CHAPTER IX.
DEPARTURE FROM PALERMO—LEGHORN—JOURNEY HOMEWARDS—ALFIERI—HAYDN—KLOPSTOCK—RECEPTION OF NELSON—ENGLAND—SOCIETY THERE—LORD AND LADY NELSON.
We sailed from Palermo on the 23rd of April, 1800, on board the Foudroyant, of eighty guns, with the flag of Lord Nelson, and commanded by Sir Edward Berry. The party consisted of Sir William and Lady Hamilton, another English lady and gentleman, an old Maltese nobleman, and myself. The officers of the ship were in their turns invited to dinner: the table was good, but unostentatious. In the great cabin were many new publications, sent from England by Lady Nelson to the admiral. A carving in wood of an immense three-coloured plume of feathers, which ornamented the cap of the figure of William Tell, when the ship so named struck to the Foudroyant; four muskets, taken on board the San Josef, by Nelson, in the battle off Cape St. Vincent, and the flag-staff of L’Orient,[[81]] saved from the flames when that ship was blown up in the battle of the Nile, formed the chief ornaments of the cabin, and gave occasion to the following lines, which were sung by one of the company, to the old tune of “Hearts of Oak.” They were addressed to a lady who was leaving Sicily with great reluctance.
Come, cheer up, fair Delia![[82]] forget all thy grief;
For thy shipmates are brave, and a Hero’s their chief.
Look round on these trophies, the pride of the Main;
They were snatch’d by their valour from Gallia and Spain.
Behold yonder fragment: ’tis sacred to fame;
’Midst the waves of old Nile it was saved from the flame—
The flame that destroy’d the new glories of France,
When Providence vanquish’d the friends of blind Chance.
Those arms the San Josef once claim’d as her own,
Ere Nelson and Britons her pride had o’erthrown.
That plume, too, evinces that still they excel—
It was torn from the cap of the famed William Tell.
Then cheer up, fair Delia! remember thou’rt free;
And ploughing Britannia’s old empire, the sea,
How many in Albion each sorrow would check,
Could they kiss but one plank of this conqu’ring deck.
Owing to the contrary winds, we experienced some difficulty in threading the Straits of Messina, but on the 1st of May we landed at Syracuse, and spent two days in seeing all that is interesting in that ancient city.
Late in the evening of the 3rd we joined the blockading squadron off Malta, on which island we remained till the 20th, occasionally dining at the governor’s, Captain Sir Alexander Ball’s, and sometimes at the quarters of General Graham, afterwards Lord Lynedoch.
On the last day of May we were again in the harbour of Palermo, but on the 8th of June we sailed for Leghorn, having on board the Queen of Naples, her three unmarried daughters, and the young Prince Leopold. The Duc de Berri accompanied the royal party on board, and shed tears as he took leave of them. It was said that he had come to Palermo in the hope of marrying the eldest princess, but I know not how the affair came to be broken off. On the anchor being weighed, her Majesty exclaimed with delight, “Leghorn! Leghorn!” no doubt as being on the way to her native land (Austria). But, for my part, I left Sicily with great pain, for it was also severing myself from Italy, where I had spent so many years of happiness.
Before landing at Leghorn the queen presented Lord Nelson with a medallion, on one side of which was a fine miniature of the king, and on the other her own cipher, round which ran a wreath of laurel, and two anchors were represented supporting the crown of the Two Sicilies, designed by her Majesty herself. This device was executed in large diamonds, and was therefore of great pecuniary value. The queen also gave a very handsome snuff-box, set with diamonds, to Sir Edward Berry, and was always very liberal in her presents to our officers.
While the queen was yet undecided as to the route she was to take, news arrived of the battle of Marengo, and of the consequent surrender of Genoa. Our situation soon became very alarming, for the French army, under General Bonaparte, kept steadily advancing, and at last occupied Lucca, whence one night’s march might have brought them to Leghorn. It must be owned, to the credit of the inhabitants of that city, and especially of the common people, that they were most anxious to take up arms against the French, and repeatedly solicited the Austrian governor to allow them to do so. They also pressed him to permit the disembarkation of General Abercrombie and the English troops from Minorca, but he would not give his consent, as the Austrians had concluded a truce with the French after their defeat at Marengo. The enemy, however, did not scruple to pass the limits assigned to him; but the Emperor of Austria was at that time very ill served, and the consequences were fatal to Italy.
The people after a while became infuriated at not being suffered to defend their city, and, breaking into the arsenal, got possession of a quantity of muskets and other arms. They also called upon Lord Nelson to place himself at their head, but at length he succeeded in pacifying them, and then caused the queen’s jewels and other valuables to be carried on board the Alexander, to which he had transferred his flag on the departure of the Foudroyant.[[83]] Our whole party soon afterwards embarked, with the intention of sailing round the peninsula to Trieste; but this plan was given up, and it was resolved that we should travel by land to Ancona, and thence proceed in an Austrian vessel to that port.
My dismay was now great, for we had to pass within a mile of the advanced posts of the French army; and even the officers and crew of the Alexander were shocked at the idea of the danger to which their admiral was going to expose himself. However, we again landed, and pushed on through the heat and dust of the day to Florence, which we reached in the afternoon of the 12th of July. The following day I passed in the company of the Countess of Albany and Count Alfieri.
The latter showed me some of his unpublished manuscripts. It was only within the last few years that he had studied the ancient Greek literature, and his style was, in consequence, wonderfully improved. He also showed me his “Miso-Gallo,” a satire on the French, which he was desirous of publishing in England, and asked me to take it thither for that purpose. But when I asked for it next morning he appeared greatly agitated, and said he could scarcely forgive himself for having proposed such a thing. If we happened to be stopped by the French, and this MS. were found among my baggage, nothing, he was certain, could save me from being imprisoned, if not guillotined. He further declared that he had not been able to sleep all night through the reproaches of his conscience, and he positively refused to give it to me.
After a tedious, fatiguing, and somewhat hazardous journey, we at length reached Ancona in safety, and found there a Russian squadron on the point of sailing to Corfu. The commanding officer, however, consented to take the queen and all her party to Trieste, and on the 2nd of August (1800) we landed at that port.[[84]]
Great curiosity was expressed to behold the hero of the Nile at every place on the road to Vienna. I cannot say that I enjoyed the journey, for I was dreadfully fatigued, far from well, and uneasy on many accounts, besides being a good deal injured by the carriage being overturned in which I was travelling. At Vienna, whenever Lord Nelson appeared in public, a crowd was collected, and his portrait was hung up as a sign over many shops—even the milliners giving his name to particular dresses—but it did not appear to me that the English nation was at all popular. The people generally were opposed to the war with France, which had proved so unfavourable to them, for, although the troops were brave and loyal, they were not well commanded.
We had often music, as the best composers and performers were happy to be introduced to Sir William and Lady Hamilton. I was much pleased with Haydn. He dined with us, and his conversation was modest and sensible. He set to music some English verses, and, amongst others, part of an ode I had composed after the battle of the Nile, and which was descriptive of the blowing up of L’Orient:
Britannia’s leader gives the dread command;
Obedient to his summons flames arise:
The fierce explosion rends the skies,
And high in air the pond’rous mass is thrown.
The dire concussion shakes the land:
Earth, air, and sea, united groan.
The solid Pyramids confess the shock,
And their firm bases to their centre rock.
Haydn accompanied Lady Hamilton on the piano when she sang this piece, and the effect was grand. He was staying at that time with Prince Esterhazy, and presided over the famous concerts given by that nobleman at his magnificent palace in Hungary. At one time the prince had an intention of giving up these concerts, and told Haydn that the next one would be the last. It was a very fine one. Towards the conclusion, Haydn composed a finale so melancholy, so touching, that it drew tears from many of the audience, and he had given orders that while it was playing the lights should be gradually extinguished. All of which made such an impression upon the mind of the prince, that he abandoned his intention of discontinuing these concerts.
Prince Stanislaus Poniatowski, whom I had known at Rome, and who quitted that city when the French took possession of it in 1798, was then living at the Château of Lichtenstein, near Vienna, and came to see me. He invited us all to dine with him, and he received us with great cordiality, and showed us his magnificent collection of jewels, with some of the largest pearls ever seen. This prince possessed every advantage which nature and fortune could bestow. A fine person, an immense fortune, the faculty of speaking every language, and a distinguished rank in life. He declared himself an enemy to all melancholy, and yet I never saw a person whom I thought less happy. It was said that he had been disappointed with regard to the crown of Poland, a hope of obtaining which had been held out to him by the Empress Catherine.
On the 27th of September we proceeded on our travels,[[85]] and on the morrow arrived at Prague, where the hotel at which we alighted was splendidly illuminated in honour of Lord Nelson—the host, however, not forgetting to charge for the lights in his bill. On the 1st of October we embarked on the Elbe at Lowositz, and reached Dresden the following evening. Mr. Elliot, brother of Lord Minto, was at that time British minister in Saxony. He was very fond of Dresden, and said it was a good sofa to repose upon, for, of course, there was not much diplomatic business to be done. We dined with him at a very pretty villa, where he and his family were passing the summer months, and where his beautiful children were running about the garden like so many Cupids and Psyches. He was much beloved at Dresden, and I believe all strangers who were willing to be sociable were sure of being kindly treated in that capital.
We again embarked on the Elbe on the 10th for Hamburg. The fine bridge was crowded with spectators to see Lord Nelson depart, as was the shore, and every window that commanded a view of the river. As we stopped every night, we were eleven days in reaching our destination, and latterly we were sometimes rather short of provisions, as our caterer—our “jackal,” as we called him—was not always able to procure sufficient supplies for the party.
At Hamburg we found many remarkable persons of different nations, all of whom seemed anxious to become acquainted with the hero of the Nile. The Baron de Breteuil,[[86]] so well known in the annals of French diplomacy, was living in an elegantly furnished villa, with his grandson-in-law, M. de Montmorency. He invited us to breakfast, and we there met the Duc de Guignes, who was ambassador in England when my father commanded as senior officer at Plymouth, and whom the latter had entertained on board his ship, the Ocean. All these were men of the highest rank, and of the most elegant manners of the vieille cour. After breakfast came General Dumouriez, who had been very curious to see Lord Nelson, though he did not wish to show too much empressement. However, these two distinguished men took a great fancy to one another, and we saw much of the general during our stay at Hamburg.
Dumouriez was in person short, and far from handsome, though his appearance was prepossessing and his manners very natural. There was an apparent frankness in his conversation, which could not fail to please, and he possessed the art of saying agreeable things without descending to flattery, and seemed perfectly to understand the character of those with whom he associated, after a very short acquaintance. He had been both a lawyer[[87]] and a soldier, and I used to fancy that I could trace in him the distinctive features of both professions. He was at that time regarded as a decided Royalist, and was said to be in correspondence with Louis XVIII. He had, however, no objection to talk of the battle of Jemmapes, and showed us a box, with the portrait of a lady on it, which he said was presented to him, just after the victory, by an officer who came with despatches, and who, after congratulating him upon his success, produced this box, and added, “General, voilà votre récompense.” With this lady[[88]] he was then living at a little village near Altona. She was a widow, and had a son in the Danish service. Dumouriez, at that time, maintained himself by his writings, and Lord Nelson forced him to accept a hundred pounds, telling him that he had used his sword too well to live only by his pen. He was said to be very poor, and his poverty did him honour, as it proved that he had not abandoned the revolutionary party from motives of private interest.
The celebrated German poet Klopstock was also settled at Hamburg. We went to visit him, which seemed to give him great pleasure. While there, the door opened, and a grave-looking personage,[[89]] in canonicals, entered the room with a Bible in his hand. He walked up to Lord Nelson, and asked him to write his name on a blank page of the book. With this request Lord Nelson willingly complied, and the clergyman gave him his blessing and withdrew. Mrs. Cadogan and I supped one evening with Klopstock[[90]] and his wife, a pleasing-featured, fat, fair woman, much younger than himself, and a good musician. He read to me some passages of his “Messiah,” and his room was hung with drawings by Füger,[[91]] of subjects taken from that poem. At that time Klopstock was chiefly engaged in writing odes, very sublime, but too metaphysical to be easily understood.
The magistrates of Hamburg must have exercised great vigilance and good sense to keep their city in such good order, for it was filled with such strange characters that I could compare it to nothing but the banks of Lethe.
On the 31st of October we went on board the King George mail-packet, and, after a stormy passage, landed at Great Yarmouth on the 6th of November, having crossed the bar just in time to avoid a tremendous gale, which must at least have driven us out to sea again for several days. Lord Nelson was received with all due honours, which were rendered still more interesting to the good people of the town from his being a native of Norfolk. He was drawn in his carriage to the hotel[[92]] by the populace, and the Mayor and Corporation came to present him with the freedom of the city.
At his own request public service was performed in the church, to return thanks for his safe return to his native country, and for the many blessings which he had experienced. As he entered the church the organ struck up “See the Conquering Hero comes.”
When we arrived in town, Sir William and Lady Hamilton went with Lord Nelson to dine with his father and Lady Nelson, and I, with Mrs. Cadogan, to an hotel in Albemarle-street. In the evening Sir Thomas Troubridge called upon me. He was at the point of starting for Torbay, being appointed captain of the Channel fleet, under Lord St. Vincent. He advised me to go to my friend Mrs. Nepean, whose husband was Secretary to the Admiralty, and who, on the following day, made me take possession of a room in her house till her children came home for the holidays. Sir William and Lady Hamilton also left the hotel to occupy a house in Grosvenor-square, which had been lent to them by Mr. Beckford, whose wife, Lady Margaret, had been a relative of Sir William.
Nothing could exceed the kindness I received from Mr. and Mrs. Evan Nepean, in whose house I resided more than three weeks, and was afterwards a constant guest at their dinner-parties, where I had the advantage of meeting the most celebrated persons of the time. The two statesmen whom I found most agreeable in society were Mr. Windham and Lord Castlereagh. One day I heard Mr. Pitt give an account of what had passed in the House of Commons on the preceding evening, and was astonished at the oratorical energy and correctness of expression with which he rendered, and perhaps embellished, every speech, without having the slightest intention of doing more than relating what had actually passed.
Some of the official gentlemen appeared to me conceited and coldly satirical, as I have since observed to be the case with many amongst our men of letters. There is something in the southern Italians, and indeed in most of the men and women of that country, so natural and unaffected, that it is impossible not to remark the artificial manners of some great capitals. I observed that in morning visits, for example, it was not only the same style of dress, but that nearly the same topics of conversation, the same time of staying, and the same expressions would be used by almost every lady who made her appearance. It was in vain that I tried to feel at home in my own country; but what surprised me most of all was the general cry of poverty, distress, and embarrassment.[[93]] I had been accustomed to see foreign nations look up to England as the most flourishing and potent of countries, and to regard it as the laurel-crowned island, the safeguard of Europe. And now that I was arrived in this highly favoured land, I heard nothing but complaints of the impossibility of going on any longer, with wishes for peace, &c. &c. Then, the darkness and the shortness of the days seemed to me so strange. “How do you like London?” said I, one day, to my old Italian friend, Andrea Plaudi. “I dare say, madam,” he answered, “that I shall think it a very fine city when it comes to be daylight.” He had heard of northern countries where, in the middle of winter, there was no daylight for weeks together, and he fancied that was the case in London. I myself felt rather surprised at returning from a round of morning calls by lamplight, and at dining about the time when I had been used to see supper served up. The months of November and December are certainly not the most favourable season for a stranger to visit London, and a stranger I felt myself to be after having resided so long in other countries.
However, I must say that I was most kindly received by many who had known me in early youth, or whom I had met in Italy. It was there I had become acquainted with Lord Macartney, and now his amiable and excellent wife—a daughter of Lord Bute, George the Third’s first minister—came to see me, with Lady Aylesbury,[[94]] a most delightful person, from whom I afterwards received every mark of friendship and good will. Lady Macartney was also constantly obliging and good to me. The first party to which I went in London was a concert at her house, where I saw the Prince of Wales hand in Mrs. Fitzherbert[[95]] in the most respectful manner imaginable.
I dined one day with Sir William and Lady Hamilton in Grosvenor-square. Lord and Lady Nelson were of the party, and the Duke of Sussex and Lady Augusta Murray[[96]] came in the evening. Lord Nelson was to make his appearance at the theatre next day, but I declined to go with the party. I afterwards heard that Lady Nelson fainted in the box. Most of my friends were very urgent with me to drop the acquaintance, but, circumstanced as I had been, I feared the charge of ingratitude, though greatly embarrassed as to what to do, for things became very unpleasant. So much was said about the attachment of Lord Nelson to Lady Hamilton, that it made the matter still worse. He felt irritated, and took it up in an unfortunate manner by devoting himself more and more to her, for the purpose of what he called supporting her. Mischief was made on all sides, till at last, when he was appointed to the command of the squadron in the Downs, which was to sail for Copenhagen—his brother[[97]] and sister-in-law, with Sir William and Lady Hamilton, being with him at Deal—he wrote to Lady Nelson, giving her credit for perfectly moral conduct, but announcing his intention of not living with her any more. This was certainly not in his thoughts before he returned to England, for I remember his saying, while we were at Leghorn, that he hoped Lady Nelson and himself would be much with Sir William and Lady Hamilton, and that they would all very often dine together, and that when the latter couple went to their musical parties, he and Lady Nelson would go to bed. Even at Hamburg, just before we embarked, he purchased a magnificent lace trimming for a court dress for Lady Nelson, and a black lace cloak for another lady who, he said, had been very attentive to his wife during his absence.