We ought all to have gone to Vallombrosa today but were prevented by the weather. Moreover Pauline is ill again, and under the doctor.
Sunday afternoon Marguerite and I went to Boboli Gardens. It was too chilly for elaborate sketching. We met Jowett in the Gardens, and with him savoured the sculptures and the vistas. Then we all three went to the Piazza V. Emanuele, and drank, and listened to 'Zampa' and such things. Heavy sky, but swifts flying high. The Square was a great party of families.
Most of the women are wearing half mourning in this hotel. This is because we received the news on Saturday of the death of the King. The moved silence in which it was received in the coffee-room was most remarkable. One middle-aged man had apparently some difficulty in not crying. Gaiety however is now unchecked, though many people are ill. I think that one of the things that have struck me in Florence & Brighton is the unpleasant expressions, & the ungainliness of the Anglo-Saxon women; their extraordinary unattractiveness. I saw three middle-aged American women meet & greet each other this morning, and the sight & sound were rather trying. (It is true I am slightly unwell.) What looks, what gestures, and what voices! But then I often feel that I myself, when alone, go about with a fixed unpleasing expression of disgust. I don't know why.
Yesterday morning Mr. Mock, Marguerite & I went up to S. Miniato again, and I finished my pastel.
This morning, being desoriente, I went to the Pitti. In the main it left me cold. It is an unpleasant & difficult place in which to see pictures, & quite half the pictures are n.g. Crowds of people in the place.