“I have been a day without continuing the log, because I could not find a blank book. At length I recollected this.
“Rode, &c.—dined—wrote down an additional stanza for the 5th canto of D. J., which I had composed in bed this morning. Visited l’Amica. We are invited, on the night of the Veglione (next Domenica), with the Marchesa Clelia Cavalli and the Countess Spineffi Rasponi. I promised to go. Last night there was a row at the ball, of which I am a ‘socio.’ The Vice-legate had the imprudent insolence to introduce three of his servants in masque—without tickets, too! and in spite of remonstrances. The consequence was, that the young men of the ball took it up, and were near throwing the Vice-legate out of the window. His servants, seeing the scene, withdrew, and he after them. His reverence Monsignore ought to know, that these are not times for the predominance of priests over decorum. Two minutes more, two steps farther, and the whole city would have been in arms, and the government driven out of it.
“Such is the spirit of the day, and these fellows appear not to per-
* In another paper-book. |
| A. D. 1821. | LIFE OF LORD BYRON. | 433 |
“Yesterday wrote two notes on the ‘Bowles and Pope’ controversy, and sent them off to Murray by the post. The old woman whom I relieved in the forest (she is ninety-four years of age) brought me two bunches of violets. ‘Nam vita gaudet mortua floribus.’ I was much pleased with the present. An Englishwoman would have presented a pair of worsted stockings, at least, in the month of February. Both excellent things; but the former are more elegant. The present, at this season, reminds one of Gray’s stanza, omitted from his elegy:
‘Here scatter’d oft, the earliest of the
year, By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; The red-breast loves to build and warble here, And little footsteps lightly print the ground.’ |
“Last night I suffered horribly—from an indigestion, I
believe. I never sup—that is, never at home. But, last night, I was prevailed upon by
the Countess Gamba’s persuasion, and the strenuous example of
her brother, to swallow, at supper, a quantity of boiled cockles, and to dilute them,
not reluctantly, with some Imola wine. When I came home, apprehensive of the
consequences, I swallowed three or four glasses of spirits, which men (the venders) call
brandy, rum, or Hollands, but which Gods would entitle spirits of wine, coloured or
sugared. All was pretty well till I got to bed, when I became somewhat swollen, and
considerably vertiginous. I got out, and, mixing some soda-powders, drank them off. This
brought on temporary relief. I returned to bed; but grew sick and sorry once and again.
Took more soda-water. At last I fell into a dreary sleep. Woke, and was ill all day,
till I had galloped a few miles. Query—was it the cockles, or what I took to correct
them, that caused the commotion? I think both. I remarked in my illness the complete
inertion, inaction, and destruction of my chief mental faculties. I tried to rouse them,
and yet could not—and this is the Soul!!! I should believe that
it was married to the body, if they did not sympathize so much with each other. If the
one rose, when the
| 434 | NOTICES OF THE | A. D. 1821. |
“Let us hope the best—it is the grand possession.”
