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Reminiscences of a Literary Life
CHAP. XXIII
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
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INTRODUCTION
PREFACE
CONTENTS
CHAP. I
SHELLEY
CHAP. II
JOHN KEATS
THOMAS CAMPBELL
CHAP. III
GEORGE DOUGLAS
CHAP. IV
WILLIAM STEWART ROSE
CHAP. V
SAMUEL ROGERS
SAMUEL COLERIDGE
CHAP. VI
HARTLEY COLERIDGE
CHAP. VII
THOMAS MOORE
WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES
CHAP. VIII
THOMAS DE QUINCEY
JAMES MATHIAS
CHAP. IX
MISS MARTINEAU
WILLIAM GODWIN
CHAP. X
LEIGH HUNT
THOMAS HOOD
HORACE SMITH
CHAP. XI
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH
MRS. JAMESON
JANE AND ANNA PORTER
CHAP. XII
TOM GENT
CHAP. XIII
VISCOUNT DILLON
SIR LUMLEY SKEFFINGTON
JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE
CHAP. XIV
LORD DUDLEY
LORD DOVER
CHAP. XV
SIR THOMAS LAWRENCE
WILLIAM BROCKEDON
CHAP. XVI
SIR ROBERT PEEL
SPENCER PERCEVAL
CHAP. XVII
MOUNTSTUART ELPHINSTONE
MR. DAVIS
CHAP. XVIII
ELIJAH BARWELL IMPEY
CHAP. XIX
ALEXANDER I.
GEORGE CANNING
NAPOLEON
QUEEN HORTENSE
ROSSINI
CHAP. XX
COUNT PECCHIO
MAZZINI
COUNT NIEMCEWITZ
CHAP. XXI
CARDINAL RUFFO
CHAP. XXII
PRINCESS CAROLINE
BARONNE DE FEUCHÈRES
‣ CHAP. XXIII
SIR SIDNEY SMITH
CHAP. XXIV
SIR GEORGE MURRAY
CHAP. XXV
VISCOUNT HARDINGE
CHAP. XXVI
REV. C. TOWNSEND
CHAP. XXVII
BEAU BRUMMELL
CHAP. XXVIII
AN ENGLISH MERCHANT
THE BRUNELS
APPENDIX
INDEX
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CHAP. XXIII] 221
CHAPTER XXIII
SIR SIDNEY SMITH

The Hero of Acre met in Sicily, at the house of a Neapolitan Royalist and fugitive, an old French refugee who had suffered greatly during the Reign of Terror in France, and who was deploring, in no very manly way, the loss of estates and titles, and stiffly maintaining that under the ancien régime nothing, in politics, had been done amiss. “I beg your pardon,” said Sir Sidney, “it was under your ancien régime, and with a Government despotic at home, that you interfered in favour of our revolted American colonists, who were going for a democratic republic. Monsieur, vous avez préché la révolution chez nous, et la voilà chez vous!

Although, like all men who talk too much and are overdosed with vanity and conceit, the Hero of Acre too frequently talked nonsense and rendered himself a bore even to his best friends and warmest admirers, he had, very often, le mot heureux, and the clever, quick, sharp, cutting epigram or antithesis.

One night, at the Opera of San Carlo, he spoke at me for three mortal hours, despite of Rossini’s music and Vestris’ ballet, and this without a single pause, and without the least regard to those who were in the same box with us. He had taken into his head that I intended to attempt writing his life; a task performed many years later (1839), and not very well, by my sometime acquaintance, poor Ned Howard, author of “Rattlin the Reefer” and of other sea novels, in the manner of Captain Marryat.
222SIR SIDNEY SMITH [CHAP. XXIII
Sir Sidney had fallen into the mistake through the interest I took in all military and naval matters, and the anxiety I had several times shown to hear his adventures from his own lips. The interest, the anxiety, were not abated—but three consecutive hours, and at the then best Opera in Europe! “O! questa sera ci siete capitato!” said Madame C., who knew him well. “Non ne posso più!” said I.*

I have already spoken of the vanity and loquacity of the Hero of Acre. I first met him at Rome, in the winter of 1816-17, where Madame Mère, and I think nearly every other member of the Bonaparte family, with the exception of Joseph, who was gone to America, and of Caroline, Murat’s widow, who was living somewhere near Trieste, had taken up their abodes, and were maintaining a very good, if not splendid, style of life. It was curious to see at Roman balls and conversazioni, and at the houses of the foreign ambassadors and ministers, these dethroned Kings and Queens and Potentates, mixing with English Admirals and Generals, British peers and distinguished members of our House of Commons, and with warriors, statesmen, and diplomatists from Russia, from Austria, from Prussia, Spain, and Portugal, and from every country which had been so recently waging the fiercest of wars against Napoleon.

Sir Sidney, who had a quick sense for contrasts, and a keen eye for the picturesque and dramatic, seemed wonderfully to enjoy these “réunions mélangées.” He had with him his wife and his two stepdaughters, the Misses Rumbold, at that period splendid women, objects of universal admiration, the cynosure of all eyes. I grieve to add that they set no bounds to their flirtations, or to their extravagance. A pair of such daughters—and Sir Sidney always treated them as his own—was enough to ruin a much richer man. Not many months after

* Thus far in C. M.’s handwriting.

CHAP. XXIII]AT NAPLES223
this, I met Sir Sidney at Naples, and became rather intimate with him. He had not been there long when I began to hear stories about his thoughtlessness as to money matters, his debts, and other difficulties.

When he received money, he never rested till he had spent it all on dinner parties and other festivities. As poor Count Pecchio said of Ugo Foscolo, Smith never knew how to keep any balance between the Dare and the Avere. I have known him to be reduced, in a foreign country, and even with persons who were comparatively strangers, to very humiliating resources, but I never knew him to be the less cheerful and good-humoured for this. At times his conversation was instructive and altogether delightful. Animated it always was, but this excess of animation was at times very oppressive. I have gone away from him with my head giddy and swimming, as if I had been in a swing or on a roundabout. Most of his time, at Naples, he had with him Captain Arabin, who appeared to me to be a very brave, very clever, right-minded, right-hearted man. It would have been well for Sir Sidney if he had always had such good companions. Unfortunately he was far from being particular in choosing his entourage, and at least on two occasions I knew him to form an intimacy with a defamed man. He was incessantly talking of his own exploits, and repeating the story of how he defended Acre, over and over again, often to the self-same persons, and very often to Neapolitan ladies who cared nothing about it, and who, for the most part, were Napoleonists au fond du cœur. How he could fancy that he could amuse young, handsome, and fashionable women with this talk, I could not comprehend. At times, too, he was unlucky in his references to past events. One night, in rather a large party, he said to the fair and graceful Duchessa di Gallo, wife to the well-known old diplomatist, “Duchessa, when I used to come into the
224SIR SIDNEY SMITH [CHAP. XXIII
bay with the Tiger and squadron, to disturb your French King, I used often to think how easy it would be to knock your house about your ears, and to destroy all your fashionable houses from one end of the Chiaja to the other!”

“We are much obliged to you for not having carried that idea into execution,” replied the Duchessa. At least one-half of the persons present had long had houses in this fashionable suburb, which lies quite open to the sea, and which had suffered somewhat from a cannonade in the troubles of 1799. Another mal à propos was his violently abusing not only the Government at Naples, but the personal character of Joseph Bonaparte, to a lady who had been one of Joseph’s many favourites, and who had had a child by him, a boy then living, and astonishingly like the Bonaparte family.

In spite, however, of these wearisome details, Sir Sidney was quite a favourite in the best society of that capital. It was, indeed, very difficult to dislike him, for he was so brave and chivalrous, so generous and good-humoured, and had always such a stock of cheerfulness.

He used to drive about with his wife and stepdaughters in a great big lumbering, antiquated landau, the panels of which were completely covered with arms, supporters, emblazonments, orders, and flags. It was a thing to exhibit at a public show; but it was very indicative of its owner’s failings. I know not how many good jokes the wits of Naples made upon that carrozzaccio: they did not at all discompose Sir Sidney, who must have heard some of them. One day towards the close of the year 1817, he made himself superlatively ridiculous. The dethroned old King of Spain, Charles IV., came from Rome to Naples on a visit to his brother, old King Ferdinand. In honour of the visitor, rather a splendid review was got up at the Campo di Marte.

CHAP. XXIII] AT A REVIEW 225

Sir Sidney, who never absented himself from anything of the sort, must needs go, and go in full uniform, and attended by a mounted aide-de-camp. Several English officers, of Army and Navy, then staying at Naples, declined the honour of riding after the Admiral. What was to be done? At last he lighted upon a certain Mr. O., who had once been an officer of Marines, but who had married a Sicilian wife, and had left our service under circumstances not very honourable. He made this poor devil put on an old and shabby uniform, and mount a hack-horse, as he himself was mounted. The steeds were the merest rips; at that period, at Naples, there were no good hacks to be hired, and indeed but few good saddle-horses of any kind. Horseflesh has been much improved since then. I was riding gently up the fine sloping road which leads to the camp, in company with Captain C. and another English officer, when we heard a tremendous clattering behind, and were presently passed by the Admiral and his Marine, who were “going the pace” with a vengeance.

Sir Sidney was covered all over with insignia, like the panels of his own coach. He had put on all his orders, ribbons, and other badges, and of these he had a great many, being decoré by England, France, Spain, Portugal, Sardinia, Naples, Sweden, etc. The very broad, bright, blood-red sash of the Order of St. Januarius was very conspicuous on his chest; but, altogether, with all these trappings dangling about him, he looked like a rat-catcher equipped for business. “What a pity,” said C., “that, with all his good and high qualities, Sir Sidney should not have a little modesty, a little common sense!” But on went the brave sailor, cantering among the carriages, saluting all the ladies, caracoling along the lines, talking to King Ferdinand, disappearing and quickly reappearing, and always with Mr. O. close astern. It was astonishing how
226SIR SIDNEY SMITH [CHAP. XXIII
the poor hacks stood it. They and their riders seemed gifted with ubiquity.

For that climate, it was a damp and cold day; the review did old Charles IV. no good; but it was a boar-hunt in the woods of Persano, by Paestum, that carried him off, very soon after. That evening, accoutred and encumbered as he was, “with all his blushing honours thick upon him,” Sir Sidney went to the Opera at San Carlo, and sat full in front of his box. He loved to have all eyes fixed upon him, and to hear people say, “Quello è il famosissimo ammiraglio Sir Smitt!

His own account of his escape from the prison of the Temple at Paris was very interesting, but it has often been told. He always expressed an entire conviction that if he had fallen into the clutches of Napoleon and Savary, he would have been murdered in prison like Pichegru and Wright.

“I did him so much harm,” said he; “and then in Egypt our enmity became personal, and a pretty hot, personal quarrel it was! He gave me the lie, and I sent him a challenge, which he would not accept.”

Although he committed sundry diplomatic and other errors, Sir Sidney really did good, excellent service in Egypt, as well in the year 1800 as in 1799 at Acre, and for these he could not be otherwise than esteemed by his brother officers and by his superiors in command. Both Admiral Lord Keith and General Sir Ralph Abercromby had a due sense of his merits, but they disliked his loquacity and his practice of intermeddling with everything. One morning, as they were preparing for the disembarkation of the troops in Aboukir Bay, Lord Keith, the old General, and Sir George Murray were walking the quarter-deck and concerting measures. Suddenly the Admiral stopped and looked over the bulwark. “Yes,” cried he, “there is no mistake! D—n it, Sir Rafe! Here comes that talking man again!”
CHAP. XXIII]A GREAT EGOTIST227
Sir George Murray, who told me this, told me a great deal more about poor Sir Sidney, which all went to prove that he was sadly indiscreet, and that Government could hardly have helped shelving him as it did, even though he had never gone into those gallantries at Blackheath, and there had been no such person in the world as
Caroline, Princess of Wales.

The Prince Regent and King (George IV.) was, however, of too vindictive a temper ever to forgive him his Blackheath adventures, and that postern-gate at the back of the Princess’s grounds, and that suspicious latchkey or passe partout. Only once did I hear him speak of Her Royal Highness, and then it was manfully to assert that she was an ill-used, innocent woman.

This was said in a party of Neapolitans, of whom several could have borne evidence that if not guilty with Bergamo, she was the most indiscreet, imprudent of women, and one who, in their city, had set appearances at defiance. The charming Duchess of Gallo, who lent her a house, and who of necessity saw a great deal of her during her stay at Naples, could have told Sir Sidney—as she had told me and others—more than one story quite decisive as to the Princess’s manners, and even mœurs. The facts were of the Duchess’s own knowledge.

It would not be easy to find in talk, or pen in hand, so great an egotist as the Hero of Acre. With him it was one eternal “I.” He had some merit in exciting Europe against the Barbary, and most barbarous, Corsairs. Long before 1816, he had warmly advocated an attack on Algiers, and the rest of those piratical nests.

But, after Lord Exmouth’s successful expedition, Sir Sidney seemed to claim the entire merit of the deed. “I published two pamphlets at Paris. I stirred up my old friend Louis XVIII. I excited even the cold and cautious Talleyrand. I stirred
228SIR SIDNEY SMITH [CHAP. XXIII
up my old friend the
King of the Netherlands, who sent a part of his fleet to join ours in the bombardment. I got up an agitation on the Continent, and it was through me and the effects I had produced on the Continent that Lord Castlereagh, and the rest of our own Ministers, were shamed into that affair.”

Sir Sidney left Naples rather deeply in debt, and I lost sight of him for more than twelve years. In that long interval, however, the fame of some of his doings reached my ears. Being in Holland, somewhere about 1828, he took to inventing lifeboats. Having constructed one, which he was quite sure could not fail, he resolved to try it himself. But as he must have an aide-de-camp with him, he took, in that capacity, that utterly ruined and disgraced spendthrift, L. G. The famous lifeboat upset at a very short distance from shore, and Sir Sidney and his aide had a very narrow escape from drowning. Still, I believe, the inventor continued to maintain that his plan was founded on infallible principles, and that the little accident was entirely owing to the stupidity of the Dutchmen who built the boat. In the spring of 1830, my ally and crony R. L. E., who had been well acquainted with the Hero in Turkey and elsewhere, learned quite accidentally that Sir Sidney was in London, and staying at a house in Bedford Square. The next morning we went together to pay him a visit. We had to knock and ring several times. At last a drab of a servant-girl came out into the area; and, after keenly eyeing us, asked what we wanted. “Is Sir Sidney Smith staying here?” The girl muttered something which we could not hear, and then disappeared. In a minute, however, the door was opened by a lad, who before answering our question examined us and asked our names. When I say that the door was opened, I am not quite correct, for it was only partially opened, the chain being
CHAP. XXIII]HIS GENEROSITY229
kept up. We gave our cards through the aperture, and remained standing on the stone steps. “This looks as if Sir Sidney had not been getting richer,” said E.

But in a trice the boy came running to the door; the impeding chain was removed, and we were admitted.

The house looked very much like a lawyer’s house, but we saw no people about it. We found the Hero upstairs, in a back drawing-room, seated at a table covered with papers, some in print, some in MS. Twelve years had produced a very visible change in his person, but his eye was as bright, and his heart as buoyant, as ever.

He was astonished that E. had discovered his whereabouts, and he cautioned us to preserve a prudent silence as to his being in town. We could not but understand what this meant; but he was quite and fully explicit—there were writs out against him, and he was afraid of being “nabbed.” “There are times,” said he—not with a sigh, but with a laugh—“when one cannot tell everybody where one lives.” Subsequently I was reminded of these words by what fell from my former acquaintance, T. K. H., the poet. “H.,” said one of his intimate friends, “where do you hang out now? I don’t know where you live!” “Very few do,” replied the poet.

Yet, though thus playing at “hide-and-seek,” and though otherwise in great straits, poor Sir Sidney’s heart was as large and as generous as in former times. He had been sending money to the distressed widow and children of an officer who had once served under him, and he was exceedingly anxious about some old friend who had been ruining himself by speculations in Change Alley. He talked of getting up a merry little dinner party at some out-of-the-way house of entertainment, where we might talk over old times, and where he would not be known.

230 SIR SIDNEY SMITH [CHAP. XXIII

Two or three days after I called again, and saw only the servant-girl of the area. Sir Sidney was gone. She knew not whither. Not many months after this he reappeared, and could show himself in public. George IV. had gone to the vaults under St. George’s Chapel, and William IV. was on the throne. As Duke of Clarence, William IV. had associated a good deal with the Hero, and had always expressed for him admiration and affection. Sir Sidney, counting on these sentiments, was confident that he would soon be employed, and even be promoted. He must have made some arrangements with his troublesome creditors, for the “good things” were not yet come; they were only coming. One day, as I was perched on the top of a coach, going to Brighton, I saw Sir Sidney walking along Piccadilly, with a quick, elastic step, and a very cheerful countenance. A very short time after this, my crony, R. L. E., was invited to meet the Hero at dinner, at the country-house of that kind and very hospitable old Turkey merchant, Mr. N. K., who was a very old friend of the Admiral. Sir Sidney was true to time, but the dinner was kept waiting by the nonappearance of that exemplary scamp, L. G., who was again hanging on to the Admiral, and doing all kinds of work for him, and giving himself the title of “Secretary.” When, at length, Mr. Secretary made his appearance, Sir Sidney, who was hungry then, and impatient always, said, “G., why the devil can’t you be punctual? We have been waiting nearly an hour.” “Sir Sidney,” said the rogue, with a gravity that struck E. as being exceedingly laughable, “Sir Sidney, I was obliged to wait for the despatches!” And here he produced three or four letters, which, to E.’s eye, looked very much like lawyer’s letters. The merriest man—we need not add, the most talkative—at that hospitable table was the Hero of Acre, who, as an inevitable necessity, told over again the incidents of that siege. E. rode
CHAP. XXIII]GENERAL OF MARINES231
back to town with him; and though himself a great and a rapid talker, he could scarcely “get in a word edgeways.” Sir Sidney was building up most splendid castles in the air, and making plans and projects that, in execution, must have taken half a century; and at this time he was getting on towards the threescore years and ten.

King William did not disappoint him. He obtained the command of one of our Home Stations, and was made General of Marines. This ought to have set him at ease as to money matters, but I believe that it did not.

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