FLORENCE, _February_ 27, 1740, N.S.
Well, West, I have found a little unmasqued moment to write to you; but
for this week past I have been so muffled up in my domino, that I have
not had the command of my elbows. But what have you been doing all the
mornings? Could you not write then?--No, then I was masqued too; I have
done nothing but slip out of my domino into bed, and out of bed into my
domino. The end of the Carnival is frantic, bacchanalian; all the morn
one makes parties in masque to the shops and coffee-houses, and all the
evening to the operas and balls. _Then I have danced, good gods! how
have I danced!_ The Italians are fond to a degree of our country dances:
_Cold and raw_ they only know by the tune; _Blowzybella_ is almost
Italian, and _Buttered peas_ is _Pizelli al buro_. There are but three
days more; but the two last are to have balls all the morning at the
fine unfinished palace of the Strozzi; and the Tuesday night a
masquerade after supper: they sup first, to eat _gras_, and not encroach
upon Ash-Wednesday. What makes masquerading more agreeable here than in
England, is the great deference that is showed to the disguised. Here
they do not catch at those little dirty opportunities of saying any
ill-natured thing they know of you, do not abuse you because they may,
or talk gross bawdy to a woman of quality. I found the other day, by a
play of Etheridge's, that we have had a sort of Carnival even since the
Reformation; 'tis in _She would if She could_, they talk of going
a-mumming in Shrove-tide.--
After talking so much of diversions, I fear you will attribute to them
the fondness I own I contract for Florence; but it has so many other
charms, that I shall not want excuses for my taste. The freedom of the
Carnival has given me opportunities to make several acquaintances; and
if I have not found them refined, learned, polished, like some other
cities, yet they are civil, good-natured, and fond of the English. Their
little partiality for themselves, opposed to the violent vanity of the
French, makes them very amiable in my eyes. I can give you a comical
instance of their great prejudice about nobility; it happened yesterday.
While we were at dinner at Mr. Mann's, word was brought by his
secretary, that a cavalier demanded audience of him upon an affair of
honour. Gray and I flew behind the curtain of the door. An elderly
gentleman, whose attire was not certainly correspondent to the greatness
of his birth, entered, and informed the British minister, that one
Martin, an English painter, had left a challenge for him at his house,
for having said Martin was no gentleman. He would by no means have spoke
of the duel before the transaction of it, but that his honour, his
blood, his &c. would never permit him to fight with one who was no
cavalier; which was what he came to inquire of his excellency. We
laughed loud laughs, but unheard: his fright or his nobility had closed
his ears. But mark the sequel: the instant he was gone, my very English
curiosity hurried me out of the gate St. Gallo; 'twas the place and hour
appointed. We had not been driving about above ten minutes, but out
popped a little figure, pale but cross, with beard unshaved and hair
uncombed, a slouched hat, and a considerable red cloak, in which was
wrapped, under his arm, the fatal sword that was to revenge the highly
injured Mr. Martin, painter and defendant. I darted my head out of the
coach, just ready to say, "Your servant, Mr. Martin," and talk about the
architecture of the triumphal arch that was building there; but he would
not know me, and walked off. We left him to wait for an hour, to grow
very cold and very valiant the more it grew past the hour of
appointment. We were figuring all the poor creature's huddle of
thoughts, and confused hopes of victory or fame, of his unfinished
pictures, or his situation upon bouncing into the next world. You will
think us strange creatures; but 'twas a pleasant sight, as we knew the
poor painter was safe. I have thought of it since, and am inclined to
believe that nothing but two English could have been capable of such a
jaunt. I remember, 'twas reported in London, that the plague was at a
house in the city, and all the town went to see it.
I have this instant received your letter. Lord! I am glad I thought of
those parallel passages, since it made you translate them. 'Tis
excessively near the original; and yet, I don't know, 'tis very easy
too.--It snows here a little to-night, but it never lies but on the
mountains. Adieu!
Yours ever.
P.S.--What is the history of the theatres this winter?
_HERCULANEUM--SEARCH SHOULD BE MADE FOR OTHER SUBMERGED
CITIES--QUOTATIONS FROM STATIUS._