[1783.]
One day in April, 1783, a Frenchman, who had subsisted on charity, died in his thirty-third year, and was carried to the Madonna de’ Monte to be buried. His corpse was exposed there for several days before interment, and many miracles are told and believed as having been performed by him both before and after his death. His limbs were flexible, and he appeared asleep. Some say they smelt a perfume; others, a stink; others, again, nothing whatever. As they were lowering the body into the grave it nearly fell, when it put out one hand and supported itself on the bier, and this more than once—as the story runs. A dumb person recovered his speech, a lame person the use of his limbs, &c. The Abbé Marotti says that he has dined with a gentleman who was cured of a toothache by the touch of a rosary that had been near the body; that the young Duke de Rignano was so frightened at hearing the dumb man speak, that he ran out of the church; and much more nonsense to the same effect. It is certain that the church has since been constantly crowded with people, and amongst them some persons of distinction, in whose presence a vein was opened, but no blood appeared. The man used to spend his whole time in praying, and was so dirty that millions of vermin crawled about him, none of which he would suffer to be killed, saying they had as much right to live as himself. There was found upon him a certificate from La Trappe, saying that he had been there, but that the discipline was so severe he had been obliged to quit it—adding, that his sanctity was so exemplary he would edify any place he went to. The stories told of him, such as his predicting the hour of his death, the cure of the butcher’s wife in whose house he died, &c., are too tedious and ridiculous to repeat.
Prince Altieri, who is blind, has been twice to the Madonna de’ Monti, in the hope that the supposed saint would restore his sight, but without effect. He has promised, that if this miracle be wrought in his favour, he will immediately erect a chapel to the saint.
Abbé Marotti says he is perfectly well acquainted with the priest who was his confessor at the Roman College, and who quotes two instances in which the “servo di Dio,” as they call the dead man, divined his thoughts. The Contestabile Colonna’s mother was carried the other day to the Madonna de’ Monti, in the hope that the saint would cure her madness. The church is now shut up—some say on account of the robberies, &c., committed there; others, because they are setting up a tombstone to the saint. The Princess Santa Croce assured us that she had never experienced greater consolation than in contemplating his dead body, and declared that it was many years since any such miracles have been performed. A Bostonian has abjured Protestantism at the Santo Uffizio, being convinced, according to his own report, by these miracles. His instructor was an ex-Jesuit, and it is probable that the true motive for his conversion was want of money, as he appears very shabbily dressed. The Duchess of Gallicano has given her infant the name of Benedetto, in honour of the new saint, whose name was Benoît Labré.
One of the best informed, and one of the most delightful persons in every respect whom I ever knew, was the Père Jacquier, a Minime of the French convent, the “Trinité du Mont.” His name was well known in England, as he and his friend, Père le Sueur, were the best commentators on Newton. His colleague had been dead a few years, and Père Jacquier was himself rather advanced in life, but his faculties were perfect, and he was as active in person as in mind. He was a native of Champagne, and became a monk when very young, there being no regulations at that time to prevent such early professions. He used to say that it was not by the desire of his parents, but that it was all arranged by an elder sister. His genius was both sound and versatile, and his acquirements very extensive. His proficiency in every branch of mathematics scarcely exceeded his taste for polite literature, the classical purity of his Greek and Latin compositions, and the correctness of his critical observations. He was also an excellent historian, and well versed in many modern languages. He was fond of society, and his manners were not only polished in the highest degree, but the beneficence of his disposition, and the sensibility of his heart, rendered them so peculiarly attractive, that he gained a new friend whenever he made a new acquaintance. His feelings were extremely acute, and the affection of those whom he loved and esteemed was the only treasure he was solicitous to keep. Never was there a more charitable man. He gave away all he had, and was, besides, ever ready to assist with his advice and influence all who applied to him.
In his youth he had been engaged in busy scenes with Cardinal Alberoni, and had lived with Voltaire, and Madame du Châtelet, and, indeed, with all the wits and philosophers then in fashion. He was also employed in the education of the Prince, afterwards Duke, of Parma. The friendship that existed between him and Père le Sueur was extraordinary. They agreed perfectly, because they had the same general views and the same goodness of principle, with diametrically opposite dispositions. Le Sueur had all the judgment, patience, and exactness necessary for the great work they had in hand, and Jacquier all the genius, fire, and penetration. In this social intercourse this opposition of qualities kept them from interfering with each other’s way of life, and the loss of such a friend as Le Sueur was never repaired to the survivor. I did not know Père Jacquier till some years after this trying event, which, I believe, threw him more than ever into general society. As I have already remarked, he was then an old man, but his imagination was as vivid, and his heart as warm, as ever.
Strangers, politicians, men of letters, men of fashion, were all alike desirous to become acquainted with Père Jacquier. There was no pedantry, no vanity, in his mode of conversing, but if he thought himself neglected he was very unhappy; not offended, but like a child whom its parents have left at home. On this account Cardinal de Bernis used to say of him: “Le Père Jacquier a l’esprit d’un homme, et le cœur d’un enfant.” We used to see him almost every day, and he was so good as to take much pains with me in my studies. It so happened that an English naval officer came to Rome with a friend for a few weeks, and my mother was anxious that they should see everything most worthy of notice. This often engaged us so that we were not always at home at the hours Père Jacquier used to call. My mother found out that he was much vexed, and ordered me to write a note to him, to say that we had two friends who were very desirous to make his acquaintance, and would perhaps have some favour to ask of him. This set all right immediately: he became very intimate with them, and paid them every possible attention. He was a thoroughly good Christian, but by no means a bigot, and his intimacy with the philosophers made some people suspect his religious principles. But, for my part, I never heard a word from him which could be thought reprehensible by the severest moralist or most scrupulous Christian; and when some secret enemy wrote to the Bishop of his diocese, to complain of his frequenting the society of Voltaire and Madame du Châtelet, that prelate answered, “he wished those personages were always in such good company.” In fact, Père Jacquier had seen enough of the philosophers to be able to estimate them at their just value. His heart was too warm to sympathise with their cold selfishness and hypocritical philanthropy, and his mind too enlightened to adopt the errors of their systematic infidelity. He would say it is impossible to investigate the earth and the skies without adoring the Creator, or to feel the weakness of our nature without being a Christian.
Pope Ganganelli would have secularised Père Jacquier, but he declined it. He admitted that, if he had to begin life again, he would not be a monk, but it was now too late to make a change without necessity. He was very well satisfied, he said, with his present situation, which did not deprive him of the pleasure of seeing his friends: any alteration, therefore, would only make people talk to no purpose. Besides his pension as professor at Rome, he had one from the Duke of Parma, but he gave everything away, and very often had no money left before the end of the quarter. I think it was in the beginning of February, and the weather rather colder than usual, that he came in one morning and complained of not being well. My mother remarked his dress, and said: “Why, you have got on your summer clothing already, and must have caught cold.” He went home, and was laid up for some days, and we afterwards learned that a poor person having asked him for money when he had none to give, he had put on his summer dress and bestowed his winter one upon the mendicant.
Another day he came to us with a very pretty little watch in his hand, which he had won in a lottery. He was delighted with his prize, and begged me to accept of it, but my mother said: “Père Jacquier, I will tell you what to do with the watch. Take it to the man of whom you hire a carriage when you want one. I know you are exact in payment” (for that he was). “Let it be valued, and you will then have the pleasure of visiting your friends, whether it rain, or shine, for a long while.” He smiled and did as she advised, for he never liked to hire a carriage unless he could pay for it at once.
His conversation was full of anecdotes, which he related in the most clear and succinct manner. He was in correspondence with sensible and learned men of all countries, for he had no prejudices, but great discernment of character, and, though he liked to know every one who had a name in the world, he soon made the proper distinctions. One day, as we were looking at different portraits in a villa, the Chevalier de P., who was with us, observed one of Père Jacquier, and wrote under it the following lines, which are truly characteristic:
Sage et profond calculateur!
Heureux disciple d’Uranie!
Ses amis parlent de son cœur,
Et l’univers de son génie.
There was a lady then at Rome who passed for being remarkably sensible and well informed; but one of her most intimate associates was a young man, who was thought the reverse of all that. I was told that Père Jacquier said to her: “Take care of what you are doing. I believe your conduct to be very correct; but when a man or a woman of great abilities is constantly seen with one of the other sex who has not those advantages, the world is ill natured enough to suppose that the intimacy is not of the mind.”[[118]]
The Emperor Joseph II. was at that time (1783) making many “reforms,” or “innovations,” as they were respectively designated by those who approved or disapproved of them. The Pope thought it expedient to take a journey to Vienna and converse with him on the subject, with a view, if possible, to stop his going too far. The Romans, who have a great talent for satire, criticised this project, and, like other nations, talked not too loyally of his proceedings. They particularly noticed the number of prelates he took with him. He has left us, they said, no one but Monsignore Resta and Monsignore Testa, the only two Cardinals who remained at Rome. It was also suggested that, as the Grand-Duke of Russia called himself “le Comte du Nord,” the Pope ought to leave his card as “l’Abbé du Midi.” The Pope, however, was received most courteously and respectfully by the Emperor, his family, and his subjects. He did not stay long, and when he came back he said that he was perfectly satisfied; that Joseph II. might have some odd ideas; but that, on the whole, he was a sensible, well-meaning man, a good Christian, and one who wished to promote the happiness of his people.
That Pius VI. was a great sovereign cannot be doubted. His draining the Pontine Marshes, his works at Terracina, which his unfortunate fate left unfinished, all he did for the arts, showed what he was. But these great undertakings could not be carried on without expense, and he was often straitened for money. And when these works were commenced how could he foresee the fatal storm that was rising? Had he not reason to believe that what he was doing would eventually enrich his country? His noble demeanour in adversity must have silenced those who were always finding fault with him in his prosperity, as it furnished an incontrovertible proof of the greatness of his mind.
Joseph II. returned his visit, and found at Rome Gustavus III., King of Sweden. A greater contrast could not be imagined than the appearance of those two monarchs. The Emperor, in a plain uniform, attended by an aide-de-camp in an equally simple military dress, and the King of Sweden, with his numerous suite of courtiers in velvets, satins, and embroidery, went to all the great parties; but no fêtes were given to them, at the Emperor’s particular request.
There was something in the manner of Gustavus III. very disadvantageous to him. He chatted much, but always began by a silly sort of laugh, which made one doubt his having the understanding or information which he really possessed. The gentlemen who were with him wore white handkerchiefs tied round one arm, in remembrance of what had been the signal for his partisans in the change of constitution by which he had so greatly offended many of the nobles of his country. It was supposed that these innovations had been suggested to him by M. de Vergennes, and by others, during his stay at Paris. He was apparently very partial to France, and he not only spoke, but wrote, the language perfectly, for I have read some very pretty French comedies composed by him in very good taste; and also a drama, entitled “Gustavus Vasa,” in Swedish, which he was supposed to have written. In this was introduced a scene in imitation of that where Richard III. sees the ghosts of the persons whose death he had caused. Here it is Christian, King of Denmark, who is said to have committed such cruelties in Sweden, and who was conquered by Gustavus Vasa and the brave Dalecarlians. One of the songs, for it is an opera, may be thus translated:
Noble shades! great sires arise!
Sweden’s heroes! knights of yore!
If her welfare still ye prize,
Give to Freedom life once more.
Say, shall tyrants—say, shall slaves,
Trample o’er your sacred graves?
No! your ghosts to war’s alarms
Let e’en thraldom’s name excite!
Stretch, vindictive, forth your arms
From the breast of endless Night!
Count de Fersen, who was so well known afterwards for his attempts to save the unfortunate Marie Antoinette,[[119]] and Count de Staël, who married Mademoiselle Necker, were of the King’s suite. It is well known that Gustavus was warmly hostile to the French revolution, which he was preparing to oppose in the most active manner when he was assassinated.
Travellers of all nations were to be met at Rome, and, what is usually called the best society not being very extensive, it was more easy to form acquaintances, and even intimacies, than in most other great cities. We knew almost all the English, and many of the foreigners. Amongst the latter was a Knight of Malta, the Commander de Dolomieu. He was a man of good family, from Dauphiny, and very agreeable in society. He had studied mineralogy and chemistry with great success, and had written a highly esteemed work on the great earthquake in Calabria.
[At a subsequent period, after the restoration of the King of the Two Sicilies to Naples, in 1799, Miss Knight was in a position to render the Commander de Dolomieu a very important service. The following mention is made of him in a memorandum which appears to have formed part of a narrative of events subsequent to Bonaparte’s Egyptian campaign: “I received one day a letter from Messina, signed by a merchant, I believe an English Quaker, enclosing one from the Commander de Dolomieu, who had long been our intimate friend, and with whose family we were much acquainted. He had, with other men of science, accompanied Napoleon Bonaparte into Egypt, but on his return had been obliged by bad weather to put into Messina, where he was thrown into a dungeon. He described his condition as most miserable, and no doubt it was so in every respect.[[120]]
“The Commander de D. was a man of ability and warm feeling. He was the second son of a noble family in France, and, according to the custom of those times, belonged to the Order of Malta. His elder brother offended his father by his imprudence and impropriety of conduct. When the Marquis was in a state of health so precarious that little hope was entertained of his life, these two sons were sent for by their mother. The eldest was at Paris, but put off his journey from day to day. The second was with the Maltese galleys at Lisbon, but obtained leave of absence, and instantly hastened to the family château, near Lyons. On his arrival his father told him that he meant to make him his heir, and only leave to his elder brother an annual income, enough for his maintenance but not for the support of his extravagance. The Chevalier de D. did all he could to persuade his father not to disinherit his elder brother; but finding his efforts were fruitless, he went off to Lyons, and there, in a Chapter of his Order, pronounced the irrevocable vows which put it out of his power to receive the inheritance. After this noble, but what many will think romantic, act of liberality, he went back to Malta, where for some time he held one of the highest employments, and enjoyed the confidence of the Grand-Master. He had reason to believe that about that time the Empress Catherine was endeavouring to make a secret treaty with the Neapolitan Government, for the purpose of becoming Patroness, or perhaps Mistress, of the island of Malta. When that island was given by the Emperor Charles V. to the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, after the loss of Rhodes, he stipulated that he was to receive from them, as their liege lord, a falcon every year. That devolved to his descendants, the Kings of Naples, and the Commander de D. was persuaded that it would be transferred to the Empress of Russia if the plot succeeded. That it did not was attributed to his influence with the Grand-Master, and, consequently, he was not in good odour at Naples. He had also enemies among his brother knights, and as he was instrumental in the surrender of Malta to Bonaparte, though he is said to have acted from a good motive, this enmity was not a little increased. His chemical and mineralogical studies naturally threw him into the society of the philosophers, and at the beginning of the Revolution he belonged to the Constitutional party, but he was nevertheless one of those who joined the Swiss Guards in defence of Louis XV. at the Tuileries.”]
I ought before this to have mentioned the celebrated dramatist, Count Alfieri. One of his tragedies, the “Antigone,” had been represented on a stage erected at the Spanish Ambassador’s, where several plays were performed during the month of October, and where, notwithstanding its being the season of “villeggiatura,” there was much good company. The Prince and Princess Rospigliosi, her brother the Duke di Ceri, his young Duchess, and his secretary, were the principal actors; but in the “Antigone” Alfieri himself acted Creon; the Duke di Giro, Hemon; the Duchess, Creusa; and Princess Rospigliosi, Antigone. They all played their parts with skill and propriety. The Duchess di Ciro had been taught by Princess Giustiniani, her mother, who had been very partial to this amusement, in which she also excelled.
In the “Barber of Seville,” Prince Rospigliosi, who in society appeared to be rather a grave man, was a truly comic Figaro. The Countess of Albany was then at Rome, and lived at the Chancery, in the apartments of her brother-in-law, the Cardinal of York. This lady, as is well known, was a Princess of Stolberg, and great-grand-daughter by the mother’s side of Thomas Earl of Aylesbury,[[121]] who died at Brussels. She had been married to the Pretender eight or ten years, and lived with him at Florence, till one day she took refuge in a convent, on account, she said, of the ill-treatment she received from him when he was intoxicated. She afterwards came to Rome, where, as I have said, she was lodged at the Chancery. She had a lady residing with her, a Chanoinesse. The Countess was present at the performance of the “Antigone,” but she did not in general go out to parties. Morning visits, however, she paid, in which and in her walks she was always attended by the Countess de M. But the romantic attachment of Count Alfieri, of which no mystery was made—indeed, the verses he composed and the whole of his conduct sufficiently declared it—induced Cardinal York, on his return from a visit to his brother, who had been very ill at Florence, to apply to the Pope for the dismissal of the Count from Rome. Pius made answer that, according to the laws and customs of the State, he had no right to dismiss a stranger who was committing no offence against the country; and that all he could do would be to write to the Countess of Albany, and request her to persuade her friend, for the sake of her own character, to leave Rome. He did so, and the Countess answered, that Count Alfieri never came to visit her but at the hour when her doors were open to all her acquaintance; she would beg of him, however, to comply with the request suggested by his Holiness. Count Alfieri remained a few days longer, and then went off at noon in a handsome equipage to visit Paris, London, &c. There was something very extraordinary, but very fine, in the character of Alfieri. He was introduced to us, and he asked my mother for letters to England, which she was happy to give him.
I think I never knew two persons more unlike than Alfieri and the Countess of Albany, in appearance, in manner, and even in sentiments. She must, no doubt, have been very pretty in early youth. She had fine eyes and teeth, but her figure was not graceful. There was nothing of the ideal beauty about her which one would have imagined as the object of Alfieri’s dreams of bliss; but she must have been very much admired, for all travellers, as I have been told, used to call her the Queen of Hearts. Married at twenty to a man of fifty, and in a political, or rather, I should say, historical situation so peculiar, she was perhaps more noticed than she otherwise would have been. To us she was very kind and attentive, invited us to visit her, and never in any way neglected us. She wrote plain, sensible letters, and was not devoid of intelligence. Although I never heard her saying anything which could offend religious or moral principles, I have been told that she was very sceptical with respect to the former.