We liked Genoa much, but were compelled to leave it when the intrigues of the revolutionary government of France rendered this city an undesirable residence for English families. On our way to Rome we stayed a few days at Parma, the sovereign of which was greatly beloved by his subjects, for, it was said, he had never refused a petition, and never imposed a new tax. There was no appearance of poverty in his states, and I never saw a more happy people. How he and his country were treated by the French republicans is matter of history. Both Parma and Piacenza were free cities.
A few years after this visit I became acquainted with a regular canon of the great church of Piacenza, and who, according to custom, had his own confessional box. One day, after the French occupation of the country, he entered the church, with the intention of taking his own seat, but was surprised at not finding the confessional in its proper place. After looking about for it in all directions, he found it in a gallery lying on its side, and on the top of it the dead body of a French soldier, which three surgeons, or surgeon’s mates, of that army were busily skinning. Horrified at the sight, he asked the meaning of this ghastly proceeding, and was told that some scientific men had discovered that the human skin made excellent leather. It had, therefore, been ordered that all dead bodies should be skinned, for the purpose of providing boots and shoes for the soldiers.
From the Duchy of Parma we proceeded to Bologna, and thence to Florence, which we greatly admired. The Tuscans, of all classes, appeared to me to be a very polished people, as if still retaining traces of their early civilisation. The peasants were far superior in every respect to those of other countries, and fewer crimes were at that time committed in Tuscany than in any other part of Europe.
On the 30th of April, 1791, we once more found ourselves in Rome.
The two French princesses, Madame Adelaide and Madame Victoire, aunts of Louis XVI., were lodged at Cardinal de Bernis’. The cardinal having declined to take the oath of allegiance to the republic, was no longer ambassador; but he still kept up his Friday evenings’ conversazioni, at which the princesses appeared, and were very courteous and affable. Madame Adelaide still retained traces of that beauty which had distinguished her in her youth, and there was great vivacity in her manner, and in the expression of her countenance. Madame Victoire had also an agreeable face, much good sense, and great sweetness of temper. Their dress, and that of their suite, were old-fashioned, but unostentatious. The jewels they brought with them had been sold, one by one, to afford assistance to the poor émigrés who applied to the princesses in their distress. They were highly respected by the Romans; not only by the higher orders, but by the common people, who had a horror of the French revolution, and no great partiality for that nation in general.
It was in January, 1793,[[52]] that the revolutionary propagandism first came into actual collision with the Pope’s government. A Frenchman named Basville, who had been secretary to Lafayette in America, had been sent from Paris to induce Pius VI. to acknowledge the republic, and permit the republican arms and three-coloured cockades to be publicly displayed in Rome. The Pope, however, resolutely refused to recognise any government in France but that of the king.
The students at the French Academy, who were nearly all democratical, then took down the statue of Louis XIV., the founder of that institution, and gave a banquet in honour of the occasion. Every one present wore a red cap on his head, or had a small one suspended from a ribbon round his neck.
On the 12th of January, Major Flotte arrived from Naples, and went straight to the Cardinal Secretary-of-State, whom he informed that his orders were to give the Pope only twenty-four hours to decide whether he would, or would not, recognise the republic; and that if his Holiness did not, within that space of time, allow the republican insignia to be put up, it would be considered as equivalent to a declaration of war. The Pope desired the Cardinal Secretary-of-State to intimate to M. Flotte that his resolution was already taken, and that if the republican insignia were placed up anywhere in public, he would not be answerable for the insults his countrymen might receive from the Roman people. On being told this, M. Flotte replied in a loud voice, that if any insults were offered, five hundred thousand Frenchmen would come to avenge them, and would leave not a single stone upon another.
In the afternoon of the following day a great crowd assembled in the Corso near the Academy of France, and after it was dark set fire to it. For some hours they promenaded the streets, shouting “Viva il Papa!” “Viva la Santa Chiesa!” We opened our windows to look at the people as they walked past in a very orderly manner. They looked up, and in a cheerful tone desired us to cry “Viva il Papa!”[[53]] which we did very willingly, and added “Viva mille anni!” for which they applauded us. One of them, however, a well-dressed young man, said, with an air of drollery, “But will you cry ‘Viva la Santa Chiesa?’” “Vivan tutte le Chiese!” cried I; to which he replied, “Brava! bravissima!”
Early in the afternoon of the 14th, Basville and Flotte drove out of the French Academy with republican cockades in their hats, and in those of the coachman and footman. Basville’s little boy was in the carriage with them, and kept waving out of the window a three-coloured flag, while they shouted to the people, “Romani, viva la libertà!” “Giù la cocarda!” was the only reply they received. But as they would neither take the cockades out of their own hats, nor allow the coachman to remove his, the crowd became furious, and ordered the driver to turn the horses’ heads homewards.