Aforesaid chanoine, Celari, is the master academician of Etruscan antiquities; he himself is the rarest and greatest curiosity in the collection. In person he resembled Gil Perez,[53] but was inferior in charms. His dress was characteristic of the oddity of the wearer; a triangular hat squatted as flat upon his head as a Prussian soldier’s and about as greasy and rusty, under which a cotton night-cap vied in colour with it, jointly setting off the features of a jaundiced, paralytic visage; his head tottering from disease and imbecility. The rest of his person in unison with his upper story; a dropsical paunch gave him an uncouth waddle, his scabby hands disgusting from their leprous indication. A more disgusting assemblage I never met with before in a single object. He showed nothing remarkable but a bronze vase found in a sepulchre, a curious bas-relief round the rim. When I escaped from his clutches, I went to a very learned and civil advocate who has many chosen antiquities. A pretty Cupid in terra cotta, a shield embossed with figures, elephants’ tusks found at Trasimene probably Carthaginian, a medal of Porsena, etc., etc.
We were too late to see anything in the cathedral. I believe Pietro di Cortona was disgusted with his native city, and preferred painting for Roman palaces.
Very late when we set off in the morn. Road rough and uncomfortable. We arrived at Arezzo at 12. I was in an agony for two hours and half after my arrival, as my children did not come. I fancied every terrible accident in the catalogue of travelling disasters, and had got into a post calèche, alone, to set off and meet them, when, God be praised, just as I was getting out of the town I met their carriage and found them safe and well.
We could only reach St. Giovanni at night, June 19th; a most wretched inn, one scarcely ever frequented but by pedestrians with their wallets slung across their shoulders. The country to Florence through the famous Val d’Arno very charming. Reached that beautiful tho’ gloomy town on the 20th. The Tuscan heavy, massy, grand style of architecture spreads a solemnity over the buildings, and the streets are not so filled as those of Naples and Rome. I went in the eve. with Ly. E. Foster and Ly. Hervey to the Opera. David[54] sang.
I saw there for the first time the celebrated Baron d’Armfeldt.[55] He was the ami de cœur of the late King of Sweden.[56] Immediately on his being wounded in the ball room he sent for d’Armfeldt, who was not apprised of the assassination till he saw his friend and sovereign weltering in his blood. The King said, ‘You, my friend, have been wounded too often to be shocked at this, but it is hard upon a man who never turned from an enemy to be wounded in the back.’ He attended his last moments, and received every testimony of his regard and affection. The —— was strongly attached to him; this rendered him obnoxious to the Regent, who has exiled him by giving him credentials to all the Italian states, with a Chargé d’affaires who is a spy upon his actions. He wears the silver sword embroidered upon his coat under the order, a badge the most flattering, as it is a testimony of good conduct and popularity. To be entitled to it a man must have the unanimous approbation of the whole army; a single soldier’s objecting invalidates the choice of the others. He must have carried and raised a siege, and won a battle; not above two men in Sweden possess it. His manners are mild and gentle, his person is like a soprano. He seems to be a great favourite with the Herveys.[57] T. P.[58] is here. D’Armfeldt is toujours en fonction, as the eternal Princess of Sweden[59] is frisking about.
D’ARMFELDT
21st.—I went with my friend Mr. Brand to see the Gallery, but I was not in spirits to enjoy anything. I have received letters giving me a melancholy account of my poor father’s illness. He wishes me to return and see him. I am perplexed about my children. The weather is too hot for them to travel; the youngest has not had the smallpox; besides that, I like to have a pledge for my return. The Cascines very pleasant of evenings. Ly. Elizabeth wishes Mr. Pelham to escort her and the Duchess home. I think it is a bad thing for him, as he imputes his late long illness entirely to the worry he suffered from both of them in conducting them from Lausanne to Florence. I shall advise him to refuse, and persuade him to go quietly with Swinburne, who will consult his whims, and he, of course, not be impelled to consult the whimseys of two capricious ladies.
22nd.—Staid at home the whole morning to write. Dined at Ld. Hervey’s. D’Armfeldt and Prince Augustus at dinner there. The latter is in a fidget to get to England, as Ly. Augusta is gone, and scandal says is with child. Went in the evening to Mme. d’Albany.[60] She is a Princess Stolberg, widow of the late Pretender; she lives in a state of dubious intimacy with Alfieri, the great Sophocles of Italy. She is lively and good-humoured. She told us some curious anecdotes about Gaston,[61] the head of the Royalist party. She is anxious for the restoration of the King, as she has lost immensely, indeed all that she possesses; yet she does not fall into the violent strain of invective she might be allowed to feel.
Sunday, 23rd.—I went to the Annunziata to see the fresco upon the cloister walls by Andrea del Sarto, ‘Madonna del Sacco,’ a fine picture, well grouped and coloured. In the evening Mr. Pelham set off with Swinburne for Genoa to Turin. Notwithstanding Lord Hervey’s enmity towards Manfredini,[62] I availed myself of my letters to him, and the ceremony of a formal introduction to the Grand Duchess was waived; in consequence of which, as there was a chariot race at which their Royal Highnesses were present,[63] I went into their splendid box and was graciously received. The Grand Duchess is an unfortunate little being, both in figure and understanding; she is crooked, lame, and unhealthy. Being designed for a cloister, her education was neglected. Her extreme ugliness made her hateful to her mother, the Queen of Naples, but upon the death of an elder sister who was destined to be Empress the next succeeded to that rank, and this little wretch took her intended place of Grand Duchess. When Leopold, seeing how frightful she was, offered to send her back, the Grand Duke refused, saying he could not mortify her so much. Her good nature has conquered his disgust; her being with child has probably helped. He rarely visits her apartment; but Manfredini compels him. The Grand Duke is reserved and cold, his manner not near so good as his brother the Emperor. The chariot race is a stupid sport; the form of the cars is antique.
GRAND DUCHESS OF TUSCANY