... like the moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening, from the top of Fesolè.[135]
Milton describes Tuscany often, and seems to feel a proper love for it. They told me at Vallombrosa of his having resided several months within their monastery, and of his having written Italian sonnets—bad enough they were, the critics say.
Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades
High over-arched embow’r ...
Early in November Lords Wycombe and Holland returned from Rome. The latter gave us a great ball on the 21st November (1794), the day he came of age. Ld. Carmarthen and a few other English added novelty to our parties. The Gallery afforded me a constant source of delight, the Tribune, &c. About Christmas Sir G. W. returned from Milan. The masquerading at the Carnival diverted me. In March, Ld. H., on my birthday, wrote the following lines. ‘To a lady at Florence, on her birthday, 1795.’[136]
I went to Vallombrosa alone to pass a day or two. I meant to live in solitude. I lodged at the hospice of the Convent, a building made for the accommodation of travellers, and used as a residence for the sick monks during the rigour of the winter, but the overstrained politeness of the Padre Abate defeated my projects of quiet. He no sooner heard of my arrival than he came from the sequestered cloister, and brought with him six or seven of the Fraternity to keep me company; thus I never had a moment to myself, and was fairly compelled to go to bed at seven o’clock to escape from their civilities.
The French have taken possession of Holland this winter, and compelled the Stadtholder to fly to England with his family.[137] The terror of the Republican arms spreads everywhere.