Chapter IV: Part 4

The road led past Mellingen to Baden, where they passed
the night. ‘M. Barthelémy, formerly Secretary to the
Embassy in London and now Minister from France to the Swiss
Cantons, resides at this melancholy place.’

On July 27th they crossed the Rhine at Kaiserstuhl and went
on to Laufen.

_Sunday, 28th._--Schaffhausen is a melancholy, _triste_ town. The tinkling of the bells of the church close to my room and the abominable psalmody distracted my ears and shattered my nerves. I got up many hours sooner than I intended, as _rest_ was unattainable. I like rather the bells of convents; there is something cheerful in Catholicism, but these dull Protestants make religion frightful in their way of following it. The nasal melody of these devout Schaffhauseners, who are at this moment screaming themselves hoarse to chant the praises of God, would have met with little mercy if the heathen mythology were in force, as Apollo would have dispatched their discordant souls to the regions below. We went to the proper place to see the famous cataracts; they are tremendous, the noise is more powerful than artillery could make, I believe. I think the fall is about 100 feet. The river does not recover its stillness for some time after the _chute_ ruffles its waters.

[Sidenote: RIVAL STREAMS]

_Monday, 29th._--Set off at 5 o’clock, and bid adieu to the clean cottages and bold, craggy mountains of Switzerland. We were advised against the Basle road, as it approaches so very near the French frontier that we might unwillingly have seen some skirmishes. Here the dwellings of the inhabitants resemble those of Lincolnshire, mud walls, and the inhabitants as filthy as the ground they tread on. The circle of Swabia is reckoned to be a fertile and well-cultivated country and its population proves that its peasantry are well fed. The hills are well covered with fir and oak, the remains of the old Hercynian Forest that once overspread this part of Germany from the Danube to the Rhine. The wild boar and the wolf are the only savage animals that inhabit these regions. The clearing of the forest has very much influenced the climate of Italy; Kirwan thinks by its destruction Lombardy is become warmer. We crossed a ridge of sand hills; on the top of them I observed the rills of water to run in different directions, forming small rivulets to the north and south sides. These continue their course from their original direction. A lively imagination might fancy their lamentations at the impossibility of their ever meeting again in their native country. ‘I go,’ says the northern drop, ‘to join the slow-flowing Danube, and quench the thirst of the heavy-paced, mechanical German, the proud, independent, but crushed Hungarian, and the lazy, ignorant, slavish Turk. In my way I shall wash the walls of Vienna, Presburg, and Belgrade, and then in company with the waters of Poland and of Russia will try to live in harmony with the waters of the Euxine Sea.’ ‘And I,’ says the merry southern drop, ‘will rush on to the rapid Rhine, wash the coast of the brave and hardy Swiss, will then avoid the once cheerful Frenchmen, and frisk down to the North Sea,’ and, if he is of my mind, will avoid the chalky coast of England.

Arrived at midnight at Pallingen; I slept in a billiard room, a _meuble_ neither ornamental, comfortable, nor useful.

_Tuesday, 30th._--Hechingen, the first post from where we slept, the seat of the King of Prussia’s family, the Counts of Hohenzollern. They possess a small principality, the revenues of which are 7000_l._ per annum, yet the great Frederick was descended from a younger branch of this petty prince. A lively Frenchman said, ‘Parbleu, voilà un cadet qui a fait fortune.’ The castle stands upon a high and steep hill. They tell a story of one of its princes seeing from its terrace the rich country of Würtemberg, and saying, ‘What an addition would the _petit_ canton of Würtemberg be to the territory of Hohenzollern.’ We dined there. Just entering Tübingen the country pretty: woods inclining to a valley, watered by a little rill. Tübingen appears to have been new built, but still in that terrible taste which prevails all over Lower Germany. Black beams placed crossways and the interstices filled up with plaster, high roofs, gable ends, and two or three stories of garret windows in the roof; the whole gives a mean appearance and disfigures a town as much as the style of English architecture, though this has the superiority, as the houses have the advantage of being _spacious_. A filthy, disgusting practice prevails here, that of placing the dunghills precisely in front of their houses. In the towns they are in a line with the bench before the house, on which they sit smoking and regaling themselves after dinner; in the villages, they are in the middle of the streets, and it requires some skill in the postillions to steer safely between them. Beyond Tübingen a noble forest of immense extent, part of the Hercynian; it is full of fine oaks. I cannot make myself in the least understood in the language of which Pope says:--

Language which Boreas might to Auster hold,
More rough than forty Germans when they scold.

I cannot connect two words so as to form the simplest sentence. We reached Stuttgart at 12 o’clock at night.

Lord Mulgrave passed in his way to Milan: some official business carries him. Custine is sent to the Abbey [_sic_], which is the first step towards the scaffold.[83] Mayence fell on ye 25th.

_31st July._--A Scotch gentleman of the name of Stuart, brother to Mrs. Hippisley, showed me everything to be seen. The Academy, a noble institution for young military. The Duke[84] was very extravagant formerly, but he has adopted many salutary reforms. The palace is very grand: it was made in his days of splendour. He has now abandoned this place and Louisbourg[85] and lives totally at Hohenheim, a _château_ upon which he has also spent immense sums. His cruelty is checked by his Duchess, a good woman; but his marriage with her was a _mésalliance_.

[Sidenote: FALL OF MAYENCE]

Mayence surrendered upon capitulation: ye 22nd the Prussians marched in. They endeavoured to persuade the Elector to return, but he was afraid to trust himself among his loyal subjects. Beauharnais had a bloody battle with the army of observation. He was trying to succour Mayence: victory was wavering for some hours, but he did not attain his object, consequently was defeated. We slept at Louisbourg about twelve miles from Stuttgart; the palace and gardens are sumptuous, the Opera house is the largest in Europe. Here in former times Vestris and Noverre tripped upon the light fantastic toe to the admiration and gawky imitation of the clumsy German. To-morrow we shall reach Heidelberg.

_1st August, Thursday._--Left Louisbourg at 6 o’clock. Heilbronn, a free Imperial city, very dull, and declining; the Neckar runs by it. Open corn country. I did not visit the Tun, so extolled for its size; I passed a most restless night on account of the myriads of little white bugs. Got to Mannheim at 12. The whole town is animated, a garrison in the town of 6000 men, bodies of troops passing through, couriers coming and going. All too evidently proves the vicinity to the seat of war, but though a _little_ alarming, yet one feels hurried on by an interesting curiosity. The town is beautiful; large stone buildings, fine wide streets, and all the objects cheerful and pleasing. The Gallery contains many fine pictures, some charming _Murillos_; and good Flemish artists have contributed. The Cabinet has some beautiful specimens of mineralogy. At Valenciennes poor Tollemache[86] was killed in the trenches. He is Ly. Bridget’s only son; a spent bomb struck against his bowels and he expired the next day. We go to-morrow to Mayence, which I expect to find a heap of ruins.

_Saturday, Mannheim, 3rd August._--I have been reading the _sommation_ and articles of capitulation of Valenciennes. The allies have accorded the garrison in it to return to France but to be considered prisoners of war, with a promise that they will not serve until they have been regularly exchanged for other prisoners.[87] It is very unlikely that they should abide by this convention, and, to say the truth, were I the Government of France they _should not_. Lord Yarmouth told me a _trait_ of French _légèreté_ that amused me. After the D. of York’s _sommation_ there was a parley, during which many people came out of the town. The first intimation the Duke had that the terms were accepted was by the director of the Theatre coming to ask what piece H.R.H. would order the next day.

[Sidenote: THE SEAT OF WAR]

We left Mannheim at 10. The Elector’s carriage went out of the same gate with us; it was going to Turkheim to bring the King of Prussia here. Turkheim is the capital of the States of the unlucky Count of Leiningen who was seized in his palace by the Patriots, who keep him as a hostage for Camus, Beurnonville, and the other deputies delivered by Dumouriez to the Austrians. The road is all alive; troops, recruits, baggage waggons, ammunition waggons, sick and wounded, stragglers, cavalry, all proclaim the direful din of arms is at hand. At Worms we were forced to stop; three long hours have we already waited, not a horse to be had. The Cathedral is a large, ugly brick edifice, in which a few months ago 3000 patriots lodged. During their predatory excursion they levied hard contributions upon the townspeople to the amount of 12,000 florins.

_4th August, Sunday._--Quitted Oppenheim at 6. Followed the course of the Rhine: the roads almost destroyed by the quantity of heavy artillery that had passed to the siege of Mayence. A long file of ammunition waggons looked very pretty at a distance. I was gratified with sight of _pontoons_ to make a bridge. I shall become very skilful in military tactics if I remain amidst the clangour of war. A mile from Mayence upon the road a small _fascine_ battery to prevent succour getting to the city. The faubourgs totally destroyed, not a house with a roof on it. Cortheim is a complete ruin; out of 180 houses and two churches not a vestige except the stones remain. The works at Cassel, the other faubourg, are surprising. They were raised by the French, who seemed as if they meant to fix there, as they had begun to face the works with stone. A thick _abattis_ remains all round the fortifications still. The town is very much damaged: the Cathedral is almost a heap of ruins, the front tower remains tottering without an atom of roof. The Electoral Palace is converted into a hospital where many victims to the folly and ambition of their employers are languishing. La Favorita, a _maison de plaisance_ of the Elector, is razed to the ground. We drove to Cortheim. It was a melancholy sight; scorched walls, fields of self-sown corn grown up with weeds, unpruned vines trampled by cavalry, a houseless town, and every symptom of desolation and solitude. During the siege the French devoured horseflesh, and have consumed so many that they are really scarce; we can get none to go on with. I talked with an _émigré_, who seems well acquainted with many of my friends. His prejudices are absurd; he is as violent against the first Assembly as he is against the atrocious Convention.

_5th of August, Frankfort._--The bridge of boats out of Mayence would frighten a timid person to cross with frisky horses; ours did not answer that description. We took the _voiturins_ to Frankfort. We met a troop of French prisoners, who looked more as if they were going to take possession of the city than of its prisons. I sat up very late from downright low spirits. I cannot bear up whenever I am alone; there is a desponding feel that steals over my mind and prevents me from occupying myself in any way. ‘La mort ne vient jamais à propos,’ someone says; I want to die, but I do not, and I shall die (most likely) when I could dispense with it. The Maison Rouge, a vast pile of buildings. The whole town has a _bourgeois_ air about it. It has not suffered by the French. I do not care if it does or not. Custine only took one million of florins: they can bear much more squeezing. It is said that the English fleet is at length in the Mediterranean: I have heard the report so often that I doubt the truth of it.

[Sidenote: KÖNIGSTEIN]

_6th August, Frankfort._--Obliged to stay dinner, as horses were out of the question for some hours. The common route is by Hattersheim, but we were advised to go by Königstein, as the other had been destroyed to retard the progress of the French. The road we went was dreadful; several times I thought the carriage would have been overset. Obliged to sleep at this place (Königstein) for the old reason--want of horses. This place has been destroyed by military rage; the houses are burnt and gutted. The French maintained themselves here two months against the allies, and then only yielded to famine. It was quite touching to see some of the hoary sons of St. Francis lamenting over the ruins of their solitary cells, their untenanted convent, and degraded altars. The hill upon which the fortress stands is isolated, and commands a fine view of the plain of the Rhine. The French surrendered to the Russians. The common people detest their old masters, and long for the return of their democratic friends, whose principles are captivating to the lower classes: every man enjoys the prospect of placing his humble cot on a level with the proud palace, forgetting that the equality can only be maintained by lowering the palace to the cot. My companion in a paroxysm threw the book I was reading at my head, after having first torn it out of my hands.

_7th August._--Set off at 7 from Königstein; the road insufferably bad. Austrian soldiers marching from Linz into Brabant. One poor fellow was lying on the ground roaring from the torture of a colic. I gave him money, and as we were going the same road had him placed upon the second carriage, that took him on till we overtook a baggage waggon: he was a poor Croat not twenty years old. Slept at Montabaur.

_8th August._--Passed through a noble forest of enormous extent. Coblentz is charmingly situated upon the Rhine. We crossed the river on a _pont volant_. The _émigrés_ are no longer allowed to remain in the town; this _foyer_ of counter-revolution is at present very dull and democratic. Just out of the town we crossed the Moselle, which there falls into the Rhine. We followed the course of the Rhine to Bonn, the country rich and populous. Just before we entered Bonn, I was delighted at the sight of a very magnificent ruin of a baronial castle, with a high tower, upon a solitary rock. We slept at Bonn, which is now the residence of the Elector of Cologne, who is the uncle of the Emperor.

_9th August._--Stopped at Cologne, an ugly, dirty town; everything looked black, houses, water, faces, trees. Road to Donningen[88] deep sand and bad. Three miles from Dusseldorf crossed the Rhine, which is very wide and begins to lose its transparency, on a _pont volant_. The gates of Dusseldorf were shut, and we were compelled to take refuge under a very comfortless roof; I lay upon the floor a prey to every sort of vermin, bugs, spiders, earwigs--filthy. I never was really annoyed at any _gîte_ before this.

_10th August._--The gallery contains some excellent pictures.[89] _Rubens_, _Vanderwerfs_, and some Italian masters. Twenty-five _Vanderwerfs_. Small cabinet pictures his finished, detailed style suits, but he fails when he attempts history pictures. His pendant to _Raphael’s_ ‘St. John’ shows that he did not understand _effect_; the figure of Magdalen looks like a carving in ivory, and the hair like a flaxen wig. A game piece by _Sneiders_, a single figure in it done by _Rubens_, a _chef d’œuvre_. In general a picture painted by different hands either fails in harmony or in composition, but not this one, as each are perfect. Sneiders’ high finishing forced Rubens to give more force and less glare. This picture makes one regret that Rubens had not always some reason to paint in this energetic style. Two fine _Boths_. Fine _Berghem_. The ‘Charlatan,’ by _Gerard Dow_, a charmingly executed Dutch picture, as fine as the celebrated ‘Femme Hydropique,’ by the same hand, at Turin. The evening was rainy, and the weather very unpromising, but the whim was to go on, and on we went to Furth. When we arrived there were no beds; I and my maid sat up in a small room, and Sir G. and the servants slept as they could in the carriages.

[Sidenote: DUSSELDORF]

_Sunday._--In the road to Juliers there are works upon the road made by the French whilst they were in possession of this country. Juliers is an ugly town belonging to the Elector of Bavaria. At Aix-la-Chapelle heard the melancholy tale of the Queen’s being sent to the Conciergerie. Unhappy woman! there is little hope of peace for her in this life. Gaston continues successful in Brittany. He appears to rise by magic, suddenly he advances at the head of thousands, and then as suddenly they dissolve into air. It is a pity the emigrants are not sent to succour him, but I confess I begin to fear the _liberal_, generous, and gallant Englishman looks at France with a mercantile, suspicious eye. Slept at Aix-la-Chapelle.

_12th August._--The road to Maestricht in a shocking state. The town surrounded by works thrown up by the French when they besieged it under Miranda, early in the year, while Dumouriez invaded Holland. During the siege the _émigrés_ worked the guns, and were as brave as this nation have always been. The besiegers gave up the attack. The strength of the town is prodigious. It was the work of Crehorne [_sic_], a great military tactician; it now belongs to the Dutch, always garrisoned by 8000 or 10,000 men. It is a pretty town, large, well built, and paved. Dined at Maestricht, and should have reached St. Trond, but want of horses compelled us to stop at Tongres.

_13th._--Straight long avenues and fertile country. Stopped at Louvain. In the courtyard saw English carriages, belonging to some young men who are going to Italy, Mr. Amherst, Beauclerk, and Cornewall. Near this town were fought the battles that expelled the patriots from Flanders--_Neerwinden_ and _Louvain_.

_Bruxelles._--Found a budget of letters, from T. P. and my father. Ld. H.[90] talks of coming to meet me; he can be absent from the Hague only by stealth. Wrong as it will be, my inclination would get the better of my reason if I had the measure to decide upon, but as I have _not_, it must take its chance; only I do not think he can arrive before I go. My children are perfectly well. Everything in this town is as it was _nine_ years ago, when I, a little harmless innocent, used to meander among the groves of this delicious park. My father lived a year at this pretty place when I was a very young performer in life. I went to see the desolation made a few days ago by a dreadful accident in the suburb. Some ammunition waggons, to the amount of eight in number, suddenly blew up. The explosion was fatal to 100 persons; a gentleman, lady, child, and three servants were travelling past, and must have perished, as no vestige of them or their equipage remains.

Madame de Balbi very friendly to me; all the _beau-monde_ of Paris assembled here. Ld. Elgin[91] is the Minister here; he is _bien fat_, civil like a Scotchman, but on the whole I liked him better than I expected. Poor Ld. H. has a great prejudice against him. A gossiping man, a Mr. Merrick, told me the scandal of London. He says Carlo Dolce is annoyed at the violence of Mrs. Potiphar’s passion for him: she is vehement even in public.

[Sidenote: COUNT FERSEN]

M. de Fersen, the lover of the unhappy Queen, came to see me. He is tall and stately, and has the pretension in his manner of a favourite: _au reste_, his devoted attachment to the Queen, even more in her prison, makes him interesting. On the 6th of October he disguised himself as a _démocrate_, and cried out with the mob, ‘Vive la nation,’ merely that he might keep close to her carriage and protect her from any personal violence. He planned their flight from Paris to Varennes and rode postillion to the immense berlin; had his advice been followed the whole family would have been safe.

I called upon Madame Ferraris; she thought me grown since Vienna. Her husband is with the Duke of York. She says the Duke submits to the advice of his generals very readily, but there are two different stories upon that subject. I dined with Ld. Elgin, etc., and passed my time pleasantly among the French.

_Tuesday, 20th._--I rose in the morning fully persuaded that I should sleep at Bruges. Ld. Elgin (who I have grown to like) very good-humouredly did his utmost to facilitate my wish of seeing Valenciennes. He gave us quantities of passports, and very _sullenly_ we set off. Saw A. St. Leger. He came over, as have done many English, Mr. Windham, etc., to see the armies.

_21st. Mons._--Passed over the plain where the dreadful battle of Jemappes was fought, which obtained to Dumouriez the full possession of Flanders. The plain is covered with newly made graves; no skeletons, except those of a few horses were stretched about. The whole country covered with waggons and ammunition. The feeding and clothing of a great army requires skill and combination, to the full as much as leading it on to combat. Just out of Quievrain we entered part of _old_ France. The corn was standing, and did not appear to be in the least damaged. About a league from Valenciennes lies the wonderful machinery that destroyed it, a magnificent park of artillery, with immense magazines of balls, etc., guarded by a small party of Austrians encamped. A pretty sight enough.

Valenciennes is in a deplorable state, many streets are quite uninhabitable; scarcely a house standing that has not been shattered by bombs. The streets are choked up with rubbish; beams of houses half-burnt lying across. The quarter of the town through which we passed first is the most destroyed; it was the part nearest to the _globes of compression_.[92] The concussion occasioned by their explosion finished what forty-two days incessant fire had begun. The city walls and ramparts are crumbling from the shattering made in them with ball. We were shown very exactly by an intelligent officer the military posts, and the chief occurrences at them. The French went into the _fossée_ when they abandoned the hornwork; the allies pursued them. The panic created by the explosion of the globes of compression made the assault very little perilous. The danger was when the French recovered themselves and found that all the mischief was done, they might have blown up the hornwork, as by some oversight the besiegers had not undermined them there. Sir John Shelley served as a volunteer, and gained himself credit by his gallantry. In the camp of Famars, close by, is a rude monument erected in honour of Dampierre, the citizen general, who was killed. It consists of the tree of liberty decorated with military trophies. If his fame does not survive the effigies, it will be but short-lived, as they are withering already.

[Sidenote: VALENCIENNES]

The loss of _bourgeoisie_ in the town during the siege is calculated at about 2,500 men, women, and children. Thousands were crammed into the vaults of the general hospital, and guards posted to prevent them from going out that they might not by their complaints and sufferings dispose the active _bourgeoisie_ and the garrison to yield. The house I am now in is above two-thirds of it untenable; the walls are perforated with balls and bombs, and there is not from top to bottom a whole pane of glass in the house. The appearance of the inhabitants denotes what they must have suffered from famine, confinement, terror, and the whole accompanying train of diseases. Yet they regret the Carmagnols, and would to-morrow assist their return. Mr. Hobart and Mr. Meyrick joined us at dinner; they brought news of an engagement at Tourcoing, for the Duke of York was getting on to Ypres without suspecting he could meet with any impediment from the _Camp de la Madeleine_, but he found to his cost that he was interrupted. His vanguard, composed of Dutch, were attacked and forced to _replier_; the detachment of Guards sent to reinforce them were defeated with the loss of 200; Colonel Bosville was killed, and many others wounded.

Whilst I was walking on the ramparts at Valenciennes, an Austrian grenadier intended to make a well-turned compliment by wishing I was his wife for the sake of a fine race of grenadiers. I received a similar compliment from one of his description at Prague. Mr. Hobart laughed mightily at the _Swager’s_ gallantry. When I look at the scenes around and reflect that it is the deed of man to man, how far more cruel does he appear than the lion or the tiger. We saw smoke from Le Quesnoy; as it was invested we concluded it was a bombardment, but as the trenches are not yet opened it could not be, therefore it must have been the French employed in burning their suburbs! Prince Coburg is before it.

_22nd._--Quitted Valenciennes at 3 o’clock. All the villages partake of the ruinous ravage of war. About a league is the superb _ci-devant_ Abbaye de Vicoing, which alternately belonged to the allies and the French; there are _breastworks_ and _embrasures_ in many parts round it. It serves now as a _garnison_ for Austrian hussars. Very near it are the Baths of St. Amand, near which the English were unwarily surprised and beat unmercifully from a masked battery. Every cottage that fronts the road has its walls perforated for muskets. Poor wretched people! What a condition is theirs! friend or foe must be equally to be dreaded by them.

The road between St. Amand and Tournay was covered with baggage waggons and troops. In the dark, about 8 o’clock, I had an alarm that produced a sensation of terror far beyond any power of description to express. Just upon the plain where the battle of Fontenoy was fought, I saw about a quarter of a mile before me ten or twelve horsemen gallop across the road and range themselves under the trees of the avenue. They came from the French side of the road, and in the dusk and indistinct manner in which I saw them more than satisfied me that they were French hussars. I gave myself up for lost, and in an agony of silent despair hid my head. We approached, when, lo!--my hussars proved to be gleaners. The immense bulk of them on the horizon and their quiet motion, aided by imagination, made me see an enemy instead of a harmless band of suffering countrywomen. When we reached Tournay we found the inn full of English soldiers. Lord Huntley in the house very dangerously ill.

[Sidenote: MOVEMENTS OF THE ALLIES]

It is very true that the nearer one approaches the scene of action intelligence becomes more imperfect and contradictory. Every other man we met gave us a different account; some said the D. of York was at Ypres, others that he was at Furnes, and yet it is possible that he has been at neither place. We met the Dutch troops who ran away on the 18th; they are going to garrison towns, as they cannot be trusted in the lines. At Menin I saw Colonel Doyle walking upon the Grande Place. He has a deep wound in his arm and a contusion on his knee. An old Dutch acquaintance of Pierrôt’s[93] caressed him, the _greffier_ Fagel’s son, a great friend of Ld. Henry’s. The officers advised us against going on to Ypres, as a severe cannonade had been heard that way the whole morning, but we must either have returned or gone on: I felt _queer_, not to say frightened. We passed within _two_ miles of the French lines, and that is the distance for half a dozen desperate hussars to gallop to plunder. We met a Mr. Lodge, an Englishman; he has just left Furnes, near which the armies are encamped, but he reported that they were filing off to lay siege to Dunkirk. I hear the Cabinet of Vienna are displeased at the D. of York’s terms of capitulation for Valenciennes, especially as he gave up two of the deputies who had voted for the King’s death, and the troops, they say, so far from abiding by their engagement of not serving again, are hurrying down towards Dunkirk. At Ypres the Austrians brought in twelve French prisoners, chiefly lads from 14 to 20; one of them was quite a stripling, he had been a button-maker at Lyons, but was forced to serve as a _Volunteer_. It is astonishing when we see their troops how it is they contrive to fight so well, against the bravest and best disciplined armies in the world. From Ypres the road to Furnes is within 100 yards of the French territory. We went close to the advanced Dutch pickets; their disposition to run away did not allow me to rely much upon their protection. At Rousbrugge, a small village, whilst we were in it, the drum beat to arms for an outpost being driven in, and the alarm spread of the enemy. In an instant all the soldiers turned out; a fine regiment called Loudohn Verts [_sic_].

At Furnes the town was so full that I was obliged to sit in the carriage in the middle of the Grande Place, and had no prospect of other shelter for the night. Fortunately, however, a charitable old woman who kept a little tallow-chandler’s shop agreed to let me pass the night in a little sandy parlour, that literally had no other furniture than a walnut great chair and a cupboard decorated with Delft cups. There was a _bedroom_, but to keep my companion from becoming outrageously discontented I yielded it to him, and lay upon blankets, etc. upon the floor. The room was really so small that when I was extended my maid could not sit in the great chair; she therefore passed the night in the carriage.

The evening was very agitating: we heard very plainly the roaring of the cannon at Dunkirk; couriers were perpetually arriving with some intelligence. The whole day had been passed in attempting to dislodge the French from a wood just before the town. The news came of the death of General Dalton and Col. Elde. At night I mounted the belfry of the church; the light from the cannon at Dunkirk was very strong, no less than five villages near it were in a blaze, the horizon was deeply dyed with a mixture of deep red flames and smoke. I never passed a more wretched night; the idea of the bloody tragedy near, the recollection of the haggard countenances of the dying soldiers, and the possibility, even probability, that many of my friends were expiring, made me so nervous that I could not obtain a wink of sleep. I got up unrefreshed and weary both in mind and body.

[Sidenote: THE BRITISH CAMP]

Major Doyle and all the officers I have seen express themselves with discontent at the prospect of the campaign; they think the measure of acting without the Austrians very injudicious.[94] They much doubt the practicability of the capture of Dunkirk. With the utmost difficulty we procured a vehicle, and with as much we waded through the deep black sand to the British camp. The distance was about six miles in all. The road is a high, narrow _chaussée_ with the dunes between it and the sea. The first encampment is that of the artillery, prettily placed on each side of the canal. Thirteen dead horses lay stretched upon the road, victims of the engagement of the day before; we were obliged to stop till they were dragged away, to let the carriage pass. It was just thereabouts where Dalton fell; he was endeavouring to take a well-defended redoubt. The English camp is making; they only took the ground yesterday. I slept in the tent of Capt. Cerjat, of the Blues. I went to see the corpse of Dalton: he was lying on his side with one pale hand upon his head and the other upon his bosom, great expression of placid benignity on his countenance.

The Duke of York, on hearing of my arrival, sent to beg me to go to his tent and dine with him at headquarters. I saw poor Malbrouk, who was looking mighty well. I dined with the Duke; I felt odd being the only female among such a party of men. All the staff dined with him. The place we dined in was a large grange; his own tent he kept for his private use. He is highly incensed against the D. of Richmond[95] for not sending the ordnance, and to complete his vexation the artillery officers at Ostend have sent down the canals the carriages in one vessel, and the cannons in another, so that they do not arrive together. His language of censure is unqualified, and he is never much disposed to praise the D. of Richmond. After dinner I attended with H.R.H. the funeral of Col. Elde: it is an affecting sight. I was at first startled at the firing in platoons over the grave, but after the first discharge I did not mind it. There was another English officer buried, but I was low-spirited and would not go.

The Duke bid St. Leger show me the different camps, and sent me in one of his light cabriolets. In the course of the drive we were overtaken by the chaplain, who galloped and called as fast and as loud as he could. It was to make us return, for we had passed by several hundred yards the spot where a Hanoverian _vedette_ had been killed by a shell, a proof that we were within reach of danger. We returned as fast as we could, and were grateful to him for his friendly interposition. We got out and walked upon the dunes, but were speedily recalled, as the _vedette_ advised me not to venture, the French riflemen being such excellent shots that I might be aimed at. I should not have dreaded French cruelty to a woman, had I not the melancholy instance of the poor Queen.

[Sidenote: DUKE OF YORK’S KINDNESS]

I went and sat some hours with the Duke in his tent; M. de Bouillé was there. I heard a pattering noise, like rain, upon the canvas of the tent, but the eagerness of M. de Langereau to tell news soon destroyed that tranquil belief, for he came out of breath to say that the outposts were fighting, and were driven in, and a general attack might be expected. The Duke, who knew perfectly well what was going on, but had prudently and considerately concealed it from me, was quite angry at his indiscretion. I was panic-struck, and fairly clung to the Duke for comfort: I have wondered since how he could endure my tiresomeness. Whenever an officer whispered him and he gave an order I was in a tremor, upon which he said nothing should be done but openly, and he really gave his orders in a way that I might hear distinctly. He asked me to give the watchword, which I declined, and he with great gallantry gave _Elizabeth and Success_, or something to that purpose. The firing continued, and to prevent me listening to every volley, he ordered his band to strike up; they played till I went. He sent me an escort of several light dragoons; I reached Furnes safely some hours after midnight.[96]

_Dover, 1st December, 1793._--Occupation and vexation prevented me from keeping anything like a journal during the whole of my stay in this odious country. I shall collect from memory all I can, whilst I sit watching the weathercock, for we are detained here by adverse winds and waves.

From Furnes we went to Ostend; we embarked with Messrs. Hobart and Meyrick, and had a good passage of about twenty hours. Arrived at Grenier’s Hotel on the 1st of September, and from thence went to my father’s at Windsor. I had the happiness of finding him better, tolerably cheerful, but very weak. After staying a few days with him, I went to my little friends at Bignor,[97] all well, and happy to see me. From thence I went to Stanmer, where I was received with cordiality; Mr. Pelham was there, and of course enchanted at seeing me.

From thence I went across the country to Battle, that detested spot where I had languished in solitude and discontent the best years of my life. I lodged at the Deanery, as I had a superstitious feeling as to passing another night within the same walls which confined me so long. I saw without a particle of satisfaction all the well-known objects, and felt restless until I got out of the place, for I felt half afraid of being detained by some accident. I found Sheffield Place dreary without my old friend; her corner and chair was occupied by her old favourite, Gibbon. The whole family were affected at seeing me; towards evening we grew more comfortable.

Gibbon came out with some of his very tedious witticisms. His joke was that Lady Beauchamp[98] was the most unfortunate woman alive. She was for a day or two wife to the most profligate man in the world, for she was Lady Rochester; she then was wife to a traitor; and was finally become an old German Countess, declared mistress to the King--the Countess of Yarmouth.[99] All these changes arose from Lord Yarmouth finding a difficulty in the choice of a second title upon his father’s being made a Marquis.

[Sidenote: IN ENGLAND]

I went to Brightelmstone; the Prince chose to _combler_ me with every attention and civility. He gave me breakfast in his tent to show me his regiment, of which he is extremely vain. In London I passed all my mornings and evenings with the Duchess of Devonshire. In the morning we attended chemical lectures from Higgins, and in the evening I passed my time at Devonshire House.

I went to Court with Lady George Cavendish. The Queen spoke very crossly when she heard I was going to return to Florence. The King talked about Dunkirk and his son. I dined with Burke at Lady Elliot’s. He was full of delight at the capture of Toulon, and burst forth in a grand strain of eloquence at the prospect of our having again the _Cocarde blanche_ and the standard of royalty raised in one of the chief cities of France. He said the allies were annoyed from a little fort still held by the Republicans, but that once taken they should become masters of the country. This fort was called the Heights of St. Anne’s. ‘Aye,’ said he, ‘St. Anne’s is always in the way,’ alluding to Mr. Fox’s opposition to the war, and his residence being at St. Anne’s Hill, near Windsor.

I heard from Lord Henry, very miserable at not being able to catch me anywhere on my return, but ordered to repair immediately to Stockholm.

Lord Sheffield consulted me about marrying. I recommended him to marry Lucy Pelham; he begged me to sound T. P., who appeared much pleased at the possibility of such an event.[100] I think it will happen. Our parties at Devonshire House were delightfully pleasant. Lady Melbourne[101] is uncommonly sensible and amusing, though she often puts me in mind of Madame de Merteuil in the _Liaisons dangereuses_. The Duke of Bedford is attached to her; he is quite brutal from the _brusquerie_ of his manner. He is magnificently generous to his younger brothers, and indeed to all who are in distress. He is decidedly with Mr. Fox, a circumstance that displeases the staunch courtiers. Mr. Grey is the _bien aimé_ of the Duchess; he is a fractious, _exigeant_ lover. Sheridan has lost his lovely wife. We made friends; he did behave abominably to me without any question two years ago. I lived also a good deal with the Duchess of Gordon; supped with her, and went to the play. I was really very much admired, improved in my manner, and a sort of fashion and novelty by coming from abroad.

[Sidenote: SIR GILBERT ELLIOT]

My old acquaintance Sir Gilbert Elliot[102] is appointed joint Commissioner with Lord Hood and General O’Hara for arranging all civil concerns at Toulon and any other towns that may offer to put themselves under ye protection of the English or allies.[103] This Commission has occasioned much discussion. It is an event to engage the attention of the public, for the surrender of Toulon and the fleet in the harbour gave the allies the entire command of the Mediterranean, and it was the first place in which the standard of royalty has been raised: for at Valenciennes and other places that had been taken by force of arms, there were no declarations in favour of any party or description of that in France.

Sir Gilbert’s former connection with Mr. Fox exposes him to _some_ animadversion upon this occasion, for though I think _myself_ that every person ought to show a readiness to resist innovation, to which Mr. Fox seems disposed to incline, yet such a disposition would be manifested with equal, if not _more_ effect by a disinterested support of Ministers, than adding to that zeal the _encumbrance_ of office. Fox’s friends impute wholly to Sir Gilbert the rupture of the Whig party, as he used the D. of Portland’s name in supporting an opinion that went against Fox; from whence the schism sprung. The D. of Portland assured Mr. Fox that Sir G. was not warranted by his consent to quote what he did. Sir Gilbert, on the other hand, declares that he was expressly desired to do so by the Duke. That there is a lie somewhere is certain, but whether it is from the Duke or Sir Gilbert is only known to themselves. Sir G.’s enemies say that it most probably is in him, as the D. of Portland had his eldest son, Ld. Titchfield, in the House, who had several times spoken the opinions of his father from written instructions, and that in a point of so much importance he would again have been employed in preference to Sir Gilbert, who had no other connection with the D. of Portland than that of belonging to the party as an adherent of Mr. Fox’s; and also that it was so advantageous to Sir Gilbert to usurp the post of delegate from the D. of Portland, as it gave him a weight in the House, and entitled him to a _grateful recompense_ from Ministers, in being the first to announce the disapprobation of the D. of Portland to the scanty Opposition, a point very material to them towards obtaining the public opinion, both in and out of doors. Thus has the celebrated Whig party ended to the ruin of Mr. Fox, and probably to the disadvantage of the country.

[Sidenote: MR. GREY]

Grey is a man of violent temper and unbounded ambition. His connections were Ministerial, but on his return from abroad both parties entertained hopes of him. His uncle, Sir Harry, is a rich, old, positive, singular man, leads a retired life, but was always eager upon politics, particularly against the Coalition--an infamous thing, by-the-bye. His father, Sir Charles Grey,[104] is attached to Government as a military man, and is intimately connected with Col. Barré and Ld. Lansdown, who at that time supported the Ministry. Grey was elected whilst abroad, therefore not pledged to any particular party. The fashion was to be in Opposition; the Prince of Wales belonged to it, and he then was not disliked; all the beauty and wit of London were on that side, and the seduction of Devonshire House prevailed. Besides, Pitt’s manner displeased him on his first speech, whereas Fox was all conciliation and encouragement. Grey’s talents were never fairly tried till the question about the Regency; the speeches he had made before were prepared declamations. He had shown his powers of debating. Fox’s illness prevented him from attending so constantly as he would otherwise have done, and Grey was frequently obliged to enter the lists with Pitt, and on that occasion he showed the strength of his understanding and his powers as a Parliamentary speaker. Notwithstanding this great success, Grey was not generally popular; his manner was supercilious, and like his rival Pitt, they both considered their abilities so transcendent that they seemed to despise experience, and treated their elders with contempt and sarcasm. Grey had often shown his ambition and impatient temper; he grew every day more violent against Pitt, and in 1791 he brought forward his plan of Parliamentary reform, conceiving it to be a measure that would be more peculiarly distressing to Pitt than any other he could bring forward.[105]

Grey had contracted a great friendship with Lord Lauderdale, who is one of those active, bustling spirits that will rather engage in perils, and even mischiefs, than remain in a state of insipid tranquillity. At a dinner at Lord Lauderdale’s, after having drunk a considerable quantity of wine, a sort of roll of enlistment was signed, by which they pledged themselves to bring forward the reform of Parliament. Lord Lauderdale, Grey, Maitland, Francis, Courtenay, Piggott, and others were of the party. This was the origin of the _Friends of the People or Association_. Two or three attempts had been made for a reform; ye first was by Lord Auckland, but his apostacy put an end to it. This society was previously formed upon the same plan as that in which Pitt took such a conspicuous line in the beginning of his political life, at the Thatched House.

Grey was to make the motion for reform in the House of Commons, and was weak and sanguine enough to imagine he was to have the same success; but the times were different. Ye Administration was strong and popular, and the extravagance of French patriots had alarmed all English ones, and Pitt became as popular in resisting Grey’s motion for reform as he had been some years before in proposing one himself. Pitt, who knows what is called the people of England--a very different thing from knowing mankind--better than anybody, did not rest here, but determined to crush his rival by sounding a general alarm and issuing a proclamation, which indirectly was levelled at Grey and the _Friends of the People_. Grey was alarmed and vexed at the failure of this scheme and the loss of popularity. Fox was professedly kept out of all concern in this wild project, under a false and foolish idea, that if it failed he would not be involved in any disgrace that might attend its failure. However, when the motion was made and the discussion upon the Proclamation was brought forward, Grey and his friends were so over-powered in the House, that they were obliged to fly to Fox for protection, and some of them, particularly Erskine and Sheridan, excused themselves from any bad intention by saying they had professed no more than Fox had done on other occasions, and were unfair enough to say that though he had not signed his name with them, he had done more, for he had pledged himself to the public to support their principles.

These debates and those which followed upon the progress of the French Revolution and its effects on the minds of men in England, increased the schism in the Whig party, which Pitt endeavoured to take advantage of by proposing a coalition. Ld. Loughborough and Dundas were the principal negotiators.

[Sidenote: LEAVES ENGLAND]

William Wyndham, by dint of frequent applications to Ld. Egremont to get him a foreign employment, is named to Florence, in lieu of Ld. Hervey. Frederick Hervey[106] is very unhappy at the suddenness and mystery of the proceedings, and has set off to travel by day and night to Florence. He is with us at this moment, and to the full as impatient for a change of wind. I left town on the 29th of November, on Friday. Although I was going to my children, yet I own I felt some severe pangs at leaving behind me many to whom I am most sincerely attached.

_30th._--Dined at Canterbury; Captain Thomas dined with us. Got late to Dover. We hear so much of French privateers that we have sent off an express to Admiral Peyton for a cutter to protect us.

Sailed on Monday, 2nd December, bad wind and bad day. Towards night the sea grew rough and I grew frightened. After a blowing passage, we got safe to Ostend in fifteen hours.

_Tuesday, 3rd December._--Tormented by the impertinence and exactions of the people at the _Douane_. Set off at five in the evening, a _winter night_, for Bruges, which we reached with difficulty very late at night.

_Wednesday._--We dined at Ghent, arrived at Bruxelles at three o’clock in the morning, cold and uncomfortable, and unnecessarily made to travel at these hours. We could get no other accommodations but the same bad ones we had before at the Belle Vue.

_Thursday._--This place is crowded with people of my acquaintance, the Cholmondeleys, etc. She is in a low state, and really affected by the death of the Duchess,[107] who died at Lausanne. I passed the evening there. Lord Yarmouth gave us some curious details about the French prisoners; 4000 are marched into Hungary to work in the mines. He declaimed against the obstinacy of the French who will not accede to any _cartel_, although the Austrians have offered three French in exchange for one Austrian.

The hatred between the soldiery is so great that in the hospitals the sick will not share their food, or lie in the same room. He thinks Toulon quite untenable. I went to supper at Ld. Elgin’s. Nobody would credit that W. Wyndham was appointed Minister to Florence; ‘Comment donc, ce petit polisson, ce petit Jacobin.’ He passed last winter here, and belonged to the Jacobin Club at Paris, and was very much slighted here. Ld. Elgin frankly told me he doubted my story, it was impossible that _such_ a man could be employed.

I had a long conversation with Ld. Malmesbury,[108] who is going to Ath to meet the D. of York. I desired him to deliver my message, which was from T. P., to say that he would obey his instructions in Parliament, what to say about Dunkirk, etc. Ld. M.’s private opinion is that the Duke’s friends ought to be silent, and leave Ministry to fight for their own measures, as they alone can be responsible. Whether the proposal originated with the Duke or at home is not material for his public character. I saw Ld. Darnley,[109] he is less _farouche_ than he was. He has married Miss Bourke [_sic_]. I asked him how the Dss. of G. let him escape her; he said he was naturally obstinate, and the pains she took to prevent his marrying hastened it. He is going to Berlin with Ld. M.

[Sidenote: LORD MALMESBURY’S MISSION]

Barnave is executed; I am disposed to be sorry, as he latterly showed great humanity about the Queen. When condemned he spoke like a philosopher, ‘Citoyens, la Revolution tue les hommes, mais la postérité les jugera’; but he died like a coward, he scuffled when they tried to fasten him to the fatal plank. Ld. Moira is sailed to take the command of the army.[110] Lord Howe is out, and probably gone very far to the westward, as a frigate was brought in that had been taken off Ushant. Ld. Malmesbury thinks he shall not succeed in his attempts to obtain La Fayette’s release. He _has no instructions whatever from Ministry_, and all must be done through his own influence. The Duchess of Devonshire suggested the measure to him: she did not intend writing a letter herself to the Empress of Russia to beg her interference on behalf of the poor captive, but all will be fruitless. I went in the evening to the Baron de Breteuil’s.[111] He is in excellent spirits, and very sanguine about Lord Moira’s expedition. He praises d’Hervilly, who is the chief instigator of the scheme.

_Saturday._--I had a narrow escape of being burnt in my bed last night. A very strong smell of burning made me uneasy, and I examined the room; upon taking up some of the floor we discovered that the beams near the hearth were burnt to cinders.