I was foolish enough to give him a letter to pretty Sara’s father, and I told him to write to me at Rome, under cover of the banker Belloni.

I set out from Leghorn the next day and went to Pisa, where I stopped two days.  There I made the acquaintance of an Englishman, of whom I bought a travelling carriage.  He took me to see Corilla, the celebrated poetess.  She received me with great politeness, and was kind enough to improvise on several subjects which I suggested.  I was enchanted, not so much with her grace and beauty, as by her wit and perfect elocution.  How sweet a language sounds when it is spoken well and the expressions are well chosen.  A language badly spoken is intolerable even from a pretty mouth, and I have always admired the wisdom of the Greeks who made their nurses teach the children from the cradle to speak correctly and pleasantly.  We are far from following their good example; witness the fearful accents one hears in what is called, often incorrectly, good society.

Corilla was ‘straba’, like Venus as painted by the ancients—­why, I cannot think, for however fair a squint-eyed woman may be otherwise, I always look upon her face as distorted.  I am sure that if Venus had been in truth a goddess, she would have made the eccentric Greek, who first dared to paint her cross-eyed, feel the weight of her anger.  I was told that when Corilla sang, she had only to fix her squinting eyes on a man and the conquest was complete; but, praised be God! she did not fix them on me.

At Florence I lodged at the “Hotel Carrajo,” kept by Dr. Vannini, who delighted to confess himself an unworthy member of the Academy Della Crusca.  I took a suite of rooms which looked out on the bank of the Arno.  I also took a carriage and a footman, whom, as well as a coachman, I clad in blue and red livery.  This was M. de Bragadin’s livery, and I thought I might use his colours, not with the intention of deceiving anyone, but merely to cut a dash.

The morning after my arrival I put on my great coat to escape observation, and proceeded to walk about Florence.  In the evening I went to the theatre to see the famous harlequin, Rossi, but I considered his reputation was greater than he deserved.  I passed the same judgment on the boasted Florentine elocution; I did not care for it at all.  I enjoyed seeing Pertici; having become old, and not being able to sing any more, he acted, and, strange to say, acted well; for, as a rule, all singers, men and women, trust to their voice and care nothing for acting, so that an ordinary cold entirely disables them for the time being.

Next day I called on the banker, Sasso Sassi, on whom I had a good letter of credit, and after an excellent dinner I dressed and went to the opera an via della Pergola, taking a stage box, not so much for the music, of which I was never much of an admirer, as because I wanted to look at the actress.