must have been broken into a thousand pieces; but for her own patience and perseverance she believed she would never have arrived at what she calls that divine castle.'

On the 12th of March 1770, she writes from the Château de Grignan :

Me voici dans cet magnifique Château. I have not been sensible of so much pleasure for a very long time as I was when I came in sight of this Castle, at my entrance into it, and with the thoughts of passing the remainder of the day here, and lodging here at night. I have walked over every room and have already visited the apartment of Madame de Sévigné three times. The moment I arrived I inquired whether there was anybody still living who remembered her, and was told there was an old bourgeois of eighty-eight years of age that came often to the Castle during the time she lived here and had seen her frequently. He arrived when I was at dinner, which I did not stay to finish, but run into the next room to meet him. His memory is as perfect as it could have been fifty years ago; he told me he had seen her often, that everybody loved her and greatly lamented her death. She was buried the next evening [Madame de Sévigné died of small-pox in 1696], and for a long time after, whenever Madame de Grignan came into the church, her affliction was so great that she held her hands before her eyes that she might not see the place where her mother was buried. I am so proud of my present habitation that I am inclined to set up all night to write letters in order to date them from hence. I am now setting in a great apartment not within hearing of a human being, nor is there anybody to lie on the same floor. There are five apartments as large as this; numbers in the floor above, and the great gallery mentioned in Madame de Sévigné's letters is below, even with the terrace, which is the finest I ever saw, much finer than that at Windsor Castle. My imagination is so totally imployed about Madame de Sévigné that I am persuaded by and by I shall think she appears to me; every noise I hear I expect the door to open.

Whilst Lady Mary Coke was at Aix, the Duc de Villars, Governor of Provence (son of the Marshal de Villars), arrived, and she found that he expected her to call on him. When she went with a friend, at six one evening, she was received by the Duke

in his bedchamber, which is hung with a two-coloured velvet, with glasses, clocks, tables, and many other ornamental pieces of furniture. His dress more studied than you can imagine, though he is turned seventy; he wears the order of the Golden Fleece in very fine diamonds, and his waistcoat is only buttoned at the bottom that the magnificence of his lace may not be concealed, which from time to time he sets to rights, perhaps to have it the more taken notice of; the buttons to his shirt being very fine diamonds are likewise adjusted very often. He is in his person taller and thinner than almost anyone I ever saw; he wears a little rouge, and red heels to his shoes.

Lady Mary adds that the Duke had a bad reputation, although he was very charitable. He once asked that an harangue in his praise, which was to be delivered in his presence by a Capuchin monk, might be as short as possible, and the monk contented himself with one sentence: Monseigneur, je souhaite que vous obteniez autant de gloire dans le Ciel que le Maréchal votre père en avait acquis sur la terre.' Lady Mary wrote from Aix:

As I believe you know, the executions in this country are more terrible than in England, so I desired my servants would never tell me when they were to be, but yesterday they told me the bell that was then ringing was for a man that was to be racked at half an hour after four o'clock. You can hardly imagine the uneasiness it gave me ; I did not recover it the whole evening.

This was in 1770. At Marseilles, shortly afterwards, Lady Mary saw seven galleys full of slaves, but she says:

I was glad to find them not such miserable beings as I had represented them to myself, for they are not chained to the galleys, and are allowed to work for themselves. As most of them have some trade they gain a very comfortable subsistence, and there are numbers of little shops on the side of the port where they sit at work with a chain to their leg. Something of this kind less rigid would be a good thing in our country for the trifling crimes, instead of death.

She made an excursion to Vaucluse in spite of the difficulties on the road, and sat down for some time to examine the remains of the houses of Petrarch and Laura, which were shown to her, on one of the rocks, as their genuine habitations.

In the autumn of 1770 Lady Mary Coke went to Vienna, travelling in her own coach from Calais to Ratisbon, where she hired a vessel to take her down the Danube. She had to provide bedding for herself and her servants on board, a table, a chair, and all her provisions, as well as the fuel for cooking, as the voyage lasted four days. At Vienna Lady Mary was introduced to the principal members of society by the British Ambassador, Lord Stormont. She found that all those ladies who did not play at cards occupied their fingers with parfilage. This amusement was fashionable for many years at Vienna and at Paris, and it was introduced into England by Prince Leopold of Coburg on his marriage to Princess Charlotte. Here, the work was called drizzling. Ladies begged their friends to give them pieces of the gold lace used on uniforms and the gold tassels of sword-belts, they picked out the metal threads, and by selling these they realised considerable sums. Prince Leopold himself drizzled continually, and according to the Memoirs of Karolina Bauer he made enough money in one year by this employment to purchase a silver soup-tureen, which he presented to his niece, Princess Victoria, on her eleventh birthday. Lady Mary Coke had an audience of the Empress Maria Theresa on Sunday the 11th of November 1770, being presented by Princess Kinsky; and as the occasion was informal, she wore a blue velvet sacque trimmed with silver, instead of the enormous hoop then necessary in full dress. Lady Mary says that she and the Princess awaited the Empress in her private apartment.

Here we stayed some time. The door of the outward room was opened, and the Empress came in. Lord Strafford saw her in her great beauty, but that, the small-pox [in 1767] and a great increase of fat have deprived her of. I don't

mention her age [the Empress was fifty-three], for everybody here affirms that till she had the small-pox she was very handsome. What remains I shall mention. She is about my height, and tho' very fat, not at all incumbered with it, a genteel slope, holds herself extremely well, and her air the most noble I ever saw: 'tis still visible her features have been extremely fine and regular, though the swelling from the small-pox never quite gone down, and a little degree of redness remaining. More spirit and sense in her eyes than I think I ever saw, and the most pleasing tone of voice in speaking. This is the most exact picture that can be drawn. She is still in deep mourning, and intends to wear it all her life. Her own private apartment is hung with black cloth, and in the room where she sits she has the pictures of the Emperor [Francis Stephen, who died in 1765] and all the children she has lost. She was very gracious, and presented the Emperor [her son Joseph] and all the Grand Dukes herself.

Lady Mary saw the Empress in public several times, and noticed that when her Majesty was not in form,' her fingers were always busily making a chain of red silk for her embroidery. Maria Theresa allowed herself an income of a hundred thousand pounds (English) a year, but her charity was so lavish that this sum, which she received in monthly instalments, was always anticipated, and her Majesty was accustomed to borrow of her servants, even of her chambermaids, so that there was generally a heavy mortgage on the coming month's allowance. The Empress was strict as to the observance of Sunday, until the time when the church services were over; before that hour no one in Vienna was allowed to walk or ride for pleasure, and persons going on errands were arrested; large dinner parties were also discouraged. Before Lady Mary Coke left Vienna the Empress received her alone, and told her she had intended to give her a box with her cipher, but it was not ready. The box, when received by Lady Mary in England, contained a clasp for a bracelet with the monogram M.T. in diamonds, surrounded by two rows of diamonds. Lady Mary left this clasp to her niece, the Duchess of Buccleuch, in whose family it is preserved. The Court reception at Vienna was a brilliant function, and began at half-past six. The room in which the Empress sat was square, and very large. Lady Mary

says:

'Tis not hung, but finished with carving and guilding which, with glasses, tables, lustres, and lighting such as I never saw, gave it an air of great magnificence. At the upper end is a canopy of gold and silver stuff, under which is placed the table where the Empress plays cards; her chair is black velvet. A little before seven o'clock the Imperial Family came in ;

a circle was formed, and the Empress spoke to those who stood for ward, but she only went half-way. She then sat down, and as she saw people she called them to her table. She did Lady Mary that honour, and said to her J'ai les yeux fort bas. She complimented Lady Mary on her riding, and then handed a card to each of three Austrian ladies, and sat down with them to a game which Lady Mary

calls the French picket.' On the Thursday in Holy Week Lady Mary witnessed the ceremony of the Emperor and Empress waiting on twelve poor men and twelve poor women, and afterwards washing their feet. The Empress was assisted by the Archduchesses, all in full court dress, the Emperor by the Archdukes. The ladies wore black veils, and Lady Mary says:

I never saw the Empress look so graceful. She stood opposite to the three first old women, placed all the dishes upon the table and took them off with a grace that is not to be described. Her manner of holding the napkin was so genteel that I could have looked at her for ever, and if you had heard her talk to those three old women you would have been delighted. She did me the honour to tell me that she was not now able to perform the rest of the function, she said her breath would not permit her, but added 'My daughter will do it.' We went to the other side where the Emperor was serving the twelve old men, but I remarked he did not talk to them as the Empress did to the old women. He asked me whether the King did not perform the same ceremony in England, and seemed surprised when I told him he did not.

[The custom ceased with James the Second, although the English Sovereigns delegated it to their almoners, and the Archbishop of York performed the ceremony in the Chapel Royal in 1731.]

Lady Mary then returned to the Empress, who was placing the second course upon the old women's table.

When she had taken it off the dishes were removed, and she sat down upon a stool. The ladies of the Court pulled off the shoes and stockings of the old women, and one of the Chamberlains brought a great gilt dish, and another held a ewer of water. The eldest Archduchess then kneeled down, washed and kissed the feet of each old woman, going from one to another upon her knees, for she is not to rise till she has performed it all. When she has finished she gets up, and is presented by one of the Ladys of the Court with a ribbon to which hangs a purse, which she puts over the head of each old woman. The Emperor does the same by the men. They then came to the Empress, who rose and retired.

On Lady Mary's homeward journey she stayed in Paris, and had an audience of Marie Antoinette, besides seeing her in the chapel at Versailles. She was charmed with her figure and her grace, simply dressed as the Dauphine was, in her hair, with diamonds, and a black cloak, but without a hoop.' At the audience Marie Antoinette, according to her custom, said very little, and although she asked Lady Mary how long she had been at Vienna she made no inquiry after the Empress, and in a few minutes she rose and bowed, when Lady Mary retired. Marie Antoinette's silence did not imply any want of affection between her and the Empress, for the mother and daughter kept up a close correspondence. Lady Mary heard that the Dauphine had lately caused a small bust of herself, modelled in biscuit de Sèvres, to be sent to the Empress, and this bust, for fear of injury, was conveyed from Paris to Vienna by relays of messengers on foot.

In 1773 Lady Mary travelled from Vienna into Italy. By this time she had made up her mind that the Empress Maria Theresa had taken a dislike to her, and had given orders that she should be annoyed and ill-used everywhere. On her way into Italy her coach was upset in crossing a river, and this accident, she felt sure, was arranged by the Empress. Nothing could convince her of her mistake, and even when she returned to England and Horace Walpole attempted to reason with her he says she flounced out of the house, and I could hardly believe I had escaped without a scratched face or a black eye.' Her conduct in Italy was so strange, and her quarrels with her servants so violent, that Sir Horace Mann, then Ambassador at Florence, feared she would have been arrested, and, to screen her he seems to have hinted that she was mad. When the coach was upset, Lady Mary refused to leave it, imagining that the Empress intended to have her thrown into the river, and when the carriage was, after seven hours' immersion, dragged out by oxen, Lady Mary continued her journey seated on the box, although she says she was 'numbed with wet.' Venice did not please her; the sun did not shine, and she thought it a most melancholy place, with the bells perpetually tolling and the gondolas looking like hearses. She travelled in a boat from Venice to Brescello, and was as seasick on the river Po as if she had been at sea. At length she reached Florence in safety, and Sir Horace Mann showed her as much attention as he could, even taking her to a grand christening, where such quantities of sugar-plums were handed round that after the company had filled their pockets the floor was almost covered with them. Lady Mary crossed Mont Cenis in the beginning of April 1774, carried in a chair. She says:

It snowed and blew very hard all the day. In descending the other side of the mountain the snow had covered all the tracks, and the men did not know where to tread; they were often above their knees in snow, and fell down more than once. I really thought I run a very great risk of being precipitated down some of those terrible places.

When she reached Paris Lady Mary was astonished at the change in the head-dresses of the French ladies, not, she thinks, for the better. Two ladies she knew were obliged to kneel down in their coach, their head-dresses being so high that they could not sit. She saw the Dauphine at the opera, where the audience could not attend to the piece for looking at her. But festivities ceased, owing to the death of Louis the Fifteenth from small-pox. All that Lady Mary could do was to go to La Muette (once the Parc aux Cerfs) in the Bois de Boulogne, and watch the sisters of Louis the Sixteenth walking with Marie Antoinette. She thought Madame Elizabeth, the youngest sister, very pretty, and Madame Adelaide (afterwards Queen of Sardinia), had a very good face, although she was very fat. Lady Mary returned to England in June, and, according to her usual fate, found that during