Vienna.
Whether it is owing to the example of the Empress, or to what other cause, I shall not take upon me to decide; but there certainly appears a warmer and more general attachment to religion in Vienna, than in any other great town in Germany: There is also a greater appearance of satisfaction and happiness here than in many other cities, where religious impressions are more feeble and, less prevalent: It is not improbable, that the latter may be a consequence of the former.
Irreligion and scepticism, exclusive of the bad effects they may have on themorals or future destiny of men, impair even their temporal happiness, by obscuring those hopes, which, in some situations, are their only consolation. In whatever superior point of view those men may consider themselves, who deride the opinions which their fellow-citizens hold sacred, this vanity is often overbalanced by the irksome doubts which obtrude on their minds. Uncertainty with respect to the most interesting of all subjects, or a fixed persuasion of annihilation, are equally insupportable to the greater part of mankind, who sooner or later endeavour to put in a claim for that bright reversion, which religion has promised to believers. If the idea of annihilation has been supported without pain by a few philosophers, it is the utmost that can be said; such a state of mind can never be a source of satisfaction or pleasure. People of great sensibility seldom endure it long; their fonddesire of immortality overturns every fabric which scepticism had attempted to raise in their minds; they cannot abide by a doctrine which plucks from the heart a deeply-rooted hope, tears asunder all those ties of humanity, affection, friendship, and love, which it has been the business of their lives to bind, and which they expect will be eternal. Since sensibility renders the heart averse to scepticism, and inclinable to devotion, we may naturally expect to find women more devout than men; very few of that delicate sex have been able to look with stedfast eyes on a prospect, which terminates in a dismal blank; and those few, who have had that degree of philosophical fortitude, have not been the most amiable of the sex.
None of my female acquaintance at Vienna are in this uncomfortable state ofmind, but many of them have embroidered some fanciful piece of superstition of their own upon the extensive ground which the Roman Catholic faith affords. In a lady’s house a few days ago I happened to take up a book which lay upon the table,—a small picture of the Virgin Mary on vellum fell from between the leaves; under the figure of the Virgin there was an inscription, which I translate literally:
“This is presented by —— —— to her dearest friend —— ——, in token of the sincerest regard and affection; begging that as often as she beholds this figure of the blessed Virgin, she may mix a sentiment of affection for her absent friend, with the emotions of gratitude and adoration she feels for the Mother of Jesus.”
The lady informed me, that it was usual for intimate friends to send such presents to each other when they were about to separate,and when there was a probability of their being long asunder.
There seems to be something exceedingly tender and pathetic in blending friendship with religious sentiments, and thus by a kind of consecration endeavouring to preserve the former from the effects of time and absence.—The perusal of this inscription recalled to my memory certain connections I have at home, the impetuosity of which recollection affected me beyond expression.
I remarked in this lady’s house another beautiful picture of the Virgin, ornamented with a rich frame, and a silk curtain to preserve it from dust; I observed that she never looked at it but with an air of veneration and love, nor passed it when uncovered by the curtain without a gentle bending of the knee.—She told me, that this picture had been long in the family, and had been always held in the highest esteem, for thatboth her mother and she owed some of the most fortunate events of their lives to the protection of the blessed Virgin, and she seemed not intirely free from a persuasion that the attention of the Virgin was in some degree retained by the good offices of this identical picture. She declared that the confidence she had in the Virgin’s goodness and protection, was one of the greatest comforts she had in life—that tohershe could, without restraint, open her heart, and pour out her whole soul under every affliction, and she never failed to find herself comforted and relieved by such effusions.
I observed, that devout Protestants found the same consolation in addressing the Almighty.
She said—She could not comprehend how that could be—for that God the Father was so great and awful, that her veneration was mixed with such a degree of dread as confoundedall her ideas when she attempted to approach him; but the blessed Mary was of so mild, so condescending, and compassionate a character, that she could address her with more confidence.
She said, she knew it was her duty to adore the Creator of the universe, and she fulfilled it to the best of her power, but she could not divest herself of a certain degree of restraint in her devotions to him, or even to her Saviour; but the blessed Mary being herself a woman, and acquainted with all the weakness and delicacies of the sex, she could toheropen her heart with a degree of freedom which it was not possible for her to use to any of the Persons of the Holy Trinity.—Regardez sa physionomie, added she, pointing to the picture,—mon Dieu, qu’elle est douce, qu’elle est gracieuse!
These sentiments, however contrary to the Protestant tenets, and the maxims of philosophy, are not unnatural to the human heart.—Voltaire says, that man has always shewn an inclination to create God after his own image; this lady formed an idea of the blessed Virgin from the representation of the painter, as well as from the account given of her in the Evangelists; and her religion allowing the Mother of Christ to be an object of worship, she naturally turned the ardor of her devotion to her whose power she imagined was sufficient to protect her votaries here, and procure them paradise hereafter, and whose character she thought in some particulars sympathised with her own.
Some zealous Protestants may possibly be shocked at this lady’s theological notions; however, as in other respects she is a woman of an excellent character, and observes themoral precepts of Christianity with as much attention as if her creed had been purified by Luther, and doubly refined by Calvin, it is hoped they will not think it too great an extension of charity to suppose that her speculative errors may be forgiven.
Vienna.
The preference which is given by individuals in Roman Catholic countries to particular Saints, proceeds sometimes from a supposed connection between the characters of the Saints and the votaries; men expect the greatest favour and indulgence from those who most resemble themselves, and naturally admire others for the qualities which they value most in their own character.
A French Officer of dragoons, being at Rome, went to view the famous statue of Moses by Michael Angelo; the artist has conveyed into this master-piece, in the opinion of some, all the dignity which a human form and human features are capable of receiving;he has endeavoured to give this statue a countenance worthy of the great legislator of the Jews, the favourite of Heaven, who had conversed face to face with the Deity. The officer happened to be acquainted with the history of Moses, but he laid no great stress on any of these circumstances—he admired him much more on account of one adventure in which he imagined Moses had acquitted himself like a man of spirit, and as he himself would have done—Voilà qui est terrible! voilà qui est sublime! cried he at sight of the statue—and after a little pause he added, on voit là un drôle qui a donné des coups de bâton en son tems, et qui a tué son homme.
The crucifixes, and statues, and pictures, of Saints, with which Popish churches are filled, were no doubt intended to awaken devotion when it became drowsy, and to excite in the mind gratitude and veneration for the holy persons they represent; but itcannot be denied that the gross imaginations of the generality of mankind are exceedingly prone to forget the originals, and transfer their adoration to the senseless figures which they behold, and before which they kneel. So that whatever was the original design, and whatever effects those statues and pictures have on the minds of calm, sensible Roman Catholics, it is certain that they often are the objects of as complete idolatry as ever was practised in Athens or Rome, before the statues of Jupiter or Apollo.
On what other principle do such multitudes flock from all the Roman Catholic countries in Europe to the shrine of our Lady at Loretto? Any statue of the Virgin would serve as effectually as that to recall her to the memory, and people may adore her as devoutly in their own parish churches, as in the chapel at Loretto.—The pilgrims therefore must be persuaded that there issome divine influence or intelligence in the statue which is kept there; that it has a consciousness of all the trouble they have taken, and the inconveniencies to which they have been exposed, by long journies, for the sole purpose of kneeling before it in preference to all other images.
It was probably on account of this tendency of the human mind, that the Jews were forbid to make unto themselves any graven image. This indeed seems to have been the only method of securing that superstitious people from idolatry; and notwithstanding the peremptory tenor of the commandment, neither the zeal nor remonstrances of their judges and prophets could always prevent their making idols, nor hinder their worshipping them wherever they found them ready made.
Statues and pictures of Saints which have been long in particular families, are generally kept with great care and attention; the proprietors often have the same kind of attachment to them that the ancient heathens had to their Dii Penates.—They are considered as tutelary and domestic divinities, from whom the family expect protection. When a series of unfortunate events happens in a family, it sometimes creates a suspicion that the family statues have lost their influence. This also is a very ancient sentiment; Suetonius informs us, that the fleet of Augustus having been dispersed by a storm, and many of the ships lost, the Emperor gave orders that the statue of Neptune should not be carried in procession with those of the other Gods, from an opinion that the God of the Sea was unwilling or unable to protect his navy, and in either case he deemed him not worthy of any public mark of distinction.
The genuine tenets of the Roman Catholic church certainly do not authorise any of the superstitions above mentioned, which are generally confined to the credulous and illiterate in the lower ranks of life.—Yet instances are sometimes to be met with in a higher sphere: a Frenchman in a creditable way of life had a small figure of our Saviour on the Cross, of very curious workmanship; he offered it for sale to an English gentleman of my acquaintance; after expatiating on the excellency of the workmanship, he told him that he had long kept this crucifix with the most pious care, that he had always addressed it in his private devotion, and that in return he had expected some degree of protection and favour; instead of which he had of late been remarkably unfortunate; that all the tickets he had in the lottery had proved blanks; and having had a great share in the cargo of a ship coming from the West-Indies, he had recommended it in the mostfervent manner in his prayers to the crucifix, and that he might give no offence, by any appearance of want of faith, he had not insured the goods—notwithstanding all which the vessel had been shipwrecked, and the cargo totally lost, though the sailors, in whose preservation he had no concern, had been all saved—Enfin, Monsieur, cried he, with an accent of indignation mingled with regret, and raising his shoulders above his ears, Enfin, Monsieur, il m’a manqué, et je vends mon Christ.
Happy for Christians of every denomination, could they abide by the plain, rational, benevolent precepts of the Christian religion, rejecting all the conceits of superstition, which never fail to deform its original beauty, and to corrupt its intrinsic purity!
Vienna.
Our disputes with the colonies have been a prevailing topic of conversation wherever we have been since we left England. The warmth with which this subject is handled increases every day.—At present the inhabitants of the continent seem as impatient as those of Great Britain, for news from the other side of the Atlantic, but with this difference, that here they are all of one mind:—all praying for success to the Americans, and rejoicing in every piece of bad fortune which happens to our army.
That the French should be pleased with commotions which must distress and weaken Great Britain, and may transfer to them anequal right to every advantage we gained by the last war, is not surprising; but why the inhabitants of every other country should take part against England, and become partizans of America, is not so apparent.
I should forgive them, and even join in sentiment with them, as far as my regard for the honour and happiness of my country would permit, if this proceeded from an attachment to liberty, and a generous partiality for men who repel oppression, and struggle for independency.—But this is not the case.—Those who can reap no possible advantage from the revolt of America; those who have not an idea of civil liberty, and would even be sorry to see it established in their own country; those who have no other knowledge of the dispute, than that it is ruining England; all join as allies to the Americans, not from love to them, but evidently from dislike to us.
When I first observed this hostile disposition, I thought it might proceed from their being offended at that preference which the English give to their own country and countrymen, above all others: but this conceit we have in common with every other nation on the globe, all of whom cherish the same favourable opinion of themselves. It assuredly prevails in France in an eminent degree.—There is hardly one sceptic or unbeliever in the whole nation.—It is the universal creed, that France is the finest country in the world; the French the most ingenious and most amiable people, excelling in all the arts of peace and war; and that Paris is the capital of politeness, and the center of learning, genius, and taste.
This satisfaction at the misfortunes of Great Britain cannot therefore arise from a cause which is applicable to every other country. It may, indeed, in some measure,proceed from envy of the riches, and jealousy of the power of the English nation; but, I believe, still more from our taking no trouble to conciliate the affections of foreigners, and to diminish that envy and ill-will which great prosperity often creates. The French, though perhaps the vainest people on earth of their own advantages, have some degree of consideration for the feelings and self-love of their neighbours. A Frenchman endeavours to draw from them an acknowledgment of the superiority of his country, by making an elogium on whatever is excellent in theirs. But we are apt to build our panegyric of Old England, on the ruin and wretchedness of all other countries.—Italy is too hot, the inns miserable, and the whole country swarms with monks and other vermin.—In France, the people are slaves and coxcombs, the music execrable;—they boil their meat to rags, and there isno porter, and very little strong ale, in the country.—In Germany, some of their Princes have little more to spend than an English gentleman:—They use stoves instead of grates:—They eat sour crout, and speak High Dutch.—The Danes and Swedes are reminded, that they are rather at too great a distance from the equator; and many sly hints are given concerning the inconveniencies of a cold climate.—Of all things, I should think it most prudent to be silent on this last topic, as so many paltry states will take precedency of Old England, whenever it is the established etiquette that rank shall be determined by climate.
But this consideration has no effect on my honest friend John Bull. When he is in a choleric humour, he will not spare his best friends and nearest neighbours, even when he has most need of their assistance,and when those at a distance seem to have plotted his ruin.—If his own sister Peg should show a disposition to forget old squabbles, to live in friendship with her brother, and should declare that all who renounced his friendship were her enemies, and resolve to conquer by his side, or if that should fail, to die hard along with him—No! d—n ye, says John, none of your coaxing:—You be d—d! you are farther North than I—Keep your distance.—And so he falls a pelting Peg with her own snow-balls; and then turning from her, he attacks Lewis Baboon, Lord Strut, Lord Peter, and dashes their soup maigre, olio’s, and maccaroni, full in their teeth.
But to drop allegory; the universal satisfaction which appears all over Europe, at the idea of England’s being stript of her colonies, certainly does not intirely originate from political sentiments; but in a great degree from that reserve which keepsEnglishmen from cultivating the friendship of foreigners; that pride which hinders them from stooping to humour prejudices; that indifference which makes them disregard the approbation of others, and betray the contempt they are too ready to entertain for customs or sentiments different from their own.
These are things not easily forgiven, and for which no superiority of genius, magnanimity, or integrity, can compensate. The same causes which have made foreigners take part against us in the dispute with America, induce those of them who are rich, and can spend their revenues out of their own country, to prefer France to England for that purpose. The difference between London and Paris in point of climate is very small. The winter amusements of the former are more magnificent; and perhaps every conveniency, and most of the luxuries of life are to be found there ingreater perfection. During the summer months, by superior skill in agriculture and a better taste in gardening, England displays such scenes of cultivation, of verdure and fertility, as no country on earth can equal. To these are added the blessings of liberty; yet few or no foreigners reside in England, except those she maintains entirely at her own expence; all the wealthy, after a short visit to London, returning to spend their fortunes at Paris.
Exclusive of pecuniary advantages, it flatters the natural vanity of the French to find their society preferred to that of all other people, and particularly to that of their proud rivals.—Let them enjoy this advantage; let them draw to their capital the idle, the dissipated, and the effeminate of every country in Europe:—but for heaven’s sake, do you and your friends in parliament fall on some measure to prevent them fromengaging the affections of our industrious brethren of America.
Such an event would be attended with severe consequences to Great Britain, and probably to America. There are, however, so many repelling points in the American and French characters, that I cannot imagine the adhesion between them could be of long duration, should it take place.
You may naturally suppose, from some things in this letter, that the people here are in a particular manner inveterate against England, in her dispute with America. But in reality this is not the case: for although in general they favour America, I have not seen so much moderation on that question any where as at Vienna. The Emperor, when some person asked which side he favoured, replied very ingeniously, Je suis par métier royaliste.
I wish those of our countrymen, who by your account seem to be carrying their zeal for America too far, would remember qu’ils font par naisance Anglois.
Just as I was concluding the above I received yours, informing me that your young friend was in a short time to set out on the usual tour through Europe. I shall take another opportunity of writing to him on the subject you desire, at present I must confine myself to the few following hints.
I hope he will always remember that virtue and good sense are not confined to any particular place, and that one end of travelling is to free the mind from vulgar prejudices—he ought therefore to form connections, and live on a social footing with the inhabitants of the different countries through which he passes; let him at least seem pleased while he remains among them; this is the most effectual method of makingthem pleased with him, and of his accomplishing every object he can have in visiting their country.
There are instances of Englishmen, who, while on their travels, shock foreigners by an ostentatious preference of England to all the rest of the world, and ridicule the manners, customs, and opinions of every other nation, yet on their return to their own country, immediately assume foreign manners, and continue during the remainder of their lives to express the highest contempt for every thing that is English.—— I hope he will entirely avoid such perverse and ridiculous affectation.
The taste for letters which he has acquired at the university, I dare say will not be diminished on classic ground, or his mind be diverted, by a frivolous enthusiasm for music, or any other passion, from themanly studies and pursuits which become an English gentleman.
As he regards the confidence of his friends, the preservation of his character, and the tranquillity of his mind, let no example, however high, lead him into the practice of deep play. By avoiding gaming he will secure one kind of independence, and at the same time keep possession of another, by continuing the habit of study, till the acquisition of knowledge has become one of his most pleasing amusements.—Unlike those wretched mortals, who, to drag through the dreary hours of life, are continually obliged to have recourse to the assistance of others, this fortunate turn of mind will add to his own happiness, while it renders him more useful to, and less dependent on, society.
The preceding sermon, if you think proper, you may deliver to the young traveller, with my best wishes.
Having delayed our journey several weeks longer than was intended, merely from a reluctance of leaving a place which we have found so very agreeable, we have at length determined to set out for Italy—and are to go by the Duchies of Stiria and Carinthia, which is a shorter route than that by the Tirol. As the time we are to remain at Vienna will be entirely employed in the necessary arrangements for the journey, and the painful ceremony of taking leave of friends, you will not hear again from me till we arrive at Venice.—Mean while, I am, &c.
Transcriber’s Note:Evident printing errors have been changed, but otherwise the original (and antiquated) spelling has been preserved, in both English and French.