CHAPTER IX.

Travels On The Continent.

Spencer's thoughts now seemed perpetually fluttering around the expectation of going abroad and seeing wonders. This idea comes out at most unexpected times in the journal, it forms a parenthesis in everything he considers bearing seriously upon his welfare. At one time he is disappointed in not having his brother for companion, at another he hopes his parents will not consider this trip travelling enough for him; he expects, too, that the parental reins will be slackened somewhat; and even it crosses his mind, as a kind of remote probability, that he may perchance be allowed to take a tour by himself. All that was hopeful in these day-dreams was gratified, and some of them to an extent that he was very far from imagining at the time. The great day did arrive at last; the evening before, the different branches of the family came to dine at Wimbledon, where the Earl was then staying. They were very serious, as they were going "on a formidable expedition next morning." In the morning, the different articles of luggage were sent before them on a van; and, after parting with Lords Althorp, Lyttelton, and their families, the party started for the Continent. It consisted of Lord and Lady Spencer in one carriage, George and the physician in another, and the servants in a third. They had a courier employed, Luigi Cavani, whose office it was to ride ahead of the cavalcade, and provide horses and other necessaries at the next stage. They set sail at Dover at six o'clock on the evening of the 14th September, and, after what was called a favourable passage, arrived in Calais the next morning at half-past seven o'clock. One can leave London Bridge nowadays at the time they left Dover Harbour, and be in Paris before they landed. {58} He says in the autobiography:

"It was on the 15th of September, 1819, that we landed at Calais a day most interesting to me, as I then considered, because the first of my setting foot in a foreign land, but much more, I now must reckon, as being the first on which I trod Catholic ground and entered a Catholic church." In the journal he says: "Dr. Wilson and I walked about a little (in Calais) to the market-place and the church, both which were extraordinary to the greatest degree in my eyes. Sept. 16. We breakfasted at eight, and then started on our journey. 1st went my father and mother in their carriage with 4 horses; 2ndly. Dr. Wilson and I in a hired _calèche_ with two horses. 3rd. Drewe and the maids, in one with three horses; and last, the _fourgon_, with 3. This was the order of march. I was amused extremely by the difference of this and our English posting. The appearance of the postilions is so new to me, as they crack their long whips over their heads, and the little horses with their rope harness look so mean. Luigi rode post to order horses and manage everything for us, and was always found waiting at every relay."

We quote this in full to give an idea of how noblemen travelled in the not very olden time. If George was much surprised at the church in Calais, his wonder knew no bounds when he entered the Cathedral in Amiens, and saw "Mass performed by separate Priests at different Altars, and people at each." This is a mystery to Protestants who see Catholic rites for the first time. They are taught to look upon true worship as consisting in the meaning of some well-written sentences, pronounced with emphatic unction, and responded to with some degree of fervour. The service, the fine old psalms, anthems, and collects of the Prayer-Book, issuing forth in melodious accents from the lips of a God-fearing man, is about the highest kind of public worship they can have any notion of. The sermon is first with some, second with others; but whatever place the peculiar excellence of the preacher, and the effects of it on a given occasion, may gain in the heart of an individual, it may be taken for granted that the service comes before the sermon in the abstract. But service and sermon must be heard, and {59} listened to, and understood. With this idea in their minds, and accustomed to see the minister assume a manner and mien calculated to produce prayerful thoughts in his congregation, they are surprised, if not shocked, at the Catholic Mass. They find the Priest hurrying off through Latin prayers, and producing breathless attention by his own silence; they see him arrayed in unintelligible attire, moving one way and another, bowing, genuflecting, standing still, or blessing. They scarcely understand a word or gesture, and feel perfectly sure that the old woman who beats her breast and counts her beads by the side of their staring effrontery is as much in the dark as themselves, if not more. They have seen one evidence more of the humbug of Popery, and bless God that Cranmer procured them another ritual. It is not our object to explain Catholic mysteries, but it may be as well to hint that if a stranger to Jerusalem happened to wander to Calvary on the great day of the Crucifixion, and believed in the divinity of the Victim who hung upon the Cross, he would find more devotion in kneeling in silence at His feet, than in listening to the most eloquent declamation he could hear about it. Such is the case with the Catholic now as then; he knows the same Victim is offered up still, and when the great moment arrives in the middle of the Mass, he would have everything to be hushed and silent, except the little bell that gives him notice of the awful moment. A reason why there should be people at the different altars lies in this: that there is the same Sacrifice on each, and one may happen to come into the church at a time when it would be more convenient to hear Mass at some one place than at another. The course of their journey lay through Paris, which they entered from St. Denis by Montmartre. They remained some days there to see Notre Dame, and Paris from its summit, admire the length of the Louvre, and visit Fontainebleau. In the course they took by Auxerre, Maison Neuve, Dijon, Poligny, and Morey, in order to cross Mount Jura and to see Mont Blanc on their way to Switzerland, they have to endure many privations. The inns are bad, the cooking is inferior, and they have to undergo discomforts while sleeping in {60} the _châlets_ of mountaineers, who were not accustomed to have their quiet invaded by such state visits every day. All this they bore manfully until they arrived in Geneva, which they find "crammed with English." It strikes George as extraordinary that the Genevese should have their shops in the top story of their houses. He misses the morning service in the Calvinist Church on Sunday; thinks their afternoon function very like the Scotch, and sensible. He gives vent to his indignation at finding "a number of blackguard fellows playing cards and smoking, publicly, at a cafe, whilst there were only twenty at church." He is disappointed, therefore, at not finding Geneva the devout, religious place he imagined it to be. He sees a few of the sights with Dr. Wilson, and they cross the Lago Maggiore in a boat, whilst the rest of the company go round it by land. They all meet together in Milan; there they find Lord Lucan. He goes to see the _Duomo, Brera,_ theatres; and admires the fine streets, shops, &c., and says the Cathedral is unique. He had the pleasure of meeting the famous Angelo, afterwards Cardinal, Mai at the Ambrosian Library. He went to the Cathedral on Saturday to see _Mass performed_, and was disappointed at not hearing the organ. He had, however, quite enough of the rite on Sunday, October 17th:--

"At 10½ I went to the _Duomo_, and got into a little gallery over the choir, from whence I saw the ceremonies for the anniversary of the consecration of the church. There was a procession all round the building, with incense burning, and with the Priests singing anthems all the time, and a quantity of _other mummery_, the sight of which might well have driven Calvin to the extremities which he went to in the contrary way. The whole service is always in Latin, so that the people may not reap even the smallest benefit from it."

We shall give another extract from the journal, as it shows the state of his mind at the time:--

"This day completes the second year of my journal. How quick are they flown! those two years which are supposed to be the happiest in life. I think any time in life is happy if one knows the secret of making {61} it so. I have not learnt it yet, and have had a great deal of unhappiness since going to College. But for what? Nothing but my own imagination and weaknesses, for everything which generally gives happiness I have enjoyed. I have made several friends, been successful enough in my College studies, and have never wanted anything; but I have a morbid constitution which makes me raise phantoms of unhappiness where there is none, and clouds the fairest scenes with a veil of melancholy. This must be conquered, somehow or other, or I shall be a creature useless to others and tormenting to myself."

He feels much distaste at what he terms the dirty style in which an Italian gentleman chooses to live, because that gentleman finds himself quite comfortable without such furniture and appliances as are deemed essential in England. He happened to be a man fond of books, and spent his spare time in libraries and academies.

The travellers leave Milan after a fortnight's stay, and proceed through Placentia, Parma, Modena, and Bologna. Here the celebrated Cardinal Mezzofanti called upon them, and Spencer remarks that the only thing worth seeing, as far as he has gone, in Italy, are churches and their ornaments. He singled out one of those latter for special remark, as we find by the following passage:--

"Oct. 30. At nine o'clock Dr. Wilson's friend, a lawyer, took him and me up to a church on the mountain, near the town, famous for a picture--done, as they say, by St. Luke! There is a fine arcade to it for 2½ miles, and pilgrims go by this to adore this nonsense!"

Their next stay is at Florence, where he had the ill-luck of not providing against mosquitoes, who took the liberty of biting him heartily the first night he slept there. News reaches him next day that a great friend of his at Cambridge, a Mr. Gambler, has obtained a fellowship in Trinity. This makes him merry all the evening. They halt again for some rest at Perugia. All he says about this classic town is, "Before breakfast the Doctor and I saw a gallery of frightful old pictures, and other _maraviglia_ of {62} Perugia, and then set off, still through mountainous country, to Spoleto. They start for Rome next day, they see it fifteen miles off, but he does not seem to have had a single spark of enthusiasm as he looks upon the great mistress of the world for the first time. Of course Rome, as the capital of Christendom, was not likely to stir up his best feelings, when we remember the then frame of his religious mind. At all events, cold and listless as it might be, he entered Rome on Wednesday, the 10th November, 1819. The first thing he and his father with the Doctor did on arriving, was to pay a visit to St. Peter's. "We saw it inside and out. It was most glorious: but its size from some reason or other disappoints me, as it does all strangers; it improves upon acquaintance, I fancy." How like Byron's opinion. "Childe Harold:"