But
They Have A Most Barbarous Custom In Florence Of Covering These Columns
With Red Cloth On Jours De Fete, Which Spoils The Elegant Simplicity Of
The Columns And Makes The Church Itself Resemble A Theatre Des
Marionnettes.
But the Italians are dreadfully fond of gaudy colours.
In
the church of Santa Croce what most engaged my attention was the monument
erected to Vittorio Alfieri, sculptured by Canova. It is a most beautiful
piece of sculpture. A figure of Italy crowned with turrets seems fully
sensible of the great loss she has sustained in one who was so ardent a
patriot, as well as an excellent tragic poet. This monument was erected at
the expence of the Countess of Albany (Queen of England, had legitimacy
always prevailed, or been as much in fashion as it now is) as a mark of
esteem and affection towards one who was so tenderly attached to her, and
of whom in his writings Alfieri speaks with the endearing and affectionate
appellation of mia Donna. The beautiful sonnet to her, which accompanies
the dedication of his tragedy of Mirra, well deserves the monument; there
is so much feeling in it that I cannot retrain from transcribing it:
Vergognando talor, che ancor si taccia,
Donna, per me l'almo tuo nome in fronte
Di queste omai gla troppe a te ben conte
Tragedie, ond'io di folle avrommi taccia;
Or vo' qual d'esse meno a te dispiaccia
Di te fregiar; benche di tutte il fonte
Tu sola fosti, e'l viver mio non conte
Se non dal Di, ch'al viver tuo si allaccia.
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