and figs. Wrote to Lord Byron. Dressed. Went to Marchese Lapone—out of
town; Monsignor Brema—not at home. Walked about looking at booksellers'
shops. Entered the Duomo—invisible almost, so black and dark. They were
putting up drapery for Friday, which is the Emperor's birthday (probably
the same as for Napoleon). Returned home, arranged my papers. Took a
walk on the Corso; then to the Teatro Rè. The same price for all the
places. The piece _Il Sogno di Ariosto_ [Dream of Ariosto], where
Fortune, Merit, Orgoglio, with Mrs. Disinganno,[23] were all
personified. The dialogue abounded in truths, especially regarding
women, which they applauded. The theatre is very small, like the
Haymarket. Home to bed.
_October 3._—Up at 8. Went to a circulating library: read Denina,
_Vicende_, all the part on Italy and preface. To the Teatro Scelto di
Milano. Enquired about Andricini etc. for my father—not found.
["Andricini" is clearly written in the transcript before me. I am not
aware that there is any such Italian author as Andricini, and apprehend
that the name ought to be Andreini. This author wrote, early in the
seventeenth century, a dramatic poem entitled _Adamo_, which was
indisputably present to Milton's mind when he was writing _Paradise
Lost_. Dr. Polidori's father, who translated Milton, was probably
interested in this work of Andreini.]
Went to the Teatro Rè;[24] a play of English people in which they kiss
the hand, and make more bows than were ever made in a century in
England. There were German soldiers in English uniforms present. Home,
to bed.
_October 4._—Up at 8—breakfasted. Went to call on Monsignore Brême—found
him. Received me with two kisses and great apparent joy. About to learn
English: I promised my help. Walked with me, and invited me to his box.
[Lord Byron, in two of his letters, October and November 1816, remarks
regarding Milan: "The society is very oddly carried on—at the theatre,
and the theatre only, which answers to our opera. People meet there as
at a rout, but in very small circles.... They have private boxes, where
they play at cards, or talk, or anything else; but, except at the
cassino, there are no open houses or balls etc. etc."]
Left him—came home. Read Denina's _Ultime Vicende_, a poor book. Went to
Guyler. Met Caravella—walked with him. Went to dine: where I met his
brother, who told me the physician at Florence was dead, and promised to
come and take me to the hospital. Met after dinner Abate Berlezi the
Crabule.[25] Came home. Read the _Calandra_ of Bibiena, and _Sofonisba_
of Trissino. Took an ice, and went to La Scala. Feast of St. Francis,
the Emperor's. When the Dukes went this morning to mass at the Duomo not
a hat moved, not a voice of applause: however, when Regnier entered,
there was a slight clapping of hands. The theatre was lighted up like an
English one, and was magnificent, but showed what the Italians
allege—that the scene does not improve by it, but the contrary.
In Brema's loge there were Monti, Brema's brother, and others. Monti a
short man, round face, quick eye; pleasant in conversation, not haughty,
modest, unassuming; seemed to take great pleasure in parts of the music
and in the dancing.
[It will be understood that this is the celebrated Vincenzo Monti, the
poet who was at one time acclaimed as the legitimate successor of Dante
in virtue of his poem _La Basvigliana_, upon a personage of the French
Revolution. In 1816 Monti was sixty-two years of age: he died in 1828.
Though sufficiently Italian in his tone of mind and sentiment, he was
not a consistent Italian patriot, but was eminently susceptible of
inflation by a series of conflicting winds—anti-revolution, revolution,
Napoleonism, and even Austrianism. Not indeed that he was sordidly
self-interested in his various gyrations. As Dr. Richard Garnett has
said: "He was no interpreter of his age, but a faithful mirror of its
successive phases, and endowed with the rare gift of sublimity to a
degree scarcely equalled by any contemporary except Goethe, Byron, and
Shelley."]
Brema related that a friend of his, Porro, asked for a passport to Rome:
refused, and asked for documents to prove his business. Gave what proved
he had business at Maurata and relatives at Rome. Refused. Went to
Swarrow, who told him he could not give it. Porro said: "Why do the
Austrians think the Italians are always making conspiracies?" Swarrow
said that they did not know, but, now that they had the upper hand, they
cared not; and at last that, if Porro would give his word of honour not
to visit any of the foreign embassies, he should have a passport. He had
it. Porro was not a revolutionist but had always been against Napoleon,
and had belonged to a legislative body by him dissolved on account of
obstinacy. Brema and others accompanied me as far as the door, and I
went to bed.
[It appears in the sequel that there were two Austrian governors in
Milan at this period—Swarrow and Bubna—one for civil and the other for
military affairs.]
From that day I neglected my Journal till this day,
_December 8._—My residence at Milan lasted till October 30. During that
time I had a most happy and pleasant life, Monsignor de Brême taking
great friendship for me. My friends and acquaintance were Brême,
Borsieri, Guasco, Cavalier Brême, Beyle, Negri, Byron, Hobhouse, Finch,
Caravellas, Locatelli, Monti, Monti's son-in-law, Lord Cowper, Lord
Jersey, etc.; Lloyd, Lee, Wotheron.
[Beyle was the great romance-writer best known as De Stendhal. In 1816
he was aged thirty-three, and had published only one book, entitled
_Lettres écrites de Vienne sur Haydn, suivies d'une Vie de Mozart, etc._
He had seen some service under Napoleon, in Russia and elsewhere. His
passionate admiration of the now dethroned Emperor induced him to retire
from France towards 1814, and he resided in Milan up to 1821. He died in
Paris in 1842.—Hobhouse had rejoined Byron in mid-September, and they
had continued together since then.—Colonel Finch was the person through
whom Shelley, in 1821, heard of the death of John Keats.—The Lord Cowper
living in 1816 was the fifth Earl, born in 1778, and was married to a
daughter of the first Viscount Melbourne.—The Earl of Jersey, born in
1773, was married to a daughter of the Earl of Westmorland.—Mr. Wotheron
is spoken of later on under the name "Werthern." Neither of these
surnames has a very English aspect, and I cannot say which is correct.]
De Brême and I became very intimate, and I believe he is really a good
friend. In the morning at 10 o'clock I went to him to help him in
English, and towards the end he corrected my Italian translation of
_Count Orlando_.[26] We afterwards met at his box every night in the
theatre of La Scala. He gave a dinner to Lord Byron, at which were a
good many or rather all my acquaintances—Monti, Finch, Hobhouse, two
Brêmes, Borsieri, Guasco (translator of Sophocles), Negri (author of
_Francesca of Rimini_, a play). The dinner was very elegant, and we were
very merry, talking chiefly of literature, Castlereagh, Burghersh, etc.
We got up immediately after dinner, and went to coffee; thence most to
the theatre. De Brême was Vicar Almoner under the French Government. A
priest came to him to ask leave to confess; Brême, knowing the subject,
refused. The Princess was put to move Beauharnais, who sent for Brême
and in a very angry mood asked him why he had refused leave. B[rême]
said that, as he was placed to give leave, he imagined it was that it
might not be granted indiscriminately, that he could not in his
conscience give it, but that he was not the chief, and the Almoner,
being applied to, might grant it. B[eauharnais] asked why, saying that
the Princess wished it, and it must be done. De B[rême] said he had
undertaken the office under the idea that his conscience was to be his
guide; if not, the office should be immediately vacant; that he put it
to Beauharnais himself whether a man who was buried in the vilest
dissoluteness was a proper person to be entrusted with the care of young
women's minds. Beauharnais said, "Right, right; you shall hear no more
of it." This, and another occasion of the same nature, were the only
occasions in which he saw Beauharnais privately; he avoided the court,
and did not seek preferment. He twice under that government refused a
bishopric, and under the new government; giving me as a reason that it
went against his conscience to inculcate what he did not believe, and to
add power to those who gave them, as he would be expected to side with
them. He is violently for the independence of Italy. Christianity he
believes not, and gives (I think) a new argument why we should not be
holden to believe it. Saul, who was contemporary, who beheld the
miracles etc., did not believe till a miracle was operated upon _him_;
we at this distance cannot believe with greater facility. He has
published an eulogium of Caluro, _Ingiustizia del Giudizio, etc._,
poems, etc. Has written several tragedies; _Ina_ made me weep like a
child. He is warm in his affections, and has never recovered the death
of one he loved—a young noble lady, of great accomplishments and beauty.
His friendship for me was warm: it gratifies me more than any
attentions, friendship, or any relation I had before, with my
fellow-companions. I cannot express what I feel for him. When parting
from him, I wept like a child in his arms. He maintains from principle,
not from belief, all the hardships imposed upon him by his tonsure. He
would have the world to see that his belief is not swayed by a wish to
escape from the bonds of the clerical state. He is charitable, giving
away great sums of money in charity; eats only once a day, and studies
all day till the hour of the theatre; kind to all who are recommended to
him; sacrificing whole days to show them what he has seen a thousand
times; a great admirer of English women; has an excellent library, of
which I had the use. A great friend of comic, good-natured mimicry. Has
an idea of writing _Ida_, a novel containing a picture of the most
promising movements of the Milan revolution, and I have promised to
translate it. He has two brothers; his father lives yet; his eldest
brother is Ambassador at Munich. The youngest is Cavalier Brême—been
officer in Spain; extremely pleasant and affectionate with me. Brême was
a great friend of Caluro's, and to him Caluro dedicated one of his
opuscules.
Borsieri, a man of great mental digestive power and memory,
superficially read; author of _Il Giorno_, a work written with great
grace and lightness. He was very intimate with me, Guasco, and Brême.
Guasco, a Piedmontese; little reading, but great mental vision and
talents. He also was one who attached himself a good deal to me. De
Beyle, formerly Intendant des Marchés (I think) to Buonaparte, and his
secretary when in the country. A fat lascivious man. A great deal of
anecdote about Buonaparte: calls him an _inimitable et bon despote_. He
related many anecdotes—I don't remember them: amongst other things, he
said Buonaparte despised the Italians much.
[This last detail is confirmed in Beyle's _Reminiscences of Napoleon_,
published not long ago.]
These four were the usual attendants at De Brême's box.
Monti is a short, roundish, quick-eyed, and rather rascally-faced man,
affable, easily fired; talks rather nonsense when off poetry, and even
upon that not good. Great imagination; very weak. Republican always in
conversation with us; but in the first month, after having declaimed
strongly in B[rême']s box about liberty and Germans, just as they were
going out he said, "But now let us talk no more of this, on account of
my pension." Under the French government he gained a great deal by his
various offices; by this one he has been abridged of half. He translated
the _Iliad_ of Homer without knowing a word of Greek; he had it
translated by his friends, word for word written under the Greek. Easily
influenced by the opinions of others; in fact, a complete weathercock.
He married the daughter of Pickler, the engraver; a fine woman, and they
say an exceedingly good reciter, as he is himself. She has acted in his
plays upon the Philodramatic stage. His daughter is married.
Negri—Marchese Negri[27]—a Genoese, not an improvisatore—very chatty;
has at Genoa a most beautiful garden which all the English visit.
Related to me Gianni's beginning. Gianni was an apprentice to a
stay-maker, when one day an Abate, going into the shop, found him busily
engaged in reading. Looking at the book, he asked him if he understood
it. He said yes, and, on reading, showed it by his expression. The
Abate, who was an improvisatore, asked him to see him next morning; when
he improvised before him, and observed that the young Gianni seemed as
if his mind was full and wished to give forth. He had him sent to
school, and introduced him. Gianni in the Revolution, taking the Liberal
side, was obliged to leave Rome, and, going to Genoa, Negri heard by
letter of it, and went to seek him, inviting him to dine with him. He
refused; and Negri, who had promised his friends that he would be of the
party, at the hour of dinner went and found him with his nightcap on,
deeply reading his favourite Dante; and in a manner dragged him by force
to his house, where Gianni pleased much—and stayed a year at Negri's
house, teaching him the art of improvisation. Gianni's improvisations
were (many) improvised on the spot by an Abate into Latin verse.—Negri
came to Brême's box several times, and had the effect of making all
except Brême burst with laughter: me he sent to sleep.
Lord Byron came to Milan, and I saw him there a good deal. He received
me kindly, and corrected the English of my essay in _The
Pamphleteer_.[28] He visited a good deal Brême's box. Mr. Hobhouse was
with him.
Colonel Finch, an extremely pleasant, good-natured, well-informed,
clever gentleman; spoke Italian extremely well, and was very well read
in Italian literature. A ward of his gave a masquerade in London upon
her[29] coming of age. She gave to each a character in the reign of
Queen Elizabeth to support, without the knowledge of each other, and
received them in a saloon in proper style as Queen Elizabeth. He
mentioned to me that Nelli had written a Life of Galileo extremely fair,
which, if he had money by him, he would buy that it might be
published,—in Italy they dare not; and that Galileo's MSS. were in
dispute, so that the heirs will not part with them; they contain some
new and some various readings. Finch is a great admirer of architecture
and Italy.—Wotheron, Mr., a gentleman most peaceable and quiet I ever
saw, accompanying Finch; whose only occupation is, when he arrives at a
town or other place, to set about sketching and then colouring, so that
he has perhaps the most complete collection of sketches of his tour
possible. He invited me (taking me for an Italian), in case I went to
England, to see him; and, hearing I was English, he pressed me much
more.—Locatelli was the physician of the hospital, a good unimpostoring
physician. I saw under him a case of pemphizus, and had under my care an
hysterical woman.
Jersey, Lady, promised to enquire of her mother, Lady Westmorland, if
she would employ me as her physician; but said she thought my having
been with Lord B[yron] a great objection.
[I have an impression, not a secure one, that Dr. Polidori did act to
some extent as Lady Westmorland's medical adviser. It would here appear
that her Ladyship was not very partial to Byron; and Byron must have
repaid her dislike, for I find, in a letter of his to Murray, November
1817, that Polidori was in the way of receiving "the patronage of
Frederic North, the most illustrious humbug of his age and country, and
the blessing of Lady Westmorland, William Ward's mad woman." Joseph
Severn the painter (Keats's friend), who saw a good deal of Lady
Westmorland at one time, terms her "this impulsive, arrogant,
dictatorial, but witty and brilliant woman."]
Lloyd;—as I was moving in the pit, found him, and never saw a person so
glad in my life. He offered me half of the money he had at his banker's,
as he thought I must be much embarrassed. Told me Brelaz and Bertolini
seemed to be together, and that the man seemed worked off his legs.
My life at Milan was very methodical. I got up, went to the hospital,
breakfasted, came home, studied, dined, and then at 7 went to the
theatre. Between breakfast and study went to de Brême to help him in
English. It was proposed too, by him, to teach English, which I had
intended to do.
I saw only the dome under which is the chapel of St. Borromeo—very rich
in silver, crystal, and jewels. The body is vested in pontificals, and
quite dry. The orbits seem only filled with a little heap of black dirt,
and the skull etc. is black. There is here the gnometer of Cassini. They
preserve here a nail of the cross of Christ.—St. Ambrose, the ancient
Cathedral. It was at the gates of this that Theodosius was refused
entrance.—The Brera library; and the Ambrosian, where I saw the Virgil
with marginal notes of Petrarch; some of the pieces of MSS. of the
Plautus and Terence, fragments edited by Mai.—Some of the paintings
there are beautiful. The Milanese Raphael has some heads expressing such
mild heavenly meekness as is scarcely imagined.
[This Raphael is, as many readers will know, the _Sposalizio_, or
Espousal of the Virgin Mary and Joseph. Being an early work by the
master, it exhibits, in its "mild heavenly meekness," more of the style
of Perugino than of that which became distinctive of Raphael in his
maturity.]
When at Milan, I spent almost all my money in books, buying nearly 300
volumes, not being able to resist that thirst for printed sheets, many
of which I never shall read.
Swarrow, the Governor of Milan, when the Emperor was there, accompanying
him to the theatre, saw that one poor man in the pit, leaning against a
box, had dared to keep his hat on. Violently enraged, he enters the box,
without leave or saying a word; and, leaning over the box with all his
orders dangling at his breast, applies two hearty slaps to the poor
man's cheeks, and then, rising majestically, leaves the box, and goes to
receive the despot's smile. This making a great hubbub, and exciting a
great deal of ridicule against the noble police-officer, he insisted
with the police-director that not a word more should be allowed to be
said.
When at Milan, there came Sgricci, a Tuscan, under the patronage of
Monti, who puffed him most egregiously, especially his tragic
_improvisati_. I accompanied de Brême to Casa Crivelli, where I saw
Swarrow and a cardinal; a dried-up ganache[?] with a face of malice that
had dried up with the features of the face, but still remained sketched
there in pretty forcible lines. The improvisator entered; yellow boots
with trousers, blue coat, and a Flemish collar to his shirt. He began
_The Loves of Psyche and Cupid_; commonplace, unpoetic rhymes.
_Coriolanus_, a tragedy; such an abominable opiate that, in spite of my
pinching myself and Cavalier Brême rousing me every minute, I found
myself, when ended, roused by the applause from a pleasant nap. Heard
him again at the theatre; terza rima; _The Grief of Mausolea_.[30] The
only bearable parts were those about Aurora, night, etc., which he had
beforehand prepared, to clap-in at convenience, from the _Gradus ad
Parnassum_. The tragedy being drawn out, first came _The Death of
Socrates_. He came forward, saying that, this subject being
undramatizable, he would, if the public insisted, attempt it, but that
he had rather another might be drawn. _Montezuma_ came out. "Oh," says
he, "this will touch your passions too much, and offend many probably
personally." The public here stoutly hissed, and insisted he should
proceed; he as stoutly called on the boy to draw, which he did, and,
there coming forth _Eteocles and Polynices_, he was satisfied, making
_olla podrida scenica_ of French ragouts, Italian minestras, and Greek
black soup. It was reported that Monti's taking him up was by the
persuasion of his daughter. An epigram was written upon Sgricci, as
follows nearly—
"In questi tempi senza onore e merto
Lavora Sgricci in vano, ha un altro il serto."
[The translation of this couplet is—"In these times without honour and
merit Sgricci labours in vain—another man wears the wreath." It will be
seen that the epigram, if such it can be considered, runs in favour of
Sgricci. He was a native of Arezzo, and, as our text shows, a renowned
improvisatore. I happen to possess a printed tragedy of his, _Ettore_,
which is notified as having been improvised in the Teatro Carignano,
Turin, on June 13, 1823. Shelley in January 1821 attended one of
Sgricci's improvisations, and was deeply impressed by it as a wonderful
effort, and even, considered in itself, a fine poetic success. In 1869,
being entrusted with some MS. books by Shelley through the courtesy of
his son the late Baronet, I read a tribute of some length which the
great English poet had paid to the Italian improvisatore: it has not yet
been published, and is included, I suppose, among the Shelley MSS.
bequeathed to the Bodleian Library. The subject on which Shelley heard
Sgricci improvise was Hector (Ettore). One rather suspects that the
_Ettore_ improvised in 1823 may have been partly reminiscent of its
predecessor in 1821. The portrait of Sgricci, a man of some thirty-five
years of age, appears in the book which I possess: it shows a costume of
the fancy-kind that Polidori speaks of. I have looked through the
tragedy, and do not concur in the tone of ridicule in which Polidori
indulges. An improvise can only be criticized as an improvise, and this
appears to me a very fair specimen.—As I have had occasion here to
re-mention Shelley, I may as well add that Medwin (_Life of Shelley_,
vol. i, p. 250), says that the poet had no animosity against Polidori,
consequent upon any past collisions: "Shelley I have often heard speak
of Polidori, but without any feeling of ill-will."]
Going one evening with L[ord] B[yron] and Mr. H[obhouse] to B[rême]'s
box, Mr. Hobhouse, Borsieri, and myself, went into the pit, standing to
look at the ballet. An officer in a great-coat came and placed himself
completely before me with his grenadier's hat on. I remarked it to my
companions: "Guarda a colui colla sua berretta in testa" (I believe
those were my words), waiting a few minutes to see if he would move. I
touched him, and said, "Vorrebbe farmi la grazia di levarsi il cappello
purch'io vegga?" He turning said "Lo vorreste?" with a smile of insult.
I answered: "Sì, lo voglio."[31] He then asked me if I would go out with
him. I, thinking he meant for a duel, said, "Yes, with pleasure"; and
called Mr. Hobhouse to accompany me. He did. When passing by the
guard-house he said, "Go in, go in there"; I said I would not, that it
was not there I thought of going with him. Then he swore in German, and
drew half his sabre with a threatening look, but Hobhouse held his hand.
The police on guard came, and he delivered me to their custody. I
entered the guard-house, and he began declaiming about the insult to one
like him. I said I was his equal, and, being in the theatre, to any one
there. "Equal to me?" he retorted; "you are not equal to the last of the
Austrian soldiers in the house"; and then began abusing me in all the
Billingsgate German he was master of—which I did not know till
afterwards. In the meanwhile the news had spread in the theatre, and
reached de Brême and L[ord] Byron, who came running down, and tried to
get me away, but could not on any plea. De Brême heard the secretary of
police say to the officer: "Don't you meddle with this, leave it to me."
De Brême said he would go to Bubna immediately, and get an order for my
dismission; on which the officer took Lord Byron's card, as bail that I
would appear to answer for my conduct on the morrow. Then I was
released.
Next morning I received a printed order from the police to attend. As
soon as I saw the order I went to De Brême, who accompanied me to the
gate. I entered.
"Where do you wish your passport viséd for?"
"I am not thinking of going."
"You must be off in four-and-twenty hours for Florence."
"But I wish for more time."
"You must be off in that time, or you will have something disagreeable
happen to you."