Letter I.

The honour you do me, in wishing to hear
from me, deserves in return a greater entertainment
than my letters can afford; and if
it was not for the precious name of sister, which
you order me to take, I should perhaps be a long
time before I could venture to write to you; but
when you command me to look upon you as my
brother, the idea coincides so perfectly with the
esteem and friendship I feel for you, that I obey
with pleasure―

Since your Highness left Paris, I have had my
brother and sister here; the south of France has entirely
recovered her, and she is in a fair way of B B1v 2
producing an heir―I have many nephews but
none of that name yet — — — —
— — — — — —

I shall set out to-morrow for Touraine, called
by the French “le Jardin de la France”;—and at three
o’clock in the morning, as it is very hot—My harp
is in the coach with me; for though my intention
is not to stay above three weeks where I am going
to—I cannot be so long absent from the sound of
an instrument that I prefer to every other.

I have sent you some English garden-seeds which
were given to me by Lady ―. I hope when you
are eating your sallads this summer, you will think
of your adopted Sister, and believe that it must be
very good reasons, that deter her from visiting Franconia,
in preference to all other places. — —
— — — — — — —
— — — —

Letter II.

I slept at Orleans last night—and as the
weather is extremely hot, I rested in the middle
of the day at Blois, where I examined the Royal
Chateau, a house composed of different orders
of architecture, built at different periods of time,
and by various persons. The most modern addition
has been made by Gaston Duc d’Orleans, who
chose to place an Italian structure in the midst of
the various irregularity belonging to the ancient
Gothic, one part of which was built by Francis the
First―The ornaments of this (several of them)
were to me as incomprehensible as Egyptian hieroglyphics
would have been. I wished my friend
Mr. W. at my elbow, whose knowledge in, and
taste for the Gothic, might have explained them.
—The porter who conducted me about, seemed a
good historian for a person of his condition.―
I need not tell you, how many extraordinary personages
and events this Chateau called to my mind.
—If the confusion which ambition naturally creates
in history, should at this moment prevent your B2 B2v 4
memory from placing them before you—I refer you
to the Nouveau Voyage de la France, par Mr. Piganiol
de la Force, who gives a cursory account of Blois,
and this Chateau—but he does not say, what I can
assert, that so many persons have scraped the stone
on which Henry Duc de Guise’s blood fell, that
there remains but one half of it.―My old conductor
told me those who preserved the powder
as a relick, were people related to the Guise
family, and curious travellers—I was not one of
them.―This Letter would be too long if I inserted
an adventure which happened to me at the post
beyond Blois. You shall have it in my next. I
will only add to this, that if ever you go from Blois
to Tours, do not go by night—the road is on a
causeway, the Loire on your left, and a precipice
into meadows on your right, without any fence to
prevent an accident, if your postillions were drunk,
or your horses frightened.

The uncommon dryness of the season prevented
my judging of the much boasted beauties of the
Loire, which is now reduced to the narrowest rivulet
I have seen―There are many castles on the
banks which ornament the landscape—and were
probably fortified, in former days; one in particular
put me in mind of dear B. Castle. I suppose they B3r 5
are left now, as most habitations in France are (distant
from Versailles) for a Concierge to keep his pigs
and chickens in

Letter III.

At the post beyond Blois, while the horses
were changing, (an operation not performed in one
minute as in England) one of my servants came up
to the door and said, “ces maudits postillions ne veulent
point laisser monter cet enfant derriere la voiture”. The
word “enfant” always strikes to my very heart: among
the many reasons I had before, I have now an additional
one for feeling about an enfant of any sort.—

I am at this moment above a hundred miles distant
from the most affectionate, the most engaging,
and the most beautiful child that ever mother had,
—and for the first time I have ever left him — —
— — — — — — —

“Quel enfant?” says I, looking out on the left
towards the hind wheel of my Berline—I saw a boy,
seemingly about ten years old, decently dressed in
mourning—a crape round his hat, and black buckles
in his shoes.

“Madame”; says he—and the tears in his eyes
stopped his voice―

“Eh bien, mon enfant, parlez”—

“Madame, le Maitre de poste à Blois m’a conseillé de
monter derriere votre Berline, comme il n’y avait point de
malle—à présent les postillions ne veulent pas m’y laisser—”

“Comment vous appellez vous?”

“Cassius”;

“Cassius—voila un beau nom”; “oui Madame”, said the
child; who had never heard or read of any other
Cassius but himself—“mon pere était géntilhomme”,—and
he gave me a pocket-book which contains letters.
One of these was from a lady of quality to the child’s
distant relations at la Rochelle, desiring them to
place him on board a ship.—

“Comment”, says I; “vous voudriez servir.—”Open note 1Back to note ¹.—

“Oui Madame; je ne saurais étre domestique, parce que
mes peres étaient gentilhommes”,—and among a variety
of questions which I asked him—and to which he
answered modestly and pertinently—whenever he
recollected that circumstance, it was a painful idea.
—He had a brother and sister at Paris, who had
sent him to go from thence to la Rochelle on foot,
with six livres, and his letters of recommendation,
for his support and protection. What unfeeling B4r 7
people! “Avez vous diné aujourd’hui”? It was then
about six o’clock.

“Oui Madame, le maitre de poste à Blois m’a donné à
diner—ce sont les postillions d’ici qui ne veulent pas que
diner—ce sont les postillons d’ici qui ne veulent pas que
je monte derriere votre voiture”. The postillions by
this time were listening to my conversation with the
child, and one of them with a gruff voice said—“si ce
petit monsieur veut payer un cinquieme cheval, il montera.”
“—Et si j’avais une grande malle, comme de coútume?”
says I. “Montez, montez mon enfant”, and turning to the
postillion, “vous aurez de quoiboire à sa santé”; so he was
pleased, and the boy delighted; but as in France more
than any other country in the world, the value of
every thing is—“So much money as ’twill bring;”
—my maid was surpriz’d at my bonté d’ame.―As
I never eat but once a day in travelling, and that at
the end of my journey—I shall never forget
my supper last night―I had got into my bed fatigued,
and ordered my maid to bring me a soup.
I had lain half an hour; the room was dark; and
when the door opened, the first thing I saw was
Cassius holding two wax-lights, preceding my maid.
He said, “Mademoiselle might go to her supper, and
he would wait upon me,” and his countenance had
a mixture of comfort, joy, and gratitude in it, 5 B4v 8
scarcely to be seen but in the candour of youth.
This morning I had settled with the mistress of the
inn that she should agree with a waggoner to take
Cassius safe to la Rochelle—I had given him some
money (too little for charity to name—perhaps what
the avaricious would think too much) and a recommendation
signed with my name, and my seal
upon it, when the postillions I had ordered to take
me to―came to inform me, that, as it was a
cross-country road, they expected three times the sum
usually paid―As I might just as effectually argue
with a horse as with a French postillion, I asked
“where the post-house was?―”

“Only two doors off.”―

I went there; the master was out, but his wife
was at home; and while I was settling matters with her,
one of the old fashioned French post chaises stopt at
the door, with an officer in it, seemingly emaciated
by sickness, and his head wrapp’d up very much.—
Cassius was at my elbow: “Madame, Madame”, says
he, “ce monsieur n’a point de malle”, (in fact all the luggage
was before;) “F’irais bien plus vite à la Rochelle, si
vous vouliez lui demander de me laisser monter sur
sa voiture”.―I went up to the chaise, and curtsied
very low; the officer bowed slightly; I
stept back; but Cassius pulled me by the sleeve,— C1r 9
so I once again advanced and curtsied―“Monsieur”—

“Madame”―

I brought Cassius forward―“Voici un pauvre orphelin
qui va à la Rochelle—Il est venu depuis Blois sur ma
Berline; si vous voulez bien lui permettre de monter derriere
votre voiture ce sera moi qui vous en aurai l’obligation
―Moi”— I repeated in a higher tone of voice.
—The officer had begun staring at me from
head to foot; and before I had finished my speech
he endeavoured, but in vain, to draw off his nightcap
―“Tout ce que vous ordonnez—tout ce qu’il vous
plaira, Madame”―

And I had the satisfaction of seeing the little orphan
comfortably seated, and flying towards la
Rochelle, certain that he would neither be robbed
nor beaten on the road―

I am setting out for * * from whence I will
write you an account of any thing I shall observe
worthy of being related―

Letter IV.

My approach to this place was through bad
cross-country roads. I have seen nothing yet that
could justify the idea of this province being “le
Jardin de la France”. I saw many chateaux, which
from the singular towers, their only ornaments, my
fancy might have represented heralds, giants, or
dwarfs, issuing forth to enquire what bewildered
heroine came so near—mais hélas—I did not see one
preux chevalier, nor any thing about these ancient
structures that could make me imagine they belonged
to gentlemen, much less to noble warriors—
Besides I was gravely seated in a comfortable coach,
varnished and gilt, instead of being on a white palfrey.
To be serious, I am probably writing in a room
once inhabited by one of Marguerite Reine de Navarre’s
ladies of honour; for this chateau was built
by Francis the First for his sister. The outside is
neither regular nor beautiful, and I cannot guess
what order of architecture was intended to be shewn
in the building―One front is towards the river
Cher, flanked by two large round towers with spiral 4 C2r 11
tops, and the ground floor, towards the court, is at
least four stories high from the meadows in which
the Cher runs; this suite of appartments was probably
royal, the rooms remarkably lofty and well proportioned
―I am told the propietaire had laid out
four thousand pounds to repair the house and beautify
the gardens―As to the first, it is in the same
state most country-houses in France are—wanting
painting, white-washing, and repairs of every sort―
The ornaments in the garden are these: many canals
small enough to look like troughs—and statutes
made in plaister, all mutilated; the little that remains
of them made me wish they had never existed
—Part of te castle-ditch remains, and under it
are cellars and subterraneous passages of an enormous
size and length―In this part of the country, the
peasant’s habitation is chiefly hewn in the rock, the
door being the only wooden part of it; the labourers
catch agues and fevers frequently, by returning
home warm, and resting in these damp cells.
From my windows I could see the Loire if at its usual
height, and I have the prospect of a Chateau where the
heiress of Bretagne gave with her hand that province
to France.―In a few days I shall go to Tours,
from whence I shall again write, and assure you how
much I am your affectionate sister―

Letter V

I Gallopped all the way here on horseback,
along a delightful meadow, and got off my horse at
the bottom of the Mail, a very fine walk shaded by
some venerable elms, which, by some strange prodigy,
have escaped the cizeau of the tondeur—and spread
their majestic branches much to the comfort of the
Bourgeoisie of Tours, who here find a cool promenade.
But I am told they are soon to be cut down. “Ils
sont trop vieux”―If Mr. d’Eclufel, the late intendant,
was alive, he would oppose this horrid scheme; for
as he had lived in England some months, and had
sense enough to adopt what was good with us, he has
given this town a clean appearance by adding trottoirs
on each side of the new streets―I am lodged at
the archiepiscopal palace. Monseigneur is not here,
which I regret―I am told he is a man of letters
—of taste I am sure he is, by a chapel he has just
added to his palace.―There is a large cathedral
close to it, the outside Gothic—the stone-work is
worth seeing—nothing in the inside but what is very
mediocre.

Another large church here, de St. Martin,Open note 2Back to note ² is so
nearly connected with our St. Martin’s in the Fields
in London, that the Tours clergy were obliged to
send to London to get some ancient charter explained
―There are many English here — —
— — — — — — — — — —

P.S. I recollect that you may not know what I
mean by the cizeau of the tondeur; to explain which
I must inform you, that shearing the trees in a
French garden is a custom as ancient, and thought as
necessary, as shaving the beard; and tondeurs are paid
for it by the year, as barbers are by the month. I
have had several reasons given to me for this Gothic
custom, among the rest, that it made a tree grow
more beautiful and strong; which last excuse must
no longer be mentioned, naturalists having discovered
lately, that a tree draws as much nourishment
from the fluid received by the leaves, as from
the root itself, — — — But by nature may plead
in vain her cause for centuries to come in France,
she will long go disguised—The gardens and the
poetry exhibit melancholy proofs of this truth,
without my mentioning any more at present.

Letter VI.

I have been to see Veret, a house of the
Duc d’Aguillon’s, where there is nothing worth
looking at, and Richelieu, where not only the palace
but the town was built by the Cardinal of that name
―I rode to a village called Lillebouchar, lost my
way, and rambled above thirty miles over the country,
before I could find out the Curé’s house I was
going to dine with. He is a very good sort of man,
sensible and learned, and had assembled all the good
company in the neighbourhood to dine under a large
tent in the garden with me―I must not forget to
tell you that I passed close by the church from
whence Joan of Arc took her invincible sword,
placed there by Divine Power. Lillebouchar is
only two leagues from Richelieu; where at the first
gate of the avaunt-cour two old guards, with clothes
as ancient as their faces, their bayonets on their
shoulders, precede the company to the inner court.
Here the concierge shews first, statues of the Roman
emperors and heroes, tolerable copies. The
chapel is next shewn, where there is a picture that C4r 15
pleased me much, and which is said to have been
painted by Michael Angelo―I take it to be a
copy―It is spoiling for want of care—and I was
told most of the good pictures were sent to Paris.
I was led through many rooms—the palace is immensely
large. One apartment was called the
Queen’s―Open note 3Back to note ³It was the Cardinal’s first intention to
bring the whole court to Richelieu―Every beam
of wood was shewn in the cielings of those times—
Here they are almost all carved and gilt over—
judge of the expence. There is a whole-length picture
of the Cardinal, by an Italian master, and a good
one. After being walked over the house, large
enough to tire a very able walker, I was offered to
see the “Jardins”; but from the windows I had perceived
the taste of them, and therefore declined that
pleasure―I imagine the reason why the Cardinal
prevented the court from ever coming to RichlieuRichelieu,
was the same policy that he introduced, and that
exists even now, of drawing all the rich nobles
from the seats of their ancestors—involving them in
all the expences of the court at Versailles, that they
might not feel they had a protection in their home
—but look for that, and support likewise, from C4v 16
royal favour alone―A cunning idea of making the
nobles support him in his measures, and particularly
if he acted contrary to the good of his country.

The nobles of my country may thank heaven,
when they reflect that they are members of a great
nation, enjoying their ancient seats, and expecting
honours and emoluments from the court as they may
deserve them from their country.

The French noblesse, at present, indeed have a
comfort under the weight of debts their fathers may
have left them—they have a young monarch, generous
and just—and I really believe one of the
best kings that ever existed. As his power is great—
if the nobles deserve—he will bestow greatly―

P.S. I cannot see Chanteloup, the Duc de Choisel’s
house the Scellé is put on. He is dead but lately
—so I can give you no account of that place― I was obliged to assure the Intendant, and some more
French, the other day at his house, that Sir George
ElliotOpen note 4Back to note ⁴ was not a Frenchman. Since he has immortalized
his name at Gibraltar, I find this nation D1r 17
is extremely desirous of claiming him—but I took
upon me to say I believed Scotland might boast of
being his native land, and that of most of his forefathers
—However, if indeed they would choose to
date from a much earlier period, most of us old
English would be found to be Danes, Normans, &c. You will be surprized to find, that instead of returning
to Paris I am going Southward—My eldest
brother, Lord B―, has written me word, that it
is possible he may pass the winter in Italy; as it is so
long since he has been out of England. I have given
him two routes, and have told him I shall proceed
gently to Florence; there to wait for him―

Letter VII.

Iam safely arrived here, and to avoid going
round some leagues I came a cross-country road;
look on your post-map for Cormery, Loches, Buxancely,
Chateauroux, Ardante, la Chatre, MontmarauCulan,
Roanne―But, dear Sir, follow me only
on paper; for the roads in some places were so bad, and
the lanes so narrow, that my coach is scratched—and
the drivers, with difficulty persuaded to go to the
places I ordered them, sometimes lost their way.
I went through the great part of the Bourbonnais—
and within ten miles of Vichy, where the king’s
aunts were taking the waters, The Auvergne mountains
were fine objects to the right. On my approaching
Lyons, I felt a great difference in the
air—A warmer climate was easily to be perceived—
The small conic winding hills, round which the
country girls with their strange straw hats, and their
distaff at their side, were conducting their goats as they
spun, formed a landscape new to me—particularly
as the flat roofs to the cottages gave a lightness to the
buildings that pleased me much―

A simple kind of plough likewise, drawn by two
oxen, brought that period to my mind, when the
Romans were conquering towns, or founding colonies
―The evening coming on, with a stormy sky,
made me almost fancy that a Roman legion was here
and there concealed by the rocks, which crown almost
every one of the conic hills I have before mentioned,
and which might serve as small batteries; nay
the very clouds, which I often saw resting between
the hills, might have served for momentary concealment.

But we will step out of these clouds if you please
—for I am neither a Roman general nor a goddess,
but at this moment a very much fatigued mortal in
a handsome apartment, Hótel Dauphin, rue de l’Arsenal,
where I shall eat a good supper, drink your health,
and wish you as good a night’s rest as I am likely
to enjoy―

Letter VIII.

On the 1785-07-16sixteenth I was too much fatigued
to look at any thing but the junction of the Soane
and the Rhone, but on the 1785-07-1717th I saw the paintings
in the Hotel de Ville, mostly by Blanchett: his works
are spoiling under the cold hands of neglect and time
―The Taurobolum may be very fine, and much
to be admired by all lovers of antiquity; but I, who
cannot admire what I do not think is beautiful, looked
at it with great indifference―Spon and other
writers give a learned account of this, and of the
brass-plate on which is engraved the speech made by
Claudius in favour of the town, and which is left
within reach of mischievous boys or idle beggars.
The people of Lyons seem to pay a greater
regard to the vanity of the moderns than to the
pride of the ancients. I saw a beautiful sarcophagus
in a lawyer’s court-yard that served as a cistern—
and, in many oldwalls and houses, carvings or inscriptions
which I wished to examine, while the
tradesman within these habitations stared at the
strangers, who could be more anxious about ruins D3r 21
than the new silks or embroidery they wished to sell.
I cannot help thinking any antiquary might find
many more things well worthy of the cabinet of
the curious here than have already been discovered.
As to the town’s being handsome, which I was told
it was, I must assert that many parts of it are positively
frightful; that the houses are crouded together; each
story, as it rises, projecting over the other—and the
streets, as narrow and stinking as those of Paris; but the
environs are beautiful, and it is extremely amusing to
go in aboat every way out of the town―I took
several sketches from different points, one from a little
island, which was formerly called Insula Barbara.
You recollect a large round tower which crowns the
prison of Pierre-encise. The proportions of it struck
my ideas of symmetry very much—and after looking
at it for some time, I landed at the foot of the prison,
and walked up a hundred and twenty steps cut in
the rock: the guards let me in very civilly, and, to
my utter surprise, among the prisoners I found the
— — — whom you must remember, as he was
very often with ― — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
— — — — — — — — — — —
He asked me about J―, D3v 22
and laughed very much in talking over several parties
with him and ― ―; but I
laughed on my part at his taking Mr. ― for Lord
B―.

I had been told Pierre-encise was a state prison, but
it is no such thing: it serves as a temporary retreat
for people of fashion who live to fast—and are
placed there by Lettres de catchet, till it pleases
the kind parents who have obtained them to release
their prisoners. — — — declares, whenever
he obtains his liberty, he shall revisit England, which
I suppose at this time, more than at any other, seems
to him a paradise, as there is no such thing as Lettre
de cachet there―

Do you recollect a most charming picture by
Rubens, in the chapelle des Penitents? I examined it
a long time with great delight―And did you ever
observe that all the fine pictures in France are
spoiling, but those possessed by the church? Indeed
knowledge and taste are chiefly confined to the
clergy—all other etats in France not having leisure
to form their taste; of which truth I must
give a most ridiculous example―Every body last
year, that would be quite à l’Anglaise at Paris, had to
wait on them, what they called a Fakay, a little boy
with straight, lank, unpowdered hair, wearing a round D4r 23
hat—and this groom-like looking thing waited upon
them at dinner, and was frequently stuck up with
three tall footmen behind a fine gilt coach―It was
in vain for me to assert to some grave old French
people that jockey meant riding-goom in a running-
horse stable, and that no grooms ever waited upon
us, nay scarcely ever came into the house, and certainly
nothing but servants, as well dressed and
powdered as the French, waited upon us, or went
behind our carriages. They answered, it must then
be a new fashion, for it was tout-à–fait à l’Anglaise—
et comme on fesait à Londres―

I am called away to go up to the tower of Fourviere
to look over all the town at once,

Letter IX.

The fine prospect I was promised from the
tower was immensely so indeed—Landscapes so various,
and objects so vast and innumerable, that the eye
seeks in vain for a resting place―I do not know,
dear sir, if you are of my opinion; but I like that my
sight as well as my mind should be collected, to enjoy
one pleasing subject at a time—Vary the scene as often
as you please—but I hate confusion so much, that if I
was obliged to choose a house, situated on an eminence,
commanding a large city, many windings of a
river, and an immense tract of country, or one at the
bottom of that eminence, with a view so confined
that I could see only to the end of a small garden, I
think I should prefer the latter―I know this may
seem very stupid, but I never could comprehend the
pleasure of what is usually called a fine prospect,
where it is only with a telescope that the wanderings
of the sight are to be fixed―

I have hired a boat to take me down the Rhone
to Avignon; it is only a few planks nailed together
that brought wood from Savoy, a sort of raft, but E1r 25
looks quite strong enough to contain me and my
small retinue. I send my horse by the coche d’eau
―Do not suppose that my love for the ancients
has totally made me overlook the modern artists
here; a Lyonnais merchant, whom I bought silks of
in London, has shewn me all the new silks and patterns.
An ill taste prevails universally as to dress in
France; the last new designs for waistcoats, particularly,
are frightful great sprawling butterflies—the
very man who was shewing them shrugged up his
shoulders:

“Que voulez vouz, Madame? Il faut toujours du
nouveau”―

There is a curious mill to wind silk on bobbins
here; a horse in a garret on the fourth story turns one
wheel which sets several on all the other floors in
motion, and those turn many thousand bobbins.

Every ancient building here is stuck upon a rock;
and I cannot help thinking they look like teeth,
the rocks serving as roots to them.―I was assured
the Saone ran in a different channel from what it now
does, and that it was the Swiss who had cut through
the rocks to give the river its present course—but if
it ever was turned, I should think it was done by the
Romans, whose works, great and useful, stamped their
date―The remains, that testify how much they E E1v 26
did in the environs of this place, may fairly excuse
my supposition—if Caligula’s successor could now
peep out of his grave—or Nero, who re-established
this town—they might have some difficulty in believing
it was the same―

Letter X.

Nothing can be more delightful than
my last method of travelling by water. I have had
high and contrary winds; but the Rhone’s famed
rapidity that I had heard so much of, was neither surprising
nor terrifying—the shores on each side were
rocks interspersed with vine-yards and castles―
I landed the first day at Condrieux, where I bought
some excellent wine for 25 sols a bottle, the growth
of that place—About a league from thence is la
Montagne Tupain, belonging to Mr. de la Condamine,
where the best Côte-rotie wine is to be had; that
word signifies really and truly roasted-coast, the
grapes being almost broiled by the sun. The wine
is of a red and strong kind—reckoned very fine; but
like many other fine things, I did not relish it.― 4 E2r 27
A little farther on the left is l’Hermitage, a spot so
called because formerly a hermit lived upon that
hill, the wine of which is too much known for me
to say anything about it. I gave three livres a bottle
for it, but found the white so much better than the
red that I ordered some to be sent to Marseilles,
from whence I shall have it shipped for England.

There is a small town called Vienne, that has a
fine Gothic cathedral which I went on shore to
look at, together with a monument belonging to the
Montmorin family, well executed.

I saw several people on the banks of the Rhone
sifting gravel; they find among it little bits of solid
gold, washed down from the mountains; a most
horrid employment in this hot weather I should
think; but what will not poor mortals do for gold,
since the rich are often slaves to that which they
ought to be masters of — — —

Montelimart is a castle from whence I am told
three kingdoms are seen, and seven provinces. I
did not stop to see this or any other of the many
castles I passed by.

At the Pont. St. Esprit, which is a noble bridge
indeed, I think the passage might be dangerous, if the
boatmen were not very attentive.―My coach is so
large, and has such excellent blinds, that I have not E2 E2v 28
suffered from the heat at all.―The shores lose all
their beauty near Avignon, which I could not see,
because it is surrounded by a high turreted wall.—

Madame de Brancas, the Duc de Crillon’s sister,
was very civil to me, and we talked about— —
— — — — — — —
I dined with L— d ―, whose health is much
impaired, and I hope this climate will do him some
good.—

P.S. I am told, by some one who knows the Duc
de Crillon very well, that his sister is exactly like
him; which I can easily conceive, for she has as
many projects about her gardens and houses as her
brother had about the taking of Gibraltar: I hope
they will succeed better than his have, for she is very
good-humoured―

Letter XI.

Dear Sir, I thought it unnecessary to give
you any description of Avignon, because you have
been there, but as you did not take the same road to it
as I did in coming from it, I will endeavour to give
you some faint idea of a natural curiosity that I have
seen, and which pleased me highly—the much
famed Fontaine de Vaucluse.―

I set out from Avignon in the middle of the day,
and arrived at a town called Lille, where I took a
French post chaise, and went in it by the side of the
Sorgue’s clear stream, till the road was too narrow
for the carriage to proceed; I then walked in a
narrow path winding round the immense rocky
mountains to the left, with the stream rapidly flying
by me to the right about a mile, till a cavern, pretty
much in the shape of those which lions come out of
in an opera, presented itself to my view, and from
that flows the river. I am told it is an unfathomable
abyss. Why it is called a “Fontaine”, I am at
a loss to guess.

Monstrous rocks rise over and on each side of
this craggy arch; these seem to bend forward to
meet or crush the curious,―Which ever way I
turned my eyes, I saw gigantic and fantastic shapes,
which nature seems to have placed there to astonish
the gazer with a mixture of the melancholy, terrible,
and chearful; for the clearness and rapidity of the
river makes it a lively object, and where there is a
flat place on the banks, though not above a few
feet in circumference, the peasants have planted trees
or sowed gardens—you lift up your eyes, and see
the most perfect contrasts to them—the birds, which
hovered towards the upper part of the rocks, were
scarcely perceptible. In looking into the cavern, it
appears horrible and gloomy; I could almost have
fancied the river ran thus fast, rejoiced to quit
the mansion from whence it sprung. No wonder
Petrarch’s song was plaintive, if he courted his muse
with this scene perpetually before his eyes; Love and
all his laughing train must fly the human imagination,
where nature displays her features in the
majestic and terrible stile, and I was very glad to
find so good an excuse as this situation for Petrarch’s
eternal complaint—till now I was puzzled to guess,
how a man of his sense could pass the greatest part
of his life in eternizing a lady’s contempt of a E4r 31
faithful passion—but I now believe there was no
Laura—or if there existed one, he found in either
case his imagination particularly turned to poetry,
and that of the melancholy kind; in this, probably
his summer’s residence, I who you know ― ―,
and have as playful a muse as ever smiled upon
mortal, sat examining the astonishing picture before
me with a silent reverential sort of admiration—
and should have remained there till night, if I had
not been informed that it grew very late, and I must
see the pictures of Petrarch and Laura in the
Chateau of the Marquis de Chamont, which is a
miserable house a few steps from the Fontaine.
These pictures are very modern—probably as like you
as the persons that were drawn for.―I returned
to Lille, and eat crawfish and trout, the most excellent
that I ever tasted, which abound in the
Sorgue―I passed through Aix, to come to this
place; I did not stop, as I expected a letter at
Marseilles, the contents of which interested me very
much: for — — — —

I saw many plantations of canes, which I wonder
we do not cultivate in our water-meadows in England
—and I bought very excellent melons out of
the fields for five sols a piece.

A country flowing with wine and oil, and where
figs and melons are to be gathered on each side the
public road, may be a very fine thing; but a want of
verdure and fine trees gives it a most uncomfortable
and ungentlemanlike appearance. When I compared
England and the scene before me together, I
could almost have fancied I had the maladie du pays
upon me—so much did I wish to see a green carpet
under my feet, and some of our beautiful foliage
over my head―

P.S. I forgot to tell you, that while I was
changing the horses at Lille, I talked to Captain B―,
a sailor, who lives with his wife and two children
in that neighbourhood―He very civilly invited
me to pass the evening at his house, talked about my
brother G―, and informed me that the source of
the Sorgue was at this time remarkably low; and I
found by the marks the torrent had left on the
rocks when at its height, that it must be at least
forty feet lower now than when it takes its wintercourse:
as I saw it, it creeps humbly from the cavern
under part of the rock, and becomes rapid as it finds 5 F1r 33
its level and forms a river; whereas, when it is in all
its glory, it tumbles over the rock a wild cascade,
which must add considerably to its terrific beauties
— — — I was informed by the inhabitants of Vaucluse,
that people, who are tired of life, fling themselves
into the cavern, where, as I told you before, the
water is unfathomable; upon this information, I
asked if bodies were often found there; I was
answered in the affirmative, and that they were
chiefly the bodies of priests—Adieu―

P.S. I never felt any heat like that which I
experience here―

Letter XII.

I Have examined the rocks just out of this
harbour, and think some of them most fortunately
situated to defend the port, but what surprised me
much, was being assured by the boatmen who row
me out twice a day (to get a breath of air) that, at
all times of the night, boats are suffered to come in
and out of the harbour without being examined―
— — — —

People of all nations, that fill every day the
great walk leading to the quay, made me think on
my arrival that some important event had drawn all
the people from the houses and ships together—
but a repetition of the same scene soon convinced me
of my mistake. There are two very fine pictures,
painted by Puget, representing some of the horrid
scenes at the time of the plague at Marseilles; they
are only too well executed; I saw several dying
figures taking leave of their friends and looking
their last anxious kind and wishful prayer on their
sick infants, that made the tears flow down my
cheeks―I was told the physicians and noblemen 4 F2r 35
who were assisting the sick and dying were all
portraits. I can easily conceive it, for in some of
the faces there is a look of reflexion and concern
which could only be drawn from life―

I have spoke to Captain ―, who commands
the King-Fisher; he is obliged to perform quarantine
here, though he had already done his duty
in that way at Leghorn and Genoa before; but the
plague rages very much all along the Barbary
coast, from whence he is come; and one cannot be
surprised at any precaution taken at Marseilles
to avoid this danger―

I do not think Marseilles a beautiful town; and
the country houses in the environs, which they call
here Bastides, are frightful.

I have just got a note from on board the King-
Fisher, that has been soaked in vinegar; the direction
is scarcely legible―Adieu, Dear Sir, the heat is
so excessive here that I am absolutely stupified by it.

Letter XIII.

I Stopped in my way here at Toulon, and
intended to look at the dockyards, but was refused,
which surprised me very much, as an English lady
of my acquaintance was suffered to go into them at
the time of the last war with France, when her
husband and all the gentlemen with her were sent
out of the town―I could get no other reason
assigned for the refusal, but this—that since Lord
― had seen them, nothing of English blood should
ever be permitted to go into them. So I walked
about, and all I could see was that the finest ports in
the world, and ships worthy of being commanded by
our admirals, will never make (at least for a great
while to come) good sailors of the French—my
reasons I will tell you, when we meet. — —

Mr. de S―, who refuses to let any English
person see the dockyards at Toulon, expressed a great
dislike to our nation, saying he had reason; you
will laugh when I tell you, that his reason for hating
us is, that in the late war two thirds of his squadron
were taken, with the greatest part of his convoy,
destined for the East-Indies, and had he not bravely F3r 37
ran away himself, he would certainly have fallen a
prey to those opiniatres, feroces matelots as he calls
our sailors―

The gentleman who waited upon Soulanges to
ask permission and plead my cause, wishing to recollect
what defence Mr. de Soulange’s squadron had
made, asked an officer in the room the name of the
French ships, which the poor Mr. de Soulanges so
bitterly lamented; he answered he should recollect
them if he heard their names, but could not
exactly remember―

My friend asked if it was―“the Ville de Paris,
le Glorieux—le Centaur—l’Artois—le Caton—
l’Argonaut—le Jason—le Prothée—le Solitaire—
le Pegase”—here the gentleman stared at him, and
said, “le Pegase was one of them”―

Soulanges said, “yes, but the Foudroyant that took
her was one of the largest ships in our navy, and
commanded by that feroce matelot Captain Jervais,
who would attack the devil, if he met him at sea”;
“but,” added he, “Jervais could not have taken the
Pegase, unless assisted by other ships”―

My friend told him, “the Foudroyant was a two
decker and carried only six more guns than the
Pegase, and was taken in the war before the last, by
the English ship the Monmouth, commanded by 1 F3v 38
Captain Gardiner, that carried but 64 guns—that,
though he had not the pleasure of being personally
known to Capt. Jervais, from his public character he
was sure he would do his best in time of war to burn,
sink, or take the devil, if under French colours.”—He
had a great inclination to have told Mr. de Soulanges
what is very well known, that Capt. Jervais took
the Pegase after an action of little more than half an
hour, without any help whatsoever, but his commands
to a gallant crew—and that the other sail of
the line under Soulange’s command struck to the
Queen, Captain Maitland, after receiving a single
broadside; but he thought a repetition of naval
actions, fairly stated, might be painful to many officers
who were present, and who paid the tribute
due to our navy, in expressing the highest esteem
for it; and so took his leave.

The Pegase in question is the very ship my brother
commanded last war. I have often been told that
she could not sail, by the French—but I always
assured them, that she has profited so much by the
trim he gave her, that she goes now perfectly well—

They have also talked much of the improvement
made in their marine the last war; but unless it is
in the cloathing their ships’ company, I cannot find
out in what―Old English officers have told me, F4r 39
they always found their hearts lay in the same place
as heretofore—and that whenever they could sail
fast enough to get along side of the enemy, the business
was presently settled—I think I need no better
proof of this assertion than one, which I hope may
stand unaltered in the book of Fame for centuries to
come; it is this—our marine is in part composed of
line-of-battle ships taken from our enemies; whereas
there exists not a power upon the face of the globe
that can boast of having in their marine one ship of
the line taken from the British nation―

I do not doubt but that the Ministre de la marine
de France, and French officers, are excellent naval
officers in theory—but when that is to be put in
practice, I hope events will prove, that we remember
we have no other ramparts to defend our country
and our liberties but the ocean, and that we ever
were, are, and must be, a race of feroces, opiniatres,
matelots—You say amen to this wish, I am sure—so
remain yours most affectionately.

I think the drive from Marseilles to Toulon is
beautiful—the rocks are as stupendous and nearly as
fantastic as those about Vaucluse, and for some
miles they are covered with fir trees―

You may form some idea of the magnitude of the
hills and rocks by my protesting, that the trees and a
few cottages which adorn them, look, the first
like tooth-picks, and the latter like the smallest
Dutch toys—the road winds round most gracefully;
wherever there was a little valley, I saw large flocks
of goats—As I came nearer to Toulon, I began to
see many orange and pomegranate trees in the
gardens; and the caper, which is pretty but stinking
creeper, grows wild, wherever it is permitted to
take root―

From Toulon to Hyeres I was gradually apprised
of the charming situation of the latter place, by the
approach to it, which grew more and more lovely
every step I took—The hedges on the road are
composed of myrtle, pomegranate, and wild vine; I
passed by several neat-looking white houses, the
gardens of which are full of large orange trees.

The town of Hyeres is about a league from the
sea, placed on the side of a hill. I shall wait patiently
here for that letter I expected at Marseilles—
This happy spot is refreshed by sea-breezes—and
from the elegant chearfulness which reigns here, it
might almost tempt one to devote many months to
solitude and study.

Letter XIV.

I went up last night on horseback to a
chapel situated on a hill near the sea, called notre
Dame de Consolation: there is a man who calls himself
a hermit, by name Laurent, and who by his
medical knowledge, as he assures me, and the
assistance of the blessed Virgin, cures the King’s
Evil. I talked to him some time; his ignorance and
simplicity amused me very much; but I pity those
who trust to his physical knowledge; I gave him
some very curious receipts, all impromptu, as you
may guess, assuring him, among other things, that
bathing people in aqua fortis was an infallible
remedy for the disorder he cured―

I desire, if ever chance should bring you to
Hyeres, that you will ascend this hill, and examine
the scenes around, towards the sea; the islands of
Portecroix and Pourquerolle are beautiful objects, and
a peninsula called Gien which is joined to the land
only by a narrow road, forms a landscape worthy of
a great master’s pencil—On looking towards the
land, mountains on every side, whose tops are decoratedG G1v 42
with firs and rocks alternately, and towards
the bottom, with olive, orange, and fig trees, form
a beautiful circle, seemingly intended by nature to
prevent the sea from extending any farther—At a
little distance, inland, rises the hill, on the side of
which is built the town of Hyeres: above the town
are seen rocks and remains of the ancient town and
wall.―I could have sat and looked at all this beautiful
scenery for ever; but the evening closing sent
me home to my harp and my books.

Letter XV.

Ihope the following lines will amuse you,
for a moment; I only wish they may make you laugh
as much as I did, when I read the French officer’s
melancholy story in prose; whosoever he may be,
should he take offence at my having turned his
tragedy into a farce, I shall bear his anger patiently,
when I think that the princes of the House of
Bourbon, all the Spaniards, Lord Howe, and Sir
George Elliot, each of whose valour he slights, will G2r 43
certainly laugh with me.―I have marked the
pages where I have literally translated his own phrases,
that you may not suppose I have invented the
strange things he says—and I send you his pamphlet
that you may compare the one with the other―

You see, dear Sir, that I meant to have sent it to
Sir George Elliot; I know he has the French
pamphlet—but as he may not be so partial to the
productions of my muse as you are, I am rather
content that you should see it.

Letter XVI.

Dear Sir! I am extremely surprised that
invalids, who fly to the south in winter, do not
choose Hyeres in preference to Montpellier or Nice;
it is true that it is more solitary than either of these
places; but I am sure, by the accounts I have had
of the last, its lying, gossiping, mischievous stile
of the society must be a most horrid thing for
nerves shaken by illness. There is an uncommon
clearness in the air here; the islands appear to the
eye to be not above three miles distant, and I
am assured they are seven leagues—Provisions are
excellent here, particularly fish; among these, the
John-dory and the red Mullet are of an amazing
size, and excellent; I thought the Dory was called
the Dorade, but it is called the “Poisson de St. Pierre”;
and the Dorade, of which there is plenty, is a very
indifferent fish―They spoil the red Mullet by
constantly pulling out the livers. The land is
too precious here to be spared for building, yet there
are houses enough to lodge several families―

There is very seldom any rain at Hyeres, and the
rides of the environs are the most beautiful that your
imagination can form—particularly one towards the
residence of a Mr. Glapiere de St. Tropés—who has
near his house a beautiful large valley between the
mountains, which he might with little expence
turn into a charming park with a river running
through it.—You must not suppose from the want
of rain here, that there is no verdure, or that the
orange-gardens look burnt by the sun; the natives
of this happy spot are extremely ingenious in
turning every little spring that comes from the
mountains (and these springs are numerous) over
their fields and gardens, so that the constant want of
rain here is the very reason why every vegetation
never fails of being refreshed perpetually.—

Put all these circumstances together, with another,
which I think must weigh with every reasonable
person, out of their own country, which is, that
provisions are very cheap, and you will agree with
me, that Hyeres is a very good place for an invalid
to pass a winter in.―

I am setting out for Antibes, having received the
information I waited for — — — — —
— — — — —

Letter XVII.

Most part of the road from Hyeres to this
place is very mountainous and narrow, so I rode
along the greatest part of it―

I find here an ancient work of the Romans; it is
an aqueduct which a Colonel d’Aquillon imagined
might be restored to its former use of bringing
water to the town, at a small expence; he met with
much opposition and ingratitude from the very
people to whom it could be of use; but I am told
he has obtained a pension, and a monument is
intended to be erected to his honour—I believe
there is no nation but ours that waits for a person’s
death, to shew some sign of satisfaction—for the
benefit derived from their superior talents — —
— — — — — — — — —
— — — — —

If Vauban’s plan had been followed for this port,
it would have been one of the finest in the Mediterranean
—As it is at present, none but vessels of
the lightest burthen can enter—

I have hired a felucca, a long narrow boat with
three shoulder-of-mutton-sails, and ten oars, in
which I mean to go from hence to Leghorn—I
have talked so much lately to you about orange-
gardens, that you may fairly suppose, I passed much
of my time in them; but indeed I have not, for they
are far from being comfortable things to be in,
though magnificent to look at, from a little distance;
there is one, and not a very large garden, at Hyeres,
that brings the proprietor in fifteen hundred
pounds sterling a year; I was taken to see it upon
my arrival—but the ground is so precious in these
gardens, that none is to be spared for walks—so that
I was forced to creep among the orange-trees as I
could, like any other earthly reptile―

The Spaniards and Algerines having lately made
a peace, I am informed I run some risk of being
taken by a Barbary corsair, as the Algerines turn
their spirit of piracy on all other vessels but Spanish
at present—however I cannot say I am the least
afraid, since the very fears of my Italian sailors will
prevent them from going farther from the shore
than what is absolutely necessary for sailing—

Letter XVIII.

I Got no farther than Monaco last night,
where I looked over the old castle which stands
perpendicularly upon a rock from the sea―The
prince was absent; he is adding a Salle de Compagnie
to his chateau, which it wants very much―The
building being ancient and irregular; he has taken
most of the fine pictures to Paris, as his people
told me, and I was shewn a modern cornish in
stucco, one of Adam’s designs, executing as a great
curiosity, though it was none to me, as we have
such in most of our parlours in England―There
are the remains of some fine painting en fresque in
the court―The room the poor Duke of York died
in is one of the most melancholy I ever saw; the
very bed had a gloomy look; but indeed all the
apartments are dark and dismal―The prince has
three houses for his own residence, at a small
distance from each other, on this coast—Monaco,
Moncobron, and Menton―His possessions do not
seem very fertile, from whence probably arises an
Italian distich my boatmen repeated so often in 5 I2r 59
going up to Monaco, that I could not avoid
retaining it; in English it is—Monaco upon a rock,
neither sows nor reaps, but lives on others property—
They added, that part of his revenue consisted in
a tribute which all small vessels pay in going from
France to Italy, that is, all but the French, who are
exempt from this tax, which, by the bye, I saw no
other method of exacting but a miserable little vessel
of his I saw in the port, which they told me
went after the others, who might refuse to pay it—

There were arms and ammunition for forty
thousand men sent in there, by small quantities at a
time, for fifteen months past—from France―

Monaco’s Prince, from his connection with French
families, and his frequenting Versailles, is become,
I suppose (though a sovereign prince) only a tool
of that court―These private military preparations
are conveniently placed for Italy, Monaco being
within four-and-twenty hours sail of any Italian
port north of Leghorn.―Here I found the great
use of my new travelling bed—the feet, which are
of iron, are placed in tin cups full of water, and a
zinzalière, or gauze curtain with no opening to it,
that lets down over me, prevented my being
devoured by gnats and every other sort of biting,
stinging vermin―

I can conceive nothing pleasanter than having a
clean comfortable English yatcht, with four or five
sensible people to go with into Italy, coasting as I
do—The scenery is beautiful—Nice, which I passed
by, is a fine object; the sky too is so clear, every thing
seems to conspire in making this voyage delightful—
but, alas! in a felucca, it is too true, what the late
Lord D― said, that you never come out of one,
without feeling all alive—As soon as the heat of the
sun goes off, with the approach of the evening,
these Italian sailors make a horrid noise too; they
sing, it is true, not unharmoniously; but for two
hours, nay more, the same hymn to the Virgin—
now and then interspersed with a lively balled—so
that the still part of the evening, which at sea particularly
invites to contemplation or conversation,
is ruffled by the gaiety of these poor fellows.―I
am at present in a very good inn, the Golden Stag—
and every thing I see here is so unlike any thing I
ever saw before, that I am at the window gaping
like a country-miss, that is in London for the first
time in her life―

When I have gaped to some purpose, you shall
profit by it ― ―

Letter XIX.

This town is oddly situated—it is so much
confined between the sea and high mountains; the
churches, convents, and their gardens, take up so
much room, that mercantile people can scarcely find
habitations; the palaces are extremely fine, but so
lofty, and the streets so narrow, that to see the
outside of the houses, I think one should lie down
in the middle of a street―I never saw any thing
more truly magnificent than some of the palaces,
the pillars and staircases of which are all marble―
You may judge of the solidity of these buildings:
some of them are seven and eight hundred years
old—I saw one stair-case, the altering of which cost
twenty thousand pounds.―It is well worth any
person’s while to come here who loves fine pictures—
in most of the palaces there are some—a few of the
palaces have large collections—and in these printed
catalogues of them—I have had the greatest pleasure
in looking at some—there are two Vandykes in one
of the Brignoli palaces, that I think invaluable.
The man is on a grey horse, the lady his wife, is a I3v 62
whole length—there is as much grace and beauty
in her face and figure, as his pencil could express—

All the magnificence of the Genoese is confined
to their palaces; by their laws, they cannot have
gold either on their clothes, carriages, or liveries—
The chief amusement of ladies here is walking the
streets in the evening, with their sedan-chair and
several servants behind them, accompanied by one
or more gentlemen—it is very much the fashion
likewise, for every person who can afford it, to have
one or several country-houses—as they call them;
but the situations of them, perched about the steep
rocks, gives me but little idea of the country—The
people in general do not look healthy―All the
women wear what is called a mezzaro, viz. about
two yards or more of black silk or chintz, wrapped
about their heads and shoulders, instead of a cloak; it
is extremely graceful, if well put on—Every woman
has an opportunity of hiding a defect, or shewing a
beauty, as they may conceal one eye, the throat,
the forehead, the chin, or in short suffer those they
meet to see only what they choose to display—The
mezzaro too has a great convenience, which is,
that a woman can so hide herself in it, that she may
walk all over the town unknown; this mezzaro
is particularly advantageous to a person with fine I4r 63
shoulders and eyes―There are but two streets
in the town where carriages can go; so that sedan-
chairs or walking are the principal methods of
going from one place to another.

The females among the lower class disgusted me
much by their head-dress—their hair is strained up
to a point on the top of their head, and fastened to
a pin—judge what figure an old greyheaded or
bald woman must make.

I cannot help thinking this once flourishing
republic, notwithstanding the opulence of some of
its noble families, is becoming very fast a dependent
on, or a creature of the court of France—Some of
their nobles marry into French families—and soon
lose their fortune and their patriotic ideas in the
extravagance and servility of that court—Corsica is
a melancholy proof of this opinion―

Of the two noble Genoese, to whom I had
letters, the lady is dead, and the gentleman is not
here; so that I have announced myself no where,
as I would not be detained here longer than just to
see the churches and pictures, and though I should
have been pleased to have seen the manner of
living of the Genoese nobles, I would not upon any
account get into a train of ministers dinners and
visits―

I have been much surprised to see a black Virgin
and child in one of the churches here; unless it
be to tempt Negroes to turn Christians, I cannot
conceive why they suffer it to remain―

I have been on board the Galéres—and if the
variety of very fine pictures have delighted me, the
sight of heavy chains, and so many human beings
enduring slavery for years, has shocked me beyond
description—yet they do not look unhappy—and I
think servitude a more rational punishment for some
crimes than death; but slavery to an English mind,
I suppose, must be very horrible by what I feel―

Yesterday two Algerine slaves came to my apartment
to sell slippers; the oldest of the two was one
of the handsomest brown men, with the best countenance
I ever saw—he has been a slave five-and-
twenty years, and is suffered to go about without the
usual attendant, which is a man with a stout stick in
his hand, who follows the slaves who walk about
the town chained together, always in pairs―

When I thought upon the fate of this old man;
guilty of no crime; a prisoner of war—his looks
so noble and so honest—I wept—and wished I
might have had interest enough with the Doge
and Senate of Genoa to have sent him home to
Algiers―

These sort of pictures in real life, are of a dark
hue—I must therefore again turn to those I have
seen in the palaces—I confess I should not dislike
to pass three winter months here to examine them
at leisure, and copy a few.―There is a bust of
Vitellius in one of the palaces, for which I am
assured the Duke of Marlborough offered to give its
weight in gold—The sum must necessarily have been
very large, for the bust is so massy that it probably
weighs above half any other marble statue―But
it does much honour to the duke’s taste, as the
work is perfect; and much likewise to the possessor,
to prize so highly what deserves so well to be
esteemed.―I have been offered any price I
choose to ask for a chestnut Suffolk-horse here; the
stable it is in is crowded every day, and it grieves
some of the Genoese very much that I will not
part with him—but I think a good woman’s horse
is so difficult to be had, that I never can understand
how any person can part with one―

Letter XX.

I Set out again in a felucca, intending to land
at Leghorn, but contrary winds or calms became so
tiresome to me that I landed at an Italian port
called Via regia, had my coach taken out, and set
out by land for this place.―I have passed
through a forest of oaks, belonging to the Grand
Duke.

Some of these oaks are the largest and finest
looking timber-trees I ever saw; I am assured here
the wood is not hard and good, like our English
oak; if so, I suppose it is affected by the climate—

I could not help reflecting in one of the finest
palaces at Genoa on the want of unity and order,
the two principles on which good taste is founded,
that is ever discovered in the dress and ornaments of
all kinds which foreigners have―

I had passed through an immense suite of rooms,
each more magnificent than the other; when coming
into the bed-chamber of the mistress of the house,
her dress which she had pulled off the night before,
even her bracelets and rings lay upon a table, and K2r 67
I can with truth assert—no village-girl could have
adorned herself with more mean, ordinary, paltry
finery than was exhibited―The heir to this noble
house, a child of about two years old, that had
taken a fancy to my looks, and accompanied me
through the apartments, was dressed likewise in a
coarse coloured linen―

These circumstances were such contrasts to the
house, that it brought to my mind a hundred
examples of the like in France, where often, to get
at the most elegant Salle de Compagnie, you are
obliged to pass through a dirty antichamber, where
you are forced to hold up your petticoats, that you
may not sweep in to the inner rooms a load of
filth―In the streets you meet a magnificent
carriage, attended by servants in costly liveries,
drawn by a pair of dog-horses, the harness of which
a hackney-coachman would not use with us—and
frequently at Paris the finest hotels have their
architecture disgraced by the black funnel of a
temporary chimney, running out at a window or
through a cornice―

These incongruities cannot be imagined, nor
believed, but by those that have seen them―
With us cleanliness constitutes our first elegance;
and fitness of things is next considered—and I believe K2 K2v 68
it is the combination of these two circumstances
which enchants foreigners of sense and parts so much
in England―

The Grand Duke and Duchess are here, so that
the apartments usually let out to company are taken
up by them and their suite―

I have hired a comfortable house here by the
week—these baths, first built by the Roman Emperors,
are kept in excellent repair; and well they
may, for the bathing is excessively dear―

There is a public room at the palace, where the
company assemble about nine in the evening—the
heat in the day is excessive—all the Italians lie
down and sleep after dinner, and get up to dress
about six, walk afterwards, and meet in the great
room.―I met the Grand Duchess last night,
with another lady—I had not the least idea who
she was, being followed by a single footman in
grey—she looked at me with the greatest attention,
and curtsied very civilly—I curtsied and stared
at her, from her extreme likeness to my cousin of
witty memory, the late lady T―

I was pestered to death with questions about my
harp at night―I find a harp with pedals is a very
rare thing in Italy—and an English person meets K3r 69
with homage little short of adoration―The very
shopkeepers and peasants look in my face and say—
“Cara—Cara Inglese—”

These baths are very good for palsies, paralitic
disorders, gout, rheumatism, and scrofulous complaints;
Pisa and Lucca are near—Pisa, I find, the
Grand Duke prefers to Florence.―I should think
an invalid might pass a comfortable winter here—

Letter XXI.

I Have rode over to Pisa, where I have been
much entertained; the cathedral, the baptistry, and
the Campo Santo are well worthy a sail from
England―

The leaning tower, which you may probably
have seen, or at least read and heard many accounts
of, is a proof, among many others, that in all ages
fancy is too often mistaken for taste―It has the
appearance of patchwork, from the variety of orders K3v 70
of architecture displayed in the pillars, which stand
in rows one above the other, from the base to the
top―As to the learned in building pretending to
say the tower was built leaning, only to shew the
excellence of the workmanship, they certainly
delude themselves, or desire to impose upon
credulous persons―There are many proofs of the
ground having sunk; one infallible, according to
my judgment; and that is, the first row of pillars
being above half buried in the earth―This tower
stands by itself—some paces from it, I entered the
cathedral through brass doors brought from Jerusalem,
representing, in relievo, the history of Christ—
but I would prefer the possession of one pannel of
the folding doors on the opposite side of the cathedral
to the whole of these; for the modern relievo,
executed by John of Bologna, is full of grace and
nature; while the ancient seems chiseled out by an
awkward carpenter―There is a beautiful urn
placed on a pillar on the outside of the church,
which was shewn formerly as the cup which
measured the tribute paid to Cæsar—but that mistake
is now rectified, and the true ancient use restored
to it—it contained the ashes of some illustrious
personage―A fine sarcophagus is likewise placed at
the door of the cathedral, as a monument to the 5 K4r 71
Comtesse Matilda—who was sovereign of this
country—and is said piously to have added much to
the magnificence of these buildings—but the croisades
have afforded their most curious relics―