August 4, Töplitz.—Remained at Carlsbad till the second. The situation is charming, the ton perfectly easy, the lodgings tolerable, the hours convenient, and the manner of living extremely agreeable. Two days have brought me here. The situation has not the divine romantic beauty of Carlsbad. I have seen no part of it so agreeable as the Wiese where I there lodged, and I much regret the change. Went with the Princess Clary to a thé given in that part of her garden open to the public by the Princess Dolgorouki, a Russian. The locale made it a pleasing fête, but somehow or other I was not amused. In the evening was admitted to the Princess Dolgorouki. As she rose at my entrance I did not perceive her previous situation; and was a little surprised when I saw her throw herself upon a mattress, covered with the same calico as her sofas. There she lay along, dressed in a very dirty, huddled dishabille, and wrapped up in a Turkish shawl. The room was small, low, and mean, like most of the lodgings here; but was ornamented with pieces of chintz, calico, and muslin hung round in festoons; the like were suspended from the ceiling; prints, unframed, were hung about in various places; orange-trees were in the four corners, and the stove was veiled with drapery of various kinds. The lady and the room gave me an idea of Bedlam, yet every one admired, and cried out how enchanting her taste. In Germany be extraordinary, grotesque or absurd in a new way, and you will surely be applauded. Conversed chiefly with a wounded officer, the Prince Tour and Taxis, who gave me a horrid account of the fatigues and sufferings of the Austrian army during the last campaign. He was left ten hours on the field of battle, ‘où je serois mort,’ added he, ‘si le caporal de mon régiment n’avoit bouché les trous de mes plaies avec de la terre. J’aurois été heureux de mourir, car cela m’auroit épargné bien des souffrances.’ All seem dissatisfied with the conduct of the war, particularly since Prince Charles resigned the command.
August 11.—Long airings with the Princess Clary (to whom Töplitz belongs) fill up my evenings very agreeably. I have been in two of the carriages of the country. The first holds four, of whom two only can be defended from the weather. The second holds eight; it is a long plank covered with a cushion, with a footboard on each side, and on one a sort of narrow resting-place, which at will may serve for your back or arms, as you can turn yourself either way. It has four wheels covered with cases of strong leather to prevent the branches from entangling in them, and is excellent for going through woods and narrow roads. It is heavy to the horses, and requires six in a long drive.
August 13.—Went to a thé given by Vicomte Anadia, the Portuguese Minister, and afterwards saw Le Sauvage, a very ugly dance, which I mean to take to England, where novelty sometimes supplies the want of every other charm.
August 22.—The last four days have been cheered by the society of my friend Mr. S——. How delightful to meet a friend and countryman in a foreign land. He travels with his eldest son, who has passed near a year at M. de Mounier’s academy in Weimar. He went there merely a pretty-looking, insignificant young man, devoted to fashion, full of vanity, and anxious to think on all subjects with those who lead in the ton. Mounier has enlarged, refined, and liberalized his ideas, given him just notions of politics, a general taste in literature, and cleared his mind of the prejudices acquired in the round of fashionable life in London.—Conversed with the Count O’Kelly, who confirmed all I have heard of the Empress’s unbounded influence over her husband, her devotion to her mother, and her dislike of the Archduke Charles, which has produced fatal effects—whole troops at the battle of Marengo having surrendered without firing a shot, saying, ‘Why should we suffer ourselves to be massacred for those who have taken our father from us?’
Aug. 24.—To-morrow I leave Töplitz. There is one point in which it differs materially from an English water-drinking place; the expense may be rated at about one-seventh. I am in a wretchedly comfortless, but not disgraceful lodging, for which I pay but two florins a night, and had I taken it by the week or month, it would have been still cheaper.—Yesterday evening I saw a play represented in the open air. The piece, Graf von Walthron, is military, and founded on a true story. An inferior officer, who insults his colonel, is condemned to die, and receives a pardon at the place of execution. Nothing, as far as what I saw of the pantomime enabled me to judge—for it was a play only to the eye, as it was impossible to hear a word—appeared new in the details. A wife, who arrives in great spirits to see her husband in camp, receives the news of his condemnation with a fainting fit, who kneels, implores, weeps, embraces, attempts to shoot herself, and, according to custom, suffers the pistol to be forced from her with great facility, is what we have all seen a thousand times. I was chiefly employed in reflecting what astonishing art the ancients must have possessed to give effect to a piece in the open air. Here nothing could be worse. I sat in one of the best places, yet heard not a word; and the mere spectacle did not strike the eye, as I expected an exact reality would have done. At one moment only the representation appeared to gain by its perfect truth; it was when a number of horsemen gallop forward with repeated cries, and produce the pardon of Graf Walthron. Extreme haste to further a benevolent purpose has always a good stage effect. Count Waldstein’s horses were the performers. Among the spectators was Mad. de Cachet, who commanded 22,000 men in the war of La Vendée, was wounded in several engagements, wishes to be thought daughter to Louis the Sixteenth, and is really not unlike the portraits of the family. She also resembles the Margravine of Anspach. I think her about forty, rather well-looking, her hair d’une couleur un peu hardie, and very long; her complexion good, and not tanned; her throat well-turned, and very white, and her manner of carrying her head beautiful. She is of a middle height, rather fat and massy, her dress without taste, but not without pretention—a black gown, with a white muslin chemise thrown over it, fancifully made and trimmed, a white muslin on her head, and a great display of hair, one tress of which hung down from the top of her head, where it was puffed, to the bottom of her waist in front. Her confidante abused the privilege which confidantes possess of being hideous. Some one proposed to remove her chair a little further back, and she turned to Mad. de Cachet, saying, ‘Je dirai comme vous, je ne suis pas faite pour reculer.’ Her friend smiled at this citation with great complacence.[21]
August 27, Dresden.—I have just seen Mr. Elliot, agreeable as ever. His conversation—‘The Emperor of Russia is a wild beast. I consider him a greater Jacobin than Robespierre. He has made more Jacobins. A person of whose veracity I have no reason to doubt, told me the following story. “I was travelling lately in Russia, and saw one of the carriages used in transporting prisoners, and sealed, according to custom, with the Emperor’s seal. I heard a faint voice call for water, and I asked who was within. The guide desired me to look through a small grated window. I did, and saw two human figures fastened together by a chain passed through their cheeks, and secured by a padlock. One of them implored the conductor, in accents faint and indistinct, for God’s sake to release him from his fellow-prisoner, who was become a corpse. The guide said that it was contrary to the Emperor’s orders, and that he dared not open the carriage till it arrived at the destined spot.” One would willingly go to Petersburg, for the sake of shooting such a monster,’ In the evening I met Lord and Lady Holland at Mr. Elliot’s. Her manner is pleasing; she is tall and embonpoint, with fine eyes, and an agreeable countenance, rather well-looking than handsome. Her husband is agreeable, and they both possess that vivacity of conversation and mildness of manner, the union of which forms the cachet of the Devonshire society.
Aug. 31.—Dined with Lady Holland. Mr. Marsh, Dr. Drew, and Lord Dungannon formed the circle. The latter is a very promising young man, natural, civil, conversible, and good humoured.
Sept. 1.—An assembly at Mad. ——’s. On attempting to return home, fell into a strange perplexity. I removed this day from the inn to a lodging, but did not know the name of the street; yet having more dread of ennui than fear of losing my way, would not wait at the assembly for my footman, but got into a chair, and desired the men in bad German to take me to a lodging opposite the Golden Angel—rather an indefinite direction, as it might apply to a dozen other as well as mine. However, I trusted to the good luck which follows me in trifles, and depended on chance for leading me to the right one. Alas! I find myself on a staircase quite different from mine, and the chairmen do not comprehend they have made a mistake. A stranger (Count Romanzow, as I afterwards learned) politely asks if he can be of service, and desires to know where I wish to go. ‘Indeed, sir, I cannot tell.’ He wishes to know at length whence I came. That I cannot tell either, as Mrs. Elliot’s carriage brought me, and I never asked the name of my hostess. He must have thought me mad. At last, as my most natural resource, he ordered the chair, at my desire, to Mr. Elliot’s house in town, where Lord and Lady Holland are lodged. I there supped with them. Mr. Elliot remarkably amusing; no one has so much small talk, or parries better by a jest an opinion he disapproves, but does not choose to refute. He has so much wit, originality, and knowledge of the world, his caprice rather increases than diminishes his powers of pleasing. He says the Princess Radziwill (mère) is like a high priest in an Italian opera. Those who have seen her will appreciate the comparison.
Sept. 2.—At Mad. Divoff’s. Her husband amused by assuring me how often the painters who worked here at the Gallery, profited by his advice. All the artists I have heard speak on the subject, laugh at him; and the taste he has shown in his collection of prints is execrable. But riches, omnipotent riches, procure to their possessor all the pleasures attendant on the consciousness of taste and talents. Every one fancies he possesses them, and the rich man ever finds that deference paid to his opinion, which tends to maintain so pleasing an error.
Sept. 3.—Drank tea with Mad. de Hoenthal, a very small party, made for the reigning, or rather the ci-devant, Princess Tour and Taxis, who was forced to quit Ratisbon on the arrival of the French. She has travelled four nights, yet is as fresh as possible, and betrays not a symptom of languor or weariness. She is a woman of about thirty, tall, well-made and graceful, her face agreeable, though her features irregular. Her deportment and countenance bear some resemblance to those of our Queen, her aunt. She is on her way to visit her sister, the Queen of Prussia. Her address is pleasing, and the character I have heard of her is amiable. Her anxiety to see every work of art worth observation, which has been strongly marked since her arrival, speaks in her favour. She is attended by her brother, the Prince of Mecklenburg. His features are good, and with expression might even be called handsome.