The Austrian lady’s servant, however, had preceded us, and secured all the best apartments, so that we were obliged to make shift with what were left: my companions were better able to take care of themselves than I was, so that I fared worse than any, and was obliged to sleep in the passage at the head of the stairs.
We certainly thought the lady very inconsiderate, for she not only secured bed-rooms for herself and children, but had taken one with four beds in it as a sitting-room, which she might have dispensed with, particularly as she knew that there was a coach-full of passengers arrived at the same time. We did not fail to express our sentiments loudly, both in French and Italian, and in such a manner, that we were sure of her becoming acquainted with them. In addition, we had to wait for our supper until she had finished, and this so long, that Mr. W. S. tired of the delay, went to bed without refreshment.
At six in the morning we recommenced our journey through Montefiascone, celebrated for its wines, and reached Viterbo for breakfast. A party of Austrians returning from Naples, unfortunately followed us into the inn, and carried away the attentions of our host and his myrmidons. After breakfast, Mr. W. S. and myself set off before our coach, and walked up the mountain of Viterbo, and when we reached the top experienced a delightfully refreshing breeze, and my companion was gratified with a most magnificent view of villas and villages, with lake Vico on the right, which at first he mistook for the sea. At a distance on the left, was a palace of the king of Naples. We now re-entered the coach, and descended the hill with rapidity, contesting the race with Madame Frimont’s voiture. I cannot say, however, the companionship afforded us any gratification, as we had all the disadvantages without the pleasures of it; for we had not once the honour of conversing with the lady, or of course the merit of voluntarily sacrificing our comforts for her accommodation; it was all one whether we got in first or last, there appeared to be so good an understanding between her servant, the drivers, and the people of the inn, that we were sure to come off only second best.
We reached Ronciglione for the night. At this place, we had the pleasure of meeting with Mr. John Bull, lately from England, but last of all, from Rome, where he had been studying the finer arts, that is, the arts of eating and drinking, and who was now on his return to his native city of London, by way of Florence. He had engaged a voiture of the same description with the one we were travelling in, for the exclusive use of himself and his servant, William Simple, who did not presume to speak any other language than what his mother had thought right to teach him, while Mr. Bull, by three months’ practice, and the assistance of a dictionary, had acquired sufficient Italian to enable him to call for the various objects of his affection. He was loud in his complaints against his Italian coachman, Antonio Sulky, who, contrary to the assurances of the person from whom he had hired his carriage at Rome, was disposed to do everything to please himself, but nothing which he, Mr. Bull, was desirous should be done. Poor Simple, however, appeared to come more immediately under his displeasure, for, having neglected to secure himself a bed, and which he endeavoured to excuse, by saying that he did not know how to ask for one; “Why you fool,” retorted the master, “go up stairs, look out for an empty room, lock the door, and put the key in your pocket.”
Notwithstanding the waiter was too much hurried to think that he had any right to be civil, I got a pretty good supper and bed, nor was I without bed-fellows, and had I been as active as they were lively, the dancing of St. Vitus would not have been comparable with my exertions. But I comforted myself with the certainty of its being the last night of the journey, whereas, poor Mr. Bull had but just commenced his. I cannot but acknowledge, that I amused myself highly with the thoughts of the manner in which he would be jerked out of the Roman into the Tuscan states, an operation of which, I am sure he could himself have no idea.
On the following morning, Saturday, March the 31st, we set off at six o’clock, under the delightful prospect of reaching Rome in the afternoon, being now only twenty-five miles distant. After a rainy morning, we arrived about noon for breakfast at a house nine miles from the city; here Mr. W. S⸺, meeting some friends, took his leave of us. We had a party of Austrian officers to breakfast at the same table, who treated me with marked attention, reminding me of our having met at Florence. At half past one, we pursued our journey, and at length reached the Ponte Molle, where we crossed the far-famed Tiber,
“⸺whose yellow water flows
Around these fields, and fattens as it goes,
⸺among the rolling floods,
Renown’d on earth—esteemed amongst the gods.”