"'And dying, all we can resign is breath,'
without the smallest acknowledgment from the Lorrainer of a poet. M. St.
Lambert is dead as a man, and (for any thing I know to the contrary)
damned, as a poet, by this time. However, his Seasons have good things,
and, it may be, some of his own.
"February 2. 1821
"I have been considering what can be the reason why I always wake, at a
certain hour in the morning, and always in very bad spirits--I may say,
in actual despair and despondency, in all respects--even of that which
pleased me over night. In about an hour or two, this goes off, and I
compose either to sleep again, or, at least, to quiet. In England, five
years ago, I had the same kind of hypochondria, but accompanied with so
violent a thirst that I have drank as many as fifteen bottles of
soda-water in one night, after going to bed, and been still
thirsty--calculating, however, some lost from the bursting out and
effervescence and over-flowing of the soda-water, in drawing the corks,
or striking off the necks of the bottles from mere thirsty impatience.
At present, I have _not_ the thirst; but the depression of spirits is no
less violent.
"I read in Edgeworth's Memoirs of something similar (except that his
thirst expended itself on _small beer_) in the case of Sir F.B.
Delaval;--but then he was, at least, twenty years older. What is
it?--liver? In England, Le Man (the apothecary) cured me of the thirst
in three days, and it had lasted as many years. I suppose that it is all
hypochondria.
"What I feel most growing upon me are laziness, and a disrelish more
powerful than indifference. It I rouse, it is into fury. I presume that
I shall end (if not earlier by accident, or some such termination) like
Swift--'dying at top.' I confess I do not contemplate this with so much
horror as he apparently did for some years before it happened. But Swift
had hardly _begun life_ at the very period (thirty-three) when I feel
quite an _old sort_ of feel.
"Oh! there is an organ playing in the street--a waltz, too! I must leave
off to listen. They are playing a waltz which I have heard ten thousand
times at the balls in London, between 1812 and 1815. Music is a strange
thing[23].
[Footnote 23: In this little incident of the music in the streets thus
touching so suddenly upon the nerve of memory, and calling away his mind
from its dark bodings to a recollection of years and scenes the
happiest, perhaps, of his whole life, there is something that appears to
me peculiarly affecting.]
"February 5. 1821.
"At last, 'the kiln's in a low.' The Germans are ordered to march, and
Italy is, for the ten thousandth time, to become a field of battle. Last
night the news came.
"This afternoon--Count P.G. came to me to consult upon divers matters.
We rode out together. They have sent off to the C. for orders. To-morrow
the decision ought to arrive, and then something will be done.
Returned--dined--read--went out--talked over matters. Made a purchase of
some arms for the new enrolled Americani, who are all on tiptoe to
march. Gave order for some _harness_ and portmanteaus necessary for the
horses.
"Read some of Bowles's dispute about Pope, with all the replies and
rejoinders. Perceive that my name has been lugged into the controversy,
but have not time to state what I know of the subject. On some 'piping
day of peace' it is probable that I may resume it.
"February 9. 1821.
"Before dinner wrote a little; also, before I rode out, Count P.G.
called upon me, to let me know the result of the meeting of the Ci at
F. and at B. * * returned late last night. Every thing was combined
under the idea that the Barbarians would pass the Po on the 15th inst.
Instead of this, from some previous information or otherwise, they have
hastened their march and actually passed two days ago; so that all that
can be done at present in Romagna is, to stand on the alert and wait for
the advance of the Neapolitans. Every thing was ready, and the
Neapolitans had sent on their own instructions and intentions, all
calculated for the _tenth_ and _eleventh_, on which days a general
rising was to take place, under the supposition that the Barbarians
could not advance before the 15th.
"As it is, they have but fifty or sixty thousand troops, a number with
which they might as well attempt to conquer the world as secure Italy in
its present state. The artillery marches _last_, and alone, and there is
an idea of an attempt to cut part of them off. All this will much depend
upon the first steps of the Neapolitans. _Here_, the public spirit is
excellent, provided it be kept up. This will be seen by the event.
"It is probable that Italy will be delivered from the Barbarians if the
Neapolitans will but stand firm, and are united among themselves. _Here_
they appear so.
"February 10. 1821.
"Day passed as usual--nothing new. Barbarians still in march--not well
equipped, and, of course, not well received on their route. There is
some talk of a commotion at Paris.
"Rode out between four and six--finished my letter to Murray on Bowles's
pamphlets--added postscript. Passed the evening as usual--out till
eleven--and subsequently at home.
"February 11. 1821.
"Wrote--had a copy taken of an extract from Petrarch's Letters, with
reference to the conspiracy of the Doge, M. Faliero, containing the
poet's opinion of the matter. Heard a heavy firing of cannon towards
Comacchio--the Barbarians rejoicing for their principal pig's birthday,
which is to-morrow--or Saint day--I forget which. Received a ticket for
the first ball to-morrow. Shall not go to the first, but intend going to
the second, as also to the Veglioni.
"February 13. 1821.
"To-day read a little in Louis B.'s Hollande, but have written nothing
since the completion of the letter on the Pope controversy. Politics are
quite misty for the present. The Barbarians still upon their march. It
is not easy to divine what the Italians will now do.
"Was elected yesterday 'Socio' of the Carnival ball society. This is the
fifth carnival that I have passed. In the four former, I racketed a good
deal. In the present, I have been as sober as Lady Grace herself.
"February 14. 1821
"Much as usual. Wrote, before riding out, part of a scene of
'Sardanapalus.' The first act nearly finished. The rest of the day and
evening as before--partly without, in conversazione--partly at home.
"Heard the particulars of the late fray at Russi, a town not far from
this. It is exactly the fact of Romēo and Giulietta--_not_ Roměo,
as the Barbarian writes it. Two families of Contadini (peasants) are at
feud. At a ball, the younger part of the families forget their quarrel,
and dance together. An old man of one of them enters, and reproves the
young men for dancing with the females of the opposite family. The male
relatives of the latter resent this. Both parties rush home and arm
themselves. They meet directly, by moonlight, in the public way, and
fight it out. Three are killed on the spot, and six wounded, most of
them dangerously,--pretty well for two families, methinks--and all
_fact_, of the last week. Another assassination has taken place at
Cesenna,--in all about _forty_ in Romagna within the last three months.
These people retain much of the middle ages.
"February 15. 1821.
"Last night finished the first act of Sardanapalus. To-night, or
to-morrow, I ought to answer letters.
"February 16. 1821.
"Last night Il Conte P.G. sent a man with a bag full of bayonets, some
muskets, and some hundreds of cartridges to my house, without apprizing
me, though I had seen him not half an hour before. About ten days ago,
when there was to be a rising here, the Liberals and my brethren Ci.
asked me to purchase some arms for a certain few of our ragamuffins. I
did so immediately, and ordered ammunition, &c. and they were armed
accordingly. Well--the rising is prevented by the Barbarians marching a
week sooner than appointed; and an _order_ is issued, and in force, by
the Government, 'that all persons having arms concealed, &c. &c. shall
be liable to,' &c. &c.--and what do my friends, the patriots, do two
days afterwards? Why, they throw back upon my hands, and into my house,
these very arms (without a word of warning previously) with which I had
furnished them at their own request, and at my own peril and expense.
"It was lucky that Lega was at home to receive them. If any of the
servants had (except Tita and F. and Lega) they would have betrayed it
immediately. In the mean time, if they are denounced or discovered, I
shall be in a scrape.
"At nine went out--at eleven returned. Beat the crow for stealing the
falcon's victuals. Read 'Tales of my Landlord'--wrote a letter--and
mixed a moderate beaker of water with other ingredients.
"February 18. 1821.
"The news are that the Neapolitans have broken a bridge, and slain four
pontifical carabiniers, whilk carabiniers wished to oppose. Besides the
disrespect to neutrality, it is a pity that the first blood shed in this
German quarrel should be Italian. However, the war seems begun in good
earnest: for, if the Neapolitans kill the Pope's carabiniers, they will
not be more delicate towards the Barbarians. If it be even so, in a
short time 'there will be news o' thae craws,' as Mrs. Alison Wilson
says of Jenny Blane's 'unco cockernony' in the 'Tales of my Landlord.'
"In turning over Grimm's Correspondence to-day, I found a thought of
Tom Moore's in a song of Maupertuis to a female Laplander.
"'Et tous les lieux,
Où sont ses yeux,
Font la Zone brûlante.'
This is Moore's,
"'And those eyes make my climate, wherever I roam.'
But I am sure that Moore never saw it; for this was published in Grimm's
Correspondence in 1813, and I knew Moore's by heart in 1812. There is
also another, but an antithetical coincidence--
"'Le soleil luit,
Des jours sans nuit
Bientôt il nous destine;
Mais ces longs jours
Seront trop courts,
Passés près des Christine.'
This is the _thought reversed_, of the last stanza of the ballad on
Charlotte Lynes, given in Miss Seward's Memoirs of Darwin, which is
pretty--I quote from memory of these last fifteen years.
"'For my first night I'll go
To those regions of snow
Where the sun for six months never shines;
And think, even then,
He too soon came again,
To disturb me with fair Charlotte Lynes.'
"To-day I have had no communication with my Carbonari cronies; but, in
the mean time, my lower apartments are full of their bayonets, fusils,
cartridges, and what not. I suppose that they consider me as a depôt,
to be sacrificed, in case of accidents. It is no great matter, supposing
that Italy could be liberated, who or what is sacrificed. It is a grand
object--the very _poetry_ of politics. Only think--a free Italy!!! Why,
there has been nothing like it since the days of Augustus. I reckon the
times of Cæsar (Julius) free; because the commotions left every body a
side to take, and the parties were pretty equal at the set out. But,
afterwards, it was all praetorian and legionary business--and since!--we
shall see, or, at least, some will see, what card will turn up. It is
best to hope, even of the hopeless. The Dutch did more than these
fellows have to do, in the Seventy Years' War.
"February 19. 1821.
"Came home solus--very high wind--lightning--moonshine--solitary
stragglers muffled in cloaks--women in mask--white houses--clouds
hurrying over the sky, like spilt milk blown out of the pail--altogether
very poetical. It is still blowing hard--the tiles flying, and the house
rocking--rain splashing--lightning flashing--quite a fine Swiss Alpine
evening, and the sea roaring in the distance.
"Visited--conversazione. All the women frightened by the squall: they
_won't_ go to the masquerade because it lightens--the pious reason!
"Still blowing away. A. has sent me some news to-day. The war approaches
nearer and nearer. Oh those scoundrel sovereigns! Let us but see them
beaten--let the Neapolitans but have the pluck of the Dutch of old, or
the Spaniards of now, or of the German Protestants, the Scotch
Presbyterians, the Swiss under Tell, or the Greeks under
Themistocles--_all_ small and solitary nations (except the Spaniards and
German Lutherans), and there is yet a resurrection for Italy, and a hope
for the world.
"February 20. 1821.
"The news of the day are, that the Neapolitans are full of energy. The
public spirit here is certainly well kept up. The 'Americani' (a
patriotic society here, an under branch of the 'Carbonari') give a
dinner in _the Forest_ in a few days, and have invited me, as one of the
Ci. It is to be in _the Forest_ of Boccacio's and Dryden's 'Huntsman's
Ghost;' and, even if I had not the same political feelings, (to say
nothing of my old convivial turn, which every now and then revives,) I
would go as a poet, or, at least, as a lover of poetry. I shall expect
to see the spectre of 'Ostasio [24] degli Onesti' (Dryden has turned him
into Guido Cavalcanti--an essentially different person, as may be found
in Dante) come 'thundering for his prey' in the midst of the festival.
At any rate, whether he does or no. I will get as tipsy and patriotic as
possible.
"Within these few days I have read, but not written.
[Footnote 24: In Boccacio, the name is, I think, Nastagio.]
"February 21, 1821.
"As usual, rode--visited, &c. Business begins to thicken. The Pope has
printed a declaration against the patriots, who, he says, meditate a
rising. The consequence of all this will be, that, in a fortnight, the
whole country will be up. The proclamation is not yet published, but
printed, ready for distribution. * * sent me a copy privately--a sign
that he does not know what to think. When he wants to be well with the
patriots, he sends to me some civil message or other.
"For my own part, it seems to me, that nothing but the most decided
success of the Barbarians can prevent a general and immediate rise of
the whole nation.
"February 23, 1821.
"Almost ditto with yesterday--rode, &c.--visited--wrote nothing--read
Roman History.
"Had a curious letter from a fellow, who informs me that the Barbarians
are ill-disposed towards me. He is probably a spy, or an impostor. But
be it so, even as he says. They cannot bestow their hostility on one who
loathes and execrates them more than I do, or who will oppose their
views with more zeal, when the opportunity offers.
"February 24, 1821.
"Rode, &c. as usual. The secret intelligence arrived this morning from
the frontier to the Ci. is as bad as possible. The _plan_ has
missed--the Chiefs are betrayed, military, as well as civil--and the
Neapolitans not only have _not_ moved, but have declared to the P.
government, and to the Barbarians, that they know nothing of the
matter!!!
"Thus the world goes; and thus the Italians are always lost for lack of
union among themselves. What is to be done _here_, between the two
fires, and cut off from the Northern frontier, is not decided. My
opinion was,--better to rise than be taken in detail; but how it will be
settled now, I cannot tell. Messengers are despatched to the delegates
of the other cities to learn their resolutions.
"I always had an idea that it would be _bungled_; but was willing to
hope, and am so still. Whatever I can do by money, means, or person, I
will venture freely for their freedom; and have so repeated to them
(some of the Chiefs here) half an hour ago. I have two thousand five
hundred scudi, better than five hundred pounds, in the house, which I
offered to begin with.
"February 25. 1821.
"Came home--my head aches--plenty of news, but too tiresome to set down.
I have neither read nor written, nor thought, but led a purely animal
life all day. I mean to try to write a page or two before I go to bed.
But, as Squire Sullen says, 'My head aches consumedly: Scrub, bring me a
dram!' Drank some Imola wine, and some punch.
"_Log-book continued_[25].
[Footnote 25: In another paper-book.]
"February 27. 1821.
"I have been a day without continuing the log, because I could not find
a blank book. At length I recollected this.
"Rode, &c.--dined--wrote down an additional stanza for the 5th canto of
D.J. which I had composed in bed this morning. Visited _l'Amica_. We are
invited, on the night of the Veglione (next Domenica) with the Marchesa
Clelia Cavalli and the Countess Spinelli Rusponi. I promised to go. Last
night there was a row at the ball, of which I am a 'socio.' The
Vice-legate had the imprudent insolence to introduce _three_ of his
servants in masque--_without tickets,_ too! and in spite of
remonstrances. The consequence was, that the young men of the ball took
it up, and were near throwing the Vice-legate out of the window. His
servants, seeing the scene, withdrew, and he after them. His reverence
Monsignore ought to know, that these are not times for the predominance
of priests over decorum. Two minutes more, two steps farther, and the
whole city would have been in arms, and the government driven out of it.
"Such is the spirit of the day, and these fellows appear not to perceive
it. As far as the simple fact went, the young men were right, servants
being prohibited always at these festivals.
"Yesterday wrote two notes on the 'Bowles and Pope' controversy, and
sent them off to Murray by the post. The old woman whom I relieved in
the forest (she is ninety-four years of age) brought me two bunches of
violets. 'Nam vita gaudet mortua floribus,' I was much pleased with the
present. An English woman would have presented a pair of worsted
stockings, at least, in the month of February. Both excellent things;
but the former are more elegant. The present, at this season, reminds
one of Gray's stanza, omitted from his elegy:--
Here scatter'd oft, the _earliest_ of the year,
By hands unseen, are showers of violets found;
The red-breast loves to build and warble here,
And little footsteps lightly print the ground.'
As fine a stanza as any in his elegy. I wonder that he could have the
heart to omit it.
"Last night I suffered horribly--from an indigestion, I believe. I
_never_ sup--that is, never at home. But, last night, I was prevailed
upon by the Countess Gamba's persuasion, and the strenuous example of
her brother, to swallow, at supper, a quantity of boiled cockles, and to
dilute them, _not_ reluctantly, with some Imola wine. When I came home,
apprehensive of the consequences, I swallowed three or four glasses of
spirits, which men (the venders) call brandy, rum, or hollands, but
which Gods would entitle spirits of wine, coloured or sugared. All was
pretty well till I got to bed, when I became somewhat swollen, and
considerably vertiginous. I got out, and mixing some soda-powders, drank
them off. This brought on temporary relief. I returned to bed; but grew
sick and sorry once and again. Took more soda-water. At last I fell into
a dreary sleep. Woke, and was ill all day, till I had galloped a few
miles. Query--was it the cockles, or what I took to correct them, that
caused the commotion? I think both. I remarked in my illness the
complete inertion, inaction, and destruction of my chief mental
faculties. I tried to rouse them, and yet could not--and this is the
_Soul!!!_ I should believe that it was married to the body, if they did
not sympathise so much with each other. If the one rose, when the other
fell, it would be a sign that they longed for the natural state of
divorce. But as it is, they seem to draw together like post-horses.
"Let us hope the best--it is the grand possession."
* * * * *
During the two months comprised in this Journal, some of the Letters of
the following series were written. The reader must, therefore, be
prepared to find in them occasional notices of the same train of events.
* * * * *