Part 12

[This affair of Dr. Polidori's shindy in the theatre excited some remark. His feelings in favour of Italy and Italians were keen, as he was himself half Italian by blood; and he was evidently not disinclined to pick a quarrel with an Austrian military man. He was indiscreet, and indeed wrong, in asking an Austrian officer on guard to take off his cap; and, although he addressed the officer at first in courteous terms, his expression "Lo voglio" was not to be brooked even by a civilian. Lord Byron mentioned the matter in a letter to his sister, November 6, 1816, as follows: "Dr. Polidori, whom I parted with before I left Geneva (not for any great harm, but because he was always in squabbles, and had no sort of conduct), contrived at Milan, which he reached before me, to get into a quarrel with an Austrian, and to be ordered out of the city by the Government. I did not even see his adventure, nor had anything to do with it, except getting him out of arrest, and trying to get him altogether out of the scrape." And on the same day to Thomas Moore. "On arriving at Milan I found this gentleman in very good society, where he prospered for some weeks; but at length, in the theatre, he quarrelled with an Austrian officer, and was sent out by the Government in twenty-four hours. I could not prevent his being sent off; which, indeed, he partly deserved, being quite in the wrong, and having begun a row for row's sake. He is not a bad fellow, but young and hot-headed, and more likely to incur diseases than to cure them." Beyle likewise has left an account of the affair, translated thus. "One evening, in the middle of a philosophical argument on the principle of utility, Silvio Pellico, a delightful poet, came in breathless haste to apprise Lord Byron that his friend and physician Polidori had been arrested. We instantly ran to the guard-house. It turned out that Polidori had fancied himself incommoded in the pit by the fur cap of the officer on guard, and had requested him to take it off, alleging that it impeded his view of the stage. The poet Monti had accompanied us, and, to the number of fifteen or twenty, we surrounded the prisoner. Every one spoke at once. Polidori was beside himself with passion, and his face red as a burning coal. Byron, though he too was in a violent rage, was on the contrary pale as ashes. His patrician blood boiled as he reflected on the slight consideration in which he was held. The Austrian officer ran from the guard-house to call his men, who seized their arms that had been piled on the outside. Monti's idea was excellent: 'Sortiamo tutti—restino solamente i titolati' (Let us all go out—only the men of title to remain). De Brême remained, with the Marquis di Sartirana, his brother, Count Confalonieri, and Lord Byron. These gentlemen having written their names and titles, the list was handed to the officer on guard, who instantly forgot the insult offered to his fur cap, and allowed Polidori to leave the guard-house. In the evening, however, the Doctor received an order to quit Milan within twenty-four hours. Foaming with rage, he swore that he would one day return and bestow manual castigation on the Governor who had treated him with so little respect."—One other observation of Beyle, regarding Polidori and Byron, may be introduced here. "Polidori informed us that Byron often composed a hundred verses in the course of the morning. On his return from the theatre in the evening, still under the charm of the music to which he had listened, he would take up his papers, and reduce his hundred verses to five-and-twenty or thirty. He often sat up all night in the ardour of composition."—As Polidori's passport is prominently mentioned at this point of the Diary, I may add a few particulars about it. It was granted on April 17, 1816, by the Conte Ambrogio Cesare San Martino d'Aglia, Minister of the King of Sardinia in London; and it authorized Polidori to travel in Italy—no mention being made of Switzerland, nor yet of Lord Byron. The latest visa on the passport is at Pisa, for going to Florence. This is signed "Il Governatore, Viviani," whom we may safely assume to have been a relative of Shelley's Emilia. The date of this final visa is February 17, 1817.]

_October 30._—Got up early next morning, packed up my books and things; then went to seek for a coach that was parting for Lodi. Found one, and fixed that a vetturino, who was going to set off next day for Florence, should take me up at Lodi. Went to see de Brême. He told me he had been to Bubna's, but that he had found him out at a council of war, and that he had left an order none should follow him. I took leave of de Brême, and wept in his arms like a child, for his kindness and friendship had been dear to me. I took leave of L[ord] B[yron], H[obhouse], and Guasco. The last offered me his services in any way, and said he should take it as a favour the oftener he was applied to. I got into the coach with only 5 louis in my pocket, leaving my books in the care of de Brême, and left Milan with rage and grief so struggling in my breast that tears often started in my eyes, and all I could think of was revenge against Swarrow and the officer in particular, and a hope that before I left Italy there might be a rising to which I might join myself. I arrived at Lodi; wrote to Lloyd to ask him to lend me some money, and went to bed exhausted.

_October 31._—Up at 9: breakfasted. Went to see the Duomo and other churches without feeling interest; the hospital, which is a magnificent building. Returning to the inn, I met the vetturino. I found in the coach a Prussian student of Heidelberg who had made the campaigns of '13 and '14 with the rest of his companions, and who was banished Heidelberg for slapping a Russian in the face. Growled against his king for not keeping his promise; hated the French, and gave me an interesting account of the way of spending the winter evenings in his part of Germany, Pomerania; the young working at some pursuit of hand, the old relating their tale of youth. A Milanese woman and son. We went that evening to Casal Panterlungo. Supped and went to bed, I and the Prussian in the same room.

_November 2._—Up at 4. Across the Taro to Parma. Went, in spite of my having so little money, in search of books—Boccaccio's _Fiammetta_. The Cathedral and Baptistery. From Parma to Reggio, a beautiful town with fine palaces and porticoes, though, on account of the few inhabitants, appearing a huge sepulchre. To Rubiera: supped and slept.

_November 3._—Up at 4. Through Modena, where I saw the Duomo, and the Tower which contains the Lecchia porticoes—palaces of the Duke—four orders heaped one on the other. Here they examined my box, and were going to send it to the dogana on account of books; when, upon my saying I was a physician, they let them pass.

At Bologna supped with the Prussian. To the opera. Saw a ballet, extremely ridiculous: barbarian dances with astonishing powers of limbs forming in the air [postures] out and in on their feet.

_November 4._—Up at 9. Went to see the churches and (a) private gallery. After dinner roamed about the town in a most melancholy mood, entering the churches and sitting in the dark for an hour, etc. Went to the Theatre of Cento Cavalli: beautiful Greek architecture. To bed—a play.

_November 5._—At 10, expecting to have been called before, the vetturino came, saying he would not go, since I had hindered the Prussian from setting off on Monday, without security; and that he would go to the police to gain it from the Prussian that he should be paid at Florence. After a good deal of disputing I gave it, in a promissory note that I would pay if he could not. Found afterwards it was only to get time.

Went to see the churches, the public place, San Prospero, the Neptune. After dinner to Madonna Santa Lucia. Along the portico "Questo è da vendere"[32] was written on portions of the wall. The public cemetery. Saw a coffin, when dark, brought into the church with torches. The poor are separated from the rich, and have only the turf upon them: the rich groan under the weight of marble. The priests, monks, nuns, etc., all in separate squares; a cardinal's hat covering a death's head.

Returned to Bologna. Went to the theatre. Saw _Agnese_: wept like a child: the acting of the madman inimitable. Went to bed.

_November 6._—Up at 11. Set off with the Prussian and an Italian officer across the Apennines. Oxen in continual use. Misty, so could not enjoy the view. Dreadful winds to Pianoro. That evening the officer related all the services he had been in; French liberty, Consulship, Emperor. Refused by the Austrians; went to Murat, and now going to offer himself to the Pope; if not accepted, to America. For which side? "Spanish or Creole."[33] He had the unfeelingness to joke upon his father's being killed in the time of the liberty-rows, saying he got that for not changing; on which I felt so nettled that I spoke for half-an-hour upon the ruin the fickleness of the Italians had brought upon themselves. He felt, I think, ashamed; at least he gave up that kind of light talk.

Forgot to say that at Modena I presented[34] my passport so that the "24 hours" were invisible; and left at Modena one who had accompanied us from Piacenza, telling the most barefaced lies about boars, dogs, and thieves, that were ever heard.

_November 7._—At 4 up. Arrived at night at Fortebuona. Dreadful wind and rain. Supped and went to bed.

_November 8._—At 5 walked a good part of the road. Arrived at Florence by the Porta San Gallo, through the Arch. The custom-house officer, when we told him, if he wanted to look, he might open, [replied]: "Che? Un servo del sovrano? Ci sono dei facchini."[35]

Florence, on entering, disappointed me, as we were obliged to go round on account of the road being mended. Went to the inn. Dressed—not having changed linen since Milan. Went to the post: no letters. In despair, remaining with only four scudi. Walked about the town,—Arno: into the Cathedral and Baptistery.

Went to seek Cavalier Pontelli.[36] Knocked at his door, along Arno—both before and behind. Could not make any one hear. One who lived near (Lecchini), upon my asking how to get in, said he was thankful to say he was not Pontelli, and did not know. Returned home. Gave the Prussian a missal I had bought at Bologna. He broke my pipe. Went to bed. Wrote to Pontelli and Brême.

_November 9._—Got up; went to seek Pontelli. Found he had a villa at Porta San Gallo. Went thither, knocked; saw his head pop out of the window in a greasy night-cap. On my announcing myself, he descended, opened the door, and received me with welcome. Found him at breakfast, sausages, caviare, etc. Sat down; told me his housekeeper would not show herself; invited me to come to his house instead of the inn. Went into town; took a peep at the Gallery—at the precious vases, Venus, etc. Went to the inn. Put up my things, paid; and, seeing the Prussian envied me my desk, I gave it him, on condition that, if we ever met again, he would paint me a picture he sketched in my album. Went to Pontelli; dined; accompanied him to town. His servant took a porter to carry my things to the Arno house, and then we went to pay visits.

In the way he told me he lived very retired, and very economically that he might not want; that the people now looked upon him with a good eye; that the Government also did not prosecute him; and that he in fine thought that a revolution would be general—trying to persuade me that his avarice was mere policy.

Went to pay a visit to Cavalier Tomasi, a Cortonian. Found many in the room, who all sat upon me about English politics. Left them when they were going to play. Thence to Abate Fontani, Librarian of the Riccardi Library. Talked of Madame de Staël, Finch, etc.

Returned home. Found I was in the house of the Capponis, Pontelli having the lower storey.

_November 10._—Up at 9. Dressed in black silk etc., the housekeeper going to mass; and, Pontelli apparently not being willing that I should accompany her, I went out a little after, and went to the same church, where I spoke with her. Looked at the church; and then went to San Lorenzo, Santo Spirito [Santa Croce],[37] where I saw the tomb of Galileo, Machiavelli, Alfieri, Cosmo de' Medici, etc.

Returned, and went with a letter from de Brême to the Countess of Albany. Found there several. Presented my letter: "Very like your father."

[The Countess of Albany, it need hardly be said, was the widow of Prince Charles Edward Stuart, the "Young Pretender." Born in 1752, Princess of Stolberg-Gedern, she married the Prince in 1772. Being much ill-treated by him, she left him, and maintained a practically conjugal relation with Conte Vittorio Alfieri, the famous dramatic poet: they could have married after a while, but no nuptial ceremony took place. Alfieri died in 1803, and the Countess then became very intimate with a French painter, much younger than herself, named Fabre. She died in Florence in January 1824. If Dr. Polidori had been a Jacobite, he would have held that, in waiting upon the Countess of Albany, he was in the presence of the Queen Dowager of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. It will be observed that the Countess told Polidori that he was "very like his father." The latter had, from 1787 to 1789, been secretary to the Conte Alfieri, and had known the Countess in Colmar and Paris. In one of his privately printed books he has left on record a little anecdote of the royal dame, which, trifling as it is, may find a place here. "While the Conte Alfieri was slowly recovering health I was invited to pass the evenings with him and the Countess, so that on various occasions I '_fui terzo tra cotanto senno_.'[38] But this honour did not last long. For one time when I was with them the lady turned her eyes on me, and asked Alfieri why my thighs were rounded while his were flat. 'Stuff and nonsense,' he replied, wrinkling his nose, and he passed on to some different talk. From that time I no more had the honour of being one of the exalted party; neither could I complain of this, for I myself felt that that question had been unseemly, and more in character for a drab than for a discreet and modest lady."]

Conversation became general. Republics being brought upon the tapis, I took to defending them, especially against a gentleman near me. After some time he went, and I gathered he was brother to the King of Prussia.

Took my leave, and came to dinner, after going to the caffè to wait for Pontelli. Rain hindered him from keeping his appointment, so that I went at last alone to San Gallo, he having the custom of staying the Sundays only in town. Was presented by him to Lecchini, the Inspector of Police, who recognized me as a Tuscan, and the domiciliary communication was made out as such.

_November 11._—Tried to stay at home. Forced by Pontelli's long-in-vain repeated hints to go out; jealous of his young housekeeper, though she is hardly worth it. Roamed about, dined, and went to bed.

_November 12._—Same. Dined with him at a restaurateur's.

_November 13._—Got up at 7; tired of Pontelli, and set off for Arezzo, with a shirt in my pocket and with my dog. When at Incisa it began to rain; walked on through Feline, Monte Varchi, to Arezzo. Thunder and lightning excessive, with violent rain. I was at last so numbed that when roused I seemed to be wakened; my dog could not stand it, but at 7 miles from Arezzo fell. I did not perceive it, but walked on. Arrived at 8, having walked 45 miles in 12 hours, having stopped once at Incisa to eat and rest. Found my uncle's house; knocked. The servant, hearing I was his nephew, flew up-stairs, and I met a tall, stout, slovenly woman, my aunt. On the second storey, where they lodged, they made a fire. I changed my things for my uncle's, and while changing he arrived—a tall, stout, handsome, mild-looking man. Put myself to bed; ate, and they left me to sleep.

[This uncle, Luigi Polidori, was a physician, and had a considerable reputation for the cure of the local typhoid fever (tifo).]

_November 14._—Found myself well; no cold, only my left groin stiff from a wound in my foot. Saw my two cousins, Pippo and Teresa; put myself to study. After 6 went with my uncle to Signor Gori, where I heard music. Four or five girls wanting husbands, two priests, whitewashed walls, and several young men, were the entertainment.

While at Arezzo, my life was quiet enough; study till I went out at 6, when I went to play at cards and talk at Signor Gori's. Saw the prisons. One of the descendants of a true Lombard family walking about in a dirty sailor-looking jacket. Signora Onesti and daughter the most abominable scandal-talkers I ever heard, though she was a Pitti. Library always shut. The School of Ignatius a fine building. Churches fine: the Chapel of St. Mary, the Cathedral with the basso-rilievo altars, the church with the altar painted by Vasari, etc.—I recovered my dog.

_November 21._—Set off to return to Florence with half-a-scudo in my pocket; having refused to accept from my uncle, not being willing to let him know how it stood. Frost on the ground: hurt my foot. Lost my dog again at Montesarchi. At Feline got into a carriage, not being able to do more on account of my foot. Met a physician, a cavaliere and his wife. Arrived at 7; Pontelli lent me a scudo to pay.

_November 22, 23, 24._—Stayed at Pontelli's on account of my foot, though Pontelli tried to send me out under pretence that I should see the town. But, not being able, he stayed at home till 6, when he told me I had better go to bed—which I generally did to quiet him. No letters according to servant.

_November 25._—Tired of Pontelli. That I might go to Pisa, I issued out intending to sell my watch-chain; but as a last chance looked at the Post Office, and found two letters from Lloyd, who, as soon as he had received my letter, set off from Venice to see me. On the road he lost his purse with 36 louis, and, having no letters at Florence, he could only give me 20 scudi. Received me with great kindness, and assured me that, while he had money, I should never want. Dined with him and Somers. They advised me to settle in Florence as physician to the English. I however determined to see Vaccà first; wished him good-bye, as he was obliged to go to Rome for money.

[There were two brothers named Vaccà, or Vaccà Berlinghieri, who had been known to Gaetano Polidori in Pisa before he left Italy with Alfieri. Gaetano (who was a native of Bientina near Pisa, his family belonging chiefly to Pontedera) also stayed in the same house with the Vaccàs in Paris after leaving his secretaryship with the Count. They were then both medical students. One of them, Leopoldo—who had been intimate with Napoleon while the latter was in the Military College—abandoned medicine, and served under the French empire in Spain, dying not many years afterwards. The other brother, Andrea, attained an European reputation in medicine, and especially surgery: Shelley, when in Pisa, consulted him more than once.]

_November 26._—Went to seek the Naviglio, to go by water to Pisa. At going out, stopped by the gate-officer, who, on hearing me enquire where the boat was, would not let me pass without proofs of my being _originario Toscano_; so I went to Lecchini, and got him to write me a declaration. The boat could not set off to-day, so returned to Pontelli and went to bed.

_November 27._—At 7 set off in the boat on the Arno for Pisa.

_November 29, 30, December 1._—Stayed in my room, copying _Osteologia_ of my grandfather.

[This _Osteologia_ is a treatise on osteology written in verse—octave stanzas. The author was Agostino Ansano Polidori, by profession a surgeon, born in 1714 and deceased in 1778. In 1847 Gaetano Polidori printed this poem at his private press. He had previously made a MS. copy of it, with an introduction giving a few family-particulars. One statement made in this introduction is that the mother of Agostino was a Florentine lady named Folchi—"perhaps" (so says Gaetano Polidori) "descended from an English family domiciled in Florence, which may have changed its name Folks into Folchi."]

_December 2._—Up at 9; went to see Vaccà; still at hospital. While waiting for him, saw an Austrian colonel, who, in the excess of his gratitude to Vaccà, called him the _Dio della Medicina_. Vaccà expressed great joy to see me; told me to make his house my own; to dine there when I chose, and often; to begin to-day; not to use ceremony. Left me, and I returned home; went to dine at V[accà]'s. Introduced me to his wife, a pleasing pretty Frenchwoman, the former wife of his brother; he had just obtained the Pope's dispensation to marry her. Spent the evening there.

_December 3, 4, to 21._—Went to the hospital in the mornings when Vaccà was not ill; three or four times to the Library. Studied in the mornings; went to dine either at Vaccà's or at eating-house; always evenings at Vaccà's. Corsi, a well-informed lawyer, cav[alier] serv[ente] to V[accà?];[39] Mario ex cav[alier] serv[ente]. Cecco Castanelli, Pachiani, etc.; chess with the English; with Vaccà. For the various information I obtained there see notes.