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Tour in England, Ireland, and France, in the years 1826, 1827, 1828 and 1829.

by Fürst von Hermann Pückler-Muskau · English · Gutenberg #46223 · 1,835,752 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Tour in England, Ireland, and France, in the years 1826, 1827, 1828 and 1829.

Author: Fürst von Hermann Pückler-Muskau


        
Release date: July 8, 2014 [eBook #46223]
                Most recently updated: November 28, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOUR IN ENGLAND, IRELAND, AND FRANCE, IN THE YEARS 1826, 1827, 1828 AND 1829. ***




Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available by The Internet Archive)







 Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed.

 Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows the
 text. Archaic spellings (i. e. visiters, wo, scissars, apalling,
 recal, mattrass, etc.) have been retained.

 A few misspellings in French and German have not been corrected.

 The footnotes have been moved to the end of the text body.





                                 TOUR

                                  IN

                     ENGLAND, IRELAND, AND FRANCE,

                                  IN

                 THE YEARS 1826, 1827, 1828, AND 1829.

                            WITH REMARKS ON

     THE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE INHABITANTS, AND ANECDOTES OF
                   DISTINGUISHED PUBLIC CHARACTERS.

                        IN A SERIES OF LETTERS.

                          BY A GERMAN PRINCE.

                             PHILADELPHIA:

               CAREY, LEA & BLANCHARD, CHESTNUT STREET.

                                 1833.




                         TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

                                TO THE

             FIRST AND SECOND VOLS. OF THE LONDON EDITION


The following work being the genuine expression of the thoughts and
feelings excited by this country in the mind of a foreigner whose
station, education, and intelligence seem to promise no common degree of
aptitude for the difficult task of appreciating England, it has been
thought worth while to give it to the English public. The Translator is
perfectly aware that the author has been led, or has fallen, into some
errors both of fact and inference. These he has not thought it expedient
to correct. Every candid traveller will pronounce such errors
inevitable; for from what class in any country is perfectly accurate and
impartial information to be obtained? And in a country so divided by
party and sectarian hostilities and prejudices as England, how must this
difficulty be increased! The book is therefore given unaltered; except
that some few omissions have been made of facts and anecdotes, either
familiar to us, though new to Germans, or trivial in themselves.

Opinions have been retained throughout, without the least attempt at
change or colouring. That on some important subjects they are not those
of the mass of Englishmen, will, it is presumed, astonish no reflecting
man. They bear strong marks of that _individuality_ which characterizes
modes of thinking in Germany, where men are no more accustomed to claim
the right of thinking for others, than to renounce that of thinking for
themselves. This characteristic of the German mind stands in strong
contrast to the sectarian division of opinion in England. The sentiments
of the author are therefore to be regarded simply as his own, and not as
a sample of those of any sect or class in Germany: still less are they
proposed for adoption or imitation here. The opinion he pronounces on
French and German philosophy is, for example by no means in accordance
with the popular sentiment of his country.

The Letters, as will be seen from the Preface, were published as the
work of a deceased person. They have excited great attention in
Germany; and rumour has ascribed them to Prince Pückler Muskau, a
subject of Prussia, who is known to have travelled in England and
Ireland about the period at which these Letters were written. He has
even been mentioned as the author in the Berlin newspapers. As, however,
he has not thought fit to accept the authorship, we have no right to fix
it upon him; though the public voice of Germany has perhaps sufficiently
established his claim to it. At all events, the Letters contain
allusions to his rank, which fully justify us in ascribing them to _a
German Prince_. They likewise furnish internal evidence of his being a
man not only accustomed to the society of his equals, but conversant
with the world under various aspects, and with literature and art: of
fertile imagination; of unfettered and intrepid understanding; and
accustomed to consider every subject in a large, tolerant, and original
manner.

The author of the '_Briefe eines Verstorbenen_,' be he who he may, has
had the honour and happiness of drawing forth a critique from the pen of
Göthe. None but those incapable of estimating the unapproachable
literary merits of that illustrious man, will be surprised that the
Translator should be desirous of giving the authority of so potential a
voice to the book which it has been his difficult task to render into
English.

The following extracts from Göthe's article in the _Berliner Jahrbuch_
will do more to recommend the work than all that could be added here:--

     "The writer appears a perfect and experienced man of the world,
     endowed with talents, and with a quick apprehension; formed by a
     varied social existence, by travel and extensive connections;
     likewise a thorough, liberal-minded German, versed in literature
     and art.

     * * * "He is also a good companion even in not the best company,
     and yet without ever losing his own dignity. * * *

     "Descriptions of natural scenery form the chief part of the
     Letters; but of these materials he avails himself with admirable
     skill. England, Wales, and especially Ireland, are drawn in a
     masterly manner. We can hardly believe but that he wrote the
     description with the object immediately before his eyes. As he
     carefully committed to paper the events of every day at its close,
     the impressions are most distinct and lively. His vivacity and
     quick sense of enjoyment enable him to depict the most monotonous
     scenery with perfect individual variety. It is only from his
     pictorial talent that the ruined abbeys and castles, the bare rocks
     and scarcely pervious moors of Ireland, become remarkable or
     endurable:--poverty and careless gaiety, opulence and absurdity,
     would repel us at every step. The hunting parties, the drinking
     bouts, which succeed each other in an unbroken series, are
     tolerable because he can tolerate them. We feel, as with a beloved
     travelling companion, that we cannot bear to leave him, even where
     the surrounding circumstances are least inviting; for he has the
     art of amusing and exhilarating himself and us. Before it sets, the
     sun once more breaks through the parted clouds, and gives to our
     astonished view an unexpected world of light and shadow, colour and
     contrast.

     "His remarks on natural scenery, which he views with the eye of an
     artist, and his successive and yet cursive description of his
     route, are truly admirable.

     "After leading us as patient companions of his pilgrimage, he
     introduces us into distinguished society. He visits the famous
     O'Connell in his remote and scarcely accessible residence, and
     works out the picture which we had formed to ourselves from
     previous descriptions of this wonderful man. He next attends
     popular meetings, and hears speeches from O'Connell, Shiel, and
     other remarkable persons. He takes the interest of a man of
     humanity and sense in the great question which agitates Ireland;
     but has too clear an insight into all the complicated
     considerations it involves to be carried away by exaggerated hopes.
     * * *

     "The great charm, however, which attaches us to his side, consists
     in the moral manifestations of his nature which run through the
     book: his clear understanding and simple natural manners render him
     highly interesting. We are agreeably affected by the sight of a
     right-minded and kind-hearted man, who describes with charming
     frankness the conflict between will and accomplishment.

     "We represent him to ourselves as of dignified and prepossessing
     exterior. He knows how instantly to place himself on an equality
     with high and low, and to be welcome to all. That he excites the
     attention of women is natural enough,--he attracts and is
     attracted; but his experience of the world enables him to terminate
     any little _affaires du coeur_ without violence or indecorum.

     "The journey was undertaken very recently, and brings us the latest
     intelligence from the countries which he viewed with an acute,
     clear, and comprehensive eye.

     "He gradually affords us a clue to his own character. We see before
     us a finely constituted being, endowed with great capacity; born to
     great external advantages and felicities; but in whom a lively
     spirit of enterprise is not united to constancy and perseverance;
     whence he experiences frequent failure and disappointment. But this
     very defect gives him that peculiar genial aimlessness, which to
     the reader is the charm of his travels. * * *

     "His descriptions are equally good in the various regions for which
     talents of such different kinds are required. The wildest and the
     loveliest scenes of nature; buildings, and works of art; incidents
     of every kind; individual character and social groups,--all are
     treated with the same clear perception, the same easy unaffected
     grace. * * *

     "The peculiarities of English manners and habits are drawn vividly
     and distinctly, and without exaggeration. We acquire a lively idea
     of that wonderful combination, that luxuriant growth,--of that
     insular life which is based in boundless wealth and civil freedom,
     in universal monotony and manifold diversity; formal and
     capricious, active and torpid, energetic and dull, comfortable and
     tedious, the envy and the derision of the world.

     "Like other unprejudiced travellers of modern times, our author is
     not very much enchanted with the English form of existence: his
     cordial and sincere admiration are often accompanied by unsparing
     censure. * * *

     "He is by no means inclined to favour the faults and weaknesses of
     the English; and in these cases he has the greatest and best among
     them--those whose reputation is universal--on his side."--GÖTHE.




                         TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE

                                TO THE

             THIRD AND FOURTH VOLS. OF THE LONDON EDITION.


Since it has been suggested that I ought not to suffer several glaring,
though (as I think) unimportant, errors to pass unnoticed, as if I were
not aware of them, I mention the most conspicuous. The Author says the
Royal Exchange was built by Charles II.; that the piece of water at
Blenheim covers eight hundred acres, whereas I am told it covers only
two hundred and fifty;--he calls the great Warwick Beauchamp, and not
Neville:--alluding to Sir Walter Scott's 'Kenilworth,' he calls Varney,
Vernon; and he lays the scene of Varney's murder of his wife at
Kenilworth, instead of at Cumnor.--There may be more such mistakes for
aught I know. Such are to be found in every account of a foreign country
I have ever seen, with the exception of some two or three works of
faultless correctness and veracity, which nobody reads. Of these Carsten
Niebuhr's may be taken as a representative. Whoever has had the good
fortune to see a work on Germany, which was considerably accredited
here, commented with marginal notes by an intelligent and veracious
German, may have had a fair opportunity of comparing the sum of
misstatements between the two countries. Of our 'natural enemies' I say
nothing, nor of our irritable child, whom so much has been done to
irritate, across the Atlantic. Of Italian travellers, Eustace is given
up as nearly a romance-writer; Englishmen believe Forsyth to be
extremely correct, but instructed Italians point out errors grosser than
any of those here noticed. After all, errors of the kind are (except to
tourists) comparatively unimportant, when they relate to countries which
are not explored with a view to science, but merely for the purpose of
giving the general aspect, moral and physical, of the country. Whoever
succeeds in doing that with anything like fairness, may be regarded as
having effected as much as the extreme difficulty of obtaining accurate
information, even on the spot, will admit; and, in a work like the
present, which makes no pretension to any higher character than that of
chit-chat letters to an intimate friend, will have accomplished all that
it is fair to look for.

It has also been suggested that I ought to have given the names of the
persons alluded to at length, instead of merely copying the initials
given in the original. To this I can only reply, that had I the
inclination, I am totally without the power. I know nothing of any of
the persons or incidents recorded; nor have I any means, which are not
equally at the command of all my readers, of guessing to whom the Author
alludes in any case. Inquiries of the kind are as foreign to my tastes
and pursuits as the society in question is from my station in life. I
have regarded these incidents solely in the light of illustrations of
national manners; and the applying them to individuals is a matter in
which I should take not the slightest interest. But since it is obvious
that this is not the common taste, I have rather thought to obscure than
to elucidate those parts of the book which are objectionably personal.
If I could have done this still more, without entirely changing the
character of the work, I should have done it. But by any such material
change I should have made myself, in some sort, responsible for its
contents: which, as a mere translator, I can in no way be held to be.
Whenever I find that the English public are likely to receive, with any
degree of favour, such a German work as it would be my greatest pride
and pleasure to render into my native tongue to the best of my ability,
I shall be too happy to share with the illustrious and humanizing poets
and philosophers of Germany any censure, as I should feel it the highest
honour to partake in the minutest portion of their glory.

       *       *       *       *       *

Hitherto I have found no encouragement to hope that any such work as I
should care to identify myself with, would find readers.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Reviews and other Journals (which, for the most part, have been
divided between excessive praise, and censure equally excessive, of this
slight but clever work) have, of course, not been sparing in allusions
to the personal character of the Author. Of that, and of all that
concerns his residence here, I am utterly ignorant. When I projected the
translation of the book, I believed it to be, what the title announces,
_The Letters of a deceased Person_. All that I now know of the Author's
personal history while in England, (if information from such sources may
be called knowledge,) is gained from the writings of his reviewers.
Whether their representations be true or false, I have not the slightest
interest in discussing. Even if every several anecdote related by him
were a lie, it would remain to be considered, whether or not his remarks
on England and English society tallied in the main with those of other
instructed foreigners, and with those of the more impartial and
enlightened portion of Englishmen.




PREFACE OF THE EDITOR.


The Letters which we now lay before the public have this
peculiarity,--that, with very few and unimportant exceptions, they were
actually written at the moment as they appear in these pages.

It may, therefore, easily be imagined that they were written without the
most distant view to publicity. The writer, however, is now numbered
with the departed. Many scruples are thus removed: and as his Letters
contain not only many interesting details, but more especially internal
evidence of a real individuality; as they are written with no less
uncoloured freedom than perfect impartiality,--we thought that these
elements are not so abundant in our literature as to render such a work
a superfluity.

It was, I must confess, an infelicity which attended the deceased author
during life, that he set about everything in a manner different from
that pursued by other men; from which cause few things succeeded with
him. Many of his acquaintances thought that he affected originality. In
that they did him injustice. No man was ever more sincere and genuine in
his singularities; none, perhaps, had less the appearance of being so.
No man was more natural, in cases where everybody thought they saw
design.

This untoward fate still, in a certain degree, pursues the appearance of
his Letters. Various circumstances, which cannot be explained here,
compel us, contrary to all usage, to begin with the last two volumes,
which the public must accept as the first. Should these meet with
approbation, we hope soon to be able to publish that _preceding sequel_
which will be found no less independent than these. For the convenience
of the reader, we have annexed a short table of contents, as well as
occasional notes, _ad modum Minellii_; for which we beg pardon and
indulgence.

_B----, October 30, 1829._




CONTENTS.


LETTER I.

Departure. Madame de Sevigne. Dresden. Homoeopathic disposition. The art
of travelling comfortably. Reminiscences of youth. Weimar. Grand Duke's
library. The Court. The park. Dinner at Court. Duke Bernhard. Anecdote.
Visit to Göthe. A day in the Belvedere. Late Queen of Wurtemberg.
Granby. English abroad and at home......1

LETTER II.

Gotha. Old friends. Eisenach. The wedding. Hasty flights. The banks of
the Ruhr. Wesel. Fatherlandish sandbanks. Beautiful gardens of Holland.
Foreign air of the country. Culture. Utrecht. The cathedral at Gouda.
Houses built aslant. Fantastic windmills. Rotterdam. The civil banker.
Pasteboard roofs. The golden gondola. Ætna. The lovely girl. L'adieu de
Voltaire......9

LETTER III.

The passage. The planter. The English custom-house. The lost purse.
Macadamized roads. Improvements of London. Specimens of bad taste.
National taste. The Regent's Park. Waterloo bridge. London Hotels. The
bazaars. Walks in the streets. Shops. Dinner at the ---- Ambassador's.
Johannisberg. Chiswick. Decline of taste in the science of gardening.
Favourable climate. The menagerie. Life in the City. The universal
genius. The exchange and Bank. The gold cellar. Court of justice of the
Lord Mayor. Garroway's Coffee-house. Rothschild. Nero. Exeter 'Change.
Wurtemberg diplomacy. Theatre in the Strand. The ingenious man. Too much
for money. Hampton Court. Dangerous fumigation......14

LETTER IV.

Climate. British Museum. Its guards. Strange _Mischmasch_. Journey to
Newmarket. English scenery. Life there. The races. The betting-post.
Visit in the country. English hospitality. The Dandy. Englishmen on the
continent. National customs. Order of dinner. Hot-houses. Audley end.
The Aviary. Short Grove. Sale of Land in England......23

LETTER V.

Advice to travellers. Clubs. Virtue and Umbrellas. Arrangement of Maps.
English wine. How an Englishman sits. Comfortable customs. Rules of
behaviour. Treatment of Servants. The higher classes. Rules of play.
Pious wishes for Germany. Good-breeding of a Viscount. The actor Liston.
Madame Vestris. 'Manger et digerer.' Sentimental effusion. Inconvenient
Newspapers. Drury-lane. Braham the everlasting Jew. Miss Paton.
Vulgarity of the theatre. Coarseness of an English audience......34

LETTER VI.

Barrel organs. Punch. His biography. Ruined Houses. The King in
Parliament. Contrast. George the Fourth. The Opera. Figaro without
Singers. English melodies. Charles Kemble. Costume of old times. Prince
E----. A diplomatic 'bon mot.' Sir L---- M----. Practical Philosophy.
Falstaff as he is and as he should be. The King in Hamlet. The
intelligent actor from Newfoundland. Little circle in the great world.
How the day passes here. Learning languages. The author of Anastasius.
His antique furniture. Oberon. The chorus of rocks. Presentation to the
King. Incidents at the levee. Dinner with Mr. R----. Real piety. His
fashionable friends. State carriage of the King of the Birmans. Mathews
at home......44

LETTER VII.

The auctioneer. The Napoleonist. French theatre. A rout. Lady Charlotte
B----. Politics and conversation. English Aristocracy. The foggy sun of
England. Extraordinary testamentary dispositions. Modern knights of St.
John. Sion House. Richmond. Adelphi. Admirable drunkard. Alexander Von
Humboldt. King of Prussia. The Diorama......58

LETTER VIII.

Journey of business. Gothic and Italian villa. Stanmore Priory. English
country inns. Breakfast. Cashiobury Park. Tasteful magnificence.
Drawings by Denon. Flower-Gardens. Ashridge. Modern Gothic. Woburn
Abbey......64

LETTER IX.

Warwick Castle. Feudal Grandeur. The baronial hall. Portraits. Joan of
Arragon. Machiavelli. Leamington. Guy's Cliff. His cave. Gaveston's
cross. Tombs of Warwick and Leicester. The ruins of Kenilworth.
Elizabeth's balcony. The past. Birmingham. Mr. Thomasson's manufactory.
Aston Hall. Cromwell. Chester. The town prison. The rogue's fête......70

LETTER X.

Hawkestone Park. Uncommonly beautiful scenery. The red castle and New
Zealander's hut. More manufactories. Dangerous employment. The room in
which Shakspeare was born. His grave. Various parks. The Judith of
Cigoli. Blenheim. Vandalism. Pictures. Oxford. Its Gothic aspect. The
Sovereigns as Doctors. The Museum. Tradescant and his bird Dodo. The
blue dung-beetle in the character of a knight. Elizabeth's riding
gaiters, and her lover's locks of hair. The library. Manuscripts. Stowe.
Overloading. Louis the Eighteenth's lime trees. Valuables behind a
grating. Decoration for Don Juan. Portrait of Shakspeare. Ninon de
l'Enclos. Balustrade. Christmas pantomimes......81

LETTER XI.

Conversational talents of the French. Death of the Duke of York.
Adventure at his house. English mourning. Excerpts from my journal. Lady
Morgan's Salvator Rosa. 'What is conscience?' Cosmorama. Skating on the
Serpentine. The blacking-manufacturer's 'sporting match.' Visit to C----
Hall. Life there. Lord D----'s recollections of M----. Pictures. The
most beautiful woman. The Park......97

LETTER XII.

Brighton. Sunset. Oriental baths. 'Gourmandise' and heroism. Count
F----. Ride on the sea-shore. Almack's ball. English notions of
precedence. The romantic Scot. Sermon and priests. Duties of a clergy.
The windmill. Party at Count F----'s. Highland Costume. Private balls.
Wanderings of the garden Odysseus. Innocent politics......107

LETTER XIII.

Beggar's eloquence. Tea-kettle pantomime and jugglers. Dream
Superstition. The fancy ball. Miss F----. Mrs. F----. Remarks on
society, 'Nobodies.' Pleasures of a ball. Pictures in the clouds. The
French Physician. Amateur Concerts. Chinese feet. Italian Opera. Hyde
Park. English horsemanship......117

LETTER XIV.

Technicalities of English Society. 'Bonne chere.' Captain Parry and his
ship. The Guards' mess. Play. 'Le Moyen age.' Monkeys and Poneys. 'Le
Grand Seigneur dentiste.' Lady Hester Stanhope in Syria. Adam still
alive. Tippoo Saib's shawl. Homeward flight. Lord Mayor's dinner. Lord
H----'s and the Banker's houses. Inaccessibleness of Englishmen. Persian
Charge d'affaires. Courtesy of the English princes. Ride in the
suburbs......123

LETTER XV.

Correspondence. Lord Mayor's feast. Speeches. Caricatures. Dangers of a
fog. English society. Middle classes. Critical position of the
Aristocracy. Freedom of the press. Newspaper extracts. Dinner at Mr.
Canning's. Concert. Easy manners. Liston. The Areopagus. Rev. R. Taylor.
Almack's. Rapid travelling. Prince Schw----. House of Commons; Messrs.
Peel, Brougham, Canning. House of Lords; Duke of Wellington, Lords
Goderich, Holland, Lansdowne, Grey. Value of a ticket for Almack's. Lady
Politicians. Indian Melodrame. Sir Thomas Lawrence. Portuguese eyes.
Prince Polignac. London season. Duchess of Clarence. Countess L----'s
ball. English horsewomen. Breakfast at the Duke of Devonshire's. The new
Venus. Crush of Carriages. Dinner at the Duke of Clarence's.
Fitzclarence family. English-French. Dinner at Mr. R----'s. Marchioness
of L----. Marquis of L----. Bishops' aprons. Concerts of ancient music.
Ambulating advertisements. Mr. R----. Aristocracy in Religion.
Dream......130

LETTER XVI.

Mr. Hope's collection of pictures and statues. Toilette-necessaries of a
Dandy. Ladies' conference. Style of invitations. Duke of Sussex. Major
Kepple. Ascot races. S---- Park. The charming fairy and her
country-house. Windsor Castle. Disaster. Greek boy. British cavalry.
Absence of military pedantry. Balls. Disenchantments. Horticultural
breakfast. Colossal pines. Tyrolese singers. Northumberland-house. Sir
Gore Ousley. Persian anecdotes. Flower-table. Children's balls. Art and
nature. Greenwich. Execution. Contrasts. Party at the Duchess of Kent's.
Marie Louise. King of Rome. Heat. King's-bench and Newgate prisons. The
unconscious philosopher. Vauxhall. The battle of Waterloo. Ball at Lady
L----'s. Phrenology. Mr. Deville's character of myself. Mr. Nash's
library. Dinner at the Portuguese Ambassador's. St. Giles's. Exhibition
of English pictures. Pounds and thalers. 'Excerpts'. Gossip. Visions of
the past. The Tunnel. Astley's Theatre. Parody of the Freischutz.
Bedlam. The last of the Stuarts. Funerals. Omens. Barclay's brewery.
West India docks. Amusing charlatanerie. Westminster Abbey by night.
Dinner at Sir L---- M----'s. Practical Bull. English Opera. New organ.
Miss Linwood. Solar Microscope. Panoramas. Death of Canning. 'Vivian
Grey.' St. James's Park. Respect for the public. Propensity to mischief
in the people. Exclusiveness of the great. London in autumn. Newspaper
facts......146

LETTER XVII.

Descent in a diving-bell. Obliging fire. College of Surgeons. The false
mermaid. The sagacious ourang-outang. Extraordinary recovery. The living
skeleton. Fortune. The desperate lover. Salthill. Stoke Park. Dropmore.
Windsor Castle. Eton. St. Leonard's Hill. Windsor Park. Habits of George
the Fourth. The giraffe. Virginia Water. Lord and Lady H----. Character
of Lord Byron. Windsor Terrace. St. George's Chapel. Day dreams. English
promptitude. Military men of England. Frogmore. Anecdote of Canning.
Egham races. Dwarf trees. Moonlight walk. Respect for the law......177

LETTER XVIII.

What a park should be. Horses. Lady ----. Hatfield and Burleigh.
Doncaster Races. Pomp in the country. Duke of Devonshire's equipage.
Madame de Maintenon. Useless talents. York Minster. Library. Walk in the
city. Skeleton of a Roman lady. Clifford's Tower. The county jail.
Thieves' wardrobe. Ascent. Town-hall. Armorial bearings of citizens.
Madame de Maintenon. Archbishop's palace and kitchen-garden. Singular
absence of mind. Castle Howard. Pictures. The three Mary's. Painted
memoirs. English habits. Bad climate. Equine sagacity. Scarborough. The
rock-bridge. Light-house on Flamborough-head......188

LETTER XIX.

Whitby. What is remarkable in a Duke. The ruin. The Museum. Alum mines.
Lord Mulgrave's castle and park. Singular accident. Fountain's Abbey.
Studley Park. The Catacombs at Ripon. Harrowgate. The End of the World.
The old General. Aristocratical influence. Harewood park. Kennel.
Horses. Wooden curtains. Lord Harewood. Leeds. Reform in Parliament.
Cloth manufactory. Templenewsome. Rotherham. Disappointment. Wentworth
House. Portraits. Sheffield. Knives and scissars. Nottingham. Wild
beasts. Lord Middleton's seat. St. Albans Abbey. Duke of Gloucester's
tomb. Return to London......200

LETTER XX.

Excursion to Brighton. Arundel Castle. Petworth House. Portraits.
Hotspur's sword. Old 'Whalebone.' The fortunate duchess. 'Prognostica.'
Continuation of Don Juan. The year 2200. 'Etourderie.' Rules of
behaviour. English politicians. Charles Kemble's Falstaff. License of
English actors. Young as Hotspur. German and English stage. Wonders of
the age. 'Flirtation.' Singular ball. Macready's Macbeth. Thoughts on
the tragedy of Macbeth. Der Freischutz. 'Liaison' with a mouse. Street
mystifiers. Nights in London. Visit to Woolmers. Ball at Hatfield.
Pansanger. Grand Signor. Persian valuables......212

LETTER XXI.

Billy, the Rat-destroyer. English amusements. The newest Roscius. Fancy.
Freewill. Original sin. Austrian philosophy. Colours of the days.
Friday. Don Miguel. American Anecdote. English 'tournure.' Unpleasant
Christmas-box. Portuguese etiquette. Ludicrous incident in the theatre.
English flints. Parties in honour of the infant. Baroness F----. The
charming aid-de-camp. Anecdote told by Sir Walter Scott. B---- Society.
Disadvantages of a sandy soil. India House. Tippoo Saib's amusements.
Shawls. Ride in the Steam-carriage. Ride in a carriage drawn by kites.
Fox-hunt. Clerical fox-hunters. Thoughts on death. Recommendation of
Blotting-paper. The Atlas of life. Bellows. Advantages of illness.
Instruction. Convalesence......226

LETTER XXII.

The Thelluson will. The Dandy in the back settlements of America.
English justice. A Chancery suit. Dramatic juggler. Fall of the
Brunswick theatre. Party at Mr. Peel's. 'Chapeau de Paille.' Mr. Carr's
collection of pictures. General Lejeune's battle-pieces. The courtier.
Mina, Arguelles, and Valdez. On the acting and translating of
Shakspeare. Kean, Young, and Kemble, in Othello. Character of
Iago......241

LETTER XXIII.

Aristocracy and liberalism united in one person. Fête at the Duchess of
----'s. Wonderful tale of Mr. H----. Toads. The menagerie in Regent's
Park. Marshal Beresford. Rural dinner in H---- Lodge. Zoological Garden.
The patient witling. Uncomfortable customs. Dinner at H---- Lodge. Sir
Walter Scott; his appearance and conversation. A charming girl. Tailors,
butchers, and fishmongers. Crockford's. Spring-festival. Rural
pleasures. Musical indigestion. Strawberry-Hill, the seat of Horace
Walpole. German customs in England. Epsom races. Soirée at the King's.
Historical portraits. Paintings in watercolour. The little paradise. The
branch from Birnam Wood. Bonneau the Second. The Empress Josephine's
Fortune-telling book. Introduction to the Duchess of Sachsen Meiningen.
The Pigeon Club. The aquatic theatre. The Doomed. The new Ninon de
l'Enclos. Another déjeuné champetre. The two Marshals......250

LETTER XXIV.

A rout 'par excellence.' English squeeze. Visit to Cobham. Lord D----'s
birthday. Mr. Child's speech. Rochester Castle. The most natural camel.
The downfall. The water party. Return to London. The Exhibition of Arts
and Manufactures. The nursery-garden. 'Apperçu' of English fashionable
society......262

LETTER XXV.

Departure from London. Cheltenham. English comfort. Mineral waters.
Promenades. Sources of the Thames. Lackington Hill. The village in the
wood. Ancient Roman villa. Tea-garden. Avenues. Master of the
Ceremonies. Field of Tewksbury. Worcester. Cathedral. King John. The
Templar. Prince Arthur's tomb. Enjoyments of travelling. Picture in the
mist. Vale of Llangollen. Churchyard, and view from it. Mountain
breakfast. Celebrated ladies. Visit to them. Lofty mountains. Comparison
with those of Silesia. The road. The stone bishop. The indefatigable.
Jest and Earnest. German titles. German placemen. German nobles.
Romances. Feudal opinions. English domestic architecture. Penrhyn
Castle. The slate quarry. Operations there. Reflections of a pious soul
of Sandomir, or Sandomich. Conversions. Missions. Extracts from Berlin
journals......272

LETTER XXVI.

Bangor. Welsh driving. Lake of Llanberris. Fish-hunting dogs. Storm.
Shelter in the old castle. Hut, and its inhabitants. Ascent of Snowdon.
Mountain poney and sheep. Veiled summit and my _double_. Libation.
Rocky path. View. Region of birds of prey. Return on the lake.
Caernarvon Castle. Edward's birth. King's stratagem. Origin of the
English Motto. Contrast in the ruins. Eagle Tower. Sea-bath. Billiard
table. Weather and eating. The Hebe of Caernarvon. Extracts from the
"Lammszeitung." Intolerance of Berlin Saints. Church and King sole
guides of faith. Duties of rich and poor contrasted. Promenade round
Bangor. Bath at Bangor. Beaumaris. The castle. Craig y don. Menai
Straits. Chain bridge over the sea......293

LETTER XXVII.

Plague of flies. Project for a Park. Plas Newydd. Cromlechs. Druid's
cottage. New kaleidescope. Journey into the interior of the mountains.
Unworthy views of Providence. Protestant Jesuits. Destinies of man.
Cars. Lake of Idwal. Path at the foot of the Trivaen. Welsh guide.
Wearisome ascent. Rose-coloured light. Valley of Rocks. The eagle. "The
bad pass." Bog. Capel Cerig. Valley of Gwynant. Elysium. Dinas Emris.
Merlin's rock. Dangers. Pleasant inn at Bedgellert. The blind harper and
his blind dog. The Devil's bridge. Tan y Bwlch. Beautiful Park. Gigantic
dam. Tremadoc. Reminiscences of sand, dirt, and father-land. Evening
fancies. Crumbs of philosophy. Possessor of Penrhyn Castle. Road over
Penman Mawr. Conway Castle with fifty-two towers. "Contentment" villa.
The Queen's closet. Hooke and his forty-one sons. Gothic mania. Truly
respectable Englishman. Fashion-hunting......303

LETTER XXVIII.

'Vie de Château.' Cathedral at St. Asaph. Tabernacle. True faith.
Denbigh Castle. Meeting of Harpers. Romantic Valley. Pretty Fanny. Her
dairy and aviary. Paradise of fowls. Ride through romantic country.
Short stay at Craig y Don. Newspaper article. Irish dinner. Happy
condition of the middle classes. Opinions on England. The Isle of
Anglesea. Paris mines. Copper smelting. New inventions. Holyhead.
Light-house. Terrific rocks. Sea-birds. Hanging bridge. Stormy passage
to Ireland. First Impression of the country. Dublin. Exhibition of
fruits and flowers. Walk in the city. Sight-seeing. Palace of the Lord
Lieutenant, and modern Gothic chapel. University. My Cicerone. Organ of
the Armada. Archimedes' burning glass. Portraits of Swift and Burke.
Battle of Navarino. Phoenix Park. Characteristics of the people. Lady
B----. The meaning of "character" in England. The Liffy. W---- Park.
Charming entrance. "The Three Rocks." Beautiful view. Irish peasant
women. Wooden Capuchin. The Dandy. Comfortable arrangements for the
English aristocracy. Country visit. First interview with Lady M----.
Unfortunate end of a ride. Further particulars concerning the Muse of
Ireland......317

LETTER XXIX.

Ride on horseback into the county Wicklow. Bray. Student's equipment.
English piety. Kilruddery. Glen of the Downs. Summer-house. Vale of
Durwan. The giant. The Devil's Glen. Küleborn. Rural repast in Rosanna.
The tourists. Avondale, an Eden by moonlight. Avoca Inn. The meeting of
the Waters. Castle Howard. Beautiful portrait of Mary Stuart. Bally
Arthur. The ha-ha. My horse at blind-man's buff. Shelton Abbey. The
negro porter. Loss of my pocket-book. What is a gentleman? Valley of
Glenmalure. Lead mines. Military road. The sun behind black masses of
clouds. The seven churches. Mysterious tower without an entrance. The
black lake of St. Kevin. The giant Fian M'Cumhal. The enamoured
Princess. Her tragical end, and the saint's excessive rigour. Irish
toilet. Walter Scott and Moore in the mouth of a peasant. Morass and
will-o'-the-wisp. A night upon straw. Hedge of Mist. First peep of sun
over the lake and valley of Luggelaw. Romantic solitude. The statue of
rock. P---- Park. Intolerance, cant, and abuse of the Sunday.
Sugar-loaf. Rich country. Repose by the brook. Lord Byron......331

LETTER XXX.

Donnybrook fair. The lovers. Powerscourt. The Dargle and The Lover's
Leap. The waterfall. Galopade, with the guide behind me. Inn at Bray.
Sketch of English manners. Grand Duke of S---- W.----. Advantages of a
humble mode of travelling. Activity of beggars. Kingston. Construction
of the harbour. Machinery. The Spectre ship. Tasteless and appropriate
monument in honour of George the Fourth. Fine road to Dublin. Catholic
association. English horse-riders and admirable clowns. The dance of
Polypi......340

LETTER XXXI.

The young parson. Journey with him to the West. Connaught. Singular
country. Visit at Capt. B----'s. Life of a true Irishman. They are not
over fastidious. Divine service in Tuam. Service of the Church of
England. Galway race. Resemblance of the Irish people to savages. The
town of Galway. Want of books there. The race. Accident of a rider.
Indifference of the public. The fair African. Athenry, a bathing place,
like a Polish village. King John's castle. The abbey. Popular escort.
Whisky. Castle Hackett. The fairy queen. She carries off a lover.
Splendid sunset. Definition of 'Good temper.' Cong. Irish wit. The
Pigeon-hole. Subterranean river. Meg Merrilies. Illuminated cavern.
Enchanted trout. Lough Corrib, with its three hundred and sixty-five
islands. The monastery. Irish mode of burial. Hearty kindness of the old
captain......345

LETTER XXXII.

'Hors d'oeuvre.' German Character. Adventure with a gipsy. How we
acquire a soul. State of the Irish peasantry. Stupid rage of an
Orangeman. Beautiful park and disposition of water. Picture gallery at
M---- B----. St. Peter with a scarlet wig, by Rubens. Winter landscape,
by Ruisdael. Magnificent Asiatic Jew, by Rembrandt. Irish hunters.
Departure by the Postman's cart. The obliging Irishman. Desert country.
Poverty and light-heartedness of the people. Sure revelation. "The cross
bones." The Punch-bowl. Lord Gort's park. Desire of my horse to stay
there. Irish posting. Its characteristics......357

LETTER XXXIII.

Limerick. Antique character of that city. Catholics and Protestants.
Deputation, and offer of the Order of the Liberator. O'Connell's cousin.
Cathedral. I am taken for a son of Napoleon. I substitute my valet and
make my retreat. Conversation in the stage. The Shannon. Its magnificent
size. New sort of industry of a beggar in Lisdowel. Twelve rainbows in a
day. Killarney. Voyage on the lake in a storm. The dandy and the
manufacturer. Some danger of drowning. Inisfallen island. O'Donaghue's
white horse. His history and apparition. The old boat, man and his
adventure. _Journal des Modes_ of the infernal regions. Mucruss Abbey.
The large yew-tree. Influence of the Catholic priests. O'Sullivan's
waterfall. Young Sontag. The wager. Ross Castle. Two Englishmen 'de
trop'. Bad taste of quizzing. The Knight of the Gap. The "madman's
rock." Brandon Castle. A bugleman. The eagle's nest. Coleman's leap. The
dinner. Fresh salmon boiled on arbutus sticks. Voyage back. Melancholy
thoughts. Christening with whisky. Julia Island. Journey to Kenmare.
Shillelah battle. Ride to Glengariff by night. Extraordinary road. The
intelligent poney. Beautiful bay of Glengariff. Colonel W----'s park a
model. Family of the possessor. Lord B----'s hunting seat. Bad weather.
Rocks, storm and apparition of ----......367

LETTER XXXIV.

Kenmare. Irish messenger. Road to Derrinane. Bridge of the black water.
Chaos. Terrific coast. Perplexities. Aid from a smuggler. Mountain pass
at night. Derrinane Abbey. O'Connell the great Agitator; Father
L'Estrange his confessor. O'Connell as chieftain giving laws to his
subjects. His intolerance in matters of religion. Departure from
Derrinane. Danish forts. Leave-taking. Irish modes of conveyance.
Amiable character of the lower Irish. Example of it. Sorrows of Werther.
Opinion of it. Faust. The Innkeeper's daughter at Kenmare. Hungry Hill
and its majestic waterfall. O'Rourke's eagle. The modern Ganymede. Seals
under my window. Their love for music. English family worship.
Theological discussion on the deluge, the day of judgment, and the
Apocalypse. Extraordinary beauties and advantages of this spot......380

LETTER XXXV.

Wild honeycomb. Egyptian lotus. Visit to an eagle's nest; their romantic
dwelling, and wonderful instinct. The wild huntsman of the South of
Ireland. The caves of the Sugar Loaf. Track of the fairy queen's
carriage wheels. Dangerous hunting in these mountains. The fogs, bogs,
and wild bulls. Manner of taming one......393

LETTER XXXVI.

Idolatry of Sunday in England. Wonderful conversion of a Protestant to
Catholicism. Riding in a car. The Whiteboys. Macroom. The naïve mamma
and the spoiled child in the gingle. The strong king of the Danes.
Cork. Voyage to Cove: beautiful entrance from the sea. Folko's sea
castle. Monkstown. Remarkable appearance of two perfect rainbows at
once. The amphitheatre of the town of Cove. Disappointed expectation of
fish. Illuminated night-scene. The stars. Departure in the Mail.
Mitchelstown and Castle. Materials for novels. Lord K----. Extraordinary
weather for Ireland. The soldier of O'Connell's Militia. The Galtees.
Cahir. Another of King John's castles. Lord Glengall's beautiful park.
The Prince's equipage at Cashel. Force of habit. Secret of all
educations. Club dinner......395

LETTER XXXVII.

The rock of Cashel. One of the most curious ruins in Ireland. The
Devil's Bite. Old Saxon architecture. Bell of the Inquisition. The
statue of St. Patrick, and throne at Scone. Hore and Athassil abbeys.
Lord L----. Condition of the Catholics in Tipperary. Church of Ireland.
Laughable article in the newspaper concerning myself. My speech......404

LETTER XXXVIII.

The swan. Holy Cross and its monuments. Irish Catholic clergy. Dinner
with eighteen clergymen. Conversation at it. Comparison of the Wendish
and the Irish. List of the Catholic and Protestant parishes in Cashel.
Curious details and remarks upon them. Well-meant exorcism. Irish
breakfast. Breakneck hunt. The wandering bog. Feats of horses. Country
gentleman's life. The Castle in the air. Potheen enthusiasm. Irish
gentry. Lord H----......408

LETTER XXXIX.

The brothers. Animal life. Devils. The pretty hostess. The piper. The
robbers. The lawyer cheated. The murder of Baker. The motionless cock.
Fitzpatrick and his bag-pipe......415

LETTER XL.

Killough Hill. The fairy garden. Romantic sentry-box. Return to Dublin.
Madame de Sevigne. Lord Byron's tempest. Dinner with the Lord
Lieutenant. The Marquis of Anglesea. Catholic worship. Invisible music.
St. Christopher. Comparison of the Catholic and Protestant divine
service. Allegory. Journal of a London life. Difference between English
and German modes of thinking. Remarks on English Women. Malahide.
Furniture seven hundred years old. Duchess of Portsmouth. Charles the
First at the court of Spain. Howth Castle. Ducrow's living
statues......420

LETTER XLI.

Evening at Lady M----'s. Her nieces. Curious conversation. More
theology. The nightingales. All the _corn_ of Europe. National scene.
Domestic pictures. The authoress's boudoir. The miniature Napoleon. The
Catholic Association. Shiel, Lawless, and others. Artificial resolution.
Ride in the mountains. Sentimentality of a dandy......427

LETTER XLII.

B---- H---- on modern piety. O'Connell in a long-tailed wig. The Don
Quixote and the Dandy of the Association. Acting charades at Lady
M----'s. 'Love me love my dog.' Miss O'Neil. Her acting......436

LETTER XLIII.

Dead-letter office. £3000 incognito. The doctor. New surgical
instrument. The bank. Bank-note metal. Gymnastics. Parlour philosophy.
Paradoxes......441

LETTER XLIV.

Favour of Neptune. The dream. Voyage across the channel. The young heir.
Night in the mail. Shrewsbury. The tread-mill. Yellow criminals. Church.
Curious old houses. Street curiosity. The little scholar. Ross. The
river Wye. Goderich Castle. Varied prospects. Three counties at once.
Childhood of Henry the Fifth. Grotesque rocks. Unfortunate tourist. The
Druid's Head. Monmouth. Birth-place of Henry the Fifth. A poultry-yard.
The bookseller and his family. Theft. Kind, simple-hearted people.
Tintern abbey. The ivy avenue. The Wind Cliff. Sublime view. Chepstow
Castle. Cromwell and Henry the Eighth improvers of the picturesque.
Discovery. Penitence......451

LETTER XLV.

Chepstow. Marten the Regicide. The girl's explanation. Taxes imposed by
English lords and gentlemen on travellers. The possessor of Piercefield.
Crossing the Bristol Channel. Men and horses pèle mèle. Recapitulation.
Natural pictures. The most beautiful building. Bristol. The feudal
churches. Disinterested piety of English clergymen. The mayor's
equipage. Cook's Folly. Lord de Clifford's park. Russian fleet. The
model of a village. Clifton. The black and white house. Sensibility of
surgeons. Bath. The king of Bath. The Abbey church. Singular decoration.
King James the Second's heroic feat. The eccentric Beckford. The tower.
Strange _cortege_. The visit over the wall. Gothic architecture.
Christmas-eve market. Walks by day and night. The conflagration......460

LETTER XLVI.

The widow. Love of the English for horrors. More agreeable travelling
companion. Examinations, and learned examiners. Stonehenge. Sinister
meeting and accident. Salisbury Cathedral. Monuments. The spire.
Frightful ascent. The hawk on the cross, and the bishop's pigeons. His
Lordship's functions. Pious wish for my Country. Mirror of the past and
future. Wilton castle. The Chatelaine antiques. Pictures. Temple built
by Holbein. Talent and taste of English ladies. Entrance by stratagem.
Langford park. Fine pictures. Egmont. Alba. Orange. Emperor Rudolph's
throne. Boxing-match, the betting coachman. Modern English aristocratic
morality. March of intellect. Military school. Fox-chace. National duty.
The new year. London. Canterbury cathedral. The Black Prince. Splendour
of colouring. The archbishop. The damaged boiler. Dover fortress. Short
passage. The air of France. The jetty. English children. Unequal contest
between a French bonne and a resolute little English girl. The chief and
father of dandies. Anecdotes......469

LETTER XLVII.

French diligence. The conducteur. An old soldier of Napoleon's garde.
German Plinzen. La 'mechanique.' Value of freedom. Paris. Revision of
the old acquaintance. Bad new one. Theatre de Madame Leontine Fay.
Virtuous Uncle Martin. 'La charte pour les cafes.' Rosini the tamer of
wild beasts. Cheapness of Paris. Burlesque exhibition of the death of
Prince Poniatowski. Praiseworthy 'ensemble' of French acting. Gleanings
in the Louvre. The sphinx out of place. The Mephistophiles Waltz. Heaven
and Hell......479

LETTER XLVIII.

Ascetic walk. Anecdotes of the Buonaparte family. Spanish courtesy.
Theatre Français. Omnibus. Thoughts in a Dame Blanche. Il Diavolo.
Singers. _Agrémens_ of Paris. La Morne. Polar bear. Desaix's monument.
Disappointed hope. The _Amas_. Departure......490




LETTERS

ON

ENGLAND, IRELAND, AND FRANCE.




LETTER I.


_Dresden, Sept. 8th, 1826._

MY DEAR FRIEND,

The love you showed me at our parting in B---- made me so happy and so
miserable, that I cannot yet recover from it. Your sad image is ever
before me; I still read deep sorrow in your looks and in your tears, and
my own heart tells me too well what yours suffered. May God grant us a
meeting as joyful as our parting was sorrowful! I can now only repeat
what I have so often told you: that if I felt myself without you, my
dearest friend, in the world, I could enjoy none of its pleasures
without an alloy of sadness; that if you love me, you will therefore
above all things watch over your health, and amuse yourself as much as
you can by varied occupation.

As I resolved to combat the melancholy which gives so dark a colouring
to all objects, I sought a kind of aid from your Sevigné, whose
connexion with her daughter has, in fact many points of resemblance to
that which subsists between us, only with the exception, 'que j'ai plus
de votre sang,'[1] than Madame de Grignan had of her mother's. But your
resemblance to the charming Sevigné is like the hereditary likeness to
the portrait of an ancestor. The advantages which she possesses over you
are those of her time and education; you have others over her; and what
in her appears more finished and definite--classic,--in you assumes a
romantic character; it becomes richer, and blends with the infinite,--I
opened the book at random: it was pleasant enough that I lighted upon
this passage--

    "N'aimons jamais, ou n'aimons guères,
    Il est dangereux d'aimer tant."

On which she remarks with great feeling, "Pour moi, j'aime encore mieux
le mal que le remède, et je trouve plus doux d'avoir de la peine à
quitter les gens que j'aime, que de les aimer médiocrement."

It is a real consolation to me to have already written a few lines to
you: since I have conversed with you, I feel as if I were nearer to you.
I have no adventures to relate as yet. I was so entirely engrossed by my
own thoughts and feelings, that I scarcely knew through what places my
road lay.

Dresden appeared to me less cheerful than usual, and I was thankful when
I found myself quietly established in my room at the inn.

The storm which blew in my face during the whole day, has heated and
fatigued me; and as I am, you know, otherwise unwell, I want rest.

Heaven send you also a tranquil night, and affectionate dreams of your
friend!


_Sept. 10th.--Morning._

'Vous avez sans doute cuit toutes sortes de bouillons amers, ainsi que
moi.' Nevertheless I rose in better health and spirits than yesterday,
and immediately set to work making all the little arrangements necessary
at the beginning of a long journey. In the evening I felt extremely
depressed, and as I dreaded an attack of my nervous hypochondriacal
disorder, which you christened my 'maladie imaginaire,' I sent for
Hofrath (Court-counsellor) W----, the favourite physician of the
strangers who pass through Dresden, because, independently of his skill,
he is an amusing and merry companion. You know the use I make of
physicians. Nobody can be of a more homoeopathic nature than I am; for
the mere conversing with a medical man on my complaint and its remedies,
generally half cures me; and if I take any of his prescriptions, it is
only in thousandth parts. This was the case to-day; and after some
hours, which W---- passed by my bedside, and seasoned with many a
piquant anecdote, I supped with better appetite, and slept tolerably
till morning. On opening my eyes, they lighted on a letter from you,
which the honest B---- had laid upon my bed, well knowing that I could
not begin the day so joyfully. Indeed, after the pleasure of hearing
from you, I have only one other--that of writing to you.

Do but continue thus unrestrainedly to give utterance to all your
feelings, and fear not to wound mine. I well know that your letters must
long resemble a sad and dreary landscape. I shall be tranquil, if I do
but see an occasional gleam of sunlight throw its rays across it.


_Leipsig, Sept. 11th._

In a very pretty room, with well waxed parquet, elegant furniture, and
silken curtains, all in their first 'fraicheur,' the waiter is now
laying the table for my dinner, while I employ these few minutes in
writing to you.

I left Dresden at ten o'clock this morning, in tolerably good
spirits,--that is, painting fancy pictures for the future. But my
lingering regrets at leaving you, dear Julia, and the comparison of my
insipid and joyless solitude with the exquisite pleasure I should have
had in taking this journey under more happy circumstances, with you,
fell heavily upon my heart.

Of the road hither, there is not much to be said; it is not
romantic,--not even the vineyards, which extend to Meissen, and which
present to the eye more sand than verdure. Yet the country, though too
open, sometimes excites agreeable feelings by its freshness and
fertility: this is the case at Oschatz, where the pretty bushy Culmberg
looks down upon the plain, like the rich-locked head of youth. The
'chaussée' is good, and it appears that the post is improving even in
Saxony, since the excellent Nagler created a new post-era in Prussia.
Nothing amuses me more than the energetic zeal with which B---- drives
on the willing as well as the phlegmatic: he behaves to them as if he
had already made the tour of the globe with me, and had--of
course--found things better everywhere than at home.

In the delicate state of my health, the comfortable English carriage is
a real blessing. I rather hug myself on understanding the art of
travelling better than my neighbours; particularly as far as the
maximizing of comfort is concerned: in this I include the taking the
greatest possible number of things (often dear, accustomed memorials)
with the least possible 'embarras' and loss of time,--a problem which I
have now perfectly solved. In Dresden, before I packed up, you would
have taken my room for a broker's shop. Now all my wares have vanished
in the numerous receptacles of the carriage: yet without giving it that
heavy, overloaded look, at which our postilions so readily take fright;
and which marks a man, to the discriminating eye of innkeepers, as one
embarked on the grand tour. Every article is at hand, and yet perfectly
distinct, so that when I reach my nightly quarters, my _domestic
relations_ are quickly re-established in a strange place. On the road,
the transparent crystal windows of the largest dimensions obstructed by
no luggage or coach-box, afford me as free a view of the country as an
open 'calèche,' while they leave me lord of the temperature.

The men on their lofty seat behind overlook the luggage and the horses,
without the power of casting curious glances into the interior, or of
listening to the conversation which may be passing there; if, perchance,
on our arrival in the country of the Lilliputs or the Brobdignags,
secrets of state should come under discussion. I could deliver a course
of lectures on this subject,--one by no means unimportant to travellers;
but I have been thus diffuse here only for the sake of furnishing you
with a complete picture of myself as you are to think of me, wandering
over the face of the earth, while my nomadic dwelling and the ever
changing post-horses daily bear me further from your sight.

The host of the Hotel de Saxe, unquestionably one of the best inns in
Germany, is an old acquaintance of mine, and established many strong
claims on my gratitude when I was a student at Leipsig. Many a joyous
and sometimes rather riotous repast was given at his house; and I now
invited him to partake of my solitary one, that he might talk to me of
the past, and of the wild days of my youth. The present times are, alas!
become more serious everywhere. Formerly, pleasure was almost raised
into a business,--men thought of nothing else--studied nothing else; and
feet, so ready to dance, were lightly set in motion. Now-a-days, people
find their pleasure only in business, and stronger excitements are
required to make us merry--if that ever be the end proposed.


_Weimar, Sept. 13th.--Evening._

I will not weary you with any 'tirades' on the battle-fields of Leipsig
and Lützen, nor with a description of the 'chétif' monument to Gustavus
Adolphus, or of the meagre beauties of the environs of Schulpforte. In
Weissenfels, where I wanted to buy a book, I was surprised to learn that
not a bookseller was to be found in the residence of the great Müllner.
They were most likely afraid that he would saddle them with a law-suit,
at first hand.

I trod the plains of Jena and Auerstadt with just such feelings as a
Frenchman of the 'grande armée' might have had in the years 1806 and
1812, when he marched across the field of Rossbach;--for the last
victory, like the last laugh, is always the best. And as the seat of the
Muses, the cheerful Weimar, received me in its bosom after all these
battle reminiscences, I blessed the noble prince who has here erected a
monument of peace; and has helped to light up a beacon in the domain of
literature, which has so long illumined Germany with its many-coloured
flames.

Next day I presented myself to this my old commander, and to the rest of
the illustrious family, whom I found little altered. The Court had,
however, received the agreeable addition of two amiable princesses, who,
had they been born in the humblest sphere, would have been distinguished
for their external charms and their admirable education. A stranger is
received here with a politeness and attention now completely out of
fashion in other places. Scarcely was I announced, when a 'laquais de
cour,' waited upon me to place himself and a court equipage at my
disposal during the time of my stay, and to give me a general invitation
to the Grand Duke's table.

In the morning, the Grand Duke had the kindness to show me his private
library, which is elegantly arranged, and remarkably rich in splendid
English engravings. He laughed heartily when I told him that I had
lately read in a Paris journal that Schiller had been disinterred by his
order, and that the skeleton of the illustrious poet was to be placed in
the Grand Ducal library. The truth is, that his bust, with some others,
decorates the room, but that his skull, if I was rightly informed, is
enclosed in the pedestal;--certainly a somewhat singular token of
respect.

I visited the park with renewed pleasure. The ground is not, indeed,
rich in picturesque beauty, but the laying out is so skilful, the
several parts are so well imagined and executed, that they leave on the
mind a feeling of satisfaction which such combinations, even under more
favourable natural circumstances, seldom produce in an equal degree.

Among the new improvements I found a small botanic garden, laid out in a
circular plot of ground, in the centre of which stands a majestic old
tree. The garden is arranged according to the Linnæan system, and
exhibits a single specimen of every tree, shrub, and plant which will
stand abroad, and is to be found in the park and gardens. It is
impossible to conceive a more agreeable spot for the living study of
botany than the seat under this tree, which, like a venerable patriarch,
looks down upon the surrounding youthful generations of every form,
foliage, blossom, and colour. Continuing my walk, I saw a model farm of
the Grand Duke's, where gigantic Swiss cows give little milk,--for
transplantations of this sort seldom answer. Further on, I found the
pretty pheasantry, which is rich in gold and silver pheasants and white
roes. The great ladder on which from seventy to eighty heavy turkeys are
drilled by the gamekeeper to climb in company is curious enough; and the
old lime-tree, completely loaded with such fruit, has a strange exotic
aspect.

As the Court dines at a very early hour, I had scarcely time to put
myself into costume, and arriving late found a large company already
assembled. Among them I remarked several Englishmen, who very wisely
study German here, instead of first learning, with great trouble, the
ungraceful dialect of Dresden: they are most hospitably received here.
The conversation at table was very animated. You know the joviality of
the Grand Duke, who in this respect completely resembles his friend, the
never-to-be-forgotten King of Bavaria. We recapitulated many a laughable
story of the time when I had the honour of being his adjutant; after
which I was compelled to ride my grand 'cheval de bataille'--my
expedition in the air-balloon.

Much more interesting were Duke Bernard's descriptions of his travels in
North and South America, which I understand we shall soon have an
opportunity of reading in print, with remarks by Göthe. This prince,
whom the accident of birth has placed in a high station, occupies a
still higher as man: no one could be better fitted to give the free
Americans a favourable idea of a German prince than he, uniting, as he
does, frank dignity of deportment with genuine liberality of thought,
and unpretending kindness and courtesy.

In the evening there was a grand assembly, which, in virtue of its
nature and quality, was not particularly rich in enjoyment. Every
agreeable feeling however revived within me, when I found myself seated
at cards opposite to the Grand Duchess. Who has not heard of this noble
and truly excellent German woman, before whose serene and clear spirit
Napoleon himself, in the plenitude of his power, stood awed, and who is
beloved by every one who is permitted to enjoy her gentle and
heart-cheering society? We sat indeed at the card-table, but gave little
heed to the laws of whist; while time fled amid animated and delightful
conversation.

In a court like this, visited by so many foreigners, there cannot fail
to be originals who afford matter for piquant anecdotes, even those
least given to scandal. Some very diverting stories were related to me
when, on rising from table, I mingled again in the crowd. Among other
things, a visiting card, 'in naturâ,' was showed to me which apparently
owed its existence to a well-known anecdote concerning an Englishman.
This example suggested to the mad-cap Baron J---- the thought of
re-acting the affair with one of his table companions, a ci-devant
captain, who was tolerably ignorant of the world and its usages. With
this view, he hinted to the poor man, who had been leading a secluded
life in D----, that politeness required of him to make a round of visits
in the town; to which the unsuspecting captain patiently replied, that
he was not conversant in these matters, but would willingly put himself
under J----'s guidance. "Well then," said he, "I will provide the
cards, which must be written in French, and in three days I will call
you in my carriage. You must put on your uniform, and your cards must
express to what service you formerly belonged." All was done according
to agreement; but you may imagine what laughing faces greeted our
visitors, when you learn that the following 'carte de visite' was sent
up before them in every house:--

"Le Baron de J----, pour présenter _feu_ Monsieur le Capitaine de M----,
jadis au service de plusieurs membres de la Confédération du Rhin."


_September, 14th._

This evening I paid my visit to Göthe. He received me in a dimly lighted
room, whose 'clair obscure' was arranged with some 'coquetterie'; and
truly, the aspect of the beautiful old man, with his Jove-like
countenance, was most stately. Age has changed, but scarcely enfeebled
him: he is perhaps somewhat less vivacious than formerly, but so much
the more equable and mild; and his conversation is rather pervaded by a
sublime serenity, than by that dazzling fire which used occasionally to
surprise him, even in the midst of his highest 'grandezza.' I rejoiced
heartily at the good health in which I found him, and said with a smile,
how happy it made me to find our spiritual King in undiminished majesty
and vigour. "Oh, you are too _gracious_," said he, (with the yet
uneffaced traces of his South German manner, accompanied by the
satirical smile of a North German,[2]) "to give me such a title." "No,"
replied I, truly from my very heart, "not only king, but despot, for you
have subjugated all Europe." He bowed courteously, and questioned me
concerning things which related to my former visit to Weimar; then
expressed himself very kindly with regard to M----, and my efforts to
improve it, gently remarking, how meritorious he ever thought it to
awaken a sense of beauty, be it of what kind it may, since the Good and
the Noble unfolded themselves in manifold ways out of the Beautiful.
Lastly, he gave me some gleam of hope that he might comply with my
earnest request that he would visit us there. Imagine, dearest, with
what 'empressment' I caught at this, though perhaps but a 'façon de
parler.'

In the course of our conversation we came to Sir Walter Scott. Göthe was
not very enthusiastic about the Great Unknown. He said he doubted not
that he wrote his novels in the[3] same sort of partnership as existed
between the old painters and their scholars; that he furnished the plot,
the leading thoughts, and skeleton of the scenes, that he then let his
pupils fill them up, and retouched them at the last. It seemed almost to
be his opinion, that it was not worth the while of a man of Sir Walter
Scott's eminence to give himself up to such a number of minute and
tedious details. "Had I," added he, "been able to lend myself to the
idea of mere gain, I could formerly have sent such things anonymously
into the world, with the aid of Lenz and others--nay, I could still--as
would astonish people not a little, and make them puzzle their brains to
find out the author; but after all they would be but manufactured
wares." I afterwards observed, that it was gratifying to Germans to see
what victories our literature was achieving in other countries; "And,"
added I, "our Napoleon has no Waterloo to dread."

"Certainly," replied he, disregarding my 'fade' compliment, "setting
aside all our original productions, we now stand on a very high step of
culture, by the adoption and complete appropriation of those of foreign
growth. Other nations will soon learn German, from the conviction that
they may thus, to a certain extent, dispense with the learning of all
other languages; for of which do we not possess all the most valuable
works in admirable translations?--The ancient classics, the master-works
of modern Europe, the literature of India and other eastern lands,--have
not the richness and the many-sidedness[4] of the German tongue, the
sincere, faithful German industry, and deep-searching German genius,
reproduced them all more perfectly than is the case in any other
language?"

"France," continued he, "owed much of her former preponderance in
literature to the circumstance of her being the first to give to the
world tolerable versions from the Greek and Latin: but how entirely has
Germany since surpassed her!"

On the field of politics, he did not appear to me to give into the
favourite constitutional theories very heartily. I defended my own
opinions with some warmth. He reverted to his darling idea, which he
several times repeated;--that every man should trouble himself only thus
far,--in his own peculiar sphere, be it great or small, to labour on
faithfully, honestly, and lovingly; and that thus under no form of
government would universal well being and felicity long be
wanting:--that, for his own part he had followed no other course; and
that I had also adopted it in M---- (as he kindly added), untroubled as
to what other interests might demand. I replied frankly, but in all
humility, that however true and noble this principle were, I must yet
think that a constitutional form of government was first necessary to
call it fully into life, since it afforded to every individual the
conviction of greater security for his person and property, and
consequently gave rise to the most cheerful energy, and the most steady
trust-worthy patriotism, and that a far more solid universal basis would
thus be laid for the quiet activity of each individual in his own
circle: I concluded by adducing,--perhaps unwisely,--England in support
of my argument. He immediately replied, that the, choice of the example
was not happy, for that in no country was selfishness more omnipotent;
that no people were perhaps essentially less humane in their political
or in their private relations;[5] that salvation came not from without,
by means of forms of government, but from within, by the wise moderation
and humble activity of each man in his own circle; that this must ever
be the main thing for human felicity, while it was the easiest and the
simplest to attain.

He afterwards spoke of Lord Byron with great affection, almost as a
father would of a son, which was extremely grateful to my enthusiastic
feelings for this great poet. He contradicted the silly assertion that
Manfred was only an echo of his Faust. He confessed, however, that it
was interesting to him to see that Byron had unconsciously employed the
same mask of Mephistophiles as he himself had used, although, indeed,
Byron had produced a totally different effect with it. He extremely
regretted that he had never become personally acquainted with Lord
Byron, and severely and justly reproached the English nation for having
judged their illustrious countryman so pettily, and understood him so
ill. But, on this subject, Göthe has spoken so satisfactorily and so
beautifully in print, that I can add nothing to it. I mentioned the
representation of Faust in a private theatre at Berlin, with music by
Prince Radzivil, and spoke with admiration of the powerful effect of
some part of the performance.--"Well," said Göthe gravely, "it is a
strange undertaking; but all endeavours and experiments are to be
honoured."

I am angry with my vile memory that I cannot now recollect more of our
conversation, which was very animated. With sentiments of the highest
veneration and love, I took my leave of the great man,--the third in the
great triumvirate with Homer and Shakspeare,--whose name will beam with
immortal glory as long as the German tongue endures; and had I had
anything of Mephistophiles in me, I should certainly have exclaimed on
the step of his door,

    "Es ist doch schön von einem grossen Herrn
     Mit einem armen Teufel so human zu sprechen."[6]

I was invited to dine with the Grand Duke to-day at the Belvedere, and
at two o'clock set out on the pleasant road thither. Ever since I have
been here the weather has been wonderful:--days of crystal, as your
Sevigné says, in which one feels neither heat nor cold, and which only
spring and autumn can give.

The Hereditary Grand Duke and his wife live at Belvedere quite like
private people, and receive their guests without etiquette, though with
the most perfect politeness. The Grand Princess (Grossfürstin) appeared
still much depressed in consequence of the Emperor's death, but when the
conversation grew animated, she gave us a very affecting description of
the floods at St. Petersburg, of which she had been an eyewitness. I
have always admired the excellent education and the various attainments
which distinguish the Russian princesses. The late Queen of Wurtemberg
was even learned. I had once to deliver a letter to her in Frankfurt,
and remained by her desire standing in the circle after I had given it
to her, till the other persons of whom it was composed were dismissed. A
professor of a Pestallozian school was the first in turn, and appeared
to know less about his system than the Queen, then Grand Princess
(Grossfürstin) Katharine, who several times corrected his diffuse and
inaccurate answers with singular acuteness. A 'diplomate' followed, and
he also, in his sphere, received the most dextrous and well-turned
replies. She next entered into a scientific discussion with a celebrated
economist from A----; and lastly, profound and brilliant reflections, in
a lively controversy with a well-known philosopher, closed this
remarkable audience.

After dinner, the Hereditary Grand Duke took us into his conservatories,
which, next to Schönbrunn, are the richest in Germany. You know, dear
Julia, that I lay little stress on mere rarity, and, in plants, as in
other things, delight only in the beautiful. Many treasures were
therefore thrown away upon me; and I could not share in the raptures
into which several connoisseurs fell at the sight of a stalk, which was
indeed only six inches high, and had not above five leaves, and no
flowers, but, on the other hand, had cost sixty guineas, and is as yet
the solitary specimen of its kind in Germany. I was, however, greatly
delighted by a _Cactus grandiflorus_ in full flower, and many other
splendid plants. I looked with great reverence at a magnificent large
Bread-fruit tree, and pleased myself with dyeing my fingers crimson from
the cochineal insects which inhabited a Cactus. The varieties of plants
exceed sixty thousand. The orangery is beautiful, and contains a veteran
with a trunk of an ell and a half in circumference, which has safely
weathered five hundred and fifty northern summers.

I spent the evening at Herr V. G----'s, a clever man, and an old friend
of Madame Schoppenhauer, who is also a kind patroness of mine. Frau V.
G----e came in afterwards, and was a very agreeable addition to our
company. She is a lively, original, and clever woman, on whom the
incense strewed upon her with so much justice by her father-in-law, has
not been entirely without its influence. She evinced great pleasure at
the arrival of a first copy of Granby, which she had just received from
the author, who had studied German in Weimar. The offering did not
strike me as anything very considerable; and I told her I could only
wish the author might be more interesting than his work. Perhaps I said
this from 'dépit,' for here, as all over the Continent, it is the
fashion to flatter the English inordinately, and God knows how 'mal à
propos.'


_September 16th._

After taking my leave this morning of all the illustrious family, I
devoted the rest of the day to my friend Sp----, who, together with his
family, affords a proof that a life at court and in the great world is
perfectly compatible with the simplest domestic habits and the most
attaching kindness of heart. A young Englishman, secretary to Mr.
Canning, who spoke German like a native, entertained us with some
humorous descriptions of English society, and was exceedingly bitter
upon the discourtesy and want of good-nature which characterize it. This
gave him, at the same time, a good opportunity of saying handsome things
of the Germans, particularly those present. _It is only while they are
abroad that Englishmen judge thus_: when they return, they quickly
resume their accustomed coldness and haughty indifference, treat a
foreigner as an inferior being, and laugh at the German 'bonhommie,'
which they praised as long as _they_ were the objects of it; while they
regard the truly laughable veneration which we cherish for the very name
of Englishman, as the rightful tribute to their superiority.

This is the last letter, dear Julia, which you will receive from hence.

Early in the morning,--not at cock-crow, that is, but according to _my_
calendar,--at about twelve o'clock,--I intend to set out, and not to
stop till I reach London.

Take care of your health, I beseech you, for my sake, and tranquillize
your mind as much as you can by the aid of that wondrous
self-controlling strength with which the Creator has endowed it. Love me
nevertheless--for my strength is in your love.

Your faithful L----.




LETTER II.


_Wesel, Sept. 20th, 1826._

BELOVED FRIEND,

After taking leave of Göthe and his family, and paying a last visit to a
distinguished and charming artist in her 'atélier,' I quitted the German
Athens, stored with pleasant recollections.

I staid only just so long in Götha as was necessary to visit an old
friend and comrade, the minister and astronomer (heaven and earth in
strange conjunction) Baron Von L----. I found him still suffering from
the consequences of his unfortunate duel in Paris, but bearing this
calamity with the calmness of a sage, which he has displayed in every
circumstance of his life.

It was dark when I reached Eisenach, where I had a message to deliver to
another old comrade from the Grand Duke. I saw his house brilliantly
lighted up, heard the music of the dance, and was ushered into the midst
of a large company, who looked astonished at my travelling costume. It
was the wedding-day of my friend's daughter, and heartily did he welcome
me as soon as he recognized me. I apologized to the bride for my
unbridal garments, drank a glass of iced punch to her health, another to
that of her father, danced a Polonaise, and disappeared, 'à la
Française.' Very shortly afterwards I made my night toilet, and laid
myself comfortably to rest in my carriage.

When I awoke, I found myself a stage from Cassel, at the very place
where, ten years ago, we made our strange 'entrée,' with the pole of our
carriage standing erect, and the postilion apparently mounted upon it. I
breakfasted here, and thought over many circumstances of that journey;
drove through the pretty, melancholy little capital without stopping;
then through a noble beech wood, which gleamed in the sunshine with a
gold-green lustre; made romantic observations on a curious hill covered
with the moss-grown ruins; and hurrying on through this monotonous
district, reached the ancient see of Osnabruck at dinner-time.

One always sleeps better in a carriage the second night than the first;
the motion acts upon one like that of a cradle upon children. I felt
well and in good spirits next morning, and remarked that the whole face
of the country began to assume a Dutch character. Antique houses, with
numerous gables and windows; an unintelligible _Platt Deutsch_, which
nowise yields in harmony to the Dutch; a more phlegmatic people; better
furnished rooms, though still without Dutch cleanliness; tea instead of
coffee; excellent fresh butter and cream; increased extortions of
innkeepers;--all presented a new shade of this many-coloured world.

The country through which my road lay had a more agreeable and softer
character, especially at Stehlen on the Ruhr, a place made for a man who
wishes to retire from the tumult of the world to cheerful seclusion. I
could not gaze my fill on the fresh succulent vegetation, the
magnificent oak and beech woods which crowned the hills on the right and
left, sometimes growing down to the very road, sometimes going off into
the distance; everywhere skirting the most fruitful fields, shaded with
red and brown where they had been newly ploughed, clothed in deep or
tender green where they were covered by the young winter crops or the
fresh clover. Every village is surrounded by a belt of beautiful trees,
and nothing can exceed the luxuriance of the meadows through which the
Ruhr winds in fantastic meanderings. Towards evening, as I was comparing
this smiling landscape with our gloomy pine forests, a tongue of
homelike land suddenly appeared as if by enchantment, with its sand,
shingle, and arid stunted birch-trees, stretching across the road as far
as the eye could reach. In ten minutes the green meadows and proud
beeches greeted us again. What revolution was it that threw this tract
of sand here?

A few miles from Wesel, however, the whole country becomes 'tout de bon'
fatherlandish, and, as the 'chaussée' ends here, one wades once more
through Berlin loose sand. I arrived unfortunately a day too late to
sail from hence by the steamboat, otherwise I might have reached London
from Weimar in four days and a half. Now I must travel by land to
Rotterdam, and there wait the departure of the first vessel.


_Rotterdam, Sept. 25th._

My journey from Wesel to Arnheim was tedious enough. The horses toiled
slowly on, through a dull country, amid endless sands. There was nothing
interesting to be seen but the great brick-kilns by the roadside, which
I looked at attentively on account of their superiority to ours. The
more agreeable, and really magical in its effect, is the contrast of the
extensive garden which lies between Arnheim and Rotterdam. On a
'chaussée' constructed of clinkers, (very hard-baked tiles,) and covered
with a surface of fine sand--a road which nothing can excel, and which
never takes the slightest trace of a rut--the carriage rolled on with
that soft unvarying murmur of the wheels so inviting to the play of the
fancy.

Although there is neither rock nor mountain in the endless park I
traversed, yet the lofty dams along which the road sometimes runs, the
multitude of country-seats, buildings and churches grouped into masses,
and the many colossal clumps of trees rising from meadows and plains, or
on the banks of clear lakes, gave to the landscape as much diversity of
surface as of picturesque objects of the most varied character; indeed
its greatest peculiarity consists in this rapid succession of objects
which incessantly attract the attention. Towns, villages, country-seats,
surrounded by their rich enclosures; villas of every style of
architecture, with the prettiest flower-gardens; interminable grassy
plains, with thousands of grazing cattle; lakes which have gradually
grown merely from turf-digging to an extent of twenty miles; countless
islands, where the long reed, carefully cultivated for thatch, serves as
a dwelling-place for myriads of water-birds;--all join in a gladsome
dance, through which one is borne along as if by winged horses; while
still new palaces and other towns appear in the horizon, and the towers
of their high Gothic churches melt into the clouds in the misty
distance.

And even in the near-ground the continually changing and often grotesque
figures leave no room for monotony. Now it is a strange carriage,
decorated with carved work and gilding, without a pole, and driven by a
coachman in a blue jacket, short black breeches, black stockings, and
shoes with enormous silver buckles, who sits perched on a narrow board;
or women walking under the load of gold or silver ear-rings six inches
long, and Chinese hats like roofs upon their heads: then yew-trees cut
into dragons and all sorts of fabulous monsters; or lime-trees with
trunks painted white, or many-coloured; chimneys decorated in an
Oriental style, with numbers of little towers or pinnacles; houses built
slanting for the nonce; gardens with marble statues as large as life, in
the dress of the old French Court, peeping through the bushes; or a
number of brass bottles or cans, polished like mirrors, standing on the
grass by the roadside, glittering like pure gold, yet destined to the
humble purpose of receiving the milk with which the lads and lasses are
busily filling them. In short, a multitude of strange, unwonted and
fantastic objects every moment present to the eye a fresh scene, and
stamp the whole with a perfectly foreign character. Imagine such
pictures set in the golden frame of the brightest sunshine, adorned with
the richest vegetation, from giant oaks, elms, ashes and beeches, to the
rarest hot-house plant, and you will have a tolerably perfect and by no
means exaggerated idea of this magnificent part of Holland, and of the
high enjoyment of my day's ride.

There was only a part of it which, as to vegetation and variety, formed
an exception; but in another point of view was, if not so pleasant,
equally interesting. Between Arnheim and Utrecht you come upon a tract,
four miles long,[7] of the sand of the Luneberg heath, as bad as the
worst plains of the Mark; nevertheless--such is the power of intelligent
cultivation--the finest plantations of oak, white and red beech, birch,
poplar, &c., flourish by the side of the stunted thorns and heather,
which are the only natural productions of the soil. Where the ground has
too little strength to grow trees, it is planted with brushwood, which
is lopped every five or six years. The magnificent road is skirted the
whole way on each side with rows of well-kept flourishing trees; and to
my surprise I found that, spite of the arid sand, oaks and beeches
seemed to thrive better than birches and poplars. A number of the
exquisitely neat Dutch houses and villas were built in the midst of the
dreary heath: many were only begun, as well as the laying-out of
pleasure-grounds around them. I could not understand how people could
have pitched upon this inhospitable soil upon which to found expensive
establishments: but learned that the Government had been wise enough to
grant out the whole of this hitherto unprofitable tract of land to the
neighbouring proprietors and other opulent persons, free of all charges
for fifty years, with the sole condition that they must immediately
either plant or otherwise cultivate it. Their heirs or successors are to
pay a very moderate rent. I am persuaded, from what I here saw, that the
greater part of our hungry heaths might in a century be converted by a
similar process, and by continued cultivation, into thriving fields and
woods, and the whole district thus change its character.

Utrecht is prettily built, and, like all Dutch towns, a model of
cleanliness. The painted exterior of the houses and their various forms,
the narrow winding streets, and the old-fashioned 'ensemble,' are much
more pleasing to my eye than the so-called handsome towns, the streets
of which, like mathematical figures, invariably intersect at right
angles, and the whole weary line of each street is to be seen at a
glance. The environs are charming, the air very healthful, Utrecht being
the highest town in Holland, and, as I was assured, the society in
winter and spring very lively and agreeable, as all the wealthiest
nobles of the country make it their residence. The trade is
inconsiderable, and the whole air of the town and its inhabitants rather
aristocratical than commercial.

From thence I proceeded to Gouda, the cathedral of which place is
celebrated for its painted glass. Eighty thousand gulden[8] was lately
bidden in vain by an Englishman for one of these windows. In execution
it is equal to a miniature picture, and the splendour of the colours is
indescribable;--the gems and pearls in the garments of the priests
emulate real ones. Another, half of which was lately shattered by
lightning, was presented to the church by Philip II. There is a
portrait of him in it, dressed in a mantle of genuine purple; not the
usual reddish colour, but a lustrous violet, between the deepest blue
and crimson, more beautiful than anything I ever saw in glass. A third
contains a portrait of the Duke of Alva. All the windows are of
extraordinary dimensions, and with few exceptions in exquisite
preservation. They are all of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries
except one, which was not painted till the seventeenth, and which
betrays the decline of the art, both by the inferiority of the colours
and of the conception and drawing.

He who has seen Gouda may spare himself the trouble of a journey to the
leaning tower of Pisa, for here the whole town seems to have been built
on the same principle. Though the Dutch, who have been on many accounts
not inappropriately called the Chinese of Europe, might very fairly be
believed capable of preferring so extraordinary a style of architecture,
yet it is probable that the really alarming aspect of the buildings here
is to be attributed chiefly to the unsteady boggy soil.[9]

Almost all the houses stand with their gable ends to the street, every
one of which is differently ornamented. In very narrow lanes they almost
meet, and form a triangle, under which one walks with some solicitude.

As it was Sunday I found the town extremely lively, though with a quiet
and decent gaiety. Most of the people stood idle, gazing about. They
took off their hats very politely as I passed.

Before you reach Rotterdam you ride through a long series of
country-houses with flower-gardens, separated from the road on either
side by a narrow canal. The entrance to each of the houses is over a
mighty drawbridge, which contrasts oddly enough with the insignificance
of the water, over which a good leap would carry you. Just as 'baroque'
are the tower-like windmills outside the town: they are gilded, and
ornamented with the wildest carvings, besides which, the walls of many
of them are so finely covered with thick rushes that at a distance they
look like fur; others resemble the skin of a crocodile; some are like
Chinese pagodas; but, in spite of all this extravagance, the whole group
produces a very striking effect. Interspersed among them are seen the
rising masts of the vessels in the harbour, and the great glass roof
under which the ships of war are built, announcing a maritime and
commercial city.

I soon entered a long street thronged with people, at the end of which a
high black clock tower, with flaming red figures and hands, served as
'point de vue;' and it was a good quarter of an hour before I reached
the Hotel des Bains, on the quay, where I am now very well and
comfortably lodged. From my window I look down upon a broad expanse of
water, and the four steam-vessels, one of which is to convey me the day
after to-morrow to England. Boats row swiftly to and fro, and the busy
crowd hurry along the quay, the edge of which is adorned with lofty
elms, probably cotemporaries of Erasmus. After a little walk under these
trees, I ate a good dinner, and then added to this ell-long letter,
which alas, will cost more than it is worth. My health is not entirely
as I wish it, though daily improving. Perhaps the sea will cure me.


_September 26th._

The manner of living here approaches to that of England. They rise late,
dine at 'table d'hôte,' at four o'clock, and drink tea in the evening.
'Au reste,' there is little amusement or variety for strangers, in this
great city: there is not even a stationary theatre; the company from the
Hague give occasional performances in a miserable house. Everybody seems
occupied with trade, and finds his recreation after it only in domestic
pleasures, which are indeed the most appropriate and the best, but in
which a traveller can have no share. I went into the counting-house of a
Jewish banker to change some English money: notwithstanding the
insignificance of the sum, he behaved in the most respectful manner, and
after carefully counting out the money for me, accompanied me to the
door himself. I was not a little astonished to learn from my 'laquais de
place' that this man's fortune was estimated at two millions of guilders
(gulden). It seems, therefore, that wealth has not yet made bankers so
haughty and insolent here as at other places. I visited the arsenal,
which, compared with English establishments of the like kind, appeared
to me insignificant. Many of the large buildings are covered with
pasteboard, which is said to be very lasting, and looks very well.
Square sheets of pasteboard, of an ordinary thickness, are dipped
several times into a cauldron of boiling tar, till they are thoroughly
saturated with it: they are then hung up to dry in the sun. They are
laid on a very flat roof, like sheets of copper, one over another, and
nailed to planks underneath, which they thus preserve from the wet for
many years. The officers of the yard assured me that a roof of this kind
would last much longer than shingle, or than the best tarpauling. I was
much interested by a very detailed model of a ship of war, which could
be entirely taken to pieces. It was made for the naval school at Delft,
and gives a perfect illustration of the instruction they receive. The
King's golden barge, or gondola, though probably not quite equal in
magnificence to that of Cleopatra, was shown to me with great
self-satisfaction by the Dutchmen. It is rotting away on dry land, being
very seldom used.

The country round Rotterdam is famous for its pretty girls and excellent
fruit, which (the latter I mean) forms a considerable article of export
to England. Nowhere are such enormous grapes to be found. I saw some
exposed to sale in the market, which had the appearance and the size of
plums. Sauntering idly about, I saw an advertisement of a panorama of
Ætna,--entered, in the train of a party of ladies,--and alas! lost my
heart. The loveliest girl I ever saw, smiled upon me from the foot of
the volcano, with eyes which must have borrowed their glow from its
eternal fires, while her lips smiled archly with a bloom equal to that
of the oleander at her side. The prettiest foot, and most exquisite
symmetry of person,--all were combined to form an ideal, if not of
heavenly, at least of the most seductive earthly beauty. Was this a
Dutch woman? Oh no, a true Sicilian; but alas, alas! only painted. The
glances she cast at me from her viny bower as I went out, were therefore
those of triumphant mockery; for since Pygmalion's days are over, there
is no hope for me.

To-morrow, instead of the glowing sun and subterranean heat of Sicily,
the cold wet sea will be around me; but I shall not say, with Voltaire,
on quitting pleasant Holland,

'Adieu Canards, Canaux, Canailles.'

I shall not write again till I reach London. I will tell you whether I
determine to make a long stay there, which I shall decide on the spot.
'En attendant,' I send you a lithographic print of the steamboat in
which I sail. A + marks, after the fashion in which the knights of old
signed their names, the place where I stand, and with a little help from
your imagination you will see how I wave my handkerchief, and send you a
thousand affectionate greetings from afar.

Your faithful L----.




LETTER III.


_London, Oct. 5th, 1826._

I have had a most disastrous passage. A squall, constant sea-sickness,
forty hours instead of twenty,--and, to crown the whole, striking on a
sandbank in the Thames, where we had to lie six hours, till the tide set
us afloat again;--such were the disagreeable incidents of our voyage.

It is ten years since I quitted England; and I know not whether I saw
all things before with beautifying eyes, or whether my imagination had
unconsciously brightened the colouring of the distant picture; but the
views on the banks of the Thames appeared to me neither so fresh nor so
picturesque as formerly, though superb groups of trees and cheerful
pretty villas were frequently in sight. But here, as in North Germany,
the lopping of the trees often spoils the landscape; only that the
quantity of them in the numerous hedges which enclose the fields, and
the preservation of at least the topmost branches, render the effect
less melancholy here than in the otherwise so beautiful Silesia.

Among the passengers was an Englishman who had just returned from
Herrnhut, and had also visited the baths of M----. It diverted me
highly, unknown to him as I was, to hear his opinions of the plantations
there. How much tastes differ, and how little, therefore, anybody needs
to despair, you may conclude from this,--that he expressed the highest
admiration for that gloomy district, solely on account of the immensity
of the 'evergreen woods,' as he called the endless monotonous
pine-forests, which appear to us so insufferable, but which are a rarity
in England, where fir-trees are carefully planted in parks, and commonly
thrive but ill.

An American was extremely incensed at being sea-sick during this
trumpery passage, after having crossed the Atlantic to Rotterdam without
being at all so; and a planter from Demarara, who was in a continual
shiver, complained even more of the "impolitic" abolition of the
slave-trade than of the cold. He thought that this measure would
speedily bring about the total ruin of the colonies; for, said he, a
slave or a native never works unless he is forced; and he does not need
to work, because the magnificent country and climate afford him food and
shelter sufficient. Europeans _cannot_ work in the heat, so that nothing
remains but the alternative,--colonies with slaves, or no
colonies;--that people knew this well enough, but had very different
ends in view from those which they put forward with such a parade of
philanthropy. He maintained that the slaves were, even for their owners'
interest, far better treated than the Irish peasants,--far better than
he had often seen servants treated in Europe:--an exception might be
found here and there; but this was not worth considering in a view of
the whole subject.

I tried to turn the conversation from a subject so distressing to every
friend of humanity, and got him to describe to me the mode of life in
Guiana, and the majesty of its primeval woods. His descriptions filled
me with a sort of longing after these wonders of nature, in a country
where all is nobler, and man alone is baser, than with us.

The ridiculous element of the voyage was an English lady, who with
unusual volubility seized every occasion of entering into conversation
in French. Though no longer in the bloom of youth, she carefully
concealed this defect even on ship-board, by the most studied toilet. At
a late hour in the morning, when we all crawled on deck more or less
wretched, we found her already seated there in an elegant 'negligée.'

In the middle of the second night we anchored just below London Bridge,
the most unfortunate circumstance that can happen to a man. In
consequence of the severity of the Custom-house, he is not permitted to
take his things on shore before they are inspected; and the office is
not opened till ten in the morning. As I did not choose to leave my
German servants alone with my carriage and effects, I was compelled to
pass the night, almost dressed as I was, in a miserable sailors' tavern
close to the river. In the morning, however, when I was present at the
examination, I found that the golden key, which rarely fails, had not
lost its efficacy here, and saved me from long and tedious delays. Even
a few dozen French gloves, which lay in all innocence open upon my
linen, seemed to be rendered invisible;--nobody took any notice of them.

I hastened as quickly as possible out of the dirty city, swarming like
an ant-hill, but had half a stage to travel with post-horses before I
reached the 'West end of the town,' where I put up at my old quarters,
the Clarendon Hotel. My former host, a Swiss, had exchanged England for
a yet unknown country. His son, however, occupied his place, and
received me with all that respectful attention which distinguishes
English innkeepers, and indeed all here who live by the money of others.
He very soon rendered me a real service; for I had hardly rested an hour
before I discovered that, in the confusion of the night, I had left a
purse with eighty sovereigns in a drawer in my bed-room. Monsieur
Jaquier, 'qui connoissait le terrain,' shrugged his shoulders, but
instantly sent off a confidential person to the spot, to recover the
lost purse if possible. The disorder which reigned in the miserable inn,
stood me in good stead. Our messenger found the room uncleared; and to
the, perhaps disagreeable, surprise of the people, the purse where I
left it.

London is now so utterly dead as to elegance and fashion, that one
hardly meets an equipage; and nothing remains of the 'beau monde' but a
few ambassadors. The huge city is, at the same time, full of fog and
dirt, and the macadamized streets are like well-worn roads; the old
pavement has been torn up, and replaced by small pieces of granite, the
interstices between which are filled with gravel; this renders the
riding more easy, and diminishes the noise; but, on the other hand,
changes the town into a sort of quagmire. Were it not for the admirable
'trottoirs,' people must go on stilts, as they do in the Landes near
Bourdeaux. Englishwomen of the lower classes do indeed wear an iron
machine of the kind on their large feet.

London is, however, extremely improved in the direction of Regent
Street, Portland Place, and the Regent's Park. Now, for the first time,
it has the air of a seat of Government (Residenz), and not of an
immeasurable metropolis of 'shopkeepers,' to use Napoleon's expression.
Although poor Mr. Nash (an architect who has great influence over the
King, and is the chief originator of these improvements) has fared so
ill at the hands of connoisseurs,--and it cannot be denied that his
buildings are a jumble of every sort of style, the result of which is
rather 'baroque' than original,--yet the country is, in my opinion, much
indebted to him for conceiving and executing such gigantic designs for
the improvement of the metropolis. The greater part too is still 'in
petto,' but will doubtless soon be called into existence by English
opulence and the universal rage for building. It's true, one must not
look too nicely into the details. The church, for instance, which serves
as 'point de vue' to Regent Street, ends in a ridiculous spire, while
every part seems at variance with every other. It is a strange
architectural monster. There is an admirable caricature, in which Mr.
Nash, a very small shrivelled man, is represented booted and spurred,
riding spitted on the point of the spire. Below is the inscription
"_National_ (sounded _nashional_) _taste_."

Many such monstrosities might be mentioned. Among others, on a balcony
which adorns the largest mansion in the Regent's Park, there are four
figures squeezed flat against the wall, whose purpose or import is
extremely mysterious. They are clad in a sort of dressing-gown, whence
we gather that they are at least designed for human figures. Perhaps
they are emblems of an hospital; for these apparent palaces, like that
at Potsdam, have unity and grandeur in their façade alone. They are
often, in fact, only a conglomeration of small houses dedicated to the
purposes of trade, manufacture, or what not.

Faultless, on the other hand, is the landscape-gardening part of the
park, which also originates with Mr. Nash, especially in the disposition
of the water. Art has here completely solved the difficult problem of
concealing her operations under an appearance of unrestrained nature.
You imagine you see a broad river flowing on through luxuriant banks,
and going off in the distance in several arms; while in fact you are
looking upon a small piece of standing, though clear, water, created by
art and labour. So beautiful a landscape as this, with hills in the
distance, and surrounded by an enclosure of magnificent houses a league
in circuit, is certainly a design worthy of one of the capitals of the
world; and when the young trees are grown into majestic giants, will
scarcely find a rival. In the execution of Mr. Nash's plan many old
streets have been pulled down, and during the last ten years more than
sixty thousand new houses built in this part of the town. It is, in my
opinion, a peculiar beauty of the new streets, that, though broad, they
do not run in straight lines, but make occasional curves which break
their uniformity.

If ever London has quays, and St. Paul's Church is laid open, according
to the ingenious project of Colonel Trench, she will excel all other
cities in magnificence, as much as she now does in magnitude.

Among the new bridges, Waterloo Bridge holds the first rank. The
proprietors are said to have lost 300,000_l._ feet in length, and
enclosed between solid balustrades of granite, it affords an agreeable
and almost solitary walk, and commands the finest river view, in so far
as the fog will permit it to be seen,--in which palaces, bridges,
churches, and vessels, are proudly blended.

The contrivance for checking the toll-receivers was new to me. The iron
turnstile through which you pass, and which is in the usual form of a
cross, is so contrived that it describes each time only a quarter of the
circle, just as much as is necessary to let one person through; and at
the moment when it stops, a mark falls in an enclosed case under the
bridge. There is a similar contrivance for carriages; and the
proprietors have only to count the marks in an evening, to know
accurately how many foot and horse-passengers cross the bridge daily.
The former pay a penny, the latter three-pence, by which it was expected
that three hundred pounds a day would be taken, instead of which the
receipts seldom exceed fifty.


_October 7th._

What would delight you here is the extreme cleanliness of the houses,
the great convenience of the furniture, and the good manners and
civility of all serving people. It is true that one pays for all that
appertains to luxury (for the strictly necessary is not _much_ dearer
than with us), six times as high; but then one has six times as much
comfort. In the inns everything is far better and more abundant than on
the Continent. The bed, for instance, which consists of several
mattrasses laid one upon another, is large enough to contain two or
three persons; and when the curtains which hang from the square tester
supported on substantial mahogany columns, are drawn around you, you
find yourself as it were in a little cabinet,--a room, which would be a
very comfortable dwelling for a Frenchman. On your washing-table you
find--not one miserable water-bottle, with a single earthen or silver
jug and basin, and a long strip of a towel, such as are given you in all
hotels and many private houses in France and Germany; but positive tubs
of handsome porcelain, in which you may plunge half your body;
half-a-dozen wide towels; a multitude of fine glass bottles and glasses,
great and small; a large standing looking-glass, foot-baths, &c., not to
mention other anonymous conveniences of the toilet, all of equal
elegance.

Everything presents itself before you in so attractive a guise, that as
soon as you wake you are allured by all the charms of the bath. If you
want anything, the sound of your bell brings either a neatly dressed
maid-servant, with a respectful curtesy, or a smart well-dressed waiter,
who receives your orders in the garb and with the air of an adroit
valet; instead of an uncombed lad, in a short jacket and green apron,
who asks you, with a mixture of stupidity and insolence, "Was schaffen's
Ihr Gnoden?" (What is it, your Honour?), or "Haben _Sie_ hier
jeklingelt?" (Was it _you_, here, that rung?), and then runs out again
without understanding properly what is wanted. Good carpets cover the
floors of all the chambers; and in the brightly polished steel grate
burns a cheerful fire, instead of the dirty logs, or the smoky and
ill-smelling stoves to be found in so many of our inns.

If you go out, you never find a dirty staircase, nor one in which the
lighting serves only to make darkness visible. Throughout the house, day
and night, reign the greatest order and decency; and in some hotels
every spacious set of apartments has its own staircase, so that no one
comes in contact with others. At table, the guest is furnished with a
corresponding profusion of white table linen, and brilliantly polished
table utensils; with a well-filled 'plat de ménage,' and an elegance of
setting out which leaves nothing to wish for. The servants are always
there when you want them, and yet are not intrusive: the master of the
house generally makes his appearance with the first dish, and inquires
whether everything is as you desire;--in short, the best inns afford
everything that is to be found in the house of a travelled gentleman,
and the attendance is perhaps more perfect and respectful. It is true
the reckoning is of a piece with the rest, and you must pay the waiters
nearly as much as you would a servant of your own. In the first hotels,
a waiter is not satisfied with less than two pounds a-week for his own
private fees. Such gifts or vales are more the order of the day in
England than in any other country, and are asked with the greatest
shamelessness even in the churches.

I visited the bazaars to-day. These establishments have come very much
into fashion within the last few years, and afford great facilities to
buyers. The so-called horse bazaar is built on a very large scale, and
daily draws together a very motley assemblage. It includes several
extensive buildings, where hundreds of carriages and harness of every
kind, new and old (the latter made to look like new), are exposed to
sale, at all prices, in a very long gallery. In other rooms are
porcelain wares, articles of dress, glass mirrors, 'quincaillerie,'
toys, and even collections of foreign birds and butterflies, all for
sale. At length you reach a coffee-room in the centre of the
establishment, with a glazed gallery running round an open space. Here,
while comfortably seated at breakfast (in rather mixed company it is
true), you see a number of horses led out from the extensive stables
where they are well taken care of, and to which any one who has a horse
to sell may send it for a certain fee. They are then put up to auction.
When a horse is warranted sound by the auctioneer, you may buy it with
tolerable safety, since the proprietor of the establishment is
responsible for the warranty. The best are certainly not to be found
here, but the cheapest are; and to many this is a great recommendation:
perhaps a still greater is the being able to get all one wants in the
same place. There are already, as I said, several of these bazaars, and
they are worth a visit. The convenient walking on the excellent
'trottoirs,' the gay and ever-changing groups, and the numerous splendid
shops, make the streets of London, especially in the evening, a very
agreeable walk to a foreigner.

Besides the brilliant gas-lights, there are large globes of glass in the
druggists' shops, filled with liquid of a deep red, blue, or green
colour, the splendid light of which is visible for miles, and often
serves as a beacon, though sometimes as an 'ignis fatuus,' if you are
unlucky enough to mistake one for another.

Of all the shops, the most attractive are those in which the beautiful
English crystal is sold. Real diamonds can scarcely glitter more
dazzlingly than the far-gleaming collections of some manufacturers. I
observed too some articles of rose or other coloured glass, but I was
surprised to see how little the forms were changed. The crown lustres,
for instance, are just the same as ever; and yet I should think that
they might be made in the form of suns with diverging rays, or of
bouquets of flowers, instead of this eternal crown; or that small
lustres of gay colours, set like 'bijous' of various gems, and fixed
against the walls of rooms of appropriate, perhaps oriental,
decorations, would produce a new and striking effect.

Other very interesting shops contain all the newest implements of
agriculture and the mechanic arts, from huge drilling machines and an
apparatus for uprooting old trees, to small delicate garden shears, all
set out in extensive premises, all arranged with a certain elegance,
which is universal, even among the dealers in meat, fish and vegetables.
The shops of ironmongers and dealers in lamps well deserve a visit;
affording, as they do, a display of the new and the useful, which it
would not be easy to find on the whole Continent, either to the same
extent or in the same exact perfection. The traveller, however, who
confines himself to the 'salons' and the like, and who wants to see only
_genteel sights_, had better stay at home.

I closed the day with a walk to Chelsea, the hospital for invalid
soldiers, where one rejoices to see the old warriors well taken care of,
inhabiting a palace, and enjoying gardens with the most beautiful
smooth-mowed 'bowling-green' and lofty avenues of horse-chestnut trees,
of which a little sovereign might be proud.

I dined at the ---- ambassador's at eight o'clock. The dinner was
remarkable not only for the amiability of the host, but for genuine
Metternich-Johannisberg; for which nectar, even the most inveterate
liberal must allow justice to be done to the great minister. At table I
found friend B----, the youth of forty, who charged me with abundance of
compliments to you. He is the same as ever, and entertained me with a
long conversation about his toilet; he declared that he had grown
dreadfully thin in England from ennui.

I must here give you notice that I can say nothing about London society
till a longer residence and 'the season' have enabled me to speak with
more confidence on the subject. So long as London remains desert as
Palmyra, as to the fashionable world, I shall confine myself to a
description of places.


_October 10th._

A few days ago I took advantage of rather brighter weather to visit
Chiswick, a villa of the Duke of Devonshire's, which is esteemed the
most elegant specimen of garden decoration, of its kind, in England. I
had seen it some years ago at a fête given by the Duke but only
superficially. I could not, even now, see the pictures, as the house was
inhabited by a visitor.

I found the garden much altered, but not I think for the better; for
there is now a mixture of the regular and the irregular which has a very
unpleasant effect. The ugly fashion now prevalent in England, of
planting the 'pleasure-ground' with single trees or shrubs placed at a
considerable distance almost in rows, has been introduced in several
parts of these grounds. This gives the grass-plats the air of
nursery-grounds. The shrubs are trimmed round, so as not to touch each
other, the earth carefully cleared about them every day, and the edges
of the turf cut into stiff lines, so that you see more of black earth
than of green foliage, and the free beauty of nature is quite checked.
Mr. Nash, however, adheres to a very different principle, and the new
gardens of Buckingham Palace are models to all planters.

The most favourable circumstance to English gardeners is the mildness of
the climate. Common and Portuguese laurels, azaleas, and rhododendrons
are not injured by the frost, and afford the most beautiful luxuriant
thickets, summer and winter, and, in their respective seasons, the
richest blossoms and berries.

Magnolias are seldom covered, and even camellias stand abroad in
peculiarly sheltered spots, with only the protection of a matting. The
turf preserves its beautiful freshness all winter; indeed at that season
it is usually thicker and more beautiful than in summer, when I
remember, in dry weather, to have seen it worse than ever I saw it in
the Mark. The present is just the season in which the whole vegetation
is in its utmost magnificence.

A pretty effect is produced at Chiswick by a single lofty tree, the stem
of which has been cleared up to the very top, and from beneath which you
command a view of the whole garden and a part of the park;--a good hint
to landscape gardeners, which I advise you to profit by at M----. The
cedars here (which unfortunately will not thrive with us) are
celebrated, and grow to the size of old fir-trees. Colossal yew hedges
also show how long this estate has been an object of extraordinary care.
The new conservatories do more credit to the taste of the present
possessor than the pleasure-ground. It is strange enough that
orange-trees nowhere reach any great size in England. They are very
'mésquin' here. On the other hand, the flower-gardens are magnificent.
The beds are so thinly planted that each separate plant has room to
spread, excepting in those beds which are entirely filled with one sort
of flower. In them, the chief aim is the perfection of the whole, and
they are consequently by far the most beautiful. In the pinery I saw,
for the first time, the great Providence pines, specimens of which have
been produced of twelve pounds weight.

There is a menagerie attached to the garden, in which a tame elephant
performs all sorts of feats, and very quietly suffers anybody to ride
him about a large grass-plat. His neighbour is a lama, of a much less
gentle nature; his weapon is a most offensive saliva, which he spits out
to a distance of some yards at any one who irritates him; he takes such
good aim, and fires so suddenly at his antagonist, that it is extremely
difficult to avoid his charge.

Chiswick has unfortunately only stagnant slimy water, which is sometimes
so low that the elephant, if he were thirsty, might drink it up at a
draught.

Passing through a continued series of pretty villas and country-houses
of every kind, amid the whirl of horsemen, stage-coaches,
travelling-carriages, and coal-wagons drawn by gigantic horses, with
occasional pretty glimpses of the Thames, I reached Hyde-Park Corner,
after an hour's quick driving, and buried myself anew in the labyrinth
of the huge town.

The next day I visited the City, accompanied by my 'laquais de place,' a
Swiss, who had travelled in Egypt, Syria, Siberia, and America; had
published a Russian Post-book; brought the first intelligence of the
taking of Hamburg, together with an actual specimen of a live Cossack,
to London; bought Napoleon's coronation robes at Paris, and exhibited
them here; and speaks almost all the European languages. I think all
this is not dear at half-a-guinea a day. He may be useful, too, as a
physician, for he has collected so many secrets and recipes in his
travels, that he has a domestic remedy for every disorder, and moreover,
as he maintains, is in possession of a thousand different receipts for
making punch. Under the conduct of this universal genius, I entered the
Royal Exchange for the first time.

In other cities the Exchange has merely a mercantile air--here it has a
completely historical one. The imposing statues of English sovereigns
around, the most remarkable among whom are Henry the Eighth and
Elizabeth, combined with the antique and stately architecture, excite a
poetical feeling, to which the thought of the boundless commerce of
which London is the centre gives a still deeper significancy. The men,
however, who animate the picture soon draw one back into the region of
common-place, for selfishness and avarice gleam but too clearly from
every eye. In this point of view, the place I am describing, and indeed
the whole city, have a repulsive sinister aspect, which almost reminds
one of the restless and comfortless throng of the spirits of the damned.

The great court of the Exchange is surrounded by covered arcades, on
which inscriptions point out to the merchants of every nation their
several places of assembling. In the centre stands a statue of Charles
the Second, who built this edifice. Its port and bearing precisely
express the man whom history describes; not handsome, but somewhat
graceful, and with an inveterate levity of features, composed, as if in
mockery, to seriousness: a levity which nothing could correct, because
it sprang from mediocrity, and which made this king as agreeable and
careless a 'roué' as he was a worthless ruler. In niches above stand the
busts of other English sovereigns. I have already mentioned Henry the
Eighth and Elizabeth. They would be striking, independently of all
associations;--- Henry, fat and contented, and with an expression of
wanton cruelty: Elizabeth, with an air of masculine greatness, and yet
of feminine spite. The busts are doubtless copied from the best
originals by Holbein. On this story is the celebrated Lloyd's Coffee
House, the dirtiest place of the kind in London, which exhibits few
traces of the millions daily exchanged in it.

Close by is the vast and beautiful building, the Bank of England,
containing a number of rooms of various dimensions, generally lighted
from above, and destined to the various offices. Hundreds of clerks are
here at work, and mechanically conduct the gigantic business, at which
the 'nil admirari' becomes a difficult matter to a poor German;
especially when he is admitted into the Bullion Office where the ingots
are kept, and gazes astounded on the heaps of gold and silver which
appear to him to realize the wonders of the Arabian Nights.

From hence I proceeded to the Town-House (Guildhall), where the Lord
Mayor was just in the act of administering the law. The present Lord
Mayor is a bookseller, but cut a very good figure in his blue gown and
gold chain, and assumed a truly monarchical dignity. I do not think that
he acquitted himself at all worse than a regular officer of
justice;--ever since Sancho Panza's time, it is admitted that a sound
understanding often discerns the right more truly than learned subtlety.

The scene of action was a moderate-sized room, half-filled with the
lowest populace. The matter in hand was the most frequent and ordinary
theme in England--a theft; and as the culprit, who appeared equally
indifferent and 'ennuyé', after a little hesitation, confessed the
offence, the drama soon came to a close.

Further still did we wander on in the tumultuous 'City,' where you may
be lost like a flitting atom, if you do not pass on to the right or left
according to rule; where you seem to be in continual danger of being
spitted on the shaft of a cabriolet driving too near the narrow
'trottoir,' or crushed under the weight of an overloaded and tottering
stage-coach edifice. At length we reached an extremely dark and
mean-looking coffee-house, called Garroway's, where estates and houses
of enormous value are daily put up to sale. We took our seat with great
gravity, as if we had been desirous of making some important purchase,
and admired the uncommon suavity of manner and incredible address with
which the auctioneer excited the desire to purchase among his audience.
He was very well dressed in black, with a wig, and stood with all the
dignity of a professor in his chair. He pronounced a charming oration on
every estate, and failed not to season it with various jokes and
witticisms, at the same time eulogizing every object in so irresistible
a manner that one would have sworn that all the property went for an old
song.

How could I leave the city without visiting the true 'Lion,' (the
English expression for anything extraordinary)--the sovereign--in a
word, Rothschild?

I found him, too, in a poor obscure-looking place, (his residence is in
another part of the town,) and making my way with some difficulty
through the little court-yard, blocked up by a wagon laden with bars of
silver, I was introduced into the presence of this Grand Ally of the
Holy Alliance. I found the Russian consul in the act of paying his
court. He is an acute, clever man, perfect in the part he has to play,
and uniting the due respect with a becoming air of dignity. This was the
more difficult, because the very original aristocrat of the city did not
stand much on ceremony. On my presenting my letter of credit, he said
ironically, that we were lucky people who could afford to travel about
so, and take our pleasure; while he, poor man, had such a heavy burthen
to bear. He then broke out into bitter complaints that every poor devil
who came to England had something or other to ask of him. "Yesterday,"
said he, "here was a Russian begging of me" (an episode which threw a
bitter-sweet expression over the consul's face); "and," added he, "the
Germans here don't give me a moment's peace." Now it was my turn to put
a good face upon the matter. After this, the conversation took a
political turn, and we both of course agreed that Europe could not
subsist without him;--he modestly declined our compliment, and said,
smiling, "Oh no, you are only jesting--I am but a servant, who people
are pleased with because he manages their affairs well, and to whom they
let some crumbs fall as an acknowledgment."

All this was said in a language quite peculiar to himself, half English,
half German--the English part with a broad German accent, but with the
imposing confidence of a man who feels such trifles to be beneath his
attention. This truly original language struck me as very characteristic
of a man who is unquestionably a person of genius, and of a certain sort
of greatness of character.

I had begun my day, very appropriately for England, with the Royal
Exchange, the resort of merchants, and ended it with Exeter 'Change,
where I saw the representatives of the colonies,--the wild beasts. Here
I found another lion, and this time a genuine one, called Nero, who
besides his tameness, has the rarer merit in our northern latitude, of
having presented England with six generations of young lions. He is of
enormous size and dignified aspect, but now rests upon his laurels and
sleeps royally nearly all day long. If he wakes in an ill humour,
however, he makes the old wooden house and all the herd of subject
beasts tremble. These consist of elephants, tigers, leopards, hyænas,
zebras, monkeys, ostriches, condors, parrots, &c. It is curious that
they are not upon the ground floor, but up one or two pair of stairs, so
that one can ride on a tame elephant which stands always ready saddled,
and enjoy a fine extensive prospect. The variety is great, and the price
moderate. The ambassador of the late King of Würtemburg had, as I well
remember, more occupation here than in St. James' and Downing Street;
and, indeed, I know that he was for a considerable time in fear of
losing his post on account of a strange enormous dead tortoise.

On the way home to my hotel we passed a house which furnished my
cicerone with an occasion of telling the following interesting story. If
it is 'brodé,' I beg of you to blame him and not me.[10]


_October 13th._

Fatigued by my tour the day before yesterday, I passed the following
morning in my own room. In the evening I visited the English Opera. The
house is neither large nor elegant, but the actors very good. There was
no opera, however, but hideous melo-drames; first, Frankenstein, where a
human being is made by magic,--a manufacture which answers very ill; and
then the Vampire, after the well-known tale falsely attributed to Lord
Byron. The principal part in both was acted by Mr. Cooke, who is
distinguished for a very handsome person, skilful acting, and a
remarkably dignified, noble deportment. The acting was, indeed,
admirable throughout, but the pieces so stupid and monstrous that it was
impossible to sit out the performance. The heat, the exhalations, and
the audience were not the most agreeable. Besides all this, the
performance lasted from seven to half-past twelve,--too long for the
best.

The next day I drove to Hampton Court to visit the palace, the stud, and
my old friend Lady ----. Of all three I found the first the least
altered, and the celebrated vine laden as usual with grapes. It had
considerably above a thousand bunches, and completely covered a
hot-house of seventy-five feet long by twenty-five wide. In a corner
stood, like the dim progenitor of a haughty race, its brown stem, as
lost and obscure as if it did not belong to the magnificent canopy of
leaves and fruit which owe their existence to it alone.

Most of the rooms in the palace have still the same furniture as in the
time of William the Third. The torn chairs and curtains are carefully
preserved. The walls are hung with many interesting and admirable
pictures;--above all, the celebrated Cartoons of Raphael, which,
however, are soon to be transferred to the King's new palace. I must
only mention two fine portraits,--that of Wolsey, the haughty founder
of this palace, and that of Henry the Eighth, his treacherous master.
Both are admirable and highly characteristic. You remember that fat
lawyer whom we had such difficulty in getting rid of; with an animal
expression of countenance, sensual, bloodthirsty as far as the present
times render it possible to be so, clever, subtle, full of talent and of
craft, with boundless haughtiness, and yet a resistless tendency to the
vulgar, and, lastly, utterly and frankly devoid of all conscience;--give
the picture of Henry a green frock-coat and pearl buttons, and you have
a most faithful portrait of him.

Nature continually repeats herself in different 'nuances,'--they vary
according to the state of mankind and of the world.

In the night I was very nearly suffocated. The Jocrisse I imported, who
had probably been too hospitably entertained by some English
acquaintance, thought proper to take the coals out of the fireplace
while I was asleep, and left them standing in my room in a lackered
coal-scuttle. A frightful smoke and infernal smell fortunately awoke me
just as I was dreaming that I was a courtier of Henry the Eighth, and
was paying my court to a French beauty at the Champ du Drap d'Or;
otherwise I should have gone to meet the fair one of my dream in heaven.

Almost like that heaven, as distant and as lovely, appears to me the
place where you are dwelling, my truest friend: and thus I send you the
kiss of peace across the sea, and close my first English letter, wishing
you health and every blessing.

Your devoted L----.




LETTER IV.


_London, Oct. 15th, 1826._

It seems to me that I shall never get accustomed to this climate, for
ever since my landing I have felt perpetually unwell. However, so long
as I am not confined to my chamber, I do not suffer it to depress me
much; I ride a great deal in the lovely cultivated environs of London,
and do not abstain from my walks about the town.

The turn of the British Museum came lately, where a strange
"_Mischmasch_" of works of art, natural curiosities, books, and models,
are preserved in a miserable building.

At the top of the staircase, as you enter, stand two enormous giraffes,
in the character of stuffed guards, or emblems of English taste! There
is, doubtless, much that is interesting in the various apartments. I
confess, however, to my shame, that I must be in a peculiarly favourable
state of mind not to have an attack of indigestion after such a surfeit
of sights. Among the antediluvian remains I saw an enormous and
remarkably perfect pair of stag's antlers, at least six times as large
as the largest of those which friend C---- keeps in the stag-gallery of
his castle. In a huge shed are deposited the noble Elgin Marbles, as
they are here called.

A bust of Hippocrates struck me as being so perfect a representation of
the physician by profession, that here in England one can hardly look at
it without putting one's hand in one's pocket.[11] I looked at the
celebrated Portland Vase with all the enthusiasm it is calculated to
excite. I send you two little works on the Vase and the Elgin Marbles,
with very tolerable outline engravings. But I must now quit you to give
orders about packing; for to-morrow I mean to start for Newmarket races.


_Newmarket, Oct. 19th._

The beauty of the country, and the extraordinary neatness and elegance
of every place through which my road lay to-day, struck me anew in the
most agreeable manner. These fertile and well-cultivated fields; these
thousands of comfortable and pretty farm-houses and cottages scattered
over every part of the country; this incessant stream of elegant
carriages, well-mounted horsemen, and well-dressed foot-passengers, are
peculiar to England. The beautiful picture has but one fault,--it is all
too cultivated, too perfect; thence always and everywhere the same, and
consequently, in the long run, wearisome:--indeed I can even conceive
that it must become distasteful in time, like a savoury dish of dainties
to the stomach of a sated man. This may explain the great taste of the
English for travelling on the Continent. It is just so in life,--the
thing men can the least bear is undisturbed good fortune, and it may be
doubted whether father Adam would not have died of ennui in paradise.

To-day, however, a due proportion of shadows was provided for me. In
consequence of the great resort to the races, I found at every stage
only miserable overdriven horses, sometimes none at all, so that,
according to the English standard, I travelled wretchedly, and did not
reach Newmarket till late at night.

There was no room in any of the inns; and I thought myself happy at last
to get one small room in a private house, for which I paid five guineas
a week. Fortunately I met an old acquaintance in the same house,--the
son of a little Hungarian Magnate, who seems formed to please himself
and others by his unpretending good-nature and joyous temper. I revere
such natures, precisely because they have all that I want.

Next morning I rode about with him to reconnoitre the ground a little.
One day here is precisely like another. At half-past nine in the morning
you see some hundreds of race-horses, carefully clothed, taking their
morning promenade on a rising ground. The bare, wide-spread heath is
covered with them as with a herd of cattle; some are walking at a foot
pace, others galloping, some slower, some quicker, but none at full
speed. An inspector on a little poney generally accompanies the horses
which belong to the same gentleman, or which are under the care of the
same training-groom. The horses are all ridden without a saddle by
little half-dressed lads, one of whom is every now and then thrown for
the amusement of the spectators. After this exhibition, certainly a most
interesting one to every amateur of horses, people breakfast, and in
half an hour go to the sale, which takes place almost every day in the
open street, under the auspices of the far-famed Mr. Tattersall. They
then ride or drive to the races.

These begin pretty punctually at twelve o'clock. An interminable grassy
plain covered with a thick short turf is the ground, where various
distances, from a full German mile as maximum, to an eighth or tenth, as
minimum, are marked for the course in a perfectly straight line. Near
the end, this course is enclosed between ropes, on the outside of which
rows of carriages three and four deep are drawn up, generally without
horses, and covered within and without, from top to bottom, with
spectators. At the goal itself is a wooden house on wheels, very like
those the shepherds have in many parts of Germany, so that it can be
moved about in case the course is lengthened or shortened: in this sits
the judge. Just opposite to him is a post fixed in the ground, by means
of which he determines which horse's nose first appears exactly on a
line with it; for an inch often decides the race: and it is a very
skilful piece of policy and jockeyship of the riders here, to betray the
real speed of their horses as little as possible, and to display only as
much of it as is necessary to win the race. If they see they have no
chance, they immediately give up; so that those who contend for victory
to the last, are always very nearly together at the goal. The grotesque
spectacle of a rider a mile in the rear, belabouring his horse with whip
and spur, like a steam-engine, is exhibited only in France and Germany.
If two horses reach the post exactly at the same moment, (which
frequently happens,) they must run again. The judge is upon oath, and
there is no appeal from his decision. The English jockeys (who are not,
as foreigners think, little boys, but often dwarfish men of sixty,) form
a perfectly distinct class, and are the best practical riders I know of.
You remember that I kept race-horses myself, and had a Newmarket jockey
for a time in my service, who won a considerable bet for me at Vienna.
It amused me greatly to see this fellow 'training' himself. After dosing
himself severely, he would go out in the greatest heat, dressed in three
or four great-coats, ride a certain distance at a hard trot, till the
sweat streamed off him in torrents, and he almost sank from exhaustion;
'mais tel étoit son plaisir,' and the more completely good-for-nothing
he felt, the better he was pleased.[12]

But there are bounds to this: for the man, by excessive training, may
reduce himself below the weight which the horse is bound to carry, and
thus subject himself to the inconvenient necessity of carrying lead in
the girths. At a certain distance from the goal, about a hundred paces
to the side, stands another white post called the betting-post. Here the
bettors assemble, after they have seen the horses saddled in the stables
at the beginning of the course, thoroughly examined into all the
circumstances of the impending race, or perhaps given a wink to some
devoted jockey. The scene which ensues would to many appear the most
strange that ever was exhibited. In noise, uproar, and clamour, it
resembles a Jews' synagogue, with a greater display of passion. The
persons of the drama are the first peers of England, livery-servants,
the lowest 'sharpers' and 'blacklegs;'--in short, all who have money to
bet here claim equal rights; nor is there any marked difference in their
external appearance. Most of them have pocket-books in their hands, each
calls aloud his bet, and when it is taken, each party immediately notes
it in his book. Dukes, lords, grooms, and rogues, shout, scream, and
halloo together, and bet together, with a volubility and in a technical
language out of which a foreigner is puzzled to make anything; till
suddenly the cry is heard, "The horses have started!" In a minute the
crowd disperses; but the bettors soon meet again at the ropes which
enclose the course. You see a multitude of telescopes, opera-glasses and
eye-glasses, levelled from the carriages and by the horsemen, in the
direction whence the jockeys are coming. With the speed of the wind
they are seen approaching; and for a few moments a deep and anxious
silence pervades the motley crowd; while a manager on horseback keeps
the course clear, and applies his whip without ceremony to the shoulders
of any intruder. The calm endures but a moment;--then once more arises
the wildest uproar; shouts and lamentations, curses and cheers re-echo
on every side, from Lords and Ladies, far and wide. "Ten to four upon
the Admiral!" "A hundred to one upon Madame Vestris!" "Small Beer
against the field!" &c. are heard from the almost frantic bettors: and
scarcely do you hear a "Done!" uttered here and there, when the noble
animals are before you--past you--in the twinkling of an eye; the next
moment at the goal, and luck, or skill, or knavery have decided the
victory. The great losers look blank for a moment; the winners triumph
aloud; many make 'bonne mine à mauvais jeu,' and dart to the spot, where
the horses are unsaddled and the jockeys weighed, to see if some
irregularity may not yet give them a chance. In a quarter of an hour the
same scene begins anew with other horses, and is repeated six or seven
times. "Voilà les courses de Newmarket!"

The first day I was gifted with such a prophetic vision, that twice, by
the mere exercise of my proper observation and judgment, I betted upon
the winner at the saddling, and gained a considerable sum. But I had the
usual fate of play,--what I won that day I lost the next, and as much
more to boot. Whoever is a permanent winner here, is sure of his game
_beforehand_; and it is well known that the principles of many of the
English nobility are remarkably wide and expansive on this head.

Among the company present, I found several old acquaintances, who gave
me permission to see their running horses in the stable, which is
regarded as a signal favour. They also offered to introduce me into the
Club here;--an honour, however, which I declined. It is purely a
gambling Club,--which a man should beware of in England, more than in
any other country.

It may be regarded as a part of the national costume, and highly
characteristic of the general tradesman-like spirit, that beforehand all
advantages are fair; but that after a bet is once taken, though often
amidst the greatest hurry and confusion, it is scarcely ever disputed.
On the other hand, a man who has lost more than he can pay, before
reckoning-day becomes invisible, that is, commits an act of bankruptcy,
and betakes himself to the Continent, either for ever, or till he can
pay.

On the first day of my visit to Newmarket, my Hungarian friend
introduced me to the family of a rich merchant of this neighbourhood,
who with his visitors, among whom were some very pretty girls, came
daily to the races, and returned home after them. They invited us to
dine with them the next day, and stay the day after, which we accepted
with much pleasure.

About five o'clock we set out on horseback. A newly planted, very broad
double avenue of beeches marked the beginning of our host's property,
and led us through about half a mile of road to the entrance of his
park,--a sort of triumphal arch between two lodges, to which the park
paling joined. This was however concealed in the plantation for some
distance on either side the lodges, so that they appeared to stand in
the midst of wood, and thus produced a very good effect. For some time
our way led us through a thick plantation, till we reached the lawn,
studded with groups of trees, which invariably forms the chief feature
of an English park. Here we caught sight of the house, behind which lay
the high trees and 'shrubberies.'

Some cows lay on the grass just before the door of the house, so that we
were obliged almost to ride over them--a strange anomaly, which even
Repton animadverts upon. It is the custom here to have the park, that
is the ornamented pasture land, extend on one side, if not on both, to
the very house; but surely it would be in better taste to have the
garden and pleasure-ground around the house. It seems to me, that
however agreeable the distant view of cattle may be, their immediate
vicinity, with all its accompaniments, is not very pleasant.

We found a pretty numerous company, consisting of the master and
mistress of the house, both of middle age, their eldest married daughter
with her husband, two younger daughters, a neighbouring Baronet with his
pretty wife, and her very pleasing but very melancholy sister, Miss ----,
a much courted lady who frequently moves in higher circles, three
gentlemen not remarkable for anything, the son of the house, and lastly,
a London beau of the second class,--a study of an aspiring City dandy.

The Baronet had served in Germany, and had, as he told us, obtained the
cross of Maria Theresa. He did not wear it, because he thought the thing
very well for a young man, but not at all suitable to the quiet country
gentleman's life he now led. He was a simple, kind-hearted man, who
appeared to have been invited to meet us as best acquainted with the
Continent. We however preferred taking lessons in English manners of his
wife and her sister.

According to this system of manners, as it appeared, a visit from two
'Noblemen,' (even foreign ones, though these are full fifty per cent.
under natives,) was an honour to a house of the 'volée' of our host's.
We were therefore amazingly 'fêtés;' even the dandy was--as far as the
rules of his 'métier' permitted--civil and obliging to us. It is an
almost universal weakness of the unnoble in England, to parade an
acquaintance with the noble: the noble do the same with regard to the
'fashionable' or 'exclusive;' a peculiar caste, an _emperium in
imperio_, which exercises a still more despotical power in society, and
is not influenced by rank, still less by riches, but finds the
possibility of its maintenance only in this national foible.

It is therefore a great delight to the English of the middle classes to
travel on the Continent, where they easily make acquaintance with people
of rank, of whom they can talk as of intimate friends when they come
home. A merchant's wife once gave me a specimen of this: "Do you know
the Queen of ----?" said she. I replied that "I had had the honour of
being presented to her." "She is a great friend of mine," added
she,--exactly as if she had been talking of her husband's partner's
wife. She immediately exhibited, among the numerous trinkets which hung
about her, a portrait of the Queen, which, as she said, Her Majesty had
given her.

It was very likely true, for her daughter produced a letter from
Princess ----, a married daughter of the Queen, containing the most
confidential communications concerning her marriage and domestic
affairs, which has probably been made to serve for some time as 'cheval
de parade' to gratify the vanity of the possessor. Is it not most
extraordinary that our German great people, many of whom are by no means
wanting in pride and 'morgue' towards their own countrymen, should treat
every little English Squire or Miss, however utterly deficient in
intellectual pretensions, almost as an equal, without in the least
inquiring whether this person occupies a station at home which warrants
such a reception?

Nothing lets us down more in the eyes of the English themselves than
this obsequious worship of foreigners; the meanness of which consists in
this, that its true foundation generally lies in the profound respect
which high and low have for English money.

It requires a considerable fortune here to keep up a country-house; for
custom demands many luxuries, and, according to the aspiring and
imitative manners of the country, as much (in the main things) at the
shopkeeper's house, as at the Duke's;--a handsomely fitted-up house,
with elegant furniture, plate, servants in new and handsome liveries, a
profusion of dishes and foreign wines, rare and expensive dessert, and
in all things an appearance of superfluity,--'plenty' as the English
call it. As long as there are visitors in the house, this way of life
goes on; but many a family atones for it by meagre fare when alone: for
which reason nobody here ventures to pay a visit in the country without
being invited, and these invitations usually fix the day and hour. The
acquaintances are generally numerous; and as both room and the time
allotted to the reception of guests are small, one must give place to
another. True hospitality this can hardly be called; it is rather the
display of one's own possessions, for the purpose of dazzling as many as
possible. After a family has thus kept open house for a month or two,
they go for the remainder of the time they have to spend in the country,
to make visits at the houses of others; but the one hospitable month
costs as much as a wealthy landed proprietor spends in a whole year with
us.

As you never were in England, I must say a few words on the routine of
an English dinner, which, as I have said, is, 'à peu de chose près',
everywhere alike.

You like the details of daily life, and have often told me that you feel
the want of them in most books of travels, and yet that nothing gives
you a more lively conception of a foreign country. You must therefore
forgive me if I go into trifles.

The gentlemen lead the ladies into the dining-room, not as in France, by
the hand, but by the arm; and here, as there, are emancipated from the
necessity of those antiquated bows, which even in some of the best
society in Germany, are exchanged every time one hands out a lady. On
the other hand, there is a most anxious regard to rank, in the midst of
all which the strangest blunders are made as to that of foreigners. I
execrated mine to-day, as it brought me to the head of the table; while
my friend very cleverly slipped himself in between the pretty sisters.
When you enter, you find the whole of the first course on the table, as
in France.

After the soup is removed, and the covers are taken off, every man helps
the dish before him, and offers some of it to his neighbour;[13] if he
wishes for anything else, he must ask across the table, or send a
servant for it;--a very troublesome custom, in place of which, some of
the most elegant travelled gentlemen have adopted the more convenient
German fashion of sending the servants round with the dishes.

It is not usual to take wine without drinking to another person. When
you raise your glass, you look fixedly at the one with whom you are
drinking, bow your head, and then drink with great gravity. Certainly
many of the customs of the South Sea Islanders, which strike us the
most, are less ludicrous. It is esteemed a civility to challenge anybody
in this way to drink; and a messenger is often sent from one end of the
table to the other to announce to B---- that A---- wishes to take wine
with him; whereupon each, sometimes with considerable trouble, catches
the other's eye, and goes through the ceremony of the prescribed nod
with great formality, looking at the moment very like a Chinese
mandarin. If the company is small, and a man has drunk with everybody,
but happens to wish for more wine, he must wait for the dessert, if he
does not find in himself courage enough to brave custom.

At the conclusion of the second course comes a sort of intermediate
dessert of cheese, butter, salad, raw celery, and the like; after which
ale, sometimes thirty or forty years old, and so strong that when thrown
on the fire it blazes like spirit, is handed about. The tablecloth is
then removed: under it, at the best tables, is a finer, upon which the
dessert is set. At inferior ones, it is placed on the bare polished
table. It consists of all sorts of hot-house fruits, which are here of
the finest quality, Indian and native preserves, stomachic ginger,
confitures, and the like. Clean glasses are set before every guest, and,
with the dessert plates and knives and forks, small fringed napkins are
laid. Three decanters are usually placed before the master of the house,
generally containing claret, port, and sherry, or madeira. The host
pushes these in stands, or in a little silver wagon on wheels, to his
neighbour on the left. Every man pours out his own wine, and if a lady
sits next him, also helps her; and so on till the circuit is made, when
the same process begins again. Glass jugs filled with water happily
enable foreigners to temper the brandy which forms so large a component
part of English wines. After the dessert is set on, all the servants
leave the room: if more is wanted the bell is rung, and the butler
(Haushofmeister) alone brings it in. The ladies sit a quarter of an hour
longer, during which time sweet wines are sometimes served, and then
rise from table. The men rise at the same time, one opens the door for
them, and as soon as they are gone, draw closer together; the host takes
the place of the hostess, and the conversation turns upon subjects of
local and everyday interest, in which the stranger is pretty nearly
forgotten, and must content himself with listening to what he can take
very little part in. Every man is, however, at liberty to follow the
ladies as soon as he likes,--a liberty of which Count B---- and I very
quickly availed ourselves. We had the singular satisfaction of learning
that this was in accordance with the latest mode, as much drinking is
now 'unfashionable.' Accordingly the dandy had already preceded us. We
found him with the ladies, who received us in a 'salon,' grouped around
a large table on which were tea and coffee.[14] When the whole company
was re-assembled, all fell off into groups, according to their pleasure.
Some entertained themselves with music; here and there a couple
whispered in the recess of a window; several talked politics;--the dandy
alone remained solitary: sunk into a large easy chair, he had laid his
elegantly shod right foot over his left knee, and in that attitude
became apparently so absorbed in Madame de Stäel's 'Allemagne' that he
took not the slightest notice of any one present.

'A tout prendre,' I must do this pretty young fellow the justice to say
that he was not at all a bad copy of higher originals. Perhaps I was
bribed into this favourable opinion by his talking much at dinner about
the great Göthe, and praising his '_Fost_;' both of whom (Göthe and
_Fost_) Lord Byron has brought into fashion in England. _Fost_ seemed to
please him, particularly on account of what he conceived to be its
atheistical tendency, for he had, as he informed us, spent half his life
in Paris, and avowed himself an 'esprit fort.'

The following day, after all breakfasting together, we rode with the
ladies in the park, which contained nothing remarkable except a canal
of stagnant and slimy water, which had cost five thousand pounds in the
digging;--an expense better spared. The fruit-gardens and hot-houses
were admirable: the latter, a hobby of the proprietor, were heated by
steam on a very ingenious plan of his own, and the heat increased or
diminished at pleasure by simply turning a cock. Three-and-twenty
different sorts of pines,--above which, pendent from the glass roof,
hung gigantic purple grapes,--fill these spacious, elegant houses; and
in the fruit-garden we admired pears on the wall seven inches in length,
sixteen in circumference, and of an excellent flavour.

Several of the gentlemen went hunting; but we preferred the society at
home. The gay amusing B---- was become the favourite of the ladies, and
was evidently greatly regretted by them when the post-chaise arrived at
one o'clock in the morning to take us back to Newmarket. I must confess
that we took rather a laughing review of some things that struck us as
ridiculous, though I was really ashamed that we were such genuine B----
's[15] as to make ourselves merry at the expense of our host and his
company, instead of feeling hearty gratitude for our hospitable
reception.

But now-a-days the world is spoiled; and besides, hospitality which
springs from ostentation cannot expect the same hearty requital as that
which is the offspring of the heart. Probably we guests fared no better
in the house we had just quitted.

At the races the next morning we saw the young ladies again, betted
gloves with them till we lost, and delighted them with some Paris ones.
We declined a second invitation, as we were engaged to a gentleman's
dinner, and Count B---- was going to a fox-hunt at Melton. I shall leave
Newmarket too, and continue my letter in London.


_Epping-place, Oct. 20th._

I have travelled as far as I wished, and must pass the night here, as
the inspection of two parks has fully occupied my day.

My trouble has been richly rewarded. The first, Audley-End, belonging to
Lord Braybrooke, claims a place among the finest in the country. The
road lies through the middle of it, with a deep ha-ha on each side,
which secures the park and yet leaves a full view into it. You see, at
first, an extensive green landscape, in the centre of which is a broad,
river-like, and beautifully formed piece of water, which unfortunately,
however, has too little motion to prevent its being covered with
duckweed. Near to the opposite shore stands the splendid Gothic castle,
which was originally built by the Duke of Suffolk, and was then three
times as large as it is now. The multitude of its towers, projecting
angles, and lofty many-formed windows, still give it a very imposing and
picturesque appearance.

Although Lady Braybrooke was at home, I obtained the uncommon permission
to view it. I entered a wide and very simple hall, ornamented only with
some gigantic stag's horns of great antiquity, and furnished with a few
massive benches and chairs, on which the arms of the family were
painted; some very old paintings; a Gothic lamp; a large table,
consisting of two pieces of serpentine, of which only the upper side was
polished, the rest quite rough; and a dozen leather fire-buckets, also
painted with the family arms. The ceiling was of wood, with
deeply-carved compartments and old faded paintings. One saw at the first
glance that it was no house of yesterday one had entered. A high door
of heavy carved oak led from hence into the baron's hall, a large room
whose enormous windows reached from the ceiling to the floor, and
afforded a free view of the landscape. Several family pictures, as large
as life, partly painted by Vandyck, hung on the opposite wall; and
between them rose the huge marble chimney-piece, with the
richly-coloured arms of the Suffolks executed upon it in stucco. The
third side of the room,--that on which we entered,--was entirely covered
with very fine and highly relieved carvings, figures half the size of
life, like those one sees in the choirs of Gothic churches. Opposite
were large folding doors which opened into the eating-hall, and on each
side an open staircase leading to the first story. The dining-room
contains a portrait of Suffolk, and one of Queen Elizabeth. Her red
hair, 'fade' complexion and false look, and her over-done finery, gave
no advantageous idea of the vain and gallant 'Maiden Queen.'

On the first floor is a long narrow gallery full of pretty knick-knacks
and antique curiosities. In the centre is a large chart of the winds,
connected with the weather-cock on the tower, and destined to show the
sportsman every morning which way the wind sets.[16] This serves as
drawing-room, for most English country-houses and mansions are
judiciously made to contain only one principal entertaining room; which
is much more convenient for the reception of a large company.

The chapel is modern, but richly and tastefully ornamented; and here, if
the chaplain is absent, the lord of the house, according to ancient
usage, reads divine service at ten o'clock every morning, at which all
the family and servants must attend.

The park is of considerable extent, but intersected by a troublesome
number of fences, which serve to allot to the sheep, cows, horses and
deer, their several territories. Of the latter, there are from four to
five hundred head, which generally graze pretty near together like a
herd of tame cattle, and do not answer at all to our idea of game.[17]
The flesh too has a totally different flavour from that of the animals
which roam free in our woods, just as they say the flesh of wild oxen
differs from that of tame.

The preserves for partridges and hares are also fenced in to protect the
low copse from the cattle, in consequence of whose presence, the greater
part of an English park consists, as I have already remarked, only of
groups of high trees whose branches the cattle cannot reach.

These extensive views, grand and striking as they are at first, become
tiresome in time from their uniformity. Nor can I see that the numerous
enclosures are advantages to the landscape. Almost every young tree has
a fence round it to protect it from the cattle.

Two temples and an obelisk, to which there is no other way than across
the turf, have a very heterogeneous appearance in the midst of these
pasture-grounds. The distant Gothic tower of Walden church, rearing its
head picturesquely over the summits of the oaks, was in much better
keeping.

On the other hand I greatly admired the flower-garden and pheasantry.
The first describes a large oval, surrounded with a thick natural
evergreen wall of yew, laurel, rhododendron, cedar, cypress, box, holly,
&c.; a brook, adorned with a grotto and water-fall, flows through the
velvet turf, on which the rare and splendid plants and flower-beds of
every form and colour group themselves most beautifully.

The pheasantry, which is nearly two miles from this spot, is a thick
shady grove of various sorts of trees, of considerable extent, and
surrounded by a high wall. We could only get to it over the wet grass,
as the gravel-walk commenced from the entrance-gate. This is from
economy, for roads are excessively expensive both to make and to keep up
in England. There is generally but one carriage-road to the house, and
even the footpaths cease with the iron fences of the pleasure-grounds.
The English ladies are not so afraid of setting their feet on wet grass
as ours are.

After many windings, the path brought me, under a most lovely leafy
canopy, unexpectedly before the ivy-covered door of a little building,
adjoining to which, still more buried in the wood, was the gamekeeper's
house. This door opened from within, and most enchanting was the view
that it disclosed to us. We had entered a little open saloon, the
isolated pillars of which were entirely covered with thick monthly
roses;--between them was seen a large aviary filled with parrots on the
right, and on the left an equally extensive habitation for canaries,
goldfinches, and other small birds; before us lay an open grass-plat
dotted with evergreens, and behind this a background of high woods,
through which small peeps at a distant village and a solitary
church-tower had been cut with singular taste and skill.

On this grass-plat, the keeper now called together perfect clouds of
gold, silver, and pied pheasants, fowls, of exotic breeds, tame rooks,
curious pigeons, and other birds that were accustomed to be fed here,
and thronged together in the most gay and motley crowd. Their various
manners and gestures, rendered more lively by their passionate
eagerness, afforded an amusing spectacle. The behaviour of a gold
pheasant who, like a beau of the old school, seemed trying to make his
court to all the assembled hens with the most ludicrous struts and airs,
was so excessively comic that my old B---- burst into an immoderate fit
of laughter; whereat the English servants, who are accustomed to observe
an exterior of slavish reverence in the presence of their masters,
looked at him with a consternation at his boldness, which amused me as
much as the 'Pantalonnade' among the fowls.

There are above five hundred gold and silver pheasants. They have all
one wing cut as soon as they are hatched, which for ever prevents their
flying. They inhabit these woods winter and summer, without wanting even
the shelter of a shed,--so mild is this climate.

Not to weary you, I omit the description of the second park, Short
Grove, which had nothing remarkable to boast, and appeared much
neglected. The house, park, hot-houses, &c., the former completely
furnished, were to let for the moderate rent of four hundred a-year,--a
very common custom here when the possessors are travelling.

We should not like to imitate it; while on the other hand, a part of our
town-houses are almost always let, the proprietors inhabiting only the
'bel étage.' This again appears very strange to the English, and
certainly is extremely inconvenient, for the presence of several
families in one house is not favourable either to order or cleanliness.

The house-door at Short Grove was covered on the outside with
looking-glass,--a very pretty idea: as you enter the house you have a
beautiful picture of the country.

The great wealth of the landholders of England must always strike people
from the Continent, where the landed proprietors are the poorest class,
and the least protected by laws and institutions. Here everything
conspires for their advantage. It is very difficult for the fundholder
to acquire the free and full possession of land. Almost the whole soil
is the property of the aristocracy, who generally let it only on lease;
so that when a great man calls a village his, this does not mean, as
with us, merely that he has the lordship (_Oberherrschafft_) over it,
but that every house is his absolute property; and only granted to the
actual inhabitants for a certain time. You may conceive what enormous
and ever increasing revenues this must bring them, in a country where
trade and population are continually on the increase; and may admire
with me the concert and address with which this aristocracy has
contrived for centuries to turn all the institutions of the country to
its own advantage.

The free sale of a portion of land is attended by many difficult
conditions, and at so high a price that it is out of the reach of small
capitalists, who find it more advantageous to hire it on lease. Leases
here are, however, of a very different nature from ours. The piece of
land is let to the tenant for ninety-nine years on payment of a certain
yearly rent, which varies from a few shillings to five and ten pounds
yearly per foot of the frontage, if it be for building on; in large
portions, it is so much per acre. The tenant now does with it what he
likes, builds where he pleases, lays out gardens, pleasure-grounds, and
so on: but after the lapse of the ninety-nine years, the whole reverts
just as it stands, sound and tight, to the family of the original lord
of the soil: nay more; the tenant must keep the house in perfect repair,
and paint it every seven years. During his allotted term he may sell or
let it to others, but of course only up to that period when it reverts
to the original proprietor. Almost all the country-houses, villas, &c.,
that one sees, thus belong to great land-owners; and although the
tenants at the expiration of their term generally re-establish this sort
of precarious property in them, yet they must double or treble their
rent, according to the increased value of land, or the improvements they
themselves have made upon it. Even the greater part of London belongs,
on such terms, to certain noblemen, of whom Lord Grosvenor, for
instance, is said to derive above 100,000_l._ a year from his
ground-rents. Scarcely a single inhabitant of London, therefore, except
a few members of the high aristocracy, is the real owner of his house.
Even Rothschild's is not his own: and when a man buys one, as it is
called, people ask him for how long. The price varies according as the
house is taken at first hand, commonly then for a rent; or at second or
third, and then more usually for a sum of money. The greater part of the
profits of industry thus inevitably falls into the hands of the
aristocracy, and necessarily increases the enormous influence which they
already exercise over the government of the country.[18]


_London, October 21st._

This afternoon I got home safe and well through the incessant rain,
refreshed myself with a good dinner at the Club, and in the evening, let
me tell you, won just six times my travelling expenses. I am well and in
good spirits, and find that I want nothing but you.

Let me finish my letter at so favourable a conjuncture. It is already
swelled to a packet.

Ever your faithfully devoted L----.




LETTER V.[19]


_London, Nov. 20th, 1826._

BELOVED FRIEND,

I advise travellers never to take servants out of their fatherland into
strange countries, especially if they imagine they shall save by
it,--now-a-days always a prime object. This piece of economy belongs to
the class of those, _one_ of which costs more than _four_ pieces of
extravagance; besides which, one hangs a load round one's neck which is
burthensome in various ways.

These wise reflections are excited in me by my old valet, who seems
inclined to fall into the English spleen because he finds so many daily
difficulties here;--above all, in getting soup for his dinner, the
thought of which beloved aliment of his home calls tears into his eyes.
He reminds me of the Prussian soldiers, who, amid streams of Champagne,
beat the French peasants for not setting Stettin beer before them.

True it is that the English of the middle classes, accustomed to
substantial flesh diet, are not acquainted with the Northern broths and
soups: what goes under that name in England is an expensive extract of
all sorts of peppers and spices from both Indies, like that brewed in a
witches' cauldron. The face of my faithful liegeman, at the first
spoonful of this compound he put into his mouth, would have been worthy
to figure in Peregrine Pickle's antique repast, and turned my anger into
loud laughter. Yet I see beforehand that his devotion to me will be
wrecked on this rock; for our Germans are, and ever will be, curious
beings; holding longer than any others to the accustomed,--be it faith,
love or soup.

In the absence of society, the various Clubs, (to which, contrary to
former custom, a stranger can now gain admittance,) are a very agreeable
resource. Our ambassador introduced me into two of them,--the United
Service Club, into which no foreigners are admitted except ambassadors
and military men,--the latter of the rank of staff-officers: and the
Traveller's Club, into which every foreigner of education, who has good
introductions, is admitted; though every three months he is made to
undergo the somewhat humiliating ceremony of requesting a fresh
permission, to which he is held with almost uncivil severity.

In Germany, people have as little notion of the elegance and comfort of
Clubs, as of the rigorous execution of their laws which prevail here.

All that luxury and convenience, without magnificence, demand, is here
to be found in as great perfection as in the best private houses. The
stairs and rooms are covered with fresh and handsome carpets, and rugs
(sheepskins with the wool nicely prepared and dyed of bright colours)
are laid before the doors to prevent drafts; marble chimney-pieces,
handsome looking-glasses (always of one piece,--a necessary part of
solid English luxury), a profusion of furniture, &c. render every
apartment extremely comfortable. Even scales, by which to ascertain
one's weight daily--a strange taste of the English--are not wanting. The
numerous servants are never seen but in shoes, and in the neatest livery
or plain clothes; and a porter is always at his post to take charge of
great-coats and umbrellas. This latter article in England deserves
attention, since umbrellas, which are unfortunately so indispensable,
are stolen in the most shameless manner, be it where it may, if you do
not take particular care of them. This fact is so notorious that I must
translate for your amusement a passage from a newspaper, relating to
some Society for the encouragement of virtue, which was to award a prize
for the most honourable action. "The choice," continues the author, "was
become extremely difficult; and it was nearly determined to give the
prize to an individual who had paid his tailor's bill punctually for
several years; when another was pointed out, who had twice sent home an
umbrella left at his house. At this unheard-of act," adds the
journalist, "the company first fell into mute wonder that so much virtue
was still found in Israel; but at length loud and enthusiastic applause
left the choice no longer doubtful."

In the elegant and well-furnished library there is also a person always
at hand to fetch you the books you want. You find all the journals in a
well-arranged reading-room; and in a small room for maps and charts,[20]
a choice of the newest and best in their kind. This is so arranged that
all the maps, rolled up, hang one over another on the wall, thus
occupying but a small space; and each is easily drawn down for use by a
little loop in the centre. A pull at a loop at the side rolls up the map
again by a very simple piece of mechanism. The name of each country is
inscribed in such large letters on the mahogany staff on which the map
is rolled, that it may be read with ease across the room. By this
contrivance a great number of maps may be hung in a very small closet,
and when wanted, may be found and inspected in a moment, without the
slightest trouble, or derangement of the others.

The table,--I mean the eating,--with most men the first thing, and with
me not the last,--is generally prepared by a French cook, as well and as
cheaply as it is possible to have it in London. As the Club provides the
wines, and sells them again to each member, they are very drinkable and
reasonable. But 'gourmands' must ever miss the finest wines, even at the
best tables in London. This arises from the strange habit of the English
(and these people, too, stick faster to their habits than an oyster to
its shell,) of getting their wines from London wine-merchants, instead
of importing them from the places where they grow, as we do. Now these
wine-merchants adulterate their wine to such a degree, that one who was
lately prosecuted for having some thousand bottles of port and claret in
his cellars which had not paid duty, proved that all this wine was
manufactured by himself in London, and thus escaped the penalty. You may
imagine, therefore, what sort of brewage you often get under the
high-sounding names of Champagne, Lafitte, &c. The dealers scarcely ever
buy the very best which is to be had in the native lands of the several
wines, for the obvious reason that they could make little or no profit
of it; at best they only use it to enable them to get off other wine of
inferior quality.

Excuse this wine-digression, which to you, who drink only water, cannot
be very interesting; but you know I write for us both, and to me the
subject is I confess not unimportant. "_Gern fuhre ich Wein im Munde._"

But let us back to our Clubs.

The peculiarity of English manners may be much better observed here, at
the first 'abord,' than in the great world, which is everywhere more or
less alike; whereas the same individuals, of whom it is in part
composed, show themselves here with much less restraint. In the first
place, the stranger must admire the refinement of convenience with which
Englishmen sit: it must be confessed that a man who is ignorant of the
ingenious English chairs, of every form, and adapted to every degree of
fatigue, indisposition, or constitutional peculiarity, really loses a
large share of earthly enjoyment. It is a positive pleasure even to see
an Englishman sit, or rather lie, in one of these couch-like chairs by
the fire-side. A contrivance like a reading-desk attached to the arm,
and furnished with a candlestick, is so placed before him, that with the
slightest touch he can bring it nearer or further, push it to the right
or the left, at pleasure. A curious machine, several of which stand
around the large fire-place, receives one or both of his feet; and the
hat on his head completes the enchanting picture of superlative comfort.

This latter circumstance is the most difficult of imitation to a man
brought up in the old school. Though he can never refrain from a
provincial sort of shudder when he enters the brilliantly lighted saloon
of the Club-house, where dukes, ambassadors and lords, elegantly
dressed, are sitting at the card-tables, yet if he wishes to be
'fashionable' he must keep on his hat, advance to a party at whist, nod
to one or two of his acquaintances; then carelessly taking up a
newspaper, sink down on a sofa, and, not till after some time,
'nonchalament' throw down his hat (which perhaps has all the while been
a horrid annoyance to him); or, if he stays but a few minutes, not take
it off at all.

The practice of half lying instead of sitting; sometimes of lying at
full length on the carpet at the feet of ladies; of crossing one leg
over the other in such a manner as to hold the foot in the hand; of
putting the hands in the arm-holes of the waistcoat, and so on,--are all
things which have obtained in the best company and the most exclusive
circles: it is therefore very possible that the keeping on the hat may
arrive at the same honour. In this case it will doubtless find its way
into Paris society, which, after being formerly aped by all Europe, now
disdains not to ape the English,--sometimes grotesquely enough,--and, as
is usual in such cases, often outdoes its original.

On the other hand, the English take it very ill of foreigners, if they
reprove a waiter who makes them wait, or brings one thing instead of
another, or if they give their commands in a loud or lordly tone of
voice; though the English themselves often do this in their own country,
and much more in ours, and though the dining-room of the Club is in fact
only a more elegant sort of 'restauration,' where every man must pay his
reckoning after he has dined. It is regarded not only as improper, but
as unpleasant and offensive, if any one reads during dinner. It is not
the fashion in England; and, as I have this bad habit in a supreme
degree, I have sometimes remarked satirical signs of displeasure on the
countenances of a few Islanders of the old school, who shook their heads
as they passed me. One must be on one's guard, generally, to do things
as little as possible unlike the English, and yet not to try to imitate
them servilely in everything, for no race of men can be more intolerant.
Most of them see with reluctance the introduction of any foreigner into
their more private societies, and all regard it as a distinguished
favour and obligation conferred on us.

But of all offences against English manners which a man can commit, the
three following are the greatest:--to put his knife to his mouth instead
of his fork; to take up sugar or asparagus with his fingers; or, above
all, to spit anywhere in a room. These are certainly laudable
prohibitions, and well-bred people of all countries avoid such
practices,--though even on these points manners alter greatly; for
Marshal Richelieu detected an adventurer who passed himself off for a
man of rank, by the single circumstance of his taking up olives with his
fork and not with his fingers. The ridiculous thing is the amazing
importance which is here attached to them. The last-named crime is so
pedantically proscribed in England, that you might seek through all
London in vain to find such a piece of furniture as a spitting-box. A
Dutchman, who was very uncomfortable for the want of one, declared with
great indignation, that an Englishman's only spitting-box was his
stomach. These things are, I repeat, more than trivial, but the most
important rules of behaviour in foreign countries almost always regard
trivialities. Had I, for example, to give a few universal rules to a
young traveller, I should seriously counsel him thus:--In Naples, treat
the people brutally; in Rome, be natural; in Austria, don't talk
politics; in France, give yourself no airs; in Germany, a great many;
and in England, don't spit. With these rules, the young man would get on
very well. What one must justly admire is the well-adapted arrangement
of every thing belonging to the economy of life and of all public
establishments in England, as well as the systematical rigour with which
what has once been determined on is unalterably followed up. In Germany,
all good institutions soon fall asleep, and new brooms alone sweep
clean; here it is quite otherwise. On the other hand, every thing is not
required of the same person, but exactly so much, and no more, as falls
within his department. The treatment of servants is as excellent as
their performance of their duties. Each has his prescribed field of
activity; in which, however, the strictest and most punctual execution
of orders is required of him, and in any case of neglect the master
knows whom he has to call to account. At the same time, the servants
enjoy a reasonable freedom, and have certain portions of time allotted
to them, which their master carefully respects. The whole treatment of
the serving classes is much more decorous, and combined with more
'égards,' than with us; but then they are so entirely excluded from all
familiarity, and such profound respect is exacted from them, that they
appear to be considered rather as machines than as beings of the same
order. This, and their high wages, are no doubt the causes that the
servants really possess more external dignity than any other class in
England, relatively to their station.

In many cases it would be a very pardonable blunder in a foreigner to
take the valet for the lord, especially if he happened to imagine that
_courtesy_ and a good address were the distinguishing marks of a man of
quality. This test would be by no means applicable in England, where
these advantages are not to be found among the majority of persons of
the higher classes; though there are some brilliant exceptions, and
their absence is often redeemed by admirable and solid qualities.

In the men, indeed, their arrogance, often amounting to rudeness, and
their high opinion of themselves, do not sit so ill; but in the women,
it is as disgusting and repulsive, as, in some other of their
countrywomen, the vain effort to ape continental grace and vivacity.

I once before praised the admirable spirit of adaptation and arrangement
which pervades all establishments here. As a sample, I will give you the
organization of the card-room in the Traveller's Club-house. This is not
properly a gaming club, but, as its name denotes, one expressly for
travellers. Such only can become actual members of it as have travelled
a certain prescribed number of miles on the Continent, or have made yet
more distant expeditions. In spite of this, one does not perceive that
they are become less English, which, however, I do not quarrel with. At
the Travellers' Club, then, short whist and ecarté are played very high,
but no hazard.

In our Casinos, 'Ressources,' and so on, a man who wishes to play must
first laboriously seek out a party; and if the tables are full, may have
to wait hours till one is vacant. Here it is a law that every one who
comes may take his seat at any table at which a rubber has just ended,
when he who has played two consecutive rubbers must give up his place.
It is pleasant, too, to a man who has lost, and fancies that the luck
goes with the place, to quit it and seek better fortune in another.

In the centre of the room stands a 'bureau' at which is posted a clerk,
who rings whenever a waiter is wanted; brings the bill;[21] and, if any
contested point occur, fetches the classical authorities on whist; for
never is the slightest offence against the rules of the game suffered to
pass without the infliction of the annexed punishment. This is rather
annoying to a man who plays only for amusement; but yet it is a wise
plan, and forms good players. The same clerk distributes the markers to
the players to obviate the great annoyance of meeting with a bad payer,
the Club is the universal payer. Actual money does not make its
appearance, but every man who sits down to play receives a little basket
of markers of various forms, the value of which is inscribed upon them,
and which the clerk enters in his book; as often as he loses, he asks
for more. Each player reckons with the clerk, and either proves his
loss, or, if he has won, delivers up the markers. In either case he
receives a card containing a statement of the result, and the duplicate
of the reckoning in the account-book.

As soon as any one is indebted more than a hundred pounds, he must pay
it in the following morning to the clerk; and every man who has any
demands can claim his money at any time.

None but a nation so entirely commercial as the English can be expected
to attain to this perfection of methodizing and arrangement. In no other
country are what are here emphatically called 'habits of business'
carried so extensively into social and domestic life; the value of time,
of order, of despatch, of inflexible _routine_, nowhere so well
understood. This is the great key to the most striking national
characteristics. The quantity of material objects produced and
accomplished--_the work done_--in England, exceeds all that man ever
effected. The causes and the qualities which have produced these results
have as certainly given birth to the dulness, the contracted views, the
_routine_ habits of thought as well as of action, the inveterate
prejudices, the unbounded desire for, and deference to, wealth, which
characterize the mass of Englishmen.

It were much to be wished that in our German cities we imitated the
organization of English Clubs, which would be very practicable as to the
essentials, though our poverty would compel us to dispense with many of
their luxuries. In this case we ought to repay the English like for
like, and not prostrate ourselves in puerile slavish admiration of their
money and their name; but while we treated them with all civility, and
even with more courtesy than they show to us, yet let them see that
Germans are masters of their own house, particularly as many of them
only come among us either to economize, or to form connexions with
people of rank, from which their own station at home excluded them, or
to have the satisfaction of showing us that in all arrangements for
physical comfort we are still barbarians compared with them.[22]

It is indeed inconceivable, and a proof that it is only necessary to
treat us contemptuously in order to obtain our reverence, that, as I
have remarked, the mere name of Englishman is, with us, equivalent to
the highest title. Many a person, who would scarcely get admission into
very inferior circles in England, where the whole of society, down to
the very lowest classes, is so stiffly aristocratical, in the various
states of Germany is received at Court and fête by the first nobility;
every act of coarseness and ill-breeding is set down as a trait of
charming English originality, till perhaps, by some accident, a really
respectable Englishman comes to the place, and people learn with
astonishment that they have been doing all this honour to an ensign 'on
half pay,' or a rich tailor or shoemaker. An individual of this rank is,
however, generally, at least civil, but the impertinence of some of the
higher classes surpasses all belief.

I know that in one of the largest towns of Germany, a prince of the
royal house, distinguished for his frank, chivalrous courtesy, and his
amiable character, invited an English Viscount, who was but just
arrived, and had not yet been presented to him, to a hunting-party; to
which His Lordship replied, _that he could not accept the invitation, as
the prince was perfectly unknown to him_.

It is true, that no foreigner will ever have it in his power so to
requite a similar civility in England, where a grandee considers an
invitation to dinner (they are very liberal of invitations to routs and
soirées, for the sake of filling their rooms) as the most signal honour
he can confer upon even a distinguished foreigner,--an honour only to be
obtained by long acquaintance, or by very powerful letters of
introduction. But if by any miracle such a ready attention were to be
paid in England, it would be impossible to find a single man of any
pretensions to breeding, on the whole Continent, who would make such a
return as this boorish lord did.[23]


_November 21st._

I called yesterday morning on L---- to execute your commission, but did
not find him at home. Instead of him, I found to my great joy a letter
from you, which I was so impatient to read, that I set myself down in
his room, and read it attentively two or three times. Your affection,
which strives to spare me everything disagreeable, and dwells only upon
those subjects which can give me pleasure, I acknowledge most
gratefully. But you must not spare me more than you are convinced you
can do without detriment to our common interests. You estimate my
letters far more highly than they deserve; but you may imagine that, in
my eyes, it is a very amiable fault in you to overvalue me thus. Love
paints the smallest merit in magic colours. I will, however, do myself
the justice to believe that you, who have had such ample opportunities
of knowing me, may find in me qualities which shrink from the rude touch
of the world. This consoled me,--but your expression "that all you wrote
appeared to you so incoherent, that you thought the grief of parting had
weakened your intellects," gave me great pain. Do I then want phrases?
How much more delightful is that natural, confidential talk, which flows
on without constraint and without effort, and _therefore_ expresses
itself admirably. I am particularly delighted at your sentiments
concerning what I tell you; they are ever exactly such as I expect and
share.

Accompany your friend to the capital:--it will amuse you, and at the
same time you will find many opportunities of promoting our interests.
'Les absens ont tort;' never forget that. I must disapprove B----'s
levity. He has no solicitude about his reputation, though he be in fact
an angel of virtue and benevolence; he who cares not what is said of
him,--perhaps even laughs at it,--will soon find that the malignity of
men has left him in the same condition as to reputation as Peter
Schlemil was with regard to his shadow. At first he thought it nothing
to forego a thing so unsubstantial: but in the end he could scarcely
endure existence without it. Only in the deepest solitude, far from all
the world, striding restlessly with his seven-league boots from the
north pole to the south, and living for science alone, did he find some
tranquillity and peace. At the conclusion of your letter I see but too
clearly that melancholy gains the upper hand,--and I could say something
on that subject too,--'mais il faut du courage.' In every life there are
periods of trial, moments when the bitterest drops in the cup must be
drained. If the sun do but illumine the evening, we will not murmur at
the noontide heat.

But enough of these serious subjects: let me now turn your attention
from them, by leading you to the Haymarket Theatre, which I lately
visited, when the celebrated Liston enchanted the public for the
hundred-and-second time in Paul Pry, a sort of foolish lout. The actor,
who is said to have made a fortune of six thousand a-year, is one of
those whom I should call natural comic actors, of the same class as were
Unzelmann and Wurm in Berlin, and Bösenberg and Döring in Dresden; men
who, without any profound study of their art, excite laughter by a
certain drollery of manner peculiar to themselves, an inexhaustible
humour, 'qui coule de source;' though frequently in private life they
are hypochondriacal, as it is said to be the case with Liston.

The notorious Madame Vestris, who formerly made 'furore,' was also
there. She is somewhat 'passée,' but still very fascinating on the
stage. She is an excellent singer, and still better actor, and a greater
favourite of the English public even than Liston. Her great celebrity,
however, rests on the beauty of her legs, which are become a standing
article in the theatrical criticisms of the newspapers, and are often
displayed by her in man's attire. The grace and the exhaustless spirit
and wit of her acting are also truly enchanting, though she sometimes
disgusts one by her want of modesty, and coquettes too much with the
audience. It may truly be said in every sense of the words, that Madame
Vestris belongs to all Europe. Her father was an Italian; her mother a
German and a good pianoforte player; her husband, of the illustrious
dancing family of France, and herself an Englishwoman: any chasms in her
connexion with other European nations are more than filled up by
hundreds of the most 'marquant' lovers. She also speaks several
languages with the utmost fluency. In the character of the German 'broom
girl' she sings

    "Ach, du lieber Augustin,"

with a perfect pronunciation, and with a very 'piquant' air of
assurance.

To-day I dined with our ambassador. This prevented my visiting the
theatre, which I have too much neglected. I have resolved to attend it
with more constancy, in order that I may gradually give you a tolerably
perfect report of it, though in detached descriptions.

We were quite 'en petit comité,' and the company unusually animated and
merry. We had a certain great 'gourmand' among us, who took a great deal
of joking, 'sans en perdre un coup de dent.' At last Prince E---- told
him that whenever he went to purgatory his punishment would undoubtedly
be to see the blessed eat, while he was kept fasting. * * *

Lord ---- was there too. He treats me in the most friendly manner to my
face, but, I am told, loses no opportunity of injuring me in society. *
* *

A man of warmer heart would have spoken to me face to face of this
supposed wrong. 'Diplomates,' however, have too much fishes' blood in
their organization. * * *

Happily, I can laugh at all such 'menées:' for a man who seeks nothing
and fears little, who interests himself in the great world only in so
far as it affords him opportunities for making experimental observations
on himself and others; who is, as to necessaries at least, independent,
and has a few but faithful friends,--such a man it is difficult
seriously to injure. Experience too has cooled me;--my blood no longer
flows with such uncontrollable impetuosity; while my lightheartedness
has not deserted me, still less the capacity of loving intensely. I
therefore enjoy life better than in the bloom of youth, and would not
exchange my present feelings for that early tumultuous vehemence. Nay,
in such a frame of mind, I feel not the least dread of old age, and am
persuaded that when that period of life arrives, it will turn to us many
a bright and beautiful side whose existence we suspect not, and which
those only never find who want to remain youthful for ever.

I lately met with some pretty English verses which I translated, after
my fashion, with a thought of you, my best friend, who too often regret
departing youth. These are the delightful lines:

    Ist gleich die trübe Wange bleich,
    Das Auge nicht mehr hell,
    Und nahet schon das ernste Reich,
    Wo Jugend fliehet schnell!
    Doch lächelt Dir die Wange noch,
    Das Auge kennt die Thräne noch,
    Das Herz schlägt noch so warm und frei
    Als in des Lebens grünstem Mai.
    So denk' denn nicht, dass nur die Jugend
    Und Schönheit Segen leiht--
    Zeit lehrt die Seele schönre Tugend,
    In Jahren treuer Zärtlichkeit.
    Und selbst wenn einst die Nacht von oben
    Verdunkelnd Deine Brust umfängt,
    Wird noch durch Liebeshand gehoben
    Dein Haupt zur ew'gen Ruh' gesenkt.
    O, so auch blinkt der Abendstern,
    Ist gleich dahin der Sonne Licht,
    Noch sanft und warm aus hoher Fern',
    Und Tages-Glanz entbehrst Du nicht.--[24]

Yes, my beloved Julia, thus has time taught us, in years of tenderness,
that nothing can have so genuine a value as that. We have now before us
an evening star, whose mild light is far more delightful than that
mid-day sun which often rather scorches than warms.

I drove home with L----, and we had a long conversation by the snug
fireside on the affairs of our country. * * *

L---- is very kind to me, and I am doubly attached to him; first, for
his own amiable and honourable character; secondly, for the sake of his
excellent father, to whom we owe more real gratitude than to ----, though
he had no other motive than his own impartial love of justice.


_November 23d._

A strange custom in England is the continual intrusion of the newspapers
into the affairs of private life. A man of any distinction not only sees
the most absurd details concerning him dragged before the public,--such
as where he dined, what evening party he attended, and so forth, (which
many foreigners read with the greatest self-complacency,)--but if
anything really worth telling happens to him, it is immediately made
public without shame or scruple. Personal hostility has thus 'beau jeu,'
as well as the desire of making profitable friends. Many use the
newspapers for the publication of articles to their own advantage, which
they send themselves. The foreign embassies cultivate this branch with
great assiduity. It is easy to see what formidable weapons the press
thus furnishes. Fortunately, however, the poison brings its antidote
with it. This consists in the indifference with which the public
receives such communications. An article in a newspaper after which a
Continental would not show himself for three months, here excites at
most a momentary laugh, and the next day is forgotten.

About a month ago the papers made themselves extremely merry about the
duel of a noble lord here; who, according to their representation of the
matter, had not cut a very heroic figure. They made the most offensive
remarks, and drew the most mortifying inferences as to the calibre of
his valour; and all this had not the smallest perceptible effect in
disabling him from presenting himself in society with as much ease and
unconcern as ever. They have tried to give me too a 'coup fourré.' * * *

But I have served under an old soldier, and learned from him always to
have the first and loudest laugh at myself, and not to spare an
inoffensive jest at myself and others. This is the only safe way of
meeting ridicule in the world: if you appear sensitive or embarrassed,
then indeed the poison works; otherwise it evaporates like cold water on
a red-hot stone. This the English understand to perfection.

This evening I spent, true to my determination, in Drury Lane, where, to
my infinite astonishment, old Braham appeared, still as first singer,
with the same applause with which I saw him, even then an old man,
perform the same part for his own benefit the day before my departure
from England, twelve years ago. I found little difference in his
singing, except that he shouted rather more violently, and made rather
more 'roulades' in order to conceal the decline of his voice. He is a
Jew, and I am firmly convinced the everlasting one,[25] for he does not
seem to grow old at all. 'Au reste,' he is the genuine representative of
the English style of singing, and, in popular songs especially, the
enthusiastically adored idol of the public. One cannot deny to him great
power of voice and rapidity of execution, and he is said to have a
thorough knowledge of music: but a more abominable style it is
impossible to conceive.

The Prima Donna was Miss Paton, a very agreeable, but not a first-rate
singer. She is well-made, and not ugly, and is a great favourite with
the public. What would appear extraordinary among us,--she is married to
Lord W---- L----, whose name she bears in her own family and in
private.[26] On the stage, however, she is Miss Paton again, and paid as
such, which is not unacceptable to her lord.

The most striking thing to a foreigner in English theatres is the
unheard-of coarseness and brutality of the audiences. The consequence of
this is that the higher and more civilized classes go only to the
Italian opera, and very rarely visit their national theatre. Whether
this be unfavourable or otherwise to the stage, I leave others to
determine.

English freedom here degenerates into the rudest license, and it is not
uncommon in the midst of the most affecting part of a tragedy, or the
most charming 'cadenza' of a singer, to hear some coarse expression
shouted from the galleries in stentor voice. This is followed, according
to the taste of the bystanders, either by loud laughter and approbation,
or by the castigation and expulsion of the offender.

Whichever turn the thing takes, you can hear no more of what is passing
on the stage, where actors and singers, according to ancient usage, do
not suffer themselves to be interrupted by such occurrences, but declaim
or warble away, 'comme si rien n'était.' And such things happen not
once, but sometimes twenty times, in the course of a performance, and
amuse many of the audience more than that does. It is also no rarity for
some one to throw the fragments of his 'gouté,' which do not always
consist of orange-peels alone, without the smallest ceremony on the
heads of the people in the pit, or to shail them with singular dexterity
into the boxes; while others hang their coats and waistcoats over the
railing of the gallery, and sit in shirt-sleeves; in short, all that
could be devised for the better excitement of a phlegmatic _Harmonie_
Society of the workmen in Berlin, under the renowned Wisotsky, is to be
found in the national theatre of Britain.

Another cause for the absence of respectable families is the resort of
hundreds of those unhappy women with whom London swarms. They are to be
seen of every degree, from the lady who spends a splendid income, and
has her own box, to the wretched beings who wander houseless in the
streets. Between the acts they fill the large and handsome 'foyers,' and
exhibit their boundless effrontery in the most revolting manner.

It is most strange that in no country on earth is this afflicting and
humiliating spectacle so openly exhibited as in the religious and
decorous England. The evil goes to such an extent, that in the theatres
it is often difficult to keep off these repulsive beings, especially
when they are drunk, which is not seldom the case. They beg in the most
shameless manner, and a pretty, elegantly dressed girl does not disdain
to take a shilling or a sixpence, which she instantly spends in a glass
of rum, like the meanest beggar. And these are the scenes, I repeat,
which are exhibited in the national theatre of England, where the
highest dramatic talent of the country should be developed; where
immortal artists like Garrick, Mrs. Siddons, Miss O'Neil, have
enraptured the public by their genius, and where such actors as Kean,
Kemble, and Young, still adorn the stage.

Is not this--to say nothing of the immorality--in the highest degree low
and undignified? It is wholly inconsistent with any real love of art, or
conception of its office and dignity. The turbulent scenes I have
described above scarcely ever arise

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