THE DIARY (continued 3)

[The colossus is the celebrated gigantic statue of San Carlo Borromeo.]

Arrived at an inn—taken for a servant. After some time things got round, when in came two soldiers with swords by their sides, to desire me to step to the police-inspector. I did, and found he could not read the writing in my passport. The boatman came soon after, offering me a plan for to-morrow for five francs, and showing me twelve naps. they got for the boat—which cost only seventy francs. Agreed.

September 30.—Up at 5. Off at 6 in a large barge, with yesterday's English party and two carriages, by the Tessino and canal to Milan: at first through a fine hilly country, and rapidly by the Tessino flood. After, slower, and through a flat plain with trees and neat villas and hanging grapes, to Milan. Slept out of the town by the canal.

October 1.—Up at 7.

[Polidori blunderingly calls this "September 31": he also calls the day a Monday, but October 1, 1816, was a Tuesday. For the next following day he rightly writes "October 2."]

The boatman came as I had desired, to guide me. Entered Milan by a fine gate with a kind of triumphal arch. The streets are clean but narrow—fine houses. There are two strips of pavement for wheels, and often two for pedestrians. Passed by Santa Maria—fine, all white marble, with many fine statues on the outside. Many palaces. A bad taste shown in plastering the columns and corner-stones of a lighter colour than the body.

Got a letter from Brelaz; well written in composition and in letters, but badly spelled. Got my trunk, after some difficulty, passed. The diligence-keepers asked if they could direct me to rooms: showed two where a man was at that moment going. Got them for 40 lire il mese; a bedroom and sitting-room, second storey, Contrado San Spirito. Sent to the custom-house. Made the men wait—sent them away for two hours, again away for one. More stoppages, and, in centimes, 3 francs to pay. They would not at first let it (the trunk) go because it was the last day of the month.

[Did they share Polidori's blunder that the day was September 31?]

Went to dine at a restaurateur's: 1-1/2-franc dinner. Afterwards put my things into a little order, dressed, and went strolling towards Teatro della Scala. Entered, two hours before beginning, alone. Immense theatre: six rows of boxes, with, I think, thirty-six in a row. La Testa di Bronzo, a ballet, and a comic ballet: the ballet the most magnificent thing I ever saw—splendid indeed.

October 2.—Got up at 8. Breakfasted on grapes, bread and butter, wine, 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."

Brême, upon hearing this, immediately set off to Bubna, and I to Lord Byron, who sent Mr. Hobhouse in company of Colonel McSomething to Swarrow to ask that I might not be obliged to go. They went. Swarrow received them with a pen in his hand; said it was a bagatelle; that the Secretary of Police had been there in the morning, and that he had told him of it. That it was nothing, that I should find myself as well off in any other city as there, and that, if I stayed, something worse might happen. Hobhouse tried to speak. S[warrow] advanced a foot; "Give my compliments to Lord Byron; am sorry I was not at home when he called." "But if this is so mere a trifle ..."—"I hope Lord Byron is well"; advancing another foot, and then little by little got them so near the door that they saw it was useless, and left him. De Brême in the meanwhile had been to Bubna. Bubna received him very politely, and said he had already seen Colonel M., who had explained to him the whole; and that for the mistake of speaking to the officer on guard he thought it enough that I had been put under arrest. "I am much obliged to you, and am glad then that my friend will not have to leave Milan." "What do you mean?" Brême explained. "It is impossible, there must be some mistake, for I have had no memorial of it. I will see Swarrow this evening about it." De Brême mentioned with what idea I had left the theatre. Bubna said that German soldiers had one prejudice less; and at the theatre in the evening I heard many instances of the officers of the Austrian Army acting meanly in this respect. Amongst others, Bubna's son, being challenged for insulting a lady at a public ball, accepted the challenge, but said there were several things he had to settle first, and that he would appoint a day for the following week. He left Milan the Saturday before. A young Italian had a dispute with a Hussar officer, and challenged him, for which he was brought before the police and reprimanded. Some days after, the officer, standing at a coffee-room door, asked him if he wished to settle the affair with him. He said yes, and they immediately entered. The officer spoke to several of his companions in the room, and they all struck the young man, and pushed him out. He could get no redress.

[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.

[The Pachiani (or Pacchiani) here mentioned must certainly be the same Abate Pachiani who in 1820 introduced Shelley to the Contessina Emilia Viviani, to whom the poet dedicated his Epipsychidion. Medwin, in his Life of Shelley, a book which does not now obtain many readers, gives a lively but partly very unfavourable account of Pachiani: I append a few extracts from it, more as being relevant to Shelley than to Polidori. "Pachiani was about fifty years of age, somewhat above the common height, with a figure bony and angular. His face was dark as that of a Moor. During the reign of Austrian despotism he was admirably calculated for a spy. As to his religion, it was about on a par with that of l'Abate Casti. At Pisa, il Signore Professore was the title by which he was generally known. He lost [his professorship] by an irresistible bon mot. During one of his midnight orgies, which he was in the habit of celebrating with some of the most dissolute of the students, he was interrogated, in the darkness, by the patrole in the streets of Pisa as to who and what he was,—to which questioning he gave the following reply: 'Son un uomo pubblico, in una strada pubblica, con una donna pubblica.' His epigrams were sanglants, and he gave sobriquets the most happy for those who offended him. His talent was conversation—a conversation full of repartee and sparkling with wit; and his information (he was a man of profound erudition, vast memory, and first-rate talent) made him almost oracular. He was a mezzano, cicerone, conoscitore, dilettante, and I might add ruffiano."^[40]]

December 21.—Went in the evening to the Countess Mastrani's. Ices, iced people, prepared poetry, music. Went to the theatre, in the days past, several times. Saw Goldoni's Bugiardo, with Harlequin etc.

December 22.—As usual.

December 23.—Same.

December 24.—Ditto.

December 25.—Christmas-day. Walked along Arno. Spent the evening and dined at Vaccà's.

December 26.—Up at 7. Went with Vaccà to Leghorn, a neat, regular, well-built town. The first thing I went in search of was the sea, and I stood gazing some time on the waves. The Public Place and Strada Maestra fine. Saw Vescali's collection of alabasters. Returned by 3. Dined with Vaccà. Went to the theatre with Mrs. Vaccà, who introduced me to Signora Bettina Franciuoli.

December 27.—As usual. Up at 4—dined at Vaccà's—went to theatre, and to B.'s box.

December 28.—Went to hear nella Chiesa dei Cavalieri (after a ride with Mrs. Vaccà) Nicolini play a sonata upon the organ, which is perhaps the finest in Italy. There were the Prince Villafranca, the Countess Castelfiel, Princess della Pace, and other nobles. At Vaccà's and theatre.

December 29.—Up at 3-1/2. Dined at Vaccà's: theatre. English etc. as usual.

December 30.—Up at 1. Reading Sismondi. Got up—went to Vaccà to dine. After English, to the Casa Mastrani: all evening with Sofia. The others—Biribro, Dionigi.

[According to a letter from Lord Byron, April 11, 1817, Dr. Polidori had at least three patients at Pisa—Francis Horner, a child of Thomas Hope, and Francis North, Lord Guilford. They all died—which may or may not have been partly the Doctor's fault.]

With this entry we come to the end of Dr. Polidori's Diary—although (as I have before intimated) not by any means to the end of his sojourn in Italy. He saw Byron again in April 1817 in Venice: Shelley, to the best of my knowledge, he never re-beheld.

I add here two letters which Polidori wrote to his sister Frances (my mother, then a girl of only sixteen), and two to his father. The first letter was written soon after beginning the journey with Byron; the last not long after the date of parting from him. I also add a letter sent to Mr. Hobhouse during Polidori's sojourn with Byron, and a note, of much later date, written by Mrs. Shelley to my father, Gabriele Rossetti.

The letter to Mr. Hobhouse, it will be observed, goes over some of the same details which appear in the Diary. This letter has been copied by me from the Broughton Papers, in the Manuscript Department of the British Museum (Add. MSS. 36456 to 36483). I did my best to trace whether these papers contain anything else relating to Polidori, and I do not think they do. In fact, the affairs of Lord Byron, and the very name of him, scarcely figure in those Broughton Papers at all: for instance, I could not find anything relating to his death.

John Polidori to Frances Polidori.

My dear Fanny,

I shall see Waterloo in a day or two—don't you wish to be with me? but there are many more things that I have seen which would have given you as much pleasure. Shakespear's Cliff at Dover, the French coast, the phosphorescent sea, Bruges, Ghent, Antwerp, and Brussels, have all got more than is in any of Feinaigh's plates to excite the memory to bring forth its hidden stores. The people amongst whom we are at present dwelling is one that has much distinguished itself in the noblest career, the race for liberty; but that tends little to the ennobling of a people without the sun of literature also deigns to shine upon them.

It was not the warlike deeds, the noble actions, of the Greeks and Romans or modern Italians, that has rescued these names from the effacing daub of oblivion; if it had not been for their poets, their historians, their philosophers, their heroes would in vain have struggled for fame. Their actions would have been recorded in the dusty legends of monks, and consequently have been forgotten, like those of the Belgians, Carthaginians, and others. How many fine actions of modern times will be buried in oblivion from the same want, and how many merely secondary characters will be handed down with a halo round their deeds reflected from the pages of historic genius!

I am very pleased with Lord Byron. I am with him on the footing of an equal, everything alike: at present here we have a suite of rooms between us. I have my sitting-room at one end, he at the other. He has not shown any passion; though we have had nothing but a series of mishaps that have put me out of temper though they have not ruffled his. The carriage, the new carriage, has had three stoppages. We are at present at Brussels merely to have the carriage-part well looked at and repaired.

The country till here has been one continued flat; and, except within this neighbourhood, we have not seen a rising ground on which to feast our eyes. Long avenues paved in the middle form the continued appearance of our roads. The towns are magnificently old, such as England cannot rival, and the state of cultivation is much greater than in England: indeed we have not seen a weed or a foot of waste ground all our way. The people in the country show no misery; the cottages comfortable, whitewashed, large-windowed, shining with brass utensils internally, and only having as many heaps of dirt as there are inhabitants—who certainly throw away all their cleanliness upon the house, fields, roads, and windows. But I will not fill my letter with this, as some time you will either see my Journal in writing or print—Murray having offered me 500 guineas for it through Lord Byron. L[ord] B[yron] is going to give me the manuscript, when done printing, of his new cantos of Childe Harold.^[41]

Have you seen Mrs. Soane and Mr. S[oane]? how are they? If you see them, remember me to her and him. I shall write when I have seen the seat of his hero's glory, mine's disgrace; no, not disgrace—misfortune. See Mrs. S[oane], and write how she is.

How are you all at home? Papa, Mamma, Meggy (have you heard from her?), Charlotte, Bob, Henry, Eliza, and Mr. Deagostini. Remember me to all, and to all who enquire about me not merely from curiosity—telling me in your next whether they exceed the number 0. I am very well, and wrote Mamma from Ostend.

I remain, my dear Fanny,

Your affect. Brother,

J. Polidori.

Brussels, May 2, 1816.

Write to me—Dr. Polidori, à Genève, poste restante,—and soon, as I shall be there in 12 days.

To John Hobhouse, Whitton Park, near Hounslow.

Coblentz, May 11, 1816.

Dear Sir,

As we are at last some way on our journey, I take a sheet of paper up, in despair of filling it, to tell you we are both well and hearty. Lord Byron's health is greatly improved, his stomach returning rapidly to its natural state. Exercise and peace of mind, making great advances towards the amendment of his corps délabré, leave little for medicine to patch up. His spirits, I think, are also much improved. He blithely carols through the day, 'Here's to you, Tom Brown': and, when he has done, says, 'That's as well as Hobhouse does it.' You and his other friend, Scrope Davies, form a great subject of conversation.

God! here I am at the end of all my thoughts. Oh no! Waterloo was ridden over by my Lord on a Cossack horse, accompanied by myself on a Flemish steed; Lord Byron singing Turkish or Arnaout riding-tunes, and your h[umble] s[ervant] listening. We had a very good day of it. Lord Byron visited Howard's (I think, Colonel) burying-place twice. We have had two days by preëminence in our tour—to-day and Waterloo. To-day we came from Bonn hither through the finest scenes I ever saw, modern and ancient; the 13th and 18th century forming an olla podrida with the bases given in the year 1. Towers and towns and castles and cots were sprinkled on the side of a.... But here I am on poetic stilts, cut short for prose ones.

They boast—the Ministerialists and others—of ours being the happy land. I should like to carry John Bull to Flanders and the Rhine: happiness, content, cleanliness (here and there), husbandry, plenty without luxury, are here bestowed on all. War has had no effect upon the fields; and even at Waterloo no one (except for the glittering button or less brilliant cuirass in beggar's hand) would imagine two such myriaded armies had met there. No sulkiness is seen upon the face here, and no impudence. On the Rhine and in Flanders there are hardly any beggars. To-day we had nosegays given us by little girls for centimes. But the other day, coming to Battice, we met the best beggars: three little girls, pretty though not well dressed, ran along our carriage, crying out—"Donnez-nous un sou, Monsieur le Général en chef"; and another, "Chef de bataillon." Having given these some, a boy followed, pulling faces comic enough to make such grave dons laugh, and crying out, "Vivent Messieurs les Rois des Hanovériens—donnez-moi un sou."

As I fear I have tried your eyes, and lost my pains after all on account of the illegibility of my accursed pen's scratches, I must end—assuring you at the same time I am with esteem

Yours etc.,

J. Polidori.

We count upon being at Geneva in ten days at best. Excuse the bad writing etc., for I am in a fever of digestion after my ride.—J. P.

To Gaetano Polidori.

September 20, 1816.

My dear Father,

You judged right with regard to my writing. I had written twice since your letter announcing The Pamphleteer, and was anxiously waiting yours. Your letter gave me pleasure; and I was indeed in want of some just then, for I was in agitation for my parting from Lord Byron. We have parted, finding that our tempers did not agree. He proposed it, and it was settled. There was no immediate cause, but a continued series of slight quarrels. I believe the fault, if any, has been on my part; I am not accustomed to have a master, and therefore my conduct was not free and easy. I found on settling accounts that I had 70 napoleons; I therefore determined to walk over Italy, and (seeing the medical establishments) see if there proves a good opportunity to settle myself, so that I hope I am still off your hands for nine months: perhaps Lady Westmorland, who is at Rome, is desirous of having an English physician for longer, I having a letter for her from Mme. de Staël. I shall write to-day to Vaccà and Zio [uncle] for letters to Milan to physicians, in your name; and at present, till I think they and my trunks can have arrived, will wander amongst the Alps,—in which course I am now at Thun, almost in the centre. I have seen Mont Blanc and its glaciers, and will see the Jungfrau, Grindelwald, and Grimsel. Then I will go by the Simplon to Milan, whither direct to me poste-restante, only putting my Giovanni etc. names in full, as there are Polidoris there.^[42] I am in good health and spirits; I hope this won't hurt yours, for assure yourself I will do all I can not to allow you to feel any inconvenience on my account.

Remember me to my mother, who I know will feel deeply this disappointment; to Mary,^[43] Fanny, and Charlotte, to Signor Deagostini and Signor De Ocheda, and to all.

If you could get me letters of introduction, they would be of great use. In the meanwhile, my dear father, believe me

Your affectionate son,

John Polidori.

John Polidori to Gaetano Polidori—Translation.

Arezzo, November 14, 1816.

Dear Father,

I fear you must be in much anxiety at not having heard from me for so long; but the reason was that I did not wish to write before having seen my uncle—to whom I went the day before yesterday, and who received me with great affection and pleasure. I wrote to him from Thun. Thence I went to Grindelwald and Lauterbrunner; thence to Interlachen, and, by the Lake of Brientz, to Meyringen; by the Grimsel in the Valais to Obergasteln; thence to Brieg; and then by the Simplon down to Farinoli in the Borromean Islands. Thence I embarked to Sestri Calende; thence to Milan—where, meeting the poet Monti, Lord Byron, Monsignor de Brême, and others of my acquaintance, I remained some weeks. Thence I went to Florence, by Bologna, Modena, Parma, and Piacenza, and crossing the Apennines. In Florence I stayed two days, and saw Cavalier Pontelli, Abate Fontani, Dr. Frosini, and others. Thence I went on foot to Arezzo, where I found my uncle, my aunt, Pippo, and Teresa, all well; and they received me with great cordiality into their house, where I now am.

Seeing, by your letter to my uncle, in how much trouble you are on my account, I have determined, after learning whether Lady Westmorland will employ me or no—if yes, to go to Rome; if no, to go straight from Leghorn to London, to the bosom of my family. I shall soon hear from Lady Westmorland, as Lady Jersey undertook, at the instance of Monsignor de Brême, to ask her mother whether she wants me or not, and she is now in Florence, en route for Rome. In case she should tell me yes, I shall at once go to Rome: but meanwhile I don't proceed any farther than Arezzo. If she says no, I shall be off to Leghorn, and return to London.

I wish that in your next letter you would send me enough money, in a bill on Florence, for paying the passage from Leghorn to London, for the chance of my not having enough remaining....

When I see you again I shall have much to tell you about, but will not put it into a letter. Suffice it that I have found that what you told me about Italy is but too true. I am in good health....

Your affectionate son,

John Polidori.

[To this letter the uncle Luigi Polidori added something. One point regarding Lord Byron is of a certain interest.]

I became indignant at some references [made by John Polidori] to the strange conduct of that Lord with whom he was travelling: but he kept his temper well—I envy him for that. All these people are hard: Sævus enim ferme sensus communis in illâ fortunâ.—Patience!

[My father, about the date of this ensuing letter, met Mrs. Shelley several times, and he liked her well. He did not think her good-looking: indeed I have heard him say "Era brutta" (she was ugly).—The letter is written in fairly idiomatic, but by no means faultless, Italian.—I am not aware whether Gaetano Polidori supplied Mrs. Shelley with information, such as she asked for, for her Biography of Alfieri: perhaps a minute inspection of the book might show.—Cleopatra, acted in 1775, was Alfieri's first attempt at tragedy.]

Harrow, April 20, 1835.

Courteous Signor Rossetti,

Thank you so much for your amiable reply, and the interest you show in the undertaking of a pen but too unworthy of those great names which give so much lustre to your country. Meanwhile I am about to make a farther request: but am afraid of showing myself troublesome, and beg you to tell me your opinion sincerely. I should not like to seem to take impertinent liberties; and, if my idea appears to you impracticable, don't say anything about it to any one.

I am informed that your Father-in-law the celebrated Polidori can relate many interesting circumstances regarding Alfieri. The Life which I am writing will be printed in Dr. Lardner's Cyclopædia: therefore it is very short, running perhaps to 70 pages—not more. Thus, if I could introduce some details not yet known but worthy of publication, I should be very pleased indeed. I don't know whether Polidori would be willing to give me such details. For example, I should like to know whether Alfieri was really so melancholy and taciturn as is said by Sir John Hobhouse in his work, Illustrations to the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold; whether he gave signs of attachment to his friends, and whether he was warmly loved by them in return. Some anecdotes would be welcomed by me; also some information about the Countess of Albany. There is an affectation of silence, as to all that relates to her, in whatever has yet been written concerning Alfieri. But, now that she is dead, this is no longer necessary. Were they married? If not, nothing need be said about it; but, if they were, it would be well to affirm as much.

I shall be in London next Sunday, and shall be staying there several days. But I am in a quarter so distant from yours (7 Upper Eaton Street, Grosvenor Place) that it would be indiscreet to ask for a visit from you—and much more indiscreet to say that, if Signor Polidori would visit me, he could perhaps tell me some little things more easily than by writing. As the Tuscans say, "Lascio far a lei."^[44] You will do whatever is most fitting, and will give me a reply at your convenience.

Repeating the thanks so much due to your kindness, believe me

Your much obliged servant,

M. W. P. Shelley.

I hear that Alfieri was intimate with Guiccioli of Ravenna, the latter being then quite young; and they had a joint idea and project (which did not turn out manageable) of establishing a national theatre in Italy. Possibly Signor Polidori knows about this. Is there any historical work containing particulars about the closing years of the royal husband of the Countess of Albany? I don't know, and am in the dark. He (is it not so?) was the last of the Stuarts, except his brother the Cardinal of York.

Oh what trouble I am giving you to reply! Really I now feel more than ashamed of it. But you are so kind. And, besides, the grammar of this letter must be like Alfieri's Cleopatra.