establishment, where medicines are sold under the superintendence of his father, a very respectable medical man. The count, not residing permanently in Lucca, made his way to a neighbouring trattoria. We were to prepare for the Countess O.'s ball that evening, given in honour of the fêtes of Santa Croce, for which she had kindly sent us invitations. Countess O., whom I have often had occasion casually to mention, is quite the Lady Paramount of Lucca, and receives in the most splendid manner in her very magnificent palace. She resides with her unmarried son, who, although arrived at years of discretion, and the real possessor of the large revenues, amounting to upwards of twelve thousand a year--an immense fortune for Italy-is in all respects subject to her will, obeying his haughty mamma with the alacrity of a child dependent on her bounty. He prefers petticoat government and residing at Lucca to all the gaieties of Paris or Vienna; for having visited the various European capitals, he declared on his return that he saw nothing in them to compare to his native city. So much for the taste of the young count.

On arriving at the palazzo we found the large portals thrown wide open, the lights in the vestibule shedding a broad glare across the street, where crowds of dirty beggars and nasty children pressed on us as we descended from the carriage. Five or six stalwart camerieri in handsome livery received us, the major-domo, a majestic-looking personage, assisting us to disembarrass ourselves of shawls and wraps. He then opened the double door of trellis-work, painted green like Venetian blinds, leading to the reception-rooms, everything in the lower suite, which are the summer apartments, being done with a reference to air and coolness. In the first ante-room (of which in every well-arranged palazzo one invariably traverses two or three before arriving at any livable apartment), rustic chairs were arranged, and a sofa placed under a delicious little arbour, formed of light iron-work, over which were wreathed real creepers in full flower. A glass door, shaded by curtains, leading to the first room, was thrown open, and as we entered the bril liantly illuminated apartment, Madame O. advanced to receive us, with the empressé politeness usual with Italians. She is no longer young, but is still a remarkably fine-looking woman, extremely dignified in her bearing, with an expression of hauteur that rather contrasts with the studied courteousness of her address. Her hair is fair, and still beautiful, and her neck and shoulders, which are white and smooth as satin, were certainly not concealed by the berthe of gold blonde trimmed with pearls, which she wore. Of course she addressed us in Italian (although, like all Italian women of rank, she speaks excellent French), asked how long we had been at the Bagni, how we liked Lucca, and a variety of other chit-chat questions. She then presented her son, the young count, who is about three or four-and-twenty, a bourgeois young gentleman, without a soupçon in either air and bearing of his noble birth. Strange that nearly all the young Lucchese nobles are so insignificant in appearance and manner. The countess placed us in the front row of chairs, which were arranged in lines near the piano, as a private concert was to begin the entertainment, and seated herself beside me, speaking of her residence in England, her admiration of the country, and various other well-turned phrases. Soon her attention was called to her rapidly arriving guests, and

I was left alone to observe the scene around. The room was nearly filled with ladies, ranged around on divans or ottomans; the gentlemen keeping quite apart, either in the doorways of two other rooms, right and left of the centre one in which we were, or retreated inside, altogether out of sight. Innumerable glass chandeliers shed a brilliant light around, the windows were thrown wide open, allowing the crowd assembled in the streets to stare in à volonté. Walls, divans, chairs, and portières, were all of rich crimson silk damask; these latter, the portières, superbly embroidered with the coronet and arms of the family; vases and bouquets of exquisite flowers covered the consoles and tables, arranged in patterns and concetti, with a perfection incomprehensible to any one who has not seen the finish to which this "flower painting" is carried in Italy. The guests arrived in rapid succession, all in the most beautiful toilettes, fresh as if just arrived from the atelier of the modiste, very different to the shabby gowns, tumbled trimmings, and crushed flowers one often sees even in a first-rate London ball-room. The young ladies generally were extremely handsome, not of the pale, olive-complexioned, lustrous-eyed, black-haired beauties of the Romagna, but fair-skinned, fresh, blooming, full-cheeked damsels, inclining perhaps a trifle to the grisette style. The fashion of wearing natural flowers in the hair and dress was very general, and the wreaths that ornamented their pretty heads were arranged with a taste and regard to colours worthy of Isidore himself. First and foremost was the lovely Theresa Ottolini, the belle par excellence, with white flowers twisted into braids of her rich chesnut hair. She was surrounded by a bevy of lovely girls, whom she was amusing with some diverting anecdote, for they all laughed with that ringing joyous laugh one rarely hears after sweet seventeen is passed The Countess Nobili, too, was splendid, her pale, statuesque complexion, dark eyes, and raven hair, offering more of the Italian type. She was dressed in white and lilac, and looked exactly as if she had walked out of an old picture. The pretty Baroness was radiant in an unexceptionable pink dress. Her pale, pensive face is very pleasing, and one sighs to think how that innocent child-like expression will give place too surely to intrigue and deceit as soon as she passes from innocent girlhood to matrimony; for how can she expect to escape the contagious effects of national example?

Our old cavaliere hovered about our chair, proud of his ladies, the only English present, and Baldassare, somewhat humbled by the presence of the grandees, bowed to us from one of the doorways. As this was the first thoroughly Italian reunion at which I had ever "assisted," I of course observed everything narrowly.

The guests having all arrived, Count O. took his place at the piano, and ran over the keys in such a masterly manner, that one at once perceived that his reputation of being one of the first amateur performers in Italy was quite deserved. A chorus was first sung by gentlemen; then came a solo, which was exquisitely sung by a tenor-one of the sweetest voices I ever heard; and, after that, a trembling young lady executed a piece of Thalberg's. She played neither better nor worse than other schoolgirls, and was therefore decidedly de trop, as I hold instrumental performances, unless not super-excellent, to be intolerable. She sat down

very pale, and rose, on the conclusion of the morceau, extremely redwas, of course, highly applauded and returned to her seat in a great flutter. A lady now approached the piano, conducted by Madame O., who was evidently considered the prima donna. Madame is verging towards forty, but has still the remains of much beauty. This lady executed a duet from "Le Nozze di Figaro," together with a bass voice, and never did I see any living creature in such a state of agitation; the whole body worked and quivered as if the notes came out of her waist "instead of her throat. As to her face, it was contorted into such painful grimaces I could not look at her-it was really too terrific. She sang with wonderful execution; but how could any performance charm that seemed to threaten an attack of convulsion every instant?

The concert was now over, and all the company adjourned to the adjoining saloons, hung with blue satin and blazing with light, being prepared for dancing. The band struck up a waltz, and the gay Lucchese were soon whirling round with marvellous rapidity. I have already noticed how much better the Italians dance than the English, specially the men, our gallant John Bulls being anything but desirable partners; whilst here it is almost impossible to find a gentleman who is not quite a maestro di ballo, thanks, I suppose, to the early training at the colleges, where dancing is considered part of a classical education. Young Medico footed it with the best, and I was surprised to see that this most decided bourgeois danced indiscriminately with all the noblest dames, none appearing to think him beneath their notice; even the haughty Marchesa A., bowing her swan-like neck, accepting him as her cavaliere. The old cavaliere instantly resumed his old occupation of marshalling the dancers, and was as implicitly obeyed as at the court balls, the countess having given him carte blanche to manage the whole company.

After having danced with Prince Ruspoli-who, by the way, is an exception to my rule, for he dances atrociously-and with the son of the prefect, I sat down to rest, oppressed with the extreme heat of the room. The Baron de a fat little man, looking like a superannuated Cupid, danced furiously, and flirted too, but, on the whole, the manner of all the ladies was far more reserved and quiet than in English society. Extreme tranquillity and reserve marks the high-bred Italian lady in general society, and the gentlemen almost entirely abstain from those public expressions of admiration, called flirting, in England. Did an Italian lady permit the same amount of public attention, and accept it as smilingly as many an Englishwoman most innocently would do, she would be set down in Italy as quite tum-di-dy, and treated accordingly. Every one would think she had tumbled into some grande passion, and was veritably intriguing à toute outrance, so little do they comprehend the reserve of our private manners as compared with our vivacity and frankness in society. With us it is reality; here it is appearances which are so scrupulously attended to. Indeed, between the various dances the gentlemen all retired into the centre saloon, leaving the ladies quite alone, and only re-entered when the music again struck up to claim their partners. I made my way into the last room of the suite, a splendid apartment, where various elderly groups were playing at cards, or reclining in little circles on the sofas and settees. There

was a mass of flowers of immense size arranged in a flat dish, in a pattern so beautiful that it would have sent every one at a Chiswick fête wild with admiration; but here they are used to see this pretty floral patchwork, and don't observe it. Beyond this room was the countess's bedroom, also thrown open, where many little knots of ladies collected to chat. This apartment was furnished with Parisian luxury, and was not the least worth seeing of the whole suite. Consoles and tables were arranged with essences, flowers, and valuable porcelain, and the toilette, with its enormous mirror and superb display of plate, brilliantly lit up, was quite princely.

These lower rooms are, I am told, not to compare, however, with the upper suite of apartments, infinitely more spacious and gorgeous in their decoration; but these are only occasionally thrown open, and then only in winter. On our return into the ball-room the cotillion, that most characteristic dance, was forming. I should not, for my part, have objected to a little supper, but there was none, only trays of ices and drinks, all so outrageously sweet they quite sickened one. A great commotion delayed the beginning of the dance, Madame N. having discovered a large tarantella rising on the wall behind her. No one seemed to like to touch it, and the creature ran up and down to the great terror of all those placed at that side of the room. At last, a handsome Italian, very like Charles Kean in one of his most becoming "gets-up," secured it in his handkerchief, and quiet was restored. I was fatigued with the various excitements of our long day, and took but little interest in the foolish figures of the cotillion arranged by Prince Ruspoli. As I sat on the divan, waiting my turn to be called, I fell into a moralising mood as I observed the passing scene. All looked so comme il faut, so proper, reserved, and well-bred—the ladies modest, the gentlemen quiet, and the whole company retenu to so remarkable an extent-that a stranger might have believed that all the gallantries of the fair Italians— the want of principle and manliness in the men, who are said to smile, encourage their own dishonour, and applaud the success of their wives, the tales of Cicesbeos and lovers, and all that—were sheer wicked invention, and all utterly false. Let us not lift the veil.

STEIN'S MEMOIRS.*

1809-1814.

We have seen Baron von Stein as the victim of his devotion to the good cause, proscribed, banished by foreigners who usurped authority in Prussia; in the present paper we propose to narrate the various measures he took to gain the victory over his powerful adversary, and the unswerving energy with which he urged on the princes the necessity of removing Napoleon from the throne of France, as the sole security for the future welfare of Europe. It is just possible that a spice of vindictiveness was at the bottom of his unrelenting perseverance, and that Stein's own prosperity depended on the overthrow of the great man, who had appeared on the scene as a modern Attila. But we will prefer to leave this consideration out of the question, and merely relate the facts that occurred without trying to explain the motives.

When Stein had obtained a present shelter from the generosity of Austria, the King of Prussia did not hesitate a moment in blindly following the temporising policy recommended by Alexander, and a visit to St. Petersburg fully confirmed him in his ideas. Gneisenau wrote on this subject very sharply to Stein: "The journey to Petersburg has a fearfully enervating effect. The emperor believes he has done wonders by promising to send a corps against Austria in case she assumes the offensive. Our court will, consequently, do very little, unless the enthusiasm of Austria drag it onward. This Alexander was born as a curse for Prussia. In 1805, he rang the storm bells before any preparations had been made. The war was arrogantly announced; he marched into Moravia, and he marched back again, after receiving a very sharp lesson. He then allows his troops to disband, not foreseeing the speedy outbreak of war. His assistance is as ruinous to the country he wishes to protect as the assault of the enemy, and he ends by plundering his own allies."

While the King of Prussia was lulled to sleep by Russian promises, the Austrians were preparing for a new campaign by which their independence could be saved. But Austria suffered from the usual curse of procrastination, and delayed the attack until Napoleon had in a measure arranged the Spanish affairs, and was enabled to concentrate his attention on Austria. Stein writes to Gneisenau: "I fear greatly that cunctando perdimus Romam, and they are attempting to oppose the snail's slow march to the rapid flight of the eagle." His apprehensions were only too just; and he was forced to leave his asylum to secure his own personal safety. His sister was at this time arrested and dragged to Paris, where she was compelled to remain for four months, undergoing examinations apparently for no object but to annoy her brother. At length she received permission to return to Germany, but the whole of her property was confiscated, and she was left to the charity of her friends and relations.

Das Leben des Ministers Freiherrn von Stein. Von G. H. Pertz. Berlin: G. Reimer.