Dec. 4.—Dined at the Duke of Queensberry’s. He is very ill—has a violent cough, but will eat an immense dinner, and then complains of a digestion pénible. Sheridan’s translation of the Death of Rolla, under the name of Pizarro, has brought him £5000 per week for five weeks. The sentiments of loyalty uttered by Rolla are supposed to have had so good an effect, that on the Duke of Queensberry’s asking why the stocks had fallen, a stockjobber replied, ‘Because at Drury-lane they have left off acting Pizarro.’
Dec. 7.—Saw poor Madame Ciriello, the picture of despair. The late revolution at Naples not only makes her feel miserable at the fate of her friend the Queen, but deprives her and her husband of all the comforts of affluence, at that advanced time of life when such a vicissitude is most irreparable and insupportable.—At Mrs. Walker’s masquerade we supped in the chapel. Some were shocked at this, who, when they heard it was a Roman Catholic chapel, felt their consciences perfectly at ease.
Dec. 17.—I have been, and still am, confused by a violent feverish cold. The solitude of my apartment is not disagreeable to me, but tranquillity and reflection strengthen my desire of living in the country, because I think I could there adopt a consistent plan of doing good, and see its effects. In town one may be of use in a desultory way, but not to the same extent, or with the same pleasure. One is divided from the objects one serves. Those times are past when everything I saw, every person I met, every employment I engaged in, amused, improved, or interested me. I no longer study character and seek friends; an indifference is creeping over me. I see all around me acting a part, pursuing they know not what, yet as eager in the pursuit as if eternal happiness depended on it. An anxiety to go everywhere, to know everybody, to associate with those above them in position, seems a marked feature of the polished inhabitants of London. Like flies caught in a bottle of honey, all are smothered in disgusting sweets, and all are trying to rise above each other, no matter how. The distinctions of vice and virtue are broken down. ‘Well-dressed, well-bred, well-equipaged,’ is a passport for every door. The affected lip-deep homage paid to virtue, while every knee bows to Baal, wherever he appears clad in purple and fine linen, spreads a varnish over vice, which only throws it out in stronger colours and darker deformity. I was made for a better life.
CHAPTER II.
1799-1801.
A large part of the chapter which follows was printed last year, under the title of A Visit to Germany in 1799, 1800, of which a good many copies were privately circulated. It excited more attention and remark than I was prepared to expect; and I am glad that it should be now placed within the reach of all. A few additional entries, but all of secondary interest, which were then passed over, have now found a place in the text.
Oct. 20, 1799, Yarmouth.—I left London on the 16th, with the consolation of feeling that all my friends parted from me as from a beloved child, mixing with their affection a degree of care that proved they quite forgot I was more than fifteen. I have been detained here since last Friday, waiting for a fair wind, and my imprisonment would have been comfortless enough, had it not been for the attentions of Mr. Hudson Gurney, a young man on whom I had no claims, except from a letter of Mr. Sanford’s; who, without knowing or having any connexion with him, recommended me to his care, feeling wretched at the idea of my being unprotected in the first stage of my journey. He has already devoted to me one evening and two mornings, assisted me in money matters, lent me books, and enlivened my confinement to a wretched inn by his pleasant conversation. Mr. Sanford having described me as a person travelling alone for her health, he says his old assistant in the bank fancied I was a decrepit elderly lady who might safely be consigned to his youthful partner. His description of his surprise, thus prepared, was conceived in a very good strain of flattery. He is about two and twenty; understands several languages, seems to delight in books, and to be uncommonly well informed.
Oct. 27, Cuxhaven.—Arrived yesterday—uncivil captain—wretched passage—a high wind—never able to quit my little miserable bed. I fancied myself a good sailor, because I tolerated my Portuguese voyage, when I had the whole vessel to myself, several attendants, all possible luxuries and accommodations, and every person on board occupied in sparing me the shadow of an inconvenience. I find that travelling under the protection of a husband who deifies one, and is profuse in all expenses that can promote one’s comfort, gives a very faint idea of the contretems of an economical and solitary journey. Saw Mr. Harward, agent for the packets, and Colonel Malcolm—both very kind. The former invited me to his house, and offered to conduct me free of all expense to Hamburg, if I would wait till the boat set off with the Government money. This offer for many trifling reasons I declined. Colonel Malcolm is a Scotchman, devoured by military ardour, who left Canada, where he was happily settled, because, unfortunately, it was a quiet country. He now commands a brigade at Tuam.
Oct. 28.—Mr. Harward, as I refused to suffer him to accompany me, offered me the society of his daughter, and we sailed up the Elbe for Hamburg in a fishing-boat, worked by two sailors. We were thirty-six hours on the passage. I slept on a bench in a den dignified with the name of cabin, wrapped up in blankets I had the precaution to bring with me.