LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Byron
Documents Biography Criticism
Fifty Years’ Recollections, Literary and Personal
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
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Preface
Vol. I Contents
Chapter I.
Chapter II.
Chapter III.
Chapter IV.
Chapter V.
Chapter VI.
Chapter VII.
Chapter VIII.
Chapter IX.
Chapter X.
Vol. II Contents
Chapter I.
Chapter II.
Chapter III.
Chapter IV.
Chapter V.
Chapter VI.
Chapter VII.
Chapter VIII.
Vol. III Contents
Chapter I.
Chapter II.
Chapter III.
Chapter IV.
Chapter V.
Chapter VI.
Chapter VII.
Chapter VIII.
Chapter IX.
Chapter X.
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Naples, 1816.
“My dear Redding,

“You can little imagine the pleasure your letter gives me, dated Rouen, February 17. The best way to answer your letter is to give you my history.

* * * * *

“Now you shall hear of myself, and wherefore and why at Naples.

“A singing chevalier in London, of whom I think you have heard, the Chevalier de Canea, a man protected by the Prince Regent, wished to be made consul at Nice. He spoke to Lord Castlereagh and Lady Castlereagh, for whom he used to sing. He prayed to be sent to Nice, knowing there was nothing to do. It was settled he should go. The said Chevalier promised I should act as vice-consul, as I knew the two or three languages requisite, and had some idea of business. He told me it was a great port, with a considerable trade. Intoxicated with the idea, I foolishly accepted his offer, and away we drove to Turin and Nice, a small pretty town, thirteen miles from Antibes, and three only from the Var, dividing Piedmont from France, the port about the size of an English horse-pond, almost all the vessels feluccas of fifteen or twenty tons burthen. A vessel of a good size seldom enters, a very large merchantmen cannot, a poor prospect of making a fortune. However, being in another’s house and table, my expences were not considerable. I was determined to try what my income might be. Nice is recommended by the faculty in pulmonary cases, and the English are very partial to the climate. It is a
318FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS,  
perpetual spring, summer, or autumn. We arrived on the first of October, and in the course of a little time, to pass the winter, came Lord and Lady Sandwich, Lord and Lady Glenbervie, Lady Charlotte Lindsay, Lady Charlotte Campbell, and names enough to fill up the side of my paper, but of no use to me.

“The winter was delightful—dinners, balls among the English every night, and the Piedmontese nobility, by the by, a set of poor contemptible, intriguing tricksters, were often invited to the balls, and musical parties. Your humble servant did not pass unnoticed, in consequence of his ability in the French and Italian languages, and when it was known that I could draw a little, I was looked upon as a white wonder. I drew for one, sketched for another, walked and talked ‘sighed and looked, and sighed again.’

“I think I see you laugh, as of old, at supposing me in love, but if you knew me better, you would know that has been my case for the last twenty-five years, particularly with every ‘pretty’ woman, and I hope to continue the same for three hundred years to come, but to return. One Sunday evening, I think the 5th of March, (about this time twelvemonth) several vessels were seen passing the town of Nice, and the next morning the country people bringing their oil and wine to the market, raised a hue and cry ‘Bonaparte is landed with twelve hundred men!’ It caused as much surprize at Nice as it did in London, or anywhere else, but the consternation and confusion amongst the English was wholly indescribable. Every day and hour they greedily swallowed the news of his progress. His having had a battle, wherein he was routed the next day
LITERARY AND PERSONAL.319
was certain—the next day he was slain, they only waited to hail, as the saviour of the world, the courier that would confirm the news. Intelligence really did come that Bonaparte had fled in disguise, and that two thousand out of the twelve hundred he had brought with him, were either taken, slain or fled, the remainder seeking a passage through the mountains! If they could not succeed, as the Niceards were sure they could not get through the mountains, then they must march back again to the Island of Elba—they were all anxiously expecting to see them, either walk across the sea, or brought to Nice dead or alive. They found at last that Bonaparte had entered Paris, and their surprise was over—then they discovered that the climate of Nice, all at once got too hot for them, and I was busily employed in getting feluccas, or anything else that would secure their departure for Genoa. They all left, and I an Englishman, could not stay at Nice, having nothing to do. The consul was the first to hurry his own departure, the most ignorant, contemptible, singing prig I ever met with or anybody else; a fellow full of pride and conceit, a consul who did not know what a bale of goods was from a cobbler’s green bag—the case with many of our consuls, I fear. Some of the English gentlemen told him it was his duty to see the English all safe before he went, that if he dared to go away, they would instantly inform the ambassador at Turin. This stopped him. A gentleman of Yorkshire, named D——, with a large family, who came to Nice for his son’s health, entreated I would go with them to Genoa. I joined their party. We rode across the mountains, and arrived safe. It is
320FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS,  
a most beautiful city, with a great deal of traffic. The Pope was there, the King of Sardinia, the Queen of Etruria, Lord William Bentinck, &c. After the files and ceremonies were over, the English went, some to England, others to Switzerland, and here and there. The D—s went to Switzerland. I began to reflect I was a tolerable Italian—I must see this famous Italy.

“I went to Rome, but it is modern not ancient Rome. You see thousands of fat, contented, ignorant priests and monks, a few palaces, which occupy much ground, a number of ‘things’ called ‘princes,’ few gentlemen, and hundreds of poor wretches called ‘Romans!’ After enjoying myself there as much as I could, I thought I might as well go on and see Naples, a hundred and fifty miles further. Something might be done there in a sea-port town. I should have told you that this is no longer the country of the arts and sciences, though pride makes a love of them be affected. From my experience, I could get more by selling fat brawn, than by all the finest pictures that could be painted for a century, or by writing the most meritorious work, unless I were taken very strongly by the hand. ‘Ask Turner or Redding if I am not right?’ I think I am. Now I am still at Naples, without friends or fortune. I had a few letters of introduction to some noblemen at Naples, from princes and dukes at Rome.”