The Diary of Dr. John William Polidori/Letters

by John William Polidori

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.^[1]

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 Geneve, 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 preeminence 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 Hanoveriens—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 Vacca 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.^[2] 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,^[3] 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 Breme, 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 Breme, 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: Saevus enim ferme sensus communis in ilia fortuna.—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, 1985.

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 1 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."^[4] 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.

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1. No doubt this intention was not carried into effect.
2. These Polidoris were not (so far as I know) members of the same family as John Polidori.
3. This was Dr. Polidori's elder sister, Maria Margaret, who in my time was invariably called "Margaret" in the family.
4. "I leave the question to you."