and Holland, and my _farouche_ companion; they had not found a
favourable wind to cross to the Isle of Elba, and were on their return
to Florence. I walked about Pisa in the morning. It is a beautiful
town, and the quay has perhaps the advantage of Florence in beauty.
The Campo Santo, the Campanile, and the church are very beautiful.
The leaning tower is still a problem among the curious, whether its
deviation from the perpendicular was accidental or intentional.
Monsieur de la Condamine measured it with a plumb line, and found that
when let down from the top it touched the ground at the distance of
thirteen feet from the bottom of the tower.
[Sidenote: VALLOMBROSA]
Lord Wycombe read us a sonnet he had just composed; it was very
ingeniously written. I went to the famous Vallombrosa, a Benedictine
convent, about sixteen miles from Florence. The road for the last six
miles is through a thick forest of chestnut; the ascent is steep. The
monastery is placed on a verdant lawn round which the mountains form
an amphitheatre; the darkest pines surround the whole building, and
hanging woods of that tree only decorate the steep sides of the hills.
No woman is admitted within the convent walls; I dined at the Mill
House close to it. After dinner the _Padre Abate_ and many of the
monks came out and joined us. He is a lively, middle-aged man, with
apparently little love of devotion and a strong love of pleasure.
In the month of October Lds. Wycombe and Holland went to Rome and
Naples; the latter was unwell, and wanted to consult with Dr. Thompson.
My tormentor went to Milan and Turin for some months. Mr. Amherst[132]
and Mr. Cornewall[133] stayed some time at Florence. The first is a
quiet, sedate young man, full of proprieties and all sorts of good
things. The latter is good-humoured and weak. Mr. A. fell in love with
me and Mrs. W.; he was most in love with the one he saw last. We went
to balls, and were very gay. I quitted my house in the Via Maggio, as
it was too cold for winter, and took a delicious residence within the
walls of the town, but in the midst of gardens called the Mattonaia or
Shuileries.[134] The fitting up of the house was magnificent; one room
cost four thousand sequins. It was made of rich japan, fine black and
gold, and the ornaments were appropriate and superb.
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.
[Sidenote: MR. VASSALL’S DEATH]
I lost my poor father; a nobler, better man he has not left behind him.
Towards me he was always fond and affectionate. His only failings 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.
[Illustration:
_J. Hoppner Pinx. 1793_ _Emery Walker Ph. sc._
_Richard Vassall_]
[Sidenote: QUARREL WITH WYNDHAM]
Soon after I arrived Mrs. Wyndham came to make me a long visit. She
left her children at the Villa Careggi in Florence, a villa built by
Lorenzo di Medici, and inhabited by him until his death.[138] 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.
[Sidenote: GENOA]
Genoa is not to be compared with Naples, and is superior to Nice; the
_fanal_ has a pretty effect 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.
[Sidenote: BOLOGNA]
As soon as I had refreshed myself with a few hours’ rest, I visited
the Zampieri Palace. It is 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.
[Sidenote: A LITERARY COTERIE]
I passed a delightful winter. About three times a week I had dinners,
to which I invited Fontana, Fabroni, Don Neri Corsini, Baldelli,
Fossombroni, 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.
[Sidenote: STATUES IN ROME]
The following day I went with Ly. Plymouth, Amherst, and Ld. H., to see
my old acquaintances in the Museum Clementinum. Even since last year
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.
[Sidenote: VESUVIUS]