CHAPTER VII.

THE ERRANT ARIADNE.

The Princess arrives at Hamburgh-Assumes the title of Countess of Cornwall -Travels in Switzerland-Meeting of the Ex-Empress Maria Louisa, the divorced wife of the Grand Duke Constantine, and the Princess-The Princess at Milan-Her English attendants fall off-Her reception by the Pope-At a masked ball at Naples-Her imprudence-Her festivals at Como-The Princess at Palermo-Bergami her chamberlain-The Princess at Genoa-Corresponds with Murat-Personal vanity of Queen Charlotte -The Pope visits the Princess-Surrounded by Italians-Her roving life -Proceeds to Syracuse-At Jericho-Lands at Tunis and visits the Bey -Liberates European slaves-The Princess at Athens-At Troy-At Constantinople-At Ephesus-At Acre-Stopped at Jaffa-Enters Jerusalem-Her reception by the Capuchin friars-Institutes a new order of chivalry-Life on board the polacca-The Princess and Countess Oldi at Como Private theatricals a favourite pastime-Agents and spiesInnocent incidents converted into crimes-Bergami divested of his knighthood-The Princess at Carlsruhe-Contemptuously neglected at ViennaThe chamberlain her only attendant-The Princess in public-Deeply affected by the death of Princess Charlotte-As uncircumspect as ever.

THE early period of the travels of the Princess on the continent calls for nothing more than simple record. She left the Jason under all the customary honours; and when she entered Hamburgh, on the 16th, she dropped her English to assume a German title, that of Countess of Wolfenbüttel. Her suite consisted of the two ladies we have already named, Mr. St. Leger, and Sir William Gell. Mr. Keppel Craven subsequently joined her at Brunswick. Dr. Holland accompanied her as physician, and Captain Hesse as equerry. Thus attended she appeared at the theatre at Hamburgh, where she was received with a storm of applause, and entered Brunswick, where she was welcomed by her brother the Duke, and with a loud-tongued cordiality by the inhabitants.

The reception touched her, but not deeply enough to induce

her to profit by it. Within a fortnight she brushed the tears from her eyes, left Brunswick behind her, and was on the highroad of Europe, as arrant, as self-willed, and as obstinate a princess as ever destroyed a reputation, and rushed blindfold upon ruin.

She now travelled under the appellation of Countess of Cornwall, and had one English gentleman less in her train, Mr. St. Leger having withdrawn from the honour of waiting on her, at Brunswick. The time had not yet arrived when the mot d'ordre had been given to treat her with disrespect. The governors of German cities were courteous to her as she passed, and the Marshal Duke de Valmy, with all the authorities of Strasburg, offered her the expression of their homage when she traversed that portion of France. After spending the greater portion of September in a tour through Switzerland, she finally sojourned for a while at Geneva, where she met with the exEmpress of France, Maria Louisa, and became for a time on intimate terms with an imperial lady, who, like herself, was separated from her husband. Like her, she was stripped of her old dignity; and like her she was accompanied by a young boy. But those boys were not more different in rank than the two women were in their position, similar as this was in many respects. The boys were Napoleon Francis, ex-King of Rome, and William Austin, son of the Blackheath labourer.

The mother of the former, however, like the adoptive mother of the latter, had ever manifested an alacrity in sinking; and at the overthrow of the heroic Corsican, her husband, acknowledged with a curtsey the proceeding which robbed her of an imperial crown, and conferred in its place the ducal coronet of three cheese-making duchies in Italy. Again, no sooner had the breath of life flown from the lips of the father of her child than, in character of wife, she hurriedly entered the humble household of an undistinguished German soldier— a Teutonic man-at-arms, who, like Mark Antony, accepted with modest thankfulness "the cold piece left on dead Cæsar's trencher."

These two women, illustrious by rank rather than character,

lived much in each other's society. They dined together, sang together, together listened to the discussions of the philosophers whom they assembled around them; and when together they attended a fancy-dress ball, one at least astonished the other, the Princess surprising the ex-Empress by appearing in what was called the costume of Venus, and waltzing with a lack of grace that might have won laughter from the goddess of whom the waltzer was the over-fat representative.

Maria Louisa was not the only unhusbanded wife whom the wandering Princess encountered in Switzerland. The divorced wife of the Grand Duke Constantine was of this illustrious society. This lady was the Juliana of Saxe-Coburg, who, on marrying the Russian Prince, took for her new appellation the name of Anna Feodorowna, and who was so rejoiced to lay that name down again after she had escaped from the brutalities of her husband. The Countess of Cornwall looked upon her with more than ordinary interest, for she was the sister of that Prince Leopold who ultimately married the Princess Charlotte, and whose aspiring hopes were known to, and sanctioned by, the wandering "Countess" herself. The presence in one spot of three princesses, all separated from their then living husbands, had something as singular in it as the meeting of Voltaire's unsceptred kings at the table-d'hôte at Venice. The ex-Empress was separated from her husband, because she did not care to share his fallen fortunes; the Grand Duchess was living alone, because the Grand Duke did not care for his wife; and the other lady and her husband had the ocean between them, because they heartily hated each other. Three sufficient reasons to unite the triad of wanderers within the territories of the Swiss republic.

In October, the Countess of Cornwall, or Princess of Wales, as it will be more convenient to call her, had passed into the imperial city of Milan. Her passage had something of a triumphant aspect; she reviewed the troops drawn up in honour of her visit-smiled at the shouts of welcome, mingled with cries for the liberty of Italy, which greeted her—and endured the noisy homage uttered by a dozen bouches à feu.

She had now but one English lady in her suite, Lady Charlotte Lindsey having resigned her office when in Germany.

It was at Milan that her suite first began to assume a foreign aspect. The Princess was about to enter on a wide course of travel, and, it was said, that she needed the services of those who had had experience in that way. The first, and most celebrated, official engaged to help her with his service, was a Bartholomew Bergami, a handsome man of an impoverished family, who had served in the army as private courier to General Count Pino (bearer of his despatches, it is to be presumed), had received the decoration of some "order;" and -whether by right of an acre or two of land belonging to his family, or because of his merits-bore the high-sounding name, but not very exalted dignity, of "Il Signor Barone." He had three sisters, all of whom were respectably married; the eldest and best known was a Countess Oldi, a true Italian lady, who loved and hated with equal intensity.

At Milan, as at Geneva, the Princess, undoubtedly, failed to leave a favourable impression of her character. At the latter place, the sight of herself, and the great Sismondi, both stout, and the former attired as the Queen of Love, waltzing together, was a spectacle quite sufficient to make the beholders what, it is said, the Princess herself would have called, "all over shock." Then she insisted on undue homage from her attendants, and made such confusion in the geographical programme of her travels, "that it was enough," as she herself used to say on other occasions, "to die for laugh."

On the progress of the Princess through Italy, her English attendants fell off, one by one, till she was finally left without a single member of her suite with whom she had originally set out. They probably ventured to give her some good advice, for she complained of their tyranny. They certainly counselled her to return and live quietly in England; but this counsel was always under consideration, yet never followed by the result desired. She was rendered peevish, too, by receiving no letters from her daughter, of whom she had taken but brief and hurried leave previous to her departure from England.

Meanwhile, she traversed Italy from Milan to Naples, and was everywhere received with the greatest possible distinction. In the little states, the minor potentates did their poor, but hearty, best to exhibit their sympathy. The crownless sovereigns, like those of Spain and Etruria, condoled with her. At Rome, the very head of the faithful stooped to imprint a kiss, or whisper a word of welcome to the wandering lady. After a week of lionising at Rome, she proceeded to Naples, where Murat received her with the splendour and ostentation which marked all his acts. He had a guest who was quite as demon

strative as her host. Court and visitor seemed to vie with each other in extravagance of display. Fêtes and festivals succeeded each other with confusing rapidity, and never had Parthenope seen a lady so given to gaiety, or so closely surrounded by spies, so narrowly watched, and so abundantly reported, as this indiscreet Princess. It was at Naples that she appeared at a masked ball, attired as the Genius of History, and accompanied, it is said, by Bergami. She changed her dress as often as Mr. Ducrow in one of his " daring acts;" and, finally, she enacted a sort of pose plastique, and crowned the bust of Joachim Murat with laurel.

It seemed as if she wished to bury memory of the past, and to destroy the hopes of the future, in the dissipation of the present. To say the least of her conduct, her imprudence and indiscretion were great and gross enough to have destroyed any reputation; and yet she herself described her course of life as sedentary, when she often retired to bed "dead beat" with fatigue from sight-seeing by day and vigorous dancing by night. It was here that she made the longest sojourn, and enjoyed herself, as she understood enjoyment, the most. The purchase of the villa on the Lake of Como was also now effected; and Bergami was soon after raised to the dignity of chamberlain, and to the privilege of a seat at her own table. She claimed a right to bestow honours, and to distinguish those on whom she bestowed them; but her want of judgment in both regards amounted to almost a want of intellect, or a want of respect for herself,