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What Readers Are Saying About HTML5 and CSS3

This book does an excellent job of cutting through the hype and
telling you what you need to know to navigate the HTML5 waters.
Casey Helbling

Founder, Clear :: Software for Good

If you are looking to take advantage of the emerging HTML5

standard, then this is your book. Brian’s practical experience and
examples show you how to develop robust web applications amid all
the support differences of today’s browsers.

Mark Nichols

Microsoft Senior consultant and cohost,

DeveloperSmackdown.com Podcast

Learning HTML5 and CSS3 has improved my ability to work on

cutting-edge projects. I just started a project using HTML5, and I

would not have felt confident without this book.

Noel Rappin

Senior consultant, Obtiva, and author, Rails Test Prescriptions Brian’s

book effortlessly guides you through crafting a site in HTML5

and CSS3 that works in all browsers; it describes what works now,
what doesn’t, and what to watch out for as the standards and

browsers evolve.

Doug Rhoten

Senior software developer, InterFlow

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HTML5 and CSS3

Develop with Tomorrow’s Standards Today

Brian P. Hogan

The Pragmatic Bookshelf

Raleigh, North Carolina Dallas, Texas

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Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to
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LLC was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been
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Editor:

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Copyright © 2010 Pragmatic Programmers, LLC.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

system, or transmit-ted, in any form, or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior
consent of the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America.

ISBN-10: 1-934356-68-9
ISBN-13: 978-1-934356-68-5

Printed on acid-free paper.

P1.0 printing, December 2010

Version: 2011-1-4

Download from Wow! eBook <www.wowebook.com>

Contents

Acknowledgments

Preface

10

HTML5: The Platform vs. the Specification . . . . . . . . .

10

How This Works . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

11

What’s in This Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

12

Prerequisites . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

12

Online Resources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

13
1

An Overview of HTML5 and CSS3

14

1.1

A Platform for Web Development . . . . . . . . . .

14

1.2

Backward Compatibility . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

17

1.3

The Road to the Future Is Bumpy . . . . . . . . .

17

Part I—Improving User Interfaces

23

New Structural Tags and Attributes

24

Tip 1

Redefining a Blog Using Semantic Markup . . . .

27
Tip 2

Creating Pop-up Windows with Custom Data Attri-

butes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

40

Creating User-Friendly Web Forms

45

Tip 3

Describing Data with New Input Fields . . . . . .

48

Tip 4

Jumping to the First Field with Autofocus . . . . .

56

Tip 5

Providing Hints with Placeholder Text . . . . . . .

58

Tip 6

In-Place Editing with contenteditable . . . . . . .

65

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CONTENTS

Making Better User Interfaces with CSS3

72

Tip 7

Styling Tables with Pseudoclasses . . . . . . . . .

74

Tip 8

Making Links Printable with :after and content . .

83

Tip 9

Creating Multicolumn Layouts . . . . . . . . . . .

87

Tip 10 Building Mobile Interfaces with Media Queries . .

94

Improving Accessibility

97

Tip 11 Providing Navigation Hints with ARIA Roles . . . .

99

Tip 12 Creating an Accessible Updatable Region . . . . .

104

Part II—New Sights and Sounds

110

Drawing on the Canvas

111

Tip 13 Drawing a Logo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

112

Tip 14 Graphing Statistics with RGraph . . . . . . . . . .

119

Embedding Audio and Video

127

7.1

A Bit of History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

128

7.2

Containers and Codecs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

129

Tip 15 Working with Audio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

133

Tip 16 Embedding Video . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

137

Eye Candy

144

Tip 17 Rounding Rough Edges

...............

146

Tip 18 Working with Shadows, Gradients, and Transfor-

mations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

154

Tip 19 Using Real Fonts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

165

Part III—Beyond HTML5

171

Working with Client-Side Data

172

Tip 20 Saving Preferences with localStorage . . . . . . . .

175

Tip 21 Storing Data in a Client-Side Relational Database

181

Tip 22 Working Offline . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

193

10

Playing Nicely with Other APIs

196

Tip 23 Preserving History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

197

Tip 24 Talking Across Domains . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

200

Tip 25 Chatting with Web Sockets . . . . . . . . . . . . .

207

Tip 26 Finding Yourself: Geolocation . . . . . . . . . . . .

214

Report erratum

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this copy is (P1.0 printing, December 2010)

CONTENTS

11

Where to Go Next

218

11.1

CSS3 Transitions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

219

11.2

Web Workers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

221

11.3

Native Drag-and-Drop Support . . . . . . . . . . .

223

11.4

WebGL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

229

11.5

Indexed Database API . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 I read as usual a good deal. About that time, October, I began to
relish the Italian poets, particularly Ariosto. Read the Pucelle in a
castrated edition. Voltaire evidently imitates the Orlando, especially
in the beginning of his cantos; there are some poetical descriptive
passages quite good. Targioni gave me a course of experimental
chemical lectures.
I rode about the environs of Florence; nothing can be more lovely
than the villas. My children lived on Fiesole till about October.
... like the moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening, from the top of Fesolè.[135]

Milton describes Tuscany often, and seems to feel a proper love

for it. They told me at Vallombrosa of his having resided several
months within their monastery, and of his having written Italian
sonnets—bad enough they were, the critics say.
Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades
High over-arched embow’r ...

Early in November Lords Wycombe and Holland returned from

Rome. The latter gave us a great ball on the 21st November (1794),
the day he came of age. Ld. Carmarthen and a few other English
added novelty to our parties. The Gallery afforded me a constant
source of delight, the Tribune, &c. About Christmas Sir G. W.
returned from Milan. The masquerading at the Carnival diverted me.
In March, Ld. H., on my birthday, wrote the following lines. ‘To a lady
at Florence, on her birthday, 1795.’[136]
I went to Vallombrosa alone to pass a day or two. I meant to live
in solitude. I lodged at the hospice of the Convent, a building made
for the accommodation of travellers, and used as a residence for the
sick monks during the rigour of the winter, but the overstrained
politeness of the Padre Abate defeated my projects of quiet. He no
sooner heard of my arrival than he came from the sequestered
cloister, and brought with him six or seven of the Fraternity to keep
me company; thus I never had a moment to myself, and was fairly
compelled to go to bed at seven o’clock to escape from their
civilities.
The French have taken possession of Holland this winter, and
compelled the Stadtholder to fly to England with his family.[137] The
terror of the Republican arms spreads everywhere.
I lost my poor father; a nobler, better man he
has not left behind him. Towards me he was MR. VASSALL’S
always fond and affectionate. His only failings DEATH
arose from an excess of goodness. He was weak
in character, as he idolised my mother and was completely subjected
to her dominion. His death puts me into the possession of great
wealth, upwards of ten thousand per annum. Detestable gold! What
a lure for a villain, and too dearly have I become the victim to him.
My health was alarmingly bad, and I was liable to sudden and
frequent losses of blood. Not satisfied with Gianetti’s opinion Mrs. W.
wished me to get better advice, and as Dr. Thompson was at Rome I
went there to consult him in April.
As I had never seen the Spada Palace I determined upon seeing
it, and went with Ly. Plymouth and Amherst. The great ante-camera
contains the statue of Pompey, supposed to be the one at the
pedestal of which Cæsar fell, a retributive justice admired by
superstition. In the gallery, a charming Guido, the ‘Rape of Helen,’
beautiful colouring and composition. It represents the moment of her
flight from Sparta; Paris is conducting her to the ship. She appears
modest and apprehensive; he bold and encouraging. Among the
female attendants there are several pretty faces, particularly one
with a blue head-dress; also a pretty figure of a Cupid in the corner.
A ‘Death of Dido,’ by Guercino; the agonies of death upon a lovely
face finely rendered. The rest of the picture bad, the sword thrust
through the body is pitiful, but the composition was sacrificed to pay
this pitiful compliment to the Spada arms.
Returned by the Siena road as I came. My health did not allow
me to engage in travelling, and to say the truth I made as much as I
could of that pretext, that I might not be forced to return to England,
as I enjoyed myself too much here to risk the change of scene. In
May Sir G. W. set off to England, as he affixed an importance to his
own appearance there that I own I did not strive to convince him
against. In June I set off with my children and Gely to Lucca Baths,
where I had taken Ly. Bessborough’s former habitation. The situation
of the Baths is pretty, but the heat in the middle of the day is intense,
and at sunset the cold and damp begin. It certainly is unwholesome,
and I am surprised at it being sought as summer residence either
upon the score of health or coolness.
 J. Hoppner Pinx. 1793 Emery Walker Ph. sc.
Richard Vassall
Soon after I arrived Mrs. Wyndham came to
make me a long visit. She left her children at the QUARREL
Villa Careggi in Florence, a villa built by Lorenzo di WITH
Medici, and inhabited by him until his death.[138] WYNDHAM
Mr. Hodges came and resided in my house also. Soon after, Lords
Wycombe and Holland came and lived near. They dined and supped
with me every day regularly. I went to the illumination at Pisa, a
festival in honour of the patron saint of the city. I took up my abode at
Wyndham’s at the Baths of Pisa, about two miles from the town.
Some trifling dispute happened between us, which was not
explained, and we have not yet spoken and perhaps never may.
From Pisa Mrs. W., Ld. H. and myself went to Leghorn; we were
lodged at Udney’s house, the consul’s. Lady Elliot and family stayed
at Lucca Baths. Wyndham came and had a serious éclat with Mrs.
W.; she behaved romantically, and what in a novel would be called
feelingly delicate, but like a very silly person for her worldly
concerns. She is determined to separate and quit him.
In July I set off from Lucca Baths to see Genoa, with Ld. H. and
Mr. Hodges. I left Gely with my children and their nurses. Slept the
first night at San Marcello, a small village upon the new road to
Modena, half-way up the Apennines. The second night at two posts
beyond Modena, and the third at Parma. Correggio’s ‘St. Jerome’
struck me this time as far more beautiful than when I first saw it
about three years ago. Whether a more intimate acquaintance with
the great masters had taught me to appreciate their merits with more
judgment, or that I had not given myself much trouble in the
examination of this charming production I will not pretend to say, but
I beheld it with all the charms of novelty.
The last post to Genoa is beautiful; every step denotes the
splendour and riches of that tottering republic. Magnificent villas,
ornamental gardens, and thick population, the houses of the meaner
class intermingled with the stupendous habitations of a haughty
aristocracy, mark strongly the immense difference power and riches
have placed between them, they being wretched to an unusual
degree of penury, most of them being without the necessary
accommodation of windows or glass. The daily reinforcements
arriving to the Austrians, the fair, and the arrival of a Spanish flotilla,
crowded the town so much that I found it difficult to get a lodging;
indeed the hotels were full, and we were obliged to take up our
quarters in a kind of restaurateur’s, where lodgers never had been.
Such a hell! Only two small garrets.
The Strada Balbi and the Strada Nuova are the finest streets in
Europe, from the stately palaces on each side and their not being
disfigured by any shabby dwellings. The style of architecture is not
chaste, but too much crowded with heavy ornaments. The roofs are
high and filled with garret windows, much in the taste of those
buildings the style of which was introduced into England by William
III. The palaces of Genoa are more like what one expects an Italian
palace to be than any I have ever seen in other parts of Italy—open
corridors, porticoes, arcades, terraces, fountains, orange groves,
&c., &c.
The Durazzo Palace unites all these beauties in perfection....
There was a dispute about the genuineness of the famous ‘M.
Magdalen,’ by Paolo Veronese;[139] the family in consequence
bought the other at Venice, and considering their own as the original,
keep the other rolled up. In the same street is the Palazzo Balbi, a
spacious and grand mansion, evidently declining from its past
splendour. Many fine pictures, a catalogue of which would be
tedious.
Genoa is not to be compared with Naples, and
is superior to Nice; the fanal has a pretty effect GENOA
jutting into the sea. I stayed only four days in
Genoa, and set off with Mr. Hodges, &c., to go across the Corniche
to Sarzana in portantines. I lent my carriage to Ld. Holland, who
went round by Turin, and was to rejoin me at Lucca Baths.
Mrs. Wyndham joined me in a few days, as did Ld. Holland.
Amherst and Cornewall passed a few days at Lucca. Wyndham
came over, and the rupture with me was final; he would not make me
a visit, but sent to my maître d’hôtel for some dinner, a cavalier mode
of proceeding which I would not gratify him in, and he had no dinner,
as there was no inn, and provisions were scarce, unless provided
beforehand.
The end of August I returned to the Mattonaia. Ld. H. had a set of
Maremma ponies, and used every evening to drive me out, either to
the Cascines or elsewhere. I went to see the Pratolino, a country
house belonging to the Grand Duke. There is an immense statue of
The Apennines, represented as an old man, a colossal figure. The
waterworks must have cost a prodigious sum, and, though contrary
to the present taste of gardening, I confess I admire the jets d’eau
and even the childish tricks which are made to catch and surprise
the unwary observer. I lived very much with Mde. d’Albany and
Alfieri. Don Neri Corsini, Fabroni, and a few others composed my
society. Ld. H. read to me Pope’s Homer, The Iliad. I was delighted
with parts of it, but the Odyssey I could not listen to.
Florence, October 4th, 1795.—The first and strongest sensation
one feels on entering Italy is the recollection of those historical
events that from childhood are impressed upon the mind, and those
classical sentiments that one strives both from vanity and taste to
bring back to memory; but when the turbulence of the imagination
subsides, and a long residence in the country familiarises one with
objects so attractive, modern Italy, her poets, historians, and artists,
arrest the attention very justly by the admiration to which they are
entitled. Florence of all places is the most calculated to inspire a
taste for the pursuit of modern literature. Every step reminds one that
it was the seat of the Medicis, which is synonymous with the arts, the
sciences, and taste; its splendid monuments and useful works all
evince the beneficence of those patrons and restorers of literature....
I meant to have continued some anecdotes of the Medici, but I
have undergone too much affliction since writing the above. I was
brought to bed of a lovely boy in October, but owing to the neglect of
the nurses he fell into convulsions and died. Never shall I become
mother to such an infant. Lord Macartney[140] came and dined
several times with me on his way to Rome.
November 22nd, 1795.—Set off at one o’clock past midnight from
my house, the Mattonaia, to accompany Mrs. W. as far as Bologna,
on her way to Turin; Ld. H. went with us. The weather was coldish,
but when we got upon the Apennines amidst the snow it was
insufferably rigorous. The road was very rough, being spoilt by ye
frosts and thaws. We accomplished the journey in twenty-three
hours and a half, arrived at the Pellegrino, where Lord Wycombe
was waiting to join our party.
As soon as I had refreshed myself with a few
hours’ rest, I visited the Zampieri Palace. It is BOLOGNA
undoubtedly the best and most valuable collection
here, not eked out like the others with trash.[141] ‘St. Peter Weeping,’
by Guido, reckoned the first of his works and the most faultless
picture in Italy. It is in his strong manner, and in the highest
preservation. Two hoary-headed old men, one crying and the other
upbraiding, inspire but a small portion of interest, and one is glad to
quit this perfect picture to contemplate the work of a more faulty
painter, who, however, eludes that censure in this charming
composition. Abraham, in compliance with envious old Sarah,
dismisses his youthful handmaid Hagar and her son Ishmael:
Guercino. Agostin Caracci is nowhere so great as in his mellow
picture representing the ‘Woman taken in Adultery.’ A lovely little
Guido, ‘A Heavenly Concert,’ done when he was eighteen....
25th.—Ld. Holland and Mr. Wyndham set off for Turin. Lord
Wycombe, M. Gely, Webby, and myself remained at the Pellegrino.
Lord W. dined with me every day, and several learned Bolognese,
among them a lady who was reckoned a very good Greek scholar.
She wrote an impromptu Greek epigram upon me, but for aught I
know it might be as old as Homer.
‘St. Agnes,’ in the chapel of the monastery of that name.[142] It
represents the martyrdom of that saint, but fails in the effect that the
principal object ought to produce. It is taken at the moment when the
executioner is plunging the sword into her bosom; the countenance
is insipidly livid, without the dignity of resignation nor the anguish of
pain. This group is not enough distinguished, as it falls in with a heap
of dead saints. Three women and a child form a pretty group on the
right-hand side. The upper part seems a separate composition, and
very likely is done by a scholar of Domenichino’s. Ld. Holland read
me a passage out of a letter from Charles Fox, from which it appears
that he reckons this picture almost the best in Italy, and the
masterpiece of Domenichino.
I visited all that was remarkable in the neighbourhood, and saw
much more than I did the first time I was there. I read the Tragedies
of Crébillon; the horrible subjects affected my imagination, and
several nights of restlessness and groundless terror I owe to their
perusal. He said to a friend who was lamenting the sombre of his
taste, that Corneille had exhausted all historical subjects, that Racine
had taken heaven, and l’enfer seul remained to him. Ld. Wycombe
left me the day before Ld. Holland returned from Turin. Ld. Bristol,
[143] with some wretched dependants, came to my inn; he dined one
day with me. He is a clever, bad man. He asked me to let him have a
copy of my picture, the one done by Fagan, and belonging to my
friend Italinski.[144] I hesitated much, and implied, without giving it, a
denial. He told me of Ly. Louisa Hervey’s marriage to Mr. Jenkinson,
a son of Ld. Hawkesbury’s.
On our return to Florence we met with some difficulties on
account of the deepness of the snow. When we got to Scaricar
l’Asino, a small inn used only by the vetturini, we found Gely missing;
after great anxiety for thirty-six hours on his account, he overtook us
at the Maschere.
I passed a delightful winter. About three times a
week I had dinners, to which I invited Fontana, A LITERARY
Fabroni, Don Neri Corsini, Baldelli, Fossombroni, COTERIE
Pignotti, Delfico, Greppi, besides the various
English who passed.
Fontana is a man known among the scientific of Europe; his chief
work is a treatise upon poisons. His political principles are
suspected. He is an intolerant atheist, and is as eager to obtain
converts to his own disbelief as bigots are to make proselytes to their
belief. Fabroni[145] is a physician, and a sort of rival to Fontana. Don
Neri Corsini[146] is the brother of the Prince of that name; he is a
pupil of Manfredini, and supporter of the Tuscan neutrality. He is
accused of being inclined towards the French faction.
Fossombroni[147] is a profound mathematician; he has given in a
report full of learning and science in favour of draining some parts of
the Val d’Arno. Pignotti[148] is a priggish little Abbé, attached to the
House of Corsini; his fables are well known and have much merit.
Delfico[149] is a Sicilian; he has written a dissertation upon the
Roman law. His conversation strongly savours of the new principles.
Greppi[150] is a Milanese. It was of his father that Arthur Young said
as a public collector of the revenue the course he took in that country
conducted him to wealth and titles, but would in England have
brought him to the gallows. He is a lively, mischievous man, full of
laughable stories against the governments he has lived under.
The evenings I generally spent at home. Ld. Holland used to read
aloud. He read me Larcher’s translation of Herodotus, a good deal of
Bayle, and a great variety of English poetry. Madame d’Albany’s
society was a pleasant relief from the sameness of the Italians.
Alfieri, when he condescended to unbend, was very good company.
Feb. 9th, 1796.—Set off with all my children, Gely, and
accompanied by Ld. H., to Rome, with the intention of seeing Loreto.
Slept the first night at Levane, dined the next day at Arezzo. The
effects of the recent earthquake were not so apparent as the
exaggerated accounts of it at Florence had taught us to expect; the
alarm had been great, the injury slight—indeed none but the fright
occasioned to some old nuns, who ran out of their convent, glad
even to see the world upon such terms. A few walls in the building
were split. I went to see the picture of the ‘Martyrdom of St. Donato,’
by a young Aretin called Benvenuto,[151] who studies at Rome, and
is admired and protected by the old compère. The picture is well
coloured, but the artist is the most barefaced plagiarist, for not
content with taking from pictures, he has pilfered arms, legs, and
torsi from half the statues in Rome. Reached Rome 18th. Ly.
Plymouth had taken lodgings for me in ye Palazzo Corea (?), Strada
Pontifice.
The following day I went with Ly. Plymouth,
Amherst, and Ld. H., to see my old acquaintances STATUES IN
in the Museum Clementinum. Even since last year ROME
there are alterations in the dispositions of the
statues. The Laocoon seems even grander than ever. The Apollo is
always miraculous, though it may be criticised, but its defects are
mere artifices to give more spirit to the attitude, but nevertheless are
deviations from correct truth. The legs are allowed to be faulty, if not
of modern restoration. The new Antinous, discovered by Hamilton,
and destined for the D. Braschi’s [sic] Palace, is among the finest
things in Rome. It is of colossal size, and almost perfect; the
restorations are very judicious, particularly the drapery. It is at
present at Sposino’s, the sculptor, a man who has made a lasting
monument of Ld. Bristol’s bad taste, and the merit of originality of
thought is not his. Pitt is represented as the infant Hercules
strangling the serpents, the heads of which are the portraits of Mr.
Fox and Ld. North, the Coalition; Pitt’s head is of the natural size
upon the body of an infant. The whole performance is like some of
the uncouth decorations in the middle ages of our English
cathedrals. The idea was taken from a caricature. The English artists
all to a man refused to execute this puerile conceit. I went with Ly.
Plymouth and Amherst to Tivoli; we stayed a couple of days.
St. Peter’s contains a statue I never observed before, but which
for beauty is equal to any representation of female perfection;
indeed, the effect it produced upon an enraptured artist was such as
to demand drapery. The sculpture is not remarkable: the artist was
Della Porta, a scholar of M. Angelo’s.[152] There is also another
female saint whose cold charms roused to passion the imagination
of a French artist.
Ld. Macartney came, and Ld. H. and I saw a good deal of him.
The first day of March, 1796, I set off to go to Naples, merely to see
my friend Italinski. I conveyed Smith, the American, an ennuyeux, in
my carriage. Slept the first night at Velletri, and the second at
Terracina, where both on account of the measles which prevails at
Naples, and the want of passports for the French persons with me, I
left Gely and my two youngest children and my cook at the pretty
inn, and pursued my journey accompanied only by Smith, Hortense,
and Webby.
The principal object of my excursion was to see my old friend
Italinski, who in consequence of the bad conduct and dismissal of
Cte. Golophin was appointed sole Chargé d’Affaires. I had the
pleasure of finding him well, and sincerely rejoiced to see me. The
four days I passed were totally with him. Ld. Bristol was there
dangerously ill. As soon as the physician declared him in danger he
sent to Italinski for my picture, adding that though he had refused
him a copy, he could not deny a dying man anything. Italinski was
embarrassed, but sent the picture. As soon as it came he had it
placed upon an easel at the foot of his bed, and round it large cires
d’église, and for aught I know to the contrary he may still be
contemplating my phiz. What makes this freak the more strange is,
that it is not from regard to me, as he scarcely knows me, and never
manifested much liking to me; probably it reminds him of some
woman he once loved, and whose image occupies his mind in his
last moments.
The change in the figure of Vesuvius is very
disadvantageous to it in point of beauty. It is now VESUVIUS
lower than Somma, and the crater is apparently
flattened.[153] Torre del Greco presents a curious spectacle, both to
the naturalist and ye moralist. The stratum of fresh lava has raised
the coast near fifty feet above its former level. The lava is of a
peculiar texture, more charged with metallic particles than any of the
other strata from Vesuvius, though not equal in specific gravity to
that at Ischia. In many places it is still smoking, and the cavities are
filled by little beggars who seek warmth there. After a fall of rain the
evaporation is curious, for the density of the atmosphere marks the
course of the lava. The infatuation of the people is wonderful; they
prefer rebuilding upon that spot to accepting lands offered by the
King, and not content with that absurdity they add to it by
immediately commencing, and I actually saw myself a house just
finished, which was built within three inches (for I measured them) of
a hole from whence the smoke issued, and upon which I could not
bear my hand from the excessive heat. This surely is verifying that
curious, novel, and true maxim of Adam Smith’s, that every man
believes to a superstitious excess in his own good luck.
The collection of Capo di Monte has undergone various changes
in the disposition of the pictures. The Queen sent to desire I would
visit her at Caserta, but she told me the measles was in the palace
among her children. I therefore declined the honour, on account of
exposing Webby to the danger. I dined at Caserta with the
Hamiltons. I found Mullady altered, and Sir William seemed more
occupied about his own digestion than in admiring the graceful turn
of her head. I returned day and night from Naples to Albano, where I
found Ld. Holland and Mr. M. waiting for me. The next morning I
went to see the lake and the emissary. The emissary is an issue
from the lake to carry off the superabundant waters. It is perforated
through the hill. In the evening we drove through the villas at
Frascati, and returned to Rome.
I quitted Rome, and went back to Florence by the Siena road.
Nothing very remarkable occurred during my short stay at Florence. I
set off from thence on April ye 11th. I bid adieu to that lovely spot,
where I enjoyed a degree of happiness for a whole year that was too
exquisite to be permanent. Ld. Holland drove me in his phæton the
first post to Prato: he returned, and I pursued my journey upon the
Modena road.
For some reason, unrelated in the text, Lady Webster seems to
have changed her route. On reaching Bologna, instead of turning west
to Modena, she took the road to Ferrara, which she reached on April
18th.
Ferrara is but the skeleton of its former
grandeur; it is now deserted and thinly inhabited. RELICS OF
The tomb of Ariosto naturally attracted my ARIOSTO
veneration; it is in the Benedictine convent. The
architecture of it is bad, and the bust but moderately executed; it
represents him very much in the decline of life. His house, in which
his grotto, chair, and inkstand used to be shown, is now pulled down
and destroyed by the rapacity of the owner. The public library is
small, and contains no books of value. There they preserve the
original manuscript of most of the books of the Orlando, chair, and
inkstand. The manuscript is written by himself, and in the margin
there are numberless emendations; thus we discover that those
verses that seem so easy and to flow without exertion, are precisely
those that have undergone the most alteration. At the bottom of one
of the pages I perceived written in pencil:—
Vittorio Alfieri vede e vennerò.
18 Giugno, 1783.
He might venerate, but the harmony he can never imitate.
Early on ye 19th I set off and crossed the Po at Lagoscuro, and
from thence got to Rovigo, a dreadful road and two bad barques,
one over the canal Bianco, and the other across the Adigio. Rovigo,
the birthplace of Manfredini, a wretched, straggling town. We
reached Padua at night. I have been there before, but I possess a
very faint remembrance of the place. I have just heard that the
unhappy phantom of royalty, Louis XVIII., has been compelled to quit
the Venetian territory. I remained at Padua several days. Miss
Bowdler and Lady Herries lodged in the same hotel. Ld. Holland
overtook me from Florence.
We went to the monastery of Praia, a rich Benedictine order. The
heat of the weather and badness of the road had fatigued us, and we
asked permission to enter the sacristy and refresh ourselves. The lay
brother, who is the porter, repulsed us with harshness, and refused
us admission within the walls, adding that water was the only
hospitality afforded by the monks. On my return to Padua I wrote a
letter of complaint to the Abbot, who answered it with civility, and
promised to reprimand the insolence of the porter.
I went the next evening to see the Villa Quirini, remarkable for
possessing some of the oldest Egyptian monuments in Europe if not
coeval with the Pyramids at least so Dancarville, the learned
antiquary, assured me. He pretends to be so much au fait of them,
that he even shows a mark made by a soldier of the army of
Cambyses; but the reveries of antiquaries are absurd. The French
have broken into the plain of Piémont by way of Nice, and have
gained a great victory over the Austrians. Buonaparti [sic] is the
French commander.
They left Padua on April 24, and took the road to Trieste.
From Trieste we went through Carniola, Carinthia, Styria, by way
of Laibach, Marburg, Gratz, and Bruck to Vienna. I stayed a few
days only at Vienna, dined at Sir Morton Eden’s,[154] and saw some
of my old acquaintances. Met Clairfait,[155] who seems a mild,
gentlemanlike man. From Vienna I went to Znaym, Iglau, across the
famous field of battle at Kolin, to Prague; from thence to Dresden.
The two posts at Aussig and Peterwald were just as bad as they
were the last time I went. I met Lady Plymouth at Dresden, and
dined with ye Duchess of Cumberland.
 From Dresden I went to Berlin; tiresome deep road through
sands and thin forests of pines. At Berlin I came in time to see a
review. I dined with Ld. Elgin,[156] and at his house I saw the
celebrated Pitt diamond,[157] brought from Paris upon sale. Hugh
Elliot insisted upon bearing me company to Hamburg. Great difficulty
of accommodation at Hamburg: the town so filled with emigrants.
Went to see General Dumouriez. I was afraid of crossing the Elbe to
Harburg, so went up where it was narrow. Went through Harburg and
Stade to Cuxhaven: detained there some days on account of
contrary winds.
The 4th of June I quitted Hamburg. Crossed from Cuxhaven to
Yarmouth in six days and half. Came straight to London.
An interval of a year here takes place in the Journal, which Lady
Holland, to use her new name, again resumes in July 1797.
My wretched marriage was annulled by
Parliament on the 4th July. On the fifth I signed a HER
deed by which I made over my whole fortune to Sir MARRIAGE
G. W., for our joint lives, for the insignificant sum of
800l. Every mean device, every paltry chicane that could extort
money from us was had recourse to.
I was married at Rickmansworth Church by Rev. Mr. Morris to
Lord Holland, on July 6th, 1797. Sir Gilbert Affleck,[158] my father-in-
law, gave me away. As soon as the ceremony was over we went to
Richmond, where I found my mother and my son Henry. They came
to this house the next day and stayed a week. I was twenty-six years
old. Ld. H. was twenty-three. The difference in age is, alas! two
years and eight months—a horrid disparity. All his family behaved to
me with the utmost kindness; they came, those in town, and those in
the country wrote to me. I went to Bowood in July, where I met with
his two aunts, Misses Vernon, and his sister, Miss Fox; they were
kind and cordial. In the autumn I went to Margate.
Having a very bad memory, and many odd irregular half-hours, it
has occurred to me to assist the one and occupy the others by
writing down any events, conversations, anecdotes, etc., that may
interest me at the moment; and though my nature is too lazy to allow
me to hope that I can act up to anything like a systematic pursuit, yet
whilst the fit is upon me to be so employed, I will yield. As I care too
little about politics to talk of them, I certainly shall refrain from
discussing them upon paper, nevertheless this moment is critical and
anxious even to my indifference. The second negotiation is just
broken off;[159] hostilities beginning in Italy; Mr. Fox decidedly
seceded from Parliament, and the session on the point of opening;
fresh taxes, discontents, and the Dutch fleet destroyed.[160] My own
individual happiness is so perfect, that I can scarcely figure to myself
a blessing that I do not possess—indeed, the having such a
companion as I have is, in itself, everything without the accessories
of other advantages.
The 14th October (1797), Mr. Fox, D. of Bedford, etc., dined here,
and it was then finally concluded among them that none of the
shattered remains of their party should attend the meeting of
Parliament. As to the measure of secession there are many different
opinions as to its expediency; but all their discussions end in the loss
of time and temper, for Opposition are too unpopular to have
anything left to hope for, and the system of party is obsolete. It
seems astonishing to me that amidst the number of very able men
who still rally round the standard of Whiggism, not one should have
discovered that the temper of the country requires another species of
resistance to Administration than the old scheme of a regular
Opposition with a Cavendish or a Russell at its head. There is a
bigotry in their adherence to their ineffectual principles that borders
upon infatuation.
Mr. Fox appears sincerely to rejoice at the
prospect of being able to give himself up to those MR. FOX
pursuits that amuse and, notwithstanding his
powers as a statesman, occupy him most. Literature, and especially
the metaphysics of grammar, and the cultivation of his plants, are
objects that engage the wonderful activity of his mind. He has lately
revived his Greek, and daily gets by heart a given number of lines in
Homer. Having seen so little of him, my opinion of him is chiefly
taken from public report and the very partial picture drawn by his
nephew; however, his very enemies admit that he possesses more
estimable qualities as an individual than falls to the share of scarcely
any other. Perhaps to a harsh observer his facility might be termed a
weakness and his good nature an indolent foible, but if extremes are
bad his bent is on the most amiable side. One cannot but regret that
such a man is lost to society, for so may his retirement at St. Anne’s
be called, and the habits of his life when there. Mrs. Armstead,[161] I
understand, possesses still those merits which, when united to the
attractions of youth, a degree of beauty, and much celebrity, placed
her above her competitors for the glory of ruining and seducing the
giddy youth of the day. She has mildness and little rapacity, but
those negative merits, when bereft of the other advantages,
constitute but an insipid resource in solitude. Besides, as she still
retains the immoderate love of expense which her former life led her
into, she may almost be called a pernicious connection, as
disadvantageous for his comfort as for his reputation; for after all that
has passed, fresh pecuniary embarrassments will be discreditable to
him. But I have often remarked that very superior men are easier
satisfied with respect to the talents of those they live with than men
of inferior abilities. Whether it springs from a movement of vanity,
that they despair of meeting an equal and are therefore contented
with gentle accommodation, or that they are conscious that they
have little to learn, I cannot determine, but the fact is certain.
 I do not mean to compare Dumouriez to Mr.
Fox, but nevertheless I was astonished to find, in a GENERAL
visit I made him (last June, ’96), that the partner of DUMOURIEZ
his solitude was much the most trifling, insignificant
personage I had ever beheld. He was living in a wretched
Westphalian hovel or barn near Hamburg, with little money and less
estimation, and yet, contrary to what might have been imagined from
his inordinate ambition and vanity, happier (I believe) there
surrounded by his brood of well-disciplined ducklings than after the
battle of Jemappes. I never saw him but once, and that in a way that
might have offended a man less vain. Hearing from his relation,
Chateauneuf, a bookseller at Hamburg, that he lived in the
neighbourhood, I proposed making him a visit, that I might have the
satisfaction of seeing one of the most conspicuous characters that
had flourished in the Revolution. The motive excused the intrusion,
and he was flattered. He is short and fat, and in person very unlike a
Frenchman, but the deficiency in figure to prove him one is amply
made up the moment he speaks. He is full of vivacity, esprit, and
agrément, expressing himself pointedly and even energetically; and
he may be very justly placed among the best specimens that remain
of the genuine character of a Frenchman under the Monarchy. His
pecuniary circumstances are very narrow—he is going to publish a
4th edition of his works, from which he hopes to obtain a
maintenance. I believe he heartily repents the unlucky adherence to
the Constitution that causes him to be out of his country, and
prevents his rivalling Hoche and Buonaparte, for he could not
conceal the envy excited by their glories. He is a man of an
enterprising genius and undaunted courage, and would never incur
the satire of Mr. Burke’s application of the story of the two generals,
one of whom used to say upon a service of danger, ‘Allez, mes
amis,’ and the other, ‘Allons, mes amis.’ He would always be for the
latter.
The unfortunate La Fayette and his family are just liberated from
the dungeons of Olmutz, and mean to embark at Hamburg for that
country from whence he imbibed those principles that have since
deluged his country with a sea of blood.[162] Whatever his errors
might have been by risking such a revolution merely to distinguish
himself from the common crowd of courtiers, or to try to practise the
theory of virtue and patriotism, his cruel captivity has extinguished
rancour even in the breasts of his bitterest enemies. M. de Bouillé,
[163] in his Memoirs just published, mentions his intentions as
pernicious and his conduct as weak, but never represents him as
meaning evil; and upon the whole the impression given is more that
of pity than any other. Poor man! his faults are expiated in his
sufferings. His character is that of a phlegmatic, cold-hearted man,
with much vanity and slender abilities.
His cousin Bouillé is of a very different turn: he is quite the tête
chaude of the Royalists, full of that fougue and courage peculiar to
his nation. Misfortunes have softened his mind, and he allows his
reason to conquer his passion; he is candid and impartial to others
and himself. I believe him to be very zealous and honest. I first
became acquainted with him amidst the noise and tumult of a camp.
In ’93, returning from Italy to spend a few weeks in England, I went
from Bruxelles to see Valenciennes, which had just fallen, and in that
tour I made a visit to the Duke of York, who was then besieging
Dunkirk.[164] After dining at headquarters I attended the funeral of
General Dalton, who had been killed the day before on the very spot
over which I passed. The melancholy scene and the noise of the
artillery discharged upon those occasions quite overcame me, and I
declined attending the funeral that followed, of Col. Elde. The D. of
York very politely excused himself from returning to headquarters
with me, on account of his duty requiring his presence, but gave me
to the care of the Marquis de Bouillé, who accompanied me to the
Duke’s tent. Our conversation naturally fell upon those events in
France in which he had had the greatest share, and he gave me a
very interesting narrative of the King’s flight to Varennes, and the
whole scheme as conceived by him which he describes in his
Memoirs. He finished with tears, showing me his cordon bleu, which
was part of his ill-fated Sovereign’s wardrobe that had reached
Luxembourg, and had been received by the Marquis. He said it was
the last and only relic he had of a master from whom he had
received favours that demanded his eternal gratitude and
tenderness.
I saw him once afterwards at the Drawing-
room, and upon my asking him the name of a tall, M. DE BOUILLÉ
gaunt, figure in the circle, he smiled at the
singularity of a foreigner showing to a native the Prime Minister of
the country: for the person was no less than Mr. Pitt himself. There
was afterwards a scheme in the city among the West India planters
and merchants for giving him a pension on account of his noble
behaviour in the islands during the last war. My poor father promised
to subscribe, but I left England, and by hearing no more of it I
presume the affair dropped.
Just before the departure of Lord M. from Lisle,[165] the Trevors,
my old friends, or rather intimate acquaintances, came through
France. He is in a sort of way driven from his post of Minister at
Turin, as that Court exhibited a curious jumble of bigotry and
Jacobinism, which must make a residence there awkward to a
punctilious courtier like Trevor. It was rather whimsical that the
morning she visited me was the precise one chosen by Mr. Fox to
come from St. Anne’s, so the first object that presented itself to her
view upon entering the gallery was her old admirer. Save a little
blushing and stammering the old lovers conducted themselves very
ably. The malicious say nous autres femmes get out of a scrape of
that sort with great ease; this instance confirmed the calumny, as
she possessed the greatest portion of the sang froid of the two.
Mrs. Trevor’s life has been singularly passed, and the latter part
judiciously, circumstanced as she was. She was the daughter of a
rich canon, and was married partly for her beauty and a little for her
wealth. Soon after her marriage she conceived a most
insurmountable disgust towards her husband. She was admired by
Mr. F., and, flattered by his preference, allowed great scandal. She
detained him one night at Ranelagh, whilst the House was
assembled and waiting for him to speak upon a motion he had
made: this gave an éclat which perhaps she did not dislike. But the
moment came that was to separate her from the fashion of London.
Trevor’s foreign missions drew her upon the Continent, where she