Jacques Augustin
Galiffe, the Swiss historian of Geneva who used genealogical
records in his study, usually writing in French, published a
travel account of Italy, while in exile in London, which he
wrote in English. I give here an excerpt from the two volume
book, Italy and its Inhabitants, An Account of a Tour
in that Country in 1816 and 1817, where he wrote on
Florence, the city in which he would come to live with his wife
and daughter, and where he would die, being buried with them in
Florence's 'English' Cemetery, a cemetery which is still owned
by the Swiss from the acquisition of its land in 1827 from the
Grand Duke of Tuscany. Galiffe's subtitle reads 'Containing a
View of Characters, Manners, Customs, Governments,
Antiquities, Literature, Dialects, Theatres, and the Fine
Arts, with some Remarks on the Origin of Rome and of the Latin
Language'. Chapters XXV and XXVI are found on
pages374-413. The two volumes were published by John Murray in
1820.
We
thought that three tomb bases from which the marble slabs have
long gone in Sector A, atA57-59
(Lastra. Marmista
ignoto. Sec. XIX, post 12/1853. Ambito toscano. Basamento
privo della lastra. [P.s.: A: 12; L: 82; P: 160.])
were for three members of the Galiffe family, but other clues
suggest they were buried instead in Sector D, at D47, which are tombs that we had thought were
for the Pellew husband and wife.Pastor
Luigi Santini wrote concerning Jacques Galiffe, that this 'Genevan historian and genealogist [in
the style of Sismondi, his contemporary], lived and
engaged in trade for a time in Holland, Germany and
Russia, but returned to Geneva during the Napoleonic
period to share in the troubles of his city. Turning to
history he was in a sense the first Genevan historian to
make use of documentary and archival sources with
scientific intent. The results of his historic research,
however, stripped of artifice and adulation, made him
the centre of such controversy and hostility that in the
end he preferred to emigrate to Florence. Italy owes to
him the first systematic study of the Italian religious
exiles of the sixteenth century. His daughter Sophie
(1825-1841) and his second wife, Amélie Franço Pictet
(1790-1872), daughter of the Charles Pictet who was the
Swiss delegate at the Congress of Vienna, are also
buried in the cemetery'. On
the Web we find, in English, the following account: 'Jaques
(James) Augustin Galiffe, (son of Barthelemy Galiffe and Marie
Naville, and brother of Colonel Jean-Pierre, No XII as above)
born on 7th April 1776 godson of Jacques Rilliet-Plantamour
and of Augustin de Candolle - historian and genealogist. His
studies for the magistracy or diplomacy were unfortunately
brought to an end by the Revolution which ruined his family
and compelled him to emigrate. He then adopted the commercial
profession for which he had no vocation, but it was the only
one in which he could hope to acquire independent means, by
his aptitude for work, and his remarkable gift for languages.
Besides Latin and Greek of which he was a master and English
which he spoke and wrote as his mother tongue, he knew German,
Dutch, Russian, Spanish and Italian, and was conversant with
most of the popular dialects of the latter. This enabled him
to obtain very important posts in the best banking houses of
London, Holland, Germany and Russia, but these occupations did
not prevent him from continuing his favourite studies,
literature, languages and specially history which his frequent
travels gave him opportunities of studying in the principal
libraries and archives of Europe. Deeply attached to his
native land, he remained zealous for what was called "the good
cause", the triumph of which could alone restore the
independence of Geneva. When therefore Lord Carlisle, in 1798
introduced in Parliament a motion to help the Swiss against
the French, Galiffe volunteered to undertake the dangerous
task of intermediary. He was then in frequent communication
with the principal members of Parliament, the Duke of
Portland, Lord Fitzwilliam, Lord Grenville and the famous
Pitt, whose support had to be obtained. Finding that
negotiations were dragging he did not hesitate to sacrifice
his excellent position in London to proceed with a few friends
firmly determined to accomplish their object in the best way
that circumstances would permit. Adverse news from the theatre
of the war stopped him on the way, and he enlisted as a
Volunteer in a Militia Corps which was raised in England when
a French invasion was expected. - After several years spent in
Holland, at Gottingen, Hamburg and Berlin, he entered in 1805
the firm of Baron de Rall, banker of the Imperial Court at St.
Petersburg. - M. de Speransky who was then Prime Minister made
him tempting offers to enter the Russian Civil Service, but
the fear of sacrificing his independence led him to refuse
them, as also a proposal to take the direction of a Russian
National Bank which was then being discussed. It was
during that period of his life that he kept a very interesting
correspondence with Mme de Staël. On receipt
of the news that the independence of Geneva was seriously
threatened by the return of Napoleon, Galiffe gave up his
splendid prospects in Russia to return and enlist as a private
in the Geneva contingent, in which he served throughout the
campaign of Franche-Comte, first as Staff-secretary and
afterwards as an Officer. After the death of his parents, he
went to Italy in 1816, and related his travels in his first
book, "Italy and its inhabitants" published (in English) in
London, which the reviews of the time described as one of the
best of its kind. In 1820, the brothers Brougham, appointed to
defend Queen Carolina, called him twice to Milan, where his
indispensable assistance was required by them in the
preparation of that famous trial. Having returned to Geneva
where he married and resided till 1841, he set himself to
study the history of his country, and worked at it until his
death. Appointed to the "Commission des Archives" he undertook
by himself, and gratuitously, to sort and classify thousands
of documents which had been completely neglected since the
Revolution, and which during the foreign occupation had been
left in a state of chaos and filth. For over twenty years he
persevered in this fatiguing work with a zeal which undermined
his health, but neither his illness, nor his infirmities nor
even the difficulties placed in his way by the ignorance and
contempt of those who should have helped him, could stop him
in his self-imposed task. Not only did he reconstitute the
Archives of Geneva and save them from certain destruction, but
he searched for every item of information necessary to control
and complete them, not only in the archives of neighbouring
towns but all over Switzerland, in the registers of parishes
and castles in Savoy, in the Pays de Gex, at Lyons, Dijon,
Paris, Chambery, Turin, Lucca and Florence. From 1829 to 1831
he published successively as first result of his work, two
volumes of "Materials for the History of Geneva" and 2 volumes
of "Genealogical Notices on Genevese families" (the third
appeared in 1835). This at once established his reputation as
an historian of Geneva, but only the experts can realise the
labour which these books represent. The "Letters on the
Middle-Ages", addressed in 1838 to the famous historian
Schlosser, are the last historical work which he gave to the
public. Schlosser declared in his "Heidelberger Yahrbucher
1839" that it was the best and most learned essay he had read,
as regards knowledge and criticism of the subject. The
"Letters written from Paris" had been addressed by Galiffe in
1827 to his intimate friend, Lord Brougham, Chancellor of
England. They were published in 1830 at the request of several
persons to whom they had been communicated and who had been
struck by the wonderful foresight with which the author had
anticipated the events and solution of the political situation
in France. Although he filled no public functions in Geneva,
except that of Municipal Councillor for the commune of
Satigny, he took an active part in all political and religious
discussions. Full of sympathy with the principles of
Aristocracy yet he condemned them when they were opposed to
progress, of which he was a sincere partisan and consequently
he sometimes felt himself awkwardly situated at a time when
compromise was considered as a doctrine in the political
system. Sincere and convinced protestant, although a declared
enemy of the Calvinist dogma and system, he was a zealous
champion of the liberty of creed, and in 1835 he vehemently
opposed the celebration of the Jubilee of the Reformation,
which he considered a blunder likely to cause discord between
the citizens of the two religions. (Lettres a un pasteur du
Canton, 1835) The general public is only acquainted with
a portion of Galiffe's works, as the major portion is still
unpublished. Besides his writings on all branches of the
history of Geneva, he left a large number of sketches, notes,
extracts, historical, literary and artistic criticisms,
studies on languages, a very learned genealogical notice on
the principal houses of the princes and counts of Southern and
Central Europe, shedding considerable light on the most
obscure period of the Middle-Ages, and lastly a voluminous
correspondence. The latter part of his literary legacy
is not the least interesting item, as he was in constant
communication with the celebrities of many countries. To those
already named, Mme de Staël and Lord Brougham, (Lord
Chancellor of England and one of his intimate friends) must be
added, Mr Backhouse, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and Lord
Grosvenor, afterwards Marquis of Westminster. Among
politicians and statesmen may be named Lord Fitzwilliam,
Viceroy of Ireland, Lord Carlisle, Lord Palmerston, William
Russell, Capo d'Istria, Marquis Luchesini, Ambassador to
Prussia, Count Rossi, Baron Stein, Wickham, British Minister
with the Army of Princes, M.de Speransky, Prime Minister of
Russia, and Count J de Maistre - among historians, Messrs de
Barante, Thierry, Mignet, Michelet, Sismondi, Schlosser,
Karamzine, Viasemsky, and in Switzerland, de Mulinen, de
Grenus, d'Estavayer, de Gingins, de Charriere - among
professors, Fellenberg and Bonstetten - among women-authors,
Lady Charlotte Bury, Mme de Montolieu, Miss Edgeworth, Mme
Necker de Saussure - among musicians, Dusseck, C M de Weber,
Steibelt, Field and Abbe Litz who owed him his first letters
of recommendation - the poet C Didier whom he was the first to
encourage, the famous naturalist Agassiz whom he assisted
pecuniarily in the prosecution of his studies, etc., etc. - As
historian of Geneva, Galiffe is certainly the pioneer of the
modern school of History. His publications, drawn direct from
authentic documents shocked many people by the discredit which
they seemed to throw on the conventional ideas of the old
school, which the dominating party of the time considered as a
sort of Palladium. Tired at least of the worries caused by his
keen polemics, he preferred to go and settle with his family
in Tuscany, without waiting for the political reaction which
he had foreseen, and died at Florence 15th December
1853. (See "Notice on the life and works of J A Galiffe"
- D'un siecle a l'autre Journal de Geneve 31st
December 1853 - Memoires de la Societe d'histoire et
d'archeologie 1854 - Les etudes genealogiques a
Geneve, by Professor Ritter - Histoire de Geneve,
by Gaullieur.) Married 1st, 20th October 1817, Elizabeth
Philippine only daughter of No: Jean Antoine de Claparede,
President of the Civil Tribunal, and of
Alexandrine-Jeanne-Antoinette Dunant died 18th April 1825.
2nd: 26th May 1827, 2nd, Amelie Francoise, daughter of No:
Charles Pictet, Honorary Councillor, plenipotentiary Minister
of the Swiss Confederation at the Congress of Vienna, Paris
and Turin, and of Sara de Rochemont, died at Florence 14th
August 1872. He had by the first: (1) Jean-Barthelemy, who
follows: (2) Sophie Anne Marie Catherine, born 16th April 1825
god-daughter of Prince Pierre Andreiowitch Viasemsky, died at
Florence 14th November 1841. She showed remarkable
dispositions for literature and music. Jean (John) Barthelemy
Gaifre Galiffe, born at Geneva 31st July 1818, godson of John
Thellusson, Lord Rendlesham, of John Backhouse, Minister of
Foreign Affairs London, and of Mme Thellusson-Ployard.
Tabernacolo. Sec. XIX,
post 9/1849. Ambito toscano.
Tabernacolo in marmo scolpito con elementi gotichi,
recinto
in pietra serena.Possibile
intervento di consolidamento e pulitura.[M: A: 254; L: 64; P: 25; RM:
2.5; L: 286; P: 186; RPs: A: 77; L: 300; P: 227.]( Eglise Evangelique-Reformèe de
Florence Règistre des Morts: Jacques Augustin
Galiffe, Genève, Confederation Suisse, Rentier/ I:
1852-1859 'Registre des Sepultures avec detail des
frais, Paoli 362/ Q 98: 300 Paoli/ Registro alfabetico delle persone tumulate nel
Cimitero di Pinti: Galiffe/ Giacomo A./ / Svizzera/
Firenze/ 15 Dicembre/ 1853/ Anni 77/ 523.Chiesa Evangelica Riformata Svizzera, 1827-present.
D27N/ D47B/ 228/
SOPHIE ANNE MARIE CATHERINE GALIFFE/ SVIZZERA/
Sophie Anne Marie
Catherine, born 16th April 1825, daughter to Jacques Augustine
Galiffe, god-daughter of Prince Pierre Andreiowitch Viasemsky,
died at Florence 14th November 1841. She showed remarkable
dispositions for literature and music. Her brother, Jean
(John) Barthelemy Gaifre Galiffe, - who is not buried here -
was 'Educated at the Fellenberg Institute, Hofwyl; Doctor of
Law of the University of Heidelberg 1842, Mayor of the Commune
of Satigny 1853-1858. Deputy to the Grand Conseil
(Legislative Council) 1854, professor of National history at
the Academy of Geneva 1861-65, Consul 1866, and afterwards
Consul-General for Denmark with the Swiss Confederation 1883 -
represented that power at the 2nd Congress of the Red-Cross at
Geneva 1868, and at the Congress of the Universal Postal Union
at Berne 1875. - Member (active, honorary or corresponding) of
nearly all the historical or archaeological societies of
Switzerland, of the National Geneva Institute, of the Royal
Committee of National History of Italy, of the Academy of
Savoy, and of the Archaeological Society of the Rhenish
Provinces, etc., etc., Knight of the Danish order of Danebrog,
and of the Italian order of St. Maurice et Lazare. Died
25th February 1890 - Following his father's footsteps he
devoted the greater part of his life to studies of history,
archaeology, genealogy and heraldry, in which his native
country held the foremost part. Expert as learned as he
was exact and conscientious, he left a series of solid works
the value of which is as much appreciated abroad as it is in
Geneva, and he is justly entitled to be considered as one of
the first, and possibly the best known of Geneva's National
Historians.
N°
135 Sophie Galiffe
Claparede, fille de Jacques Galiffe de Genève, âgé
de
16
½
ans,
morte
à
Florence
le
14 9bre, 1841, a été enseveli le 16
du
même
mois
dans
le
cimetière
del'Eglise
évangelique
de
Florence
Mse Droin Pr~ Registro alfabetico
delle persone tumulate nel Cimitero di Pinti: Galiffe
[Claparede]/ Sofia/ Svizzera/ Firenze/ 14 Novembre/ 1841/
Anni 16/ 228.Chiesa
Evangelica Riformata Svizzera, 1827-present.
D27N/ D47C/ 1178
AMALIE PICTET GALIFFE/ SVIZZERA/
Amelie Francoise,
daughter of No: Charles Pictet, Honorary Councillor,
plenipotentiary Minister of the Swiss Confederation at the
Congress of Vienna, Paris and Turin, and of Sara de Rochemont,
wife, then widow, to Jacques Augustin Galiff, died at Florence
14th August 1872. She had a long widowhood, but also the
consolation of her husband's and her father's fame. Their
tombs were seemingly lost, but the records indicate that
Amalie Pictet Galiffe was buried in Sector C, which
corresponds to the modern Sectors C and D, while the number
1178 is chiseled to the left side of D47.
Admiral Pellew's wife's tomb was relocated to be beside him in
Sector A, A111-112.
Eglise Evangelique-Reforméée
de Florence Régistre des Morts: Amalie Galiffe, fille
de Charles Pictet/ IV:
1871-1875 'Registre des Sepultures' avec detail des
frais, Francs 307, C/
Registro alfabetico delle
persone tumulate nel Cimitero di Pinti: Galiffe nata
Pictet/ Amalia/ Carlo/ Svizzera/ Firenze/ 14 Agosto/ 1872/
Anni 82/ 1178.Chiesa
Evangelica Riformata Svizzera, 1827-present.
CHAPTER XXV
Florence—Madame
Imbert's Inn—Population,
Architecture, Streets, &c.—Music; La Bardichiera—Paternal Government of the Grand Duke—Florentine Women-Monuments in the Church of Santa
Croce—Macchiavelli—Michael Angelo—Chapel of the Medici—Church of San Lorenzo—Religious Deportment of the Florentines—Gallery of Pictures and Statues—Artemisa Lami, of Pisa—Venus de' Medici—Niobe—Pictures
in the Palazzo Pitti.
E arrived at Florence
about nine o'clock on Saturday, July 12th, and alighted at
sort of boarding-house, rather than inn, which had been
recommended to my travelling companion. Its situation was very
agreeable, being quite centrical, near the piazza. the
post-office, and the river Arno. It was kept by a very neat
little French woman, Madame Imbert, whose charges were
extremely moderate, being two paoli for a room, and
five paoli for the dinner, which was simple but good.
The servants who were few in number, were the most attentive
creatures in the world. One of them was the landlady's own
brother, whom she had taken from the plough; and he was in the
habit of pleading his late situation asan excuse for his
awkwardness in his present employment. I cannot express how
much this simplicity of manners pleased me. The cook was a
plain Savoyard, two of the waiters were Florentines, as well
as the wife of one of them, who served as porter. Never did I
see so many excellent plain-dealing, serviceable,
disinterested creatures collected together in one family—The woman whom I have mentioned as performing the
functions of door-keeper to the house, was supernumerary and
received no wages; and I never saw any one so happy and
thankful as she appeared, for a trifle that I gave her one
night when she had run about to several places, after eleven
o'clock, to try to get me a supper. The next morning when I
went down stairs, she was waiting for me with her little babe,
for whom she was preparing some piece of dress; and she
presented the child to me, holding the garment in his little
hands, as if to show me that whatever she gained was applied
to his comfort. Her radiant countenance gave me more pleasure
than any human face that I had seen for several months.
Florence, seen at a distance, does not appear to be more than
twice the size of Geneva, though it must be at least four
times as large, judging from its population of seventy-five
thousand inhabitants, which is not nearly so crowded as ours.
The town looks even thinly peopled, to those who come from
Naples and Rome, but it is very fine. There is in its
buildings a solidity, and an abundance of rich materials,
which immediately convey the idea, not of luxurious elegance,
but of proud magnificence, disdaining every thing that is not
durable; there are so many noble palaces, but there is nothing
aérial or ornamental in their architecture. The streets
are paved with flat stones of all sorts of shape and size,
appearing like Cyclopean walls fastened to the ground. The
communications between them are not sufficiently numerous; one
is frequently obliged to go to the furthest end of a very long
street, to find the way into the parallel ones, which is very
inconvenient. The lamps at night are rather disagreeable than
useful, on account of their reverberatory plates, which blind
the passengers more than they light them. The river Arno,
which crosses the town in its whole breadth, was exceedingly
low at this time, dogs and goats wading over it in several
places. In rainy weather the river is perfectly yellow; it
becomes greenish after a few days of fair weather, but is
never quite transparent.
The Piazza del Gran Duca, near which I lodged, is a
grand and noble square, but I was treated every night with a
serenade which I little expected to hear in the midst of a
large town. The performers were the frogs in the fountain, and
the bats and the owls in the tower; and the concert which they
formed was exceedingly annoying, until from habit the sounds
ceased to attract my attention.
But there were other serenades, particularly on Saturday
nights, which I liked much better; you meet them in almost
every street, with a long train of hearers who form a circle
round the performers whenever they stop. The performances are
seldom very good, but often pleasing, and never very bad.They
are moreover always of an extremely cheerful cast; for the
Florentines sing the most tragical histories to lively tunes.
There was a ballad in vogue at the time, called la Bordichiera,
which pleased them so much and so universally, that I heard it
repeated everywhere, the whole day, and part of the night,
during upwards of a fortnight that I remained in the city. It
was called "The true story of an atrocious and horrid
event, which took place in the Cordichiera;" and the
bard began by imploring the assistance of "GOD IN HEAVEN to grant him strength and vigour for the narration."
This beginning, for a ballad, must scandalize a Protestant,
but the Roman Catholicks seem unconscious of the impropriety
of such invocations on such occasions. The bard proceeds to
state, that "a certain John" fell in love with a girl of his
village, who swore fidelity, but proved untrue; that she gave
him a very unceremonious congé; upon which the lover
stabbed her, and the next day stabbed himself over her corpse!
All this might well have been told in three or four stanzas,
for they are each pretty long ones; but nobody sang the first
without going scupulously through the other fourteen at a
breath. The words are burlesque, from their exaggerated sentimentality,
and from the incongruous pomp of the expressions. The tune is
by no means a melancholy one, and nobody would guess that it
was intended to give expression to a tragical story.
It is no very entertaining thing to hear the same eternal song
of fifteen stanzas repeated more than two hundred times in the
space of a fortnight, particularly when the tune itself is
rather tiresome; but I was so glad to hear singing by good
voices always in tune, and frequently in parts, that I
patiently endured the taedium of repetition. Besides,
it is evident that the Florentines sing for their own
pleasure; and nothing can be more delightful than to see
people pleased, after having long been deprived of that
satisfaction. I never shall forget what I felt, on hearing a
poor man exclaim, "he should be sorry to die that year, he
was so happy!" This short phrase would have been
sufficient to make me love Florence, and bless the Sovereign
under whose administration it was uttered. Indeed, the general
appearance of the inhabitants, both of the town and the
country around, must give the most favourable opinion of the
Grand Duke's character and liberality, to every important
observer,—that is, to every man
who is not predetermined to find fault with him, because
he is an Austrian, or a Prince of the House of Lorraine. He
carried economy to a great length; his equipages are shabby,
and his liveries quite plain; the young princesses are
exceedingly simple in their attire, and every sort of
unnecessary expense at Court seems to have been rightly
curtailed. But let us beware how we think meanly of a
sovereign, who respects his engagements and the property of
his people, more than the admiration of fools and the stupid
prejudices of pretended great men. A dazzling ostentation of
magnificence might be politick in those old-fashioned times
when subjects looked up to their sovereigns as to beings of a
superior nature; but the present generation, who have seen a
Bourbon's head brought to the block, and a whole litter of
Buonapartes wearing crowns, are grown too wise to adopt the
antiquated creed of their forefathers. Some eastern nation may
still fancy its sovereign a demi-god; but an European prince
must be strangely infatuated to suppose that European subjects
can now be kept in awe by the mere éclat which
surrounds him. The Emperor of Russia, who goes on foot and
unattended through his capital, joins private ladies and
gentlemen in his walks, converses with them in the most
affable manner, plays with their children, and banishes all
ceremony from the places which he frequents,
is more sincerely respected as well as more warmly beloved,
that those of his brethren who never move out of doors without
a body-guard, who never look at a person who has not had the
honours of presentation, nor speak to one whose titles have
not been verified by the Lord Marshal. The former keeps pace
with the age in its progress; the latter loiters centuries
behind it.
My stay in Florence was much too short to enable me to judge
of the Grand Duke's wisdom in other respects; but the absence
of idle pomp in his Court, and the presence of cheerfulness
among his subjects, are unquestionable proofs of a fatherly
administration.
The women are not so strikingly handsome as in the north of
Lombardy; but I think they are, on the whole, the prettiest I
ever saw; there is a mixture of acuteness and good nature, in
their countenance which is quite delightful; their eyes are
peculiarly soft and lively; and their smile uncommonly
graceful.
There is a beautiful promenade at the west end of the
town, for carriages and walkers; it is much frequented by the
Florentine nobility, and by all foreigners; as well as by the
Court, which, at that time was uncommonly numerous,—the Archduchess Maria Louisa and the Princess of
Salerno, having come to take leave of their sister previous to
her departure for Brazil.
I shall omit the names and descriptions of the gardens and
palaces; they have been so frequently and often so well
described, that my notice of them could not be considered in
any other light than as a tedious repetition. But I cannot
bring myself to pass by unnoticed some of the works of art,
notwithstanding that they have been still more frequently and
more minutely described.
The Church of Santa Croce is very fine; but it is much
to be regretted that the ceiling is only made of timber. The
monuments which it contains are not very remarkable for the
beauty of their execution, though there is one by Canova,
erected to the honour of Alfieri, at the expense of
his friend, the Countess Stolberg, which I was told cost
eighteen thousand dollars, but there is not the least spark of
genius in its design. It represents Italy as weeping at the
poet's tomb,—and that is all—the figure is that of a handsome woman, but destitute
of elevation or dignity. Macchiavelli's monument is simple and good, but
the inscription is bombastic and absurd. He was a very clever
man: and wrote many good and some bad things. He has been too
much praised, and too much blamed. His works can do but little
good, except to sharpen the wit of very sober readers, but
they cannot do all the mischief that is generally ascribed to
them—chiefly by persons who
never read them. On the whole, he might be called a very
eminent writer, but he might not to have been exalted above
all mankind, as he is in his epitaph. Michael Angelo's monument is superior to the others in
the conception: Painting, Sculpture and Architecture are
represented as mourning his loss; but the execution is
inferior to what one might have expected from his own
scholars.
The finest thing in this church is a magnificent picture by Bronzino,
presenting Jesus receiving Abraham's family into Heaven. All
the figures are portraits, and that of the Patriarch is not so
noble and so grand as one could wish, but they are all
uncommonly well painted: the female figures are strikingly
beautiful: and there is a most lovely child. The only defect I
could observe is that, our Saviour is represented as too
stout; the thigh, in particular, is too short and quite fat.
With that exception the picture is one of the noblest
productions of this sublime art.
The Chapel de' Medici is one of the most extravagant
undertakings ever conceived. It had already cost seventeen
millions of dollars, when the work was put a stop to about
eighty years ago!—and
as it would cost even a larger sum to finish it, it is likely
to remain in its present state. The Medici, who had
enriched their country by their prodigious trade, might be
excused for indulging in a whim of this sort, and for sending
abroad a great part of the riches which they had brought home;
but the imitation of them would be worse than madness in their
Austrian successors. This chapel is an octagon, and contains
six magnificent sarcophagi of Egyptian and white oriental
granite, adorned with superb pilastres of Barga-jasper, with
capitals and bases of brass, which was intended to have been
gilt. Over the whole, is a cornice of Elba granite, with a
frieze of Flemish touchstone. These tombs are in honour of
Cosimo I, II, and III, Ferdinand I, and II, and Francis. Poor
John Gaston having found all the places occupied, was to have
had a station assigned to him in the choir, which had hardly
been begun. The chapel also contains brazen statues of
Ferdinand I, who was the founder of the edifice, and of Cosimo
II,; the latter is the workd of the famous Giovanni di
Bologna, but is very unworthy of his fame. Around the
chapel on the faces of the several pedestals, are the arms of
the Tuscan Episcopal cities, inlaid with precious stones,
mother-of-pearl, lapis lazuli, &c.
This chapel adjoins the Church of San Lorenzo, whose
martyrdom is there represented in a large picture by Bronzino,
no less remarkable for its faults than its beauties, and much
inferior to that which I noticed above, in the church of Santa
Croce. San Lorenzo contains besides some statues by Michael
Angelo, most of which have been left unfinished. Those
which represent females are really disagreeable and in some
respects hideous forms. But the statue of Julian/Lorenzo
de' Medici, with his head resting on his hand, in the
attitude of deep thought, is very fine. The vestry, where all
these statues lie, was built by Michael Angelo, and is
worthy of the architect; though the cupola semmed to me rather
too lofty for its diameter. The church itself is very fine,
but not large. I must here observe, that almost all the
churches of Florence are only finished inside; the exterior
remains in its rough state, like that of Santa Justina at
Padua, to the great diminution of the beauty of the city.
There were men at work in the Duomo, or Cathedral, but
only within, and it is not likely to be finished for a long
time to come.
A circumstance which pleased me very much in my visits to the
churches of Florence, was the pious demeanour of the
congregations. They do not appear to come to church for the
mere purpose of making a display of their devotion,—as at Rome and elsewhere; but it is evident that they
really come to pray, and that they pray from the heart. I saw
many young men, from twenty to thirty years of age,
frequenting the places of worship with the most devout
deportment; thus affording a very remarkable contrast to the
manners of the same class in other parts of Italy.
The celebrated gallery of pictures and ancient statutes is
less surprising on a first view than the collection at the
Vatican; but it is, in my judgment, more interesting, and
affords a larger fund of enjoyment. Niobe and her Children
are not inferior to the goup of the Laocoon,—nor Venus to Apollo; and there are
many other masterpieces, which must be ranked above the other
statues at Rome. The Dying Son of Niobe is much finer
than the Meleager; the Apollino, the Wrestlers,
the Grinder, the Faun, are all perfect. There
is an enchanting Mercury, and an exquisite bust of Antinous.
There are also several delightufl Cupids. As to the
pictures, the collection is too numerous, bor it contains
several bad ones; but there perhaps more good ones—more that belong to the higher class of art—than are to be found in the Vatican; though none
perhaps that can be placed on a level with Raphael's
Transfiguration, or Domenichino's St Jerome. The
gallery is open till three or four o'clock, and the saloons
till two or half-past: the custodi are extremely civil
and obliging, whether you pay them or not; the rule indeed
forbids them to accept anything, but it is frequently
infringed.
I cannot help expressing the horror with which I was struck,
on learning the name of the painter who has represented Judith
in the act of cutting off Holofernes'shead.
The truth of its details is quite horrible; the head is almost
entirely separated from the neck, and the blood seems to gush
out with the violence of a torrent; and this was the work of a
woman!—of Artemisia Lami of
Pisa, whose name I write with feelings of disgust and
execration. I hope to God she is the only one of her sex, who
could for an instant endure the idea of representing such a
scene! A woman capable of indulging such ferocious conceptions
must be capable of every crime,—and instantly reminds one of the adulteress and
infanticide mentioned by Juvenal;-
Tunc duos una, saevissima vipera, coena?
Tunc duos?-Septem, si septem forte fuissent-
The Venus de' Medici is so well known, that I shall
say very little respecting her, except that no man who has
once seen the statue can for an instant think of putting
Canova's Venus in competition with it. The latter, which is
now kept in the Palazzo Pitti, is exceedingly pretty;
but she is not divine, she is not even noble. She is, however,
much more beautiful than any other work of Canova's that I
have seen (except perhaps.that that is in quite another style—his Reposing Lion, in St Peter's Church at
Rome,) but she has some very glaring defects. Her legs are
deficient in delicacy; her waist is not so slender nor her
hips so full as perfect beauty would require; but, above all,
the outline on the right side, descending from the girdle to
the knee, is strikingly incorrect. The antique Venus, in
Pierantoni's study at Rome, is, in my opinion, infinitely
preferable, particularly with respect to the body and limbs.
The face of Canova's Venus is, however, quite delightful; her
head-dress extremely elegant; and her attitude charming,
though wanting in dignity and self-possession.—that artist seemign not to have been aware that the
modesty of Venus ought to be expressed very differently from
that of a mortal, or a nymph. The drapery is likewise very
good, though it might have produced s better effect, if it had
been represented of a finer texture. In short, Canova's Vensus
is an exceedingly pretty girl, but the Venus de' Medici is the
handsomest of goddesses.
I like the plan of approrpiating one whole room, exclusively,
to that collection of statues supposed to represent the Family
of Niobe. It is indeed essential to the perfect
enjoyment of works of art, that the mind should be directed to
the contemplation of a single story at a time, undisturbed by
the intrusion of incongruous images. The statues which compose
this group are evidently not all by the same hand; two of them
in particular are bad copies of others; but that of the
youngest son can bear no sort of comparison with the rest. The
daughter on the left is divinely beautiful, and of admirable
workmanshio. The dying son is perfection itself; it is
impossible to resist the deeply melancholly feeling which he
inspires. One of the finest peices in the present group is an
interloper—a Psyche, whose attitude
pointed her out as a fit representaive of one of the statues
which had been lost. Her face is not so handsome as that of
the other children, and there is no sort of resemblance to
them in the features; but it is in itself one of the noblest
monuments of ancient sculpture. There is much inequality in
the draperies throughout the group, some of them being
admirable, and others of very indifferent execution. Mr.
Cockerell's system, with respect to the group, is very
ingeniours, but I doubt whether it be founded in truth. Some
of the highest and most difficult beauties of the workmanship
would have been completely lost in the pediment of a lofty
temple; and there are deficiencies in other points which one
may be confident would not have been neglected, if the figures
had been calculated for being placed at a great elevation and
seen only from below.
I may possibly be called a barbarian for dissenting from the
general opinion as to the transcendent merit of the principal
figure,—that of Niobe.
Her beauty is indeed of a sublime character, but the
expression of grief and anguish is not sufficiently marked.
The general observation is, that her grief is that of a
goddess; and people rest satisfied with this answer, which I
own is far from satisfying me. Niobe was not a goddess, she
was a woman, and a mother, and her whole
history turns on these two points only. Her mouth expresses
rather indifference than any specifick emotion, and her
forehead and eye-brows are not sufficiently indicative of her
feelings. In this respect the artist has taken a very
different view of his task, and I think a less just one, than
the sculptor who gave such a sublime degree of agony to
Laocoon. I shall say no more of their extraordinary Gallery,
which is above all praise: but I cannot rest satisfied with
silent admiration of the collection of paintings in the Palazzo
Pitti. I cannot even think of it without a feeling of
enthusiasm; and I never form the plan of another journey to
Italy, in which it does not hold a conspicuous rank amongst
the principal objects of hope and delight. But of all the
wonderful productions of human genius which it contains, there
is none that I remember with such lively feelings of complete,
unqualified satisfaction as the Dispute on the Law, by
Andrea del Sarto. I can undnrstand why a preference is
given to Raphael's celebrated Madonna del Seggio; but
I do not compare the two pictures. Raphael's School of
Athens is the only picture which could with justice be
compared to this glorious masterpiece of Del Sarto, the
execution of which is almost unrivalled as its composition.
there are several other pictures by Raphael, one of which, a Holy
Family or Bethrothing of our Saviour, I should
prefer to the Madonna del Seggio, on account of its
superior composition, though it be inferior to it in finish.
No man can have an adequate idea of the wonderful talents of Titian,
who has not seen the admirable pictures with which he had
adorned the Palazzo Pitti. Giorgione, Rubens, Fra
Bartolomeo, Salvator Roa, Bronzino, Carlo Dolce, Curradi,
Caravaggio, Schidone, Carlo Loth, the two Allori, Pietro di
Cortona, Paolo Santi di Tito, Van Dyk, &c, &c.,
seem to have lavished their best and most beautiful works, on
this gallery. Of Guercino, Correggio, Albano, there is
nothing in this sublime collection but comparative trash. Guido
Reni has an unfinished Cleopatra, of
extraordinary merit.
The apartments of the Palazzo Pitti are grand
and noble, without any symptom of extravagance, and the
attendants are remarkably civil.
The external façade of the palace fronting the street is
handsome, though the masonry is defective, but the
garden-front is completely spoiled by several unintelligible
caprices of architecture. The Garden of Boboli, which
is behind, is entirely laid out in the bad old Italian style;
of long and broad avenues; but it commands a most beautiful
prospect.
CHAPTER XXVI
Florence—Climate—Fruits—Personal
Character of the Florentines—Dialect:Anecdote—Theatres of Goldoni and La Pergola—Disport of the Dancer—Romeo and Juliet—Annual Burning of the Flies on the Arno—Church of San Marco—Hall of San Giovanni—Ricci the Sculptor—Florence an Agreeable Place of Residence—Florentine Money—The Medici—Digressin on the Flattery as undeservedly
bestowed on Louis XIV.
F I were
to judge of the climate of Florence by my own short experience
of it, I should say that it was extremely mild. The days were
indeed hot, though never above 22 or 24 degrees of Reaumur;
and the nights sometimes even cold. A breeze is almost
ocnstantly blowing from some quarter or other; and the
mountains which encircle this small plain preseve it from
excessive heat. The fruits seemed to me better at Florence
than at Naples; the melons (poponi) are remarkably
good, the cherries (ciliege) exceedingly fine, but hard
of digestion; the figs very large and excellent, though not
superior to those which grow at Geneva. There are no oranges
but what are imported at Leghorn and brought from thence to
this market; they were at this time both dear and bad, the
season for them being almost over.
The Florentines are in many respects totally different from
other Italians- They are more vain than any of their
neighbours, and are ostentatious even in trifles. (The reader
will remember that, when I speak of the national character, my
observations are always made on the lower classes of wealthy
citizens, or on the upper classes of tradesmen,) The young men
are conceited of their persons, and one hardly sees one of
them pass before a looking-glass without stopping to admire
himself, or to adjust some part of his dress. Even in the
bathing-houses I do not think I ever saw one who did not fold
his towel round his head either before or after the bath, in
the shape of an ornamental turban. One of the points on which
they display most vanity is their eating; they boast of it as
if were a great distinction to have plenty to eat, and a great
virtue to derive the highest enjoyment from it. "I am now
going to dine, or to eat extremey well, after which I shall
rest a while, and then I shall sup,"—is a phrase which I heard more than twenty times from
different persons. They are withal extremely officious, and
seldom loth to receive payment for their services. Their
politeness, language, and manners render them very agreeable
to strangers; and I have seen few societies which I should
prefer to, or even like so well as, that of Florence.
The dialect is musical and neat; and there is an occasional
abruptness in it, which, to my ear, is very pleasing, though
it is far from what is called good Italian. They frequently
sin against prosody by shortening the long penultimas, and
hardening the last syllables, as if they were accented; for
instance, you may often hear verò, notarè,
instead of vero, notare. The c before
a, o, o u, is invariably pronounced
like a very hard h; they do not say casa, poco,
but hasa, poho; before e or i
it is pronounced like sc; converting felice, capace,
into felisce, hapasce. These, and a few other
peculiarities, may seem too insignificant to form a distinct
dialect; but they really disguise the language so much that I
found it as difficult, during the first days of my arrival, as
I had done the Neapolitcan. I went to a bookseller's, and
asked him if there were any books written in the Florentine
dialet; he at first affected not to understand what I meant:
but when I persisted, and repeated the queston in very plain
terms, he indignantly told me that "the Florentines spoke the
language of Boccaccio and Macchiavelli," and that "they had no
dialect". I brought him however by degrees to own, that
the language generally spoken at Florence and in the
neighboruhood was somewhat different from classical Italian;
that it was called lingua rustica, and that there did
exist a poem written in this rustic tongue,-which I
immediately bought, and by the preface of which I learnt that
there were a great many more.
This poem is called, Il
Lamento di Cecco di Varlungo, and was composed by
Francesco Baldovini, who flourished in the seventeenth
century. I do not remember ever to have read any thing so
delightful (except perhaps some of Burns's best pieces,) in
the genuine style of pastoral simplicity. It is very nearly as
difficult to understand as Neapolitan poetry, which in many
points of the dialect it much resembles; but as Baldovini's
book has a good literal translation of the poem in Latin
verse, on the alternate pages, any one who has a notion of the
idiomatic distinctions of dialects, may, with this help,
perfectly understand it; and I can recommend it to every
amateur of poetical naïvete. No one who has an ear and
feeling for Theocritus and Burns, can fail to be enchanted
with Baldovini.
The lingua rustica of Florence bears some very
striking analogies to the written dialect of Naples, though
there is the greatest dissimilarity in their pronunciation.
The letter r is frequently transposed: brullare
stands for burlare; strupo for stupro,
&c. The vowels are also often interchanged; they say sprifondare
for sprofondare, comido for comodo,
dovidere for dividere, &c. Sometimes they
transpose two or three letters together, as when they
gralimare for lagrimare, regilione for
religione, cotrigole for graticole,
&c. All these peculiarities of sounds and inversions of
syllables, are found in the most ancient authors and poets;
and they seem strongly to militate against the universal
opinion of the extreme justness of the Italian ear.
During my stay at Florence, I witnessed a scene too creditable
to the good feelings of its citizens, not to deserve a place
in a book intended to give an idea of the general character of
the various inhabitants of Italy. A Frenchman of the name of Blanc,
who had been established here with his whole family from his
childhood and was esteemed and rspected for his good
qualities, and who had long served the government as courier
or messenger, was either suddenly seized with a fit of
insanity, or had worked up his imagination to a pitch of
frenzy by fancying that he was persecuted by the postmaster, Salvetti.
Whichever was the cause, he went one day into Salvetti's room
with two loaded pistols, and fired at him with one of them;
But Salvetti warded off the shot with his hand, which was
wounded, and Blanc was immediately overpowered and locked up
in a room, though without having been disarmed. That room,
which was just opposite my windows, was on the ground-floor to
the back of the post-house; and the report of the pistol,
followed immediately by the vehement vociferations of the poor
wretch, instantly filled the whole yard with a crowd of the
common people of the neighbourhood. He harangued them with a
violence and agitation, which sufficiently evinced his
insanity, and every now and then he applied both pistols to
his temples as if he were on the point of blowing out his
brains, as he declared he would. Every time he did so, the
crowd shuddered and shrunk back, that they might escape the
sight of the horrible catastrophe,—crying out with one voice, "No! no! do not kill
yourself! Do not, for God's sake!" One or two persons, even at
those moments, remained before the window, though in evident
agony and certainly with much danger to themselves, entreating
him in the most affectionate terms and in the name of
everything sacred, not to commit so desperate an action. He
frequently presented his cocked pistols to the crowd,
threatening to fire at some of them; yet they still persisted
in their endeavours to soothe him, and dissuade him from
suicide. This dreadful scene lasted two hours, for nobody
durst venture into the room. Some of his most particular
friends at length arrived, one of whom contrived to disarm him
while embracing him; after which he was taken to prison, where
he attempted to kill himself by swallowing a stick, then by
beating his head against the walls of his cell. I am not aware
how the affair ended, having previously left Florence; but it
delighted me to perceive the excellent feelings evinced by the
common people on this occasion. There was not the slightext
mixture of that ferocious spirit of sanguinary curiosity,
which, in so many other places and countries would inevitably
have displayed itself.
I heard several most beautiful voices at Florence, by mere
accident. One night in particular I was led on to remain till
half-past one in the morning, under the windows of a house
adjoining the Chiasso dell'oro, on the river Arno,
listening to a lady who sang at least ten grand pieces,
chiefly of Rossini's composition, with some of Spontini's Vestal,—a piece which, though much liked in Italy, did not
succeed there as it has done in France. She had a powerful,
sweet, and flexible voice, with an excellent method; and the
person who accompanied her on the piano-forte played extremely
well. She was also accompanied by a delightful tenor;
but I heard a still better tenor in the streets, and a
bass who might have astonished on any stage.
The theatre of Goldoni, to which I went chiefly to see
the Grand-ducal Family and Court, is handsome,-though rather
too long and narrow,- and may contain about twelve hundred
spectators. The performance was a very poor opera,
indifferently sung, entitled, A Widow's Tears. The
musick, I understood, was Paer's, but it is none of
his best. The performance began at the second act, and
finished with the first, in consequence of the Princesses
wishing to see the end of the farce and the ballet,—after which they retired. Duport was the hero
of the dance, but he pleased me no better here than he had
done at St. Petersburgh. His leaps, strides, and whirlings are
not really dancing: with respect to neatness of steps, the
second dancer seemed to me much his superior; but as Duport
has enchanted Paris, no one durst doubt his perfection abroad.
The female dancers were tolerably good, and the first of them
was an excellent performer of pantomimes.
The theatre della Pergola is larger and handsomer that
that of Goldoni, and may contain about two thousand persons.
There is no ostentation in its ornamentes, no gold nor silver,
but every box is furnished with very elegant green draperies,
and there is a good painting in front in chiara scure.
The curtain, which is extremely pretty, though somewhat
fantastical, represents a partie quarée of very
handsome country girls and youths dancing in a wood. The play
was Romeo and Juliet, a subject which I think much too
horrid for the stage; but the Romeo was so wretched a
performer, that he could not inspire the slightest interest.
He was not more that four feet in height, thick and clumsy,
and had a detestable pronunciation; as—scio avesci sciaputo for s'io avessi saputo,—and every thing in the same strain. Juliet, on the
contrary, was in the hands of an excellent performer, who
strongly reminded me, particularly in the last three acts, of
the celebrated Mrs. Ziesenis,* in the part of Elfrida.
In the first two acts she was too much taken up with her
recitation; every word fell so very distinctly from her lips,
that the whole speech was lost in single syllables. On the
whole, the play was well supported, except in the part of
Romeo, who spoilt the rest by his intolerable blemishes, and
his ridiculous figure. The Tomb of the Capulets was one of the
finest scenic decorations that I ever saw.
The play itself has one striking defect: old Capulet comes
into the vault—after
the death of Romeo, but before that of his daughter—to which he contributes by the atrocious barbarity
with which he drags her from her lover's corpse; and Juliet
dies of a broken heart.
On Saturday, the 26th of July, I witnessed an extraordinary
spectacle,—that of the annual
burning of several millions of flies, which ascend the river
once a year towards the end of July or the beginning of
August, and are immediately devoted to the flames. Great fires
are lighted for this purpose on the two upper bridges, into
which immense clouds of them rush in rapid succession; the
ground was covered with their remains to the depth of two
inches at least, all round the fires. This operation seemed to
inspire every one with mirth, and one of the destroyers
availed himself of the good humour of the spectators, to raise
voluntary contributions among them for the wood and straw
which he had burnt in pretty large quantities.
The Fasts of St ,James and St. Anne, (the 25th
and 26th July) are so rigidly kept here, that even the shops
were shut in the afternoon, and the public libraries during
the whole of these days. I was thus unexpectadly prevented
from visiting the library of San Lorenzo de' Medici,
which I had unfortunately deferred seeing. The ancient palace
of the house of Medici, which now belongs to that of Riccardi,
is noble and majestick. I went to the handsome church of San
Marco, which contains several very good pictures,
particularly some excellent frescoes by Passignano.
From thence I went to the hall of the Brotherhood of San
Giovanni, which is remarkable for its excellent fresco
paintings, by Andrea del Sarto, which are
unfortunately very likely to be soon entirely lost, being
quite abandoned to the destructive effects of the weather. Yet
I had the satisfaction of meeting an artist there, who was
going to take a copy of a charming piece, representing Charity
with three most beautiful children.
I likewise visited the study of Ricci, a Florentine
sculptor, whom the world ranks immediately after Canova. But I
saw no production of his which could have led me to compare
him to the latter,—or
to Torwalsen,—or even to Acquisti; but
the specimens were too few to allow me to form a satisfactory
judgment. The statues that I saw had good draperies; but the
features were by no means handsome, and the figures were
utterly devoid of grace, and of the illusion of life.
The Florentines speak of the Roman mosaicks with a laughable
degree of contempt. They are obliged, however, to confess that
they are prettier than their own; but they assert that it is
folly to buy them, because they are not sufficiently solid and
durable.
The song of the Bordichiera pursued me to the end of
my stay at Florence. Whilst I was at supper one evening, three
singers arrived, who sang all the fifteen stanzas, with a da
capo at the end of every stanza, making the whole amount
to thirty repetitions of this tiresome lullaby. They arrempted
to make it more pathetick than usual, by singing it in very
slow time, which only rendered it the more fatiguing. The
landlady and her waiters opened doors and windows in order to
lose none of the delight, and could not conceive how I could
help being quite enchanted. This infliction lasted nearly a
whole hour. But it did not reconcile me to the necessity I was
under of leaving Florence the next morning. I liked the place
exceedingly; and, I think there is no city in Italy, with the
exception of Milan, where a person might reside with
more real comfort. Florence has, moreover, the advantage of
Milan in its magnificent collection of pictures and statues.
Living is cheap and good; the bread is admirably fine and of
an agreeable flavour, the meat excellent, the wine very fair
though not quite so good as at Naples, and you may dine very
well for four pauls. The value of the paul is
about five-pence;—ten
pauls make a Francesconi, (abut 4s. 6d,), and 9½, a Scudo
Romano. The paul contains eight kreizer.
or grazie, which are coined in pieces of one, two, and
four each; and twelve grazie, or 1½ paul, make a lira.
With other political feelings than those which I possess, I
might have adduced the name of the Medici, amongst the
reasons which must endear Florence to every lover of the arts;
but I cannot praise the enemies of liberty. I cannot suppress
a feeling of displeasure and disgust, when I hear tyrants
extolled for the politick protection which they may have
afforded to men of talent. The Age of Augustus, and
that of Louis Quatorze, are the ages of two execrable
tyrants, whatever may have been said of them by parasitical
contemporary authors, who, if they had outlived the men, would
perhaps have been the first to blast their memory. These two
prominent examples, especially the latter, are quite
sufficient to put me on my guard against the enthusiasm of
writers for the living sovereigns by whom their flattery is
rewarded. With what baseness of adulation,—with what impudent fasehood, have not contemporary
poets celebrated the superstitous, inhuman, pride-swollen
persecutor of that pure religion in which his grandfather had
been educated;—the
unnatural and mean adulterer, who setting laws at nought,
attempted to sully the throne in behalf of his bastards;—the foolish dupe, who delighted in hearing himself
extolled as a demigod, reckless of the curses of posterity;—the disgusting egotist, who was never known to express
the slightest affection even for his children! Who can doubt
but Buonaparte would have been full as highly extolled, if he
had continued to reign to a late old age? All the cold-blooded
murderers of nations have been sung in verse, and extolled in
prose, ever since the world began! Happy they, who outlived
the palinode which would have been yelled over their graves by
the same voices that chanted their deification!
* Formerly Miss Waitier; a Dutch actress, who may be compared
to Mrs. Siddons, and, who is in some characters fully equal to
her. Author's note.
To donate to the restoration by Roma of Florence's formerly abandoned English Cemetery and to its Library click on our Aureo Anello Associazione's PayPal button: THANKYOU!
E arrived at Florence
about nine o'clock on Saturday, July 12th, and alighted at
sort of boarding-house, rather than inn, which had been
recommended to my travelling companion. Its situation was very
agreeable, being quite centrical, near the piazza. the
post-office, and the river Arno. It was kept by a very neat
little French woman, Madame Imbert, whose charges were
extremely moderate, being two paoli for a room, and
five paoli for the dinner, which was simple but good.
The servants who were few in number, were the most attentive
creatures in the world. One of them was the landlady's own
brother, whom she had taken from the plough; and he was in the
habit of pleading his late situation asan excuse for his
awkwardness in his present employment. I cannot express how
much this simplicity of manners pleased me. The cook was a
plain Savoyard, two of the waiters were Florentines, as well
as the wife of one of them, who served as porter. Never did I
see so many excellent plain-dealing, serviceable,
disinterested creatures collected together in one family—The woman whom I have mentioned as performing the
functions of door-keeper to the house, was supernumerary and
received no wages; and I never saw any one so happy and
thankful as she appeared, for a trifle that I gave her one
night when she had run about to several places, after eleven
o'clock, to try to get me a supper. The next morning when I
went down stairs, she was waiting for me with her little babe,
for whom she was preparing some piece of dress; and she
presented the child to me, holding the garment in his little
hands, as if to show me that whatever she gained was applied
to his comfort. Her radiant countenance gave me more pleasure
than any human face that I had seen for several months.
F I were
to judge of the climate of Florence by my own short experience
of it, I should say that it was extremely mild. The days were
indeed hot, though never above 22 or 24 degrees of Reaumur;
and the nights sometimes even cold. A breeze is almost
ocnstantly blowing from some quarter or other; and the
mountains which encircle this small plain preseve it from
excessive heat. The fruits seemed to me better at Florence
than at Naples; the melons (poponi) are remarkably
good, the cherries (ciliege) exceedingly fine, but hard
of digestion; the figs very large and excellent, though not
superior to those which grow at Geneva. There are no oranges
but what are imported at Leghorn and brought from thence to
this market; they were at this time both dear and bad, the
season for them being almost over.
