Part 12

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]

The change in the figure of Vesuvius is very disadvantageous to it in point of beauty. It is now lower than Somma, and the crater is apparently flattened.[153] Torre del Greco presents a curious spectacle, both to the naturalist and ye moralist. The stratum of fresh lava has raised the coast near fifty feet above its former level. The lava is of a peculiar texture, more charged with metallic particles than any of the other strata from Vesuvius, though not equal in specific gravity to that at Ischia. In many places it is still smoking, and the cavities are filled by little beggars who seek warmth there. After a fall of rain the evaporation is curious, for the density of the atmosphere marks the course of the lava. The infatuation of the people is wonderful; they prefer rebuilding upon that spot to accepting lands offered by the King, and not content with that absurdity they add to it by immediately commencing, and I actually saw myself a house just finished, which was built within three inches (for I measured them) of a hole from whence the smoke issued, and upon which I could not bear my hand from the excessive heat. This surely is verifying that curious, novel, and true maxim of Adam Smith’s, that every man believes to a superstitious excess in his own good luck.

The collection of Capo di Monte has undergone various changes in the disposition of the pictures. The Queen sent to desire I would visit her at Caserta, but she told me the measles was in the palace among her children. I therefore declined the honour, on account of exposing Webby to the danger. I dined at Caserta with the Hamiltons. I found _Mullady_ altered, and Sir William seemed more occupied about his own digestion than in admiring the graceful turn of her head. I returned day and night from Naples to Albano, where I found Ld. Holland and Mr. M. waiting for me. The next morning I went to see the lake and the _emissary_. The emissary is an issue from the lake to carry off the superabundant waters. It is perforated through the hill. In the evening we drove through the villas at Frascati, and returned to Rome.

I quitted Rome, and went back to Florence by the Siena road. Nothing very remarkable occurred during my short stay at Florence. I set off from thence on April ye 11th. I bid adieu to that lovely spot, where I enjoyed a degree of happiness for a whole year that was too exquisite to be permanent. Ld. Holland drove me in his phæton the first post to Prato: he returned, and I pursued my journey upon the Modena road.

For some reason, unrelated in the text, Lady Webster seems to have changed her route. On reaching Bologna, instead of turning west to Modena, she took the road to Ferrara, which she reached on April 18th.

[Sidenote: RELICS OF ARIOSTO]

Ferrara is but the skeleton of its former grandeur; it is now deserted and thinly inhabited. The tomb of Ariosto naturally attracted my veneration; it is in the Benedictine convent. The architecture of it is bad, and the bust but moderately executed; it represents him very much in the decline of life. His house, in which his grotto, chair, and inkstand used to be shown, is now pulled down and destroyed by the rapacity of the owner. The public library is small, and contains no books of value. There they preserve the original manuscript of most of the books of the _Orlando_, chair, and inkstand. The manuscript is written by himself, and in the margin there are numberless emendations; thus we discover that those verses that seem so easy and to flow without exertion, are precisely those that have undergone the most alteration. At the bottom of one of the pages I perceived written in pencil:--

Vittorio Alfieri vede e vennerò. 18 Giugno, 1783.