreeable man, and gave me some information about the administration of law in this country. There seems to be a good deal of laxity in it, for a man was condemned for stabbing another (with premeditation) a little while ago to six months’ imprisonment, or more perhaps; and having been George Hamilton’s laquais de place, his family came to him and begged him to try and get him off. He applied to Spada, and got the punishment commuted to some trifling imprisonment, and when he got out he came, with all his family, to kiss Hamilton’s hand.

April 13th, 1830

Breakfasted with Bunsen at the Capitol; Lovaine, Morier, Haddington, Hamilton, Kestner, Falck, G. Fitzclarence, Sir W. Gell, a little Italian servant, and Mr. Hall, Bunsen’s brother-in-law. Haddington told the story of Canning’s sending to Bagot a despatch in cipher, containing these lines:—

In matters of commerce the fault of the Dutch
Is giving too little and asking too much;
With equal protection the French are content:
So we’ll lay on Dutch bottoms just twenty per cent.
Chorus of Officers.—We’ll lay, &c.
Chorus of Douaniers.—Nous frapperons Falck avec Twenty per cent.

He received the despatch at dinner, and sent it to be deciphered. After some hours they brought him word they did not know what to make of it, for it seemed to be in verse, when he at once saw there was a joke.

Went to see the excavations in the Via Triumphalis and the Temple of Concord, and heard Bunsen’s theory of the Forum. Bunsen gives different names to the remains of the temples in the Forum from those which have been usually given, and by which they are known, and on very plausible grounds, drawn chiefly from accounts in different Roman authors and peculiarities in the buildings themselves. The BUNSEN ON THE FORUM Temple of Fortune he thinks was the Basilica of Augustus, and the Temple of Jupiter Tonans the Temple of Saturn; but all his reasons I need not put down if I could remember them, for are they not written in the voluminous work he is going to publish in four or six volumes octavo?

Bunsen’s history is rather curious. He was a poor German student destined for the Church; came to Rome, and got employed by Niebuhr, from whom he first got a taste for antiquities. The King of Prussia came to Rome and saw him; he was struck with his knowledge and the character he heard of him, and consulted him about a new Liturgy he wished to introduce into Prussia. Bunsen gave him so much satisfaction in that matter, as well as in some others which were entrusted to him, that on Niebuhr’s return to Prussia he was appointed to succeed him, and has been at Rome ever since—thirteen years. Some say he is not a profound man, and that his speculations about the ruins are all wrong. He talks English, French, and Italian like his own language.

The part of the triumphal road was discovered by accident in digging for a drain; and an attempt is being made to procure the permission of the Government to excavate all that can be found of it, and ascertain its exact course. It was in the Temple of Concord that Cicero assembled the Senate and pronounced one of his orations against Catiline. The building must have been large and magnificent, from the remains now visible, which are of the finest marble. The pavement is in a state of considerable preservation. Then we went to the old Tabularium, standing on the Intermontium, an undoubted work of the Republic. This was the place where the records of the Senate were kept. It is very perfect. Nibby, the great authority here, differs, however, about this place; the antiquaries are at daggers drawn upon the subject of the ruins, remains, and discoveries. They have all different systems, which they support with great vehemence and obstinacy, and perhaps ingenuity, but the ignorant and curious traveller is only perplexed with their noisy and discordant assertions. They will insist upon knowing everything, whereas there are many things here which are so doubtful, that they can only conjecture about them; but when once they have published a theory they will not hear of its being erroneous, and oppose any fresh discovery likely to throw discredit upon it. After his lecture in the Forum we went to San Nicolo in Cercera, an old church built on three old temples, or two and a prison, but not much to see. The prison of San Nicolo in Cercera is said to be the scene of the story of the Roman daughter, which it probably is not. Over the Bridge of Fabricius to the Basilica of Saint Bartholomew and Temple of Esculapius; small remains, but curious; and very pretty view of the Tiber and Temple of Vesta. To the Villa Lanti, a delicious villa belonging to Prince Borghese, who never goes there, and will neither let nor lend it. One of the finest views of Rome is from the terrace, and Julio Romano’s frescoes adorn the ceilings. When Raphael was painting the Vatican, he and Julio Romano used to retire every night to the Villa Lanti, and the ceilings are covered with frescoes painted by both of them. Just below is a terrace, and on it a beautiful tree called Tasso’s Oak, because under it he used to sit and compose when he lived in the Convent of San Onofrio, which is close by, and where he died. This convent is remarkably clean, airy, and spacious. In the library is a bust of Tasso, a mask taken from his face just after he died; in the chapel his tomb.

And Tasso is their glory—
Hark to his strain and then survey his cell.
Byron.

In the cloister are some frescoes of the universal Domenichino. I like the Convent of San Onofrio. To Santa Maria in Trastevere, a very fine church; splendid ceiling with a Domenichino in the middle. Immense granite columns of various orders taken from God knows what temples, and mosaic floor rich to a degree. Large pieces of porphyry and verd antique eternally trodden by the Trasteverine mob, and never even cleaned. It is a basilica, and at the end is an SIGHTS OF ROME ancient stone chair, which, was evidently the old justice-seat, though they of the Church do not know it.

April 14th, 1830

Set off early to make up an arrear of churches. First to Santa Maria sopra Minerva, and lit upon the funeral of a cardinal (Bertazzoli), which I was obliged to see instead of Michael Angelo’s Christ. All the cardinals attended; the church hung with black and gold; guards, tapers, mob, &c. Then to the SS. Apostoli, Araceli (built where the Citadel stood, and is a corruption of Arx, but with a legend); a curious church enough, with some fine frescoes of Pintoriccio, and the Chapel of the Virgin with hundreds of ex voto’s hang round it, almost all wretched daubs of pictures, and principally representing accidents in gigs, carriages, or carts, broken heads or limbs. To Santa Anastasia, Santa Maria in Cosmedin, Santa Sabina. Santa Maria in Cosmedin, or the Bocca della Verità, built in and on the ruins of an old temple (di Pudicizia), is one of the best worth seeing in Rome; the columns, if freed from the modern church, would present as perfect a front as the temples in the Forum. To Monte Aventino to see the view of Rome and the Chapel of the Order of Malta, where Cardinal Zurla as Grand Prior has a most agreeable residence. The garden contains immense orange-trees and a very large palm. To San Gregorio to see the famous rival frescoes of Guido and Domenichino, which are much impaired. I began by liking Guido’s and ended by liking the other best. The view of the Palatine from this convent is magnificent. To San Gregorio and San Paolo, and saw the ruins, which must have belonged to the Coliseum, for the architecture is exactly similar, and they have every appearance of having been the Vivarium from their shape. To the Corsini Palace, containing one of the best collections of pictures, of which the finest are two portraits of cardinals by Raphael and Domenichino. The palace is very fine, and the villa joins it on the opposite hill of the Janiculum, but both are affected by the malaria. Then to the Vatican and saw all the frescoes and pictures; the collection of pictures is very small, but they are all masterpieces. To the gallery below to see the mosaics and the process of copying the great pictures. The coloured bits are numbered, and though there are not above six or seven colours, the sub-divisions of various shades amount to 18,000. This art is in a great degree mechanical, but requires ingenuity, attention, and some knowledge of painting. On the large pictures, such as those which are in St. Peter’s, several men are employed at the same time, but on the lesser only one. It is very tedious, requiring years to copy one of the largest size. All the pictures in St. Peter’s are in mosaic, except one, and they are at work on one which is to replace this single oil-piece. The studio appeared in good order, but there were only two men at work, as the Government spends very little money upon it at present. From one of the open galleries we (Morier and I) saw a thunderstorm, with gusts of wind, flashes of lightning, and rain. It was amazingly grand from that place as it swept over the city and made us ‘sharers in its fierce delight.’ Then to the Borghese Gardens, and back to one of those sunsets from the Pincian which will long be remembered among the smoke and fogs in which I am destined to live.

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CHAPTER IX.

Lake of Albano — Velletri — Naples — Rapid Travelling in 1830 — A Trial at Naples — Deciphering Manuscripts — Ball at the Duchesse d’Eboli’s — Matteis’s Plot and Trial — Pompeii — Taking the Veil — Pausilippo — Baiæ — La Cava — Salerno — Pæstum — Lazaroni — Museum of Naples — Grotto del Cane — The Camaldoli — Herculaneum — Vesuvius — Sorrento — Miracle of St. Januarius — Astroni — Farewell to Naples.

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Velletri, April 15th, 1830

Left Rome at nine o’clock this morning; at Albano procured an ancient rural cicerone, a boy, and two donkeys, and set out on the grand giro of the place. The road over the Campagna is agreeable, because the prospect roundabout is so fine, and the aqueducts stretching over the plain so grand. After climbing up to the Capuchin Convent, close to which are the remains of what is called Domitian’s Theatre, we came to the lake, which is beautiful, but does not look large, and still less as if it had ever threatened Rome with destruction. There is a road called the Upper Gallery, shaded by magnificent ilexes, which leads to the Villa Barberini, a delicious garden, once Clodius’s and afterwards part of Domitian’s Villa, containing many remains of former magnificence. This villa was probably the scene of the council described by Juvenal (Fourth Satire).

Misso proceres exire jubentur
Concilio, quos Albanam Dux magnus in arcem
Traxerat attonitos.

I could not make out that any excavations have ever been made here, though they would be certain of finding marbles. The road passes along the hill which overhangs the margin of the lake to Castel Gandolfo, and thence a path leads to the bottom, where are the Emissarium, the Nyphæum (called the Baths of Diana), and a beautiful view of the lake, Monte Albano, and its towns. There is nothing more curious than the Emissarium, built with a solidity which has defied the effect of time, for it has never required reparations, and performs its office still as it did more than 2,000 years ago (393 years before the Christian era). Nothing is so incomprehensible as the magnitude and grandeur of the works of the Republic before it had acquired power, territory, or population. The Romans built as if they had an instinctive prescience of future greatness, and not even the pressure of immediate danger could induce them to sacrifice solidity to haste. After wondering at their enterprise and industry we may go and admire their subsequent luxury in the Baths of Diana, as the place is called, but which is evidently a natural cave improved into a delicious retreat by some inhabitant of one of the villas above. We mounted the hill and went by another road (called the Lower Gallery, shaded by the finest ilexes, elms, and oaks, which ‘high over-arch’d embower,’ and where there is one ilex which twelve men can hardly embrace) to the Doria Villa, once Pompey’s and likewise Domitian’s, who included both Clodius’s and Pompey’s in his own. There are no remains here, but some arabesques in a sort of grotto, which I suspect are modern. All their villas command views of the Campagna, the sea, Rome, and the mountains. It is no wonder Hannibal was deeply mortified when he looked down on Rome from these hills (the hills at least close by called the Prati d’Annibale) at having twice just missed taking it. Poetry and history contribute alike to the interest of this beautiful scenery. We met an Englishman, a single bird who had lost his covey, and had procured a guide who could not understand what he said. He wanted to go to Albano, and the man was taking him to the Emissarium. We put him right, but his fury in mixed Italian, French, and English was exceedingly comical. It was unlucky that we met him at the top instead of the bottom of the hill.

The road to Aricia, where Horace got such a bad dinner— ALBANO—NAPLES

Egressum magnâ me excepit Aricia Româ
Hospitio modico—

is beautiful, and close to Gensano we went to look at the Lake of Nemi, which is very pretty, but not so grand as Albano. The peasantry are a fine race in these parts, and we met many men driving carts or riding asses who would not disgrace the most romantic group of banditti. The people were all working in the open air, and seemed very gay. There were few beggars, and not much rags and wretchedness.

Started from Velletri at six in the morning; went very quick over the Pontine Marshes (which form an avenue of about twenty miles, quite straight, shaded with trees, and with vegetation of remarkable luxuriance on each side) to Terracina (Anxur), where we breakfasted in a room looking upon the sea. The place is extremely pretty. Thence to Mola di Gaeta, which is very beautiful, but where we did not stop; and, after a very tiresome journey, got to Naples at two o’clock in the morning. Vesuvius was so obliging as to emit some flames as we passed by, just to show us his whereabouts. They were, however, his first and his last while I was at Naples.

Naples, April 18th, 1830

I am disappointed with Naples. I looked for more life and gaiety, a more delicious air, beautiful town, and picturesque lazaroni, more of Punch, more smoke and flame from Vesuvius. It strikes me as less beautiful than Genoa, but these are only first impressions. The Bay and the Villa Reale, a garden along the sea, full of sweets and sea breezes and shade, are certainly delightful. All the people seem anxious to cheat as much as they can, from the master of the inn to the driver of the hackney-coach. At present I don’t feel disposed to stay here, and when I have seen Pæstum, Pompeii, and the environs I shall be glad to get back to Rome. Sir Henry Lushington said at dinner yesterday he had seen at Naples a ‘Courier’ newspaper of that day week, produced by Rothschild and brought by one of his couriers. I came very fast, but was 236 hours on the road, including 20 hours’ stoppage. This is 168 hours, which appears incredible, but ‘gold imp’d by Jews can compass hardest things.’

April 19th, 1830

I retract all I said about disappointment, for I have since seen Naples, and it is the most beautiful and the gayest town in the world. Yesterday morning with Morier I walked up to the Castle of St. Elmo and the Certosa; went over the chapel, which is full of costly marbles, and fine pictures both in oil and fresco, particularly one by Spagnolet as fine as any at Rome or anywhere. Tasted the custode’s lachryma Christi, which, if it be as good of the sort as he pretends, is middling stuff, but not bad with water. Saw all the views, which are magnificent. Walked down to the Villa Reale, which was crowded with people, and the Chiaja with carriages. Dined with Hill—half English and half foreigners—and went to the Opera; a very indifferent opera of Rossini, ill sung, called the ‘Siege of Corinth.’

This morning at half-past eight we went to the Court of Justice to hear an extraordinary trial which excites great interest here. The proceedings of the day happened to be very uninteresting, not that it made much difference, for I could not understand a word anybody said, but I had an opportunity of seeing the manner in which they conduct trials in this country, and the behaviour of the judges, the counsel, and the prisoners. Nothing can be less analogous than the proceedings here to those which prevail in our courts; and although it is possible that ours might be better, it is not possible that theirs could be worse.

I soon left the Court, and walked up the Strada di Toledo—the finest and liveliest street in the world, I believe—crowded with people. An Italian proverb says, ‘Quando Dio onnipotente è tristo, prende una finestra nella Toledo.’ Then to the Museum, of which everything was shut but the library and the papyri. The former contains 180,000 volumes, but is deficient in modern (particularly foreign) books. They showed us the process of deciphering the papyri, which is very ingenious. The manuscript (which is like a piece of charcoal) is suspended by light strings in a sort of frame; gum and goldbeater’s skin are applied to it as it is unrolled, MARQUIS DI GALLO’S VILLA and, by extreme delicacy of touch, they contrive to unravel without destroying a great deal of it, but probably they have been discouraged by the small reward which has attended their exertions; for there are several black-looking rolls which have never yet been touched, and very few men at work. The gentlemen who explained to us the process said that Sir Humphrey Davy had attended them constantly, and had taken great pains to contrive some better chemical process for the purpose, but without success.

April 20th, 1830

A delightful drive (made by Murat) to the Marquis di Gallo’s villa on the Capo di Monte, which far surpasses all the villas I saw at Rome. The entrance is about half a mile from the house, through a wood, one part of which is a vineyard; the vines hanging in festoons from cherry trees, and corn growing underneath. The house is not large, but convenient; a wide terrace runs along the whole front of it with a white marble balustrade; below this is a second terrace covered with rose-trees; below that a third, planted with vines, and oranges, and myrtles. From the upper terrace the view is beautiful. Naples lies beneath, and the Bay stretches beyond with the opposite mountains, and all the towns and villages from Portici to Sorrento. On the right the Castle of St. Elmo and the Certosa, and Vesuvius on the left. There is a large wood on one side, cut into shady walks and laid out with grottoes, and on the other a vineyard, through which there is also a walk under a treillage of vines for nearly half a mile. The ground extremely diversified, and presenting in every part of it views of the surrounding country—

Umbrageous grots and caves
Of cool recess, o’er which the mantling vine
Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps
Luxuriant.

It is always let, and, till he went away, was occupied by Stackelberg, the Russian Ambassador.

In the evening went to a ball at the Duchesse d’Eboli’s; very few people, and hardly any English, and those not the best—only four, I think: Sir Henry Lushington, the Consul; a Mr. Grieve, of whom I know nothing but that his father was a physician at St. Petersburg, and that he killed his brother at Eton by putting a cracker into his pocket on the 5th of November, which set fire to other crackers and burnt him to death; Mr. Auldjo, the man who made a very perilous ascent of Mont Blanc, of which he published a narrative; Mr. Arbuthnot, who levanted from Doncaster two years ago—but most of the Italian women were there, and I was surprised at their beauty. Acton, who introduced me to some of them, assured me that they were models of conduct, which did not precisely tally with my preconceived notions of Neapolitan society. They danced, but with no music but a pianoforte. This is one of the few houses here which is habitually open, for they have not the means of doing much in the way of society and gaiety; they are poor, and the Government (the worst in the world) interferes. The Duchesse d’Eboli is poor, but she was a beauty, and has had adventures of various sorts.

April 21st, 1830

Dined with Keppel Craven yesterday; Acton, Morier, Duchesse d’Eboli, and some other people.

The day was so disagreeable yesterday I could not go out—not cold, but a hurricane and clouds of dust. The principal topic of conversation at dinner was the trial, which goes on every day, has already lasted a month, and is likely to last two or three more. The Code Napoléon is in force here, so that there may probably be something like a certain and equal administration of justice between man and man; but this is a Government prosecution, and therefore exempted from ordinary rules. The history of this trial exemplifies the state of both the law and the Government of this country. The accused are five in number; the principal of them, Matteis, was an intendente, or governor, of a province; 2nd, the advocate-general of the province; 3rd, Matteis’s secretary; and 4th and 5th, two spies. These men united in a conspiracy to destroy various persons who were obnoxious to them in the province, some of them actuated by political motives, and others in order to get possession of the property of their victims. The bugbear of the Court is Carbonarism, and Matteis pretended that there was a Carbonari plot on MATTEIS’S TRIAL foot, in which several persons were implicated. He employed the spies to seduce the victims into some imprudence of language or conduct, and then to inform against them; in this way he apprehended various individuals, some of whom were tortured, some imprisoned or sent to the galleys, and some put to death. These transactions took place eight or nine years ago, and such was the despotism of this man and the terror he inspired, that no resistance was made to his proceedings, or any appeal against them ever sent to Naples. At last one of his own secretaries made some disclosures to Government, and the case appeared so atrocious that it was thought necessary to institute an immediate enquiry. The intendente was ordered to Naples, and commissioners were sent to obtain evidence in the province and sift the matter to the bottom. After much delay they made a report confirming the first accusations and designating these five men as the criminals. As soon as the matter was thus taken up, the public indignation burst forth, and a host of witnesses who had been deterred by fear from opening their lips came forward to depose against Matteis and his associates. They were arrested in the year 1825 and thrown into prison, but owing to the difficulties and delay which they contrived by their influence to interpose, and to the anomalous character of the prosecution, five years elapsed before the proceedings began. At length a royal order constituted a Court of Justice, composed of all the judges of the Court of Cassation (about twenty), the highest tribunal in the kingdom, and they have just been enjoined not to separate till the final adjudication of the case. Although the offences with which the criminals are charged are very different in degree, they are all arraigned together; a host of witnesses are examined, each of whom tells a story or makes a speech, and the evidence is accordingly very confused, now affecting one and now another of them. They have counsel and the right of addressing the Court themselves, which the intendente avails himself of with such insolence that they are obliged to begin the proceedings of each day by reading an order to the prisoners to behave themselves decently to the Court. Their counsel are assigned by the Court, and it is not one of the least extraordinary parts of this case that the advocate of Matteis is his personal enemy, and a man whom he displaced from an office he once held in the province. They say, however, that he defends him very fairly and zealously. The day I was there the proceedings were uninteresting, but yesterday they were very important. An officer was examined who had been imprisoned and ill-treated in prison, and who deposed to various acts of cruelty. They on their part hardly deny the facts, but attempt to justify them by proving that the sufferers really were Carbonari, that other governors had done the same thing, and that they were doing a service to the Government by these pretended plots and consequent executions. Though their guilt is clear, it is by no means so clear that they will be condemned, or at least all of them. The public indignation is so great that they must sacrifice some of them, and the spies, it is said, will certainly be hanged. Matteis has interest in the Court, but, as a majority of votes will decide his fate, it is most likely he will be condemned.

April 22nd, 1830

Yesterday to Pompeii, far better worth seeing than anything else in Italy. Who can look at other ruins after this? At Rome there are certain places consecrated by recollections, but the imagination must be stirred up to enjoy them; here you are actually in a Roman town. Shave off the upper storey of any town, take out windows, doors, and furniture, and it will be as Pompeii now is: it is marvellous. About one-fifth part of the town has been excavated, and the last house found is the largest. It is said 1,000 men would clear it in a year, and there are thirty at work. The road is a bed of dust, and infested with blind beggars, each led by a boy. There are habitations almost uninterruptedly along the road between Naples and Pompeii, built apparently for no other reason than because they are exposed to eruptions of the mountain, for any other part of the Bay would be just as agreeable, and safe from that danger.

This morning we went to an Ursuline convent to see two TAKING THE VEIL girls take the veil. The ceremony was neither imposing, nor interesting, nor affecting, nor such as I expected. I believe all this would have been the case had it been the black veil, but it was the white unfortunately. I thought they would be dressed splendidly, have their hair cut off in the church, be divested (in the convent) of their finery, and reappear to take leave of their relations in the habit of the order. Not at all. I went with A. Hill and Legge, who had got tickets from the brother of one of the sposine; we were admitted to the grating, an apartment about ten feet long by five wide, with a very thick double grating, behind which some of the nuns appeared and chattered. A turning box supplied coffee and cakes to the company. I went to the door of the parlour (which was open), but they would not admit me. There the ladies were received, and the nuns and novices were laughing and talking and doing the honours. Their dress was not ugly—black, white, and a yellow veil. The chapel was adorned with gold brocade, and blue and silver hangings, flowers, tapers; a good orchestra, and two or three tolerable voices. It was as full as it could hold, and soldiers were distributed about to keep order; even by the altar four stood with fixed bayonets, who when the Host was raised presented arms—a military salute to the Real Presence! The brother of one of the girls did the honours of the chapel, placing the ladies and bustling about for chairs, which all the time the ceremony was going on were handed over heads and bonnets, to the great danger of the latter. It was impossible not to be struck with this man’s gaiety and sang-froid on the occasion, but he is used to it, for this was the fourth sister he has buried here. When the chapel was well crammed the sposine appeared, each with two marraines. A table and six chairs were placed opposite the altar; on the table were two trays, each containing a Prayer Book, a pocket-handkerchief, and a white veil. The girls (who were very young, and one of them rather pretty) were dressed in long black robes like dressing-gowns, their hair curled, hanging down their backs and slightly powdered. On the top of their heads were little crowns of blue, studded with silver or diamonds. The ladies attending them (one of whom was Princess Fondi and another Princess Bressano) were very smart, and all the people in the chapel were dressed as for a ball. There was a priest at the table to tell the girls what to do. High Mass was performed, then a long sermon was delivered by a priest who spoke very fluently, but with a strange twang and in a very odd style, continually apostrophising the two girls by name, comparing them to olives and other fruit, to candelabri, and desiring them to keep themselves pure that ‘they might go as virgins into the chamber of their beloved.’ When the Sacrament was administered the ladies took the crowns off the girls, who were like automata all the time, threw the white veils over them, and led them to the altar, where the Sacrament was administered to them; then they were led back to their seats, the veils taken off and the crowns replaced. After a short interval they were again led to the altar, where, on their knees, their profession was read to them; in this they are made to renounce the world and their parents; but at this part, which is at the end, a murmuring noise is made by the four ladies who kneel with them at the altar, that the words may not be heard, being thought too heart-rending to the parents; then they are led out and taken into the convent, and the ceremony ends. The girls did not seem the least affected, but very serious; the rest of the party appeared to consider it as a fête, and smirked and gossiped; only the father of one of them, an old man, looked as if he felt it. The brother told me his sister was eighteen; that she would be a nun, and that they had done all they could to dissuade her. It is a rigid order, but there is a still more rigid rule within the convent. Those nuns who embrace it are for ever cut off from any sort of communication with the world, and can never again see or correspond with their own family. They cannot enter into this last seclusion without the consent of their parents, which another of this man’s four sisters is now soliciting.

We afterwards drove through the Grotto of Pausilippo, that infernal grotto which one must pass through to get BAIÆ out of Naples on one side; it is a source of danger, and the ancient account of it is not the least exaggerated:—

Nihil isto carcere longius, nihil illis faucibus obscurius, quo nobis præstant non ut per tenebras videamus sed ut ipsas.

There are a few glimmering lamps always obscured by dust, and it is never hardly light enough to avoid danger except at night; in the middle it is pitch dark.

Then round the Strada Nuova, Murat’s delightful creation, and walked in the Villa Reale, where I found Acton, who had been all the morning at the trial, which was very interesting. A woman was examined, who deposed that her husband was thrown into prison and ill-treated by Matteis because he would not give some false evidence that he required of him; that she went to Matteis and entreated him to release him, and that he told her he would if she would bring her daughter to him, which she refused, and he was put to death. On this evidence being given, the examining judge dropped the paper, and a murmur of horror ran through the audience. The accused attacked the witness and charged her with perjury, and said he was ill in bed at the time alluded to. The woman retorted, ‘Canaglia, tu sai ch’ egli è vero,’ and there was a debate between the counsel on either side, and witnesses were called who proved that he was in good health at the time. They think the evidence of to-day and the apparent disposition of the judges must hang him.

Salerno, April 24th, 1830

Here Morier and I are going to pass the night on our way to Pæstum, and as he is gone to bed (at half-past eight) I must write. Yesterday morning Morier, St. John, Lady Isabella, and I went to Pozzuoli, embarked in a wretched boat to make the giro of Baiæ.

Ante bonam Venerem gelidæ per litora Baiæ
Illa natare lacu cum lampade jussit amorem,
Dura natat, algentes cecidit scintilla per undas,
Hinc vapor ussit aquas, quicumque natavit, amavit.

Venus bade Cupid on fair Baiæ’s side
Plunge with his torch into the glassy tide;
As the boy swam the sparks of mischief flew
And fell in showers upon the liquid blue;
Hence all who venture on that shore to lave
Emerge love-stricken from the treacherous wave.

I was disappointed with the country, which is bare and uninteresting; but the line of coast, with the various bays and promontories and the circumjacent islands, is extremely agreeable, and the Bay of Baiæ, with the Temple of Venus, delightful. The Temple of Mercury is also worth seeing. The Cave of the Sybil, Lake Avernus, and Temple of Apollo are not worth seeing, but as they are celebrated by Virgil they must be visited, though the embellishments of Virgil’s imagination and the lapse of time have made disappointment inevitable. Nature indeed no longer presents the same aspect; for there is a mountain more (Monte Nuovo) and a wood less about the lake than in Virgil’s time. We found two ridiculous parties there, one English, the other French, the latter the most numerous and chattering, and mounted on asses, so as to make a long cavalcade. There was a fat old gentleman just coming puffing out of the cave, and calling with delight to his ladies, ‘Ah, mesdames, êtes-vous noires?’ as they certainly were, for all one gets in the cave is a blackened face from the torches. There was another gaunt figure of the party in a fur cap, who was playing the flute—

His reedy pipe with music fills,
To charm the God who loves the hills
And rich Arcadian scenery.

We landed from our boat in various places, but declined going down the Cento Camerelle to have a second face-blackening. All the ruins, said to be of Cæsar’s and Marius’s Villas, Agrippina’s Tomb, Caligula’s Bridge, &c., may be anything; they are nothing but shapeless fragments, only on a rock I saw a bit of marble or stucco in what they call Cæsar’s Villa. The Stygian Lake presented no horrors, nor the Elysian Fields any delights; the former is a great round piece of water, and the latter are very common-looking vineyards. When well wooded, which in the time of the EXCAVATIONS AT POMPEII Romans it was, this coast must have been a most delicious and luxurious retreat, so sequestered and sheltered, such a calm sea, and soft breezes.

Mira quies pelagi; ponunt hic lassa furorem
Æquora, et insani spirant clementius Austri.

We went up to look at the old harbour of Misenum, where, instead of a Roman fleet, were a few fishing-boats, and walked back through fields in which spring was bursting forth through endless varieties of cultivation—figs, mulberries, and cherry trees, with festoons of vines hanging from tree to tree, and corn, peas, and beans springing up underneath.

Our boatmen, as we rowed back, were very proud of their English, and kept on saying ‘Pull away,’ ‘Now boys,’ and other phrases they have picked up from our sailors. This morning we set off to come here [to Salerno] with Vetturino horses; the dust intolerable; stopped at Pompeii, and walked half round the walls and to the Amphitheatre. All the ground (now covered with vineyards) belongs to the King (for Murat bought it); the profusion and brilliancy of the wild flowers make it quite a garden—

Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice art
In beds and curious knots, but nature boon
Pours forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain.

If Murat had continued on the throne two or three years longer, the whole town would have been excavated. He, and still more the Queen, took great interest in it, and they both went there frequently. She used to see the houses excavated, and one day they found the skeleton of a woman with gold bracelets and earrings, which were brought to her, and she put them on herself directly. In their time 800 men and 50 cars were at work; now there are 40 men and 6 cars. The expense of 800 men and 50 cars would be about 13,000ℓ. a year, but these men will spend nothing. A car costs a scudo, and a man four carlins, a day. (A scudo is ten carlins, a carlin fourpence.) The Royal Family seldom or never come here; the Duke of Calabria has been once. The Amphitheatre, though not to be compared in size or beauty with the Coliseum, is much more perfect. The road here is beautiful, particularly about La Cava. I walked up to the Convent of the Trinità; it stands on the brink of a deep ravine in the middle of the hills, which are tossed into a hundred different shapes and covered with foliage—a magnificent situation. The convent is very large, and well kept; it contains fifty monks, who were most of them walking about the road. Here were all the raw materials requisite for a romance—a splendid setting sun, mountains, convent, flock of goats, evening bell, friars, and peasants. Arrived here, delighted with the outside and disgusted with the inside of the town; but the Bay of Salerno is beautiful, the place gay and populous, all staring at a fire-balloon which was just ascending, and soon after came down in the sea. The inns execrable. We got into one at last, in which there is a wide terrace looking over the sea, and there we ordered our dinner to be laid; but we were soon driven in, not by the cold, but by the flaring of our tallow candles.

We were obliged to write our names down for the police, who are very busy and inquisitive. One man, whose name was just before mine, had added this poetical encomium on the inn:—

I mention by way of guidanza
For those who are going to Pæstum,
They’ll find at this inn, the ‘Speranza,’
A good place to eat and to rest ’em.

I could not concur with this poet, so I added to my name this contradiction:—

On the ‘Hope’s’ being such a good treat
We must both put our positive vetos;
We not only got nothing to eat,
But ourselves were ate up by mosquitos.

Naples, April 25th, 1830

Started at four o’clock in the morning from Salerno, and got to Pæstum at eight. Tormented to death by beggars and ciceroni (often both characters in one), for in Italy everybody who shows a stranger about is a PÆSTUM cicerone, from Professor Nibby down to a Calabrian peasant. There is little beauty in the scenery of Pæstum, but the temples amply repay the trouble of the journey. I agree with Forsyth that they are the most impressive monuments I have ever seen. The famed roses of Pæstum have disappeared, but there are thousands of lizards ‘nunc virides etiam occultant spineta lacertos.’ No excavations have ever been made here, but they talk of excavating. There were some fine Etruscan vases found in a tomb at Pæstum, which we did not see. The brute of a custode knew nothing of it, nor should I if I had not seen the model in the Museum afterwards. Thousands of Etruscan vases may be had for digging; they are found in all the tombs. The peasants have heaps of little carved images of terra cotta and coins, which they offer for sale. I believed they were fabricated, but a man I met there showed me two or three that he had turned up with his stick, so that they may be genuine. What treasures Naples possesses, and how unworthy she is of them! Pæstum[1] long neglected, and Pompeii hardly touched! At Rome they are always digging and doing something, and though the Papal Government is neither active nor rich, I do believe they would not let this town (Pompeii, I mean) remain buried when a few thousand pounds would bring it all to light. There seem to be no habitations near Pæstum, but there is a church, which was well attended, for the peasants were on their knees all round it; and while we were breakfasting (in a manger with the horses out in the air) they came out, strange-looking figures, rude, uncouth, and sunburnt, and without any of the finery which they generally wear on a Sunday.

[1] The authorities of course can’t agree when Pæstum was built, and by whom, or whether one of the temples (the largest) was a temple or a basilica. The perfect state of these temples, particularly that called of Neptune, is the more remarkable because there are scarcely any vestiges of other buildings. Morier thought them inferior to the temples at Athens, but so they may well be; the Athenian temples are built of white marble from the Pentelic quarries, and highly ornamented by Phidias.

Naples, April 26th, 1830

To the Museum; met the Dalbergs and Prince and Princess Aldobrandini, a good-looking daughter and two sons. They will have all Prince Borghese’s estate. I only went into the Pompeii and Herculaneum part of the collections.

The lazaroni are very amusing. This morning four of them stripped stark naked under my window, put off in a boat, and thirty yards from the shore fished for cockle fish, which they do by diving like ducks, throwing their feet up in the air as the ducks do their tails. The creatures are perfectly amphibious; they don’t care who sees them, and their forms are perfect. Then there are little lazaroni who ape the big ones. Met a christening this morning, and then a funeral. The wet nurse, full dressed, was carried in a sedan chair down the middle of the street, and the child, dressed also, held out of the window in her arms, and so she was going to church. The funeral was a priest’s—a long file of penitents in white, carrying torches, a bier covered with crimson and gold, and the priest dressed in robes and exposed upon it, a ghastly sight, with a chalice in his hand and a book at his feet, other priests following, the cross borne before him. When young girls are buried in this way, they are gaily dressed with chaplets of flowers, a flower in the mouth, and flowers at their feet.

Rode to the race-course and round the hills; such views and such an evening! At seven o’clock I could see the houses at Sorrento, nineteen miles off on the other side of the Bay. Dined with Acton; none but English. In the evening went to Toledo, the Spanish Ambassador’s. The Duc de Dalberg talked of an association to excavate at Calabria and Apulia. The Government reserves four places—Pompeii, Pæstum, Stabiæ, Herculaneum—for its own use, and anybody may excavate elsewhere who will be at the trouble and expense.

April 29th, 1830

On Tuesday again to the Museum and the King’s Palace; rather fine, good house, very ridiculous pictures of the royal families of Naples and Spain. The Duchess of Floridia’s apartment (old Ferdinand’s wife) is delightful; the rooms are furnished with blue satin and white silk, opening upon a terrace covered with orange-trees, ANTIQUE PAINTING flowers, and shaded walks, and looks over the Bay. A few fine pictures, but not many. There is a bath, built after one of those at Pompeii.

From what I saw at the Museum, I see no reason to doubt that the ancients were as excellent in painting as in sculpture; there are some very exquisite paintings taken from Pompeii. Then we are not to believe that the best have been found, or that a provincial town contained the finest specimens of the art. Painted on walls, they appear deficient in light and shade, but the drawing and expression, and sometimes the colouring (allowing for spoiling), are very good. There are some Cupids playing at games, and driving chariots, very like the Julio Romanos in the Lanti Villa at Rome, which indeed were borrowed from the ancient frescoes discovered in the Baths of Titus. The bronzes taken out of Herculaneum and Pompeii are very interesting, because they display the whole domestic economy of the ancients, and their excellent taste in furniture, sacrificial instruments, &c., but there is nothing particularly curious in the fact of their pots and pans being like our pots and pans, for if they were to boil and stew they could not well have performed those operations with a different kind of utensils. However, all the people marvel at them; they seem to think the Romans must have been beings of a different organisation, and that everything that is not dissimilar is strange. What is really curious is a surgical instrument which was lately found, exactly similar to one invented thirty years ago in France. The lava would not touch bronze; the iron was always encrusted and spoilt, but the bronze things all look like new.

May 2nd, 1830

Went to the Lake of Agnano and the Grotto del Cane; very pretty lake, evidently the crater of a volcano; saw the dog perform; a sight neither interesting nor cruel; the dog did not mind it a bit, and the old woman must make a fortune, for she had eight carlins for it. The grotto is very hot and steaming; a torch goes out held near the ground, and when I put my face down the steam from the earth went up my nose like salts. Virgil’s Tomb, which is very picturesque, and from whence the common view of Naples is taken; there has been plenty of discussion whether it really is Virgil’s tomb or not. Forsyth seems to doubt it, with one of his off-hand flings at the authority for its being so, a sort of ‘Who the Devil, I humbly beg to know, is Donatus?’ but there is tradition in its favour, the fact of Virgil having been buried here or hereabouts, and the honour being claimed by no other spot. When there is probability it is unwise to be so very sceptical: take away names, and what are the places themselves? Here not much, at Rome nothing.

Thursday.

Went a long and most beautiful ride up to the Camaldoli, from which the view extends over sea and land to an immense distance in every direction.

Thus was this place
A happy rural seat of various views.

The convent was once very rich, but the French stripped all the convents of their property, which they have never since recovered. It is remarkably clean and spacious. Each monk has a house of his own containing two or three little rooms, and a little garden, and they only eat together on particular days. The old man who took us about said he had been there since he was eighteen, had been turned out by the French, but came back as soon as he could, and had never regretted becoming a monk. He showed me a bust of the founder of their order (I think San Romualdo), and when I asked him how many years ago it was founded, he said, ‘Perhaps 2,000.’ I said when I became a monk I would go to that convent, when he asked very seriously if I was going to be a monk. I said, ‘Not just yet.’ ‘Very well,’ he said; ‘you must pay 120 ducats, and you can come here.’ We went down a road cut for miles in the mountain, very narrow and steep, through shady lanes, groves, and vineyards (with magnificent views), through Pianura to Pozzuoli, entering by the old Roman road and Street of Tombs. The columbaria in the Street of Tombs are the best worth seeing ejus generis of any. Went to the Temple of Jupiter Serapis, of which there are very curious remains. RUINS ABOUT NAPLES

Hard by the reverent ruins
Of a once glorious temple, reared to Jove,
Whose very rubbish (like the pitied fall
Of virtue, most unfortunate) yet bears
A deathless majesty, though now quite rased,
Hurl’d down by wrath and lust of impious kings,
So that where holy Flamens wont to sing
Sweet hymns to Heaven, there the daw and crow,
The ill-voiced raven, and still chattering pie
Send out ungrateful sounds.
Marston.

To the ruins of the Amphitheatre, from the top of which there is one of the finest views I ever saw of the Bay of Baiæ and the islands; and then to the Solfaterra. The ruins scattered about Naples (those at Pozzuoli, for instance) are far more extensive than most of those at Rome, but partly ‘carent quia vate sacro,’ and partly because there are no well-known names attached to them, the ground is not so holy, and little is said or thought about them. If these temples were at Rome, what an uproar they would cause! The Solfaterra is remarkable as a sort of link between the quick and the dead volcanoes; it is considered extinct, but the earth is hot, the sulphur strong, and at a particular spot, when a hole is made, it hisses and throws up little stones and ashes, and exhibits a sort of volcano in miniature, but the surface of the crater is overgrown with vegetation. The road to Naples by the convent of the Jesuits and Chapel of St. Januarius is the most beautiful I ever saw, particularly towards sunset, when the colouring is so rich and varied. It lies over a crest commanding a prospect of the mountains on one side and the sea on the other.

Quid mille revolvam
Culmina visendique vices.

May 3rd, 1830

We sailed across the Bay to Resina, to see Herculaneum, the old and new excavations. At the new there are only seven or eight men at work; the old are hardly worth seeing. So much earth and cinders are mixed with the lava in the new part, that they might excavate largely if they would spend money enough; at present they have only excavated one or two houses, but have found some bronzes and marbles. The houses are laid open, just like those at Pompeii.

The next day Morier, Watson, and I set off to ascend Vesuvius; we rode on donkeys from Salvatore’s house to the bottom of the last ascent, which was rather less formidable than I expected, though fatiguing enough. Another party went up at the same time: one man of that party, Watson, and I walked up alone; the others were all lugged up. They take the bridles off the donkeys and put them on the men; the luggee holds by this tackle and the guide goes before him. After infinite puffing and perspiring, and resting at every big stone, I reached the top in thirty-five minutes. It was very provoking to see the facility with which the creatures who attended us sprang up. There was one fellow with nothing on but a shirt and half a pair of breeches, who walked the whole way from Resina with a basket on his head full of wine, bread, and oranges, and while we were slipping, and clambering, and toiling with immense difficulty he bounded up, with his basket on his head, as straight as an arrow all the time, and bothering us to drink when we had not breath to answer. I took three or four oranges, some bread, and a bottle of wine of him at the top, and when I asked Salvatore what I should pay him, he said two carlins (eightpence English). I gave him three (a shilling), and he was transported. It was a magnificent evening, and the sunset from the top of Vesuvius (setting in the sea) a glorious sight—

For the sun,
Declined, was hastening now with prone career
To the ocean’s isles, and in th’ ascending scale
Of heaven the stars, that usher evening, rose.

The view, too, all round is very grand; the towns round the Bay appear so clear, yet so minute. I had formed to myself a very different idea of the crater, of which the dimensions are very deceitful; it is so much larger than it appears. The bottom of the crater is flat, covered with masses of lava and sulphur, but anybody may walk all about it. At one end stands what ASCENT OF VESUVIUS looks like a little black hillock, from which smoke was rising, as it was from various crevices in different parts; that little hillock is the crater from which all eruptions burst. The mountain was provokingly still, and only gave one low grumble and a very small emission of smoke and fire while we were there; it has never been more tranquil. The descent is very good fun, galloping down the cinders; you have only to take care not to tumble over the stones; slipping is impossible. The whole ascent of the mountain is interesting, particularly in that part which is like a great ocean of lava, and where the guides point out the courses of the different eruptions, all of which may be distinctly traced. We got to the Hermitage just as it was dark; there was still a red tint round the western horizon, and the islands were dimly shadowed out, while the course of the Bay was marked by a thousand dancing lights. Salvatore has especial care of the mountain under the orders of Government, to whom he is obliged to make a daily report of its state, and he is as fond of it as a nurse of a favourite child, or a trainer at Newmarket of his best race-horse, and delights in telling anecdotes of old eruptions and phenomena, and of different travellers who have ascended it.

Two years ago an English merchant here laid a bet of 200 napoleons that he would go from Resina[2] to the top in an hour and a half. Salvatore went with him, and they did it in an hour and thirteen minutes. The Englishman rode relays of horses, but the guide went the whole way on foot, and the best part of the ascent had to drag up his companion He said it nearly killed him, and he did not recover from it for several weeks; he is 53 years old, but a very handsome man. He said, however, that the fatigue of this exploit was not so painful as what he went through in carrying the Duke of Buckingham to the top; he was carried up in a chair by twelve men, and the weight was so enormous that his shoulder was afterwards swelled up nearly to his head. When the Duke got down he gave a great dinner (on the mountain), which he had brought with him to celebrate the exploit. Salvatore said that he continues to write to many scientific men in various parts of Europe when anything remarkable occurs in the mountain, and talked of Buckland, Playfair, and Davy. We got down to Resina about half-past nine, and at ten embarked again and sailed over to Castel-a-Mare, where we arrived at one o’clock.

[2] From Salvatore’s house at Resina to the top of the mountain is seven miles; from the Hermitage to the top, 3⅓. It is a mile and 200 feet from the bottom of the ascent (on foot) to the top, 800 feet from the point we first gain to the bottom of the crater; the inner crater (or black hill, as I call it) is 230 feet high and 180 feet in circumference. The miles are Neapolitan miles, about three-fourths of an English mile.

The next morning Mr. Watson and I got a six-oared boat (with sails) and went to Sorrento. Castel-a-Mare and the whole coast are beautiful. Landed a mile from Sorrento, and walked by a path cut in the rock to the Cocomella, a villa with a magnificent prospect of the Bay exactly opposite Naples.

Placido lunata recessu
Hinc atque hinc curvas perrumpunt æquora rupes.
Dat natura locum, montique intervenit imum
Litus et in terras scopulis pendentibus exit.

Then to the town to see the curiosities, which are the Piscine, Tasso’s house, and some very romantic caverns in a wild dell under the bridge at Sorrento; all very well worth seeing, but Tasso’s house was locked, so we could not get to the terrace. Just as we arrived at Sorrento we found they were performing a ceremony which takes place there every year on the 1st of May, and there only—the benediction of the flowers, the ushering in the may.

With songs and dance they celebrate the day,
And with due honours usher in the may.

It was in the Archiepiscopal church, which was gaily adorned with hangings of various colours, gold and silver and flowers, full of people, all in their best attire. A priest in the pulpit opposite the Archbishop’s throne called on the representatives of the different parishes (seven in number), who advanced in succession, each bearing a huge cross fifteen or twenty feet high, entirely made of flowers, and adorned with THE BLOOD OF SAN GENNARO garlands and devices, all likewise of the most brilliant flowers, and, as each came up, a little cannon was fired off. They were blessed in succession, and then deposited around the throne of the Archbishop, who, after this ceremony was concluded, went up to the altar and celebrated High Mass. They told me that this festival had taken place at Sorrento from the remotest time.

After seeing the Piscine we went into a garden above, where there was a profusion of orange and lemon trees, loaded with ripe fruit; the oranges we pulled off the trees and ate; they were excellent, and as red as Morella cherries—

Whose fruit, burnished with golden rind,
Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true,
If true, here only, of delicious taste.

We could not stay long at Sorrento, and were four hours rowing across the Bay to Naples. Dined with Hill at the Villa Belvidere (a delicious villa on the Vomero), with a large, tiresome party, principally English.

Yesterday the miracle of the blood of San Gennaro was performed, and of course successfully; it will be repeated every morning for eight days. I went to-day to the Cathedral, where San Gennaro’s silver bust was standing on one side of the altar, surrounded by lights, and the vessel containing the blood on the other. Round the altar were ranged silver heads of various saints, his particular friends, who had accompanied him there to do him honour, and who will be taken this evening with him in procession to his own chapel. Acton and I went together, and one of the people belonging to the church seeing us come in, and judging that we wanted to see the blood, summoned one of the canons, who was half asleep in a stall, who brought out the blood, which is contained in a glass vase mounted with silver. It liquefies in the morning, remains in that state all day, and congeals again at night. A great many people were waiting to kiss the vessel, which was handed to us first. We kissed it, and then it went round, each person kissing it and touching it with his head, as they do St. Peter’s foot at Rome. San Gennaro and his silver companions were brought in procession from one of the other churches, all the nobility and an immense crowd attending. I had fancied that the French had exposed and put an end to this juggle, but not at all. They found the people so attached to the superstition that they patronised it; they adorned the Chapel of St. Januarius with a magnificent altarpiece and other presents. The first time (after they came to Naples) that the miracle was to be performed the blood would not liquefy, which produced a great ferment among the people. It was a trick of the priests to throw odium on the French, and the French General Championnet thought it so serious that he sent word that if the blood did not liquefy forthwith the priests should go to the galleys. It liquefied immediately, and the people were satisfied. Acton told me that nobody believed it but the common people, but that they did not dare to leave it off. It is what is called a false position to be in, when they are obliged to go on pretending to perform a miracle in which no men of sense and education believe, and in which it is well known they don’t any of them believe themselves. Miracles, if sometimes useful and profitable, are sometimes awkward incumbrances. Drove round the obscure parts of the town, and through dense masses of population, by the old palace of Queen Joan and the market place, which was the scene of Masaniello’s sedition. He was killed in the great church (in 1646).

May 4th, 1830

To the Museum, and saw the mummies which have been unrolled; they are like thin, black, shrivelled corpses; hair and shape of face perfect, even the eyelids. The canvas fold in which they are wrapped quite fresh-looking; the best preserved is 3,055 years old. Amongst the bronzes there is a bust of Livia with a wig. Dined with Toledo, the Spanish Minister. The women put their knives into their mouths, and he is always kissing his wife’s hand—an ugly little old woman. Toledo was Romana’s aide-de-camp.

May 5th, 1830

To Cumæ, and dined at the Lake of Fusaro THE BLOOD OF SAN GENNARO with the Talbots and Lushingtons; not a pretty lake, but the country near it pretty enough. A splendid sunset, with real purple. ‘Lumine vestit purpureo.’

May 7th, 1830

In the morning to the Chapel of St. Januarius, to see the blood liquefy. The grand ceremony was last Saturday at the Cathedral, but the miracle is repeated every morning in the Chapel for eight days. I never saw such a scene, at once so ludicrous and so disgusting, but more of the latter. There was the saint, all bedizened with pearls, on the altar, the other silver ladies and gentlemen all round the chapel, with an abundance of tapers burning before them. Certain people were admitted within the rails of the altar; the crowd, consisting chiefly of women, and most of them old women, were without. There is no service, but the priests keep muttering and looking at the blood to see if it is melting. To-day it was unusually long, so these old Sibyls kept clamouring, ‘Santa Trinità!’ ‘Santa Vergine!’ ‘Dio onnipotente!’ ‘San Gennaro!’ in loud and discordant chorus; still the blood was obstinate,[3] so the priest ordered them to go down on their knees and to say the Athanasian Creed, which is one of the specifics resorted to in such a case. He drawled it out with his eyes shut, and the women screamed the responses. This would not do, so they fell to abuse and entreaties with a vehemence and volubility, and a shrill clamour, which was at once a proof of their sincerity and their folly. Such noise, such gesticulations. One woman I never shall forget, with outstretched arm, distorted visage, and voice of piercing sharpness. In the meantime the priest handed about the phial to be kissed, and talked the matter over with the bystanders. ‘È sempre duro?’ ‘Sempre duro, adesso v’ è una piccola cosa.’ At last, after all the handling, praying, kissing, screaming, entreating, and abusing, the blood did melt,[4] when the organ struck up, they all sang in chorus, and so it ended. It struck me as particularly disgusting, though after all it is not fair to abuse these poor people, who have all been brought up in the belief of the miracle, and who fancy that the prosperity of their city and all that it contains is somehow connected with its due performance. The priests could not discontinue it but by acknowledging the imposture, and by an imaginative people, who are the slaves of prejudice, and attached to it by force of inveterate habit, the acknowledgment would not be believed, and they would only incur odium by it; there it is, and (for some time at least) it must go on.

[3] I dined at Hill’s; sat next to the Duchess de Dalberg, talked of the miracle, which she told me she firmly believed. I fancied none believed it but the lowest of the people, and was (very foolishly) astonished; for what ought ever to produce astonishment which has to do with credulity in matters of religion?

[4] Illarum lacrymæ meditataque murmura præstant,—Juvenal, 6.

Went up to Craven’s villa (this is the villa at which the amour between the present Queen of Naples and Captain Hess was carried on), and sat there doing nothing in the middle of flowers, and sea breezes, and beautiful views. To comprehend all the luxury of the bel far niente one must come to Naples, where idleness loses half its evil by losing all its enervating qualities; there is something in the air so elastic that I have never been at any place where I have felt as if I could make exertions so easily as here, and yet it is a great pleasure to sit and look at the Bay, the mountains, the islands, and the town, and watch its amusing inhabitants. At least half an hour of every morning is spent at my window, while I am dressing, watching the lazaroni, who fish, work, swim, dress, cook, play, and quarrel under it. At this moment the scene is as follows:—Half a dozen boats with awnings and flags moored off the landing-place, a few fishing-boats with men mending their nets, three fellows swimming about them, two with red caps on perched upon the wall playing at cards, two or three more looking on, one on the ground being shaved by a barber with a basin (the exact counterpart of Mambrino’s helmet), and two or three more waiting their turn for the same operation—always a certain number lounging about, others smoking or asleep.

May 8th, 1830

Rode with a large party to Astroni, where they dined, but I did not. There were the Lushingtons, Prince and Princess Dentici (he is at the head of the Douane), Madame and Mademoiselle Galiati (she is remarkably pretty), ASTRONI Count (I believe) and Countess Rivalvia, her uncle, Lord A. Chichester, Count Gregorio, and a Mr. Stuart. The park, or whatever it is called—for it is the King’s chase and full of wild boars—is one of the most beautiful and curious places about Naples. Milton’s description of the approach to Eden applies exactly to Astroni; if ever he saw it it is likely that he meant to describe it—

To the border comes
Of Eden, where delicious Paradise,
Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green,
As with a rural mound, the champaign head
Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides,
With thicket overgrown, grotesque, and wild,
Access denied; and overhead up grew
Insuperable height of loftiest shade,
A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend
Shade above shade, a woody theatre
Of stateliest view.

It is an immense crater of a volcano, the amphitheatre quite unbroken, and larger than that of Vesuvius, but covered with wood, and the bottom with very fine trees of various sorts and with fern—very wild and picturesque. There are several little hillocks, supposed to have been small craters; but although it is proved that this was a volcano from the lava under the soil and from its shape, there is no mention of it as an active volcano, and nobody can tell how many thousand years ago it was in operation. The King, with his usual good taste, is cutting down the finest trees, and has made a ride round the bottom, which he has planted with poplars in a double row, spoiling as much as he can all the beauty of the place. They dined in a shady arbour, made on purpose with branches of trees bound together, and on beds of fern, were very merry, pelting each other with oranges and cherries, and dealing about an abundance of manual jests.

Evening.—I have taken my last ride and last look at Naples, and am surprised at the sorrow I feel at quitting it, as I fear, for ever. Rode again to Astroni with Morier, and walked through the wood and tried to scale one of the sides of the mountain, but lost the path, and could only get half-way up; it is the most beautiful place about Naples. Came back by the Strada Nuova, and saw for the last time that delicious Bay with its coast and its islands, which are as deeply imprinted on my memory as if I had passed my life among them. To-night I have stood once more by the shore, and could almost have cried to think I should never see it again—

The smooth, surface of this summer sea—

nor breathe this delicious air, nor feast my eyes on the scene of gaiety, and brilliancy, and beauty around me. Nobody can form an idea of Naples without coming to it; every gale seems to bring health and cheerfulness with it, and appears ‘able to drive all sadness but despair.’

Naples, they tell me, does very well for a short time, but you will soon grow tired of it. To be sure, I have been here only three weeks, but I liked it better every day, and I am wretched at leaving it. What could I ever mean by thinking it was not gay, and less lively than Genoa? To-night, as I came home from riding, the shore was covered with lazaroni and throngs of people, dancing, singing, harping, fiddling—all so merry, and as if the open air and their own elastic spirits were happiness enough. I suppose I shall never come again, for when I have measured back the distance to my own foggy country, there I shall settle for ever, and Naples and her sunny shores and balmy winds will only be as a short and delightful dream, from which I have waked too soon.

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CHAPTER X.

Mola di Gaeta — Capua — Lines on leaving Naples — Return to Rome — The Aqueducts — ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ — St. Peter’s — The Scala Santa — Reasons in favour of San Gennaro — Ascent of St. Peter’s — Library of the Vatican — A racing ex voto — Illness of George IV. — Approaching Coup d’état in France — The Villa Mills — The Malaria — Duc and Duchesse de Dalberg — The Emperor Nicholas on his Accession — Cardinal Albani — A Columbarium — Maii — Sir William Gell — Tivoli — Hadrian’s Villa — The Adventures of Miss Kelly and Mr. Swift — Audience of the Pope — Gibson’s Studio — End of Miss Kelly’s Marriage — A great Function — The Jesuits — Saint-making — San Lorenzo in Lucina — The Flagellants — Statues by Torchlight — Bunsen on the State of Rome — Fiascati — Relations of Protestant States with Rome — The French Ministry — M. de Villèle — The Coliseum — Excommunication of a Thief — The Passionists — The Corpus Domini — A Rash Marriage — Farewell to Rome — Falls of Terni — Statue at Pratolino — Bologna — Mezzofanti — Ferrara — Venice — Padua — Vicenza — Brescia — Verona — Milan — Lago Maggiore — The Simplon — Geneva — Paris.

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Mola di Gaeta, May 9th, 1830

I have dined here on an open terrace (looking over the garden and the delicious Bay), where I have been sitting writing the whole evening. The moon is just rising, and throwing a flood of silver over the sea—

Rising in cloudless majesty,
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light
And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw.

We left Naples at half-past seven in the morning, went to Caserta, and walked over the palace, in which nothing struck me but the dimensions, the staircase, and a few of the rooms. The theatre is very well contrived; it is at one end of the palace, and the back of it opens by large folding doors into the garden, so that they can have any depth of stage they please, and arrange any pageants or cavalcades. This could, however, only be at a theatre in a country house. Thence to Capua, and went over the Amphitheatre, which is very remarkable. It is said to be larger than the Coliseum, but the arena did not appear to me so vast. Here we are in the land of names again, and it is impossible for the imagination not to run over the grandeur, luxury, and fate of Capua, for on the very spot on which I was standing (for the chief places are ascertained) in all probability Hannibal often sat to see the games.[1]

[1] No such thing. His Capua was nearly destroyed, and if it had an amphitheatre it would have been ruined. These ruins must have belonged to Capua the Second, which was restored by Augustus or Tiberius, and became as flourishing and populous as the first had been.—[C.C.G.]

The Italian postilions, it must be owned, are a comical set. They sometimes go faster than ever I went in England, then at others they creep like snails, and stop at the least inclined plane to put on the scarpa. The occasions they generally select for going fast are when they have six horses harnessed to the carriage, and so extend about ten yards, on slippery pavement, through very narrow streets, extremely crowded with women and children; then they will flog their horses to full speed, and clatter along without fear or shame. Nothing happens; I have remarked that nothing ever does anywhere in Italy.

I have walked over this garden [at Gaeta], which contains remains of one of Cicero’s villas, but they are only arched rooms like vaults, and not worth seeing but for the name of Cicero, and the recollection that he was murdered almost on this spot. He had good taste in his villas, for this bay is as placid and delicious as that of Baiæ. There is an ancient bath, which probably belonged to the villa; it is in the sea, and still available, when cleaned out, which just now it is not.

Rome, May 10th, 1830

Left Mola at half-past seven and got here at ten minutes after seven. It was so kind as to rain last night and this morning, and lay the dust all the way. Stopped at Terracina, and went to see the ancient port, which is worth seeing. The road is pretty all the way, but the scenery in Italy wants verdure and foliage. The beauty LINES ON LEAVING NAPLES of these landscapes consists in the bold outlines, lofty mountains, abundant vegetation, and bright atmosphere, and they are always better to look at from a little distance than very near. Aricia is pretty well wooded. I found a parcel of letters with the London news; but the post is enough to drive one mad, for I got one of the 23rd of April and another of the 19th of March on the same day.

ON TAKING LEAVE OF NAPLES.
(Written in a carriage between Naples and Mola di Gaeta.)
‘Nascitur poeta.’

Though not a spark of true poetic fire
Beamed at my birth, or on my cradle fell,
Though rude my numbers, and untuned my lyre,
I will not leave thee with a mute farewell.

I cannot see recede thy sunny shore,
Nor ling’ring look my last upon thy bay,
And know that they will meet my gaze no more,
Yet tearless take my unreturning way.

’Tis not that Love laments his broken toys,
Nor is it Friendship murmurs to depart,
Touching the chords of recollected joys
Which ring with sad vibration on the heart.

Nor bound am I in Habit’s unfelt chain,
Which o’er the fancy steals with gradual pow’r,
Till local sympathy awakes in pain,
That slept unconscious till the parting hour.

But ’tis the charm, so great, yet undefin’d,
That Nature’s self around fair Naples throws,
Which now excites and elevates the mind,
And now invites it to no dull repose.

No exhalations damp the spirits choke,
That feed on ether temp’rate and serene;
No yellow fogs, or murky clouds of smoke,
Obscure the lustre of this joyous scene.

The God of Gladness with prolific ray
Bids the rich soil its teeming womb expand,
While healthful breezes, cooled with Ocean’s spray,
Scatter a dewy freshness o’er the land.

No mountain billow’s huge uplifted crest
Lashes the foaming beach with sullen roar;
The smooth sea sparkles in unbroken rest,
Or lightly rakes upon the pebbled shore.

The Ocean’s Monarch on these golden sands
Seems the luxurious laws of Love to own,[2]
And yield his trident to Thalassia’s hands,
To rule the waters from the Baian throne.

Here the green olive, and the purple vine,
The lofty poplar and the elm espouse,
Or round the mulberry their tendrils twine,
Or creep in clusters through the ilex boughs.

A thousand flow’rs, enamelling the fields,
Declare the presence of returning spring;
A various harvest smiling Ceres yields,
And all the groves with vocal music sing.

Earth, air, and sea th’ enchantment of the clime,
Revived that young elation of the breast
When Hope, undaunted, saw the form of Time
In Fancy’s gay, deluding colours drest,

And though those visions are for ever fled
Which in the morning of existence rose,
And all the false and flatt’ring hopes are dead
That vainly promised a serener close.

I’ll snatch the joys which spite of fate remain
To cheer life’s darkness with a transient ray,
And oft in vivid fancy roam again
Through these blest regions when I’m far away.

[2] The Temple of Venus stands upon the shore of the Bay of Baiæ.

Rome, May 13th.—11th, 1830

Walked about visiting to announce my return, and found nobody at home. Hired a horse and rode with Lovaine till near eight o’clock; rode by THE AQUEDUCTS the Via Sacra two or three miles along the Street of Tombs—very interesting and curious—and then cut across to the ruin of an old villa, where an apartment floored with marble has lately been discovered, evidently a bath, and a very large one; on to Torlonia’s scavo and under the arches of the Claudian aqueduct. Nothing at Rome delights and astonishes me more than the aqueducts, the way they stretch over the Campagna—[3]

As some earth-born giants spread
Their mighty arms along th’ indented mead.

[3] The Claudian aqueduct, which is the grandest, and whose enormous remains form the great ornament of the Campagna, was begun by Caligula, and finished by Claudius. The structure of the arches is exactly like those of the Coliseum. The first aqueduct was built by Appius Cæcus, the censor, the same who laid down the Via Appia, 310 B.C.

And when you approach them how admirable are their vastness and solidity—each arch in itself a fabric, and the whole so venerable and beautiful. After all my delight at Naples I infinitely prefer Rome; there is a tranquil magnificence and repose about Rome, and an indefinable pleasure in the atmosphere, the colouring, and the ruins, which are better felt than described. We lingered about the aqueducts till dark, but there is hardly any twilight here; the sun sets, and in half an hour it is night. Almost everybody is gone or going, but the heat can’t have driven them away, for it is perfectly cool.

As we set out on our ride we passed a little church called ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ which was built on this occasion:—St. Peter was escaping from Rome (he was a great coward, that Princeps Apostolorum), and at this spot he met Christ, and said to him, ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ ‘Why,’ replied our Saviour, ‘I am going to be crucified over again, for you are running away, and won’t stay to do my business here;’ on which St. Peter returned to suffer in his own person, and the church was built in commemoration of the event. The Saint has no reason to be flattered at the character which is given of him by the pious editors of his Epistles. ‘Confidence and zeal form a conspicuous part of his character, but he was sometimes deficient in firmness and resolution. He had the faith to walk upon the water, but when the sea grew boisterous his faith deserted him and he became afraid. He was forward to acknowledge Jesus to be the Messiah, and declared himself ready to die in that profession, and yet soon after he thrice denied, and with oaths, that he knew anything of Jesus. The warmth of his temper led him to cut off the ear of the High Priest’s servant, and by his timidity and dissimulation respecting the Gentile converts at Antioch he incurred the censure of the eager and resolute St. Paul.’

We returned through the Porta di San Giovanni, and by the Scala Santa. There are three flights of steps; those in the middle are covered with wood (that the marble may not be worn out), and these are the holy steps; the other two are for the pious to walk down. I had no idea anybody ever went up on their knees, though I was aware they were not allowed to go up on their feet, and with no small surprise saw several devout females in the performance of this ceremony. They walk up the vestibule, drop upon their knees, rise and walk over the landing-place, carefully tuck up their gowns, drop again, and then up they toil in the most absurd and ridiculous postures imaginable.

Weak in their limbs, but in devotion strong,
On their bare hands and feet they crawl along.
Dryden, Juv. 6.

I suppose there is some spiritual advantage derivable from the action, but I don’t know what. Why, however, I should be surprised I can’t tell, after all I have seen here. Madame de Dalberg came to my recollection, and San Gennaro; she had owned to me that she believed in the miracle, and we had a long dispute about it, though I have since thought that I am wrong to regard her credulity with such pity and contempt. The case admits of an argument, though not that which she made use of. Many people are right in what they do, but without knowing why; some wrong, with very fair reasons. She, however, is wrong both MODERN MIRACLES ways, but she had been brought up in principles of strong religious belief, and she belongs to a church which teaches that miracles have never ceased from the days of the Apostles till now. Those who believe that a miracle ever was performed cannot doubt that another may be performed now; the only question is as to the fact. We believe that miracles ceased with the Apostles, and we pronounce all that are alleged to have happened since to be fictitious. Believing as she does that miracles have continually occurred, it is more reasonable to believe in the reality of one she sees herself than in those which are reported by others. She sees this done; it is, then, a miracle or it is an imposture; but it is declared to be a miracle by a whole body of men, who must know whether it be so or not, and to whom she has been accustomed to look up with respect and confidence, and who have always been deemed worthy of belief. What is it, then, she believes? The evidence of her own senses, and the testimony of a number of men, and a succession of them, who are competent witnesses, and whose characters are for the most part unblemished, in her opinion certainly. The objection that it is improbable, and that no sufficient reason is assigned for its performance, is quite inadmissible, as all considerations of reason are in matters of revelation.

And when the event only is revealed, it is not for men to dogmatise about the mode or means of its accomplishment, for God’s ways are not as our ways, nor His thoughts as our thoughts, and His purposes may be wrought out in a manner that we wot not.—Keith.

There is nothing of which we are so continually reminded as that we must not pretend to judge of the reasonableness and fitness of the Divine dispensations, and there may therefore be good cause for the San Gennaro affair, though we cannot fathom it. Still, as the generality of people of education have given it up, one wonders at the orthodox few whose belief lingers on. There are other bloods that liquefy in various places besides San Gennaro’s.

May 12th, 1830

Walked to Santa Agnese, in the Piazza Navona, a pretty church, but hardly anybody in it; to Santa Maria sopra Minerva, empty likewise, but Michael Angelo’s Christ was there—a grand performance, though defective about the legs, which are too thick; he has one golden foot for the devotees, who were wearing out the marble toe, and would soon have had it as smooth as that of Jupiter’s in St. Peter’s; ci-devant Jupiter, now St. Peter.

I went again to the Pantheon, and walked round and round, and looked, and admired; even the ragged wretches who came in seemed struck with admiration. It is so fine to see the clouds rolling above through the roof; it passes my comprehension how this temple escaped the general wreck of Rome. Then to St. Peter’s, and went up to the roof and to the ball, through the aperture of which I could just squeeze, though there is plenty of room when once in it. The ball holds above thirty people, stuffed close of course. Three other men were going up at the same time, who filled the narrow ascent with garlicky effluvia. It is impossible to have an idea of the size and grandeur of St. Peter’s without going over the roof, and examining all the details, and looking down from the galleries. The ascent is very easy; there are slabs at the bottom taken from the holy gates, as they were successively opened and closed by the different Popes at the Jubilees.[4] At the top were recorded the ascents of various kings and princes and princesses, who had clambered up; there was also an inscription in Latin and Italian, the very counterpart of that which is still seen on the wall in Titus’s Baths, only instead of ‘Jovem omnipotentem atque omnes Deos iratos habeat,’ &c. &c., it runs, ‘Iratos habeat Deum omnipotentem et Apostolos Petrum et Paulum,’ though I don’t see why Paul should care about it. Went afterwards and walked on the Pincian.

[4] The Jubilee was established by Boniface VIII. in 1300, and was originally a centenary commemoration, but reduced to fifty years, and afterwards to twenty-five, as it still continues. Hallam remarks that the Court of Rome at the next Jubilee will read with a sigh the description of that of 1300. ‘The Pope received an incalculable sum of money, for two priests stood day and night at the altar of St. Peter, with rakes in their hands, raking up the heaps of money.’—Muratori.

A RACING VOW This morning went with the Lovaines and Monsignore Spada to see the library of the Vatican, which was to have been shown us by Monsignore Maii, the librarian, but he was engaged elsewhere and did not come. These galleries are most beautiful, vast, and magnificent, and the painting of the old part interesting and curious, but that which was done by Pius VI. and Pius VII. has deformed the walls with such trash as I never beheld; they present various scenes of the misfortunes of these two Popes, and certain passages in their lives. The principal manuscripts we saw were a history of Federigo di Felto, Duke of Urbino, and nephew of Julius II., beautifully illuminated by Julio Clovio, a scholar of Giulio Romano. I never saw anything more exquisite than these paintings. Amongst the most curious of the literary treasures we saw are a manuscript of some of St. Augustine’s works, written upon a palimpsest of Cicero’s ‘De Republicâ;’ this treatise was brought to light by Maii; the old Latin was as nearly erased as possible, but by the application of gall it has been brought out faintly, but enough to be made out, and completely read: Henry VIII.’s love-letters to Anne Boleyn, in French and English: Henry’s reply to Luther, the presentation copy to the Pope (Clement VII.), signed by him twice at the end, in English at the end of the book, in Latin at the dedication, which is also written by his own hand, only a line; the pictures representing St. Peter’s in different stages of the work are very curious. In the print room there is a celestial globe painted by Julio Romano.

Just before I went to the Vatican I read in ‘Galignani’ the agreeable intelligence that my mare Lady Emily had beat Clotilde at Newmarket, which I attribute entirely to my ex voto of a silver horse-shoe, which I vowed, before I went to Naples, to the Virgin of the Pantheon in case I won the match; and, as I am resolved to be as good as my word, I have ordered the horse-shoe, which is to be sent on Monday, and as soon as it arrives it shall be suspended amongst all the arms, and legs, and broken gigs, and heads, and silver hearts, and locks of hair.

Everybody here is in great alarm about the King (George IV.), who I have no doubt is very ill. I am afraid he will die before I get home, and I should like to be in at the death and see all the proceedings of a new reign; but, now I am here, I must stay out my time, let what will happen. I shall probably never see Rome again, and ‘according to the law of probability, so true in general, so false in particular,’ I have a good chance of seeing at least one more King leave us.

May 15th, 1830

I rode with Lord Haddington to the Villa Mellini last evening on a confounded high-going old hunter of Lord Lynedoch’s, which he gave to William Russell. On my return found Henry de Ros just arrived, having been stopped at Aquapendente and Viterbo for want of a lascia passare.

This morning I have been dragging him about the town till he was half dead. The three last days have been the hottest to which Rome is subject—not much sun, no wind, but an air like an oven. The only cool place is St. Peter’s, that is delicious. It is the coolest place in summer and the warmest in winter. We went to St. Peter’s, Coliseum, gallery of the Vatican, Villa Albani, and Villa Borghese. The Villa Albani I had not seen before; it is a good specimen of a Roman villa, full of fine things (the finest of which is the Antinous), but very ill kept up. The Cardinal has not set his foot in it for a year and a half; there is one walk of ilexes perfectly shady, but all the rest is exposed to the sun. The post brought very bad accounts of the King, who is certainly dying. I have no notion that he will live till I get home, but they tell me there will be no changes. Gagarin told me last night that Lieven is to be governor to the Emperor of Russia’s eldest son, that for the present he will retain the title of Ambassador, and that Matuscewitz will be Chargé d’Affaires in London.

May 18th, 1830

Again dragging Henry de Ros about, who likes to see sights, but is not strong enough to undergo fatigue. Yesterday I called on M. de la Ferronays, and had a long conversation about French politics; he is greatly APPROACHING COUP D’ETAT IN FRANCE alarmed at the state of affairs in France, and told me that he had said everything he could to the King to dissuade him from changing his Ministry and trying a coup d’état, that the King has always been in his heart averse to a Constitution, and has now got it into his head that there is a settled design to subvert the royal authority, in which idea he is confirmed by those about him, ‘son petit entourage.’ He anticipates nothing but disaster to the King and disorder in the country from these violent measures, and says that France was increasing in prosperity, averse to change, satisfied with its Government and Constitution, and only desirous of certain ameliorations in the internal administration of the country, and of preserving inviolate the institutions it had obtained. He thinks the success of the expedition to Algiers, if it should succeed, will have no effect in strengthening the hands of Polignac; says they committed a capital fault in the beginning by proroguing the Chambers upon their making that violent Address in answer to the Speech, that they should immediately have proceeded to propose the enactment of those laws of which the country stands in need, when if the Chamber had agreed to them the Ministry would have appeared to have a majority, and would thereby gain moral strength; and if they had been rejected, the King would have had a fine opportunity of appealing to the nation, and saying that as long as they had attacked him personally he had passed it by, but as they opposed all those ameliorations which the state of France required, his people might judge between him and them, and that this would at least have given him a chance of success and brought many moderate people to his side. He added that he had also said the same thing to Polignac, but without success, that he is totally ignorant of France and will listen to nobody. I told him that Henry de Ros had been at Lyons when the Dauphin came, and how ill he was received by the townspeople and the troops, at which he did not seem at all surprised, though sorry.

Went to Santa Maria in Trastevere to-day, the Farnese Palace, the Farnesina and Spada, Portico d’Ottavia and Mausoleo d’Augusto; this last not worth seeing at all. The last time I was at the Spada I did not see the pictures, some of which are very good, particularly a Judith by Guido, and a Dido by Guercino, which is damaged, but beautiful. Then to Santa Maria Maggiore and St. John Lateran, and a ride over the Campagna to the Claudian aqueduct and Torlonia’s scavo.

May 20th, 1830

I breakfasted with Mills at his villa on the Palatine; Madame de Menon, Henry Cheney, Fox, and the Portuguese Charge d’Affaires; very agreeable: his villa charming; it formerly belonged to Julius II., and one room is painted in fresco by Raphael and his scholars, as they say.

The Portuguese is Donna Maria’s officer. The relations of the Holy See with Portugal are rather anomalous, but sensible. The Pope says he has nothing to do with politics, does not acknowledge Don Miguel, but as he is de facto ruler of Portugal, he must for the good of the Church (whose interests are not to be abandoned for any temporal considerations) transact business with him, and so he does. This Envoy is very sanguine as to the ultimate success of the Queen’s cause.

Went to the Orti Farnesiani and to Livia’s Baths, where there is still some painting and gilding to be seen. Then to the Capitol; saw the pictures and statues (again), and called on Bunsen, who told me a colossal head of Commodus could not be Commodus (which stands in the court of the Capitol); he won’t allow anything is anything. He is full of politics, and thinks the French will get rid of their domestic difficulties by colonising Africa, and does not see why they should not as well as the Romans; but he seems a better antiquary than politician.

Some pictures in the Capitol are very fine—Domenichino’s Sybil and Santa Barbara, Guercino’s Santa Petronella (copied in mosaic in St. Peter’s) and Cleopatra and Antony. There are several unfinished Guidos, some only just begun. They say he played, and when he lost and could not pay, MALARIA painted a picture; so these are the produce of bad nights, and their progress perhaps arrested by better.

To the Borghese Villa. At present I think Chiswick better than any villa here, but they tell me when I get home and see Chiswick and remember these I shall think differently.

May 22nd, 1830

Found it absolutely necessary to adopt Roman customs and dine early and go out after dinner; one must dine at four or at nine. Went to Raphael’s house, which is painted by his scholars, and one room by himself; a very pretty villa, uninhabited, and belongs to an old man and an old woman, who will neither live in it nor let it. Though close to the Villa Borghese, which is occupied by the malaria, this villa is quite free from it. The malaria is inexplicable. If it was ‘palpable to sight as to feeling,’ it would be like a fog which reaches so far and no farther. Here are ague and salubrity, cheek by jowl. To the Pamfili Doria, a bad house with a magnificent view all round Rome; fine garden in the regular clipped style, but very shady, and the stone pines the finest here; this garden is well kept. Malaria again; Rome is blockaded by malaria, and some day will surrender to it altogether; as it is, it is melancholy to see all these deserted villas and palaces, scarcely one of which is inhabited or decently kept. I don’t know one palace or villa which is lived in as we should live in England; the Borghese Villa is the only one which is really well kept, but Prince Borghese has 70,000ℓ. a year; he lives at Florence and never comes here, but keeps collecting and filling his villa. The other morning the ground here was in many parts covered by a thin red powder, which was known to come from an eruption, and everybody thought it was Vesuvius, and so travellers reported, but it turns out to be from Etna or Stromboli. Naples was covered with it, and the sun obscured, but it is much nearer. Rome must be 300 or 400 miles from Etna.

May 23rd, 1830

Went to three churches—Nuova, San Giovanni del Fiorentini, San Agostino; in this latter is Raphael’s fresco of the prophet Isaiah, in the style of M. Angelo, but it did not particularly strike me. There is a remarkable Madonna here, a great favourite; her shrine is quite illuminated with lamps and candles, and adorned with offerings which cover the columns on each side of the church. Numerous devotees were kissing her gilt foot, and the Virgin and Child were decked with earrings, bracelets, and jewels and gold in every shape; the Child, which is of a tawny marble, looked like some favourite little ‘nigger,’ so bedizened was he with finery. She is a much more popular Madonna than my friend of the Pantheon, to whom I went, as in honour bound, and hung up my horse-shoe by a purple riband (my racing colour) round one of the candlesticks on the altar, with this inscription—C.C.G., P.G.R.N. A.27, 1830.[5]

[5] [These letters appear to stand for the following votive inscription: ‘Charles Cavendish Greville. Pro gratias receptas nuper. April 27, 1830.’]

Took H. de Ros to see the Cenci and the skeleton friars, not exactly birds of a feather; was obliged to squabble with the monk to get a sight of my old friends the skeletons, who at last let us in, but would not take any money, which I thought monks never refused, but my laquais de place said, ‘Lo conosco bene, c’è molto superbo.’ Rode along the Via Appia and to Maxentius’s Circus.

May 24th, 1830

Called on Sir William Gell at his eggshell of a house and pretty garden, which he planted himself ten years ago, and calls it the Boschetto Gellio. He was very agreeable, with stories of Pompeii, old walls, and ruined cities, besides having a great deal to say on living objects and passing events.

Dined with M. de la Ferronays—a great party—and was desired to hand out Madame la Comtesse de Maistre, wife to the Comte Xavier de Maistre, author of the ‘Voyage autour de ma Chambre’ and ‘Le Lépreux,’ to which works I gave a prodigious number of compliments. The Dalbergs and Aldobrandinis dined there, and some French whom I did not know. The Duc de Dalberg and his wife are a perpetual source of amusement to me, she with her devotion and believing everything, he with his air moqueur and believing nothing; she so merry, he so shrewd, and so they ACCESSION OF THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS squabble about religion. ‘Qui est cet homme?’ I said to him when a ludicrous-looking abbé, broader than he was long, came into the room. ‘Que sais-je? quelque magot.’ ‘Ah, je m’en vais dire cela à la Duchesse.’ ‘Ah, mon cher, n’allez pas me brouiller avec ma famille.’

He had been talking to me about La Ferronays the day before, and said he was a sensible, right-headed man, ‘mais diablement russe;’ and last night La Ferronays gave us an account of the revolt of the Guards on the Emperor Nicholas’s accession, of which he had been a witness—of the Emperor’s firmness and his subsequent conversations with him, all which was very interesting, and he recounted it with great energy. He said that the day after the affair of the Guards all the Corps Diplomatique had gone to him, that he had addressed them in an admirable discourse and with a firm and placid countenance. He told them that they had witnessed what had passed, and he had no doubt would give a faithful relation of it to their several Courts; that on dismissing them, he had taken him (La Ferronays) into his closet, when he burst into tears and said, ‘You have just seen me act the part of Emperor; you must now witness the feelings of the man. I speak to you as to my best friend, from whom I conceal nothing.’ He went on to say that he was the most miserable of men, forced upon a throne which he had no desire to mount, having been no party to the abdication of his brother, and placed in the beginning of his reign in a position the most painful, irksome, and difficult; but that though he had never sought this elevation, now that he had taken it on himself he would maintain and defend it. When La Ferronays had done, ‘L’entendez-vous?’ said Dalberg. ‘Comme il parle avec goût; cela lui est personnel. L’Empereur ne lui a pas dit la moitié de tout cela.’

La Ferronays introduced me to Cardinal Albani, telling him I had brought him a letter from Madame Craufurd, which I did, and left it when I was here before. He thought I was just come, and asked for the letter, which I told his Eminence he had already received. He had, however, forgotten all about me, my letter, and old Craaf. We had a long conversation about the Catholic question, the Duke’s duel with Lord Winchelsea (which he had evidently never heard of), the King’s illness, &c. He is like a very ancient red-legged macaw, but I suppose he is a dandy among the cardinals, for he wears two stars and two watches. I asked him to procure me an audience of the Pope, which he promised to do. Escaped at last from the furnace his room was, and went to air in the streets; came home early and went to bed. This morning got up at half-past six, and went to look out for some columbaria I had heard of out of the Porta Pia, and near Santa Agnese. The drones at Santa Agnese knew nothing about them, but I met La Ferronays riding as I was returning in despair, and he showed me the way to them. They have been discovered about six years, and are in a garden. The excavation may be fifteen feet by about eight or nine, more or less, and is full of broken urns and inscriptions, some of which are very good indeed. One is upon C. Cargilius Pedagogus:—

Vixi quandiu potui, sine lite, sine rixâ,
Sine contentione, sine ære alieno, amicis fidem
Bonam præstiti, peculio pauper, animo divitissimus,
Benè valeat is qui hoc titulum perlegit meum.

Another—

Lucius Virius Sancius æt. xxiii.
Quod tu mî debebas facere, ego tibi facio, mater pia.

The same idea as in Canning’s verses on his son:—

Whilst I, reversed our nature’s kindlier doom,
Pour forth a father’s sorrows o’er his tomb.

And Evander on Pellas:—

Contra ego vivendo vici mea fata superstes
Restarem ut genitor.

As I came back I looked into San Bernardo, Santa Maria della Vittoria, and Santa Susanna, and I stopped to look at the ‘Moses striking the Rock,’ which is certainly very fine, though there is too much of Moses and not enough of rock or water. TIVOLI After breakfast to the Vatican library, where the Duc de Dalberg had engaged the Abbé Maii to meet him, and he showed us all the manuscripts, most of which I had already seen. He is very laborious as well as learned. Maii is said to undertake too much, and to leave a great deal half examined, and therefore unknown; but somebody (I forget who) is at daggers drawn with him, so it may be the accusation of a literary enemy. Went about with the Dalbergs to several places, to all of which I had been before. At every church the Duchess and her daughter dropped on their knees and sprinkled themselves with holy water, and prayed and curtsied, but nothing could get him down upon his marrow bones.

May 25th, 1830

Breakfasted with Gell in his Boschetto Gellio under a treillage of vines, and surrounded by fruits and flowers. He was very agreeable, and told us a great many anecdotes of the Queen and her trial. We are just setting off for Tivoli.

May 27th, 1830

Went to Tivoli. The journey hotter than flames over the Campagna. It is the most beastly town I ever saw, more like the Ghetto here than any other place, full of beggars and children. The inn very moderate, but Henry and I got a very good appartment, looking over the country, in a private house. We all dined together.

—— is the merriest of saints, the jolliest of devotees, and very unlike the ghost in ‘Don Juan,’ who says, ‘Che si pasce di cibo celeste non si pasce di cibo mortale,’ for though rigorously obedient to the prescribed fasts of the Church, she devours flesh enough on other days to suffice for those on which it is forbidden; and on the meagre days she indemnifies herself by any quantity of fish, vegetables, and sucreries of all kinds. It is only like eating her first course on Thursday and her second on Friday.

After dinner we sent for the most famous guide, with the magnificent name of Pietro Stupendo, called ‘Stupendous’ from his frequent use of that adjective in pointing out the views. His real name is Barbarossa, which is nearly as fine. We went to see the sun set from the Villa d’Este a very fine villa, with clipped trees, waterworks, and all the usual beauties of Italian villas. It belongs to the Duke of Modena, is uninhabited, and falling to decay for want of care and attention. Thence to the Temple of the Sybil or Vesta[6] (for it goes by both names), which is very airy and graceful, and perched on the point of a rock, but its effect spoiled by being embedded in dirty, ugly houses. The fall below was made by Bernini, and is very pretty, but not grand, and it looks rather artificial. We saw it from what is called the Grotto of Neptune. At night I returned again, but nobody else would stir out. I went down to the fall, and had bundles of hay lit on the rock above, and some blue lights called lumi di Bengala, a sort of firework, put in the temple, and the effect was beautiful. The reflected light upon the cascade, and the light and shade upon the rocks, and the temple made visible through the darkness by the soft blue flame, without any of the background of buildings appearing, were very fine, and in the obscurity it seemed much more extensive and natural. I saw this first from the Grotto of Neptune, and then from the opposite height.

[6] I believe it to be the Sybil’s Temple. There is a frightful square building close to it they call the Sybil’s Temple, but I do not see by what authority. Nibby says it is Vesta, but everybody else says the Sybil.—Forsyth, Cramer, &c.

Yesterday morning we were to have started on the giro of Tivoli at six, but as women are never ready, and a good deal of eating and drinking was to be gone through before we got under weigh, we were not off till near eight. The consequence was that we got into the heat, and lost the colouring of the early morning, and those lights and shades on which great part of the beauty of this scenery depends. I was altogether disappointed; the hills are either quite bare or covered with olives, the most tiresome of trees; the falls are all artificial, and though the view at the foot of the largest (or as near as you can approach it) is beautiful, on the whole no part of the scenery answered my expectations. The water falls in eleven separate cascades (above and below), and sinking into the gulf appears to boil up again in clouds of spray, but TIVOLI the artificial channel above is distinctly visible. There is an ancient bridge over the Anio and part of a road up to Tivoli in wonderful preservation. Our party pleased their imaginations by thinking that Augustus and Mecænas had probably gone cheek by jowl over the road and bridge, but Stupendous told me it was built by Valerian, A.D. 253, though he had no notion who Valerian was, except that he was an Emperor. There are some curious remains of Mecænas’s Villa, particularly the places (if they are really so) where the slaves were kept, which are just like cellars. I cannot remember seeing any apartments destined for slaves at Pompeii, but from all one sees or hears and reads of the Roman slaves, they must have been treated in a manner that it is inconceivable they should have endured, considering their numbers, and of what they were generally composed—barbarian prisoners or free citizens reduced to servitude. We ended the giro at the Villa d’Este, and breakfasted on the terrace; the rest of the party then retired to sleep and play at cards at the inn, and I started with Stupendous to see the remains of an ancient city, and some specimens of Cyclopean walls, about four or five miles off. The first place is called Ventidius Bassa’s, because that gentleman had a villa there, built on the ruins of a little Cyclopean town, where there are still some walls standing. From thence to Mitriano, which must have been a large town, the vestiges still covering several hills, and the remains of walls being very large; there is nothing left but a few broken fluted columns, and one flat marble stone perfect, with an inscription. This jaunt was hardly worth the trouble.

When I came back from Mitriano, I went down to the Grotto of the Syrens, from whence the view of the cascade is much finer than from the other grotto, and really grand; but the path is very slippery from the clouds of spray constantly falling over it. I did not go quite to the grotto, for Stupendous told me he had nearly slipped down the rock and cracked his crown; so I declined running that risk, but saw just as well, for I went nearly to the bottom.

At half-past four we went to Adrian’s Villa, with which I was as much delighted as I was disappointed with Tivoli. Nothing can be more picturesque than the ruins, and nothing gives such an idea of the grandeur of the ancient masters of the world. They are six miles in circumference, and the remains are considerable, though not very distinct, but it is very easy to perceive that they are the ruins of a villa, or a collection of ornamental and luxurious buildings, and not of a town, which from their size they might be. Almost all the ruins of antiquity that adorn Rome were found here, or in Caracalla’s Baths, which latter were supplied from this stock—all the Albani collection, most of the Museo Borbonico at Naples, and half the Vatican. The Albani collection was made by a nephew of Clement XI., the Albani Pope. They say only one-fourth has been excavated. The ruins are overgrown with ivy and all sorts of creepers. The grounds are full of pines and cypresses of great size, and it is altogether one of the most interesting and beautiful spots I have seen in Italy. The Villa Adriani now belongs to Duke Braschi, nephew of Pius VI. He has not excavated, but the truth is that there is little temptation to individuals to do so. The Government have taken all the ruins under their protection, and no proprietor is allowed to destroy any part of them. So far so good, but if he digs and finds anything, he may not sell it; the Government reserves to itself a right of pre-emption, and should he be offered a large sum by any foreigner for any object he may find, he is not allowed to take it, although the Government may not choose to buy it at the same price. They will fix a fair, but not a fancy price, but the vendor is often obliged, when they do buy it, to wait many years for his money. Albani employed 1,000 men to excavate.

We came back in a deliciously cool evening. The Duchess wanted us to keep with her carriage (she had a pair and we had four horses), for fear she should be robbed—for she had heard that somebody had been robbed somewhere a little while ago—which we promised; but our postilions set off in a gallop, we fell asleep, and they were left to their fate.

MISS KELLY’S ADVENTURE At night.—This morning as I was sitting at Torlonia’s reading the newspapers, a woman came in, whom Luigi Chiaveri soon after begged to introduce to me. She was a Mrs. Kelly, of whose history I had already heard, and I told Chiaveri I would assist her if I could. She told me her case in detail. The short of it is this:—She and her daughter (who is very pretty) got acquainted at Florence with a family of Swifts. Young Swift seeing the girl was good-looking, and hearing she was rich, made up to her, gained her affections (as they call it), and proposed to marry her. She agreed, provided her mother did. They came to Rome. Swift followed, established himself at the same inn, and wrote to the mother to propose himself. The mother declined. He wrote a second letter—same reply. He then prevailed on the girl to promise not to give him up, but failed in persuading her to elope with him. She said she would marry him when she was of age. He pressed her to give him a written promise to this effect before witnesses. After some hesitation she agreed, and one evening (having been previously appointed by him) she met him in another room, where she found a priest and two men. She signed two papers without reading them, heard a short form muttered over, which she did not understand, and then was told to run downstairs again. A few days after she got uneasy as to what had happened, and confessed it all to her mother, who immediately conceived that this was a marriage ceremony into which she had been inveigled. She told her lover what she had done, who asked her what her mother had said. She told him that her mother fancied that it was a marriage, but that she had told her it was not, when he informed her it was, and this was the first intimation he gave her of the sort, and the first time he had given her to understand that he regarded her as his wife. She reproached him with his duplicity and the imposition he had practised on her, and told him she would have no more to say to him. This took place in St. Peter’s one Friday at vespers. Soon after they went to Naples, where Swift followed, and wrote to her mother saying he had married her daughter, and asking her forgiveness; that she might fancy the marriage was not valid, but she would find it was, having been celebrated by an abbé, witnessed by the nephew of a cardinal, and the certificate signed by a cardinal, with the knowledge of the Pope. She sent no answer, when he begged an interview, which she granted, and then he told her that he was a Catholic, and that her daughter had become so too, and had signed an act of abjuration of the Protestant religion. The mother and daughter, however, declined having anything to do with him, and the latter declared that she had never changed her religion at all. He then claimed her as his wife, and tried to prevail on Hill and Lushington (Sir Henry Lushington, Consul—the present Lord Berwick, Minister) to prevent their leaving Naples. They declined to interfere, and advised the mother to go home, and let the matter be settled between them in England. She took the hint and set off. He followed, and overtook them at Rome, and there, by representations to the civil and religious authorities that they were taking away his wife to prevent her being a Catholic, and make her relapse to the Protestant faith, he got them to interfere, and their passports were refused. Such is their story. They have nobody to advise, assist, or protect them.

I went to La Ferronays, who was all good-nature, and said he would go with me to Cardinal Albani; but I went first to the hotel and saw the girl alone, who corroborated all her mother had said. I wrote down her evidence, and made her sign it, and then went with the Ambassador to the Cardinal in the Quirinal Palace. The door of his cabinet was locked, but after a sort of abbé suisse had knocked a little he came and opened it, and in we went. He did not recollect my name the last time I saw him, nor my person this. La Ferronays explained the business, with which he was already acquainted, partly through Kestner (the Hanoverian Minister) and partly through the Roman authorities, who had given him the case of the adventurer, for such he seems to be. The Cardinal seemed disposed to do nothing (Bunsen assures me he is a very sensible man, and right-headed MISS KELLY’S ADVENTURE and well disposed), and said she was married. We said, not at all. Then he hummed and hawed, and stammered and slobbered, and talked of the ‘case being in the hands of the Saint Office [the Inquisition!!] under the eyes of his Holiness. What could he do?’ We fired off a tirade against the infamy of the action, said that the English tribunals ought to decide upon the validity of the marriage, that all they wanted was to go home, that the man might follow and make his claim good if he could, and that the story (if they were detained here) would make a noise in England, and would be echoed back to France by the press of both countries, and that it was very desirable to avoid such a scandal. He seemed struck with this, and said it would be best to send them off to settle their disputes at home, but that they must have patience, that time was necessary and the case must be examined. We were obliged to be contented with this, and saying we were sure the case was in good hands (which I doubt, for he would leave it there if he dared), with many scrapes and compliments we took our leave. The girl has never dared to show her face, for fear of being carried off by the lover or shut up in a convent by the Grand Inquisitor, so I tranquillised their minds and sent them out an airing. In the evening I spoke to Monsignore Spada, who has promised to help to get up a case in Italian, if it should be wanted.

Dined with M. de la Ferronays, and went to his villa (Mattei) afterwards. He has been perfect in this affair, full of prompt kindness; but what a Government! how imbecile, how superannuated!—a Minister of ninety almost, a sovereign of whom all that can be said is that he is a great canonist, and all that little bubbling and boiling of priestery and monkery, which is at once odious, mischievous, and contemptible, a sort of extinct volcano, all the stink of the sulphur without any of the splendour of the eruption. They want the French again sadly. English subjects detained by the Inquisition in 1830!! La Ferronays advised me to ask the Pope for a moment of audience, and to request him to see the girl himself, and interrogate her, and learn the truth, of the case.

I had just done writing the above when a note came from La Ferronays with the passports for the Kellys, which Albani had sent him, so I had only to thank the Cardinal instead of mentioning it to the Pope. I did not think he would have been so quick. How enchanted they will be to-morrow morning!

May 29th, 1830

At ten Kestner called for Lovaine and me, and we went to the Pope.[7] His Court is by no means despicable. A splendid suite of apartments at the Quirinal with a very decent attendance of Swiss Guards, Guardie Nobili, Chamberlains—generally ecclesiastics—dressed in purple, valets in red from top to toe, of Spanish cut, and in the midst of all a barefooted Capuchin. After waiting a few minutes, we were introduced to the presence of the Pope by the Chamberlain, who knelt as he showed us in. The Pope was alone at the end of a very long and handsome apartment, sitting under a canopy of state in an arm-chair, with a table before him covered with books and papers, a crucifix, and a snuff-box. He received us most graciously, half rising and extending his hand, which we all kissed. His dress was white silk, and very dirty, a white silk skullcap, red silk shoes with an embroidered cross, which the faithful kiss. He is a very nice, squinting old twaddle, and we liked him. He asked us if we spoke Italian, and when we modestly answered, a little, he began in the most desperately unintelligible French I ever heard; so that, though no doubt he said many excellent things, it was nearly impossible to comprehend any of them; but he talked with interest of our King’s health, of the antiquities, and Vescovali, of Lucien Buonaparte and his extortion (for his curiosities), said when he was Cardinal he used to go often to Vescovali. He is, in fact, a connoisseur. Talked of quieting religious dissensions in England and the Catholic question; and when I said, ‘Très-Saint Père, le Roi mon maître n’a pas de meilleurs sujets que ses sujets catholiques,’ his eyes MISS KELLY’S ADVENTURE whirled round in their sockets like teetotums, and he grinned from ear to ear. After about a quarter of an hour he bade us farewell: we kissed his hand and backed out again. We then went to the Cardinal, whom I thanked warmly for his prompt attention to my request in having given the passports to my protégées. It is the etiquette in the Court of the Quirinal for the servants to descend from behind the carriage, and the horses to go a foot pace.

[7] [The Pope was Pius VIII. (Francisco Xavierio Castiglioni), whose reign was a very short one, for he succeeded Leo XII. in March 1829, and was succeeded by Gregory XVI. in December, 1830.]

After this audience I took the passport to the Kellys. The mother was in bed, but the girl came to me in a transport of gratitude and joy. They went off in the evening to Florence. La Ferronays advised me to send them off directly, for fear the priests should begin to stir in the matter and raise fresh obstacles.

In the afternoon went to Gibson’s, the sculptor. He is very simple and intelligent, and appears to be devoted to his art. There is a magnificent Venus, composed from various models, like Zeuxis’s statue of Juno at Crotona.

Quando Zeusi l’immagine far volse
Che par dovea nel tempio di Giunone,
E tante belle nude insieme accolse,
E per una farne in perfezione,
Da chi, una parte, e da chi, un’ altra tolse.

May 31st, 1830

Yesterday the advocate to whom I had advised Mrs. Kelly to go came to me, and said he could not understand what she said, and she had desired him to call on me. I told him the story, and he said he would look into it and see what was to be done. I had advised her before she went to consult an Italian lawyer as to the necessary steps to be taken here in order to prove the invalidity of the marriage in England. This man, whose name is Dottore Belli, was recommended to me by Monsignore Spada as a clever lawyer, and particularly good for the case, because brother of one of the judges (or other officer) in the Vicar-General’s court. But I suppose he has less influence over the brother than the brother over him, for this morning he sent me a very civil but formal letter, saying ‘the parties were married, and had abjured after instruction received’—evidently a letter dictated by the court or by his brother, or at all events by some ecclesiastical interest. They evidently want to make the marriage good to save their own credit, but there is a great mystery in the whole affair. Cardinal Weld told La Ferronays that they had not yet found the priest who had performed the ceremony. Bunsen at my request undertook to enquire into the affair, but up to the present moment (June 13th) he has only made the case more confused and inexplicable.[8]

[8] The conclusion of this affair is not less curious than its commencement. The parties returned to this country. Swift sued Miss Kelly in the Ecclesiastical Court for the restitution of conjugal rights. After much delay the case was elaborately argued before Sir John Nicholl, who at very great length pronounced judgment against the validity of the marriage. Swift appealed to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, when the sentence of the Court below was reversed, and the ceremony at Rome decided to be a good and binding marriage. The parties were thus irrevocably made man and wife, and after some time had elapsed their mutual friends and relations set on foot a negotiation for a reconciliation, and eventually Miss Kelly agreed to live with Mr. Swift, on condition that the marriage ceremony should be regularly performed, which was accordingly done: certain settlements were made, and they are now (for all I know to the contrary) living happily and harmoniously together. [The further proceedings in this cause are described in the second volume of this Journal, when they came before the Privy Council.]

To-day there was a grand ceremony of the transportation of the standard of a new saint (that is, one made about fifty years ago) from St. Peter’s to San Lorenzo in Lucina, his own church. This saint is San Francisco Carraccioli, a Neapolitan. All the peasantry came in, covered with religious gewgaws, and the streets were crowded. There was a balcony at the Cardinal’s as for the Girandola, but the Duc de Dalberg and I went to the Piazza di San Pietro, and saw it there; it was curious. First came the guards; then the footmen of the cardinals in State liveries, four for each, carrying torches; the clergy of various orders with chandeliers, crucifixes, immense crosses, standards, and all with torches; a long file of Jesuits, whose appearance was remarkable, so humble and absorbed did they look; bands of music and soldiers, the whole reaching from the door of SAINT-MAKING St. Peter’s to the other side of the Castle of St. Angelo. This procession made the giro of the city, for we fell in with it again in the Piazza della Colonna two hours afterwards. The Church of San Lorenzo and the adjoining houses were illuminated, and there was a picture, inscription, &c., stuck up over the door. The Cardinal Galetti, who is the patron of this order, asked the General of the Jesuits to send some of his flock to swell the procession, which he was desirous of making as brilliant as possible. The General excused himself on the ground that the Jesuits were not in the habit of attending processions. The Cardinal complained to the Pope of the General’s refusal. The next time the Pope saw him (he goes once a week to the Quirinal to make his report), after discussing all their matters of business and giving him the benediction, just as he was leaving the room, the Pope called after him, ‘O reverend Father, I hope you will not send less than a hundred of your Jesuits to the procession to-morrow.’ The General was thunderstruck, but obliged to obey. This ecclesiastical anecdote makes a noise here. The present General is a Belgian, and a man of great ability. The Jesuits have a college here, and a seminary; a hundred in the one, and three hundred in the other.

The process of saint-making is extremely curious. There are three grades of saintship: the first, for which I forget the name, requires irreproachable moral conduct; the second (beatification), two well-proved miracles; the third (sanctification), three. It costs an immense sum of money to effect the whole, in some cases as much as 100,000 piastres. The process begins by an application to the Pope, on the part of the relatives of the candidate, or on that of the confraternity, if they belong to a religious order. The Pope refers the question to a tribunal, and the claimants are obliged to appear with their proofs, which are severely scrutinised, and the miracles are only admitted upon the production of the most satisfactory evidence. Individuals continually subscribe for this purpose, particularly for members of religious orders, in order to increase the honour or glory of the society. These trials last many years, sometimes for centuries. There is a Princess of Sardinia, sister of the late King, who died lately, and they want to make a saint of her. The money (estimated at 100,000 piastres) is ready, but they cannot rout out a miracle by any means, so that they are at a dead stand-still before the second step. Nobody can be sanctified till two hundred years after their death, but they may arrive at the previous grades before that, and the proofs may be adduced and registered.

June 1st, 1830

Yesterday news came of the change in the French Ministry,[9] of which La Ferronays knew nothing the night before, and from which Dalberg anticipates an increase of desperate measures on the part of the Court. Went in the morning to Gibson’s; in the evening to the Orti Sallustiani, one of the many objects here not worth seeing, though they show two great holes in a wall, which they call the Campo Scelerato, and they say it is the place where the frail vestals were buried. Coming back we met the Pope taking a drive—two coaches-and-four, with guards and outriders. We got out of the carriage and took off our hats, and our laquais de place dropped on his knees. The Pope was in white, two people sitting opposite to him, and as he passed he scattered a blessing. All persons kneel when he appears—that is, all Catholics. The equipage was not brilliant. To the Corsini Villa, the gardens of which are some of the shadiest and most agreeable in Rome, but nobody inhabits the palace. The Corsinis live at Florence, and when they come here they lodge elsewhere, for the malaria, they say, occupies their domain. Thus it is that between poverty and malaria Rome is deserted by its great men. But the population ought to be increasing, for almost every woman one meets is with child. Gell denies the malaria, says he SAN LORENZO IN LUCINA should not mind living where they say it is dangerous to live; but can this be matter of opinion?

[9] [Charles X. had signed the decree for the dissolution of the existing Chamber of Deputies on the 16th of May: on the 19th of May another ordinance appointed M. de Chantelauze to the Ministry of Justice, M. de Peyronnet to the Interior, M. de Montbel to the Finances, and M. Capelle to the Department of Public Works. These appointments, more especially that of M. de Peyronnet, were deemed in the highest degree hostile to the Liberal party.]

In the evening looked into the Church and Piazza of San Lorenzo in Lucina. The church is hung with drapery, adorned with statues, and illuminated by innumerable wax candles. The piazza is illuminated too, and drapery hung out from the windows. There were crowds of people, lines of chairs, and boys bawling to the people to come and sit upon them; others selling lemonade, others the life and exploits of the saint on penny papers; a band of military music on a scaffolding, and guards patrolling about. Between the intervals of the band the bells, in discordant chorus, regaled ‘the ears of the groundlings.’ This strange, discordant scene, the foundation of which is religious, but which has but little of the appearance of religion in it, lasts eight successive days, and costs a vast sum of money—they say 9,000 scudi—the greatest part of which is furnished by the Government. It probably answers some end, for it is difficult to conceive that any Government, even this, should spend money, of which they have so little to spare, on these fooleries while poverty overspreads the land. This ceremony has not taken place before for a hundred years. The sight is certainly very gay. Close by, in the Palazzo Mani, is a theatre of marionettes, who play a comedy of Goldoni. The Duke Fiani lets part of his palace for this purpose. What an exhibition of wretchedness! He reserves a box which his servants let to anybody, whether on his account or their own I don’t know.

Evening.—Went before dinner to the Villa Madama, a ruined villa belonging to the royal house of Naples, with fine paintings still on the walls and ceilings, the vestiges of former luxury, and a capital view of Rome, the Tiber, the Milvian Bridge, and the mountains. After dinner to the San Gregorio to see the frescoes, the ‘Martyrdom of St. Andrew,’ the rival frescoes of Guido and Domenichino, and afterwards drove about till dark, when we went to a most extraordinary performance—that of the Flagellants. I had heard of it, and had long been curious to assist at it. The church was dimly lit by a few candles on the altar, the congregation not numerous. There was a service, the people making the responses, after which a priest, or one of the attendants of the church, went round with a bundle of whips of knotted cord, and gave one to each person who chose to take it. I took mine, but my companion laughed so at seeing me gravely accept the whip, that he was obliged to hide his face in his hands, and was passed over. In a few minutes the candles were extinguished, and we were left in total darkness. Then an invisible preacher began exhorting his hearers to whip themselves severely, and as he went on his vehemence and passion increased. Presently a loud smacking was heard all round the church, which continued a few minutes; then the preacher urged us to fresh exertions, and crack went the whips again louder and faster than before as he exhorted. The faithful flogged till a bell rang; the whips stopped, in a few minutes the candles were lit again, and the priest came round and collected his cords. I had squeezed mine in my hands, so that he did not see it, and I brought it away with me. As soon as the candles were extinguished the doors were locked, so that nobody could go out or come in till the discipline was over. I was rather nervous when we were locked up in total darkness, but nobody whipped me, and I certainly did not whip myself. A more extraordinary thing (for sight it can’t be called) I never witnessed. I don’t think the people stripped, nor, if they did, that the cords could have hurt them much. From thence to St. Peter’s, where we found the quarant’ ore and the high altar illuminated with heaps of candles. Only a few lights scattered at a great distance through the rest of the church, very few people there; but the dim light, the deep shades, the vast space, and the profound stillness were sublime. Certainly nothing in the world can approach St. Peter’s, and it always presents something new to admire.

From St. Peter’s to the Vatican, to see the statues by torchlight. The effect is wonderful, and totally unlike that which is produced by day. The finest statues unquestionably gain the most, and it is easy, after seeing this, to understand why most of the best are found in the baths; a better BUNSEN’S ACCOUNT OF ROME notion, too, may be formed of their magnificence. It would seem as if some statues had been formed expressly to be thus exhibited. There is a mutilated statue they call a Niobe (God knows why), with drapery blown back by the wind and appearing quite transparent. This effect cannot be produced by daylight.

June 2nd, 1830

Called on Bunsen, who has not yet got an answer from the agent he sent to the office of the Grand Vicar. I had a long conversation with him about the expediency of appointing an English Minister or agent of some sort at Rome, which he thinks very desirable and very feasible, upon the same plan on which the diplomatic relations of Prussia with Rome are conducted, and which he says go on very smoothly, and without embarrassment or inconvenience. There is good faith on both sides. The Catholic bishops do not attempt to deceive the Government, and he thinks that the Court of Rome does not attempt to hold any clandestine intercourse with the Prussian States. He says Albani is a sensible man; that the cardinals are bigoted and prejudiced, hostile to England, and most of them forgetful of all the See of Rome owes to our country; but they are still aware that, in the hour of danger, it is to England and the Protestant countries they must look for protection, as they found it when Austria wanted to strip them of the March of Ancona. He thinks there is much superstition among the lower classes, little religion among any, great immorality in all; the same desire of intriguing and extending its influence which the Romish Church has always had, but with very diminished means and resources. The Inquisition is still active in repressing heresy among Roman subjects, but not venturing to meddle with the opinions of foreigners. Its principles and its forms are the same as in former times. He says we have an inefficient Consul at Ancona, who was put in by Canning on account of his Liverpool connections. It would be very desirable to establish a regular Protestant church in Rome, with an able and permanent minister; but there is only an occasional church, with anybody who will serve in it, and who is paid by the congregation; but such a man is totally unable to cope with the Catholic preachers, and consequently many converts are made to the Catholic religion. A Consul-General at Rome might answer the purpose of an agent, and, without being an accredited Minister, perform all the functions of one. This was the pith of what he said, besides a great deal about the Catholic religion itself, its inferiority to the Reformed, its incompatibility with free institutions, and a good deal more, not much to the purpose. Bunsen is a man of very considerable information, learned, very obliging, and communicative, sensible, moderate, but rather prejudiced. At this moment he is full of the French expedition [to Algiers], and their colonising projects, of which he is thoroughly persuaded and not a little afraid.

The Duc de Dalberg told me that at the Congress of Vienna he was deputed to speak to Consalvi about ceding the March of Ancona to the Austrians. He answered, ‘My dear Duke, the Congress can treat us as it pleases. If we are pressed, we must retreat to the walls; further we cannot go, and we are there already.’ The Cardinal afterwards spoke to the Emperor, and the next day Metternich said he had orders from the Emperor to declare that he would take nothing from the Pontifical States without the free concurrence of the Pope; so there ended that question.

At night.—Just returned from Frascati with Henry de Ros—a very agreeable expedition. We went to the inn, a most execrable hotel, but dined very well on a repast we had the foresight to take with us. Before dinner went to the Villa Conti, which has a delicious garden, with fine trees and ample shade, and one of the prettiest falls of water I have seen. The house we did not enter, but it appeared small. To the Villa Marconi, without any garden, but a capital house, and the only one which looks well kept and inhabited. The Marconi house in the Conti garden would be perfect. After dinner to Tusculum, a beautiful walk under shade, with magnificent views over the Campagna on one side and Monte Cavo, Rocca di Papa, and the Prati d’Annibale on the other. The remains at Tusculum are next to nothing, part of a theatre, of an aqueduct, and of the FRASCATI walls. I believe the town was destroyed by Pope Celestine III. (1191), in order to extirpate a band of robbers which had long infested the country and made Tusculum their stronghold. All the country hereabout is beautiful, and the air excellent, so that a more perfect residence cannot be imagined. To the Villa Belvidere, belonging to Prince Aldobrandini, deserted and neglected, but very enjoyable, full of childish waterworks, but a good house, which is to be hired for 150ℓ. a year, and might be made very comfortable. Here is Mount Parnassus, and the water turns an organ, and so makes Apollo and the Muses utter horrid sounds, and a Triton has a horn which he is made to blow, producing a very discordant noise. I fell in with Lady Sandwich, and went back to tea with her at a villa which belonged to the Cardinal York. There are the royal arms of England, a bust of the Cardinal, and a picture of his father or brother. We also went to the Rufinella, whence the view is extremely fine; this was Lucien Buonaparte’s villa, and the scene of the capture of a painter and a steward by the banditti, who carried them off from the door of the villa and took them into the Abruzzi, which may be descried from the terrace. The cicerone who went with us (a tiresome and chattering fellow) told us that he had attended Queen Caroline, that they had come to him for evidence against her, and he had declared he knew nothing; but he said he could have deposed to some things unfavourable to her, having seen her and Bergami together and witnessed their familiarity.

June 4th, 1830

Yesterday rode round the walls. In the evening to the Vatican, and afterwards to Bunsen’s. He gave me his memorandum to read, which is contained in a letter to Wilmot Horton of the 28th of December, 1828, upon the settlement of the Catholic question, and his view of the mode in which it might be done. He approves of Wilmot’s plan, not knowing at that time that the Duke had resolved to grant unqualified emancipation. In this paper he describes the existing arrangements between the other Protestant Powers and the Court of Rome, and states in what manner he thinks we might pursue a similar course. It is well done, and his ideas appear to me very clear and sound. It is pretty evident that we should meet with no difficulties here, and that they would practically agree to everything we should require, provided we did not insist upon their doing so in specific terms. Our difficulties would arise from the extreme parties at home—the ultra-Catholics and the ultra-Protestants—but a steady hand might steer betwixt them both. Bunsen describes what has been done in Prussia, Hanover, Netherlands, and the minor German States; the Prussian arrangements appear to be the wisest. When the King of Prussia began to negotiate, he did not allow his Ministers to enter upon any discussion of principles, nor to ask for any express sanction of the status quo. On the other hand he did not prescribe to the Church of Rome the canonical form in which an express or tacit acknowledgment of the claims and rights of the Crown was to be made as to the secularisation of Church property. The Netherlands went on a different plan, and framed a constitution of the Roman Catholic Church in their dominions, called a Pragmatic Sanction, which they wanted the Pope to acknowledge. The Hanoverian Government also wished to conclude a formal treaty, and oblige the Pope to sanction certain civil regulations concerning Church government. He observes that the Court of Rome will appear ignorant of, and thus tacitly acknowledge, many things which it never will nor can expressly sanction and approve.

Throughout Germany, both Catholic and Protestant, all correspondence between the clergy and the Pope goes through the Government by the law of the country—all matters public and private—the Pope’s bulls and briefs are returned in the same way; and whenever any of these contain expressions which run against the national laws, the placet regium is only given with clauses reserving the rights of the Crown, and annulling what is irreconcilable with the civil law. The Court of Rome is quite aware of this practice, and the legations of Bavaria and Austria, as well as those of Prussia and Hanover, present the respective petitions of their clergy through their Roman agents. Bunsen says nothing can be practically more established, PROTESTANT STATES AND ROME but that no consideration would induce the Pope formally to sanction the practice in a treaty.

In the arrangements respecting the appointment of bishops and dignitaries, Prussia proposed the establishment of chapters, with the same right of election which had existed before the French Revolution. The smaller States of Germany followed a similar plan. Hanover proposed and obtained a veto. The chapter presents a list; the Government strikes out any name, but must leave two, out of which the chapter may elect, but in case of irregularity or inconvenience the chapter may make a second list. The Netherlands have the same system of limited veto and second list, and the confidential brief in addition.[10] The chapters have the right of election, the Pope of confirmation, by canonical institution as the necessary condition of the bishop’s consecration; but besides a confidential brief was agreed on desiring the chapter not to elect as bishop a person ‘minus gratam serenissimo regi;’ this ensures respect to the royal recommendation.

[10] [These facts, originally suggested by Bunsen at Rome to Mr. Greville were afterwards used by him as the basis of his argument for the establishment of diplomatic relations with the Court of Rome in his book on the ‘Policy of England to Ireland,’ published in 1845.]

June 5th, 1830

Yesterday morning called on M. de la Ferronays, but only saw him for a minute, for the Austrian Ambassador arrived, and I was obliged to go. He is in great alarm as well as sorrow at the appointment of M. de Peyronnet[11] and the aspect of affairs in France. He told me that he had so little idea of this appointment that he would have guessed anybody rather than that man, who was so odious that he had been rejected for three successive places, for the representation of which he had stood when he was Minister; that Villèle, with all his influence, could not get him elected; and that in the Chamber of Peers he had been so intemperate that he had been repeatedly called to order, a thing which hardly ever occurred; that the Government had evidently thrown away the scabbard by naming him on the eve of a general election, and thus offering a sort of insult to the whole nation; that it rendered his own position here very disagreeable, although his was an ecclesiastical and not a political mission, and that he in fact considered it only as an honourable retreat; yet he had written to Polignac the moment the news reached him, saying that if he considered him as in the least degree implicated politically with his Government he should immediately resign, and that if he found by his answer that he looked upon him as in the remotest degree connected with their measures he should instantly retire. I saw Dalberg afterwards, who appears to me deeply alarmed. He looks with anxiety to the Duke of Wellington as the only man whose authority or interference can arrest the French Ministry in the career which must plunge France into a civil war, if not create a general war in Europe. He believes that Metternich and the Austrians are backing up Charles X., and that, in case of any troubles, they will, in virtue of the Treaty of Chaumont, pour troops into France. His hope, then, is that the Duke will interpose and prevent this Austrian interference.

[11] [M. de Peyronnet was the Garde des Sceaux in the Polignac Cabinet: he was considered one of the most reactionary members of that ill-fated Administration.]

When La Ferronays told Polignac his opinion of the course he was beginning, the other only said, ‘Mon cher, tu ne connais pas le pays.’ The King told Dalberg himself that he would rather labour for his bread than be King of England; that it was not being a king. In his presence, too, he asked General ——, the Governor of Paris, what was the disposition of the troops, and he answered, ‘Excellent, sir; I have been in all the casernes, and they desire nothing so much as to fight for your Majesty;’ and such words as these the King swallows and acts upon. Their confidence, audacity, and presumption are certainly admirable, disdaining any art and management, and apparently anxious to bring about a crisis with the least possible delay.

June 7th, 1830

Drove about yesterday taking leave of people and places, the former of which I probably shall, and the latter shall not, see again. I have seen almost everything, but leave Rome with great regret, principally because I am POLIGNAC AND VILLÈLE afraid I shall never come again. If I was sure of returning I should not mind it.

Three o’clock.—Have determined to stay till after the Corpus Domini. Called on the Cardinal, who received me à bras ouverts, was full of civilities, and reconducted me to the outward room; talked of the Catholics and of the anxiety of his Government to see relations established with ours. I was obliged to go and take leave of him, for Bruti brought me a message full of politeness and a letter to convey to the Nuncio at Paris. Then to La Ferronays, who says, as does Dalberg, that he is persuaded it will end by the recall of Villèle to the Ministry, a compromise that all parties will be glad to make—that he has had the prudence to decline being a party to Polignac’s Administration, and when he is called to form one he will have nothing to say to Polignac.[12] It certainly will be curious if Villèle, after being driven from the Government with universal execration, and almost proscribed, should in two years be recalled by the general voice as the only man who can save France from anarchy and civil war. La Ferronays says that Villèle is not a great Minister, but a clever man, with great ingenuity and the art of management. He wishes to be thought like Pitt, who was also obliged to quit the Ministry, and afterwards resumed it; and he considers Polignac as his Addington, not that the resemblance holds good in any of the particulars, either of the men, or the times, or the circumstances.

[12] [M. de Villèle had come to Paris from his country seat in April, and a secret attempt had been made to bring him back to power. Prince Polignac offered him a seat in the Cabinet, but showed no disposition to make way for him. The King feared Villèle and preferred Polignac. Yet if M. de Villèle had then returned to power, he would probably have saved the monarchy and changed the course of events in Europe. (See Duvergier de Hauranne, ‘Histoire du Gouvernement parlementaire en France,’ tome x. p. 468; for a narration of these transactions.)]

June 8th, 1830

Last night to the La Ferronays’, when the Princess Aldobrandini was so delighted with the anecdote of my horse-shoe that she is gone off to the Pantheon to look at it. It was a full moon and a clear night, so I went to the Coliseum, and passed an hour there. I never saw it so well; the moon rode above without a cloud, but with a brilliant planet close to her; there was not a breath of air, not a human being near but the soldiers at the gates below, and the monk above with me; not a sound was heard but those occasional noises of the night, the bark of a dog, the chimes from churches and convents, the chirp of a bird, which only served to make silence audible. Though I have seen the Coliseum a dozen times before, I never was so delighted with its beauty and grandeur as to-night. No description in poetry or painting can do it justice; it is a ‘wreck of ruinous perfection,’ whose charm must be felt, and on such a night as this. The measures which the Government have taken to save the Coliseum from destruction will certainly accomplish that end, but its picturesque appearance will be greatly damaged. There is no part of the ruin which is not already supported by some modern brickwork, and they are building a wall which will nearly surround it. If they had been more selfish they would have left it to moulder away, and posterity to grumble over their stinginess or indifference. I am always tossed backwards and forwards between admiration of the Coliseum and St. Peter’s, and admire most that which I see last. They are certainly ‘magis pares quam similes,’ but worth everything else in Italy put together, except Pæstum.

To-day the spiritual arms of the Church are to be fulminated against a sinner in a case which is rather curious. There are two brothers who live at a place called Genezzano, in two adjoining houses, which formerly formed but one, belonging to the Colonna family, of whom the progenitors of these men bought it. A short time ago a man came to the brothers, and told them that in a particular spot on the premises there was a treasure concealed, the particulars of which he had learned from a memorandum in the papers of the Colonna family, to which he had got access, and he proposed to discover the same to them, if they would give him a part of it. They agreed, when he told them that under a little column built against a wall they would find a flat brick, covering a hole, in which was an earthen pot EXCOMMUNICATION OF A THIEF containing 2,000 ducats in gold. The column was there, so at night the brothers set to work to take it down, and beneath it they found the flat stone as described. When one of them (an apothecary) said to the other that, after all, it was probably an invention, that they should be laughed at for their pains, and he thought they had better give up the search, the other (who must be a great flat) said, ‘Very well,’ and they retired to bed. In the morning the apothecary told the other that in the night he could not help thinking of this business, and that his curiosity had induced him to get up and dig on, and that he had actually found the pot, but nothing in it. The other, flat as he was, could not stand this, and, on examining the pot, he found marks which, on further investigation, turned out to be indications of coin having been in it. The thief stuck to his story, so the dupe complained, and, as the presumption is considered to be strongly against him, they are going to try what excommunication will do. It is remarkable that they asked this man if he would swear upon the Host that he had not found any money, and this he refused to do, though he continued to deny it and to decline restitution. He was accounted a very religious man, and these were religious scruples, which, however, were not incompatible with robbery and fraud. His refusal to swear was taken as a moral evidence of guilt, and he was to be excommunicated to-day.

June 9th, 1830

Saw Torlonia’s house; very fine, and the only one in Rome which is comfortably furnished, and looks as if it was inhabited. A great many good pictures, and Canova’s Hercules and Lycus, which I do not admire. In the evening to the Convent of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, which is remarkably clean and well kept. There are forty-five friars (Passionisti), whose vows were not irrevocable, and, though the cases do not often occur, they can lay aside the habit if they please. They live on charity. In their garden is a beautiful palm, one of three which grow in Rome. They have several apartments for strangers who may like to retire to the convent for a few days, which are very decently furnished, clean, and not uncomfortable. They were at supper when I got there, so I went to look at them. They eat in silence at two long tables like those in our college halls, and instead of conversation they were entertained by some passages of the life of St. Ignatius, which a friar was reading from a pulpit. Their supper seemed by no means despicable, for I met a smoking frittura which looked and smelt very good, and the table was covered with bread, fruit, vegetables, and wine. But they fast absolutely three times a week, and whip themselves (la disciplina) three others. They teach theology and la dogmatica, and there is a library containing (they told me) books of all sorts, though their binding (for I only saw them through a trellis) looked desperately theological. At night to a very fine feu d’artifice in the Piazza San Lorenzo, which ended the festivities in honour of San Francisco Caraccioli, whose name appeared emblazoned amidst rockets and squibs and crackers, and the uproarious delight of the mob. Afterwards to the Pantheon to see it by moonlight, but the moon was not exactly over the roof, so it failed, but the effect of the partial light and the stars above was fine with the torches below half hid behind the columns.

June 10th, 1830

I thought I had seen everything here worth seeing, yet, though I have been several times to the Capitol, I have somehow missed seeing the Palazzo dei Conservatori, containing the famous wolf that suckled Romulus and Remus, in bronze, said to have been struck by lightning (of which it bears all the marks) the day Julius Cæsar was killed; the boy picking the thorn from his foot; the statue of the first Brutus; the geese of the Capitol (which are more like ducks); and the Fasti Consulares. It just occurred to me in time, and I went there yesterday morning. After dinner to the Villa Ludovisi with the Dalbergs and Aldobrandinis, which must owe its celebrity principally to the difficulty of getting access to it. I was extremely disappointed; Guercino’s ‘Aurora’ is not to be compared to Guido’s; his ‘Day’ and ‘Night’ are very fine, and the ‘Fame’ magnificent, but the ladies bustled through so rapidly that it was not possible to examine anything. The gardens are large, but all straight PROCESSION OF THE CORPUS CHRISTI walks and clipped hedges. The gallery of statues contains three or four fine things, but they are huddled together and their effect spoilt.

June 11th, 1830

Whilst the carriage is getting ready I may as well scribble the last day at Rome. And this morning went at eight to the Palazzo Accoramboni, to see the procession of the Corpus Domini, and was disappointed. This Palazzo Accoramboni, in which we were accommodated, belonged to a very rich old man, who was married to a young and pretty wife. He died and left her all his fortune, but, suspecting that she was attached to a young man who used to frequent the house, he made the bequest conditional upon her not marrying again, and if she did the whole property was to go to some religious order. She was fool enough (and the man too) to marry, but clandestinely. She had two children, and this brought the marriage to light. They therefore lost the property, amounting to 10,000ℓ. or 12,000ℓ. a year; but the Pope, in his vast generosity, allows her out of it 300 piastres (about 65ℓ.) a year, and gives a portion of 1,000 piastres (200ℓ.) to each of the little girls. It is supposed that she consulted some priest, who urged her to marry secretly, and then revealed the fact to the order interested. Otherwise it is difficult to account for their folly.

The magnificence of ceremonies and processions here depends upon the locality, and the awnings and flowers round the piazza spoilt it all. It was long and rather tiresome—all the monks and religious orders in Rome, the cardinals and the Pope, plenty of wax-lights, banners, and crosses, the crosses of Constantine and Charlemagne. The former is not genuine; that of Charlemagne is really the one he gave to the See. The Pope looks as if he was huddled into a short bed, and his throne, or whatever it is called, is ill managed. He is supposed to be in the act of adoration of the Host, which is raised before him, but as he cannot kneel for such a length of time, he sits covered with drapery, and with a pair of false legs stuck out behind to give his figure the appearance of kneeling. Before him are borne the triple crown and other Pontifical ornaments. The Guardia Nobile, commanded by Prince Barberini, looked very handsome, and all the troops en très-belle tenue. All the Ambassadors and foreigners were in this palace, and from it we flocked to St. Peter’s, which is always a curious sight on these occasions from the multitudes in it and the variety of their appearance and occupation—cardinals, princes, princesses, mixed up with footmen, pilgrims, and peasants. Here, Mass going on at an altar, and crowds kneeling round it; there, the Host deposited amidst a peal of music at another; in several corners, cardinals dressing or undressing, for they all take off the costume they wore in the procession and resume their scarlet robes in the church; men hurrying about with feathers, banners, and other paraphernalia of the day, the peasantry in their holiday attire, and crowds of curious idlers staring about. All this is wonderfully amusing, and is a scene which presents itself in continual variety. Went afterwards and took leave of all my friends—La Ferronays, Dalbergs, Bunsens, Lovaines, &c.—and at seven, to my great sorrow, left Rome. But as I do all that superstition dictates, I drank in the morning a glass of water at the Fountain of Trevi, for they say that nobody ever drinks of the Fountain of Trevi without returning to Rome.

The road about Narni and Augustus’s Bridge is beautifully picturesque. I set off directly to the cascade, with which I was as much delighted as I was disappointed with that of Tivoli. It is difficult to conceive anything more magnificent than the whole of this scenery.

Florence, June 10th, 1830

The horses were announced, and I was obliged to break off my account of Terni and resume it here, where I arrived after a tedious journey of forty hours, from Rome.

Most people are dragged up the mountain by bovi, see the upper part of the fall, and walk down. But as the bovi were not at hand, I reversed the usual order, walked to the bottom, and then toiled to the top. The walk, which is lovely, lies through the grounds of a count, who has a house close to the Nera (the Nera (Nar) is the river into which the Velino runs, and in which there is very good trout fishing), where FALLS OF TERNI the Queen of England once lived for a month. At the different points of view are little cabins (which would be very picturesque if they were less rudely constructed) for the accommodation of artists and other travellers. This gentleman has got a house which he reserves for the use of artists, of which there are always several on the spot during the summer. They pay nothing for the accommodation, but each is obliged to leave a drawing when he goes away; and by this means he has got an interesting collection, of the scenery of Terni. Nothing can be more accurate, as well as beautiful, than Byron’s description of the cascade, and it is wonderful in his magnificent poetry, how he has kept his imagination within the bounds of truth, and neither added a circumstance nor lavished an epithet to which it is not entitled.

Horribly beautiful! but on the verge
From side to side, beneath the glittering morn,
An Iris sits amidst the infernal surge,
Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn
Its steady dyes, while all around is torn
By the distracted waters, bears serene
Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn:
Resembling, ’mid the torture of the scene,
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien.

The rainbows are very various, seen from different points: from the middle, where the river rushes from the vortex of the great fall to plunge into another, the stream appears to be painted with a broad layer of divers colours, never broken or mixed till they are tossed up in the cloud of spray, and mingled with it in a thousand variegated sparkles. Above, an iris bestrides the moist green hill which rises by the side of the fall; and, as the spray is whirled up in greater or less abundance, it perpetually and rapidly changes its colours, now disappearing altogether, and now beaming with the utmost vividness. The man told me that at night the moon forms a white rainbow on the hill. There is a delicious but dangerous coolness all about the cascade. All the scenery about is as beautiful as possible. Just above the great fall is the Velinus tearing along in the same channel, which was first made for him by the Roman Consul 2,200 years ago—

Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice—

and there, the guide told me, some years ago a man threw in a young and beautiful wife of whom he was jealous. He took her to see the cascade, and when he got to this part (which is at the end of a narrow path overhung with brushwood) he got rid of the boys who always follow visitors, and after some delay returned alone, and said the woman had fallen in. One scream had been heard, but there was nobody to witness the truth. The mangled body was found in the stream below. Jealousy is probably common here. As I was walking a man passed me, going in great haste to the mountain, but I paid no attention to him. When I got back I heard that he was escaping from justice (into the Abruzzi, which are in the Neapolitan dominions), having stabbed his brother-in-law a few moments before out of jealousy of his wife. The wounded man was still alive, but badly hurt. The murderer was un bravo mechanico.

The mountain and the river have undergone many revolutions. The rock through which the present path is cut has been formed entirely by petrified deposits, and there are marks in various parts of former cascades, from which the water has been turned away. Clement VIII. (Aldobrandini) turned the water into its present course. At the bottom the old outlet of the Romans is dry, but is marked with that solidity which defies time, like all their works of this kind. Great part of the road from Terni is beautiful, and the Papal towns and villages appear to be in much better condition than on the other road. Some of them perched on the mountains are remarkably picturesque.

Bologna, June 14th, 1830

I went yesterday morning to Pratolino to see the statue of the genius of the Apennines, by John of Bologna, six miles from Florence. Pratolino was the favourite residence of the famous Bianca Capello. The house has been pulled down. It is in a very pretty English garden belonging to the Grand Duke, and, I think, amazingly MEZZOFANTI grand, but disgraced by presiding over a duck pond. They told me that if he stood up (and he looks as if he could if he would) he would be thirty braccia in height. I went into his head, and surveyed him on all sides. He ought to be placed over some torrent, or on the side of a mountain; but as he is, from a little distance (whence the ducks and their pond are not visible) he is sublime. Myriads of fire-flies sparkled in every bush; they are beautiful in a night journey, flitting about like meteors and glittering like shooting stars.

Dined with Lady Normanby at Sesto, set off at half-past eight, and arrived here at nine this morning. The first thing I did was to present my letter to Madame de Marescalchi from her sister, the Duchesse de Dalberg, who received me graciously and asked me to dinner; the next to call on Mezzofanti at the public library, whom I found at his desk in the great room, surrounded by a great many people reading. He received me very civilly, and almost immediately took me into another room, where I had a long conversation with him. He seems to be between fifty and sixty years of age, short, pale, and thin, and not at all remarkable in countenance or manner. He spoke English with extraordinary fluency and correctness, and with a very slight accent. I endeavoured to detect some inaccuracy of expression, but could not, though perhaps his phraseology was occasionally more stiff than that of an Englishman would be. He gave me an account of his beginning to study languages, which he did not do till he was of a mature age. The first he mastered were the Greek and Hebrew, the latter on account of divinity, and afterwards he began the modern languages, acquiring the idioms of each as he became acquainted with the parent tongue. He said that he had no particular disposition that way when a child, and I was surprised when he said that the knowledge of several languages was of no assistance to him in mastering others; on the contrary, that when he set to work at a fresh language he tried to put out of his head all others. I asked him of all modern languages which he preferred, and which he considered the richest in literature. He said, ‘Without doubt the Italian.’ He then discussed the genius of the English language, and the merits of our poets and historians, read, and made me read, a passage of an English book, and then examined the etymology and pronunciation of several words. He has never been out of Italy, or further in it than Leghorn, talks of going to Rome, but says it is so difficult to leave his library. He is very pleasing, simple, and communicative, and it is extraordinary, with his wonderful knowledge, that he should never have written and published any work upon languages. He asked me to return if I stayed at Bologna. The library has a tolerable suite of apartments, and the books, amounting to about 80,000 volumes, are in excellent order. One thousand crowns a year are allowed for the purchase of new books.

The Bolognese jargon is unintelligible. A man came and asked him some questions while I was there in a language that was quite strange to me, and when I asked Mezzofanti what it was, he said Bolognese, and that, though not harmonious, it was forcible and expressive. Afterwards to the gallery, which contains the finest pictures in Italy, though only a few: the Guidos and Domenichinos are splendid. I think Domenichino the finest painter that ever existed.

June 15th, 1830

Dined yesterday with Madame de Marescalchi, who lives in a great palace, looking dirty and uncomfortable, except one or two rooms which they occupy. There is a gallery of pictures, all of which are for sale. Seven or eight Italians came to dinner, whose names I never discovered. After dinner she took me to the Certosa, to see the Campo Santo, which is a remarkably pretty spot, and the dead appear to be more agreeably lodged at Bologna than the living. I had much rather die here than live here. It is very unlike the Campo Santo at Pisa, entirely modern, and looks exceedingly cheerful. Guido’s skull is kept here.

Went again to the gallery, and the Zambeccari Palace, where there are a few good pictures, but not many. All the pictures in all the palaces are for sale.

FERRARA In the ferry, crossing the Po (i.e. written in the ferry).—Called on Madame de Marescalchi to take leave. Set off at half-past one, and in clouds of dust arrived at Ferrara. It is curious to see this town, so large, deserted, and melancholy. A pestilence might have swept over it, for there seems no life in it, and hardly a soul is to be seen in the streets. It is eight and a half miles round, and contains 24,000 inhabitants, of which 3,000 are Jews, and their quarter is the only part of the town which seems alive. They are, as usual, crammed into a corner, five streets being allotted to them, at each end of which is a gate that is closed at nine o’clock, when the Jews are shut in for the night. The houses are filthy, stinking, and out of repair. The Corso is like a street in an English town, broad, long, the houses low, and with a trottoir on both sides. The Castle, surrounded by a moat, stands in the middle of the town, a gloomy place. In it lives the Cardinal Legate. I went to see the dungeon in which Tasso was confined; and the library, where they show Ariosto’s chair and inkstand, a medal found upon his body when his tomb was opened, two books of his manuscript poetry; also the manuscript of the ‘Gerusalemme,’ with the alterations which Tasso made in it while in prison, and the original manuscript of Guarini’s ‘Pastor Fido.’ The custode told me that in the morning the library was full of readers, which I did not believe. There are some illuminated Missals, said to be the finest in Italy. Though the idea of gaiety seems inconsistent with Ferrara, they have an opera, corso, and the same round of festivals and merriment as other Italian towns, but I never saw so dismal a place.

Venice, June 16th, 1830

We crossed the Po, and afterwards the Adige, in boats. The country is flat, and reminded me of the Netherlands. I was asleep all night, but awoke in time to see some of the villas on the banks of the Brenta. Of Padua I was unconscious. Embarked in a gondola at Fusina, and arrived at this remarkable city under the bad auspices of a dark, gloomy, and very cold day. It is Venice, but living Venice no more. In my progress to the inn I saw nothing but signs of ruin and blasted grandeur, palaces half decayed, and the windows boarded up. The approach to the city is certainly as curious as possible, so totally unlike everything else, and on entering the Great Canal, and finding

The death-like silence and the dread repose

of a place which was once the gayest and most brilliant in the world, a little pang shoots across the imagination, recollecting its strange and romantic history and its poetical associations.

Two o’clock.—I am just driven in by a regular rainy day, and have the prospect of shivering through the rest of it in a room with marble floor and hardly any furniture. However, it is the only bad day there has been since the beginning of my expedition. The most striking thing in Venice (at least in such weather as this) is the unbroken silence. The gondolas glide along without noise or motion, and, except other gondolas, one may traverse the city without perceiving a sign of life. I went first to the Church of Santa Maria dei Frati, which is fine, old, and adorned with painting and sculpture. At Santa Maria dei Frati Titian was buried. Canova intended a monument for him, but after his death his design was executed and put up in this church, but for him, and not for Titian, the reverse of ‘sic vos non vobis.’ Here are tombs of several Doges, of Francis Foscari, with a pompous inscription. The body of Carmagnola lies here in a wooden coffin; his head is under the stone on which it was cut off in the Piazza di San Marco. He was beheaded by one of those pieces of iniquity and treachery which the Venetian Government never scrupled to use when it suited them. Then to the Scuola di San Rocco, containing a splendid apartment and staircase, all richly gilded, painted by Tintoret, and with bronze doors. To the Church of Santa Maria della Salute, containing a very rich altar-piece of precious stones, which is locked up, and produced on great occasions; and in the sacristy three fine pictures by Titian. To the Church of St. Mark and the Doge’s Palace—all very interesting, antique, and splendid. But the Austrians have modernised some of the rooms, and consequently spoilt them. They VENICE have also blocked up the Bridge of Sighs, and the reason (they told me) is that all the foreigners who come here are so curious to walk over it, which seems an odd one for shutting it up. The halls of audience and of the different councils are magnificently gilded, and contain some very fine pictures.

The Hall of the Council of Ten (the most powerful and the most abominable tribunal that ever existed) has been partly modernised. In the Chamber of the Inquisitors of State is still the hole in the wall which was called the ‘Lion’s Mouth,’ through which written communications were made; and the box into which they fell, which the Inquisitors alone could open. There were ‘Bocche di Lioni’ in several places at the head of the Giant’s Staircase, and in others. The mouths are gone, but the holes remain. Though the interior of the Ponte di Sospiri is no longer visible, the prisons are horrible places, twenty-four in number, besides three others under water which the French had closed up. They are about fourteen feet long, seven wide, and seven high, with one hole to admit air, a wooden bed, which was covered with straw, and a shelf. In one of the prisons are several inscriptions, scrawled on the wall and ceiling.

Di chi mi fido, mi guardi Iddio,
Di chi non mi fido, mi guardo io.

Un parlar pocho, un negar pronto,
Un pensar in fine può dar la vita
A noi altri meschini.

Non fida d’alcuno, pensi e tacci
Se fuggir vuoi di spioni, insidie e lacci.
Il pentirti, il pentirti, nulla giova
Ma ben del valor tuo far vera prova.

There are two places in which criminals, or prisoners, were secretly executed; they were strangled, and without seeing their executioner, for a cord was passed through an opening, which he twisted till the victim was dead. This was the mode pursued with the prisoners of the Inquisitors; those of the Council were often placed in a cell to which there was a thickly grated window, through which the executioner did his office, and if they resisted he stabbed them in the throat. The wall is still covered with the blood of those who have thus suffered. From the time of their erection, 800 years ago, to the destruction of the Republic nobody was ever allowed to see these prisons, till the French came and threw them open, when the people set fire to them and burnt all the woodwork; the stone was too solid to be destroyed. One or two escaped, and they remain as memorials of the horrors that were perpetrated in them.

June 17th, 1830

This morning was fine again, and everything looks gayer than yesterday. From the Rialto to the Piazza di San Marco there is plenty of life and movement, and it is exactly like Cranbourne Alley and the other alleys out of Leicester Square. While Venice was prosperous St. Mark’s must have been very brilliant, but everything is decayed. All round the piazza are coffee houses, which used to be open and crowded all night, and some of them are still open, but never crowded. They used to be illuminated with lamps all round, but most of these are gone. One sees a few Turks smoking and drinking their coffee here, but they are all obliged to dine and sleep in one house, which is on the Grand Canal, and called the Casa dei Turchi. I went this morning to the Chiesa Scalzi, San Georgio Meggiore, Redentore, SS. Giovanni e Paolo, and the Gesuiti. The latter is the most beautiful church I ever saw, the whole of it adorned with white marble inlaid with verd antique in a regular pattern. SS. Giovanni e Paolo has no marble or gilding, but is full of monuments of Doges and generals. To the Manfrini Palace for the pictures. The finest picture in the palace is Titian’s ‘Deposition from the Cross,’ for which the Marchese Manfrini refused 10,000 ducats. A Guido (Lucretia) and some others. Tintoret was no doubt a great genius, but his large pictures I cannot admire, and Bassano’s still less. Titian’s portrait of Ariosto is the most interesting in the collection. To the Arsenal, which is three miles in circumference, and a prodigious establishment. In the time of the Republic there were nearly 6,000 men employed in it, VENICE in that of the French 4,000, now 800. The old armoury is very curious, full of ancient weapons, the armour of Henry IV. of France, and of several Doges, Turkish spoils, and instruments of torture. The Austrians have made the French much regretted here. It is since the last peace that the population of Venice has diminished a fourth, and the palaces of the nobles have been abandoned. There is no commerce; the Government spend no money, and do nothing to enliven or benefit the town (there has not yet been time to see the effect of making it a free port). The French employed the people, and spent money and embellished the place. They covered over a wide canal and turned it into a fine street, and adjoining it they formed a large public garden, which is a delightful addition to the town. Till the French came the bridges were dangerous; there was no balustrade on either side, and people often fell into the water. They built side walls to all of them, which was the most useful gift they could bestow upon the Venetians.

This morning I asked for the newspapers which came by the post yesterday, and found that they had not yet returned from the police, and would not be till to-morrow. Before anybody is allowed to read their newspapers they must undergo examination, and if they contain anything which the censor deems objectionable they detain them altogether. After dinner I went to the public gardens, and into a theatre which is in them; there is no roof to it, and the acting is all by daylight, and in the open air. I only arrived at the end, just in time to see the deliverance of a Christian heroine and a very truculent-looking Turk crammed down a trap-door, but I could not understand the dialogue. Nothing certainly can be more extraordinary or more beautiful than Venice with her adjacent islands, and nothing more luxurious than throwing oneself into a gondola and smoothly gliding about the whole day, without noise, motion, or dust. At night I went to a dirty, ill-lit theatre, to see the ‘Barbiere di Seviglia,’ which was very ill performed. There was a ballet, but I did not stay for it.

June 18th, 1830

To the Church of St. Mark, and examined it. It is not large, but very curious, so loaded with ornament within and without, and so unlike any other church. The pavement, instead of being flat, is made to undulate like the waves of the sea. All the sides are marble, all the top mosaic, all the pavement coloured marble in exquisite patterns. There is not a single tomb in it, but it wants no ornament that the wealth and skill of ages could supply. Climbed up the tower to see Venice and the islands; a man is posted here day and night to strike the hours and quarters on a great bell, to ring the alarm in case of fire in any part of the city. It is a very curious panorama, and the only spot from which this strange place can be completely seen. In the Grimani Palace there are some Titians (not very good) of Grimani Doges, and others of the family; the famous statue of Agrippa, which Cardinal Grimani brought from Home, and a ceiling by Salviati of Neptune and Minerva contending to give a name to Athens. In the Pisani Palace, a fine picture of P. Veronese, ‘Darius’s Family at the Feet of Alexander.’[13] The Barbarigo Palace has never been modernised, has kept all its original form and decorations. It is full of Titians, all very dirty and spoiling. The finest is the ‘Magdalen,’ which is famous. The Royal Academy, called the Scuola della Carità, contains a magnificent collection of the Venetian school.

[13] [This fine work is now in the National Gallery, London.]

In I forget which church is the ‘Martyrdom of St. Peter’ by Titian, so like in composition the same subject by Domenichino at Bologna that the one is certainly an imitation of the other (Titian died in 1576; Domenichino was born in 1581). There is the same sort of landscape, same number of figures, and in the same respective attitudes and actions, and even the same dress to each. In the hall of the Academy are preserved Canova’s right hand in an urn, and underneath it his chisel, with these words inscribed: ‘Quod amoris monumentum idem gloriæ instrumentum fuit.’ There is also a collection of drawings and sketches by various masters; some by M. Angelo and some by Raphael.

Vicenza, June 19th, 1830

VINCENZA AND PADUA This morning went again to St. Mark’s to examine the library and the palace, which I could hardly see the other day, it was such, gloomy weather. The library is open to everybody, but with a long list of rules, among which silence is particularly enjoined. The custos librorum is a thorough Venetian; talked with fond regret of the splendour of the Republic, and is very angry with Daru for his history. The Hall of the Great Council, containing the portraits of the Doges (and Marino Faliero’s black curtain), is splendid, and adorned with paintings of Paul Veronese, Bassano, Tintoret, and Palma Giovane. At twelve o’clock I got into the gondola and left Venice without the least regret or desire to return there. The banks of the Brenta would be very gay if the villas were inhabited, but most of them are shut up, like the palaces at Venice. There is one magnificent building, formerly a Pisani palace, which belongs to the Viceroy, the Archduke Rainer.

Padua is a large and rather gloomy town. They say it is beginning to flourish, having been ruined by the French, and that, since their downfall, the population has increased immensely. The University contains 1,400 scholars. It contained 52,500 in the time of the French, and in the great days of Padua 18,000. I went to look at the outside of the building, which is not large, but handsome. The old palace of the Carraras is half ruined, and what remains is tenanted by the commandant of the place. The old Sala di Giustizia, which, is very ancient, is now a lumber room, and they were painting scenes in it. Still it is undamaged, and they call it the finest room in Europe, and perhaps it is. It is 300 feet long, 100 wide, and 100 high. At one end of it is the monument and bust of Livy, the latter of which they pretend to have found here; they also talk of his house and the marbles, &c., that have been dug up in it, which they may believe who can. The Cathedral has nothing to boast of, except that Petrarch was one of its canons, and in it is his bust, put up by a brother canon. I had not time to go to the churches.

The whole road from Fusina to this place is as flat as the paper on which I am writing. I really don’t believe there is a molehill, but it is extremely gay from the variety of habitations and the prodigious cultivation of all sorts. Vicenza is one of the most agreeable towns I ever saw, and I would rather live in it than in any place I have seen since Rome. It is spacious and clean, full of Palladio’s architecture; besides the Palazzo della Ragione, a very fine building, there are twenty-two palaces built by him in various parts of the town. They show the house in which he lived. From the Church of Santa Maria del Monte, a mile from the town, there is a magnificent view, and the town itself, under the mountains of the Tyrol, and the end of a vast cultivated plain, looks very inviting and gay. There is a Campo di Marte, a public walk and drive, and from it a covered walk (colonnade) half a mile long up to the church on the hill. One of the most remarkable things here is the Olympic Theatre, which was begun by Palladio and finished by his son. It is a small Grecian theatre, exactly as he supposes those ancient theatres to have been, with the same proscenium, scenes, decorations, and seats for the audience. There appeared to me to be some material variations from the theatre at Pompeii. In the latter the seats go down to the level of the orchestra, which they do not here, and at Pompeii there is no depth behind the proscenium, whereas here there is very considerable. It is, however, a beautiful model. The air and the water are good, and there is shooting, so that I really think it would be possible to live here. They talk with horror of the French, and of the two seem to prefer the Austrians, but peace is better than war, cæteris paribus.

Brescia, June 21st, 1830

This is a particularly nice town, airy, spacious, and clean, and in my life I never saw so many good-looking women. There is a drive and walk on the ramparts, where I found all the beauty and fashion of Brescia, a string of carriages not quite so numerous as in Hyde Park, but a very decent display. The women are excessively dressed, and almost all wear black lace veils, thrown over the back of the head, which are very becoming. The BRESCIA AND MILAN walks on the ramparts are shaded by double rows of trees, and command a very pretty view of the mountains and country round. This inn is execrable. I stopped at Verona to see the Amphitheatre, which is only perfect in the inside, and has been kept so by repeated repairs. It is hardly worth seeing after the Flavian and the Pompeiian. There is a wooden theatre in it, where they act, and the spectators occupy the ancient seats. The tombs of the Scaligeri are admirable, the most beautiful and graceful Gothic; their castle (now the Castle Vecchio) a gloomy old building in a moat, but with a very curious bridge over the Po. The Church of St. Zeno is remarkable from its Gothic antiquity and the profusion of ornament about it of a strange sort. Here is the tomb of Pepin, erected by Charlemagne, but empty; for the French, in one of their invasions, carried the body to France. In the Cathedral is a fine picture of the ‘Assumption of the Virgin’ by Titian. I saw many Veronese beauties in their balconies, but none quite like Juliet. Her tomb (or, as they would say at Rome, ‘sepolcro detto di Giulietta’) I did not see, for it was too far off. I was in a hurry to be off, and there was nobody to detain me with a tender ‘Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near’ night. The road, which is excellent, runs in sight of the Alps all the way, and the Lago di Garda is excessively pretty.

Milan, June 23rd, 1830

Milan is a very fine town, without much to see in it. The Duomo, Amphitheatre, Arch of the Simplon, Brera (pictures). There are a few fine pictures in the Brera; among others Guido’s famous ‘St. Peter and St. Paul,’ Guercino’s ‘Hagar and Abraham;’ a row of old columns which were broken and lying about till the French set them upon their legs; Leonardo da Vinci’s fresco, which is entirely spoilt. The view from the top of the Duomo is superb, over the boundless plain of Lombardy with the range of the Alps, and the Apennines in the distance. I like the Duomo, but I know my taste is execrable in architecture. I don’t, however, like the mixture of Italian with the Gothic—balustrades over the door, for instance—but I admire its tracery and laborious magnificence. Buonaparte went on with it (for it was never finished), and this Government are completing it by degrees; there will be 7,000 statues on different parts of the outside, and there are already 4,500. St. Charles Borromeo’s tomb is very splendid, and for five francs they offered to uncover the glass case in which his much esteemed carcase reposes, and show me the venerable mummy, but I could not afford it. The entrance to Milan from Venice, and the Corso, are as handsome as can be. The Opera is very bad, but the Scala is not open, and none of the good singers are here.

Varese, June 26th, 1830

Left Milan at six o’clock on the 24th, and got to Como after dark. Embarked in the steam boat at eight yesterday morning, went as far as Cadenebbia, where I got out, saw the Villa Sommariva, then crossed over and went round the point of Bellagio to see the opening of the Lake of Lecco, turned back to the Villa Melzi, saw the house and gardens, and then went back to dine at Cadenebbia, and waited for the steam boat, which returned at four, and got back to Como at half-past six. Nothing can surpass the beauty of all this scenery, or the luxury of the villas, particularly Melzi, which is the best house, and contains abundance of shade, flowers, statues, and shrubberies. The owners live very little there, and principally in winter, when, they say, it is seldom cold in this sheltered spot. The late Count Melzi was Governor of Milan under Napoleon, and used to feast the Viceroy here. He once gave him a fête, and had all the mountain tops illuminated, of which the effect must have been superb.

Evening. Top of the Simplon.—Set off at five from Varese, travelled very slowly through a very pretty road to Navero, where I crossed the Lago Maggiore in a boat, and landed at the Isola Bella, which is very fine in its way, though rather flattered in its pictures. The house is large and handsome, and there is a curious suite of apartments fitted up with pebbles, spars, and marble, a suite of habitable grottoes. The garden and terraces are good specimens of formal grandeur, and as the Count Borromeo’s son is a botanist, they are full of flowers and shrubs of all sorts and climates. RETURN TO ENGLAND

Whatever fruits in different climes are found,
That proudly rise or humbly court the ground;
Whatever sweets salute the northern sky
With vernal flowers, that blossom, but to die;
These, here disporting, own the kindred soil,
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter’s toil.

The expense of keeping this place up is immense, but the owner is very rich. He lives there during August and September, and has fifteen other country houses. All the island belongs to him, and is occupied by the palace and gardens, except some fishermen’s huts, which are held by a sort of feudal tenure. They live there as his vassals, fishing for him, rowing him about the lake, and their children and wives alone are employed in the gardens. It was built about 150 years ago by a younger son (a nephew of San Carlo), who was richer than his elder brother. He was his own architect, and planned both house and garden, but never completed his designs. The cost was enormous, but if he had lived and finished it all, he would have spent four millions more. There is a laurel in the garden, the largest in Europe, two trees growing from one stem, one nine and the other ten feet round and eighty high; under this tree Buonaparte dined, as he came into Italy, before the battle of Marengo, and with a knife he cut the word ‘Battaglia’ on the bark, which has since been stripped off, or has grown out—so the gardeners said at least. Breakfasted at Baveno, which is the best inn I have seen in Italy. The road from Baveno is exceedingly beautiful, but on the whole I am rather disappointed with the Simplon, though it is very wild and grand; but I am no longer struck with the same admiration at the sight of mountains that I was when I entered Savoy and saw them for the first time. I walked the last thirteen miles of the ascent to this place, and found one of the best dinners I ever tasted, or one which my hunger made appear such.

Geneva, June 29th, 1830

Got here last night, and found twenty letters at least. I only think of getting home as fast as I can. Left the Simplon in torrents of rain, which lasted the whole day. The descent is uncommonly grand, wild, savage, and picturesque, the Swiss side the finest. All along the valley of the Rhone fine scenery; and yesterday, in the most delightful weather I ever saw, the drive from Martigny, along the lake and under the mountains, is as beautiful as possible. The approach to Geneva is gay, but Mont Blanc looks only very white, and not very tall, which is owing to the level from which he is seen. They tell me it has never ceased raining here, while on the other side of the Alps hardly a drop has fallen. Only three rainy days while I was in Italy—one at Venice, one at Rome, and a couple of halves elsewhere.

Evening.—Passed the whole day driving about Geneva, in Bautt’s shop, and at the Panorama of Switzerland. Dined with Newton, drove round the environs by Sécheron; a great appearance of wealth and comfort, much cultivation, no beggars, and none of the houses tumbling down and deserted. Altogether I like the appearance of the place, though in a great hurry to get away from it. We had a storm of thunder and lightning in the evening, which was neither violent nor long, but I had the pleasure of hearing

Jura answer from her misty shroud
Back to the joyous Alps, that call on her aloud.

Mont Blanc was hid in clouds all day, but the mountains owe me some grudge. Mont Blanc won’t show his snows, nor would Vesuvius his fires. It was dark when I crossed the Cenis, and raining when I descended the Simplon.

Paris, July 3rd, 1830

Got here last night, after a fierce journey of sixty-three hours from Geneva, only stopping two hours for breakfast; but by never touching anything but bread and coffee I was neither heated nor tired. The Jura Mountains, which they say are so tedious, were the pleasantest part of the way, for the road is beautiful all through them, not like the Alps, but like a hilly, wooded park. It rained torrents when I set out, but soon cleared up, and when I got to the top of the first mountain, I saw a mass of clouds rise like a curtain and unveil the whole landscape DEATH OF GEORGE IV. of Geneva, lake, mountains, and country—very fine sight. We heard of the King’s death in the middle of the night.

Calais, July 6th, 1830

Voilà qui est fini. Got here last night, and found the Government packet only goes out five days a week, and not to-day. I am very sorry my journey is all over, but glad to find myself in England again—that is, when I get there. I saw Lord Stuart at Paris, just breaking up his establishment and sending his wife off to the Pyrenees. Heard all the news of London and Paris, such as it was. Not a soul left in Paris, which was like a dead city. I only heard that, notwithstanding the way the elections are going against the Government, Polignac is in high spirits. The King of France was very civil about the death of our King,[14] and, without waiting, as is usual, for the announcement of the event by the English Ambassador, he ordered the Court into mourning upon the telegraphic account reaching Paris.

[14] [George IV. died at Windsor on the 26th of June, 1830.]

Here is the end of my brief but most agreeable expedition, probably the only one I shall ever make. However this may be, I have gained thus much at least—

A consciousness remains that it has left,
Deposited upon the silent shore
Of memory, images, and precious thoughts,
That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.

---

NOTE.

MR. GREVILLE’S CONNEXION WITH THE TURF.

Frequent references will be remarked in these volumes to the connexion of their author with the Turf, which was his favourite amusement, and to his position as an influential member of the Jockey Club. It may, therefore, be worth while to record in this place the principal incidents in his racing career; and we are tempted, in spite of the strange and incorrect phraseology of the writer, to borrow the following notice of them from the pages of ‘Bailey’s Magazine,’ published soon after Mr. Greville’s death:—

‘Though the Warwick family have long been identified with the sports of the field, it is fair to assume that Mr. Greville’s love for the turf came from his mother’s side, as the Portlands, especially the late Duke, have always been amongst the strongest supporters of the national sport, and raced, as became their position in society. That Mr. Greville took to racing early may be imagined when we state he saw his first Derby in 1809, when the Duke of Grafton’s Pope won it, beating five others. At that period he was barely fifteen years of age, and the impression the sight of the race made upon him at the time was very great, and it was rekindled more strongly when, in 1816, travelling with his father and mother to Ickworth, the seat of the Marquis of Bristol, he stopped at Newmarket and saw Invalid and Deceiver run a match on the heath; and subsequently he saw a great sweepstakes come off between Spaniard, Britannia, and Pope, which the latter won. Four years elapse, and, as a proof that the lad we have described had kept pace with the times, we find him selected to manage the racing establishment of the late Duke of York, on the death of Mr. Warwick Lake. The first step taken by Mr. Greville on being installed in office was to weed the useless ones and the ragged lot; and with the aid of Butler (father of the late Frank and the present William Butler) he managed so well that in his second year he won the Derby for him with Moses. As the Duke’s affairs at that time were in anything but a flourishing condition, Mr. Greville did not persuade him to back his horse for much money; still his Royal Highness won a fair stake, and was not a little pleased at the result. He likewise carried off the Claret with him the following year. With Banker, who was a very useful horse at all distances, he won for him many good races; and, by a reference to the “Calendars” of the day, it will be seen the Duke won in his turn, if he did not carry all before him. To reproduce the names of his horses now would not be worth while, as from the effluxion of time the interest in them has ceased. The first animal in the shape of a race-horse that Mr. Greville ever possessed was a filly by Sir Harry Dimsdale, which he trained in the Duke’s stable with a few others of no great standing.

‘Circumstances with which the world are familiar rendering the retirement of the Duke of York requisite, his stud came to the hammer, and Mr. Greville came to the assistance of his uncle, the Duke of Portland, who trained with Prince. With the Duke Mr. Greville remained some little time, and afterwards became confederate with Lord Chesterfield, who was at that time coming out, and was in great force with his Zinganee, Priam, Carew, Glaucus, and other crack horses. During this time he had few horses of any great account of his own, although his confederate had nothing to complain of in the shape of luck. At the termination of this confederacy Mr. Greville entered upon another with his cousin, Lord George Bentinck, who, from his father’s hostility to his racing, was unable to run horses in his own name. The extent of this stud was so great that we are unable to deal with it at the same time with the horses of the subject of our memoir, who can scarcely be said to have come across a really smashing good mare until he met with Preserve, with whom, in 1834, he won the Clearwell and Criterion, and in the following year the One Thousand Guineas, besides running second for the Oaks to Queen of Trumps. A difference of opinion as to the propriety of starting Preserve for the Goodwood Stakes led to their separation, and for a time they were on very bad terms, but by the aid of mutual friends a reconciliation was effected. From what Preserve did for him, Mr. Greville was induced to dip more freely into the blood, or, as old John Day would have said, to take to the family, and accordingly he bought Mango, her own brother, of Mr. Thornhill, who bred him. Mango only ran once as a two-year-old, when, being a big, raw colt, he was not quick enough on his legs for the speedy Garcia filly of Col. Peel and John Day’s Chapeau d’Espagne, and was easily beaten. In the spring Mango made so much improvement that Mr. Greville backed him for the Derby for a good stake; and had he been able to have continued his preparation at Newmarket, and been vanned to Epsom, as is the custom in the present day, there is little doubt he would have won; but having to walk all the way from Newmarket, he could not afford to lose the days that were thus consumed, and although he ran forward he did not get a place. That this view of the case is not a sanguine one is proved by his beating Chapeau d’Espagne, the second for the Oaks, for the Ascot Derby, and within an hour afterwards bowling over Velure, the third in that race, for William the Fourth’s Plate. On the Cup Day he likewise beat the Derby favourite, Rat-Trap, over the Old Mile. At Stockbridge, in a sweepstakes of 100 sovs. each, with thirteen subscribers, he frightened all the field away with the exception of Wisdom, whom he beat cleverly, and then he remained at Dilly’s, at Littleton, to be prepared for the St. Leger. Having stood his work well, John Day brought over The Drummer and Chapeau d’Espagne from Stockbridge to try him on Winchester race-course. Both Mr. Greville and Lord George Bentinck had reason to be satisfied with what Mango did in his gallop on that morning, and the latter backed him very heavily for the race—much more so, indeed, than his owner. Mr. Greville was anxious to have put up John Day, but the Duke of Cleveland having claimed him for Henriade, he was obliged to substitute his son Sam, a very rising lad, with nerves of iron and the coolest of heads. The race was a memorable one, inasmuch as William Scott, who was on Epirus, the first favourite, fell into the ditch soon after starting, and Prince Warden running over him and striking him with his hind leg, he sustained a severe fracture of the collar-bone. Henriade also came down about a distance from home from a dog crossing the course. John Day, however, soon righted him, but the contretemps spoilt his chance. At the stand there were but three in the struggle—The Doctor, Abraham Newland, and Mango. The two former seemed to be making a match of it, and it looked impossible for Mango to get up; but a slight opening presenting itself, which was not visible to the spectators, Sam Day, with a degree of resolution which justifies the attributes we have before ascribed to him, sent his horse through with such a terrific rush that his breeches were nearly torn off his boots, and won by a neck.

‘After the race Lord George, who was a very heavy winner, gave Honest John 500ℓ. for his trial with the Drummer; the like sum to Sam Day for having ridden him better than he was ridden in the Derby, and an equivalent proportion to Montgomery Dilly for preparing him better than Prince for the same race. Mango was afterwards sent to Newmarket for the St. Leger, and “Craven,” who then edited the “Sporting Magazine,” having asserted that Mr. Greville had caused it to be reported that Mango was lame to get him back in the markets for that race, he called on him to apologise for the statement, which proving, by the volunteered testimony of Lord George Bentinck, Colonel Anson, and Admiral Rous, to be wholly without foundation, the writer in question made Mr. Greville the fullest amende honorable. Mango only won once again as a four-year-old, when he carried off a sweepstakes of 300 sovereigns at Newmarket, beating Chapeau d’Espagne and Adrian. Having thus established himself with Dilly, owing to Mr. Payne, with whom he had become confederate, training at Littleton, Mr. Greville made no change until Dilly gave up, when he continued his confidence to his brother William Dilly, who succeeded him on his retirement from Lord Glasgow.

‘It was some few years before Mr. Greville had another good horse, at least one that is worth dwelling upon, and Alarm must be considered the legitimate successor to Mango. This colt Mr. Greville purchased of his breeder, Captain George Delmé, and tried him good enough to win the Derby in 1845 in a canter, even in the face of such animals as Idas and The Libel. But just prior to starting an accident occurred by which all Mr. Greville’s hopes were destroyed; for The Libel flying at Alarm very savagely, he jumped the chains, threw Nat who lay for a time insensible on the ground, and ran away. He was, however, soon caught and remounted, and although much cut about ran forward enough to justify the idea that but for his accident he must have won, as no other animal could have got through the Cambridgeshire with 7st. 10lb. on him so easily as he did in a field of such quality as he met. In the following year Alarm made some amends for his Epsom failure, by winning the Ascot Cup, as well as the Orange Cup at Goodwood, the latter after a terrific race with Jericho. He also, at Newmarket in the autumn, won three great matches in succession, viz. with Oakley, the Bishop of Romford’s cob, and Sorella. Going through the “Calendar,” Cariboo is the next most noteworthy animal we come across, for it will be recollected he ran second to Canezou for the Goodwood Cup, having been lent to make running for her. But it is almost needless to add that, had Mr. Greville known him to be as good as he was, he would have been started on his own account, in which case the cup in all probability would have gone to Bruton Street instead of to Knowsley. Continuing our track through the “Calendar,” we light on a better year for Mr. Greville, in 1852, when he had really two good animals in Adine and Frantic. With the former, at York, he had perhaps the best week he ever had in his life, having won both the Yorkshire Oaks and Ebor Handicap with her, besides beating Daniel O’Rourke with Frantic, who two months before had carried off the Union Cup for him at Manchester. The following year Adine did a good thing for him by winning the Goodwood Stakes, and two years afterwards he again won that race with Quince.

‘Between Adine and Quince’s years came Mr. Greville’s last good horse, Muscovite, whom he thought impossible to lose the Metropolitan, and backed him accordingly. He was much put out, however, by old John Day telling him he had no chance with his mare Virago. At first Mr. Greville was incredulous at what John told him, and made him acquainted with the form of Muscovite. This made not the slightest impression on the old man, who merely went on repeating Mr. Greville must back Virago for 500ℓ., and the value of the advice was proved by the mare beating the horse very easily. Muscovite’s career for a time was a very unfortunate one, for when in Dockeray’s stable he was so “shinned” that his chance for the Goodwood Stakes was completely out, and his trainer, who could not discover the offender, and who was terribly annoyed at the circumstance, begged he might be transferred to William Dilly’s, at Littleton. While there he was betted against for the Cæsarewitch in the same determined manner as he had been for his other races, and when he arrived at Newmarket, and stood in Nat’s stables, which were perfectly impregnable, there was no cessation in the opposition to him, although his trainer told everybody that unless he was shot on the Heath, which he could not prevent, he would walk in. This he did, and the crash he produced is still fresh in the public recollection; but it is creditable to the bookmaker who laid the most money against him to state that out of 23,000ℓ. which he lost, he paid 16,000ℓ. down on the spot, an act which procured him time for the remainder.

‘Since Muscovite, who is now at the stud at Newmarket, Mr. Greville has had no animal that has done a really good thing for him, though Anfield made another determined attempt at the Goodwood Stakes this year; and having, at Lord Ribblesdale’s sale of General Peel’s horses, purchased Orlando, and added him to his establishment at Hampton Court, he has turned his attention perhaps more to breeding than racing. For some time his returns were very large, but of late, from the age of Orlando, and from getting some of his stock so small, they have diminished in amount, although the old horse looks as fresh as a four-year-old, and preserves all that fine symmetry for which he was remarkable both in and out of training. Latterly Mr. Greville, from being the confederate of Mr. Payne, has trained with Alec Taylor at Fyfield; but with Godding he has generally two or three at Newmarket.

‘In turning to Mr. Greville in his private capacity we hardly know how to treat him, for his is a nature that shrinks from having his good deeds brought before the glare of the public eye. No man, ever so high or low, we believe, ever sought his advice and assistance in vain; and to no one individual, probably, have so many and such various difficulties been submitted. Neither can we remember a new trial or even an appeal demanded by those who had sought his counsel. Beloved by his friends, and feared by his opponents, Mr. Greville will ever be considered one of the most remarkable men that have lent lustre to the English turf.’

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END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

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INDEX.

[A]

[B]

[C]

[D]

[E]

[F]

[G]

[H]

[I]

[J]

[K]

[L]

[M]

[N]

[O]

[P]

[Q]

[R]

[S]

[T]

[U]

[V]

[W]

[X]

[Y]

[Z]

---

• Abercromby, Right Hon. James, proposed as Speaker, ii. 333; Master of the Mint, iii. 95; proposed as Speaker, 201; the Speakership, 204; elected Speaker, 213
• Aberdeen, Earl of, Duchy of Lancaster, i. [124]; motion about Belgium, ii. 238
• Achmet Pacha, concludes a treaty with Russia, iii. 69
• Adair, Right Hon. Sir Robert, sworn in Privy Councillor, i. [136]
• Addington, Henry Unwin, recalled from Madrid, iii. 14
• Address, proposed amendment to the, iii. 217
• Adelaide, Queen, ii. 7; at the Ancient Concert, 133; mobbed in the City, 141; audience of, about the crown, 179; coronation of, 190; Lord Howe, 338; yacht, iii. 99; return of, 125; illness of, 125; supposed to be with child, 198, 199, 201
• Adrian’s Villa, i. [377]
• Agar Ellis, see [Dover, Lord]
• Alava, General, and the Duke of Cumberland, iii. 275
• Albani, Cardinal, influence of, i. [310]; conversation with, [373]; interview with, [380]
• Albano, i. [331]
• Alexander, Emperor of Russia, death of, i. [78]; coronation of, described by Talleyrand, ii. 185
• Allen, Dr., Bishop of Ely, iii. 363
• Allen, John, iii. 135; unbelief of, 324
• Althorp, Viscount, proposed as Chairman of the Finance Committee, i. [120]; Chancellor of the Exchequer, ii. 66, introduces the budget, 114; leader of the House of Commons, 116, 200; letter to Attwood, 205, 206; hurries on the Irish Church Bill, 364; as Chancellor of the Exchequer, iii. 2; arrested by the Sergeant-at-Arms, 56; financial statement, 60; defects as leader, 62; summons a meeting of the supporters of Government, 92; resigns, 101; popularity of, 105; Chancellor of the Exchequer under Lord Melbourne, 113; succeeds his father as Earl Spencer, 140
• Alvanley, Lord, duel with Morgan O’Connell, ii. 257; on Irish affairs, 348
• America, dispute with France, iii. 322
• Anglesey, Marquis of, recalled, i. [149]; entry into Dublin, ii. 99; disputes with O’Connell, 106
• Antwerp, threatened bombardment of, by the Dutch, ii. 321; French army marches to, 329
• Arbuthnot, Right Hon. Charles, nickname ‘Gosh,’ i. [103]; conversation with, on the Duke of Wellington’s Administration, ii. 51; conversation with, at Oatlands, 170
• Arbuthnot, Mrs., death of, iii. 116
• Arkwright, Sir Richard, fortunes of iii. 50
• Arkwright, Mrs., visit to, iii. 49
• Arms Bill, the, ii. l96
• Arnold, Dr., proposed for a bishopric, iii. 325
• Artevelde, Philip van, iii. 114; discussed at Holland House, 128
• Ascot Races, 1831, ii. 147; 1833, 375
• Attwood, chairman of the Birmingham Union, ii. 205, 208; proclamation against, 215
• Auckland, Lord, Board of Trade, ii. 66; First Lord of the Admiralty, iii. 88, 113; on the state of affairs, 238; First Lord of the Admiralty in Lord Melbourne’s second Administration, 256
• Augustus, Prince, of Prussia, ii. 319
• Austin, Mr. John, his work on Jurisprudence, iii. 138
• Austin, Mr. Charles, ii. 306
• Aylmer, Lord, recalled from Canada, iii. 394; the King’s address to him, 395

---

• Bachelor, valet to the Duke of York and to King George IV., i. [142], [143]; conversation with, ii. 30
• Bagot, Lord, conduct to Lord Harrowby, ii. 253
• Baiæ, Bay of, i. [341]
• Baring, House of, ii. 53
• Baring, Right Hon. Alexander, offered the Chancellorship of the Exchequer, ii. 299; proposes a compromise with the ex-Ministers, 300
• Baring, Francis, Chairman of the West India Committee, iii. 279
• Barnes, Mr., editor of the ‘Times,’ ii. 97, 214; negotiations with, for supporting the Government, iii. 155, 156, 157 dines with Lord Lyndhurst, 167, 169 alarm of, at the prevailing spirit, 188
• Barri, Madame du, ii. 219
• Barry, Dr., sent to Sunderland, ii. 216; report on cholera, 217
• Bath, Chapter of the Order of the, i. [254]
• Bathurst, Earl, Lord President, i. [124]; death of, iii. 115; character of, 115
• Bathurst, Countess, conversation with, ii. 62
• Bathurst, Hon. William, appointed Clerk of the Council, ii. 61, 86; delay in appointment of, 74; sworn in Clerk of the Council, 94
• Bathurst, Lieut.-Colonel Hon. Seymour, death of, iii. 79
• Baudrand, General, ii. 33; reception of, 38
• Bazaar, in Hanover Square, ii. 383
• Beauclerc, Lord Aurelius, dances a country dance with the King, ii. 341
• Belgian question, the, settlement of, ii. 314
• Belgium, revolution in, ii. 41; affairs of, 44; unsettled state of, 69; deputation from, 160; fortresses of, 169; invaded by the Dutch, 175; French army refuses to leave, 181; end of hostilities with the Dutch, 184; Conference, 1832, 321
• Belmore, Earl of, Governor of Jamaica, i. [140], [147]
• Belvoir Castle, iii. 46
• Benson, Canon, sermon at the Temple Church, ii. 113
• Bentinck, Right Hon. Lord William, desires to be appointed Governor-General of India, i. [59]; address to the electors of Glasgow, iii. 339, 343; qualities of, 339; inscription on monument in honour of, 340
• Bentinck, Lord Henry, quarrel with Sir Roger Gresley, ii. 148
• Bergara, Convention of, iii. 259
• Berri, Duchesse de, in La Vendée, ii. 322
• Berry, Miss, iii. 58
• Berryer, M., iii. 379; appearance of, 380
• Best, Right Hon. William Draper, see [Lord Wynford]
• Bethnal Green, distress in, ii. 261
• Bexley, Lord, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, i. [95]
• Biekersteth, Henry, see [Lord Langdale]
• Blacas, M. de, favourite of Louis XVIII., ii. 305
• Black Book, the, ii. 79
• Bloomfield, Sir Benjamin, dismissal of, i. [55]
• Blount, Rev. Mr., sermon, iii. 12
• Body-snatchers, ii. 227
• Bologna, i. [402]
• Bonaparte, Emperor Napoleon, in the 100 days, i. [24]; campaigns of, described by Marshal Marmont, ii. 35
• Bonaparte, Louis Napoleon, Strasburg attempt, iii. 381
• Bonaparte, Joseph, at dinner at Lady Cork’s, iii. 18
• Bonaparte, Lucien, introduced to the Duke of Wellington, iii. 11; at dinner at Lady Cork’s, 18
• Boodle’s, dinner at, ii. 124
• Bosanquet, Right Hon. Sir John Bernard, sworn in a Privy Councillor, iii. 30; Judge of the King’s Bench, 71
• Boswell, ‘Life of Johnson,’ anecdotes lost, ii. 105
• Boulogne, iii. 388
• Bourbon, Duke de, death of, ii. 50
• Bourmont, Marshal de, marches on Lisbon, iii. 25
• Bourne, Right Hon. Sturges, Secretary of State for the Home Department, i. [95]
• Bowring, Dr., sent to Paris, ii. 219; satire of Moore on, 219; career of, 220
• Bradshaw, Mrs., acting of, at Bridgewater House, ii. 353
• Brescia, i. [412]
• Bretby, visit to, iii. 327; Chesterfield Papers, 327
• Bridgewater House, dramatic performances at, iii. 352, 355
• Bridgewater Election, iii. 398
• Brighton, the Court at, 1832, ii. 334; races, 1835, iii. 284
• Bristol, riots at, ii. 208
• Broglie, Duke de. conduct of, iii. 386
• Brooks’s Club, iii. 320
• Brougham, Lord, attack upon, in ‘Quarterly Review,’ i. [16]; speech on the Queen’s trial, [35]; letter to the Queen, [57]; character of, [117]; qualities of, ii. 18, 33; appointed Lord High Chancellor, 65; discontent of, 65; social qualities of, 69; anecdote of, 106; quarrel with Sugden, 106; correspondence with Southey on rewards to literary men, 112; speech on Chancery Reform, 118; domestic kindness of, 120; origin of representation of Yorkshire, 125; as Lord Chancellor, 128; at the Horse Guards, 129; as a judge, 145; at dinner at Hanbury’s brewery, 148; at the British Museum, 149; claims the old Great Seal, 188; intention of sitting at the Privy Council, 223; speech on the Russian Loan, 244; quarrel with Sugden, 312; anecdote of, 314; Bill for creating a new Court of Appeal, 342; Bill objected to, 344; Judicial Committee of the Privy Council Bill, 365; sits on the case of Drax v. Grosvenor, 370; as Chancellor, iii. 22; anecdotes of Queen Caroline, 36; and Sir William Home, 67; meets Sir Thomas Denman in Bedfordshire, 71; judicial changes, 71; defence of himself, 72; apology for, 76; speech on Lord Wynford’s Bill for the observance of the Sabbath, 83; on the Pluralities Bill, 86; on the Irish Church, 94; and the ‘Times,’ 96; Lord Chancellor in Lord Melbourne’s Administration, 113; and Lord Westmeath, 119; conduct in the Westmeath case, 119, 124; versatility of, 121; lines applied to, 121; Greek epigrams, 121; ambition of, 122; in Scotland, 133; communicates to the ‘Times’ the fall of Lord Melbourne’s first Administration, 145; resigns the Great Seal, 156; takes leave of the Bar, 156; asks for the Chief Baronship, 157; anecdote, 232; conduct of, in the case of Swift v. Kelly, 260, 267; on the London University Charter, 261; judgment in the case of Swift v. Kelly, 274; on the Corporation Bill, 286; violence in the House of Lords, 303; illness of, 329; and Macaulay, 337, 338; at Queen Victoria’s first Council, 408
• Brummel, ‘Beau,’ i. [282]
• Brussels, disturbances at, ii. 40
• Buccleuch, Duke of, subscription to election expenses, iii. 182
• Budget, the, 1831, ii. 113
• Buller, James, death of, ii. 59
• Bülow, Baron von, on English affairs, iii. 211
• Bulwer, Sir Edward Lytton, iii. 348
• Bunsen, Baron, i. [315]; career of, [327]; on Roman affairs, [389]
• Burdett, Sir Francis, returned for Westminster, 1837, iii. 398
• Burghersh, Lord, at Florence, i. [299]; amateur opera, [301]
• Burghersh, Lady, intercedes for a prisoner at the Old Bailey, ii. 85
• Burghley, party at, iii. 53
• Burke, Right Hon. Edmund, writings of, iii. 209; compared with Mackintosh, 314
• Burke, Sir G., conversation with, on O’Connell, ii. 111
• Buxton, Fowell, dinner at the brewery, ii. 148
• Byng, Right Hon. George, Lord of the Treasury, iii. 95
• Byron, Lord, Moore’s Life of, i. [272]; character of, [273]

---

• Cambridge, H.R.H. the Duchess of, reception of, i. [2]
• Cambridge, University of, petition for the admission of Dissenters to the, iii. 72, 75
• Campbell, Sir John, Solicitor-General, ii. 333; Attorney-General, iii. 141
• Canada, affairs in, iii. 350
• Canning, Right Hon. Sir Stratford, Ambassador at St. Petersburg, ii. 352, 357; anecdote of, iii. 39; offered the Governor-Generalship of Canada, 234
• Canning, Right Hon. George. Foreign Secretary, i. [55]; correspondence with the King on taking office, [59]; forms an Administration (1827), [93], [95]; death of, [103]; anecdotes of, [104]; industrious habits of, [106]; memoirs of, [263], [272]; despatch in verse, [326]; sagacity of, ii. 42; conversation with the King, 102; correspondence with the Duke of Wellington, 103; coldness to the Duke of Wellington, 103; anecdote of, 125; negotiation with the Whigs, 170; influence over Lord Liverpool, 172; in favour with the King, 172; on Reform, iii. 135; and King George IV., 137
• Canning, Lady, visit to, ii. 101; authorship of pamphlet, iii. 40
• Canning, Mr. Charles, offered a Lordship of the Treasury, iii. 202
• Cannizzaro, Duchess of, iii. 11; crowns the Duke of Wellington, 406
• Canterbury, Archbishop of, indecision of the, ii. 250, 262, 263; importance of support of the, 252, 253
• Canterbury, Viscount, declines to go to Canada, iii. 234
• Capo di Monte, i. [335]
• Capua, i. [360]
• Cardinals, the, i. [309]
• Carlisle, Earl of, Lord Privy Seal, i. [95]; iii. 88
• Carlists, the, in Spain, iii. 66
• Carlos, Don, in London, iii. 98
• Carlow election, iii. 348
• Carnarvon, Earl of, refuses to move the address in the House of Lords, iii. 202
• Caroline, Queen, return of, i. [28]; trial of, [31], [35]; anecdote of, iii. 37
• Carvalho, Minister of Finance to Dom Pedro, iii. 93
• Catacombs, the, see [Rome]
• Catholic emancipation, i. [163], [172], [174]
• Catholic Relief Bill, excitement concerning the, i. [180]; debates on, see [Lords] and [Commons]
• Cato Street Conspiracy, the, i. [26]
• Cayla, Madame du, i. [71]; dinner at the Duke of Wellington’s, [214]; Béranger’s verses on, [215]; favourite of Louis XVIII., ii. 306
• Cenis, the Mont, i. [287]
• Champollion, Jean François, death of, ii. 307
• Chapeau de Paille, the, purchase of, ii. 125
• Chapel, near Holland House, unable to be consecrated, iii. 200
• Charles I., King, head of, discovered at Windsor, ii. 168; executioner of, iii. 132
• Charles X., King, of France, arrival of in England, ii. 31; at Lulworth Castle, 33; off Cowes, 34
• Charlotte, Queen, illness of, i. [2], [3]
• Charlotte, H.R.H. the Princess, anecdotes of, ii. 319
• Chartres, H.R.H. the Duc de, arrival of, i. [208]
• Chatham, Earl of, death of, iii. 316
• Chatsworth, hospitality at, i. [237]; charade at, [238]; party at, ii. 51
• Chesterfield Papers, the, iii. 327
• Chobert, the ‘Fire King,’ i. [276]
• Cholera, the, in Russia, ii. 57; account of, 150; preventive measures against, 154, 216; effect on trade of, 156; spread of, 161; alarm about, 169; at Berlin, 192; at Sunderland, 208, 210; at Marseilles, 221; on the decline, 224; near Edinburgh, 240; in London, 258, 259; in Bethnal Green, 261; account of, 278; diminution of, 285; in Paris, 287; alarm in London, 309, 311
• Christina, Queen, of Spain, iii. 66, 72; reported flight of, 360; courage of, 365
• Christmas trees, introduced by Princess Lieven at Panshanger, i. [259]
• Church Bill, the, Committee on, iii. 199
• Church Reform, iii. 206
• City, the, address to the King, ii. 126; illumination in, 140; election, 1835, iii. 184, 186, 187; anxiety in the money-market, 373, 376
• Civil List, the, excess of expenditure on, i. [253]; for debates on, see [Commons, House of]
• Clanricarde, Marquis of, sworn in a Privy Councillor, ii. 78
• Clarence, H.R.H. the Duke of, Lord High Admiral, i. [95]; removal of, from the office of Lord High Admiral, [138], [140]. See [William IV.]
• Cobbett, William, trial of, ii. 158; returned for Oldham, 335; takes his seat, 351; and Sir Robert Peel, 373
• Cochrane, Lord, at Florence, i. [301]; villa near Florence, [302]
• Codrington, Sir E., interview with the Duke of Wellington, i. [179]
• Coercion Bill, the, introduced, ii. 359
• Colchester Election, iii. 112
• Commons, House of; Alien Bill, i. [1]; Dr. Halloran’s petition, [14]; debate on grant to the Duke of York, [18]; debates on Queen Caroline, [30], [32], [38]; Small Notes Bill, [79]; debates on Catholic Relief Bill, [91], [133], [166], [191]; division on Catholic Relief Bill, [185]; Catholic Relief Bill read a third time, [203]; Regency and Civil List, ii. 45; debate on the Evesham election, 25; debate on the Civil List, 110; announcement of the Reform Bill, 110; Pension List, 111; debate on Ireland, 112; Budget of 1831, 113; proposed reductions, 118; introduction of the first Reform Bill, 121; debates on the Reform Bill, 123, 125; debate on the Timber duties, 130; debate on the Reform Bill, 131; division on the Reform Bill, 132; Government defeated, 135; scene in the House, 135; second reading of the Reform Bill, 156; Wine duties, 160; Reform Bill, Schedule A, 170; second Reform Bill, 227; debate on, and second reading of the second Reform Bill carried, 228; Reform Bill supported by the Irish Members, 239; division on the Russian Loan, 240; division on the sugar duties, 267; Reform Bill passed, 270; debates, 296; violent scene in debate on petition of the City of London, 299; Irish Tithe question, 308; debate on, 309; debate on the Address, 353; Irish Church Reform, 354; aspect of the reformed House, 360; debate on Slave Emancipation, 371; vote of confidence in the Ministers, 376; division on the Irish Church Bill, 381; vote against sinecures, iii. 13; division on Apprenticeship Clause of West India Bill, 16; disorganised state of the House, 17; Pension List, 60; business of the House, 61; debate on the Corn Laws, 68; debate on admission of Dissenters to the University, 75; debate on Repeal of the Union, 80; Pension List, 80; debate on Portugal, 82; Poor Law Bill, 83; debate on Irish Tithe Bill, 98, 99; gallery for reporters, 205; debate on the Speakership, 214; debate on the Address, 221; debate and division on amendment to the Address, 223; Malt Tax, 224; debate on appointment of Lord Londonderry, 225; Dissenters’ Marriage Bill, 230; Government beaten on Chatham election, 234; state of parties in the House, 234; debate and division on Irish Church question, 240; uproar in the House, 243; Government defeated on Irish Tithe Bill, 246; debate on Irish Church Bill, 281; position of the House, 288, 291; conflict with the House of Lords, 225; debate and division on the amendment to the Address, 334; effect of division, 336; Opposition defeated, 347; division, 359; Irish Corporation Bill, 388; insult to Lord Lyndhurst, 389; debates on Irish Tithe Bill, 391; abandonment of the appropriation clauses, 393
• Como, i. [414]
• Conroy, Sir John, ii. 190; iii. 3
• Conservative Club, dinner at, ii. 327; speeches, 327
• Constantine, the Grand Duke, accident to, i. [259]; death of, ii. 164
• Convention signed between France, England, and Holland, ii. 375
• Conyngham, Marquis of, Postmaster-General, iii. 88, 113
• Conyngham, Marchioness of, i. [46]; wears a Crown jewel, [48]; Court intrigues, [207]
• Conyngham, Lord Francis, i. [50]
• Coprogli, History of the Grand Vizier, iii. 115
• Cornelius, painter, ii. 149
• Coronation, the, of William IV. decided on, ii. 156; preparations for, 157, 163, 165; estimates for, 181; disputes over the arrangements for, 187
• Cottenham, Lord, Lord High Chancellor, iii. 328
• Cotton, Sir Willoughby, suppresses the insurrection in Jamaica, ii. 262; on affairs in Jamaica, 380
• Council, Clerk of the, Mr. Greville sworn in, i. [44]; after the accession of William IV., ii. 12; Lord Grey’s Administration sworn in, 71; for the proclamation against rioters, 73; recorder’s report in, 85; clerks of the, 87; scene at Council for a new Great Seal, 188
• Council, Privy: suttee case before the, ii. 307; embargo on Dutch ships, 343; meeting of the, on the London University petition, iii. 80; counter petition of Oxford and Cambridge, 80
• Council, Cabinet: the first of Lord Melbourne’s Administration, iii. 120; the first of Sir Robert Peel’s Administration, 174
• Covent Garden Theatrical Fund Dinner, i. [205]
• Coventry, glove trade, ii. 224
• Cowley, Abraham, lines from ‘Ode to Solitude,’ ii. 272
• Cowper, Earl, at Panshanger, ii. 229
• Cowper, Countess, at Panshanger, ii. 229
• Cowper, William, Life of, by Southey, iii. 134
• Cradock, Colonel, sent to Charles X., ii. 37
• Crampton, Sir Philip, Irish story, i. [243]
• Craven, Earl of, disperses a mob, ii. 77; on the proposed new Peers, 232
• Craven, General the Hon. Berkeley, suicide of, iii. 350
• Crawford, William, member for the City of London, iii. 188
• Creevey, Mr., i. [235]
• Croker, Right Hon. John Wilson, edition of ‘Boswell’s Life of Johnson,’ ii. 105; reviews lost, 106
• Cumberland, H.S.H. the Duke of, opposition to Catholic Relief Bill, i. [180]; intrigues at Court, [222]; insults Lady Lyndhurst, [222], [223]; quarrel with Lord Lyndhurst, [224]; disputes concerning the office of ‘Gold Stick,’ ii. 5, 21
• Cumberland, H.P..H. the Duchess of, i. [2]
• Cuvier, Baron, death of, ii. 307

---

• Dalberg, Duke de, letter on European affairs, ii. 44
• Dawson, Right Hon. George Robert, speech on Catholic Emancipation, i. [138], [200]; sworn in a Privy Councillor, ii. 71
• De Gazes, Duke, favourite of Louis XVIII., ii. 305; Ambassador to the Court of St. James, 306
• Dedel, M., Dutch Minister at the Court of St. James, iii, 32
• Denbigh, Earl of, Chamberlain to Queen Adelaide, ii. 342; sworn in Privy Councillor, 352
• Denman, Lord, correspondence with the King, i. [156]; sworn in a Privy Councillor, ii. 329; Lord Chief Justice, 330; qualities of, 331; meeting of, with Lord Brougham, in Bedfordshire, iii. 71; raised to the Peerage, 74
• Derby Dilly, the, iii. 236, 237, 253
• De Ros, Lord, in Rome, i. [368]
• De Ros, Colonel, the Hon. Arthur John Hill, death of, i. [81]; character of, [82]
• Dickenson, Captain, trial of, by court-martial, i. [235]
• Diebitsch, Marshal, death of, from cholera, ii. 154
• Dino, Duc de, arrest of the, i. [255]
• Dino, Duchesse de, ii. 57; on the state of France, 195
• Discontent throughout the country, ii. 108
• Disraeli, Benjamin, projects for sitting in Parliament, iii. 170
• Dissenters’ Marriage Bill, iii. 207, 230. For debates on, see [Commons, House of]
• Dorsetshire election, 1831, ii. 203, 207; crime in, iii. 77
• Dover, Lord, resigns the Woods and Forests, ii. 109; created a Peer, 150; death of, iii. 4; character of, 4; Life of Frederick II., 6; book on the Man in the Iron Mask, 6
• Down, deanery of, iii. 70
• Drax v. Grosvenor, case of, ii. 224; lunacy case, 369; decision on, 375; final meeting on, 377
• Drummond, Henry, mission to the Archbishop of York, iii. 333
• Dublin Police Bill, iii. 333
• Dudley, Earl of, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, i. [95], [124]; dinner to Marshal Marmont, ii. 38; eccentricity of, 271, 272
• ‘Duke of Milan,’ quotation from the, i. [178]
• Dulcken, Madam, performs before the Judicial Committee, iii. 325
• Duncannon, Viscount, iii. 104; called to the House of Lords, and Secretary of State, 109; sworn in, 112; Home Secretary, 113; on O’Connell, 117; at a fire in Edward Street, 117; on the state of affairs, 196; Commissioner of Woods and Forests under Lord Melbourne, 256
• Duncombe, Hon. Thomas Slingsby, maiden speech of, i. [128]; petition from Barnet, ii. 255; guilty of libel, iii. 9; at Hillingdon, 123
• Durham, Earl of, quarrel with Lady Jersey, ii. 119; influence over Lord Grey, 222; attack on Lord Grey at a Cabinet dinner, 226; rudeness of, 269; return from Russia, 333; violence of, 333; created an earl, 365
• Dwarris, Sir Fortunatus, dinner at the house of, ii. 359

---

• East, Sir E. Hyde, sworn in a Privy Councillor, ii. 155
• Eboli, Duchesse d’, ball at Naples, i. [335]
• Ebrington, Viscount, moves a vote of confidence in the Government, ii. 202, 204
• Ebury, Lord, sworn in a Privy Councillor, ii. 78
• Egremont, Earl of, at Petworth, ii. 336; wealth of, 337; hospitality to the poor, iii. 84
• Eldon, Earl of, audience of King George IV., i. [197]; speech at Apsley House, ii. 198; career of, 378; tribute to, iii. 42
• Election, General, in 1830, ii. 20, 29; in 1831, 139, 141, 142, 145; in 1832, 335; in 1835, iii. 184, 189, 191, 193; results of, 195; in the counties, 198; result, 201
• Eliot, Lord, return of, from Spain, iii. 259; conversation with Louis Philippe, 259
• Ellenborough, Earl of, Lord Privy Seal, i. [124]; letter to Sir John Malcolm, [271]; on West India affairs, ii. 350; on Egypt, 351; speech on admission of Dissenters to the University, iii. 73
• Ellesmere, Earl of, Irish Secretary, i. [146]
• Ellice, Right Hon. Edward, iii. 104; and the Colchester election, 112; Secretary for War, 113; in Paris, 379
• Elliot, Frederic, letter from Canada, iii. 325
• Epsom races, 1831, ii. 143; in 1833, 373
• Erskine, Right Hon. Thomas, sworn in a Privy Councillor, ii. 223; Chief Judge in Bankruptcy, 223
• Escars, Duchesse d’, at a party given by the Duke of Wellington, i. [214]
• Este, Sir Augustus d’, behaviour of, ii. 194
• Esterhazy, Prince Paul, conversation with, ii. 40; on Belgian affairs, 189; on the state of England, iii. 32; on affairs in Europe, 370; conversation with, 373
• Europe, state of, ii. 126; in 1831, 187; in 1836, iii. 370
• Evans, General de Lacy, iii. 265; reported death of, 359
• Evans, the incendiary, arrest of, ii. 70
• Exeter, Bishop of, correspondence with Lord Melbourne, ii. 97; interview with Lord Grey, 205; talents of, 287; ambition of, 289

---

• Falck, Baron, ii. 15, 41
• Ferdinand, Emperor, of Austria, iii. 374
• Fergusson, Right Hon. Cutlar, Judge Advocate, iii. 95
• Ferrara, i. [405]
• Fieschi conspiracy, iii. 286
• Fingall, Earl of, created a Baron of the United Kingdom, ii. 150
• Finsbury election, 1834, Radical returned, iii. 100
• Fitzclarence, Colonel George, see [Munster, Earl of]
• Fitzclarence, Lord Frederick, resigns appointment at the Tower, ii. 362
• Fitzclarence, Lord Adolphus, picture of, ii. 179
• Fitzclarence, Lord Augustus, at Ascot, ii. 147; picture of, 176
• Fitzclarence, Lady Augusta, marriage of, iii. 363
• Fitzgerald, Right Hon. Vesey, i. [150]
• Fitzherbert, Sirs., death of, iii. 396; documents of, 396
• Flahault, Madame de, anecdotes of Princess Charlotte, ii. 319; salon of, in Paris, iii. 381
• Fleury, Cardinal, ii. 347
• Florence, i. [299]; sights of, [300]; society at, [302]; sculpture, [300], [301]; pictures, [303]; Grand Duke, [303]
• Foley, Lord, sworn in a Privy Councillor, ii. 84; Lord-Lieutenant of Worcestershire, 84; at St. James’s, 297
• Fonblanque, Albany, iii. 348
• Forester, Right Hon. Colonel Cecil, resigns his appointment as Groom of the Bedchamber, ii. 118
• Forfar election, 1835, iii. 197
• Fox, Mrs. Lane, accompanies the Prince of Orange to Gravesend, ii. 133; receives the Cabinet Ministers, iii. 140
• Fox, Right Hon. Charles James, described by Talleyrand, ii. 344
• Fox, W.J., Unitarian minister, sermon, iii. 43
• France, state of affairs in, i. [284]; appearance of the country, [287]; impending crisis in 1830, [369]; events in 1830, ii. 17; revolution, 19; Duke of Orleans ascends the throne, 26; political prospects, 26; reconstruction of the Constitution, 28; army ordered to Belgium, 178; army in Belgium, 181; seizure of Portuguese ships, 182, 184; republican tendencies of, 187; state of the country, 1831, 195; weakness of the Government of Louis Philippe, 322; dispute with America, iii. 322; state of the country, 382
• Francis, Sir Philip, handwriting of, i. [234]
• Franklin, Benjamin, ii. 185
• Franz Joseph, Archduke, iii. 374
• Frascati, convent at, i. [305]; dinner at, [305]; visit to, [390]

---

• Gallatin, Albert, i. [257]
• Gambier, Lord, proxy of, ii. 286
• Garrick, David, anecdotes of ii. 316
• Gell, Sir William, at Rome, i. [372], [375]
• Geneva, i. [415]
• Genoa, i. [292]; palaces, [293], [295]; churches, [294]; tomb of Andrew Doria, [296]
• George III., death of, i. [23]; will, [64]; jewels and property, [65]; dislike of the Duke of Richmond, iii. 129
• George IV., illness of, i. [23]; at the Pavilion, [49]; interview with, [91]; health and habits of, [143]; violent dislike to the Catholic Relief Bill, [153], [181]; character of, [155]; personal habits of, [189]; interview with the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Wellington, and Sir Robert Peel, [201]; health of, [206]; racing interests of, [212]; anecdotes concerning, [216]; eyesight affected, [233], [236]; courage of, [236]; conduct in reference to Mr. Denman, [250]; illness of, [368]; death of, [417]; funeral of, ii. 4; sale of wardrobe, 23; details of last illness, 30; anecdotes concerning, 189
• Gérard, Marshal, reported resignation of, ii. 45; ordered to Belgium, 178
• Gibson, John, R.A., at Rome, i. [383]
• Gladstone, William Ewart, West India Committee, iii. 280
• Glenelg, Lord, President of the Board of Trade, i. [124]; Board of Control, ii. 66, iii. 113; Colonial Secretary in Lord Melbourne’s second Administration, 256; and the King, 276
• ‘Glenfinlas’ performed at Bridgewater House, iii. 353, 355
• Glengall, Earl of, comedy by the, i. [249]
• Glengall, Countess of, ii. 85
• Gloucester, H.R.H. the Duke of, ii. 8
• Goderich, Viscount, Small Notes Bill, i. [79]; Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs and War, [95]; sent for by the King, [107]; scene at Windsor, [108]; Administration of, formed, [108]; resignation of, [115]; returns to office, [116]; Ministry dissolved, [120]; Colonial Secretary, ii. 66; Lord Privy Seal, 365; created an earl, 367; invested with the Order of the Garter, 367
• Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, death of, ii. 307
• Goodwood, ii. 182; in 1833, iii. 20
• Gorhambury, party at, ii. 188
• ‘Goriot, Le Père,’ iii. 378
• Goulburn, Right Hon. Henry, Chancellor of the Exchequer, i. [124]
• Graham, Right Hon. Sir James, First Lord of the Admiralty, ii. 66; elevation of, 90; remarks on, 91; resignation of, iii. 88; declines to join the Peel Administration, 176; conservative spirit of, 249; on the crisis of 1835, 249; joins the Opposition, 272
• Grange, The, attacked by a mob, ii. 68
• Grant, Right Hon. Charles, see [Glenelg, Lord]
• Granville, Earl, Ambassador in Paris, iii. 385
• Granville, Countess, i. [10]; quarrel with M. Thiers, iii. 380
• Greece, policy of the English Government towards, i. [255]
• Greenwich, dinner at, iii. 1
• Grenville, Thomas, conduct during the riots of 1780, iii. 129
• Gresley, Sir Roger, quarrel with Lord H. Bentinck, ii. 148
• Greville, Charles, sen., death of, ii. 318
• Greville, Mrs., ‘Ode to Indifference,’ ii. 319
• Greville, Algernon, private secretary to the Duke of Wellington, iii. 163
• Grey, Earl, hostility to the Government, i. [100]; forms an Administration, 1830, ii. 64, 66; First Lord of the Treasury, 66; at dinner at Lord Sefton’s, 69; nepotism of, 78; character of, 88; relations with Lord Lyndhurst, 88; lays the Reform Bill before the King, 109; weakness of Government in the House of Commons, 116; remarks on Administration of, 137; invested with the Order of the Garter, 146; at dinner at Hanbury’s Brewery, 149; attacked on his foreign policy, 178; on Belgian affairs, 178; attacked by Lord Durham, 226; proposed new Peers, 230; altered conduct of, 232; reluctance to make new Peers, 247; conversation with, 248; interview with Lord Harrowby and Lord Wharncliffe, 259; minute of compromise with Lord Harrowby and Lord Wharncliffe, 260; speech on Ancona, 269; speech at the close of the Reform debate, 288; continued efforts for a compromise, 291; Government defeated in committee, 293; resignation of Administration of, 294; resumes office with his colleagues, 300; remarks on the members of the Administration of, 322; embarrassment of Government, 369; instance of readiness of, iii. 10; on Portuguese affairs, 21; compared with the Duke of Wellington, 73; changes in the Administration of, 88, 90, 91; situation of, in the crisis of 1834, 91; letter to Lord Ebrington, 92; weakness of the Government, 97; resignation of, 101; refuses the Privy Seal, 112; desires to retire, 124; dinner to, at Edinburgh, 135; events subsequent to retirement of, 145; intrigue, 145; conservative spirit of, 249; audience of the King, 251; dissatisfaction of, 352
• Grey, Sir Charles, Governor of Jamaica, sworn in a Privy Councillor, iii. 271
• Grote, George, returned for the City of London, iii. 188
• Guixot, Monsieur, reported resignation of, ii. 45; eminence of, iii. 379
• Gully, Mr., account of, ii. 335; returned for Pontefract, 336
• Gunpowder Plot, papers relating to, i. [161]

---

• Haddington, Earl of, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, iii. 181
• Halford, Sir Henry, report on the cholera, ii. 137
• Hampden, Dr. Regius Professor of Divinity at Oxford, iii. 341, 342
• Hanbury’s Brewery, dinner at, ii. 148
• Happiness, reflections on, iii. 293
• Hardinge, Right Hon. Sir Henry, on the prospects of the Tory Government, iii. 167; on the King and Lord Melbourne, 168
• Harrowby, Earl of, Lord President, i. [95]; speech on Reform, ii. 206; interview with Lord Grey, 224; circular to the Peers, 242, 248; interview with Lord Grey, 259; discussions on letter of, 262; letter shown to Lord Grey, 264; the ‘Times’ on the letter of, 264, 265; patriotic conduct of, 275; declines to vote on Schedule A, 281; character of, iii. 52; subscription to election expenses, 182
• Harrowby, Countess of, iii. 52
• Hartwell, visit to, ii. 345
• Harvey, Whittle, committee, iii. 112; speech of, at Southwark, 188
• Harwich election, 1835, iii. 186
• Health, formation of a board of, ii. 154
• Henry II., King, and Thomas à Becket, iii. 130
• Henry VIII., King, coffin of, found at Windsor, ii. 168
• Herbert, Sydney, Secretary to the Board of Control, iii. 194
• Herculaneum, i. [349]
• ‘Hernani,’ ii. 154
• Herries, Right Hon. John Charles, scene at Council, i. [108]; discussions on appointment of, [110]; ill-will of, towards his colleagues, [121]; Master of the Mint, [124]
• Hertford, Marchioness of, funeral of, iii. 79
• Hess, Captain, ii. 319, 320
• Heurteloup, Baron, before the Judicial Committee, iii. 332
• Heythrop, riot at, ii. 77
• Hill, Mr., Irish members’ squabble, iii. 55
• Hobhouse, Right Hon. Sir John Cam, speech on the Reform Bill, ii. 123; Secretary of War, 243; resigns Irish Secretaryship and seat for Westminster, ii. 368; on the state of affairs, iii. 195; Board of Control, in Lord Melbourne’s second Administration, 256
• Holland, the King of, invades Belgium, ii. 175; state of, 200; conduct of the King of, 314; the King refuses to give up Antwerp, 321, 329; obstinacy of the King, 324; bankrupt condition of, iii. 32
• Holland, Lord, at Panshanger, ii. 47; Duchy of Lancaster, iii. 113; anecdotes related by, 131; on Reform, 135; on Mr. Canning, ib.; anecdotes, 335; on Mr. Fox, ib.; contempt for the Tory party, 336
• Holland, Lady, fancies of, ii. 331; and Spencer Perceval, iii. 331
• Holland House, dinner at, ii. 245; conversation at, 316; Allen and Macaulay, 317; sketch of, 331; conversation at, iii. 127, 129; literary criticisms, 130; Lord Melbourne’s conversation, 131; dinner at, 132; news of the fall of Lord Melbourne’s Administration, 147; party spirit at, 192
• Holmes boroughs, ii. 140
• Hook, Theodore, improvisation of, iii. 119, 197; singing of, 197
• Home, Sir William, Attorney-General, ii. 333; and Lord Brougham, iii. 67
• Hortense, Queen, at Frascati, i. [305]
• Horton, Wilmot, lectures at the Mechanics’ Institute, ii. 97
• Howe, Earl, dismissal of, ii. 203; Queen’s Chamberlain, 319; and Queen Adelaide, 331; correspondence about the Chamberlainship, 339
• Howick, Viscount, Under-secretary, ii. 78; in office, iii. 254; civility of the King to, 255; Secretary of War, 256; acrimony of, 312; interview with Spencer Perceval, 330; on the position of parties, 360
• Hudson, Sir James, page of honour, ii. 339
• Hume, John Deacon, Assistant-Secretary to the Board of Trade, i. [223]; ii. 49
• Hume, Joseph, extreme Radical views of, ii. 361; speech on the Orangemen, iii. 344; deputation to Lord Melbourne, 357
• ‘Hunchback, The,’ ii. 285
• Hunt, Henry, speech of, ii. 112; speech of, against the Reform Bill, 134
• Huskisson, Right Hon. William, President of the Board of Trade, i. [95]; dispute in the Cabinet, [120]; joins the new Government, [122]; Colonial Secretary, [124]; resignation of, [131]; Lord Melbourne’s opinion of, ii. 46; death of, 47; character of, 49; funeral of, 51

---

• Incendiarism in the country, ii. 84
• Ireland, trials in, i. [239]; dissatisfaction in, ii. 76; unpopularity of Government changes in, 89; state of, 112, 114; education in, 267, 271; tithes, 309; Church difficulties in, 323
• Irish Church, abuses in, iii. 9; the Irish Church Bill dangerous to the Government, 86; differences in the Cabinet, 89; difficulties of the Irish Church question, 240, 253; opinions of Lord Melbourne on the, 269. For debates on the Irish Church Bill, see [Lords, House of], and [Commons, House of]
• Irish Tithe Bill, thrown out, iii. 117; divisions on the, 246; conduct of the Government, 298; difficulties of, 353, 354; abandonment of the Appropriation Clause, 355
• Irving, Edward, service in chapel, iii. 40; the unknown tongues, 41; sermon of, ib.; interview with Lord Melbourne, 129
• Irving, Washington, i. [249]
• Istria, Duchesse d’, beauty of, iii. 381

---

• Jacquemont’s Letters, iii. 115
• Jamaica, insurrection in, ii. 262; Mr. Greville, Secretary of the Island of, 349; petition to the King, 352; affairs of, ib.; anecdote of a slave, 359; opinion of Sir Willoughby Cotton, 380; office of Secretary to the Island of, threatened, iii. 266, 268, 275; secured, 279
• Jebb, Judge, charge of, at O’Connell’s trial, ii. 109
• Jeffrey, Lord, and Professor Leslie, iii. 44
• Jersey, Countess of, character of, i. [12]; party at the house of, ii. 64; quarrel with Lord Durham, 119; correspondence with Lord Brougham, 126
• Jockey Club, dinner given by the King to the, 1828, i. [134]; in 1829, [211]
• ‘John Bull,’ the, newspaper, ii. 97
• Johnson, Dr., anecdotes of, ii. 316
• Johnstone, Right Hon. Sir Alexander, sworn in a Privy Councillor, iii. 27, 30; at the Judicial Committee, 125
• Jones Loyd, Mr., iii. 188
• Jones, ‘Radical,’ interview with Lord Wharncliffe, ii. 200
• Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, Bill for the establishment of the, iii. 21; meeting to make regulations for the, 35; first sitting of the, 38; working of the, 205

---

• Kelly, Mrs., adventures of her daughter, i. [379], [383]; case before the Privy Council, iii. 259, 261, 266, 267; judgment, 274
• Kemble, Charles, and his family, iii. 260
• Kemble, Miss Fanny, i. [240], ii. 129; tragedy by, 270; in the ‘Hunchback,’ 285
• Kempt, Right Hon. Sir James, Master-General of the Ordnance, sworn in a Privy Councillor, ii. 84
• Kent, H.R.H. the Duchess of, disputes in the Royal Family, ii. 190; and the Duke of Wellington, ib.; the Regency Bill, 191; salutes to, iii. 3; at Burghley, 315; quarrels with the King, 366; scene at Windsor, 367; answer to the address of the City of London, 399; squabble with the King, 400
• Kenyon, Lord, speech at Apsley House, ii. 198
• Kinnaird, Lord, created a Baron of the United Kingdom, ii. 150
• Klopstock, Friedrich Gottlieb, anecdote of, iii. 130
• Knatchbull, Right Hon. Sir Edward, joins the Peel Government, iii. 176, 177; attack on, 226
• Knighton, Sir William, i. [72]; influence with the King, [99], [144]; behaviour of, during the King’s illness, ii. 174

---

• Lafayette, Marquis de, resignation of, ii. 99
• La Ferronays, M. de, French Ambassador at Rome, i. [307]; on the accession of the Emperor Nicholas, [373]; on French politics, [368]; civility of, [380], [381]; on French affairs, [393], [395]
• La Granja, revolution of, iii. 364, 365
• ‘Lalla Rookh,’ at Bridgewater House, iii. 353
• Lamb, Sir Frederick, ii. 94; reported letter to the King of France from the Duke of Wellington, 94
• Lambeth Palace, restoration of, ii. 34
• Lancashire election, 1835, iii. 198
• Langdale, Lord, reply to Lord Brougham, iii. 81; declines the Solicitor-Generalship, 141; peerage, 328; Master of the Rolls, 328
• Lansdowne, Marquis of, Secretary of State for the Home Department, i. [95]; Lord President, ii. 66; dinner to name the sheriffs, 109; on the Reform Bill, 131; and Lord Brougham, 347; Lord President in both of the Administrations of Lord Melbourne, iii. 113, 256
• La Roncière, case of, iii. 202
• Laval, M. de, at Apsley House, ii. 15
• Law, History of English, iii. 114
• Lawrence, Sir Thomas, early genius of, i. [256]; death of, [263]; character of, [264]; funeral of, [268]; engagement of, to the Misses Siddons, iii. 50
• Leach, Right Hon. Sir John, disappointed of the Woolsack, ii. 68; in the case of Drax v. Grosvenor, 378
• Leigh, Colonel George, ii. 189
• Leinster, Duke of, sworn in a Privy Councillor, ii. 155
• Leitrim, Earl of, created a Baron of the United Kingdom, ii. 150
• Le Marchant, Denis, at Stoke, iii. 21
• Lemon, Robert, F.S.A., Deputy Keeper of the State Papers, iii. 44
• Lennard, John Barrett, Chief Clerk of the Privy Council Office, ii. 370
• Leopold, King, i. [22]; desires to ascend the throne of Greece, [265]; anxiety to ascend the throne of Belgium, ii. 153; accepts the throne of Belgium, 158; starts for Belgium, 167; proposes to the Princess Louise of France, 168; in Belgium, 177; want of confidence in, 177; cold reception of, at Windsor, iii. 370
• Leuchtenberg, Duke of, at Havre, iii. 33; marriage of, 33; letter to Lord Palmerston, 34; arrival of, 195
• Leveson, Lord Francis, see [Ellesmere, Earl of]
• Levee, iii. 213
• Lewis, Matthew Gregory, (‘Monk’ Lewis), journals and voyages to the West Indies, ii. 382; anecdote of, iii. 2; agreement with Mr. Murray for the Journal, 8
• Lichfield, Earl of, at Runton, iii. 51
• Lichfield Cathedral, iii. 327
• Lieven, Prince, recalled, iii. 87
• Lieven, Princess, character of, i. [15]; attacks Lord Grey, ii. 261; on the Belgian question, 266; conversation with, 322; renews her friendship with the Duke of Wellington, 325; grievances of, 351; interference of, 358; diplomatic difficulties, 357; reception of, at St. Petersburg, iii. 23; position, of, in Paris, 379
• Littleton, Right Hon. Edward, i. [11]; proposed by Lord Althorp as Speaker, ii. 333; Secretary for Ireland, 372; and O’Connell, iii. 99; instrumental in breaking up the Government, 102; political career of, 103; letter to Lord Wellesley, 103, 110; in communication with O’Connell, 103, 110; Irish Secretary, 113
• Liverpool, Earl of, and the King, i. [25]; paralytic seizure, [90]; transactions before the close of Administration of, ii. 173
• Liverpool, opening of the railroad, ii. 43, 47; bribery at election, 79
• Lobau, Marshal, Commandant-Général, ii. 99
• Lodge, the Royal, entertainments at, i. [99]
• London, speech of Bishop of, iii. 391; University Charter, iii. 80, 81, 237; meeting of Committee of Council on, 260, 262
• Londonderry, Marquis of, death of, i. [51]; character of, [52]; funeral of, [54]
• Londonderry, Marquis of, motion on Belgium, ii. 180; attacks Lord Plunket, 266; debate on appointment of, to St. Petersburg, iii. 225; opinion of the Duke of Wellington, 227; speech of, 228; resignation of, 229
• Long, St. John, trial of, ii. 85
• Lords, House of, debate of Royal Dukes, i. [177]; debate on Catholic Relief Bill, [199]; division on Catholic Relief Bill, [199]; debate on affairs in Portugal, [277]; debate on the Methuen Treaty, ii. 118; speech of Lord Brougham, 118; violent scene in the, 136; debate on Lord Londonderry’s motion, 180; prospects of the Reform Bill, 193; First Reform Bill thrown out, 202; attack on the Bishops, 205; new Peers, 230; measures for carrying the second reading of the Second Reform Bill, 235, 237; division on the Belgian question, 240; Reform Bill, 271; Irish education, 271; debates on second reading of the Reform Bill, 272, 286; list of proposed new Peers, 283; Reform Bill carried, 287; in Committee on the Reform Bill, 291; debate on conduct of the Tory party, 303; Russo-Dutch Loan, 315; Government beaten on Portuguese question, 376; powerlessness of, 377; Local Courts Bill, 382, 384; debate on Local Courts Bill, iii. 7; Government defeated, 7; Irish Church Bill, 8; Bill for the observance of the Sabbath, 83; debate on the Irish Church Bill, 94; Poor Law Bill, 114; debate on Irish Tithe Bill, 117; conduct of the House, 239; debate on Corporation Bill, 286, 290; position of the House, 288, 291; Irish Tithe Bill thrown up, 295; conflict with the House of Commons, 295; state of the House, 307; debate on Corporation Bill, 308, 351; hostility to the House of Commons, 359; conduct of the House, 360, 361
• Louis XVIII., King, memoirs of, ii. 305; favourites of, 305; at Hartwell, 345
• Louis Philippe, King, accession of, ii. 26; conduct of, 27; tranquillises Paris, 99; speech of, 169; averse to French attack on Antwerp, 334; behaviour of, to the Queen of Portugal, iii. 33; power of, in the Chamber, 142; courage of, 286; conduct towards Spain, 321, 360, 364; at the Tuileries, 382; dislike to the Duke de Broglie, 386
• Louise, H.R.H. Princess, daughter of King Louis Philippe, ii. 168
• Louis, Baron, reported resignation of, ii. 45
• Luckner, General, ii. 219
• Lushington, Dr., speech of, in the appeal of Swift v. Kelly, ii. 383
• Lushington, Sir Henry, and ‘Monk’ Lewis, iii. 2
• Luttrell, Henry, character of, i. [10]; ‘Advice to Julia,’ [33]
• Lyndhurst, Lord, Lord High Chancellor, i. [95], [124]; quarrel with the Duke of Cumberland, [223]; dissatisfaction at Lord Brougham’s being raised to the Woolsack, ii. 68; reported appointment to be Lord Chief Baron, 89; opinion of the Government, 93; Lord Chief Baron, 106; political position of, 107; anecdote of a trial, 107; retort to the Duke of Richmond, 139; on the Government, 143; on Sir Robert Peel, 144; on Lord Brougham, 144; sent for by the King, 294; efforts to form a Tory Government, 326; judgment in Small v. Attwood, 330; account of the efforts of the Tory party to form a Government, 340; forgets the message of the King to Lord Grey, iii. 49; account of transactions between the King and Lord Melbourne, 150; policy of, 151; on Lord Brougham, 153; Lord High Chancellor, 156; on the Administration of Sir Robert Peel, 189; conduct on the Corporation Bill, 288, 292; on the prospects of the session, 332; on the business of the House of Lords, 333; speech in vindication of conduct, 362; in Paris, 378; insult offered to, in House of Commons, 389; capacity of, 390; violent speech of, 401
• Lyndhurst, Lady, insulted by the Duke of Cumberland, i. [222]; conversation with, ii. 93
• Lynn Regis, election, iii. 170, 171, 175, 181
• Lyons, riots at, ii. 219

---

• Macao, verses on, i. [11], [12]
• Macaulay, Thomas Babington, speeches on the Reform Bill, ii. 123, 199; eloquence of, 204; at Holland House, 245; appearance of, 246; character of, 317; on the Coercion Bill, 363; conversation of, iii. 35; memory of, 337; eloquence of, compared to Lord Brougham, 338; inscription on monument erected in honour of Lord William Bentinck, 339
• Macaulay, Zachary, iii. 337
• Mackintosh, Right Hon. Sir James, speech of, on the criminal laws, i. [19]; conversation of, [241]; death of, ii. 307; ‘History of England,’ iii. 139; remarks on life of, 293, 314; compared with Burke, 314; life of, 316; abilities of, 316; religious belief of, 324
• Maggiore, Lago, i. [414]
• Maidstone, state of the borough, iii. 184
• Maii, Monsignore, i. [367], [375]
• Malibran, Maria Felicita, in the ‘Sonnambula,’ iii. 12
• Mallet, conspiracy of, ii. 186
• Malt Tax, the, Government defeated on, ii. 368
• Manners Sutton, Sir Charles, G.C.B., proposed as Premier, ii. 326; conduct of, 341; reappointed Speaker, 343; Knight of the Bath, iii. 30; the Speakership, 204, see Canterbury, Lord
• Mansfield, Lord, speech against the Government, ii. 136; audience of the King, 138; meeting of Peers, 152
• Mansion House, the, dinner at, iii. 178
• Marengo, battle-field of, i. [292]
• Maria, Donna, Queen of Portugal, at a child’s ball, i. [209]; proposals of marriage for, iii. 33; at Windsor, 33; picture of, 195
• Marie Amélie, Queen, iii. 383
• Marmont, Marshal, at Lady Glengall’s, ii. 34; conversation with, ib.; revolution of 1830, 37; at Woolwich, 38; dinner at Lord Dudley’s, 38
• Matteis, trial of, i. [336], [341]
• Matuscewitz, Russian Ambassador Extraordinary, i. [159]; on affairs in Europe, ii. 176; conduct of, 324; conversation with, iii. 314
• Maule, Mr. Justice, at dinner at the Athenæum. ii. 101
• Meeting of moderate men, origin of the ‘Derby Dilly,’ iii. 219
• Meiningen, château of, model of the, iii. 122; the Queen revisits the, 125
• Melbourne, Viscount, Home Secretary, ii. 66; efficiency of, in office, 90; negotiations with, 104; dissatisfaction of, 245; on the proposed new Peers, 254; on the Reform Bill, 277; on the members of Lord Grey’s Administration, 322; sent for by the King, iii. 102; forms an Administration, 108; letter to the Duke of Wellington, Sir Robert Peel, and Mr. Stanley, 109; Administration of, 113; anecdote of, 126; information of, 130; literary conversation of, 131; on Benthamites, 138; theological reading of, 138; fall of Government of, 143; dismissal of, 144; details of fall of Government, 147; account of dismissal, 150, 168; with the King, 163, 168; with his colleagues, 164; 165, 166; dispute with Lord Duncannon, 166; speeches at Derby, 170; weakness of, ib.; second Administration formed, 253; composition of, 256; theological reading of, 324; appointment of Dr. Hampden, 342; action against, brought by the Hon. Mr. Norton, 349; result of the trial, 351; difficulties of the Government, 355
• Melville, Viscount, President of the India Board, i. [124]
• Mendizabal, ability of, iii. 321; dismissal of, 350
• Messiah, the oratorio of the, performed in Westminster Abbey, iii. 98
• Methuen, Paul, M.P., on supporting the Government, iii. 65; retort of O’Connell to, 65
• Metternich, Princess, anecdote of, iii. 187
• Mexico, failure of the Spanish expedition against, i. [249]
• Meynell, Mr., retires from the Lord Chamberlain’s department, ii. 133
• Mezzofanti, i. [403]
• Middlesex election, 1835, iii. 197
• Middleton, party at, i. [12]
• Miguel, Dom. ii. 312, 315, 321; attacks Oporto, 324; fleet captured by Captain Napier, iii. 9; anecdote of, 26; blunders of, 93
• Milan, i. [413]
• Mill, John Stuart, at breakfast given by Mr. Henry Taylor, ii. 59
• Milton, Viscount, at a meeting at Lord Althorp’s, ii. 161
• Mirabeau, Count de, Talleyrand’s account of, ii. 384
• Miraflores, Count de, Spanish Ambassador in London, iii. 98; doubtful compliment to Madame de Lieven, 99
• Mola di Gaeta, i. [359]; Cicero’s villa, [368]
• Molé. M., Prime Minister of France, iii. 379; abilities of, 380
• Montalivet, case of the French refugee, iii. 386
• Monti, Vincenzo, anecdote of, ii. 186
• Moore, Thomas, i. [239], [245]; conversation of, [242]; anecdotes, [247]; Irish patriotism of, ii. 98; opinions on Reform, 140; copy of ‘Lord Edward Fitzgerald,’ 169; satire on Dr. Bowring, 219; compared with Rogers, iii. 324; quarrel with O’Connell, 346
• ‘Morning Herald,’ the, moderate Tory organ, ii. 269
• Mornington, Countess of, death of, ii. 194
• Morpeth, Viscount, Irish Secretary, iii. 256; speech on Irish Tithe Bill, 256
• Mosley, Sir Oswald, meeting of moderate men, iii. 220
• Mulgrave, Earl of, in Jamaica, ii. 352; refuses the office of Postmaster-General, iii. 90; Lord Privy Seal, 113; capability of, 255
• Municipal Corporation Bill, iii. 263, 284, 290; policy of Tory Peers on the, 283; prospects of the, 295; effects of the, 309, 313; the Bill carried, 310
• Munster, Earl of, employed by the King, ii. 10; raised to the Peerage, 143; Lieutenant of the Tower, 168; sworn in a Privy Councillor, 352
• Murat, Achille, ii. 115
• Murray, Dr., Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin, i. [146]
• Murray, Sir George, Secretary of State for the Colonial Department, ii. 11
• Murray, Lady Augusta, marriage of, ii. 194
• Musard’s ball, iii. 384

---

• Namik Pacha, Turkish Ambassador, ii. 339
• Napier, Sir William, on the state of the country, ii. 108; ‘History of the Peninsular War,’ iii. 271
• Napier, Captain Charles, captures Dom Miguel’s fleet, iii. 9; cause of capture of a French squadron, 11; anecdote of, 34
• Naples, i. [333]; sight-seeing at, [334]; Court of Justice, [334]; manuscripts, [334]; ceremony of taking the veil, [338]; sights of, [345], [356]; miracle of the blood of San Gennaro, [353], [355], [364]; excursions to Astroni, [356]; lines on leaving, [361]
• Navarino, battle of, i. [114], [163]
• Nemours, H.R.H. Duc de, accompanies King Louis Philippe, ii. 99; nomination to the throne of Belgium declined, 111; in the House of Commons, iii. 306; at Doncaster, 315
• Newmarket, political negotiations at, ii. 290
• Nicholas, Emperor, accession of, i. [373]; reception of strangers, iii. 24; on the change of Government in England, 211; speech at Warsaw, 319; dislike to King Louis Philippe, 387; qualities of, 371
• ‘Norma,’ the opera of, iii. 2
• North, Lord, Letters of George III. to, iii. 129; anecdote of, 132
• Northamptonshire election, iii. 326
• Northumberland, Duke of, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, i. [157]
• Northumberland, Duchess of, resigns her office of governess to the Princess Victoria, iii. 400
• Norton, Hon. Mr., action brought against Lord Melbourne, iii. 349; result of the trial, 351

---

• Oaks, The. ii. 374; party at, 374
• Oatlands, the residence of the Duke of York, i. [4]; weekly parties at, [5], [7]
• O’Connell, Daniel, character of, i. [145]; at dinner, [203]; attempts to take his seat, [207]; elected for Clare, 1829, [223]; insult to, ii. 76; in Ireland, 96; opposition to Lord Anglesey, 98; abilities of, 100; violence of, 106; arrest of, 107; trial of, 109; position of, 111; pleads guilty, 114; opposition to Lord Duncannon in Kilkenny, 115; explanation of, 123; dread of cholera, 309; member for Ireland, 351; violent speech at the Trades’ Union, 362, 363; attack on Baron Smith, iii. 59; retort to Mr. Methuen, 65; and the Coercion Bill, 103, 110; in correspondence with Mr. Littleton, 110; union with the Whig party, 219; power of, 255; affair with Lord Alvanley, 256; in Scotland, 316; proposed expulsion from Brooks’s club, 320; quarrel with Moore, 346; Carlow election, 348
• O’Connell, Morgan, duel with Lord Alvanley, iii. 256
• Old Bailey, trials at, i. [204]; ii. 85
• Opera House, the English, burnt, i. [277]
• Orange, Prince of, dinner to the, ii. 57; returns to Holland, 133
• Orange, Princess of, robbery of jewels of, i. [267]
• Orange Lodge, association of, iii. 343
• Orangemen, meeting of, ii. 123
• Orleans, H.R.H. Duke of, arrival of, i. [208]; sent to Lyons, ii. 219; in England, 373; project of marriage at Vienna, iii. 372; question of marriage of, 387
• Orloff, Count, arrival of, ii. 278; delay in ratification of the Belgian Treaty, 285
• Osterley, party at, ii. 187

---

• Padua, i. [411]
• Pæstum, i. [344]
• Palmella, Duke of, arrival of in London, ii. 315
• Palmerston, Viscount, speech on the Portuguese question, i. [211]; Foreign Secretary, ii. 66; suggests a compromise on the Reform Bill, 211; on proposed new Peers, 254; on prospects of the Reform Bill, 256; business habits of, iii. 20, 21; unpopularity of, 56; speech on the Turkish question, 71; Foreign Secretary in Lord Melbourne’s Administration, 113; unpopularity with the corps diplomatique, 136; loses his election in Hampshire, 197; as a man of business, 210; Foreign Secretary, 256; abilities of, 360
• Panic, the, 1825, i. [77]; on the Stock Exchange, 1830, ii. 43
• Panshanger, parties at, ii. 46, 47, 229
• Paris, society at, in 1830, i. [283]; in July, [416], [417]; Marshal Marmont’s account of events at, in 1830, ii. 36; alarm felt in, 99; change of Ministry, 133; in 1837, iii. 377; society at, 378, 385; sight-seeing, 381, 383
• Park, Judge, anecdotes of, ii. 92; iii. 372
• Parke, Right Hon. Sir James, sworn in a Privy Councillor, iii. 21; Baron of the Exchequer, 71; in the appeal of Swift v. Kelly, 268
• Parliament, meeting of, 1830, ii. 53; meeting of, 1831, ii. 110; dissolution of 1831, 137; opening of, 153; in 1831, 223; dissolution of, 1832, 334; opening of, 1833, 351; prorogation of, 1833, iii. 27; opening of, 1834, 55; dissolution of, 183; temporary buildings for Houses of, 205; opening of, 219; in 1836, 334; prorogation of, 1836, 361
• Parnell, Sir Henry, turned out of office, ii. 243
• Parsons, anecdotes of, ii. 108
• Paskiewitch, Marshal, in quarantine, ii. 162
• Pattison, James, returned to Parliament for the City of London, iii. 188
• Pavilion, The, dinner at, i. [49]; completion of, [54]
• Pease, Mr., and O’Dwyer, iii. 59
• Pedro, Dom, expedition of, ii. 312, 315; proposal to combine with Spain, iii. 72; in possession of Portugal, 93
• Peel, Right Hon. Sir Robert, Home Secretary, i. [124]; speeches on Catholic Relief Bill, [167], [183]; Oxford University election, 1829, [177]; defeated, [178]; political prospects of, ii. 95, 96; power in the House of Commons, 116; speech on the Reform Bill, 123; inactivity of, on the Reform Bill, 130, 134; complaints of policy of, 141; conduct of, 160; reserve of, 161, 174; excellence in debate, 200; answer to Lord Harrowby, 248, 249; policy of, 264; speech on Irish Tithes, 269; invited to form a Government, 294; refuses to take office, 296; defence of conduct, 304; conduct during the Tory efforts to form a Government, 327, 328; conduct compared with that of the Duke of Wellington, 328; character of, 354; on political unions, iii. 12; in society, 35; position of, in the House of Commons, 64; collection of pictures, 70; great dinner given by, 72; speech on admission of Dissenters to the University, 75; policy of the Administration of, 161; friendship with the Duke of Wellington renewed, 167; arrival of, from the Continent, 174; formation of Administration, 177; manifesto to the country, 178; prospects of the Ministry, 179; qualities of, 189; Toryism of Administration of, 194; false position of, 208; prospects of Government, 214, 235, 236; talents of, 224; conduct to his adherents, 230, 244; courage of, 283; impending resignation of, 242; Government defeated, 246; resignation of Administration of, 1835, 246, 248; speech on Corporation Reform, 263; on Irish Church Bill, 281; relations with Lord John Russell, 282; seclusion of, 297; speech on Corporation Reform, 304; consideration for Lord Stanley, 335; conduct with regard to the Corporation Bill, 340; position of, 358; on the beginning of the new reign, 402
• Peel, Sir Robert, sen., account of, ii. 125
• Peel, Right Hon. Jonathan, iii. 243
• Pemberton, Thomas, ii. 314; in the appeal of Swift v. Kelly, iii. 267, 271
• Pembroke, Earl of, i. [250]
• Pension List, see [Commons, House of]
• Pepys, Right Hon. Sir Christopher, Master of the Rolls, iii. 328. See [Cottenham, Lord]
• Perceval, Spencer, discourse of, iii, 41; the Unknown Tongue, 41; on the condition of the Church, 123; apostolic mission to the members of the Government, 331; at Holland House, 331; apostolic mission of, 333
• Périer, Casimir, momentary resignation of, ii. 175; attacked by cholera, 288; death of, 307
• Persian Ambassador, the, quarrel of, with the Regent, i. [21]
• Perth election, 1835, iii. 197
• Petworth House and pictures, ii. 336; fête at, iii. 84
• Peyronnet, Comte de, i. [393]
• Phillpotts, see [Exeter, Bishop of]
• Pisa, i. [297]
• Pitt, Right Hon. William, described by Talleyrand, ii. 345; anecdotes of, iii. 131
• Plunket, Lord, Lord Chancellor in Ireland, ii. 90; anecdote of, 107; at Stoke, iii. 21; Deanery of Down, 70
• Poland, contest in, ii. 157
• Polignac, Prince Jules de, head of the Administration in France; i. [160], [229], [283]; Administration of, [394]; behaviour of, ii. 29; letter to M. de Molé, 33; exasperation against, 38, 39
• Pompeii, i. [338]; excavations at, [343]
• Ponsonby, Viscount, Minister at Naples, ii. 155; letters of, 172; conduct of, as Ambassador at Constantinople, iii. 405
• Pope, the, audience of Pius VIII., i. [382]; Irish appointments of the, iii. 269. See [Rome]
• Portfolio, the, iii. 327
• Portland, Duke of, Lord Privy Seal, i. [95]
• Portugal, ships seized by the French, ii. 182, 184; affairs in, iii. 25, 79; bankrupt state of, 93
• Powell, Mr., ii. 52
• Pozzo di Borgo, Count, ii. 347; views of, on the state of Europe, iii. 182; Russian Ambassador in London, 201, 203
• Praed, Winthrop Mackworth, first speech of, ii. 115; First Secretary to the Board of Control, iii. 194
• Pratolino, i. [402]
• Prayer, form of, on account of the disturbed state of the kingdom, ii. 99
• Proclamation against rioters, ii. 73

---

• ‘Quakers’, the, address to King William IV, ii. 17
• ‘Quarterly Review, The,’ attacks Lord Harrowby, ii. 269, 270; pamphlet in answer to article, 270
• Quintus Curtius, iii. 130

---

• Racing, remarks on, ii. 373; anecdote, 374
• Redesdale, Lord, letter of, ii. 269
• Reform, plan of, ii. 105; remarks on, 207; negotiations concerning, 215, 217, 218
• Reform Bill, the, laid before the King, ii. 109; excitement concerning, 124; carried by one vote, 132; alterations in, 134; Government defeated, 135; remarks on, 180; attitude of the press, 193; prospects of, 199; negotiations for a compromise, 211; altered tone of the press, 225; meeting of Peers in Downing Street, 225; measures for carrying the second reading in the House of Lords, 235, 237, 239, 241; continued efforts to compromise, 268; finally passed in the House of Commons, 270; continued discussions on, 274; difficulty with Schedule A, 280; carried in the House of Lords, 287; in committee, 292; passes through committee, 304; results of, iii. 27, 191. For debates on, see [Lords, House of], and [Commons, House of]
• Reichstadt, Duke of, and Marshal Marmont, iii. 374
• Reis-Effendi, the, i. [159]
• Renfrewshire election, iii. 388
• Rice, Right Hon. Thomas Spring, Colonial Secretary, iii. 88, 113; difficulties with, 253; Chancellor of the Exchequer, 256; incapacity of, as Chancellor of the Exchequer, 376
• Richmond, Duke of, and King George III. at a naval review, iii. 129
• Richmond, Duke of, summary of character of, i. [199]; Postmaster-General, ii. 66; refuses the appointment of Master of the Horse, 67; difficulties with his labourers, 68; at Goodwood, ii. 182; on Reform, 211; character of, iii. 15; resignation of, 88
• Riots, in London, 1830, ii. 55; among the farm labourers, 68; proclamation against, 73; in the country, 77
• Ripon, Earl of, Lord Privy Seal, ii. 66; resignation of, iii. 88. See [Goderich, Viscount]
• Robarts, Mr., dinner given by, iii. 184
• Robinson, Right Hon. Frederick John, Chancellor of the Exchequer, i. [79]; See [Goderich, Viscount]
• Rochester election, 183.3, iii. 193
• Roden, Earl of, declines the office of Lord Steward, iii. 179, 181
• Rogers, Samuel, breakfast given by, ii. 150; compared with Moore, iii. 324
• Rolle, Lord, remark to Lord Brougham, iii. 107
• Rome, i. [303], [304]; St. Peter’s, [303], [321]; sight-seeing, [306], [311], [322]; the Sistine Chapel, [309]; the cardinals, [309]; a cardinal lying in state, [312]; Pompey’s statue, [313]; Temple of Bacchus, [313]; the Catacombs, [314]; the Pope’s blessing, [316], [324]; Holy Week observances, [317]; the Grand Penitentiary, [317], [319]; washing of pilgrims’ feet, [320]; supper to pilgrims, [321]; Protestant burial-ground, [322]; St. Peter’s illuminated, [325]; excavations, [327]; sight-seeing, [328], [329], [362]; aqueducts, [363]; the Scala Santa, [364]; St. Peter’s, [366]; Library of the Vatican, [367]; votive offering of a horse-shoe, [367], [372]; Columbaria, [374]; saints, [385]; the Flagellants, [387]; relations with Protestant countries, [391]; the Coliseum, [395]; story of a thief, [396]; convent of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, [397]; sight-seeing, [398]
• Rosslyn, Earl of, Lord Privy Seal, i. [210]; Lord President of the Council, iii. 177; dinner for selecting the Sheriffs, 201
• Roussin, Admiral, at Constantinople ii. 367
• Rovigo, the Duke de, at Rome, i. [325]
• Rundell, Mr., fortune of, will of, i. [90]
• Runton Abbey, shooting at, iii. 51; murder in the neighbourhood, 51
• Russell, Right Hon. Lord John, introduces the Reform Bill, ii. 121; seat in the Cabinet, 150; brings in his Bill, 155; letter to Attwood, 205, 206; willing to compromise, 223; brings on the second Reform Bill, 227; Paymaster, of the Forces, iii. 113; objected to by the King as leader of the House of Commons, 160; speech at Totness, 171; on the Speakership, 205; on Church Reform, 206; first speech as leader of the House of Commons, 214; letter of, on the Speakership, 218; as leader of the House of Commons, 221; marriage of, 252; Home Secretary in Lord Melbourne’s second Administration, 256; introduction of Corporation Reform, 263; relations with Sir Robert Peel, 282; course to be pursued on the Corporation Bill, 303, 310; speech on the Orangemen, 344; moderation of, 352; meeting at the Foreign Office, 357, 358; intention of the Government to proceed with their Bills, 397; speech in answer to Roebuck, 401
• Russia, state of, 1829, i. [158]; intrigues of, ii. 351; diplomatic relations with, 352; combines with Turkey against Egypt, 366; fleet sent to Constantinople, ib.; establishes her power in the East, 371; quarrel with, iii. 44; policy towards Turkey, 48; treaty with Turkey, 69; relations with Turkey, 183
• Russo-Dutch Loan, question of the, ii. 240, 241; origin of the, 244; debate on the, in the House of Lords, 315
• Rutland, Duke of, anti-Reform petition, ii. 263; birthday party, iii. 46

---

• Sadler, Mr., maiden speech of, in opposition to the Catholic Relief Bill, i. [191]
• Saint-Aulaire, M. de, French Ambassador at Vienna, ii. 187; anecdote of, 187
• Saint-Aulaire, Madame de, iii. 187
• Saint-Germain, Count de, account of, ii. 186; the ‘Wandering Jew,’ 186
• Salerno, i. [344]
• Salisbury, Marquis of, petition to the King, ii. 231
• Saltash, borough of, division on, ii. 170
• San Carlos, Duke and Duchess of, i. [8]
• Sandon, Viscount, moves the Address in the House of Commons, iii. 202; on Sir Robert Peel, 340
• Sandys, Lord, iii. 359
• Sartorius, Admiral, petition, iii. 366
• Scarlett, Sir James, Attorney-General, i. [210]
• Scott, Sir Walter, death of, ii. 307
• Seaford, Lord, i. [83]
• Sebastiani, Count, French Ambassador to the Court of St. James’s, iii. 180
• Sefton, Earl of, dinner to Lord Grey and Lord Brougham, ii. 69; on Lord Brougham, 148; created a Peer of the United Kingdom, 150; qualities of, 183
• Segrave, Lord, Lord-Lieutenant of Gloucestershire, iii. 322
• Senior, Nassau, at Holland House, iii. 138
• Session of 1833, review of the, iii. 28
• Sestri, i. [297]
• Seton, Sir Henry, arrival of, from Belgium, ii. 178
• Seymour, Lord, withdraws his support from the Government, ii. 124
• Seymour, George, Master of the Robes, ii. 50
• Seymour, Horace, retires from the Lord Chamberlain’s Department, ii. 133
• Seymour, Jane, coffin of, found at Windsor, ii. 168
• Shadwell, Right Hon. Sir Lancelot, on legal business, iii. 76
• Shee, Sir Martin, elected President of the Royal Academy, i. [269]
• Sheil, Right Hon. Richard, dispute with Lord Althorp, iii. 55; arrest of, by the Serjeant-at-Arms, 56; committee, 57, 58; insult to Lord Lyndhurst, 389
• Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, iii. 336
• Siege of Saragossa, the, iii. 40
• Siena, i. [303]
• Simplon, the, i. [415]
• Slavery, abolition of, ii. 347; for debates on, see [Commons, House of]
• Smith, Baron, ii. 105; O’Connell’s attack upon, iii. 59, 61, 63
• Smith, Sydney, and the siege of Saragossa, iii. 39; and Professor Leslie, 44; sermon of, in St. Paul’s Cathedral, 166; on Sir James Mackintosh, 317; dispute of, with the Bishop of London, 395; letter to Archdeacon Singleton, 395
• Smithson, Sir Hugh, ii. 337, 338
• Somaglia, Cardinal, i. [312]
• Somerville, Mrs., iii. 58
• Sorrento, i. [352]; Benediction of the Flowers, [352]
• Soult, Marshal, sent to Lyons, ii. 219; Prime Minister of France, 324
• Southey, Robert, at breakfast given by Mr. Henry Taylor, ii. 59; letter to Lord Brougham on rewards to literary men, 111
• Spain, the Duke of Wellington on affairs in, iii. 47; state of, 55; affairs in, 66, 72; proposal to combine with Dom Pedro, 72; affairs in, 183; deplorable state of, 359
• Spanish Legion, formation of the, iii. 265
• Speaker, the, indecision of, ii. 299; disputes on the Speakership, 333; iii. 204
• Spencer, Earl, death of, iii. 140
• Spencer, Earl, see [Althorp, Viscount]
• Sprotborough, party at, for the races, ii. 50
• Staël, Madame de, ‘Considérations sur la Révolution française,’ i. [16]; anecdote of, ii. 186
• Stafford House, concert at, iii. 278
• Stanley, Right Hon. Edward, Irish Secretary, ii. 66; speech on the Reform Bill, 123; seat in the Cabinet, 150; speech in answer to Croker, 228; Secretary for the Colonial Department, 365; at The Oaks, 374; indecision of, iii. 17; racing interests of, 35; resignation of, 88; in opposition, 93; ‘Thimblerig’ speech, 100; conciliatory letter to Lord Grey, 107; disposition of, 165, 167; declines to join Sir R. Peel, 175, 176; speech at Glasgow, 180; formation of the Stanley party, 220; position of Mr. Stanley, 222; policy of, 228; meeting of party at the ‘King’s Head,’ 237; speech on Irish Church question, 240; character of, 250; letter to Sir Thomas Hesketh, 265; joins the Opposition, 272; conduct of, 336
• Stanley, Right Hon. Edward John, Under-Secretary of State, iii. 112
• State Paper Office, i. [160]; iii. 44
• Stephen, James, opinions on emancipation, ii. 359
• Stephenson, George, on steam-engines, iii. 54
• Stewart, Lady Dudley, party given by, ii. 115; accompanies the Prince of Orange to Gravesend, 133
• Stoke, party at, i. [142]; ii. 185
• Strangford, Viscount, sent to the Brazils, i. [140]
• Strasburg prisoners, acquittal of, iii. 381
• Strawberry Hill, party at, i. [247]
• Strutt, Edward, ii. 59
• Stuart de Rothesay, Lord, Ambassador in France, i. [141]
• Sugden, Right Hon. Sir Edward, quarrel of, with Lord Brougham, ii. 312; origin of animosity towards Lord Brougham, iii. 22; Irish Chancellor, 178; resignation of, 231; retains his appointment, 234
• Sugden, Lady, not received at Court, iii. 231
• Sunderland, state of, ii. 216
• Sussex, H.R.H. the Duke of, marriage of, ii. 194
• Sutherland, Duke of, death of the, iii. 19; wealth, of the, 19
• Suttee case, before the Privy Council, ii. 307
• Swift v. Kelly, before the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, iii. 259, 266, 267, 271; judgment, 274

---

• Tallyrand, Charles Maurice de, letter to the Emperor of Russia, i. [23]; Ambassador to the Court of St. James, ii. 44; conversation of, 185; anecdotes, 185; mot of, 195; dinner with, 222; on Fox and Pitt, 344; detained in the Thames, 346; on Portuguese affairs, iii. 25; on relations between France and England, 314; opinion of, of Lord Palmerston, 360; dissatisfaction at his position in London, 386
• Tasso, i. [328]; bust of, [328]
• Tavistock, Marquis of, on the prospects of the Liberal party, iii. 43
• Taylor, Sir Herbert, conversation with Lord Wharncliffe, ii. 251; correspondence with, about the Chancellorship, 339
• Taylor, Henry, breakfast at the house of, ii. 58; breakfast to Wordsworth, Mill, Elliot, Charles Villiers, 120; on the abolition of slavery in the West Indies, 348; ‘Philip van Artevelde,’ iii. 114
• Taylor, Brook, mission to Rome, ii. 153
• Teddesley, party at, i. [11]
• Tenterden, Lord, death of, ii. 329; character of, 331; classical knowledge of, 331
• Terceira, Portuguese expedition to, i. [169], [170]
• Terni, Falls of, i. [401]
• Thiers, Adolphe, dinner to, iii. 31; account of, 31; at the head of the French Government, 66; on interference in Spain, 66; foreign policy of, 364; social qualities of, 370; quarrel with Lady Granville, 380; courts the favour of Austria, 387
• Thompson, Alderman, difficulties with his constituents, ii. 166
• Thomson, Right Hon. Charles Poulett, originates a commercial treaty with France, ii. 219; Board of Trade, iii. 113, 256; self-complacency of, 330
• Thorwaldsen, Albert, at Florence, i. [299], [300]
• Tierney, Right Hon. George, i. [14]; Master of the Mint, [95]; death of, [269]
• ‘Times,’ the, on Lord Harrowby’s letter, ii. 264, 265; attacks Lord Grey, 267; Lord Chancellor’s speech, 313; influence of the, 362; and Lord Brougham, iii. 133; disposition of, to support a Tory Government, 149, 152; terms of support to the Duke of Wellington, 155; power of the, 156, 157; negotiations with Lord Lyndhurst, 171; letter signed ‘Onslow,’ 199
• Titchfield, Marquis of, death of, i. [75]; character of, [75]
• Tivoli, i. [375]
• Tixall, party at, i. [10]; Macao, [11]
• Torrington, Viscount, and the King, iii. 285
• Tory party, state of the, ii. 162; meeting at Bridgewater House, iii. 237; state of the, 306; indifference of members of the, 389
• Treaty of Unkiar Skelessi, iii. 45; between Russia and Turkey, 1834, 69; the Quadruple, for the pacification of the Peninsula, signed 1834, 94
• Tree, Ellen, at the City Theatre, ii. 181
• Tuileries, the, reception at, iii. 382; ball at, 383; small ball at, 385
• Turf, the, reflections on, iii. 139
• Turin, i. [291]
• Turkey, threatened by Russia, i. [228]; critical state of, ii. 351; relations with Russia, iii. 183
• Tusculum, i. [390]
• Twiss, Horace, supper party given by, iii. 260

---

• Union, speech of O’Connell on the repeal of the, iii. 80
• Unions, proclamation against the, ii. 215; procession of trades, iii. 79
• Urquhart, Mr., Secretary to the Embassy at Constantinople, iii. 405

---

• Van de Weyer, Sylvain, Belgian Minister to the Court of St. James, ii. 180
• Vaudreuil, M. de, French chargé d’affaires in London, on French affairs, ii. 24
• Vaughan, Right Hon. Sir Charles, special mission to Constantinople, iii. 405
• Vaughan, Right Hon. Sir John, sworn in a Privy Councillor, ii. 155
• Venice, i. [405]; sights of, [406], [408], [410]
• Vernet, Horace, at Rome, i. [325]
• Verona, Congress of, i. [65]; visit to, [413]
• Verulam, Earl of, petition to the King, ii. 231
• Vesuvius, ascent of, i. [350]
• Vicenza, i. [412]
• Victoria, H.R.H. the Princess, at a child’s ball, i. [209]; first appearance of, at a drawing-room, ii. 119; at Burghley iii. 315; health of, proposed by the King, 364; at Windsor, 367; letter from the King, 400; seclusion of, 403; first Council of, 406; proclaimed Queen, 408; impression produced on all, 409
• Villiers, Hon. Hyde, appointed to the Board of Control, ii. 145
• Villiers, Hon. George, at the Grove, ii. 105; conversation with the Duke of Wellington, 105; mission to Paris for a commercial treaty, 219; Minister at Madrid, iii. 14, 20, 21; on prospects in Spain, 69, 79; letters of, from Madrid, 321, 360, 365
• Villiers, Hon. Charles Pelham, ii. 59
• Virginia Water, ii. 25; visit to, 30

---

• Walewski, Count Alexander, arrival of, in London, ii. 104
• Walpole, Horace, letters to Sir Horace Mann, iii. 2
• ‘Wandering Jew, The,’ ii. 186
• Warsaw, affair at, ii. 95; taken by the Russians, 192
• Warwickshire Election, iii. 353, 354
• Wellesley, Marquis of, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, iii. 31; correspondence with Mr. Littleton, 103, 110; resigns the White Wand, 258
• Wellesley, Long, Esq., committed for contempt of court, ii. 166
• Wellington, Duke of, account of the battle of Waterloo, i. [39]; in Paris with Blücher, [41]; dispute with the King, [51]; on affairs of France and Spain, [67]; opinion of Bonaparte, [71]; mission to Russia, [78]; visit to the Royal Lodge, [102]; opinion of Mr. Canning, [107]; forms a Government, 1828, [124]; resolves to carry the Catholic Relief Bill, [143]; correspondence with Dr. Curtis, [148]; ascendency of, in the Cabinet, and over the King, [176]; hardness of character of, [191]; duel with Lord Winchelsea, [192]; conversation with, on King George IV. and the Duke of Cumberland, [216], [218]; prosecution of the press, [233], [258], [260]; business habits of, [262]; conversation with on the French Revolution, ii. 21; qualities of, 41; confidence in, 45; declaration against Reform, 53; Administration of, defeated, 61; resignation of, 62; suppresses disturbance in Hampshire, 75; political character of, 81; reported letter of advice to the King of France, 94; correspondence with Mr. Canning, 103; conduct towards the Government, 159; objections to Mr. Canning, 170; dinner at Apsley House, 188; anti-Reform dinner at Apsley House, 197; remarks upon, 204; memorial to the King, 211; correspondence with Lord Wharncliffe, 221; obstinacy of, 234; letter to Lord Wharncliffe, 248; unbecoming letter laid before the King, 252; reply to Lord Wharncliffe, 253; speech on Irish Education, 272; sent for by the King, 294; efforts of, to form an Administration, 299; inability of, to form an Administration, 300; statement of his case, 302; conduct of the Tory party, 302; ill-feeling towards Peel, 325; view of affairs, 1833, 363; government of French provinces, 363; respect evinced towards, 372; defence of policy, 379; Speech on the Coronation Oath, iii. 9, 10; policy on the Irish Church Bill, 10; on Portuguese affairs, 11, 26; and the Bonaparte family, 26; subsequent account of attempt to form a Government, 48; compared with Lord Grey, 73; speech on the admission of Dissenters to the University, 73; presents the Oxford petition, 79; and the Whigs, 82; installed as Chancellor of the University of Oxford, 95; First Lord of the Treasury, and Secretary of State for the Home Office, 149; arrangement for a provisional Government, 149; at the public offices, 1834, 154; account of crisis of 1834, 162; inconsistencies of, 172; on the division on the Speakership, 216; on Lord Londonderry’s appointment, 227; anecdote of Lord Brougham, 232; on Spain, 270; on the Walcheren expedition, 271; policy of, on the Corporation Bill, 283; letter to the Duke of Cumberland, 320; speech in answer to Lord Lyndhurst, 362; meeting of Tory Peers, 397; crowned by the Duchess of Cannizzaro, 406; quarrel with the Duke of Clarence, 406
• Western, Lord, evidence of, iii. 112
• West India Body, consternation of the, ii. 350; deputation of the, 350
• West India Bill, prospects of the, iii. 13. For debates on the, see [Commons, House of]
• West Indies, Lord Chandos’s motion on the state of the, ii. 116; project of emancipation, 347; alarm in the, 352; difficulties attending emancipation, 360; committee on affairs of the, iii. 266; decision on the office of Secretary of the Island of Jamaica, 279
• Westmeath, Marchioness of, pension, i. [157], [160]
• Westmeath v. Westmeath, appeal before the Judicial Committee, iii. 119, 124; decision in, 140
• Westminster election, 1818, contest, i. [3]; in 1819, [17], [19]; in 1833, ii. 370; in 1837, iii. 398
• Wetherell, Sir Charles, account of, i. [194]; speech on the Reform Bill, ii. 123; supports Sir E. Sugden’s motion, 314
• Wharncliffe, Lord, interview with Radical Jones, ii. 200; overtures for a compromise on the Reform Bill, 211; character of, 213; draws up a declaration for signature in the City, 214; disappointment of, 218; final interview of, with Lord Grey, 220; correspondence of, with the Duke of Wellington, 221; interview of, with the King on the proposed new Peers, 231, 233; memorandum laid before the King, 252; as chief of a party, 289; in communication with Lord Lyndhurst and Lord Ellenborough, 290; defends his policy, 292; paper on the Tory party, 343; on the prospects of the country, iii. 54; joins the Peel Government, 175; on the prospects of the session, 341
• Whately, Richard, D.D., Archbishop of Dublin, iii. 280
• Whig party, state of the, iii. 159; tactics of the, 216; union with O’Connell, 219; symptoms of disunion in the, 221; meeting at Lichfield House, 224; prospects of the, 235
• Wicklow, Earl of, attack on the Government, iii. 110
• Wilberforce, William, speech of, i. [16]; negotiation with Mr. Canning, ii. 125
• William IV., King, accession of, ii. 1; dislike of, to the Duke of Cumberland, 5; behaviour of, 6, 9; at the House of Lords, 11; personal anecdotes of, 11, 12, 13, 14; dinner at Apsley House, 14; at Windsor, 25; pays the racing debts of the Duke of York, 50; speech on the change of Government, 72; levee, 74; health of, 106, 108; mobbed on returning from the theatre, 117; in mourning for his son-in-law, 133; in the House of Lords, 136; dissolves Parliament, 136; conduct to his Ministers, 138; at Ascot, 147; opens Parliament, 153; at Windsor, 179; and the Bishops, 185; divides the old Great Seal, 188; crowned at Westminster, 190; levee, 192; toasts at dinner at St James’s, 193; interview with Lord Wharncliffe on creation of new Peers, 233; health of, 282; reluctance of, to make Peers, 283; adverse sentiments towards the Whigs, 298; dinner to the Jockey Club, 301; levity of, 302; letter to the Peers, 303; character of, 307; struck by a stone, 307; country dance, 341; anecdotes of, 342; state of mind of, 364; letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, 382, 383; letter-writing, iii. 2; animosity to the French, 33; irritability of, 81; conduct of, 84; personal feelings towards the members of Lord Melbourne’s Administration, 137; dismissal of Lord Melbourne, 144; speech to the Tory Lords, 148; provisional appointments, 148; account of difference with Lord Melbourne, 150; resolution of, to support the Tory Government, 161; address to the new Ministers, 175; on the state of Persia, 184; whims of, 203; Island of St. Bartholomew, 203; indignation of, at the affair of Lord Londonderry, 231; distress of, 245; and the Ministers, 251; personal habits of, 264; speech to Sir Charles Grey, 272; audience to Lord Durham, 272; hostility towards Lord Glenelg and the Ministers, 276; conduct to the Speaker, 279; scene with Lord Torrington, 285; speech to the Bishops, 303; speech on the Militia, 311; and the Duchess of Kent, 313; speech at dinner to the Jockey Club, 351; Toryism of, 358; joke, 361; speech to the Bishop of Ely, 363; proposes the health of the Princess Victoria, 364; aversion to his Ministers, 364, 366; speech to Lord Minto, ib.; rudeness to the Duchess of Kent, 366; scene at birthday party, 367; reception of King Leopold, 370; speech, 1837, 385; address to Lord Aylmer, 394; illness of, 399, 400; letter to the Princess Victoria, 399; dangerous illness of, 401; prayers offered up for, 403; death of, 406; kindness of heart of, 410
• Williams, Sir John, Justice of the Common Pleas, iii. 71
• Winchelsea, Earl of, duel of, with the Duke of Wellington, i. [192]; incident of the handkerchief, [198]
• Winchester Cathedral, iii. 283
• Windham, Right Hon. William, diary of, i. [231]; conversation with Doctor Johnson, [232]
• Windsor Castle, dinner in St. George’s Hall, ii. 34, 42; dinner during the Ascot week, 147
• Windsor election, mobs at the, iii. 130
• Woburn, party at, i. [23]; riot at, ii. 77
• Wood, Charles, on the Reform Bill, ii. 280
• Wood, Matthew, returned to Parliament for the City of London, iii. 188
• Worcester, Marchioness of, death of the, i. [47]
• Worcester Cathedral, iii. 327; monument of Bishop Hough, 327
• Wordsworth, William, characteristics of, ii. 120
• Wortley, Right Hon. John, Secretary to the Board of Control, i. [271]. See [Wharncliffe]
• Wrottesley, Sir John, motion of, for a call of the House, iii. 8, 13
• Wynford, Lord, raised to the Peerage, i. [210]; Deputy Speaker of the House of Lords, [210]
• Wynn, Right Hon. Charles, President of the Board of Control, i. [95]; resignation of, ii. 124

---

• York, H.R.H. the Duke of, character of, i. [5]; management of racing establishment, [44]; dislike to the Duke of Wellington, [48], [62]; duel with the Duke of Richmond, [62]; anecdotes of King George IV., [73]; illness of, [83], [85]; death of, [84]; funeral of, [89]; letter to Lord Liverpool on the Catholic question, ii. 104
• York, H.R.H. the Duchess of, character of, i. [5]; portrait of, [8]; illness of, [27]; death of, [34]
• Young, Thomas, private secretary to Lord Melbourne, iii. 126

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• Zea Bermudez, iii. 21; dismissal of, 55
• Zumalacarreguy, ii. 270