Skip to main content

Full text of "A pedestrian tour through France and Italy"

See other formats


This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 

to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 

publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 
We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at |http: //books .google .com/I 


6 6 6'. 


Bodleian Libr.irv Oxford 



r.O N 1»<)N: 
S. M<>\m, f A'TIR STUM r, I t-tr I'jrFH nyl^HB 









stationers' hall court. 



The Author having now affixed his name to this work, it might 
perhaps be expected that he would alter the Preface ; but this he 
has not deemed necessary. The only further remark he is desirous 
of making is, that as a part of the secret policy of the heads of 
the Church of Rome in this countryy is to beset the periodical press 
with persons of its own persuasion, in order, by this insidious 
means, to control, if not govern, it as much as they possibly can ; 
and as the Author has not hesitated to give an exposition of the 
present state of the idolatry of this church in his work, he cannot 
expect much favour from quarters open to such influence. 


A " Rambler^'' who had akready made the circuit of 
the globe in search of knowledge, and to gratify his 
own adventiirou9 curiosity, started from England on 
a Pedestrian Tour through France and Italy; and, 
fitting himself with a beseeming knapsack at Dieppe, 
proceeded to Paris, and thence to the south of 
France, to view the ancient ruins and other beautifrd 
objects of art and nature which abound in Provence 
and part of Languedoc. He then entered Italy by 
way of Nice, and visited in succession all the prin- 
cipal cities, their palaces, galleries, and churches; 
and although the route be a beaten track, yet the 
Author has endeavoured to treat it after an untrodden 

In this Tour the reader will find, among other 
things, some interesting descriptions and histories 
of the antique remains of Italy — accounts of the 
topography with regard to health, and the volcanic 
geology of the country he passes through — of pil- 
grimages to holy shrines — of excursions to view 
the curious, the beautifiil, and picturesque — of his 
adventures on the road, and of his reflections and 
sentiments suggested by the scenes and objects 
which presented themselves as he trudged along his 
solitary route. 



Ample and accurate catalogues of the Paintings 
and Statuary, taken down from the lips of the 
custodi of the different palaces, &c., will be found at 
the end of the volume. 

But before reading a book, people generally are 
ciurious to know something of the author, and are 
more inquisitive still if the writer be anonymous. 
Then, gentle reader, to use the propitiatory address 
of our good old ancestors, to enable you to form smne 
notion of him, take the following brief description. 

Have you ever met any one in your travels abroad 
trudging pensively, inoffensively, and quietly along, 
as if the world was large enough for him and every 
body else besides, dressed in a shooting-jacket, short 
knee-breeches and gaiters — not, by the way, that 
he ever meant to shoot, but merely put them on as 
certain dandies do spurs who never mount the out- 
side of a horse — to seem what he was not; with a 
hlouae over-all to keep off the dust ; a knapsack on 
his back, containing his '' twa sarks ;" a staff in his 
hand to help him along on his pilgrimage ; and a few 
Naps in his girdle to " pay the piper?** — if so, that 
was the identical man Ego! 

Now, in ray knapsack, gentle reader, you must 
know, were a couple of clean shirts, as I have said, 
a few pair of hosen, affairs of the toilette, and pens, 
ink, and paper. Perhaps 1 shall be excused from 
giving any very particular description of certain of 
the contents of my knapsack. The shirts were of 
stout Irish — the stockings without holes (at starting) 
— the razors, not unlike certain wise saws, i. e. the 


witty edge worn off by too repeated use — as for 
the pens, ink, and paper, they must speak for them- 
selves* My wish has been, in drawing up from 
my notes the following observations into form, to 
entice the reader to be my fellow-traveller; to pick 
out the softest path for him as he marches along, 
culling the sweetest flowers by the way-side, to pre- 
vent his being wearied, and endeavouring to make 
him partake of all my pleasures and gratifications, 
without sharing in any of my hardships, fatigues, 
dangers, or privations. If I have succeeded— ^ if the 
perusal of these travels shall afford pastime for an 
idle hour, when nothing better is in his way, then 
my wish and ambition are attained; therefore, let 
him scan the deficiencies he may find with a school- 
boy's heedlessness, and forget them with more than 
even his forgetfuhiess. 

P.S. — Travellers are often grossly deceived by 
an account of paintings being of the finest class, 
which the intelligent connoisseur will at a glance 
perceive to be copies made to fill up the places of 
those which were sold and sent to England, during 
the period the French army was in Italy. Let the 
reader but look into Mr. Buchanan's Memoirs of 
Painting, *id he will naturally ask, whence did all 
those fine pictures come which are now on the walls 
of the National Gallery, and those of the best private 

'._..-. . . -^ ^ r ' 1 . . V ---->.. » ' . ~- . . . r .. L'tr 

; :...^ .- ; , . . :: •. . , -^. v-- »^-t^ COn^'^li- 

>._-.';. J. ^-«-.r:r-^r. n^i-^n.r ^- Mr. ->. --- ^k^..^; *.. * "-^ 

T- •.. ... ... - t 

jTui^I--:. k. >vv-r;.; :::v'::::::^ .: .is ^::11 «::: the walls 

of pi:'..:vs ^vh:::: :.:v ^v^;: k:;.'.v:: :: :.e ::: this coun- 
trv: as Gu:d:> Ju ::th .i:;.: H:l::er::es. a::d h:s 
Lucretia. froni t:.e >:u-.hi P.^hiC'.- at Fvrir.e: Rubens' 
Juno fasteihng the Eyes •:: Ar^'v.s t -> ri:e Tail of her 
Peacock, from the <»hi Dur:.zzj at Gcr.oa, cVc. The 
Author in thi;> re^pcct lias i-tren as careful as pos- 
sible, examining the cuhL^ctions personally, noting 
tlie paintings down on the sput. and, in many in- 
stances, describinjz not merdv the subjects, but the 
manner of the artist iii treating them : for perhaps 
lio inay venture without oHcnce to observe, that 
the judgment of the traveller caimot be guided 
exactiv bv notes of admiration alone. 



Leayivo Piccadilly with four spirited horBes, which Phaeton 
might have been proud to guide, I arrived at Brighton, 
crossed the channel next day in a steamer, and here I am 
at Dieppe. 

DiBPPB. — Well! these French are queer people! They 
give you salad to eat out of a wash-hand basin, and yon 
wash your hands in a pie-dish. Do you call out *^ Tit, tit ! 
puss, puss ! " to a cat, they laugh, forsooth, because they do 
it in a different way. 

Dieppe is a cheerful, pretty little town, sunk in between 
cliffs which shelter it from the winds ; and bordered seaward 
by a beach spreading its sandy carpet to the water's edge, 
as if derigned for the tumbling billows '^ to play at leap-frog 
on." A suite of handsome baths, with billiard-rooms, and 
a terraced promenade, is built within a conyenient distance 
of the sea ; and a plot of greensward, bounded by low 
ramparts, intervenes between the town and the shore. A 
stranger to the manners of France cannot help noticing a 
peculiarity characteristic of the people he is among, that is, 
to see with what a semblance of dalliance the females throw 
theniselves about in the arms of the bathers, who are all of 



collections of this country ? The fact will the 
obvious to him, and he can draw his own co 
sions. It quite surprised me to see, on looking 
the lists of paintings in the last edition of a po 
guide-book, several mentioned as still on the 
of palaces which are wx^ll known to be in this < 
try ; as Guido's Judith and Holofernes, anc 
Lucretia, from the Spada Palace at Rome ; Ri 
Juno fastening the Eyes of Argus to the Tail c 
Peacock, from the old Durazzo at Genoa, &c. 
Author in this respect has been as careful as 
sible, examining the collections personally, r 
the paintings down on the spot, and, in mar 
stances, describing not merely the subjects, bi 
manner of the artist iii treating them ; for pc 
he may venture without offence to observe, 
the judgment of the traveller cannot be ^ 
exactly by notes of admiration alone. 

;:vL a-vMBL^^- 

2 i)ii:rri:. 



thein iiion, exposed to the public gaze of the spectators. 
[u(l(!e(l, their frolicsoineiiess, as they perform all kinds of 
evolutions, is pt'i'fectly coiifoundiiiL^ to a bashful Eiiirlislnnan. I 

The bather secius to Ix^ a sort of acpiatic fugleman, under 
"vvhose mamuil exercise, females, no matter how young or fair, ' 

float, dive, and swim about, like verv mermaids. ^ 

[uw seaporl>, in mv opinion, are moi'e agreeably situated 
for th(» quiet enjovmenl of the invalid to whom the bracing" 
S(»a-breeze and sah-waler baths ar(^ remedial, than that of 
Dieppe; for, whilst ther(» is every acconnnodation for the 
latter ])urpose, lu^ may enjoy his |)i'omenade without having 
his senses disi:u^(ed bv tin* usual tiUh of a fishimi'-town. 

As mv pri^viously arranged plan of travelling was that 
of a ])edestrinn toui', no sutlicient reason suggested itself why 
I should not connnence. it at Dieppe : >o, having purchased * 

myself a j)easMnl's /;Ay//.sr, and a >oldier's old knapsack, 
[ mean to stin*t tliis jdleiMioon, like another Quixote, in 
search of all sorts of jidventure'^, willi the rii:*ht knitrht-errant 
I'csolution, if 1 ri\n kee]> to it, of afiVontini;* and defvins: all ! 

dangers, ])rivation, and fntigue; of seeiuLi; and hearing all 
that can be seen nnd henrd ; and not to turn my steps home- 
ward until I shall have I'eaclied Aaples. 

*' llooly and fairly'' is a Scotch maxim, and, taking it 
as mine, I walked no farther than Ponnnerval, a distance 
of eighteen miles, where I stop[)ed for tlie night. As yet 
nothing j)articular had occmred, except some f(?w ridiculous 
inconveniences, which a pedestrian tourist nnist cheerfully 
make u]) his mind to encount(u% nay, nnist ev(ui be ready to 
enjoy. Something like this happened on the morning I left 
l^)mmerval. Being desirous of having a basin of milk, 
I rcipu'sted that it might l)e warnuHl, l>ut could see no proper 
vessel for the purj)o>e. My obliging landlady, however, 
soon rcilieved my conjectures about tlie (jnoinodoy by taking- 
down the frying-pan, and, as the milk began to boil, she 
carefully skinnned off the globules of grease that ro^e to the 
surface in nndtitudes, like so nuiny playful ])orpoises. My 
aj)petite, mduckily, was yet of a very prosaic turn : the tropes 
and figures that danced so merrily about in the frying-pan 


had spoilt my relish for the mess ; and as I had never feasted, 
like Captain Lyon, at Spitzbergen, I was fain to sup my milk 
as it came from the cow, without the zest of a metaphor. 

Six post leagues from Pommerval I passed through Foi^es, 
^here there is a mineral spring of some local repute ; and, 
after rather a long day's march, I arrived at Goumay. 

To observe men and manners being a main part of my 
pursuit, I readily accepted an invitation to join the general 
supper-table, in preference to supping sulkily alone. Mine 
host I knew would be there — perhaps his bonne! So much 
the better. Perhaps some of the servants ! Ay, to be sure ; 
the more the merrier. Thank God ! I was never very fasti* 
dious; and it gives a man a comfortable degree of non- 
chalance when it depends on his own choice whether or not 
he ever see his company again. We were all in high glee. 
I thought the servant girl, at the bottom of the table, would 
never have done pegging away at the loaf. Next to me there 
sat a Frenchman who had been in England, and he amused 
ns all by a story he told of a leg of mutton. 

It seems, of all the good things that he had eaten in 
England, none had pleased his palate so much as a leg of 
mutton done at the baker's, environne, as he expressed it, 
by a chevaux^e-frise of potatoes ; and wishing to introduce 
so agreeable an acquaintance to his coimtrymen, he invited a 
few of them one day to partake of it. It happened, as bad 
luck would have it, to be a Sunday : they had forgotten to 
send for it between church-time. The baker was inexorable. 
What was to be done? To wait till service was over, and 
eat it cold, was to spoil the promised feast : to keep it hot in 
the oven was worse still, for then his &vourite dish would be 
done to a rag ; so, rather than lose the leg of mutton, they 
all adjourned, with great good humour, to the bake-house, 
and ate it there! 

The story was too feasible not to be true; and, after 
finishing our laugh — and no one laughed louder or more 
heartily than the narrator himself — I bade my company 
good night. 

Daylight next morning saw me on the march. Nothing 


worthy of notice presented itself until I came to the pretty 
vaHev of (iisors, wlieiT, >onie s^even hundred years a^ro, 
Kin<'- Phih'n of I'raiiee and liiehai'd Ca'ur de Lion encani))ed 
their ehivah'ous hands hcfoi't? drpartini;' on the third crusade. 
** Ki nfh'tlo iiiliil fit^' is an old aihiiie. Now, as tlie route 
l)(:t\veen tliis and l^iri^ oH'crs Htlle desei'vin^x of remark, 
I sliall not venture to imitate the inimitahh^s, in making a 
lontc storv ahout nothing at all, unless, indeed, it shall here- 
after he demanded unanimously at a call of the whole 


Settled in my hotel, I hegan to consider of my vocation 
and aujusement ; and, without losing time in long and duhious 
delihei'ations, dchating with myscdf whether 1 should first visit 
tin; eataconiJH or tlie theatres, the ( //r//y//y.v Khfsccs or the 
l^dndrinoii'ui ol' the Palais Roval, 1 sallied out, — '^ Let me jro 
and see the sights in tin; streets of Paris," said 1. 

Why, the very name-s of the ^t^ee.ts are sometimes singular 
enongli. Vou liave the Rue i\i^> IJons-h^idans, des Mauvais 
Garcons, and, as a conse([uenc(% des Mauvaises Paroles; 
Rue P-t du Diahle, line Lavande ; \\\w. Picpie-puce, Rue 
(h» Delices ; Rue Paradib and Rue d'i'^nter. I'.veu the signs 
will anm>(i a sti*anger: over a hi*andy-shop, for exam])l.e, 
you read * an Saint lvsi)rit;' a milliner, a^ain, invites you 
' a la Diane.' Indeed, epigraj)hs like these sometimes iiive 
occasion to little laughahle waggeries. A ])olisson one day 
seeing * a la \'ierge' written ov(m* the shop of one of these 
inaicli(iii(hs dc //ioflrsj opened the door, and gi'avely impiired 
of one of the vestals at work, if' the \irgin' was at home. 
*' (^et out, you im]>erent feller, you," <juoth the girl, (piite 
insulted hy the cpiestion ; '^ t/fcre fire tut ri/f/i/ts /arc!'* Vour 
sentimentality is next assailed hy * a la Mere dii Famille,' 
your parsimony hy ' an Petit (rain,' yonr vii'tue hy ' la l*ille 
jNhd-gardee,' and your patriotism hy * la i^elle Antrlaise/ 
Not unfrequently you see written on a perrurpiier's window- 
shutter * lei Ton rajeunit:' I should he apprehensive that a 
fellow so accustomed to the use of a razor mii^ht hethink 


himself of Medea's renovator — a warm bath of blood. But 
of all the industrious tradesmen in Paris, none seem to 
go about their business more comfortably and becomingly 
than the street-b^gars. Passing along the Boulevard Italien 
the other evening, the sound of lamentation struck my ear, 
and on turning aside, I perceived, shocking to relate, a b^gar 
on his knees with two lighted candles before him ; and lest he 
should dirt his velveteen breeches, or excoriate his dehcate 
shins, he had taken especial care to kneel on a tabouret of 
wicker, with a nice, thick, downy, fluffy piece of carpeting 
spread over it! — and the pauvre miserable was right. A 
man may kneel on the cold, bare flags of a church whilst 
he begs of Heaven his daily bread ; but surely it may be 
permitted to ask * charite, pour Tamour de Dieu,' with more 
r^ard for one's marrow-bones, of a mortal. Two of my 
particular acquaintances, mendicants here, keep their car- 
riages, vehicles on four wheels, drawn by a pony. The 
pauvre miserable sits inside at his ease, before an organ, 
and, trundling round the handles, you may have Malbrook, 
an air from the last new opera, or any other rage of the day, 
and all for a sou. But as craving your bounty himself would 
be mightily infra dig, for one who drove his own carriage, 
this pauvre miserable generally keeps two footmen in the 
literal sense, stout, lusty Stentors, neither lame nor blind, 
who walk by the side of the carriage, and solicit your bounty 
en prince. Well, there is nothing like taking things easily 
in this charitable world ; and if the fortune of Belisarius ever 
be mine, Fate ! shave my head, and make me a capuchin, 
or set me up a carriage, and pass me on to Paris ! 

P£rb la Chaise. — There are certain humours that fell 
at times over the mind like the damp shade of night, and 
envelop it in the mantle of solitary meditation, when man 
spontaneously shuns the converse of his kind, and seeks 
scenes which correspond with the sombre turn of his thoughts 
and feelings. 

The morning was windy and autumnal, the fallen leaves 
rustled and flew about in the avenues of the garden of the 

>l:.^i t'.'v r^'.. '..; "••-..- :f -" -: - .:. :...J veiled the liirlit of 
1. >^ ^\^ '•..(.. • : . -.:. .': :: . : j: v. :',{. In siicli a mood, 
:.: J \\::.i - .v". ^ •- .■..:■. > -. .' ..:/. I :• ilo, or >yliere £ro ? 

t — 

>.i\i 1 iv^ r..\-/... .> i ?-..::.'.. :"v -. .. •::. \. killer like the blue- 
i!t \ ;.v i\ :-.>;■. '. i\^ ! .-. o. :..::..'. -. to vent mv humour 
iiiiioi ■.; >kr." - i.-..,l j:\ ^'--"■.^•- — .r : :^ Pu'e la Cliaise, where 
iu\ rr\i\i .1 /:,vl l>:!t!"- :..."...: . :' i.. :.',1 w"!! r:iid food equally 
al'ir.uiar.i :'.:.vl ev-: _ . i. ..'. :.^ _'.'.:: :'- v.. :-]>:d appetite? The 
>aiu'!\ v't"r.:e :'i:^-: ilw . \ \ :..i .:. .r.v.-:r cf the eeuieton'. 

'liie ri'.'vkr \\".l:/'- > :.v>l.:c :!.: : ::A tiie burial-places of 
r.n i^ ;^!\' oii:'>v"v" (( :'.:c l:.vv[-:v<. :.:>.r tke manner of the 
hiu-iviif C«ur'u> ; :.vl Iv.v.'..:.-, ^ '..■> r':'ii::iud no one to be 
iiihrii'il ui'.hiu \\\c ^\;l■l^ ci :\a\v e-::t>.\M:h almost the sinsrl^ 
r\v-i-[>iion o[ tiie ruijH'!\^r li';v.i. v.-.:o-e allies slept in the 
iiinUi ,.r ilu" eitpiMl of ii.e N\^:ki. \\/M of Prre la Chaise 
iM flo t' l)v ilu' Iku! iCre irAir.i^;i\ : it i? tiiulv -ituated on the 

• • • 

l»ro\\ of ;iii rniiiuiu't\ ar.d bv i:> ^.u• and tlie ineciualitv of 
I In* ijtmihl, i( prr'-rn;> iv^ u\c \'.r\\ [\ romantic variety of 
.•-fciu'. (^11 riitci-iiiL: ilie jlnee u:u:\^ ilio ^^ ickod cease from 
lrttiil'liii':\ a Ioi'Hiil:- v»r >^plemiii:\ <u:'i'> ovi r tlie mind, for the li:i\r al\\.i\*> 1 erii ilie oly-ei- oi' niiuious veneration: 
VMM I In- uh^-i loloi'iuii nliLilon d»H-i nut nadily pardon the 
pittlaiialiiui ol'ihf m'a\o; a.nd the ::reatei" llu^ personal atHictioil 
of llio h\iiii:, lh(* more fii'sldly ^anetiiied is lii^ uisli for the 
impi'oi'aiird pfaeorninr^*^ of the tomh. lleie it is that we 
r('spr<*l llio Mi-aM' of our hii(ero->l eiuaiiv : him whom in life 
u<' uould ha\(' Iroddon nndor our foot, had it been in our 
powri', now I hat it is, \\v \\'i\« hv tlie ur^i^s-elad inheritance 
<»f iiKHtalilv, nllei'in<j; .some >liort >entence of forixiveness. 
Ihil if v.(; can iind so nnieh eliarity towards the undeservina*. 
M hal arti oiir fielin^s when ihe L;roedy nuiw of Death engulfs 
aU'eclions, virlues, and all those exalted (pialities which attach 
MS to lil'c .' The ol)li<j,ations of societv are numerous, and 
ofh'u hurdensom(! : the; Ijonds of friendship and aifection, 
again, are dear to the heart, and comparatively iew, and we 
cainiot s[)are them to the grave. 

hidulging in such reflections, mv train of thought was 


often interrupted by an epitaph or tombstone, varied by the 
sentiment which the one or the other excited. Epitaphs,, 
when sincere, like every thing else that flows spontaneously 
from the heart, are always well expressed ; but too often they 
are mere cold fac-similes of real feeling, which serve only to 
expose the vanity or hypocrisy of the fictitious mourner. 
Flattery to the living ear is proffered, for the most part, with 
some appearance of modesty ; but among the dead, adulation 
installs itself with the most fulsome and unblushing efirontery. 
In proof of this, enter but a churchyard, and there is scarce a 
stone you meet, pressing on the now no longer pulsating 
breast, that does not groan under the weight of five or six 
cardinal virtues ! Who can help smiling as he reads, ^' Here 
lies John Dough, baker, the child of genius?" or a barber, 
*' a friend to truth?" and yet these do not exceed the reality. 

Over the grave of a Madame R , for example, who died 

a little before the Restoration, after her fourth divorce, is 


Some epitaphs, again, are inscribed to the gratification of 
the most undisguised vanity, by those whose sole object, in 
affecting to consecrate an epitaph to the memory of their re- 
lations, is to tell the world who they themselves are. Take 
the following as a specimen : 

" Ci-GiT Marie B— , 

I^xnue de F. K — , Due de V,, Marechal tfj^npire, Senateur, 
Membre du Grand Conseily Grand Officier de la Legion 
d*Honneur, Grand Croix de VOrdre Royal de Wurtemhergy 
Grand Croix de VOrdre de la FidiliU de Bade;* 4-c. 4-c. ^c. 

How different from this is the simple tribute of unaffected 
sorrow expressed in the following words, on a plain, neat 
monumental column, near this lord and master of half the 
dignities of Europe ! 


Another of this latter description is the following, which 
I shall transcribe, without apolc^ising for its length, for the 

4 .^ 

I --. - 


• V 

t \ . : : 

1 ^ v. 

>.. ^ '-» ».«.» V....- 

I . . .. . 

( »., 

: I :. 

^-. a i' 

evti) liio 111 -• 
T,r .'."ciiiatiuii ii, 
(,f the livii.u. ■ 
HiiproiaiKMl I 
ye:?p^-Ct the 1 
^ve would L ■ 
po\v^-r, now 
^,( inorta]ii\ . 
Jjiit ii'^^^G cjt 
^Yliiit are our 
J, flections vli 

lis to li^t"- 

caiiiiot MIMuc t 
Iijdiilunn- I 



goished. Strolling thus from tombstone to tombstone, I by 
chance came to a new-made grave. Behold ! thought I, the 
vast inheritance of ambitious^ craving, never-satisfied mor- 
tality ! I measured in my mind's eye its width and depth, 
and thought it scanty enough : I graduated in my imagina- 
tion its mean degree of cold, and involuntarily shuddered : 
I figured to myself the crawling companions that, like vile 
parasites, feed on their patron — and thought of '' the land 
we live in." Pondering in this guise, I sat me down on the 
mould which was heaped up on one side, resting my head on 
my left elbow, and soon became absorbed in a deep reverie. 
Near me there lay a skull : a few grey hairs still adhered to 
the hinder part of the scalp, and the lower jaw clung fast to 
its articulation. The orbits were now void of all expression 
save the vacant and horrid stare of death : a sudden chill ran 
through my veins, and a cataract of tears tumbled over my 
eye-lids, as I gazed on what had formerly beamed perhaps 
with every kindly feeling, and shone with animation, intelli- 
gence, and delight. The teeth were broken, irregular, and 
displaced, and the jaws were put to their utmost stretch by 
a round clod of earth, a sort of natural ^' pomme de terre," 
as it were, which conveyed the revolting idea of choking, 
speechless suffocation. 'Tis the hungry potato-trap of 
some poor Irishman^ thought I^ who hath died from starva- 
tion; or else the loquacious maw of a noisy, talkative 
attorney, gagged as a precaution by his brother-tenants of 
the silent tomb. 

Surrounded by such objects, I became absorbed, as I said, 
in a profound reverie, pondering over the vanity and nothing- 
ness of all worldly ambition, the scanty patrimony of the 
grave, the disappointments of hope — which, like your sha- 
dow, never leaves you, and yet, like the horizon, you never 
can overtake — the fickleness of friendship, the evanescence 
of love, the villany and ingratitude of mankind, and all 
those blue-devil reflections which nourish and foment the 
ennui of the moment, when the voice of mourning suddenly 
broke on my ear, and dissolved at once in a tear-drop this 
world of wrathful feeling. On casting up my eyes, I found 

10 I'AKIS— I'I'.Ki: LA (HAlSi:. 

I }j:hI l»t( n innrh ci'lriilly t r('^|)a^>u)i;* Oil the private sorrows 
'*!.•> \'>i]n" i( iiiiilc, wlio \v:is kiHM'linij; he^torc a little column 
'/) "•. Iiih: ni:iri)l«-, Mii"iii(>iinl( (I )»v ;i ciiicrarv urn; but, too 
♦I'mJv aUorhcd in inr own inclaiU'liolv tliouulits, i-lie did 
h<>\ j/«i(«i\r luf. 'i he ImiIv held iu licr hand a bouquet of 
ll'.v.ii , ulilcli -lir strewed on a little '•rave: lier eves were 
n<\ Willi w lepiir/, her l»r('a>t labouri;d with agonisinii: sobs; 
jiji'l a- In- ro-r I'lom bciorc the coltmni to tear herself awav, 
I l)<:ii'l Iki' miirniui" " ./r //'// siirrlri'd't j)((s !'^ Curiosity 
<Im',v me to tlie ^|M)i she. had ([uitted : it was the grave of 
a el/ilil, four vtar> ol' a'^c, who<e disconsolate mother had 
eome to \i ii the sad nionunient whicli entombed her af- 
U<-\\'>i\ ' \ ami the immjtei* of laded llowers and ixarlands that 
derl.i-d ilir ;i:i\r attested the depth and constancy of her 
a lllal I'ai. 

On a eert.i'm davoflhe year tlie l^arisians <xo in multi- 
liide-, to \l-it the lomhs ol' lh<'ii' deceased relatives, aud dcck 
tin ir »'ra\es wltii tVe^h 'garlands — a pi-actice also among the 
anei( nt Komaii^ on tlie Testis al caHed I'eralia, or Feast of the 
(dio-t-; lieiicr the. words ol" 'lHailius { ill), ii. el. 4) : 

*' Aiiiiii.i (oiisliiK l<» ^( rt;i (I.ilnl luiiiulo." 

l*rop<itiii- alludes to the same custom : 

" ■ I 1 li (pir .s<iniU hmiil 

And tlie heaiiiirid lines of \ ii't^il shew what use they 

made ol llowei - : 

" 'ill M;ir« ( Ihis Ahuiilnis (lull; lilia pli'iiis: 
I'lUjMll* (IS '•|J,il;.iim Jioio ." 

It was IVom I.Liypt tliat the Christians borrowed the 
cu>toMi of emhalnun;j; tin; ch-ad, and surrounding the tomb 
with Dowers. 'J he new-blown j'o^e, the syuibol of nascent 
life, was lor a h»n^ time consecrated to the dead, ** Vivis 
josa grata, ei grata sepuhdiris." To this they added tlie 
laurel, the enjblem of eti^rnal life, a branch of which they 
Used to haiiii' over the door of tin? dyin'r; and the ever<':reens, 
the ivy, the \ew, and arbor vita' {i.e. aterna'), arc still the 
usual ornaujcnt'^ of our l'jii;li>h chiircdivards. 


Some there are who have had strength of mind enough 
to mark out beforehand the place of their sepulture^ over 
which they erect a cenotaph to themselves while alive. Such 
a practice renders us familiar with the idea of death ; and 
perhaps no more constant memento could be devised to keep 
us in mind of the insignificance of every thing that panders 
to human vanity. The emperors of Constantinople were 
wont to be reminded of death in the midst of the pomp and 
pe^eantry of their coronation, during which ceremony the 
magistrates were accustomed to present different sorts of 
stone to their sovereign, requesting him to choose which of 
them he would have for his tombstone. The idea was 
sublime and philosophic, conveying a hint of the nothing- 
ness which awaits the utmost worldly grandeur, at a time 
and ceremony when the mind was most likely to forget it. 
An anecdote is told of a certain Parisian, who caused an 
elegant family vault to be made and enclosed by a gilt 
railing : he had it decorated with the family arms and other 
devices, together with the names of all the individuals of his 
family inscribed on it in letters of gold. When the mauso- 
leum was finished, he one day proposed a party of pleasure, 
and appointed the cemetery of Pere la Chaise as the place of 
general rendezvous. Judge of the surprise of the party on 
perceiving, on one of the most elevated spots in the garden, 
a tomb all ready to receive them. Next day the chef de la 
famille sent each of them a carte dC entree^ with the number 
of the niche which was reserved for him ! 

Continuing my walk, my feelings were somewhat differ- 
ently affected from heretofore, by reading on the tomb of a 
young unmarried female the following singular Equivoque : 


Not far from this you will find inscribed on an empty 
vase — 

^ II at PLEiN det larntei de V attachment et dela recorniaitsfmcel^' 

Was it grief that dictated on the tomb of J. G. Char- 
cutier, that he had dwelled Rue St. Denis, No. 27 ? This 

12 PARIS JlIE LOl \ Jii:. 

man lui>, no ilouht, left a widow, thought I, ^^llo >lill carries 
on the l)ii-in«'>s — imffi'/.-c, </ dnrd, a im^ ,\ 

I sjjould pruliaMv lia\e IkIu'vcJ \ . S. . . . tlmt iie was 
eternally ineon-oiaMe at luninu' lo^t his ludoved wile, had 
lie not said the same thiuLi,- of one he had left onlv seven 
months before at Montniai'ti'e : nav, the >torv t:oe>, that this 
diseonsohue luishand i< ahoiu to take a third fail* dauiihter 
of I'^ve to hi> l)()soni, who may, [)ere]ianee, lea\e liini oiiee 
moi'e in everla^-tiiii;' des])air ! ^\ ell I for a thoi'oui:']i, >haine- 
h^ss, thiek-set |)iece of iii>ii;e* riiv, U'eoinituiid n:e to a 
churchyard I 

(.)n n^irardinu" the >kv, 1 was i^lad to in.'reei\e the clieei'iiJLi' 
countenance of the ^un jiLiain. \\\ this time 1 found I liail 
expectorated all inv ill-humoui\ and, le-t 1 -dioidd aL^ain Liet 
cliop-fallen, I rcturmd furth^^ith t) (JriLinon's, to dine on 
iMaintenon cutlets and a hottle of lKrmirai:e. 

TiTE LorvKE. — To-dav 1 strolled into the lower uallerv 
of the l.ouvre, to prate away an hour ^ith the statins in 
their own manner: now to Iioh or noh with old >ih'nu>, or 
converse Mitli mv iin^•ers in hici'Oi:lv])hic i;ui>e \\\\\\ I^i> and 
Osii'i< ; now to draw oti' my atrahiliou*- humour into the tub 
of JJioj^enes, or lauL;h with Democriius ut uhat makes evei'y 
one else weep. 

IfiiJJ of fifc ( \irj/(f fides. — On enterini; thi< >plendidly 
peopled saloon, and turninix to the ri^ht, vou come to a h'j.uie 
Avhicli arrests attention l>v the corrcctno^ of its anatcunv, 
joined to incom})arahle ea>-i; of ]>osition and manlv eleirance 
of form. It is a statue of Silknis'^' nur-ini;- the inlimt 

* Tlif f:uill!<>s air<ilniny (if tliis figure i> most coii-vJmcuoun whiu Muwcd 
from l)clini<l. M:irk the hhi/is nuisclc ;is it stt.iN from uikJiv iIjc po^uiior 
r(l-«' of lilt' dtltind- -{\\i: (.oiiLtl oulliiic of tlie sciq-ula — the sucll of llic 
<:lii(ii— lliL' tcn(l(ji) of tlio lic( /-^ jh un i/in^, iii.d iliv inliiiiraM'- lorni of llie 
nas/nxfii iiiii fiuiii their onum dowiiwaidv. In f.,ct, iliis sl.iun' cxiiil its the 
\\\\v>\ inuN( ulir display I j\cr ^,i\\\ ami iiia_\ ]u^d\ l.i- rcfciicd to a< a s-d'i- 
linn of llir doul)tlid and disj.tittd j»oinl, win llnr A/////C/;/ aiiatoinv was c\ «r 
jtr.Ktixd lt\ IIk; aiKi«nls. 


Bacchas : not the bloated figure and besotted countenance of 
the Falstaff of antiquity, but Silenus before deformed by 
crapulent intemperance^ with his infantine and, as yet, un- 
debauched, god and master nestling in his arms. Still con- 
tinuing onwards, cast a glance on the Empress Plotina. 
In her the chisel of the sculptor has embodied the idea of 
a Roman matron of the days of Home's noblest and most 
exalted patriotism. The general contour of this statue dis- 
plays a form masculine, yet dignified ; her countenance, great 
strength of mind ; and her demeanour, calm yet unalterable 

As you advance, you involuntarily halt before the statue 
of Marcus Aurelius. Life itself could not express more 
commanding majesty, and the master of the Roman universe 
stands confessed both in attitude and feature'. 

No. 689 is the statue of Livia as the muse Euterpe. In 
her right hand she holds a tibia, indicative of her assumed 
character. Symmetry of proportion, enchanting sweetness 
and beauty of expression, drapery exceeding in lightness and 
delicacy the web of Arachne, and cast with the utmost 
chastity of taste, voluntarily enslave the delighted eye in 
beholding a form of such perfect excellence. 

No. 659 is a semi-colossal statue of Bacchus inebriated. 
A wreath of vine-leaves encircles his temples ; in his right 
hand he holds a bunch of grapes, whilst he points, as he 
speaks, with the forefinger of his left. Mark the unsteady, 
sta^^ring gait of the drunkard, as every vacillating muscle 
strives to counteract the grovelling tendency of inebriation ; 
the bloated inelegance of his shape, the babbling expression 
of his mouth, the dull and stupid glare of his eye, and 
the twitching that plays about his lips as he seems to talk 
the incessant, inarticulate talk of drunkenness, recapitu- 
lating merely the same nonsense he had been repeating a 
hundred times before. Here you see no caricatured grimace 
— no extravagant distortion of feature ; but the artist has 
cauffht the nicer, though not less distinctive, characters of in- 
toncation, with a fidelity which nothing but guilty, hiccuping 
experience can fully appreciate. 

14 v\n\si — Tin: louvri:. 

No. (>84 is a somi-colossal statue of Alexander thk 
Great. Unii'ovonial)!^ rv.p^j (lisnpi)ointnioiit, and dlsti'ac- 
tion, contend one n!j.nin-t; nnotlior in cverv trnit of liiscoun- 
tenancc, as if thwarted or fuiled in some ani]>iliun.s project. 
The deep-indented furrow hi^tween his eye1)i*ows is forcibly 
expressive^ of ven^'eance nnwrcakcd ; liis neck is swoHen, 
C^oru'ed with blood, and coiIe<l, as it were, on itself, rc- 
seniblinu:; the writliinu'S of an eni-aged vi}>er. The sculptor, 
in the conception of this ferocious statue, nnist have ima- 
gined Alexander in one of his unhap]>iest moods, when the 
iiiairuaniniitv of tlie hero was merged in tlie unulutted furv 
of the victor, as, with uplifted arm, he seem< to vow a vow 
horrible enough to produce an (^aiMliqualvc. .Alexander tlie 
Great would have hi^ statue made ]»v no oUmm- hand but 
Lysippus. Is this ])y sueli a master ehi?el i 

Among the terminal ]>usls in this liall whieli attra(;led my 
attention most, wen^ tho<e of llippocrales, ilomer, Seneca, 
and Diogenes. Instead of the mi^antln'opic sort of person- 
age I (*xpected, I was surpri-ed to find ^o int(M'esling and 
handsome a count(Miance in tlie cynic of Sinope. 'J'i)is 
Hermes represents a man of middle age, with a fine cast of 
features ; but vet there i*^ a certain projection about his 
month and chin v»liieh convevs an ^* ofli rnhjus'' idea of 
supercilious regardles>ne>s — contenmin<j; public opinion, its 
applause or censure, and challenging tbe utmost malice of 
fate, as superior to her most capricious vicis-itudes. 

Bv a kind of association difhcult to account for, tlic 
busts of these virtuous and venerable men are plac<'d among 
two mischievous (Ju])ids ; and directly in front of them lies 
tlie celebrated Borghese Insvs. Is this to try their philoso- 
phic pretensions I if so, the sages look on with all the .sv/////- 
fro'nl of genuine r'frtn. 

Bv the side of, and on the chinmev-])iece, von see three 
sepulchral urns from Marathon, and the mind s])ontaneo!isly 
cliiiirs to the beli(^f that thev niav have containetl the ashes 
of some of the inunortal heroes that fell on that distinguished 

Before cpiittinix this mactnificent apartment, I may direct 


the trayeller's attention to a statue of the Wolf of Mars. 
It is of porphyroid rosso ; and between the Caryatides are 
two antique bronze vases, supported on beautiful columnar 
pedestals of polished red granite. 

Leaving this hall^ you re-enter an open corridor, in 
which, as you advance, a statue of the goddess Minerva 
merits attention. Ou her left arm she bears a shield ; In the 
right hand an upright lance ; and in her countenance, amidst 
much sweetness and beauty, is blended the dignified com- 
posure of her characteristic attribute — wisdom. 

Opposite to this, observe a very charming statue of a 
priestess of Isis, with a cistrum in her hand : a Satyr 
stands laughing by her side ; and not far off, a statue of that 
obscene old sot, Silbnus. 

The spectator is nest struck with the majestic look, 
manly and robust form, and easy and natural attitude of a 
statue, which grasps the hilt of a sword with the right hand, 
whilst the left holds a scabbard. It is that of JuliuiS C^bsar. 
His knit eyebrows indicate firmness of resolve and courage 
that would rise in proportion as its efforts were discomfited. 
This statue seems not merely to command others, but it 
appears itself to lead the way, across the Rubicon. 

Near to him who trod under foot the liberties of Rome, 
stands one who continues to trample on the liberties of the 
world : one who comes, at first, with laughing eye and 
timid air, presenting to us sweets and flowers, and by de- 
grees grown bold, mischievous, and perfidious, makes us 
groan and weep. Who is it, need I ask, that by turns com- 
mands, supplicates, rules, obeys ? Who by a look enslaves 
mankind, and arms with boldness and address the trembling, 
guileless heart ? Who seals with sleep the wakeful eyes of 
Argus, or watches with the vigilance and patience of the 
anaconda, when all the world beside are sunk in deepest 
slumber ? Love ! the little urchin, Love ! His statue was 
now before me ; but the creative chisel of the sculptor has 
represented Cupid, not as the mere mischief-loving boy, but 
the Cupid that was caught in his own snare — the youthful 
lover of Psyche. 

l(j I'VRis — THE i.orvur.. 

Anioiuj; the I^ltvj)!!!!]! inonmiunt^ there is a noble bust 
of the Nile Pi:ix*>(>MnEn, of noi-phvritic granite. Ilis conn- 
tenance i> venera])le, and liis loUL^-tlowing* beard falls on his 
breast in nndulatiuL;- ft)l(ls, like the ripple on a mountain 
streandet raist'd by tlie evcninu" bivc/.e. 

Vou now come to a beaiitil'id niosaie ]>avenient, inlaid 
with tlie rarest and nio^t varir::;it('d inarbk-s. It is edj^t^l 
l.>v a (irecian border, tlie te'=stlatii>n> of whieh are arran'jed 
with tine perspective etluet. \\ reatlis of oak-leav(S are at 
the four corners : in the centre vou see \'ietorv in an anti(|ue 
triumphal car, di'awn by four horses, and followed by two 
female tiuures bcariuLi' thi^ euibh'ui^ of Peace and Al)undance. 
( )n each side of the juirallelo^'ram are alleu'oj'ieal repre- 
seiitatious ol' f )ur of the most celebi'ated ri\ei's of anti([uity. 
(.)ne, tlu' Fo : remark the water as it rur^hes out of a jar, 
how faithl'ully tlu' mosaic repres('nt> the Liie-hiuLi; str<nim. 
Two swans sail proudly on the water, which, bv' the skilful 
arran'j;t'nu!nts of the artist, um'onsclou>lv cause the eve to 
follow the current, and, by linuei'inu' on the object, to in- 
crease its eltect. Another is the .\ile, "vn ho re>ts on a 
sphinx as a mark of appropi'iation. At his feet a ])yramid 
lifts its iLi^raduallv taix.M'in'j; point to the skies, to denote the 
pcrsonitication more distinctly. fn hi> left hand he holds a 
paddle, indicative of bciuL:" navig'ablo ; and in his riuht, a 
cornucoj)ia of Howers, symbolical of his frrtilirriuL;' course. 
'J'he thli-d is the Ijiphrates; aial the fcurlh the Danube, 
which last front> a siipeid) c(dossal -tatue of 3I]:rP(>Mi:Ni:. 

'J'his is perhaj)s tin? most wondorful, as it uu(|U('-tional5ly 
is the most mauuilicent statue in the whole collection, and, 
thouLih colossal, its various ])r()portions an? so admiiablv 
])reserved, that its maunitude almost esca])es ob-cj-xation. 
C)bserve the drapery, how (ii-acefullv it is cast ; on the arms 
it appears transparent. Her eve scu'ius to tlasli with pot^iic 
fire, and her entire? fiu-ure is so nrjuiil and iuipo-lu«_r, that 
you fain would beseocji the tragic nnise to descend from Jier 
pedestal, and, fancying ShaksjK'ai'c as her auditor, to recite, 

*' To be, or not" on the mosaic carpet at her feet, which 

she would irrace, beautiful even as it is. 


Stoned, they say, have ears. The statue of Nemesis 
proves they have more. Look at the lips of the goddess ; 
you think she is about to speak, and as you draw near to 
listen, you instinctively tread more gently. Pitiless stone! 
why not for once yield up your obduracy? for gladly would 
I know what a statue like this hath to say. You point to 
your breast, as if the secret laboured there. Nemesis ! is it 
to complain ? Where is the gallant Quixote, even among 
these marbles, that would not leap from his pedestal and fly 
to your succour ? Is it a secret confided to your keeping by 
some frail sister of Olympus, which you bum to disclose ? 
The wonder y in your case, fair lady, is then no anomaly — 
the artist hath wisely petrified your tongue, and you cannot 
do otherwise than keep it. 

Near to this stands a statue of Providence, combining 
all that is majestic, benignant, and bounteous. She holds a 
globe in her left hand. A graceful tiara surmounts her still 
more graceful forehead. In the casting of the drapery no 
folds could be lighter or more elegant, and they clasp round 
her beautiful form with the affectionate ardour of a lover. 

On the opposite pedestal stands an equally fine statue of 
Hope. A diadem of stars radiates round a countenance 
beaming with all that is mild and beauteous. Hope looks 
so serenely sweet, that she never could have been disap- 
pointed — so confiding, as never to have been betrayed — and 
so innocently credulous, as if the tongue of flattery had but 
to tell its tale to be believed. 

You now come to the statue of a female leaning on a 
rock, and resting her head on her elbow. It is the Muse 
Polyhymnia. A double coronet of flowers encircles her 
temples, and her tresses are bound and displayed with in- 
finite grace. When you can take your regards from a coun- 
tenance so charming and beautiful, let them fall on her fair 
and delicate form ; then behold shapes of the loveliest pro- 
portions ; but pry not too curiously, stranger, for her vest- 
ments are diaphanous. 

No. 310. A superb semi-colossal statue of Pallas. A 
helmet is on her head. Observe her countenance — how 

IS p.\iu>— - M •.N\rR> NNP >f<y.rRS. 

nol.U' htmI c:'O(lli^<0 I v.;-li L, r ri_!it arm •j:raret\illv extciidoil, 
-li»; -r-u.'U in the a*t:tii<!r o[ -y. ;i\:ii_. What may we siir- 
\i.i-i- '. Was it tliU- -lit' «_a\':' l^itt ami Fox, Caiiniiiir aiul 
hroii_-]jain, a 1l''->]i: t'-r oulv ?ucli ctHiid l.>e the pupils of the 

Tlie (M-!.:l.riirrJ -!;jnr' of tlio Fi'^iiriiij: Gladiator, pro- 
-cntf 1 \>\' PriiiC!' IJtjruhr-'! to B».':iaparto, i- too wrll known 
to r( <piii>.' (!♦•-(:! iprio::. Tiio others in this tiiio colloction 
that -truck uil' more inirticiilarlv, I must harelv onunierate 
(•;i,tal'''/ic;illv. No-. *J-53. .E-culapius — '234. Aiitinous as 

Ihrcuh- S-j'). Ccros — '244. A charmiiiir Ikicchanto — 1251. 

I'o'ii- l'aui!> a- (.'ai*viiti<lL'S — '2i?'K Mar- as \'ictor — '2G8. Eliiis 
V'eni- — '27G. The Ihiiperor lladi-iaii — 281, A wounded 
Ainazon - -2^2. The X'enis of Arlks — 2!^0. A noble statue 
f>r a W oj--hij>pf;r a- the Mu-e Euterpe — and lastly, 249. A 
ifeinnh«nt (•oh)^-;d -talue of the Til)er. The attitude is one 
of icpo-c, |)hicid a.-5 the stream it is meant to represent. 

Manm.ks and McKtHs. — Whatever thev may Lave been 
ill foiuHi' d.'iy-, tlie* Ireneli, in my opinion, can no longer 
ho,'i-t (»f any sujieriority in politeness of behaviour. One of 
the thiii'^s thnt sti-ik<,'S an Enulishman on his first arrival 
afiKiiit^ his Cialhc neii:hl>our>, is their coarse and l)oisteroiis 
manner of cfjnver.-iiiij:. A stianiror to their lan'juaixe and 
Msat:«-s is certain thev are (luariellin''' and a])OUt to fiixht, 
and is ^hocdve(l jtnd surpri^e(l when he learns that this is 
iheii- u>iial lone of convei'sation. In a lar^e company all 
sjieak to;;(;ther, and it is who to speak loudest : no one cares 
to listen ; you see no resixu'tful deference, while they in- 
terrupt oik; another without the least regard to the connnoji 
received rul(;«; of ordinary politeness. This to me, who love 
to '* mov(5 all «j^ently," is particularly disaji,reeable ; and it 
has ofton liajjjiened, that, after having' attem|)ted to hearken 
natientlv lo what eacli, in Li'rcat 'jood nature, had to com- 
municate — lor Johnny ('rnjxau, at l>oltom, has mucli plea- 
sin::- aniialtility about him, Jilthowuh lie has got such a m»isy 
way (»^rh(•^vin^' it- I li;i\v' bcv n ohlii^rd moie tliaii once to 
rctii'r with a distiactiiej,- headaeli. 


The French are usually accounted a lively people. I am 
inclined to believe the events that happened during and sub- 
sequent to the Revolution have essentially altered their na- 
tional character. A spirit of discontent at present pervades 
all classes : the soldier of foctune^ a character comprising more 
or less directly the entire population of France, is discon- 
tented — for fortune has ceased to favour the brave; the 
efkigre is discontented — for it is impossible to indemnify 
every one to his satisfaction , and years of exile and privation 
have dissipated the gay humour of his youth \ while the re- 
collection of mortifying reverses sours the retrospection of all. 
** La gloire de nos armes " rests tarnished ; and every brave 
spirit sighs, as he regards his rusty sword, for the oppor- 
tunity to furbish its sullied lustre on the breast-plate of an 
enemy. All that gave buoyancy to the spirits under a more 
brilliant dynasty — hope, ambition, emulation, distinction — 
is water-lo^edy and there is not a more grumbling, discon- 
tented being than a modern Frenchman. How different is 
this character from that of the times when Victory seemed to 
cling to the wheels of their very hackney-coaches, so lavish 
was she of her triumphs ! 

Ths Guillotine. — To-day an acquaintance called to 
say, that a man was to be guillotined in the Place de Gr^ve. 
Although averse to sights so revolting, curiosity prompted me 
to accompany him. We squeezed our way though several 
streets, thronged with men and women hurrying forward in 
the same direction ; and on getting to the Place de Gr^ve, we 
were fortunate enough to be solicited by a person, whose 
house faced the guillotine, to take places at his windows. 
A little bai^aining settled the price of our accommodation ; 
and after mounting a narrow and dirty staircase to the 
second floor, we had every reason to be satisfied with the 
bonne foi of our host. 

By this time the crowd had become immense, and filled 
the entire of the square in front of the Hotel de Ville. As 
in all other enormous aggregations, there is something grand 
in the appearance of large assemblages of people ; soldiers 


and genB-d'armes in their several uniforms — numbers of 
females intermixed with the motley crowd, dressed with the 
characteristic glare of French taste — the constant undulating 
movement of such a mass of living power, that waved hither 
and thither, to re-establish the continually varying equili- 
brium, as the balance of pressure altered, — all combined to 
form a scene impressive from its magnitude, and imposing 
from the interest inseparable from the possible danger of some 
unforeseen accident happening to power in motion when so 
colossal and ungovernable. Association lent its aid to fill up 
the picture. The sight of the guillotine, the invention of the 
Revolution — the atrocious use to which it was put — ^the daring 
perseverance and impetuosity of the multitude to approach as 
near as they could to the edge of the scaffold, naturally brought 
to mind those passed scenes of horror and crime, of which, 
during the Revolution, this very spot was often the theatre. 

The criminal whose fate had collected so many spectators 
had been tried and convicted of the murder of two children 
in the presence of their mother ; bribed to the horrid deed, 
as the tenour of the examination would lead to the suspicion, 
by one interested in their destruction. He was conveyed to 
the place of execution from the condemned cell of the Con- 
ciergerie in a common cart. An aged priest sat beside him. 
Previous to getting out of the ckarette, the prisoner stood up 
and cast a look on the instrument of decollation : before mount- 
ing the ladder he again steadfastly regarded the guillotine. He 
then ascended to the platform, with that collected demeanour 
which a man of natural courage can command when hope 
has ceased from flattering for ever. The executioner now 
took off his surtout, which was merely buttoned across his 
breast, for his arms were pinioned behind him. The unfor- 
tunate man stept on a foot-board fixed at the end of an 
upright stage, which, turning forward on a hinge, placed his 
neck with his face downwards under the fatal knife ; and in 
a moment, by touching or pulling something (for I was too 
far off to see what), his head was severed from his body. I 
distinctly heard the noise it made as it fell into a trough 
placed to receive it ; the blood gushed in a torrrait from the 


neck, and a momentary but universal shudder convulsed the 
decollated trunk. Decapitation, otherwise, seems a speedy 
manner of dying, and appeared, from the rapidity with 
which the whole process of execution was performed, to 
want that salutary effect on the feelings of the spectator, 
which ought to form a main object of every public forfeiture 
of life. 

No sooner was the head separated, than the body was 
gkot off the stage into a pannier (for the indecent manner 
in which it was done will not allow me to use a more 
reverent expression), by turning it on edge; and the head 
was pitched out of the trough, by a man knocking it against 
his knee. 

The executioner picked up his spoils dejure — the crimi- 
nal's casquette, surtout, &c. The pannier containing the 
mangled body was put into the cart, which, without any 
more ceremony, drove off, and the crowd immediately hurried 
to disperse. 

The Revolution. — ^The cause of the French Revolution 
is mainly to be attributed to the blind security and obstinacy 
of the government, in persisting in a system of outrageously 
corrupt polity, instead of meeting the exigencies of the age ; 
in not yielding, in short, to the necessary changes demanded 
by the advanced and advancing progress of knowledge. 
Whilst society is in its infancy, some degree of absolute rule 
is perhaps both wholesome and requisite for its proper guid- 
ance; but when the crude, unfermented mass of the popu- 
lace gets the leaven of knowledge and inquiry mixed with it, 
and has thoroughly begun to work, any attempt to stay the 
progress of change towards the vinification of the intellect, is 
in danger of producing an explosion. Allow but the effer- 
vescence of the mental ferment to dissipate itself unheeded 
and unchecked, and no accident can happen ; for its turbu- 
lence is mere froth, which will quietly settle down, when 
the dregs of ignorance will be found at the bottom, and the 
spirit of intellect, where it ought to be — supernatant. 

As you walk along, you not unfrequently come to streets 

\:.:.: ^t-: _* . .: : >-.•-. ^„".:.^ :': t ••':.?: r.-rn <'«u5 times oftlic 
Kt^ /...:..:, V ::. ::t : . .-. -f-:..-. ::..- v.";: •' r^aint '* stovxl. 
tr.>.'t\. — ..f :...: • ...: yv ^» :^.:. ;.t, ice. Tlii^ circum- 

^: I'LTiK f..~t '•;•.. .. >:•-• - :. r.-.-^v"-. :.. :: ::.:> ir.ui.iier ainoiiix 

:: t rt>: . :.:..; :": "•- i.-'i^t:--. ::...:. . :. :::..::r:n^ t\>r Rue 

F'.»"'»t ::...■..-: . :..: :»;•>•.. " ..f ...T^tv'it-a :^' the iieare?t 

-^ ::.f.\.'^ ^. l-tN '.:.. :.:..: :.t' ^: '^ . :* :Lt'>t* tiuie?:. A 
' r - • 

1 ' t L-..''.. :••.". "^'^ --'>• ^- • ' ^ •'^ --*• •'-' :..>Li^':i t-f the dav, 
* - -' , . . . 

\.r.\7K:\'.\\ ;.:/.... K.N :. l.:.«t ::--: rr.:""': .: :':.e L:ly precursor 

," ^ .' -i t \'» <• . :. '. - -^ '».-.''>. -.t ::.:.:. ».'f iiiufliii was 
;»'■',.' '^ • s' \ '^^:- *••' " ^^^ .1.. 11. ,.:.::>." 'v^l.o Imd pro- 
,i_, . : ; :^ - - -, i. , ' :_ ..i.i f. :'.-r , 1 u: .;> a sul'Stitute, he 

l;aa I'.-i'.'..^ "• ■ -■ ••■•■ "■•-■•■ ■'-■■"• '•■"• --■•'<^- «^^''" a monkey 
JniT;-.V: i:- o;. •.:.": ri v. ■.•.: -ur «":.:.:. ^^.■.^ "ri;:.!. - au <iu;re en 
rnuiV:..- ar.a !\ :':.- i-.-^'-^ ■•> ^-.•, :.::.> :..>erved the 
„,:■,• iu --oi:-...!. ::.•.■•.::"■. i"^-^''- '-^ ^■-••"•••.-^ '-'^- l'^■'■^ona-e of 
bis \vi-ll-kiK'"ii ?i_"-i- i 

Boi.apane!". in :i.o t.v.I± of hi* -lory and power, 
did not t-capo au l.>>!i iV..m ^it"* oa-o'-nine taib. 
as the follow inj: epiiirani eM-mi'i-.n..* : — 

•* Tar iiTiO \\i\iV.T >:v'> t -'.■"0 
One story more of the Revohition. The voiee of pro- 
phecy hath loiiiT been silent, and yet soniethinir of its spirit 
seems to have awoke when tlie followiiiLr '* pitite chanson- 
nette" was written to ridicule the indiscriminate rage for 
denunciation which prevailed during the hloody sway of 
Marat, Dan ton, and Robespierre :— 

A I R — Li s Tn m bit ur.s . 
" Jo dt'nonce rAllemrii^ic, 
Lc Portugal ct rivspagru', 
Le M<:xique et la C'hampa<;iu?, 
Ijc LimaRne et le Pcrou. 


Je denonce ritalie, 
L'Afrique, et la Barbarie, 
L'ADgleterre, et la Russie, 
Sans mime excepter Moscou ! " 

Painting. — lu the attempt to giye some idea of a national 
school of painting in any other country, criticism would find 
itself at a loss where to begin to establish the character, or 
whom to select as a general prototype ; but in France this 
difficulty cannot be said to exist, since David, the acknow- 
ledged master of their school, in offering many excellencies 
worthy of imitation, has left defects behind which have 
stamped a character on the French historical school of paint- 
ing peculiarly its own. To illustrate my meaning, I shall 
first notice his ** Oath of the Horatii" in the gallery of the 
Luxembourg, in preference to his ** Leonidas," though more 
admired by his countrymen, as being a less exceptionable 
example of the artist's conception of composition and manner 
of execution. 

In the war between the Romans and Albans, the general 
of the latter, as every reader knows, proposed to the king of 
Rome to decide the fate of the war by a combat between 
three warriors to be chosen on each side. The proposition was 
accepted : Rome chose the Horatii, the Albans the Curatii ; 
and, by a stratagem of the last of the Horatii, Rome 

The three Horatii ask permission of their father to be 
Rome's champions. He, transported with joy, exhorts his 
sons to render themselves worthy of such honourable distinc- 
tion, and makes them swear before him to conquer or die ; 
and this is the interesting moment the artist has chosen to 
depict. The three brothers -stand before their magnanimous 
parent with arms outstretched, in the act of taking the oath, 
while their mother and sisters appear plunged in the deepest 

. .The difference of expression in the countenances of the 
three brothers is well conceived. One bold and resolute, 
confiding in himself, exemplifies physical courage: another 
evinces the enthusiastic eagerness of courage animated by 


sriiliiiicut : the tliird expresses the su1<muii resolve of a strong 
miiid iiii[>res^e(l with tile mauiiltuile of the ol)jeet to ])e con- 
tested i\,r, but at the same time whh the steady determination 
to attain it ur peri?h. This is well ; ])ut thei'e are faults : 
tlie e.\j)ression in the father's countenance, in invokiiiji; the 
'j^{){.\< to he propitious to the Cduse of Home, leaves somethin«j^ 
to wish fv)r~it is not enouirh ])repossessing, and we look for 
more diiinitv in the father of the Iloratii. The ^rief of the 
females, a^ain, is too Uiuiiotonous ; and tlierc is a harshness 
of outline in the lower limhs of all tlie male figures, whicli 
liives to them the dry ap})earanee of ^tatuarY. Tlic drapery, 
oji the other hand, is ca-t with great simplicity, and tlie 
colouring- is varitnl in hrautiful contract : the anatimiy is 
faultless, the ])tM>[)('etive excillent, and the relief given to 
the ilLLures extremelv well mana^-ed. The 1)ackirround is, as 
it ought to hi?, simph' and chaslc, and fornjs a foil, without 
di-au ing the eye from the scene, oi* drowning it in the depths 
of shade, or dazzlini;- it 1)V a too varied biilliancy. 

Another painting of David's, nnich more defective, he- 
cause re<piiring more genius than this artist possessed to treat 
it well ; aljoundin^ in detached beauties, and vet no unison 
among the wliole ; evincing a want of general comprehension 
( f plan, and, nevertheless, manv of the perfections of the 
m(!re arti.\t ; exemplifying, in short, what a man of no real 
elevation of m:nd may attempt, who is master of the mere 
mechanical j)arts of his art, — tlie Battle between tlie Sabines 
and Romans, is as monstrously varied in its details as the 
(Miimera. How has the artist conceived the person of 
Ivomulus — the suckling of a wolf, bred up in a forest, the 
foundcj- of n.iirhtv Rome? Wluit does it rei;iesent? — the 
warrioj- — the conqueror ? No; but a j'c/ft nudtn' just lifted 
out of his band-box, straddling gracefully asunder his two 
leirs, bearinic a shield on his left arm, and brandishintx aloft 
a spear with a look as terriHc as if ho were al)out to transfix 
a tly ! Viewed as a delineation of youthful beauty merely, 
no one can well deny its merit — it is designed without a 
fault, and painted with c(pial skill ; but as the personage 
meant to be represented, it is out of all character. Romulus's 


antagonist, again, has bone and muscle clumsy enough for 
Coleman's ** Man of Limbs;" and yet he does not seem 
'' doubled up for mischief." As for the designing of the figure, 
it is harshness personified. But let us shift the eye to some- 
thing more pleasing. And, first, what can be more charming 
than the upper part of the figure who interposes between 
these doughty combatants, as a mediator? She beseeches 
with such sweet distress; she exposes herself with so much 
endearing devotedness ! But cast not your regards below the 
cincture, else the beauty of the illusion vanishes. Next 
view an object still more beautiful, because more perfect; 
I mean the female on her knees imploring pity for as charm- 
ing a group of little urchins as Albani ever painted, or 
Flamingo diiselled into life. Nature, art, innocence, and 
beauty, all struggle for observance ; and savage must be the 
heart of him that would trample even on the garment of 
the delighted and delightful litde innocent that lies sucking 
its finger among the feet of the combatants, wholly uncon- 
scious of its danger. Two horses to the right are master* 
pieces of life, and very different from those convulsed animals 
which the Vemets depict dancing to St. Vitus. 

Among the horrors intended for the pathetic, unless it be 
the infant that cries so lustily as upheld by its mother, all 
else is ludicrous. The wrinkled old dame exposing her 
bosom, while no one attends to her supplication, *^ to ease her 
of her pain," looks as if she knew no violation would be 
attempted on her sacred charms. As for the damsel standing 
on the capital of a column, were she elsewhere, you would 
imagine she was calling '* Fresh mackerel!" instead of aught 
else, she bellows out so lustily. 

In fine, this painting, with all its beauties, has so many 
defects; the general plot of the drama is so unconnected; 
the dramatis personw so incongruously cast, that you search 
in vain for that in which a comprehensive genius would 
most have shone ^ a grandeur and unity of conception of 
the whole. 

As for his Leonidas, it is not worth going into its details, 
for it is still more strongly illustrative of the poverty of his 


genius aA a composer, and of all the faults most prominent 
in the last we noticed — harsh outline, false sentimentality, 
no meaning in the expression, no sense in the action, no 
unity in the combination; yet excellent for its perspective, 
and delightful from the general harmony of its tone of 

David, in my opinion, mistook his talent. Nature in- 
tended him for a sculjptor and portrait, not historical, painter. 
The latter character he has undeniably established in his 
fine portrait of Pope Pius VII. It is admitted, I believe, 
that this painting possesses the principal requisite of a por- 
trait, that of being a perfect likeness. The countenance 
expresses life itself; sedate, learned, pious, and benevolent, 
characters which eminently distinguished this worthy pontiff. 
The drapery is cast with grand simplicity and admirable 
skill. The hands, parts which an inferior artist commonly 
fails in, or neglects, are finished with the greatest care; 
the tone of colouring is chaste and becoming ; and the whole 
possesses the relief of statuary, with all the warmth and 
reality of life. In a word, it is a portrait, in my judgment, 
which, had David painted nothing else, would alone have 
sufficed to have handed down his name to posterity as a 
great artist. 

David's faults are attributable, in some degree, to the 
peculiar character of the times in which he flourished* 
During, and after the Revolution, every sort of novelty and 
monstrosity was the prevailing taste of the day. The ancient 
masters of Italy were neglected, if not despised ; and nothing 
but the pristine models of republican Greece and Rome were 
deemed worthy of imitation. This affected taste introduced 
the stiffness of statuary into all their designs. Studies from 
the antique became their models; stories from the same 
source were taken for their subjects; and every rule and 
practice was outraged by the meretricious desire to produce 
something piquante, frappante ; and hence the number of 
monstrosities that now line the walls of the Luxembourg; 
lis Girodet's string of horribles, called the Deluge, and such 
like, exemplify. The progress of taste in the arts is the same 


as in literature ; the marvellous and astonishing in both, in 
their infancy, are more admired than the sublime beauty of 
a grand simplicity, where depth of conception composes the 
sentiment, jather than surprise resulting from some forced 
expression, and which, inasmuch as it excites a hyperbolical 
feeling, invariably loses in dignity by so much the nearer it 
approaches the ridiculous. It ai^es obtuseness of sensibi* 
lity, where people can be affected only by what makes a 
strong impression ; and astonishment is a pleasure of igno- 
rance. Chords that can vibrate only when struck by a sledge- 
hammer make dull music. 

I shall notice only one other painting of this school, 
which is to be seen in the Louvre, the Sleep of Endymion, 
by Girodet. Endymion, as the classical reader knows, was 
a famous hunter; and by his justice and probity obtained the 
favour of Jupiter. At his death he was received into heaven 
among the gods; but, soon foi^etting the favour, he dared 
to make love to Juno, the wife of his benefactor. Jupiter, 
to punish the ungrateful Endymion, condemned him to an 
eternal sleep in a grotto of Mount Latmus. His beauty won 
the heart of the goddess Diana, who is represented at night 
by the moon; and the ancient mythology tells us that the 
goddess of chastity, fearful of her amour being discovered, 
waited till the day was done, to visit her lover and embrace 
him as he slept. This is the moment which the artist has 
chosen for the representation of his scene. 

In a wood of palm-trees Endymion is seen lying on the 
skin of a tiger, and appears plunged in the deepest sleep. 
A little to the left, and placed somewhat above him. Zephyr 
is seen suspended to the branches of the trees, fluttering 
about amongst their leaves, and drawing them aside, whilst 
Diana, in the form of a moonbeam, falls on the lips of 
Endymion. Nothing can be more poetical than the chastity 
of such a kiss, or more chaste in taste than the poetry of 
such a conception. 

But beautifully fine as this idea confessedly is, the most 
admirable part of all is the magic tone of colouring which 


pervades this picture, and the great art with which it is 

" The cold smile of the raoon, 
And the pale foliage of the midnight scene/' 

are touched with a brush dipped on Nature's pallet : leaflet 
casts leaflet into shade with the greatest perspective accuracy ; 
and the stillness and solitude of the scene might well give 
courage to the timid prude, for here she may gaze unre- 
strained in rapturous delight; here indulge in, and repeat, 
the silent, stolen, soffc embrace — sweeter for the stealth, un- 
embarrassed by its attendant unconsciousness, and unbounded 
in its gratification by the secrecy of its enjoyment. 

This painting unquestionably possesses great merit, yet, 
however admirable it may be, it is not without a very conspi- 
cuous fault. The proportions of Endymion are copied from 
the Apollo Belvidere. He has the same style of head and 
features ; the same soft outline of limb ; but all magnified to 
a gigantic dimension. Now, however well heroic propor- 
tions, when justly preserved, may look in a statue, they 
seldom or never appear to advantage in a painting. The 
recumbent position of Endymion renders this fault less ob- 
vious ; but place him upright in the eye of imagination, and 
the figure will appear a colossus. 

The foregoing observation may recall to the reader's mind 
a somewhat similar objection which Strabo makes to Phidias's 
celebrated statue of Jupiter at Olympia. The god was repre- 
sented sitting on a throne ; yet he almost touched the ceiling 
with his head, so that, had Jupiter risen from his seat, he 
would have carried the roof along with him. 

Departure from Paris. — Aware, as the reader may 
be, how little of interest there is before getting towards the 
south of France, I mean to hurry him over the intervening 
ground, gleaning by the way any stray observation that may 
casually lie in the route. 

Wishing to see the palace of Fontainebleau, I quitted 
Paris by the Barriere d'ltalie, knowing that I could regain 


the direct route of Lyons by crossing the forest. It had 
rained all the preceding day, and the roads were excessively 
dirty; yet I trudged through the mire, satisfied that every 
step I took to the south left the winter a yard behind me. 
The sun had fisen sad and gloomy, shining dimly by times, 
like a sulky child that tries to smile with the tear-drops 
hanging to its eye-lashes; now chasing the lighter mists 
before him as a ship does the rippling waves ; now plunging 
into the thicker and denser, and as he dashed the surging 
clouds from his prow, I felt the spray fall on my face. This 
portended too certainly what afterwards came — a thick 
shower of sleet and rain, which soon wetted me to the skin. 
The rain continued to fall more or less all day, and did not 
cease until I got to Le Plessis, where I halted for the night. 
The landlady was engaged sweeping out her sty with a shovel, 
for the dirt lay so thick that the besom came second : a pig, 
attracted by the loose cabbage-leaves and other filth, lustily 
opposed the lustration, and was not to be denied, although 
she kept saluting him very unceremoniously on the snout 
with her sabot. I had scarcely seated myself by the fire to 
dry and warm myself, when my ears were assailed with 
" Toujours faim ! B — de faineante !" and on looking up, 
I was astonished to find the exclamation had proceeded from 
mine hostess, on catching the poor servant-girl purloining a 
mouthful of bread. I have before this had occasion to remark 
that, whenever the landlady of a French auberge indulged in 
the graceful accentuation of every word with an oath, there 
was no great comfort to be expected therein ; and my landlady 
of Le Plessis fulfilled my anticipations to the brim. Her 
very looks depicted brutality humanified ; and the poor girl 
continued to receive, while my little meal was being prepared, 
the beatitude of her ill-humour in such epithets as quite 
amused me by their extraordinary atrocity. '' Sacre B — 
de hite^ " F — de cochoUy' and " Sacres mille tonnerres^* 
were flung at her devoted head, as if Jove had cast loose his 
thunderbolts, and given them a holyday to revel as they list. 
Apprehensive that I too might come in for my share, I was 
glad to sneak off to bed as if I had stolen my supper. 


No\t inoniiiiir I lloI on tlu^ winix 1)V the dawniuGT of the 
raiTie^t Minlirani, hickilv lu^oro tlio i-lie-dragon was t^tinung, 
aiul thus tsoapctl thv' Ix'iutit ('t* any valedictory inalediclion. 
Ill pas>in«:; tliroui;'h tlie part of the forest hefore comini^ to 
l'ontaine]»h\iu, I ste]>|uHl out oi^ the road, among the huge 
masses of sandstone that are pih'd one on another in so siu- 
uulin* a niainuM*, hi seareli of specimens of those curious 
I'homltoidal er\>tal< ^^ h;i*h Liet their name from their lt(ihit(tf^ 
h<'iii''- found o\\\\ lu're ; hut anah<is has now proved that 
ihi-^ anomaUui.^ i'r\sial is not of pnn^ sandstone, hut ohtaius 
its tenih'ncv to a>-unie the rluMuhoidal form from its miioii 
\\'\\\\ a ]>i>rlioii o^ carliouate of lime. In another part of the 
[ovvM tluMe i> a >aH(Ktoue rv»ck so poi'ous that water con- 
linuailv lilhM's through it, and hence called la roche oitl 
jili-nit'. \\ \< fi'om the ciivum^tauce of the rock ))eing porou:^ 
that thoM' cr\>tals, I coiicrivt% are formed: the infilti*atiou 
earrirsNvlih it tiio sili>\ and lime in solution, which it deposits 
a'4ain in ea\itits, on n^tiiiu", in a regular crystalline form. 

Arrixini;- at I'ontainchh^au, 1 \va< ilisappointed in seeinc: 
the palace, lor the kiui;- ha]»pencd ti> he there on a hunting 
pailv, and then it is not shewn to visiters ; so, after resting 
mvsrif for an hour, I ci'ossed the fore>t in the direction of 
iMiu-fl, and, ri''n)ininL;- the main route, I sujiped and slept at 
Scus. It had hciMi markct-dav, and I was entertained in the 
<*M'ning hy a i'harlatan m ho travt'lled ahout the country in 
in^ cai'riage. The doctor wore a huge pair of nuistachios, 
had sorvcd in the campaigns under l)onaparte, was accom- 
panird, like Charles \'., 1^'cderick the Cneat, and other great 
nun, hy a dwarf tis his fot)tman ; and was in sucli re(|uest, 
that rvcn during su|)per he was (li>|)ensing his advice to a 
herd of cr(Mlulon> supj)licants. luigland is commonly con- 
si<lered the land indigenous of cpnickery, l)ut h'rance in this 
respect outdoes us far. In hhigland, mi*n of modest merit 
ai*e often ohliL;"ed to stand in some oh>cure passaire or 
tlioronghfaiv, and to distrihuti^ their own hil]<, slippinii" tlietn 
as ^hlv into vour liau'l as if it Vvci'e a f 'c ; hut in F]*anc«\ 
^uch, m(;i"e conscious of their nurit, come manfullv or 
womanfuUy foi*ward, and proclaim their own due pi'aise 


aloud, yea, often by sound of trumpet. A female Pithoness, 
mounted on horseback, the traveller may frequently have 
seen on the quays and bridges of Paris, announcing thus to 
a dying world some catholicon more wonder-working than 
even the elixir of life of old. 

Proceeded on tp Joigny next day. — Orthography in per.- 
fection is not confined to our own country places, it would 
appear. I remember once being puzzled in Cornwall to make 
out '' I queres agoose^' painted on a sign-board, and was not 
less so to-day upon reading on an open window-shutter, 


However, not just then standing in need of a feed, I had 
somewhat less hesitation about 

" AU DE VI,'* 

and at a venture treated myself to a petit verre* 

At Joigny I crossed the Yonne, passed through Auxerre, 
and slept at St. Brie. Here the country begins to ascend 
from the plain watered by the Yonne, and continues to do so 
till you get between Rouvray and Saulieu. The acclivity, 
indeed, is so steady and gradual, that, at first, you are in- 
sensible of the elevation you have attained. I observed 
abundance of greywacke, full of shells and ammonites, on 
the road between Avallon and Rouvray; and between this 
and Saulieu, as you reach the upper part of the range of 
elevation, the country is formed of red and gray granite. 
The red is by far the most abundant, and is of so friable a 
nature, from the quantity of decomposed red felspar it con- 
tains, that the soil of the neighbouring fields is entirely com- 
posed of it. Patches of the same rock, lying flat and smooth 
in the manner of sandstone, are scattered on the surface ; 
and the white grains of quartz which are so plentifully 
strewed amidst the decomposed felspar, now soft and adhe- 

• Tumbling over some pamphlets one day at a book-stall on one of the 
Pmi$ of Paris, I met with the following work : — " Love'$ Last Shift; ou, 
Lit Demure Chemise de V Amour, Co/uedie Anglaise /" 

32 I :• \\<- ]. — Lvov^. 

-iv^ llr.e r\;iy, <ji\.' r<j tlj* :".!■!- ili*^ npprarance as if thev 
^^*'V*: ,-uwii with rict-. 

'ii/e ;\-|)»'cr oi" tli^j -iir.'i)'!;!-!!.. j hei'jiits Las iiotliinfj 
priiuitivt' iJi<>iit it. \* v. i:i-*«;a-l (»t' beiiij l>oKl, ruirirod, and 
jM-akf'd, uir hill- ai-t- r.;iiii-lt.-d an 1 uu-lalatiuLr like those of 
th'j c!j;;.:k f •rinai i'>n lii Li;_.lairl. 'Yl.v couiirrv now com- 
iiH'iic*- t(j dr-'M..!.d i"! the ^aiiie in)|tt:i\'r}»iihh' and prouressivo 
nKinn«;r a- it li.d li^t-n : and as von aj^proach Arnay le Due, 
\ on anain nnct \\h\i tin* saniu dt-crintinn <»f LTrevwaoke 
w hich was to hf -< t-n at a curropojidin.^ Icvtd on the St. Brie 
>id(' of thu nionntain I'ann'r. 

1 nm-t now huri'v thr travellrr over the i^round a little 
la-tci", withont waitinir to detail Jiccidents of no maimer of 
int<'i"( -t. >o, reader, imagine von have drunk of the fine 
wine- of Ihirunndv m ar Chaanv and Chalon-, and, pacini^ 
\()\u' wa\ h\- the >ide « f the >a<>ne to Lvons, vou enjoved the 
-ee:ierv on it- hank-, which, without taxing: the ima-zination, 
i- real'y not picture-' [in; enouuh to de-eril)e. 


'I he v.ealjier still continued wet and cold: the town was 
holh dull and dirty ; and the only I'econipense I had for 
''(•ttintr so often drenched of late was seeinir the Rhone in 
n |)h:nitude of maje-ty. The late rains had greatly suoUcu 
the river, and it roIl(;d its flood of wateis to the ocean with 
the iinpeluo>ity ofasuictide impati<'nt to he drowned. How 
nnieli do our impre-sions depend on circunist(nices totally 
infh'j)en(h'nt of the thin;^s that ou;4ht to impi'int them ! The 
weather was bloomy, and tinged my piM'ceptions of its own 
shafh;. So far to the soutii, 1 expected to find it warmer. 
I hun;c <>«Jt at the Ilotcd de Milan, and fancied mvself mi- 
romfortahh; : I thouj^lit the town, as a place of manufacture, 
on the detdiiie; and 1 saw^ nothin;^ that deserved a second 
h»ok, except the fine e(piestilan statue of Louis XI\k, which 
the folks at Lyons are so nnich disposed to hold in nnde- 
Hcrved ahhorreiice ; yet so truly excelletit did I, on tiie con- 
trary, tiiink il, that I considered it as the finest of modern 


Statues I had yet seen : so strongly are political predilections 
apt to pervert the judgment ! 

A stranger coming to Lyons naturally looks for the 
characteristic that distinguishes the relations of Midas — 
a pecoliarity so humorously alluded to by Rabelais, who 
tells us, that, to hide their large ears, the Lyonese always 
wore their hats when going to be hanged : 

" Privil^e fort authentique. 
Pour cacher Toreille Arcadique.'' 

Whether it really be so or not, I got it into my head that 
the people here were less ready to uncover than is usual in 
France; many, I observed, wore their hats even at table. 
So, not relishing my company, I strapped my knapsack on 
my back once more, and left these modem Arcadians to 
** go and be hanged" after their own fashion. 

The grand route of Marseilles lies on the left bank of 
the Rhone, and as you descend with the stream, the scenery 
becomes more interesting. At Vienne, besides a fine ancient 
cathedral, highly deserving the traveller's attention, there 
are the ruins of an ancient bridge across the Rhone. 

The rock in this neighbourhood is an impure limestone ; 
and I have often before had opportunities to observe that 
the most deliciously flavoured wines are grown in the dis- 
tricts where the debris of this rock forms the soil of the 
country. It is perhaps owing to this same circumstance 
that our vines in England partly obtain their flavour, from 
being planted by wall-sides, where the mould abounds with 
the fallen mortar. Excepting those, the produce of a vol- 
canic country, I have never yet tasted good wines where 
lime, in one form or other, did not constitute the rock of the 
district and the main component of the soil. 

The high ground about Vienne hems in the river, and 
consequently there is little space left for vineyards ; yet the 
Viennese are so sensible of the value of every inch of the 
little that is given them, that the rock is cut into narrow 
terraces and planted with the vine* It is almost incredible 
how very little soil is requisite for its growth ; for here you 


;> { : v'\ '\ :\^ — r. \\<.k. 


: .k. r vT :!.. every hare crevice, and 
\t: :^ :*..'•'.^^. T. ^ - • * : - -• :0'-i in tfii"? neiirhbourhood is 
ri/:'. :.'..: ut '.:.-. > . . ' ,; '..- . '.-: .:* ...o of Tain, even* son of 
I'j.oo:: '.s k^.^^Ti, '* :.:' ■.- :. • '>!.."" Tliat the cause of the 
a::^V:\r..'o «-t"^^:: .- :- '.:.// ..:"..: vi-r-^o ;!ar. wtTe a:i idle anru- 
:iu^'.! to '.'.-•.s: ;:- ^••. -::;; .* '- ^^--.l k::>\Mi that tlie distance 
m' a ir.-k or :^^ ^ ^v.V. :r...*-: : a'/.v a::tr the quality of the 
cra.iHv l:\ :'.:•.:.. I a.. ::_'..: ::. !:.\ conic oture of the pro- 
porta > ot" r.i:::j./.a:* ki: .1? ::' !:::.ts:j::e Kin^r so influential 
ill iir.'.wrtr::, :'.a\o:r :. ^^ :: a. . u\ a! : :: u^^i he expedient to 
p'alNori.'c aavl ox'aar: ?.' \..!aa'lo a maiuire to soils less 
t'a\ ouiwl 

At Tai-a I tV'l la ^^::^. :: i c r> ^Vi rroottdinL: to Oranofe bv 
a ooal-har^c, u::a:; ^^ a- : .^ u a\ r T- iiriion, a town on tlie 
op}»o>iti^ s.vlo o\ :hc Kiana . '.a \: iia-rv/Ti:::. He wished me 
\o aoc.»in|Kra.\ hiai : thf pr M^a^>/io:i h;id novfltv to reconi- 
luoud it, aial ^o n\ o ^:aru\l iu\r dav intoiv daybreak. I 
wa< iiiij>atiout to uot lo tho >o'aiii, and hy thi'ee p.m. we 
landed at I^t. .\iulriv>l, r.avin::- l\on oarritd ahout eitrhtv 
\i\\\c< in i\>ol\o hours tloun tiio Khoiio, hv tlie force of the 
eiirront alonia On laniliac. I ti:>t Ivoame sensible of the 
diti'ertMu'o ofoliniaio, 1 N\a> now ntar!\ five dt^urees to the 
south oi' Vn\''\> : and thoni:h Novtanbor was mar its close, 
the >M'atlu'r >\a> pleasant Iv \\arni in the nuu-niniis. and even 
hot toward> uoiui. I eitv>>od iho Hhiuie to Pierrelatte : and 
niountinu u\\ kiuii)>aek next dav as ll^nal. 1 irot to Orauije 
in the evenini;*. 


This ancient city, which |;ives title to the princely 
house of Holland, was founded ])\ one of the Celtic tribes, 
the Cavari, and is mentioned by Strabu under the name 
ofArausion, for which he ([uotes Arteniidorus. 'J'he precise 
year in which Orange was colonised bv the Romans is not 
exactly known, althouoh, from a medal found here, and 
mentioned by Goltzius in his iXummi Antifjid Popffl. H 
Urbium, it appears probable that this happened under the 


proconsulate of Tiberius Nero, father of the Emperor Ti« 

A stranger is astonished to find so many fine ruins in 
a place so little frequented by the antiquary as Orange. 
Those of the Theatre are the best presenred of any extant ; 
the Triumphal Arch is a ruin of the most finished work- 
manship, and of great beauty ; vestiges of a Circus can be 
traced distinctly ; and considerable remains of an Amphi* 
theatre haye only lately disappeared. 

The Triumphal Arch stands in the middle of the ancient 
Via Domitiana^ just before you enter the town. It is of the 
usual form— ^ that of a parallelogram i — pierced by three 
arcades, with four fluted Corinthian columns supporting ebch 
of its sides. The archivolfs on the south fii^ade are orna- 
mented with a garland of flowers and fruits of the richest 
description. Over the arch to the east we see bas-reliefe of 
arms piled on one another, swords, pikes, bucklers, and the 
figures of animals, which had served as ensigns. On the 
shields you read names, half effaced, of a barbarous ortho* 
graphy ; and among these, that of Marius, to which I shall 
inunediately allude. The frieze is adorned with fighting 
gladiators, but the cornice is destroyed. Over the architrave 
of the lesser arches, the figures of tridents and other marine 
emblems are only confusedly visible, from being so much 
dilapidated, above which ranges a second cornice, which 
supports a second stylobate or attic. In the middle of this, 
a Imttle, in animated bachreliefe, is represented, in which 
you perceive half-naked barbarians, covered with large buck- 
lers, engaged with the Roman soldiers. Both armies seem 
to have had cavalry. Over the eastern arch, and in the 
same attic, there is the figure of a female supporting her 
head on her hand, in an attitude of grief, intended, perhaps, 
to personify the conquered province. AH that part which 
was over the western arcade has fallen, leaving no vestige 
of the sculpture which covered it. 

Between the columns which sustain the east lateral fiice, 
are figures of captives, chained t^o and two, with their 
hands bound behind them, in whose c<>untenanees shame and 


grief are well expressed. Over the captives are heaps of 
arms and ensigns, and the frieze is enlivened by fighting 
gladiators. This face, instead of having the usual length- 
ened, rectangular form, is in the shape of a truncated pyra* 
mid, which is extremely elegant. In the attic there is a 
head of Phoebus, framed in an arch, the border of which is 
covered with stars, and two cornucopias incline towards the 
angles. The second cornice above the first attic is sustained 
by two sirens ; the second attic is plain, but terminated by 
an ornamental cornice. 

The front which faces the north, and that which first 
meets the traveller as he approaches the town, is the most 
entire of the whole, and conveys a more perfect idea of its 
pristine majesty and el^ance. The arrangement of its parts 
is similar to the facade towards the town, but its greater 
state of preservation allows the spectator to judge better of 
its details. The architrave over the middle arch is beautiful, 
and between it and the columns you perceive the holes> of 
the cramp-irons, to which, probably, bronze statues were 

Over the two side tfrches are various trophies, and among 
others, a pair of hreeksy in use among the ancient Gauls. 
The frieze on this front, instead of figures of gladiators, 
shews the holes in which the bronze letters of an inscription 
had been fastened, and there are others to be seen in the 
attic, which probably had served to fix other ornaments in 
bronze. The middle of the first attic is occupied by the 
pediment of the principal arch, and on each side are bas- 
reliefs, representing ships, masts, pulleys, tridents, &c.| in 
good preservation. 

In the middle of the upper stylobate there is a battle-> 
piece, as on the opposite fagade, to the lefl of which you see 
various utensils of the Pagan religion — a patera, a cym- 
pnlum, preefericulum, and aspergillum, also an augur's staff, 
or baton. 

The side facing the west is so much destroyed, that it is 
now impossible to say what it had been. 

The under part of the arcades is sculptured and designed 


with prodigious richness and elegance. On that of the 
middle arch, immediately below one of the imposts, you 
see two heads of divinities, each wearing a coronet of olive- 
leaves ; and above the impost of the vault, rich festoons of 
fruits and flowers are sustained, from distance to distance, 
by beautiful female heads. 

This superb Triumphal Arch is constructed of a coarse- 
grained and friable limestone, which latter quality has 
tended greatly to favour and accelerate the dilapidations 
both of time and of barbarism. 

Of the various conjectures that have been put forth to 
appropriate the Triumphal Arch of Orange, the most feasible 
is that which assigns its erection in honour of Domitius 
CEnobarbus, to commemorate his victory over the Allobrogi 
at the battle of Ouindalon. Some have ascribed it to Marius 
for vanquishing the Teutones, from his name being stiU 
legible on one of the bucklers ; but many reasons militate 
against this supposition, and one of the most obvious is, that 
his name, instead of occupying a distinguished place on the 
edifice — for it ought to have made part of the bronze in* 
acription on the frieze — is, as we saw, indiscriminately 
blended with those of die barbarous chiefs who had fought 
on the occasion as the allies of Rome. Again, no where is 
an ei^le to be seen among the trophies, though first intro- 
duced by Marius himself, as the sole distinguishing ensign 
of the Roman legions. This characteristic is a common 
trophy on triumphal arches of a later era, and it appears 
particularly inexplicable why it should have been omitted 
on this occasion, had it been erected to commemorate the 
most brilliant of his victories. Pliny tells us that Marius 
adopted the ensign of the eagle the year of his second con- 
sulate. Now, Marius did not defeat the Teutones until his 
fourth consulate, and therefore a considerable time after the 
adoption of the eagle as the. ensign of the Roman legions. 
But the victory of Domitius preceded this event; and al- 
though Marius's name certainly does appear on the arch, it 
seems not improbable that this great captain, who had been a 
> soldier all his life^ had served in the action in a subordinate 


rank as tribune — a supposition which would sufficiently well 
account for his name being found engraved on a buckler, 
together with Sacrovir, Boduacns, &c., especially as we learn 
from Valerius Mazimus, that he had been made tribune of 
the soldiers the very year preceding the battle. 

(Enobarbus was denied the honours of a triumph, which 
were decerned to his successor, Fabius Maximus, the year 
following, for having terminated the war. On this, the 
haughty Domitius did himself those honoqrs which his 
country had refused him ; for Suetonius informs us, that this 
proconsul traversed Provence, mounted on an elephant, at 
the head of his army, with all the pomp of a real triumph ; 
and that the Marseillese, and the other colonies, covered the 
route he took with magnificent monuments to his glory. 
The line of his march afterwards took his name — the Via 
Domitiana, and it is thus mentioned by Cicero^ in Fonteio, 

From the triumphal arch of CEnobarbus, I went to see 
le Cirque. This is not a circus, as its common appellation 
would imply, but a theatre, and one in the highest pre- 
servation known. It is built of coarse shell limestone, 
having a facade 316 French feet in length, by 107 high. 
A large square porch, supported on each side by a Corinthian 
pilaster, is in the middle, the lintel of which is curiously 
dove-tailed, if I may so express it, ci dent de scie ; and over 
this an arch is thrown, to lessen the superincumbent pressure. 
On each side of the grand entrance there are nine lesser 
porches, wliich are arched 'and separated from each other by 
Doric pilasters, supporting a plain cornice. Above this you 
can perceive a groove, from which a covered portico, or 
forum^ had projected the whole range of the front. This 
portico had evidently been supported laterally by a wall; 
the one to the right still remains entire, with a doorway 
which led into the circus, properly so called. Twenty-one 
solid arches range above the upper line of the portico, in the 
centre of which you perceive round apertures to admit light 
into the corridors behind. A second cornice succeeds. Above 
this, large stones, or modillons, project, some of which are 
perforated by a conical hole, which correspond with another 


range of similar projections extending along the whole line of 
the fii^ade. These were for the poles which supported the 
velarium. A third cornice is interposed between the two 
lines of stone which project, pierced in places to correspond 
with the perforations above and below, for its edge protrudes 
so as would otherwise have prevented the supports of the 
velarium from being inserted into both tiers of stones. This 
cornice is regularly guttered, for the purpose of draining off 
the rain falling on the roof of the stage. A fourth cornice 
crowns the whole. I now entered the interior. 

The theatres of the ancients, I may mention, were gene* 
rally erected, when the nature of the ground admitted of it, 
dose to the declivity of a hill, or else in some hollow place 
having a semicircular inclination, which, by affording a 
natural foundation for the range of seats, thus spared the 
expense of constructing arcades to support them. The 
theatres at Delos, Smyrna, Syracuse, and elsewhere, all ex- 
emplify this attention to the natural advantages of situation, 
and the one at Orange may be added to the list. It is 
situated on the crupper of a hill, and where this fails, which 
it does towards the east, the semicircle is completed by 
arcades. As it now is, the visitor has only an imperfect 
view of this part of the edifice, from being masked by houses, 
which are shortly to be pulled down. A double tier of seats, 
of seven steps in each range, formed the semicircular space 
for the audience ; these terminated in two wings, 65 feet by 
66. The orchestra, or jpit, occupied a place similar to 
that in our modem theatres; and between the episcenia 
was the proscenium, 195 feet in length by 36 in depth — a 
proportion different, as we see, from the stage of a modem 
theatre, which is much deeper than it is broad. A cor- 
ridor ran between the proscenium and the wall of the facade 
in front. 

All these different parts of an ancient theatre are here 
readily cognisable ; and several of them still exist, quite per- 
fect, particularly the episcenia. 

Adjoining the theatre was the circus, the outline ot which 
can still be traced by the eye of the antiquary, though. 



perhaps, less distinctly by general travellers less interested 
in such researches. A nxtenianum, with its staircase entire, 
and adorned by a porch, remains, in tolerable preserration. 

Orange had likewise its amphitheatre ; but being erected 
principally of wood — a proof, by the way, of its greater 
antiquity — little or nothing is now recognisable but the spot 
occupied by the arena ; and what was formerly washed with 
blood, is now used as a public lavacrum. 

There are other remains of antiquity to be found at 
Orange. Detached parts of its ancient walls are still stand- 
ing, and may be readily known by the small square-cut 
stones used by the Romans in their walls of enclosure. 
Mosaics, lares, lamps, and lachrymatories, have been fre- 
quently found, as also inscriptions and medak of various eras 
from the early Celtic and Greek periods down to those of the 
Lower Empire. 

Pleased with a treat altogether so beyond my expectation, 
1 left Orange with regret, and proceeded on to Avignon. 
In the way you meet with the olive-tree for the first time. 
The fruit was getting ripe, and promised an abundant crop. 


Avignon is a fine old town, pleasantly situated on the 
Rhone, and hence its Celtic name, Aoven-ion, which is in- 
terpreted, Lord of the River. From the hill above the old 
papal palace you have an extensive view, stretching to the 
westward into Languedoc ; and turning your eye to the east, 
it dips into the fountain of Vaucluse. 

Avignon having little to detain my attention, I left my 
knapsack behind till my return, and started early next 
morning on a visit to this celebrated fountain. 

The road leads through a fertile country, which ascends 
gradually to the source of the Sorgue. Half-way you come 
to Chateau- Neuf de Gadagne, where, among the coarse 
gravel of the soil, you find nodules of common jasper strewed 
in abundance, with greenish grey clay lying underneath. 
At L'isle, about four miles from Vaucluse, there is a good 



inn ; but finding I coald sleep at the latter, and it being 
quite early in the day, I halted only for a short timey and 
ate of some of the finest and whitest bread I ever saw in my 
life. The Sorgue, at Lisle, divides into two branches, which 
closely invest the town ; they unite i^in immediately below 
it, forming a more mesopotamial town than even Interamna, 
hereafter to be noticed. Instead of crossing the stream, 
which I ought to have done, I proceeded straight forward ; 
but finding that the road led to the right, and away from the 
fountain, I struck into a path near a crucifix by the way-side, 
and r^ained the valley of the river. It is not unfrequent 
for prejudiced travellers to scoff at the customs of a religion 
which differ so much from their own as those of the Romish 
church ; and although far from approving of many of its 
principles and institutions politically considered, this feeling 
does not lead me to condemn indiscriminately. On each 
iiEU!e of the pedestal of the crucifix was inscribed a short 
sentence, which I copied for their very benevolence' sake. 
The wearied and solitary traveller is often glad to be ad- 
dressed, even by any inanimate object that may surest a 
pleasing train of thought. The little amiabilities that are 
mutually interchanged between strangers are always cheer- 
ing ; and I have often felt the '^ bon soir** of a passenger a 
feather in my night's pillow. The inscriptions were these : 


O Croix, 
Notre unique esp^rance I 
Nous Yous saluoDs. 

Que Dieu soil propice aux voyageurs ! 

Quffi paternis fovebat olim, 
Nunc et nostris foveat arvis I 

Que le Ciel fertilise la terre, 
£t en conserve les fruits I 

Pass, traveller, this consecrated spot without saying Amen ! 
and you should be no fellow-traveller of mine. 


As you get deeper into the valley, the scenery becomes 
interesting; the surrounding rock approaches closer to the 
stream, and the pomegranate, the fig, and the mulberry-tree, 
embellish its borders. Nature seems prodigal of her trea* 
sures in enriching the approach to Vaucluse. The brawling 
Sorgue rushed by over a carpet of green; the perfume of 
numerous wild-flowers scented the air ; while the lark from 
a neighbouring meadow mounted the skies, and sent up his 
sweetest notes to heaven as he soared ; then, falling and 
falling, the sounds closed in softest cadence on the delighted 
ear, like the petals of a flower on the gradual approach of 
night. The grasshopper joined his octave chirp to the deep* 
toned hum of the bee; while every songster of the grove 
tuned his little throat to complete a chorus of infinite sweet- 
ness and melody. 

The evening was calm, save a light breeze that blew 
softly amidst the branches of the trees, and not a flitting cloud 
paced the azure sky. The higher you ascend the stream, 
the more turbulent it becomes ; and you pass rocks of lime- 
stone of a peculiar stratification, each alternate lamina ap« 
pearing like mortar, not soft, pulverulent, and decomposed, 
but compact and indurated, as if Nature had taken the 
trowel in her own hand to raise these fantastic super- 

As you draw near to the fountain, the scene becomes still 
more uncouth and rugged; lofty and savage rocks close 
around you, in which you perceive numerous natural ex- 
cavations, resembling the caves of the Troglodytes. A dull 
noise steals on the ear, which becomes louder and louder as 
you ascend the steep. All of a sudden the veil of awakened 
expectation is rent asunder. A majestic scene succeeds to the 
mild cast of the one you have Just passed, and you now see a 
river rising perpendicularly out of the bowels of the earth. 
To depict in your mind's eye the scene which gives birth to 
the Sorgue, figure to yourself a rampart of rocks on the flank 
of a mountain whose grey and venerable head is surmounted 
by a coronet of rugged pinnacles. These masses of rock bend 
back their ridges, to form a semi-hinar cavern hollowed out 


of the solid rock by the chisel of Nature^ at the bottom of 
which is sitaated the mouth of the fountain. The water 
does not appear to flow from any part in particular, but 
ascends tranquilly from the entrails of the earth into a large 
basin, where it appears stationary and motionless. This 
seeming stillness is deceptive ; for, at some feet from its sur^ 
face, it regurgitates, and, sinking down, again re-appears 
in successive rotations — a phenomenon of which the visitor 
may satisfy himself, by throwing a few pieces of wood into 
the basin. At first you perceive them quietly swimming 
about ; but on watching them more narrowly, you see them 
assume a regular progression, and, as if attracted by some 
invisible power, they begin to follow one another in the same 
track; by and by they take on a rotatory motion, and, now 
fiiirly entangled in the vortex, they pirouette in gradually 
concentrating circles, and on arriving at the centre sink 
down into the whirlpool, and are never seen more. From 
the abundance of rain that had fitllen, the fountain was at 
its height. It is under such circumstances that it presents 
the most majestic spectacle ; for then the reservoir, unable to 
contain the volume of water vomited up, ejects the surcharge, 
which, overleaping the edge of the basin, rushes over with 
stupendous impetuosity, and plunges down from cascade to 
cascade, until it forms the stream below. In an instant the 
turbulence calms, and it now changes its waves of silver*' 
white into an azure stream, which, after traversing a carpet 
of emerald, spread by the nai'ad of the fountain, divides itself 
into streamlets, which ever and anon unite but to part anew» 
like merry dancers in a quadrille. It thus runs its meander- 
ing course, under the name of the Sorgue, to water, fertilise, 
and embellish the delightful country of Avignon. 

On viewing such wondrous beauties, who can help ex* 
claiming, — 

« Deus, deus, ille, Jtfsnalcal" 

Painters, bring hither your pencils, and gather traits from 
Nature in all her exuberance of beauty ! Poets, ye have been 
forestalled, for a precursor has left you not one neglected 

''-K :.".''* ': - '. ' ?t-. Tr I r. "^ res: ::. the f^-me fra2nnent of 
r«-k -v'-^'v. :. '» ■-•.. f f: -::j. 5:'-r::r. i'-d Iv thes<? scenes 
:: - /. .'.• t *. . -. : :. ; :.v.v' ' y :':.e :.::?^ of the waterfall 
::. :.:! -: ; -; > :.. 1 ..:-*:. \--^:--: ^L/e Pr:rTin.h sun^. But 
:/j* • :;...> ' ..- . .:. . '* :. ^ :: :\». : of Time steals on :" 
I :. •>: :.'^':;. : -• :.• :j :: s. r. f :^:.^i\]xrr of a future asre, 
^^L'.v S'..*'--.i vt-.-..;. - v. :..'. s.v.-.r s::r.t. t.« ponder in like 
: : ' 1 ;. :. . ': . . ; ii . >- .. * :. • :. :^ t ^^ I :> vt s of Pet ra rch and 
L :'::•-. I:. ; 't--i '. } rt r.t.^i.r.s '.:ke rl-t-se. I rtiurned to the 
\:::\f n :'.'.:..''. : ^ .. :...:-•:. wi.tTt. :: •: to i::rorrupt our de- 
Sirv:: v.. 1 .... : ^ " ^ : .:r!v •--V'.k'jn some stewed trout, for 
wL:o!i :::f ] '..-.C' :* oT.t ' r.-.:t:0. r.:..i a roast fowl, for supper. 
It u as i.-J'W :.!:.t :> rtiirt :o rtsr. Ut excess of jdeasure 
fati^T'.t'S as n.iiok as \ •;.::: : a:.-; \]\e liiu o{ a neiL:lil>ourinir 
cascade. aivUd l-y a .' • - .:f iXv-t'/.ti;: wir.e. soon lulled me to 
slotp. aTui 1 sit]'! 11. '^st /.:?::! \ . I rt to Avignon next 

Pont dt (»UvD. — M;iiv]i with n^o one dav more, and 
we are at tlie p«'>t-]i' u-e : t<> arr:\e at \Nhioli. 1-y the shortest 
ronre, v^'i cro-s a Wvvs at UtiiK'iilin. The ruin known 
l»v tht^ name of tlie Pout dai Gard is the nulde remains of 
an ancient aipieduot. -ituared ah^'Ut a mile from the inn, 
wjiich modern inj:enuitv lia- reiitK-red sul"iervient to utility 
hv an ad>cititi«»us hi-idi:e. Tlii^ -idendid monument of anti- 
quitv stretches, ]>etween two hill-, owr the river (tard, and 
served to convev tlie waters of the fountain of Avre to the 
ancient city of rsismes: it is 14.") French feet in height, and 
consists of three ranges of arches, the lower composed of six, 
the middle of twelve, and the upjx'r range of thirty-five ; 
and its ^'^reatest leniith, on the level of the water-run, exceeds 
800 feet. This nohle structure is of the Tuscan order, and 
huilt a pivrrv shlie, as the French well express it, that is, 
without cement. The blocks of stone of which it is con- 
structed are enormously large ; some are above seven feet 
lonir, and of irreat hardness, which will account for its fine 
state of preservation. A ruin of such magnitude must be 
seen to be admired ; for no descrii)tion can convey an ade- 
quate idea of its grandeur and magnificence ; nor can the 


imaginatioa grasp by the aid of mere numbers the dimensions 
of what is colossal. Its erection is attributed to Agrippa, 
who, from his great attention to all matters of this kind, 
obtained the title of Curator Perpetuus Aquarum^ an appel- 
lation which it is probable he would strive to merit firom this 
colony in particular, of which he was the patron. The at- 
tention paid to the plentiful supply of wholesome water was 
greater among the Romans than with us in modem times. 
The frequent and universal use of baths among the ancients, 
and the quantity requisite in some of their religious cere- 
monies, for ablutions, for the sacrifices, and other mysteries, 
made aqueducts more necessary. The fountain at Nismes 
is exuberant only after rains ; and as the principal ceremony 
here in heathen times was the drowning of the god Apis, 
a steady and certain supply became a matter of religious 
necessity. We, therefore, cannot wonder at the pains the 
ancients took to obtain good water in abundance, or that 
the aqueduct of the Pont du Gard should extend nine leagues 
in length, following the winding of the hills, before it got to 

Wild thyme and other fragrant herbs grow here in great 
plenty, and give a delicious flavour to the mutton fed on the 
neighbouring hills. Large square stones, part of the ruins, 
lie strewed on the heights ; and near the aqueduct there is a 
subterraneous cavern, hewn out of the solid rock — for what 
purpose it is diflicult to conjecture. 

Second day. — Having a day's pastime to give the blan-^ 
ckisseuse^ I resolved to amuse myself at the same time in 
^^gling under the arches of the aqueduct, and in spending 
the day in the luxury of those reflections which the com- 
panionship of a noble ruin sympathetically inspires. I rose 
at daylight: a cane -reed, which grows plentifully in the 
fences, served me for a rod — tackle I always carried with 
me. It was the first of December, and, although at mid- 
day it still continued warm, the mornings were excessively 
cold. The sky was clear and cloudless ; the air pure, dry, and 
elastic ; yet the cold pierced literally to the bone, producing 
a disagreeable gnawing sensation; and I now, for the first 


time, became sensible of tlie triitb and force of the nesfro's 
description o{ ^Jassa Frosf — ^^ be bite, and you no see 'iim." 
Yet, whim bas sometimes a ghitton's appetite. I had made 
up my mind over nigbt to give my stock of patience a benefit, 
and l)y no means to stint my gratification by any needless 
niggardliness ; and so it turned out ; for after angling till 
dinner-time, I bad yet cangbt no fish. I returned again in 
the evening:, with the laudable intent of not cfoing: to bed but 
with a quiet and full-sated conscience ; and I was indulged 
to my heart's content, for still I bad caught no fish. By this 
time the moon was up, travelling through a sky of deepest 
blue; its orb — for now I allowed the little trouts to nibble as 
they list — its orb bad attracted two diaphanous vapours, 
which a})peared as its wings, and it glided through tlie ocean 
of space like a dream. Lost in reverie, I continued to sit on a 
projecting angle of one of the buttresses of the ruin, watching 
her airy course, when at times she would plung-e into the 
deep shade of some passing cloud, and again reappear, like a 
sea-gull, refreshed and fairer for the immersion. How long 
I may have remained thus romancing, I cannot well say. I 
might have sat till this time, for aught I know, had not the 
cold awoke me from my reverie ; for, unluckily, it happens, 
at times, that, when fairly mounted on my hobby, my ideas 
are so centrifugal of all consciousness, that tliey will fly off at 
a tangent as far as the last fixed star beyond the milky way, 
and sometimes even ilo not stop till asked for their passport 
at the barriers of chaos. What did not mend matters was, 
that when I got back to the inn, I found the kitchen-fire out, 
and the only pair of bellows in the house were the rosy cheeks 
of a buxom wench of a servant girl. Misfortunes, they say, 
seldom come alone. To add to other grievances, there was 
nothing but eggs in the house to comfort my inward man ; 
but I remembered me of the old adage, — *' Ad pnesens ova 
eras puUis sunt meliora,'* — and was contented ; for nothing, 
after all, perhaps, conduces more to establish this happy 
estate than the occasional " rubs and scorn of adverse for- 
tune." 1 left, for Nismes, the following morning, with a 
determined resolution not to angle for my supper again for 
the next centurv, at least. 



Tradition gives great antiquity to this town, and however 
fahulous most of it may be, there are abundant proo6 of its 
Egyptian origin. Nismes is the ancient Nem, founded, it is 
said, by Nemansus, son of the Libyan Hercules. Now, the 
reader is aware that there were several Jack-the-giant-killers 
of old who boi^ this name; but our man, the father of 
Nemausus, was not the son of Amphitrion, but of Osiris and 
Isis, Egyptian divinities, and hence known as the Libyan 
Hercules. Both Diodorus Siculus and Ammianus Marcellinus 
tell us of Hercules' gallantry in Celtic Gaul, and how. his child- 
ren founded cities, to which they gave their names. From 
an inscription found, it would appear that the first inhabit^ 
ants adored Isis, Osiris, and Serapis ; and that the temple of 
Diana, the ruins of which still form so interesting a portion 
of die ancient monuments of Nismes, had formerly been that of 
Osiris and Isis. These divinities, we know, were worshipped 
among the Egyptians as emblems of the sun and moon ; Isis 
being the moon, in the emblematical sense of the Egyptians, 
as Diana was in that of the Greeks. Hence it came, from 
this identity in all but name, that when Nismes was after- 
wards colonised by the Phocians, in rebuilding the temple of 
Isis, they dedicated it to Diana. 

27ie Temple of Diana. — This edifice is of the Composite 
order. The roof had been vaulted, and covered with flag- 
stones, part of which is still standing, sustained within by 
sixteen columns, over which an ornamental cornice ranges, 
with handsomely scultured tori. In each side-wall were five 
niches, and one on each side of the door of entrance ; those in 
the wall to the right of the door still remain, and are sur- 
mounted by alternate triangular and circular pediments. 
The figure of the principal divinity had probably occupied 
the recess situated at the bottom of the temple, formed by 
four pilasters, two in front and two behind ; And against each 
of these stood one of the columns of the temple. At each 
ttde of the recess were two others, at the bottom of which 
was a spiraculutn, whi<ih might have served ^ther for letting 


the smoke from the victims escape, or as the apertare through 
which the oracles were delivered. The ceilings of these 
recesses had been richly ornamented, and a mosaic pavement 
had embellished the whole interior. 

The grand entrance &ces the rising sun, opposite to which 
stood the altar. Its vicinity to a fountain, which springs 
from under the neighbouring rock, in which the god Apis 
could be conveniently drowned, confirms the conjecture of its 
most ancient dedication ; and its having obtained the name 
of the Temple of Diana from long and immemorial tradi- 
tion, attests its subsequent appropriation under the Phocian 
Greeks. .Tradition, when universal, must be allowed to pos- 
sess its due weight in the researches of antiquity, covered, 
as most of them are, by the dust of so many ages. 

That there was a temple dedicated to Isis and Serapis 
at Nismes is certain, from a fragment of an inscription pre* 
served by Albinus, of which the following is a literal copy : 

Isis - - - - 
Serapis. Vestae. Dianae. Somki. H.S. N. VI. et. 


Genta Castraensia domo habebat 

Item - - - dedicatione tem 

Pli Isis et Serapis. deo. 

Omnibus Nemavsensivm et or 

kamentar singulis 3c ita ut in 

publico vescerentur distribui jussit in 
que eivs dom us 



Amnagensibus DEDIT 
C. Obdo. BITVR. 

The name of Osiris, we perceive, is not in the inscrip^ 
tion, owing, apparently, to its having been engraved on two 
separate stones, the first of which is wanting. 

You are perhaps an antiquary, gentle reader? If so, the 
lacuniB above will give you ample scope for ingenious con«* 
jecture. I myself, at times, delight in trying to decipher 
something utterly and hopelessly illegible — whether a certain 


letter, for example, which, if determined, would not advance 
the interpretation an iota, be an O or an X. Such amuse- 
ments as these are among the ** difficiles nugm' mentioned 
by Martial ; and serve passing well, when you wish to be 
more than ordinarily agreeable to your friends, in boring 
them to death about what you know they lustily and heartily 
anathematise and abominate. 

The Amphitheatre. — The ruins called les Arines by 
the French are the most perfect of any amphitheatre that 
exists. The outer walls are entire, and form an ellipsis, 
whos^ great axis is above four hundred feet in length, and 
its smaller above three hundred. The lower part forms a 
portico, which opens by sixty arcades into the interior. The 
second story is composed of the same number of arches, over 
which an attic ranges. Among the lower arcades are four 
principal portals, facing the four cardinal points: that to- 
wards the north is surmounted by a pediment, beneath which 
yoo observe two ox-heads sculptured in relief. 

This noble monument is of the irregular Tuscan order, 
approaching the Doric, and is about seventy feet high from 
the lower arcade to the attic. Thirty-two rows of seats for 
the spectators had ranged round the interior, seventeen of 
which still remain. Stairs, leading from the lower to the 
upper arcade, proceed from the portico, and terminate in 
three ranges of vomitories ; and, after allowing sufficient 
room for each person, it is calculated that this amphitheatre 
could not have held less than eighteen thousand spectators. 

Over the attic are one hundred and twenty modillons, 
at equal distances from each other, pierced with a hole in 
the middle, for fixing the tent-posts of the velarium for 
covering the spectators. 

The principal part of this edifice is built a pierre siche, 
and some of the stones are more than seventeen feet long — 
a magnitude so extraordinary, as to have given rise to the 
idea, in the dark ages, of the Romans having possessed the 
secret of casting stones in the manner of metals. 

There are different opinions of the time in which this 



arena was erected. It could not have been prior to the 
reii^ii of Tiberius, lor we know that, previous to this, amphi- 
theatres were all constructed of wood ; and it was this 
emperor who first erected them of stone, in consequence of 
the one at Fidenes having* fallen, and crushed under its 
ruins more than 20,()(K) persons. Nor could it have been 
after the time of the l^^mperor Phili]), when it is probable 
that the barbarous amusements of the amphitheatres were 
abolished. The most proba])le conjecture ascribes it to An- 
toninus Pius, who had erected this monument with the object 
of end)ellishiM'>; the native place of his father, Aurelius Ful- 
vius, about the vear 140 of the Christian era. In vain did 
the zeal of the first converts to Christianity attempt to set 
it on fire, the marks of which are still visible under the 
arcades; nor have tlie ravages of a^es been more successful 
in their dilapidation, for it still stands to defy their further 

The Maison Carrke. — This bijou of antiquity has been 
long* celebrated for its beauty and high preservation. The 
form of this edifice is rectangular, sustained by tliirty fluted 
Corinthian colunnis, surmounted ])y an entablatin-e, the 
frieze of which is sculptured and ornamented with infinite 
delicacv. A urand vesti]>ule, with six Corinthian colunms 
in front, ranges ]3efore the porch of the temple ; and by 
excavations lately made, it lias been discovered that a 
colonnade had surrounded the edifice, in which were two 
open galleries, connnunicating by arcades that corresponded 
with the intercolumniations. 

From an inscription deciphered by M. de Seguier, it 
seems probable that this pretty model of architecture — for 
it is so neat and small as to deserve no jxreater name — had 
been dedicated to Cains and Lucius, the adoptive sons of 

On a height above the public gardens, and Jiot far from 
tlic temple of Diana, stands tlie Tourmagne. This building 
formerly flanked the ancient walls of the town, and, from its 
peculiar form and situation, has givTii rise to diverse opinions 


concerning its designation. Some have thought it a pharos, 
some a mausoleum of the ancient kings of the country, 
others a fort and watch-tower, some an cBrarium ; but I 
am more inclined to agree with those who think it a ceno- 
taph. Conjecture has consecrated it to the apotheosis of the 
Empress Plotina, the wife of Trajan, and mother, bj adop- 
tion, of the Emperor Hadrian. Its pyramidal form' and 
hollow interior favour this supposition; and its situation is 
no drawback to the probability, for the mausoleum of Mu- 
natins Plancus at Graieta is built on the summit of a hill. 
Its base is heptagonal, its upper part octagonal, and the 
whole is of the Doric order. 

There are other antique remains to be seen in two of the 
ancient entrances to Nismes, which indicate the circumfer- 
ence, in part, of the original walls — the Parte de France^ and 
the Porte d'Aiyuste. On the latter there is an inscription, 
which incontestably fixes its erection to the year 736 of Rome, 
that is, about eighteen years before the Christian era. 

Some ex votasy which have been found, prove also that 
Augustus had a temple to his honour at Nismes, when, in 
the impious dotage of his latter years, he believed himself 
a god. Thus: — 

Mercurio. Aug. T. Valerius. Gratus. 


Another : — 

Valerias. Patron as. Suae. 
Sanctitatis. Jovis. Et. Augusti. 
Sacrum. Luciljus. Cesti. F. 

To which may be added an epitaph of one of his Fla- 
mines : — 

DoMiTiAE. Grecinae. Flamini. Aug. V.S. p. 

This temple is thought to have stood on the site of the pre- 
sent cathedral, although the principal temple in Gaul in 
deification of Augustus, as we all know, was at Lyons, and 
to which each province sent a statue. 

Tliere is a certain cacoethes in the humours of some 


people, of so stirring and metastatic a nature, that no sooner 
is the pruriency of cariosity allayed in one place, than it 
breaks out, with undiminished virulence, in another. This 
erratic humour was on the more within me ; and having 
now seen all that Nismes had of ancient and curious to offer, 
I set out for Montpellier. The road leading to this haven, 
which phthisical hope has so often panted to reach, becomes 
less and less interesting the nearer you approach it. Olive 
plantations extend on both sides ; but the olive is a dismal- 
looking tree ; and if it really personifies Peace^ it must be 
of the requi£scat description, for every branch looks as if it 
bore a hatchment. 

Montpellier, as a town, I knew was not likely to interest 
me ; but I was anxious to visit it, that I might judge of its 
climate. How this place ever obtained its reputation as a 
fit residence for the consumptive invalid, it is difficult to 
account, unless, indeed, from being the seat of a medical 
school, and that its professors understood the benefit of such 
a character. The situation of Montpellier is open and un- 
protected, standing on a hill exposed to the bise, which 
tickles the weasand like a notched razor — enough of itself, 
without other co-operation, to produce the cAin-cough. Did 
those deluded victims, who are sent to such a distance, fre- 
quently to die on the road, know what they sacrificed when 
they left the comforts of home — the healing solace and 
sympathising attentions of friends, for the fallacious assur- 
ances of a more genial climate, they would never quit 
their native shores, for the cold recompense of lying in a 
grave beside her whose fate gave occasion to the ** Night 
Thoughts.''''^ But enough — the delusion is almost cleared 
off; and notwithstanding the interested writings of some 
medical men, even of our own country, the memento maris 
of the place have become too numerous, and too generally 
known, ever again to feed the altars of death at Montpellier 
with hecatombs such as heretofore.^ 

^ Young^s daughter died and was buried at Montpellier. 
t The proportion of deaths annually in Montpellier is even somewhat 
gi^ater than in London. 


Apart from this consideration^ Montpellier is a clean and 
passing pleasant town, and its school of medicine upholds 
its former character on its wonted eminence. There hap- 
pened to be a vacancy for a subprofessorship when I was 
there ; and the manner of selecting the successor to it ap- 
peared to me so good, and so worthy of imitation in our 
English universities, that I may notice it. Five candidates 
stood for the appointment : each wrote a treatise on a sub- 
ject at his own option, which was read before the professors 
in public, and the author was obliged to defend it against 
the objections of all the other candidates in rotation. I was 
quite pleased with the talent and animation with which the 
disputation was carried on ; for, as it may be readily con- 
ceived, it was naturally an object with the different candi- 
dates to adduce every possible objection to the tenets of their 
rival under trial. No mode could more effectually test the 
abilities of each severally ; and he that should come out of 
the crucible least torrified by the experiment, was the one 
sure to be elected. 

There is a collection of wax anatomical preparations 
belonging to the museum ; and among the many portraits 
of professors who have rendered this school illustrious, the 
visitor will not forget to search out that of Rabelais. 

Having satisfied my curiosity at Montpellier, and nothing 
of interest leading me farther in that direction, I left it 
to return by Nismes, in my way to Aries. 

I neglected to mention, that in the route to Montpellier 
I passed through Lunel. This town is celebrated for its 
Muscat wine. The canal of Languedoc, which extends to 
Toulouse, likewise commences here, and hence, by the Ga- 
ronne, completes the communication of the whole south-east 
of France with Bordeaux. The morning I intended settiilg 
out from Lunel for Nismes it began to rain in that hearty 
sort of manner which shewed it to be perfectly serious in its 
intention to do so all day. Now, this is one of those in- 
conveniences there is no getting over; and for a solitary 
pedestrian, I know of nothing better to put him into a cacoe- 
thic mood. What the devil is he to do to kill time, in a 


|»Iii»T \\\uvr \\wvc is ih> oarililv aniuseinent ? The weather is 
•"IV In |Mil luni oui i»t'tiMn|)rr. If he wishes to read, there 
i« MO Im.oIv Io Im' Ii:hl v\cv\)l \hc Line dc Pastes. One miirht 
limn n \\\\\v \M>rr ilio lirarl up, hut tliere is such a damper in 
llh- djiN . llml no >o(MhTdo you sti'ike up << Away with inelaii- 
rliolv," ilinii lis hi:'nl)riou> Hint' iiiakivs vou sadder still. One 
miiN MiiA llii' luuMc. auil nu-tat on tlie table with one's 
lin.'.riM . inik ofvliaNN. oats, or horsi-Hesh, with the landlord, 
Of nnniMr oiu^'s m'IT atu«r \\\c laiidaMo manner of Domitian, 
Mild IN d.liancr o{ Dicky .Martin, in wai^ino; war whh a pin 
a".nnh*l llu- \\\v> \ and \ri all lo no jiurpose. Luckily the 
M'lVMiil .•111 happrih'd to W NNa>liinu-: the steam had settled 
lliiik on llu- windows, juid ^o | hro-m, hy ^ay of yarvino- mv 
pnMiinr. liacin-- \\iih my tiii-'iT on tlie ])anes of glass the 
iiiilials of a ta\.anilr iVii lal. uIumi, to my i;T(-at joy, 1 brought 
inl(» lii'Jil M'vtaal inM-riptlons scralclitMl on the window. 

Any ihini;- Hkr a diseoNcry in sueh a listless mood of mind 
places altiMilion t»n tiic 7/// rlre : the eve once more finds 
itself in its orbit ; one insiini"ti\ cly brnslh^s the cobwebs from 
ones e\elids, and pryini;- curiosity i;ets astraddle on the nose; 
and thus it was thai I read tlu* foUowini;' lines: — 

*' /\ life passed in continu'.d ti'avellinjj:.- j)rocures many 

ac(piaiiilauces, but not one frii'ud." — True, true, said 1, mon 

(tint only it nnist have been a rainy day when vou wrote 

• » »■ 


** \\\\\\ !" quoth a second, " no one is esteemed a prophet 
in his own coimtry. We never meet witli so nnich real in- 
dul^-ence as tnuonii: those wh<) jud^e of us ni jxisstf/if/^ — True, 
a«;"aiu, replied I ; and, as I am a sinner, tlu^ sky briiihtens. 

** Lile is a vovaj^'e,*' wi'ote a thiid. *' W ith Love as our 
coiN'ier, we travel like the wind. Two iiours more — three 
short ])osts, and [ am at yom* feet, adoralde Adrle!" Why, 
landlord, said I, as 1 peeped throuL^h the transparency 1 had 
eiVected in the pane --why, landlord, the sun shines a1)road, 
and we shtdl certaiidy have a tine day after all. By tliis 
time I had y:ot nearly to the bottom, an<l tbouiiht my deci- 
pherini^ ended, when pot-hooks of an l^nL;lish cast came into 
view. This inscription was the coroudt opus ; and mai'k it 


welly migratory coantrymen, for there is something nationally 
characteristic in the interesting memorandum : — 

'' John Hogskin slipt hear the 17th Sept. 1829. Bom, 
Puddin Lane, London, Ant Domino, 1797.'' — Friend Hog- 
skin, I shake thee by the hand. Rain or shine as it may, 
genuine son of smoky Thames, thou hast shot across my 
overcast spirit a radiance of thy own brilliancy ! 

Next day I started, accoutred as usual. When I had got 
within eight miles of Nismes, a boy kept teasing me to ride a 
donkey he had, (a mode of travelling in this part of France,) 
and, by sheer perseverance, succeeded in persuading me. It 
was a novelty, so I mounted without further hesitation, and 
the boy ran behind, belabouring Neddy's rump with an un- 
couth cudgel all the way. As I approached Nismes, I was 
beset by a parcel of beggar boys and girls. Acting the part 
of a grand milor as I was, and no longer considering myself 
a humble peripatetic, I could not do less than give them 
something. There were exactly seven of them; and that 
there might be no contention or quarrelling about the fair 
partition of my bounty, I gave them half a franc, with strict 
injunctions, loud enough for all of them to hear, that it 
should be equally divided amongst them : then, ambitious of 
leaving a proper impression of my consequence behind me, 
I stuck my heels into the donkey's sides, and went off in a 
tolerably graceful canter ! But consciousness within is a 
mortifying delineator of reality ; and reflecting, as I could 
not help doing afterwards, on the weakness that had prompted 
me to cut a caper before such a set of ragged rascals, I in- 
wardly exclaimed, '* Let no man say, after this, ' I will not 
bow the knee before the idols of human vanity !' " From 
Nismes I got to Aries. 

Aries is situated on the left branch of the Rhone, a little 
below where it bifurcates at Fourque to form the Camargue. 
It was a favourite residence of Constantine the Great ; and the 
ruins of his palace still remain. 

Aries is. an abbreviation of Aralata, so named from a large 
altar that existed here, on which two young men were annually 
sacrificed as victims to the goddess Diana. We learn from 

! 1 

• A 


-> T:.e 

- ' •-* * -- A V 



■ * -- - - '- i^^^ . 

•* - ^ » 

. . - ' : ' " : ' : { "V -y ..::.t f wi.icli 

.. ' • - • . -. • - i --.••• .^ ^ » V «i 


- - .- - - -. I 1 "• ^ ■' • -i ■) *^»-nl 

•'... -. ....» .^^ . -.» « ...» .»v rA. >..iAkiill , 
- - .,,, 1,.. 

« ■ 

(»••;" . ■• . A .A." "" K » 

'W,*^ i<. , t rn '.'f .\:.-' '••:.*'.;!:.- -.:..v ;;:.:: /:v -v'l'.p tares, 

'Uit V. ,f,< Hi tijj- u(-yj.ii\i'>iin,ij',<\ \< e\o;i!<.iit: and 1 liad 
t-,(iy n:i-',n to ]><: -ari-fjrd w'lrli the H-Ttldi Noril, which 
\,<,'>ii'. f>\ f'lif i)i \}ic }>'•-». <-(f')ki in I"raiict'. M. \'iand is con- 
i«f valor ol tfj*' ariJj<jijitii'-, and t}j(j travt-lltT will tind him a 
ri V il and n»h ll/'^'^nt ^/uidc. 

Arh- wa- rarlv ndchratiri in ilj,- hi^-torv nf Christianity : 
\iiVf', in ;{| 1, a ronncil ua- h« ]<i, at which our two l»i>hops of 
Lonrlon and V'oik as'-i^tcd ; and it was i'^thcreus, archhishop 

'I )•<•',« linil'liii; -i .lie .iliniil In Iji ii moved, Hs will ;is .ill lliu>t' abuUilli; 
tin «Hii(r vv.dh, ulij(li .it j»Mv Ml .«) ijiiK li (lisli'jinx. .iinl aj.i>k tliii. n(.>ble 
I ijin 


of Aries, who, at the request of Pope Gregory, ordained 
St. Augustin bishop of Canterbury. 


Another day's march brought me to St. Remi. Under 
the mountains, and at a short distance from the town, stand 
two monuments of antiquity, which, were there nought else 
to be seen in the neighbourhood, would repay the trouble of 
coming so far to see them: — the one, a mausoleum; the 
other, a triumphal arch. Both are on a small scale, and are 
such precious and well-preserved models of their kinds as to 
suggest the wish that they could be removed, and placed 
under glass shades on a mantel-piece. The mausoleum is 
quite perfect, and may be described as a richly decorated 
pillar, consisting of the following parts : — 

On three plinths, increasing in height as they rise, stands 
a pedestal, the die of which is ornamented on each face with 
representations of battles between cavalry, sculptured with 
infinite spirit and most perfect workmanship. Fluted Co- 
rinthian columns at the four comers, resting on a common 
plinth, support an arch, the archivolt of which is enriched 
with festoons in arabesque, encircling a mask on the key« 
stone. Over this is an entablature having an ornamented 
frieze ; and on the lower fascia of the architrave you read the 
following letters, as well as I could make them out : — 

S.E.X.I.M.I.V.L.I.E.I.C.F. P.A.R.E.N.T.I.B.V.S. S.V.I.S. 

Over the cornice three circular plinths of progressively in- 
creasing eccentric widths sustain other fluted Corinthian 
columns, ranged in a circle, supporting another ornamented 
entablature, and the whole is terminated by a dome formed 
of flagstones sculptured to resemble overlapping foliage. 
Under the dome of the temple formed by the circular colum- 
niations are two statues dressed in Roman togas, with their 
&ces turned towards the triumphal arch standing close by. 

The Triumphal Arch. — This other beau morceau con- 


sists of II sin«::l(^ arcli, and the archivolt is adorned with a 
frsloou of tVulls and tlowcrs of such exquisite richness as to 
dclN (Icscrintiou. The vauU is enihellislied with h:)zenLre:* 
cncl()>in«j,' (lowers Hkewise sculptui'ed with the utmost (hdi- 
cacv an<l finish, and ])oth are in tlie highest state of pre- 
H'rvafion. Two iluted ])ihisters are placed on each side of 
the arch, hctwcini wlilcli you see the nnitilated figures of a 
man and a woman ; hut what remains is suliicient to shew 
the masterly chisel tluit had executed them. The attic is 
(h'st roved. 

What enliances the heautv of these fine monuments is 
iheir pictures(|ut^ situation under the mountains. Their rocky 
piimacles ovei'look the remains of former glories, like guardian 
.sjiiiils; and, as iftlu'y had caught something of the romantic 
features of the ol ejects around, they slioot np in shapes so 
fantastic as to simihite tlie ruins at their feet. One, m 
jiarticnlar, the (/crlu'i-us of the gronp, has a detached point 
near its sunnnit, winch appeared in the mist of the morning 
lik(; a iJigmy sentinel ke<'[)ing watch on its shoulder whilst 
the monster itself took a naj). 

Tin; town of St. Jvcmi merits little otlier notice; hut I 
ou<iht not to dismiss it without acknowledixinji' the screat 
politeness I received from tin* late mayor, who took ohliging 
pains to assist me in my little researches. Close hy the anti- 
(piilies thcMc is a ])rivate asylum for the insane, of some 
jv|)ute in the neigh])ourhood. 1 visited it; and would re- 
commend the travelh^' who would do so likewise, to provide 
himself with some tohacco ere he goes, for the unfortunate 
inmat(is will tease him for nothiuLi' so nnich. 

Mei*e, as in all the other places in this part of the counti*y 
where ruins are foun<l, every thing, hy tlie imlettered, is 
ascrihed to Marius. I confiss 1 cannot make from the in- 
scription on the pillar wherewithal to render any conjecture 
plausihhi. We know that when the Teutoues and Amhrones 
overran this part of Narhonese (iaul, the Romans were de- 
feated in succession under tlie consul Silanus ; next Scanrus 
and his whole army were destroved : and that these har- 

•/ mi ' 

harians afterwards defeated the consuls iNlanlius and Capion, 


in which the two eons of the former were slain. Marius, 
we further know, succeeded in retrieving the disgrace which 
the Roman arms had sustained. Could these monuments, 
then, have been erected, the one to consecrate the memory 
of the sons of Manlius, whilst the other commemorated the 
final defeat of the barbarians under Marius? 

I now crossed the country to regain the main route, 
and arrived at Aix early on the second day after leaving 
St. Remi. 


This place derives its present name from a sad corrup- 
tion of its derivatives, in which so few letters of the original 
remain, that were its etymology not indisputable, few would 
be able readily to recognise, in such a skeleton, its primitive 
appellation of Aquee Sextiee. 

About a hundred and fifty years before the Christian 
era, the Ligurians attacked the Marseillese colonies of Nice 
and Antibes, and they, despairing of being able to resist the 
besiegers, besoi^ht succour of the Romans. These ambitious 
people, always attentive to extend their dominion, seized 
this pretext to carry their arms into Gaul ; and under the 
consuls Opimius, Flaccus, and C. Sextius, they severally 
defeated the Salyens and Voconces, and, appropriating the 
conquered country to themselves, they gave it the name of 
Provincia Nostra, a name it retains to this day — Provence. 

Aix was originally the capital of the Salyens ; and, after 
his victory, Sextius being himself a valetudinarian, con- 
siderably enlarged the city, on account of its warm baths, 
about the year of Rome 629. Aix was dedicated to the god 
Mercury, by Sextius, as appears from the following inscrip- 
tion found: — 

C. Sex. Calvinus Uos Agros Mercurio 


The origin of its name is thus recorded in the fourth book 
of Strabo — " Ob aquarum copiam^ et a calidis et frigidis 


j\>}it'fhfi.<, tt a .<>'() th>iii'im- ltd (Sextius'l app'AJavit ;^^ and Liw 
mentions tlio placo uikKt tlie same tleiiomination. 

The T/.imui Si.rfii -till exist, tliouLrh the faith in their 
prolific virtue niav no loiiirer remain. The temperature of 
the water i> ahout 90 of rahreiihcit, and it contains a sliglit 
iiiiprtXiiatlou of the ^ulphate of magnesia and carbonate of 
lime, with -ome owl:*!! and fixed air. The first sensation 
on eiiii rin.:- the hath is that of chill, which soon goes off; 
and as tlu- water tlnw> in Li'i'eat pleiity, it continues to run 
into thi^ hath \\hile \ on I'emain : when it u'ets too full, the 
Mii'i'harue is ea-ilv let i^ti" hv rai?inir a idnix from helow. 

Thtv >ht'\\ vou a rmle Inis-relief, so defaced that it is 
now ditlieuli to ^av uluilur it was nteant for'' ahead or a 
harp,' undiM* which is insci*il)ed : — 

I'll 1 -^1 -^ Tu \i M» A '1 -; . 1 :i \<-i 1 r> \ini.\K.\ nixi a.\, 
Sip 1 V M 1 IN I Ai n'i> n-i Pr. mti > a\'( I'^, 

Aix ^tlll continues io \)c alni!ulantly Mtpplied with water, 
antl the town is enihrHi--lu d with manv fountains, from some 
of which tri)ld waiir tlow>. Two, in particular, are in good 
ta>te : one, an ohtli-k >upporti'd on the hacks of four lions, 
and ii'ianinatiHl at tv p hy a hall, on which an eagle is 
perched. The i(ha and attitude oi^ ilu* eai^le are good : its 
r\pau(h'd wing*- cheek the e\ e in its career upwards; and 
the hird, hy looking (h)w n on the spectator, directs the atten- 
tion again to the fountain heiu-ath. The other is a hand- 
.sonu* Corinthian colunui ofhasalt, a presi'ut from the vene- 
i-ahle Archhi^hop of Aix. In the church of St. Sauveur there 
are two or thi'ee tolerahle paintings. 

\\ t' are told hv IMutarch, in his Life of Marius, that the 
battle of this great captain against the TtMitoiies took place 
in the plain of Aix, in which 80,000 wcie slain ; and few 
spots could have heen fixed upon better suited for a unite. 

Aix is subj(H't to shocks of earth(piakes. The mountains 
in the neiirhbourhood are of limestone, ami the hollow in 
which it is situated may have been formed by the sinkint; 
down of the vaidt which covers the sid)terrane()us cond)us- 
tion. The shocks of earlluiuakes, which are occasionally 


felt, and the tepid springs in different parts of the town, 
tend to favour such a supposition — a supposition which we 
shall have opportunities hereafter to render still more pro- 
bable, when we come to point out the uniform and invari- 
able coincidence in the. presence of limestone and water 
with volcanic phenomena of any extent elsewhere. 

The road between Aix and Marseilles is hilly, and pre- 
sents nothing remarkable until you get within a league or 
two of the latter. As you approach the edge of the height 
which commands Marseilles, the air freshens on the senses ; 
a few short miles more, and the frothing wave falls exhausted 
at your feet. The fishermen are seen watching or drawing 
their nets, and boys gambling in the water like as many 
ducks. The sun had now begun to woo the western horizon, 
and to set in an ocean of fire ; while, in the east, the moon 
rose in majestic silence : a pale gleam lit the distant groups 
of mountains, and deep shadows reigned in the valleys : the 
little barks had unfurled their sails, and, like sea-birds on 
the wing, were preparing to seek a haven for the night; 
their ensigns and pennants float on the breeze ; the oars 
plash with regulated stroke the briny flood ; and, as the 
merry mariners ply toward their homes, the laugh flies 
round on the pinions of anticipated joy. A kind of peaceful 
tumult and confused murmur steals more and more audibly 
on the ear, and in another moment you find yourself in the 
midst of the gay crowd in the Grand Cours of Marseilles. 


This opulent mercantile city, formerly a part of Nar- 
bonese Graul, was founded by the Asiatic Phocians, as we 
are informed both by Athenaeus and Isocrates, in the 45th 
Olympiad, about one hundred and seventy-six years before 
the building of Rome. 

Marseilles derives its name firom Mda^at 2aX/o/, said to be 
the first exclamation of the adventurers on reaching the port; 
that is as much to say — " reef the sails" — we are in the 
country of the Salyens. 

(J'J M VUsllI 1 ].S — ITS CHURCH. 

r'.a^ li/.'.lv^'.ir v^f Mar^oillo> roseinMos nn ancient theatre 
\\\ tV::.'., ..r.vl > '^ivttv'ail '^i^awiinl from the wmd hv tlie 

It > r.v^: ir.N :')'y\\:\^:\ in tliis journal io enter minutely 
I'.'tv^ ;\r :;>:v*r\ . i-.::i r anrivnt or nioiK'i'n, of the diiiereut 
l^l/vt - 1 '.r...\ \i-':: ^^nt nuMily to j^i^e a sketch, sufHcient 

Vi i:ia'.>- i.^ •'•.u '.v>: ;lu^ traxc'iUr, l»v caUiii'j: to his recollection 

I I • > 

vv>iiu' ot" \\\c wx^'vc jM\Mr.;:ant evi-nts connected witli either. 
Sutlu\^ i( III 'vlii- i^lav'i' to say, that the ancient republic of 
\l.r-i 'ilo< v'an hoa-t ot'haxir.j; coiU[uered the (.'artha^'inians, 
viu\'om\'vl u\v Kv Mians. plar.rod colonies, eiviHsed the ancient 
(i/.r.U. i.;u.Jit lia.'.N tiu' / .". .< /»'.*;(.v, and prides itself on 
ht ;r,>; V\c ili-i o.:\ in Tranco \vhich ncoived and acknow- 
hiij^td i '1\'. i-iia;i:tv . It w .is the ^hir-^eiUese ^vho founded 
\iu;lv-. ihi' a'.K-ii'.ii .\iiu^|H'li<, Nice and Turin, and the 
ann*^ o\ all wvMi^ a I'uil. flu y adoptetl Diana of Ephesus 
:is llu ir |'aivinu -- ; aiul the siie of tlie present cathedral is 
that i^f tlie 'aiu'uait toiiij>le of t!ii< ^odiless. Tliei'e >vere two 
oilier ti'inplos hero one of Apollo, and another of ^linerva, 
hut nv'tlnn^- riauaiii-i of eilhei*. 

'Hxc ehureh o[' V. ar-e';lle-> dr<'\v its first origin, accordinir 
to till' hueiids. l.a/ani<, whom the ,lews, as the story 
L:-oes, dro\e out of .KM*u-.;lem with his si>ters, Martha and 
the Maudahn, Mareillus their MM'vattt, .lo>epli of Arima- 
thea, and other di>eiph^< of Chri-t ; and after being put into 
a boat without >aiN, helm, or oars — without which there 
woidd 1)0 nothiui;' tniracuKnis in the nnitter — they landed, 
notwithstandiuL:-, safe in the port of Mar.-eilles. St. Lazarus 
and Mary INhimlalen remained, and converted tlu^ iidiabitants 
from idolatry to the worship of the true faitli. They turned 
the temple of Diana iiUo a ehmvh, which occupied the spot 
where tln^ ((/list' i/nijor now stands, as \n as before observed. 

This clnu'ch ))ossesstHl numerous relics before the Ueyo- 
lution. Amoiiii* these was the >kull of La/.arus, which had 
thvee crowns of <j:old proented to it by as many ditferent 
devotees, studded thick witli emerald^, sapphires, ])earls, 
and other precious stomas; likewise the riL;ht hand and a 
rib of the ]\Ia<j;dalen ; a rmi::er of St. Martha ; and a piece of 


the wood of the holy cross ; some of the stone from Lazarus's 
first tomb ; part of the cradle of our Saviour ; some of the 
water of the river Jordan ; a stone from the place where the 
holy Virgin was delivered, and another from her sepulchre ; 
a vase containing a tear of our Lord, which fell on the tomb 
of Lazarus as he was about to work the miracle of his re* 
surrection — this tear, it was said> was brought by the Mag- 
dalen herself to Marseilles ; a tooth and some of the hair of 
St. Peter's beard ; besides sundry other invaluable relics too 
— if I may so conclude, in the summary and profane lan- 
guage of a catalogue — *^ too tedious to mention." 

Marseilles in ancient times was celebrated both for its 
learning and the illustrious men it produced, on which 
account it was sometimes styled Athenopolis Massiliorum, 
Petronius Arbiter, the poet, was a native of Marseilles ; also 
the orator Antonius Guipho, Demosthenes the physician, 
mentioned by Galen in several parts of his works, Telon 
and Crinas, both famous astrologers — the latter lived in the 
times of Claudius and Nero; Carmides, also, the great friend 
to the cold bath ; and, lastly, I may mention Pitheas, the 
famous cosmographer and traveller — the Parry of antiquity, 
who first explored the Ultima Thule. We learn from Strabo, 
that Pitheas described it as being surrounded neither by air, 
nor land, nor sea, but of a matter composed of all the three 
together, which chemical compost resembled a sponge, and 
to this porous buoy the whole world was fastened. Pitheas 
flourished in the time of Alexander the Great; and in 
those early, unsophisticated days, travellers, as we may 
perceive, had not yet learned the craft of dealing in the 

Of modem Marseilles — and, first, of the harbour. This 
little port — for it is not much larger than one of the East 
or West India docks — was well named Halcydon by Mela, 
for it is so hemmed in by the town on the north, and the 
heights of Mount Bourbon on the south, that scarcely a puff 
of air can reach it. There is a strong fort on each side of 
the entrance ; and quays range round it, which, are both 
spacious and commodious. The harbour was crowded with 

61 MAiisi:ii.Li:s — bureau de sante. 

shippiiii;- ; mid every tliiiii;* presoiitecl the appearance of coui- 
iiioive, Ijii^tk', ami pr()>p('rit v. 

The Ihii'i'ini dt Smite is situated at tlie entrance of the 
liarboiir, to the riirht on uoinir out, and contains two speci- 
mens ui' art which well nierit a visit from the stranger: the 
one, an unfinished bas-reUefin marble, represents St. Charles 
Borromeo arret-tiug, by his intt^rcession, the plague at Milan, 
bv Puiiet ; tlie other is a ])aintini2: bv David, done on his 
return from studvinir in the schools of Italy, and depicts 
St. Kock praving to the \'irgin to put a stop to a pestilence. 
The sn])ject has no particular reference, and, thus unshackled 
by matters of fact, which often cramp and disable the ima- 
giuation, the artist has full scope for the indulgence and 
revelry of t!\cur>ive fancy, either to cull flowers on Par- 
nassus, or grul) bones from a charnel-house, as his subject 
mav demand. Tliree iiirures in the forei>Tound delineate the 
three stages of pestilence : the one, a father, whose ghastly 
countenance indicates the iirst ^ymptoms of the attack, and 
the inci})ient workings of the deadly poison. Behind this 
strikinu' iiuiire vou st'e the son in a i»aro\vsm of delirinm. 
Uttering the incoherent ideas of a brain on iii*e ; whilst his 
wife, stretched ijianimnle on the ground, already lies the 
victim and triumph ofdcjath. The A irgin, full of loveliness 
and gi'ace, seems to hearki^n to the prayer of St. Rock, 
while an infant Jesus, on her knee, joins in the merciful 

This tine painting hapi)ily wants all David's most oflen- 
sive faults. Tlie colouring is rich and harmonious: here is 
no statue-like harshness of outline, no outrageous attitude, 
or attempt at dramatic eti'ect ; but, on the contrary, it exem- 
plifies the chaste taste of the .schools lie had just left, and 
which, unfortunat(dy for the school of painting in France, 
he so soon afterwards vitiated. 

The town of Marseilles is clean and well built; foot- 
pavements line almost every sti'cet ; and agreeable prome- 
nades, or roiirSy as they are called, enliven and beautify the 
town. These cou/\s are long, oj)eu scpiares, planted with 
trees on each side, with a smooth and level ])romeuade in 


the middle, the carriage-way running between the trees and 
the houses. In an evening some of these cours, especially 
the Grand Cours, present a gay and amusing sight. It is a 
kind of continual fair : both sides of the promenade are 
lined with stalls, where a long file of voices incessantly 
repeat, a dix, ct treize sous la boutique^ similar to " fe tout 
pour vingtnnnq** of Paris ; whilst minstrels, and songsters, 
and jugglers, enliven and vary the scene. 

Near the Cours Bourbon, in the Rue de Paradis, there is 
a handsome fountain, ornamented with an Ionic column of 
grey granite, surmounted by a finely executed statue of an 
infant Genius, by Chardine. This clever artist died lately in 
Paris miserably poor ; for, like our landscape-painter Wilson, 
he drank what he gained by his chisel, and only worked 
when driven to it by necessity. On the top of the column 
on the hi]l facing this cours there formerly stood a statue of 
Bonaparte, by the same able sculptor ; but it was dismounted 
and broken to pieces at the restoration. You ascend to this 
column by a walk winding in alternate diagonals on the side 
of the rock, whose scabrous brow yields but scanty footing to 
the evergreens planted to adorn it. On reaching the upper 
promenade you have an excellent panoramic view of the town 
and harbour; but to enjoy this in perfection it is necessary 
to ascend much higher, where three or four paltry shrines 
lead to the chapel of the Holy Virgin, built oh the very 
summit of the rock. Attached t6 this is a signal-tower ; and 
from where the ensign-staff stands, the eye ranges over a 
varied and extensive prospect, bounded on the north by the 
distant mountains, and toward the sea by the blue segment 
of the horizon formed by the Mediterranean ; the three little 
islands, known to the ancients by the names of Prote, Mese, 
and Hypea, appearing at your feet. Herds of goats browse 
round the rock, and you so overtop the ocean that it seems 
to require but one short leap to plunge amongst its waves. 
Marseilles exposes her dun and sun-burnt walls immediately 
below; while the villas of the more opulent of its inhabitants, 
strewed in the background, lead the eye to the dusky moun- 
tains which hem in this ant-like microcosm. 

no >rAn'^rii.rrs — i:x-votos. 

On <I('-"C'1mI1iio' fVorii \ho si^'nnl-po^t to the cbapel-steps, I 
f<.iiii.l fi irnialc in niournin'^-, with lu-r little dauirliter, kneel- 
iiiLi" in i)rayur ont.-idc x>rtlie ^riite — the disconsolate widow of 
>r)ii)(' >Iiij»\vj'<'cked mariner, pei'lnips. I cast a glance throiiirh 
the i:rate in pa^-ing-, and perceived the walls covered with 
c.i-rohfs, all (^f tlieni re[)reseniinL:; some fViuhtful situation at 
sea — a ship (li-ma>t(^d, with tJie sea hreakinir over her decks 
- -anolhri- ill di-fress, with a tremendons swell rannincr, a 
\iolinl L^ah', and a h'e->hoi'e. Sneh ('r-rat<}s were eonimoii 
in tcniph'S in aneicnl timrs, wlienc»^, the words of Juvenal: 

TIic c.r-rnfns of tlic l^omisli chnrch ai"e ofpaijfan ori«^in, 
and, lik<' many ollici- of the rites and customs of idolatry, 
wcic admillcd and continued hv the first converts to Chris- 
lianity, the more readily to reconcile tli(^ (ientiles to the new 
liiith. \\'(* have the histi'al water which was placed at the 
entrance of the anci(Mit temple"^ preservcnl in the holv water 
r>flh<> Roman ( 'atholic sei'vice : iVeiiuentlv, on entcrin«i^ their 
eliurchc^, the a^p(■l•^^Illnn is |)re<ent('d to you : their proces- 
sion- are a eonlinuanc*' of tlio-e of ])au*an time>; and even 
}iHi:l,titi.,ii i- pi'aeti-i<l In ci I'taln ])laces, as we shall shortly 
ha\ (' occasion to notice. 

'J'he cr-rolos of mo(h'rn ]M>lvlh(.'ism come chietlv under 
tlie desci*ij»lion of tlios(^ denominated fnhnJ:r pnfrp hx the 
ancients, in uliicli tlie pnrt di.-rased is rej^resi nted on a 
])ainting', oi* in wax, now I'e-tored to lu^alth l)y the u^oodness 
ol'the llolv \ irti'in, or of some? saint or martyr. Pausaiiias 
(/// ( 'ori/tf/ndcts) tiives an accomit of the temple of .-Escuh'ipius 
in Epidaurus, and ])articularly nunitions the votive tahulrp in 
it. *^ l^ila- vero," stiys he, '' intra and)itum priscis teniporibus 
nudta' steterunt, e (piihus sex U'tate mea reli(pue. In iis 
viroruni et fceminarum, (pue a deo cm'ata^ sunt, noniina in- 
cisa, morhoruui etiani (juo quis«[ue lahorarat: addita est 
curationis ratio. Scripta vero sunt omnia Dorica lingua." 
It is in allusion to this i)ractice that TibuUus (lib. i. el. 3) 
n^es the words — 

" Nunc, l)oa, nunc siiccuroro iiiilii ; nam posso mederi 
l*irt;i dooct trnipli'^ niulta lal»i.'IIa tins." 


Votive tabul€B were sometinies merely written inscriptionB, 
and hence called tabulcB scriptca. At other times these ex" 
votos were both painted and inscribed^ and hence denomi- 
nated tabuUs pict(B et scripttB, The following, of the first 
description, were found in the Templum IWerinum of Nacor 
lapiosy written in Ghreek, which, as illustrating the subject, 
may be thus translated : — 


^* At this Hme^ to one Caius who was hlindy the oracle 
made answer, * I'hat approaching the altar , he should pay his 
adorations to the divinity ; that he should then go from right 
to left, and, placing his fingers on the altar, he should with- 
draw them, and apply them to his eyes:* and forthwith he 
recovered his sight ; a large assemblage of the people being 
present, who with him were glad and rejoiced because of this 
efficacious and excellent manifestation of the divine power, 
which was evinced (for by divine grace such wondrous effects 
were produced) in the days of our. most gracious emperor 


** To the pleuritic son of one Lucius, of whose recovery 
every body despaired, the god delivered this oracle : ' Tfiat he 
should go to tlie altar, and from thence take the ashes, and 
having mixed them with wine, he should apply them to his 
side ;' and he became whole, arid publicly returned his grateful 
acknowledgments to the gods. The people rejoiced with him 
and were glad. 


" To one Juiianus, who had a spitting cf blood, and of 
wham all despaired, the oracle of .^Ssctdapius counselled him 
thus : * That approaching the altar, and taking from thence 
tfie cones of the pine, he should eat them, mixed with honey, 
for three days:' and his health being restored, he returned 
thanks to the god in presence of tke people." 

Tomaskrus {de Donariis Veterum) records the following 


atfLCtioiiate, ilion.r]i mutilated inscription, wliich appears to 
have been in^crilied under a hilfhi j'ictd : — 

I'l ij . -Al I IT . 
;i I I 1 . \ i N ( iM t . 

i II r.l . T'l : < l-'^IM L . 

; 1. L u I r . ^ I .1 . 
1 \; ll: AM . II \N( . m.u:m . 

< I \I . -K \i» . .V-(. i I Vl'l . 

I \ . >n.\: \i I , A l■^:^'\ 1 : 1 ^ ■ 
1 . \ aI i:n II - . « \pi :<) . 
\ri> . A> N 

L'. ■« r r . ^I. 1). r. i>. 

liiit pcrliii}'- til.' nic^r sinuular, thnnuli certainly not tlu- 
ni')^t dccoi'ou^, ai'e tlic votive lines to Pi-iai)n5, bcLrinning, 

'■ C^ii' pictiua iii'.;ii«>ri Mt in labt IKi 

Tlie 'j,-r)()il accruing" iVom tliis custom was ^jreat ; for not 
only the di-e;i-e and ii- niean^ ot' cure wei-e connnemorutod, 
hut sonietiino al>o tln^ conipvxition of the medicine >vas de- 
scrihcd, and divei*< suiirical instalments were dedicated in 
the like mannei'. Ij'a^i-triitus cau-ed a tooth-instrumeiit. to 
he hmi'j: up in the temple of Apollo at Delphi, as we learn 
irom O.elius Aui-elianus: a medicinal ])la.-ter was f(3und in 
the; t(.'mple of \ nlcan at Mem])]iis, and continued lom:; in 
I'epute : a c.ollvi'ium \mi> (li-co\rr(Ml in the temple of Diana 
at l''])hesus, as r«lated hv Aitiu<: and IMinv mentions the 
tlieriaca uhith Antioclm^, kiie'" of Svria, u^ed aiiainst the 
hitci of serpents, the compo.-ilion (jf \Alnch was inscribed on 
stone in tin; temph', of ,l'.scuhi]>ius iu (\.)>^ the native place 
of Hippocrates. h'rom >indi a ca>tom a kno\vledi;'e of the 
nature and cui(i of di>ea-es ^rot abroad, accnnudatin<j; as new 
facts came to lii^ht. \\ bat, then, was moi'e natural, or more 
eoni;('nial with the kindhest feelini;s of the heart, than to 
considerate places and tem[)h'S to the divinity of lu-alth, and 
ennd tlie observations of experience as statutes of medical 
science? How diH'erent i> the practice in modern days! 
Some scare-crow of a saint takes all the merit of the cure : 


yet the continuance of the practice shews the inveteracy of 
habit, and what a tendency there is in all ages towards appro- 
priating and even sanctifying the same ceremonies^ whatever 
change the religious tenets of mankind may underg6. 

The Museum. — Marseilles, as we have said before, con- 
tains no ruins of its ancient greatness, no temples, schools, 
circuses, or gymnasia, although that such existed is recorded 
on inscriptions and on medals which remain. Before the 
destructive times of the Revolution, many columns, tombs, 
bas-reliefs, and inscriptions, were preserved, which have now 
disappeared : the abbey of St. Victor also contained curious 
monuments of all ages, and the few that have again been 
found are now placed in the museum. Among these the 
traveller will find in an ante-room the following remains of 
Greek and early Christian monuments : — 

A votive marble Tripod, which an inscription on it, in 
Greek, tells us was consecrated by Sosimikos, son of Evagoras, 
to Serapis, Isis, and Anubis. 

A beautiful Greek Altar, ornamented with garlands of 
fruits and flowers, which had served, as the inscription would 
indicate, for a pedestal to a statue. 

The Tomb of Glaucias. This monument was found, in 
1799, under the ruins of the abbey of St. Victor. It is about 
five feet and a half high, and must have stood upright, sur- 
mounted probably by a bust. On it is an inscription in 
Greek, and the fine feeling it expresses reminds us of P^re 
la Chaise. It may be rendered thus : — 

*^ This is the tomb of Glaucias. His young son has con- 
secrated this monument of his filial piety to his memory, 
which he had evinced from his earliest infancy. 

*^ Unfortunate Glaucias! It hath not been given you 
long to enjoy the sight of your son. He would have given 
thee, not a tomb, but support and consolation in thy old age. 
Jealous Fate hath treated thee harshly, my father! She 
hath reserved affliction and tears for a mother sinking under 
the burden of years, widowhood to a disconsolate wife, and 
the loss of a beloved father to an unhappy orphan." 


Aiiioul: the other monuniciifs are several ancient Christian 
-lU'.'oi'hau'i : one «'f ham. M\n of St. \'ictor, who died in 
lt>4^. Ai:v.»ther of St. luK-i in, an abbess of Cassianite nuns, 
u^ «'!il as "the tit'rh or <i\th ctiitiii-v. 

From this //'v/. ■</->'/'/< a door open? into the Gallery of 
PAiNri\<,<. There are one hundred and thirtv-live in all. 
eoniprisiiiu" several by the tirst masters of the Italian and 
other schools : two or three of which uiv limits will onlv 
j^erniit me to notice. 

No. 114 is a paintin;: by Raphael, and represents St. 
ious WRITING ruE Afocalypse. ^eated on an eao-le in the 
cloud-, the holv evanutli-t looks ui) to heaven with the 
sul>hme, entranced eye of one in a vision. He holds a tablet 
in his left hand, and in his ri^ht a iien. Tlie colourinir is 
bold and rich. A mountainous landscape is beneath, and 
the spires of a distant city form the Hnks of communicatioa 
Ix^tween the two scenes al>ove and below. 

Xo. lOl marks the Gtakdian xAx.el, by Domenichino. 
llie ;uii:el has hold of a boy by tlie hand, and points the way 
to hejiven. A ray of li'j:ht enters from the left of the picture, 
and di^(•overs a cro>s, the enddem of faith in Him crucified. 
This conception uive^ line etfect to the picture, and tlie whole 
is pjiint(?d with <^reat sweetness and beauty. 

No. n^) is a paintiuL^ by Hannibal Caracci : the subject, 
David wirii the Head of (uh.iatii. This picture is conspi- 
cuous for the astoiii>h)nL:; vkill displayed in the distribution of 
th(! li;z'ht and sluide, wbicdi ij:iv<'s an imposing reality that at 
once dechires th(i utmost nuistcry of art. 

No. 27 repic-cnt^ tlir ( 'okonation of the A^irgin by 
the infant ,)esus, and i^ r^trcmrd tlie chcf-d'cvurre of Pierre 
Parrocel. The tone of colouring;' is extremely rich and har- 
monious, and it is nlfo'jTflMr n paintint;- of infinite merit. 

ISO. !)! excMiiplifles \\\v extraordinary imagination and 
impressive pencil of ( "arava;iL::io. 'I'Ih; subject is aPiETA, sup- 
ported by angels, and depicts force without grace, revolting 
reality, undeniabh? fidelity lo Iriilb, and nature without charm 
or attraction. Hut, with all these (pialilies, I never can help 
thinking that, when an able artist beslows his attention and 


talents on the representation of a disagreeable subject, it is 
throwing away both unworthily, for, at best, its beauties are 
as the blossoms of a weed. 

No. 119, which you see on the ceiling, represents The 
Apotheosis of the Magdalen, by Philippe de Champagne. 
The tone of colouring of this painting is very peculiar, it so 
approaches wax-work in appearance. The drawing is exceed- 
ingly correct, which is remarkable in particular in the fore- 
shortening of the figure of the Magdalen, observing whom, 
as she ascends over your head, your modesty gets alarmed 
lest you should see too much. An angel bears her up on his 
pinions without any seeming effort ; and the composition of 
the accompanying group of angels and cherubim is managed 
with great skill and effect. 

But it is time to stop, else I shall never have done with 
Marseilles. Suffice it to refer to the names of Paul Veronese, 
Groido, Rubens, Carlo Maratta, and others, fully given in the 
catalogue at the end of the work, to convey to the reader an 
idea of the value of this collection. 

In the rooms above is the public Library, which is at all 
times freely open to strangers, as well as the Museum. 

There is a country-house of a wealthy Marseillese by the 
sea-side, and not far from Marseilles, containing paintings, 
which I went to see ; but the wind blew so fresh from the 
sea, that the blinds before the windows could not be opened 
without endangering the glass. 

I set out to-morrow for Nice, impatient to get into Italy. 


The temperature of locality is passing strange. The 
distance betwixt this place and Marseilles is short, the dif- 
ference of latitude trifling, and yet the climate is sensibly 
more mild. About two miles before reaching Toulon there 
19 a little village, snugly placed in a hollow, and in every 
garden the orange-trees appea? ed to groan under their golden 
treasure. I did not visit Hyeres, but passed within a few 
miles of it ; and although it was but yet the first day in 

- o 


I . m A » 

•K.:: :...;. 1 -..-^ _..' it :.-;♦.;;> in t'Liil bloom — a proof of the 

^'\,.: ::...'.--- : :i_ 0.1::.;.*^' of tliis neiL:hlK)urliood. Con- 

::;.:.. ..v..... :' ». ^r ^^-:\:. 1 rtrniinates at Luc, in the 

.:iL lv:v. vt:. A.\ :•.:.■! Mce. Befin'o coming to the 

\:.i.._L .1' i\:_».:. I ^.iw li.e cork-trc^ throwing for the 

:: i> :L.\'. 1 c\trv ti.ird voar, and outwaixUv it 
• • • «^ 

-<t:i.t i :;> :: :: :.:. 1 icti. |'iuhed over — seared, as it were, 
•..i\:' li.e . v't :-a:i. I. ; bui ilii? is its natural appearaiice. 

l"..> > 111- i\i:'.':c:.; r-'T'ini Julii. formerly a sea-port, 
i...M_l; !iv'\\ -v\rM.! iMU-- f:v'ni tlie "^t-'H. It otfers a sinixular 
-; iv'MvK uf Li i-'Nnil vi.>i.vrt ! bv liit ocean, like the marine 
«-!... 11- il.a! ari' -. m.riiias foiii.d on a mountain. They 
-;rs ih.' rl:.^-' C'l:- to nnIiIcIi ilie -iii; ^'In^' ^vas fastened were 
f'lM.ii-lx I'.' Ik r.t'u; ]> .: \-.;iliuiu Tlu■^e. there is still suthcient 
in tile u'riurul a'|\et of ihe j'hice itself to snl^stantiate that 
it liail I nee Ixai a m a- port, inJepciuU-nt of the record of 
Iii-rui'v. tuieriiiU" the town \ou i-a-s the iMiins of an ancient 
auiphiilu atre on ihr h U. It i.- oi' the usual elliptical form, 
fici J ^^ilh -null sioiies cut in the ^hapl' antl size of bricks. 
( )n the other side of ilie lown you r^ei^ \vl\at i- now called the 
Purti- J)(iri,. It had hot u a ^r.teway, which opened on the 
port. .Vnioiii;- the ruins {){ ihis j)oridi a tine luad of Ju[)iter 
was cU-interred, n(;w to he ^^ in in tlie wall which borders 
one side of tlie pul)lic pronu'naih\ But the most consider- 
al»le remains are the ruins of an aqurduct on the I'oad to 
(.'annes. This aqueduct consists 01' h»fly sinule arches, the 
i)iers between which are sti'cniithened bv abutments on both 
sides. It makes a straniie turn to the riLilit, out of the 11a- 
tui'al level, windini:: its way on the heights in the direction of 
tlie amphitheatre. Was this to sup[)ly the ai'eiui with water, 
andconveit it into a naumachia occasionally, and yet serve 
ordinarily to convey water to the town for usual domestic 
pui'poses .' 

It was in the ])ay of l'r(jus that Bonaparte landed on 


the dth of October, 1799, on deserting the army in Egypt^ 
breaking the quarantine laws, posting to Paris, and over- 
turning the Directory. Sixteen years afterwards he made 
a neighbouring spot, between Antibes and Nice, the Rubicon 
of a second enterprise, when he landed from Elba. 

Leaving these ruins on the Jeft, the road traverses a plain, 
slightly varied by inequalities for two or three leagues, when 
it begins to climb over a mountain of considerable height, 
jutting into the sea. 

As the different strata of rocks which present themselves 
in the ascent may interest the geological traveller, I will 
enumerate them in the order in which they appeared. Be- 
fore the road begins to ascend we meet with patches of grey- 
wacke distributed about, close to which lie old red sandstone, 
and blue and red clay. The road now begins to quit the 
plain, and, ascending over limestone, you next come to a 
stratum of porphyry composed of white and pink-coloured 
parts, soft and friable in their texture. Higher up still, I was 
agreeably surprised to fall in with numerous veins of beau- 
tiful jasp-agate intersecting a bed of greywacke. The jasper 
occupied the centre of the vein, and flowed in a straight line 
through a matrix of silex. The wacke had a vesicular 
appearance, from the crystals it had contained becoming de- 
composed. Above this lay a stratum of limestone, so altered 
that it appeared as if half burnt. Next came a conglomerate, 
composed of portions of mica, quartz, and gneiss ; and the 
whole was covered by a thick bed of porphyry, forming 
the summit of the mountain. Here there is a small auberge, 
where I rested myself; for after so many excursive offsets to 
the right and left, in pursuit of specimens of each varying 
rock, I was somewhat fatigued. The ascent may be about 
four miles; and, on looking back, the view of Frejus in the 
distance, of its open, shallow, retreating bay, and of the 
country which intervenes between the eye and the distant 
horizon, all combine to form a fine landscape effect. As I sat 
drinking some indifferent wine, conversing with '' mine host, 
and packing up my specimens in paper, I have reason to 
believe, from what I learned, that the neighbouring moun- 




I « "i — 

;;"•..• .'.'"■ "'t- 

'•rn;ill 'j\ 'i ...'• 1 . :.':\r. '.v •. 

"♦ :1 '"^-^l 'v 1^ 

fi«-d ; l'>.''^'r. I (^t:i.^' M- "■« r '. v-v . :' i 1 :_:L>* r.^:: colour, 

Iforn Hi'- j»rrfloiiiiriari<:»r of ','. ick :..i'M :: C' :::.\::i-:d, :i:. i itripeil 

InclMfl rnn--^-'. of porij}i\r\' 1 tv r^rvu^-il a'».'i', a< thov had 
(idirn frorii tin: IkI'/Ii^- rd^ove : i.^xt t:> tlio-f^:- cair.n' iilit'mate 
lnv<i'' of 'M»i'ni^h fhiv find irne:-^. the t'Tiii-.r tv:dr!i*!v r^eiii'j 
»M»llmii'. •I'- tli;iii tlw crii' :-' d' <''>:n; • '»- 1. the ::/.o:"» • t* v» hioh 
\> II : 'lill nj»j»:iMiit III thr, lufj--. Iliilu^-«i:>t:'-LV 1>.,;'V t:-c two 
Iii.;t riiiiM' I'liii- , ill ;i -l;»tr, (A ]>»-;i:j <!• <:•.':;.'"•. -^t--.;. T^y this 
liiiir I IiihI "',1 II. ;iil\ to iIh" fo'jt of tl;- ir,> ''i^Laiii, iv.:.! as the 

tniiil iiiii ImmI iIm- '••!>, iIh* r-niall a-o»jriil::._:s ai.d lusoend- 

mj- •. 11 M "idm l\ II I hill III! 1 1 'J, -licucd hoili j'0'*i''-yry ail i ^'iieiss 
|Milii||\ «|iIii|>mIiiI«-iI, lliiil i^, r<dijc'rd to the Statt- v( rvd aud 

{'Mill r I r I y 

'I Im> .l.rliNily nnu lMi':in liii|M'r(T|it IMv to loso itsolf ill the 
urn, lirn- ilir roiid ii riil llnoii-li <_in<'i>s of, comparatively 
MprnlxMi!'. \»»v innilriii foriimlinn, rr-lhi"iiic'd, ill tact, troiil 
tlir eoimmimhd iimh riid of tlic old, small-grained, very 
frifiMe, r-lnililird, nviIIi liir;T Miimotli nodules of gneiss of a 
niueli older runnntinn, luid Inner hardier sort, embedded 

in it. 

A *»treani of wnlrr run iil iIm- holloni of the mountain. 
•'^..-.. u;m iio l»rid|.'r iieroM.j ii ; hut a man was there as a 
^la-e- ianriini, wlio M;uinrd a mi.-»rnililr liveliliood hy carrying 

•tr i-^vfarini^ pnHHeni^er over on Ins l»aek ; so 1 mounted, 
X ta '-^:.•'x. mineiaU, and nil, mid was sjifdy conveyed across 

.. '\ '* y '/» Asnu*^ Kill' 


On the other side of the stream the road winds round a 
marshy flat, which the encroachment of time has gained 
from the sea ; and on doubling a small point of land, the 
traveller eomes all at once on the little village of Cannes. 
The post-house^ situated at the entrance of the town, is the 
first you meet. Here I hung out for the nighty somewhat 
latigued by my delightful idling; and, after a temperate 
dinner^ or supper, call it which you like, I retired to rest, 
and was quickly hilled to sleep by the drowsy plashing of 
the waves that broke in monotonous succession under my 

By this time I had attained the habit of awaking with 
the sun; and ere he could well shake the brine from his 
dripping locks, I had slung my knapsack on my back, and 
begun to trudge merrily on to Antibes, where ^e road runs 
so close to the beach that it binds the shore of the Mediter- 
ranean like a fillet. 

Antibes is a small fortified town, with a still smaller 
harbour, which is well protected by a line of embrasures on a 
level with the water, as well as by its narrow and shallow 
entrance. But it is a port quite contemptible, in a com- 
mercial point of view, unless France should ever be blockaded 
by the Lilliputians. 

About midway between Antibes and Nice, a small stream, 
which' we cross on a wooden bridge, separates the territories 
of France and Sardinia, and here it is you undergo the usual 
ordeal of the police ; but if your papers are *' all over right," 
as the knackers express it, the gensdarmes are passing civil* 


'' Long life to your honour, if you die to-morrow," 
is a well-known Irish benison. Now that I am at Nice, 
I feel as if the Spanish salutation, *' May you live a thousand 
years,'* was to be fulfilled in my proper person, were I to stay 
but long enough, or to believe cM that ia said ofity according 
to which the longevity of Methuselah ought no longer to be 


considered an anomaly, for here people (they say) are sure of 
becoming immortal— beyond the grave! 

Full of this consolatory persuasion, I walked out to the 
fine, terraced promenade by the sea-beach, where I found 
the Mse blowing so keen and cold, that I, with lungs strong 
enough to sound the last trump, could not refrain from 
coughing. This devil of a wind is sharp enough to shave a 
sapeuTy or put a fresh edge on his hatchet ; that which I ex- 
perienced at the Pont du Gard was a mere whittle to it. Next 
day it was altogether as. hot ; and invalids, to encounter such 
extreme transitions, ought to have their chest lined inside 
with sheet iron, and their pulmonary exhalations worked by 
steam; — and yet this is a residence recommended to those 
whose hollow lungs already reverberate the echo of death ! 
Were it not for these sudden variations of temperature, Nice 
would be a desirable retreat for the invalid : its situation on 
the sea-shore is delightful ; its promenade unique ; the orange- 
tree bears abundantly in the open air ; and the breeze blow- 
ing from the sea tempers the excessive heat of the warmer 

After getting my passport regulated, I left Nice to walk 
by the shore of the Mediterranean to Genoa ; and I had 
proceeded a considerable way on the road to Turin before 
I discovered that I had mistaken the route. As I knew that 
I could not get wrong in directing my steps to the sea, I 
crossed the country by a rough and stony mountain footpath, 
and by chance came to the chapel of Notre Dame de la Gai. 
This is a place in high repute all round the country for a 
miraculous image of the Virgin it possesses, and to which an 
annual pilgrimage is made, where crowds of devotees flock to 
be cured of their different infirmities. The blind and maim 
of all descriptions walk in procession to the chapel, and there 
pass the night, something after the manner of the ancient pagan 
incubations, making all sorts of noises ; at one time praying 
and beseeching the holy Virgin of la Gai to work their cure ; 
at another, abusing her with all their might, according as 
their faith may ebb or flow. When the miracle is accom- 


plishedy which it is sure to be on some knave or fanatic of 
the party, shouts of joy from all sides announce the mira- 
culous visitation. The favoured miserable is now mounted 
on the shoulders of the most effective of the disabled assembly, 
and borne to his home in exultant, triumphal procession. 

This chapel, before the time of the French revolution, 
was enriched with numerous valuable ex-votos presented by 
devotees to whose wishes the numen of la Gai had been pro- 
pitious ; in particular, it possessed an infant Jesus of solid 
gold, presented, to adorn the Vii^in's shrine, by a certain 
queen, who, at the instance of Notre Dame, like another 
Sarah, conceived and bore a child at the age of sixty. But 
in the sacrilegious march of revolutionary pillage, the enfant 
d'oTf with many other precious ex-votosy vanished. 

This is the practice formerly alluded to as a relict of the 
ancient pagan custom of incubation still existing in a modified 
state in some of the Romish observances. 

The term incubation, amongst the ancients, meant the 
lying down of the sick in a temple on the skin of an animal 
sacrificed, as a means of seeking health from the god to whom 
the temple was dedicated. The temples of the Greeks and 
Romans were crowded with ^[incubantes," and the practice 
is alluded to by the poets of both nations. Aristophanes, in 
his comedy inscribed Plutus, feigns this god lying down in 
the temple of ^sculapius at Epidaurus, and thus being cured 
of his blindness (Act ii. scene iii. v. 410). Here also it is 
that Plautus places his pimp: — ** Hie Leno segrotus incubat 
in .£sculapii fano." Epidaurus was a city of Agria, in the 
Peloponesus, famous for the temple of .£sculapius. There 
was another fane sacred to this god in the island of Cos, 
which Strabo mentions: ** in suburbio ^sculapii est cedes, 
celebre admodum^ et multis danariis plenum" He likewise 
speaks of the temple of Serapis, of that of Pluto and Proser- 
pine, and of the cave of Charonius, as celebrated for the 
incubation of the sick. 

It was necessary for those about to propitiate the numen 
to undergo certain ablutory rites before entering the sanctuary, 
which, when considered in a therapeutic view, will shew how 


probable it was that by such a preparation many diaeaaes 
might be by this alone alleviated; but the object they had 
to attain by such prefatory rites was to excite to salutary 
dreams : they abstained from meat and drink for some days^ 
a practice still observed by the vulgar in our own country oa 
St. Agnes' eve when they wish to dream of their lovers ; bat 
the reason of the abstinence of the incubans was, that he 
might render himself more worthy of his expected commerce 
with the god. They sacrificed rams and dieep, and lay upon 
their skins^ thus more assuredly confiding that the deity 
would not be wanting. Pausanias tells of this> in Attieisj 
lib. i. cap. 34 ; and Virgil alludes to the practice in the fol- 
lowing el^ant lines (^neid, lib. vii» v. 85) : — 

" Hinc Italse gentes omnisque CEnotria tellus 
In dubiis responsa petunt : hue dona sacerdos 
Quum tulity et casarum avium sub nocte silenti 
Peliibus incuhiit ttraiis^ tomnosque petivit.^ 

Incubation might be performed either by the patient him* 
self, or the priest belonging to the temple might do it for 
him, and the relief sought was written down and placed upon 
what the incubans lay. The visions or dreams were of various 
kinds : either the things about to come to pass appeared, or 
certain images or symbols of them, or else the god himself 
uttered the oracle to the incubans in his sleep. Of this last 
kind ^lianus gives us an example in Aspasia, who, when 
given up by her physicians, was cured of a swelling on her 
chin by Venus appearing to her in her sleep. Suetonius tells 
a miraculous and strange story concerning the Emperor Ves- 
pasian being besought by one blind, and another who was 
lame, to spit on this one's eyes, and to touch the other with 
his heel, and they would be made whole, for such had been 
communicated to them by Serapis in a dream : the credulous 
author adds, " nee eventus defuit.'* Even the sagacious 
Tacitus relates, with apparent faith in its truth, the same 
profane tale. But do not let us, of a later and more enlight- 
ened day, sneeringly smile ; for superstitious credulity is not 
wholly the weakness of an ignorant age, else Prince Hohen- 


loCy Johanna Southcotey and animal magnetism, would nerar 
have had Buch a herd of believers and proselytes. But there 
is a certain quantity of insanity always floating about in 
society, ready to catch hold of the prevalent absurdity of the 
day; and it is fortunate for the more rational portion of 
mankind when it expends itself on subjects that are harm«> 
less, no matter how ridiculous they may be. — Mais a nos 

A paved pathway, the route of the annual pilgrimage, led 
from the valley where the chapel stands, and I r^;ained the 
proper road by the sea-shore near La Tourbia. Hence to 
Mentone is one uniform descent, and I slept in the capital of 
the smallest principality in Europe. 

Monaco (Monflecus) is a very ancient territory, and is 
mentioned both by Virgil and Lucan. . They tell a story of 
one of our migratory countrymen who happened to offend 
the mighty little potentate of this mighty little state. The 
prince ordered him to quit his dominions in twenty-four 
hours. The Englishman immediately ordered post-horses, 
and sent word back to say that he would be out of them 
in less than two. 

Between La Tourlna and Mentone the limestone rock is 
so hard as to make mill-stones. Just as you leave the latter, 
and dose to the beach, you see sandstone in strata nearly 
vertical penetrating horizontal sandstone, and, quitting the 
latter, they run and lose themselves .in the sea. The road 
now begins to ascend, and you again see some of these ver- 
tical strata intersecting a conglomerate rock. Its position, 
both here and below, bears out the conjecture that the per- 
pendicular strata are the older formation, which were after- 
wards encompassed by sandstone and conglomerate of a 
much later date, and deposited when the sea occupied a 
much higher level. If this opinion be correct, judging from 
the height of the conglomerate, the sea must have fallen at 
least three hundred feet — a difference of elevation that would 
set Frejus afloat again. 

The road still continues to ascend by the sides of the 
mountains, and follows the varied windings of the coast, 


::nt:m:<~:/ v. 

I * A <*■ 4 k ft.^ 

■' 1 

• . ' ' 

«. -I 

\- ^e-l ,w yo'i. You pass lime- 
' ^'-.r. ■\'^-o%-r wliioa vou meet 

'V::.^ -'i •!: '.^ S'.iijalar oru-niiic 
.':-. \^ !i :. T . rt*. or, ilu/v reseinMe 
■> T'v :.: -iizt' : ill wri.-n v.cred on bv 

at T:i-::' e'l_'-. .\""i'. 'i.j - ^ ' « si'r -i v'.!!;i_>» u 'lioli overhancTS 
t^^^ r-vil, \ .':i ^'»-«::i t^-iii !. ':-"i<'e...l, v ri:.;!i c'^iitiiuies till 
V'>'i oiiie ^.» \ •rivrii'^'i: I. Il'.ro "ilio earriijL-r-'ad o<'ases, and 
tli^; ^ravt:ll«.T liji-r 11 ''-v I r'-o.»'l r'.r'.ior 'TI !<v^t or on a mule. 
Ti.t.^ l-.rid^t; \"': <.'r -- '-n I'. av-nr \ » uri-i.i^-lia i^ a cir'.ositv 
ot" i^- k::;:!, 1'" '- ^:: ^ ) i..^e:'<'o!:':,'LLl a sfnicruro. It is enJ- 
l'-— Iv Ion.- : r.a:-;-o'-v i-^ M.i'..- m-_''s l»:"iii_-o t:<at leacU to the 
♦•l'.-:iii:i '.t'tli»- I]"i:i: !.>> t'.v > -irchos are alike, and tlitdr ares 
iiVf of -:i :li \;'ri' 'i- -^ m-, tkat v.-u cro-.-. as it were, on the 
hjirk' r,!* ;i -iice^'-'i -ii < -f dri )mMla j-ie-^. ^evrral of these had 
friHe:i, mil \.\\ ^•■. 1: r^-'-'iirLd w'^h wo d, in so trairile a 
manner a- CMiild ii'-r r-'inliid rlie pa'j-enj;er of what Lord 
lUroiJ sriv- of the ' ^'rij; o* IkdL:"u\\ rv :' and 


rln'js frMiii f-ar to f-ar at e\rrv trt''.:.hlinL: «^tt p y«^u take. 

'i'uo niih- and a h-lftVuni tiie hi'id'je nf \'rntinui;lia von 
j)a-- a liainht uhieh, fi'<.ni havin-j.- a eu-toni-Iiou-e, appeared 
to he appendaircd to a town innnrdiat«dy on the heiuht ahove. 
1 notice thi-? place nn'ivly to indicate that ai>i>ut two hundred 
j)aces from it the ireoloLxist may oh-er\ e a peculiar species of 
HandstoiH!, of evidcntlv very modern f )rniation, alternatinii' 
with otlicr strata of the sanu^ material, where, from the 
ma;r"itn(le of the parti(des of which it i> composed, it ap- 
i)roac}if's in its a[)pearancj* a coni:lomerate of granular tpiartz 
aL''^h]tinated hy a cjuai'tzo-e* cement. The ?mall-j;:rained is 
hard and comj):ict ; tin* larger, ai:ain, is nnich more fi'iahle 
when (letach(!d in piecr-s, yet j)erfectly S(did in the mass. 
IJoth kinds are situated ahout a hundred and hfty feet ahove 
the present level of the ocean, an<l may be noted as another 
proof of the sinking of the Mediterranean. The smaller- 
}^n-ain(ul sort encloses nodules of this limestone rock of the 


distant mountains. Here the palm-tree grows in great per* 
fection amidst groves of olive-trees. Four miles farther I 
came to the village of Ospitaletto ; and one league farther 
brought me to San Remo, where I halted for the night. 

On turning the point of land which gives a first view of 
San Remo, observe sandstone alternating with thin layers of 
limestone, standing almost vertically on their edges. In the 
way I met a lady of respectable appearance and her three 
pretty daughters going ventre a terre^ mounted cL la four- 
chette on as many mules. It seemed the ordinary manner 
for females to ride in this part of the country, and they 
appeared no way conscious of its singularity in the eyes of 
a stranger. 

Between San Remo and Port San Maurizio the road is 
abominable in bad weather, and it rained so piteously, that, 
when I arrived at the latter, it had driven me nearly 
* donart,' as they express it in my country: indeed, the 
entire way from Nice to Grenoa deserves nothing less than 
to be stuck into the '' Commination," and there lustily 

My next halt was at Alassio, a town meriting no remark 
unless for its wretchedness, and the squalid and ill-favoured 
appearance of its inhabitants. Indeed^ the whole of this coast 
seemed to me to be inhabited by the unadulterated descend- 
ants of those barbarians who invaded Italy as early as the 
days of the first Tarquin, and whom the Romans never after- 
wards thought it worth their while to drive out again. Their 
dress, even to this day, is the same as that of the Laplanders 
and other northern nations inhabiting the shores of the 
North Sea. They still wear a sort of great-coat with a hood 
to it, the original, in my opinion, of the present cowl of 
the capuchin monks ; and their features are so peculiarly 
ugly, that, whilst none of their females are pretty even 
when young, their old women surpass in hideousness the 
hags in Macbeth. 

• On leaving the suburbs of Alassio, you mount a very steep 
ascent, and meet again with conglomerate, but with this 
curious singularity, that small veins of calcareous spar traverse 


^2 \: : y> -a — 7:na: j: — nolli. 

• < . ^ » ^ 

. '. > ' . 

•J '^ 

i'rt .:' is ooniposed chietiy 
l.AVt? _\i:i.L'.l the heiirht, 

.1 li. : i:::a::i breaks upon 
:' II o'-.j-pt:-! in ruins. In 
:!.tr o;T>'^ruiuitv of stHaip^^ 
.\ 1 'W^r vl.wii, I came upon 
,:.'i t' '.ia^td in its lonn, of 
i ^. . -. c : ■. A-. : :" -«v . \-y v^.^s -f oalcaruous spar. 
1' r • - . .- -./.-• :.'. . 'a!/:;'i v/a- a'.--> \r:i:td in the same 
: .. :...•:•, :::..: y : :' 11 u ' . -1, d.^v- ; Al* t:nj:a. 

V . :v :.....- ■.:.". .. :i.::-_- :^ Fiin^, you V-tuiu a-jain to 

wl::, ':;-».! on linu -^t-'iie of a very 
: ! . - - : : ; . 1 1 1 v^ i : : s <.> i ea 1 oa reous spa r 
!..'»::._ ' — :. u :.-*... 1 «--■:: -.t'tr dcv.\ m:<osi:iun. Above this 
lit- r :!o..'-'- el.'.v— l.irt- : a:. 1 h:z-<^'' s::li, v«>u nu'ot with a 
• I\ -IvMi I'lii^ -* ^:it', :::'». r-co:- d ^' v \:\:':\\\A lint- of the cn-s- 
t.ili'.-fd e..r'-'n;rt^ ^ f iimo, "fine if tlio >peeinien'i of which 
ai'f \ ltv ]«:•« rrv, f-.-Mni the uTta: rt_:;;lari:v and eloseness of 
tlit' intrrlint a:i'.>n.-. The ni«_'Unrain lu.'W terminates ahriiptly, 
a:.d \--n <h-.^ nd aln;"-t a ]h r|^tn lio'ilar }'!•» oipiee, by eig:ht 
/:u"-/-i'-:' dicunnii!:^, to Finak-. It ^^a-, perhaps, fn.mi the 
f<.)i"nitM' in-uprra^ le nature of thi> piveipitons mountain, that 
the t-iun iar:\t.d its name, by its oppu^in-j a /u j>hr< to the 
lra\»'lltjr condu::" hitlirr from Cienoa. 

Htnce t<.) -\ulli the nature of the roek e^'Uiinuis the ^ame. 
In the route, vou pa?s under a ualliTy e.\ea\attd out of the 
-')iid rock, eii:iitv-four yards h>n'j."' — 

It was executed under Bonaparte, who, ind»'ed, was the 
author of the whole route from VentimiLilla to (lenoa. Near 
the "iiillery tliere is a cavern to be seen, tilled up with Hme- 
^tonci noduh'S, fornun^r a conLilomerate in fact. 'Ihis, be- 
yond all doubt, had once been on a level with the sea-beach : 
ith form is exactly such as we observe in sindlar situations, 

•• Tlii> u.tll* ly 1^ inucli tincr lli.ui any <>tllu»r 1 .itkiNNanl.s p.i-Ncd mulci, 

111 ( inssiiij lliL' S|IIH*I()II. 


and it must have been a battery of waves that had so im- 
pacted it : another proofs if more be required, of the former 
elevation of the Mediterranean above its present level. I 
halted at Areneino ; and if I did not sleep on a bed of down^ 
I at least slept in agreeable company, for Mary Mags and 
Madonnas hung round my pillow, but guarded, as bad luck 
would have it, by an army of saints and martyrs. Next 
day I arrived at Genoa by noon. 

The carabinieri all along the coast keep up a degree of 
surveillance, which is oftentimes annoying. I have fre- 
quently been accosted by men, who, after civilly inquiring 
if I was going to the next town, requested the honour of 
keeping me company, on pretence of going my way. These 
I at once perceived to be police out of uniform. I have 
sometimes chaiged them with it, and got them to acknow- 
ledge it, when I would allow them to walk with me, or 
politely dismiss them, according as my humour ran. But a 
traveller, and particularly a pedestrian, must put up with 
these inconveniences, for the personal protection he obtains by 
their vigilance. I was told by one of them, that, before the 
time of Bonaparte, no traveller could pass along this coast 
without the almost certainty of being murdered. Shrines to 
the Virgin are erected every few miles, and particularly on 
the centre arch of bridges. They are held in great reverence ; 
and I could not help reflecting, as I saw scoundrels, by their 
looks, devoutly take ofi^ their hats as they passed a Paris- 
plaster cast of the culvocata peccatarum, how conscientiously 
easy it must have been, in this country, to pass from an act 
of adoration to one of assassination. These bridges, by the 
way, are great bores to one that is wearied ; for most fre- 
quently they are of one arch only, of considerable span, 
describing a lofty semicircle, with nothing to lessen the 
ascent or descent at either extremity : it is, in fact, like 
climbing over the back of a corpulent hay-rick, with all its 
monumental height, but none of .its gamesome softness. 



Now no longer Grenoa the Superb. The wealth that 
entitled it to the appellation has migrated to some freer 
mart, and this once free republic — the birth-place of Co- 
lumbus — is crippled by the fetters of despotism. The har- 
bour is spacious and fine ; and though most of the streets of 
Genoa are narrow, and the houses lofty, both are the cooler 
for it during the intense heats of summer. 

The Cathedral. — This fine church is dedicated to St. 
Lawrence, whose martyrdom, in fresco, adorns the ceiling 
of the choir. Observe the chapel of St. John the Baptist. 
Handsome columns support a richly sculptured front ; and, 
on the altar, the ashes of this saint are encased in a shrine of 
gold, sustained by four columns of polished porphyry. The 
sides are ornamented by eight statues of prophets : those of 
Zacharias and Abacu are strikingly fiue. Remark also the 
chapel of the Holy Sacrament, situated to the left of the 
choir. The tabernacle stands under a beautiful temple of 
white marble, by which two angels kneel. The sculpture of 
this chapel is by one of the pupils of the graceful Canova. 
In the choir, see a bronze statue of the Virgin and Child ; 
and in niches in the sides, four grand statues <^ the Evan- 
gelists, of divine expression. St. John the Baptist is the 
patron saint of Genoa. 

Adjoining the old ducal palace stands the Church of St. 
Ambrose. This church is adorned with four remarlftble 
paintings. The first, A Circumcision, by Rubens, occupies 
the grand altar : the second is by the same great master, and 
represents an Infant Angbl appearinq to St. Ionatiub, 
the founder of the order of the Jesuits. In this painting 
Rubens has introduced a portrait of himself and his wife. 
The figure looking over Ignatius's shoulder is the artist. 
The management, again, of the drapery of the female (his 
wife) in front of St. Ignatius, is one of the most perfect and 
extraordinary performances in the art of painting. Observe, 
likewise, the singular position of another, who, in regarding 


the infant messenger of Heaven, is forced to look perpen- 
dicularly upwards ; but- such a conception as this durst be 
attempted only by a perfect master. 

The third is St. Francis Zavier preaching, by a 
pupil of Gruido. The attitude of the preacher is noble, and 
his expression sublime ; such as all those, whose duty it is, 
should evince and feel in expounding the divine truths of 
our fSeiith. 

The last is An Assumption of the Virgin, by Gnido 
himself. This painting beautifully exemplifies the divine 
imagination of the artist; and here you have a Virgin, such 
as the immaculate mother of God the Son ought to be de- 
picted. In the midst of clouds, angels in choirs, each more 
beautiftil than another, join hand in hand, and without the 
least seeming of effort, they follow the Virgin to the skies'. 
What purity there is in that divine forehead ! Her eyes, 
radiant with celestial bliss, already pierce the heavens, and 
repose on the bosom of the Divinity, who awaits her. 

From Sant' Ambrogio I went to the S. S. Nunziata. 
Churches in Italy are, to heretical eyes, more like theatres 
than places of worship, adorned as they all are with the 
richest gildings, beautiful marbles, and the most magical 
productions of the painter's pencil. The mind, occupied by 
such objects, has no place for the Divinity ; and instead of 
diminishing the space which separates the creature from the 
Creator, they make the distance more immense, and both 
distract and divert our wish to draw nearer to his footstool. 
I fm the truth of this remark forcibly on entering the Annun- 
ziata; for its decorations, though soiled and faded, are of 
the most splendid description. What adds to our wonder 
on looking around, is to know that this' munificent temple 
was erected aiid finished at the sole expense of one family — 
the Lomellino. 

Over the grand entrance you see a superb painting of 
the Last Supper, by Paul Veronese. There are a few other 
good paintings, among which I may point out— 

A Flight into Egypt, with angels ministering to the 
infant Christ ; and in a chapel opposite you see a St. Francis 


IN Ecstasy, before a crucifix ; unchaste perhaps in colouring, 
but finely designed. 

The ceiling is covered with frescos, some of which are 
extremely beautiful ; in particular, I may point out the first 
in the nave, exhibiting the coronation of the Virgin by God 
the Father, in the presence of the whole host of heaven. 

From the churches I went to visit the palaces ; but having 
unfortunately lost the notes I made, I am only able to sketch 
from memory the description of two or three in the Durazzo 

Among these, the traveller will see a fine delineation of 
the Death of Cleopatra, by Paul Veronese. She holds the 
asp to her bosom. The icy hand of death has already begun 
to congeal the stream of life, yet you can still perceive in 
her lovely countenance, pale and inanimate as it is, the traits 
of those charms that held Anthony and Ceesar captive. 

The Death of Seneca. — Seneca occupies, as the prin- 
cipal subject of every good painting ought to do, the middle 
of the canvass. He is half-undressed, standing with his feet 
in a bath. As the blood flows, Seneca dictates to three 
secretaries the ideas which pass through his mind, when 
the hasty inroads of death suddenly stop them in their 
course : his feet yield no more blood ; his body stiffens : by 
the quivering motion of his lips, you perceive life is on the 
wing : his look expresses some vague idea which he cannot 
seize or articulate, and thus he expires. The secretaries, 
again, exhibit the different expressions of interest, attention, 
and sorrow. Each holds ready his pen, watching the^ips 
of the philosopher, who attempts in vain to utter one more 
thought, but death has sealed them for ever. A centurion 
stands ready at the door to announce his death, and, with* 
his foot already raised, he impatiently counts the last sighs 
of Seneca — for Nero waits. 

Judith with the Head of Holofernes, by Paul Vero- 
nese. It is usual to paint this subject with the actress of 
the bloody deed perfectly composed, holding the gory head 
in her hand, with as much indifference as if it were a reti- 
cule. Paul Veronese has conceived this horrid scene with 


more natural truth, for her features finely depict the struggle 
betwixt nature and fanaticism ; and Judith looks as Siddons 
would have looked, had the part been dramatised. 

The Rbsubrbctiok of Lazarus, by Michael Angelo. 
The artist, to exemplify the divine power more strikingly, 
has represented the body of Lazarus in a coibplete state of 
corruption. The figure of Jesus is sublime: you see the 
Divinity stirring within him, as, with outstretched hands, 
he stands in the act and attitude of recalling the breath of 
life to undo the work of death ; whilst the attendant group 
anxiously watch the reanimation. It may be said of this 
wonderful picture, without hyperbole, that the artist, in 
representing, has himself performed, a miracle. 

There is a picture by the bucolic pencil of Albani, in 
one of the palaces here — although, from the loss of my notes, 
I cannot now say where-«-which also merits remembrance. 
In the middle of a valley, crowned by rocks, and variegated 
with underwood, you virill find a shepherd and two shepherd- 
esses seated by the side of a fountain. The shepherd is 
playing on a flute. One of the shepherdesses, holding a rose 
in her hand, is r^arding the musician, and Ibtening to the 
music: she stretches out her hand to present the flower; 
and her eagerness to do so, and yet her desire not to inter- 
rupt the music, are admirably blended in her beautiful love- 
begone countenance. Her companion, somewhat younger, 
neither looks at, nor seems to listen to, the shepherd, but, 
with her eyes fixed on the fountain, she dreams awake. 
At a little distance, a delightful and delighted group of 
children are playing with lambs, and binding them in fetters 
made of garlands of flowers. Theocritus, you never sung a 
sweeter pastoral ! 

The Alberoo de' Poveri. — This noble establishment is 
conducted on the principle of our workhouses in England , 
and supports about 1600 poor. In the chapel belonging to 
the albei^ you see the 'statues of its different benefactors, 
induding the' most distinguished names of the ancient 
Genovese republic — the Dorias, Spignolas, Durazzos, &c. 


In the choir there is a fine AB8t7MPTioK of the ViROiVy in 
marble, by Puget, of Marseilles ; and, on a side-wall, a medal- 
lion PiETA, by Buonarotti. Remark the death-like repose in 
the features of Christ, the half-open mouth, as if the Divine 
Spirit had just made its escape, and the deep and touching 
grief of the bereaved mother, all expressed with the charac^ 
teristic mastery of Michael Angelo's evangelic chisel. 

From this I strolled into a church hard by. *' Soli Deo^ 
was written over the porch ; while every act within belied the 
motto, and proclaimed undisguised polytheism. A priest was 
flirting with a female as I entered. He and the lady passed 
gaily on to the foot of the grand altar, while my progress was 
arrested by the appearance of an old man, in the last degree 
of misery, on his knees, by the very entrance, as if unworthy 
of a nearer approach to the Fountain of all mercy. His eye 
was moistened with a tear of the most devout earnestness, as 
he proffered his humble petition at the throne of Almighty 
Beneficence ; and humble it must have been ; for, gracious 
God! how very little it must require, methought, as I re* 
garded the miserable supplicant, to satisfy such complete 
wretchedness ! 

Nothing remaining to detain me longer at Grenoa, I pro- 
ceeded, by the usual route, to Lucca. The first day's marcb 
to Chiavari was rather a long one. I had started somewhat 
late in the morning firom Genoa, and sauntering more than 
usual on the way, dusk began to fall fast around by the time 
I had passed Recco. Here the road begins to ascend a long 
and high mountain, which, as the sun declined in the west, 
flung its broad shadow over the Mediterranean,.wrapping its 
cold, wet feet in a mantle of grey, whilst 

<* Day had got black in the hoe, as though 
Of the nightshade he had dnink/' 

Before mounting the steep, I withdrew to the road-side to 
rest myself, and to winnow refreshment and renewed strength 
from the breeze that blew from the sea. A delighted group 
of children were at play on a grass-plot in front ; and my 
reflections took the direction of my feelings as I sat coo- 


templating the scene of innocence before me. You are not 
wearied, as I am, children! thoaght I, — not alone, and 
friendless, in a strange land ! A home and bed await your 
coming — -an endearing welcome, your appearance at the 
door ; whereas I, at this moment, know not to-night where 
I am to lay my head. Young as you, I was as thoughtless ; 
for forethought was then unnecessary, and anxiety a stranger 
to my breast. Ye happy hours of infancy, why cannot ye 
tarry in your course? Our regrets and chagrins last for 
years, our pleasures but for a day I In life's dawn the soul 
tastes the peace of angels, and every fostering parental care 
ministers to our happiness. If some little nothing deluges 
our eyes in tears, the next little nothing can render them as 
joyful. Do we pout, and feel unhappy? — a rattle dissipates 
the evanescent gloom. Have we stumbled, and hurt our- 
selves? — a mother's kiss quickly cures the smart. Do we 
seem wretched, disconsolate, and weep? — the least commi- 
seration changes the tear to a smile, — the distance between 
which in infancy is but a step, and in after-life a long day's 
march. Heedless but of the passing impression, no evil by 
anticipation either tempers or detracts from the enjoyment of 
the moment. One minute you see the little urchin securely 
nestling in its mother's bosom, and the next plucking its tiny 
posy from the brink of a precipice. One hour you find it 
rocking itself to rest in its cradle, and in another mocking 
mortality in plajring its little gambols on a tombstone. 

On infiincy's rosy lips one may gather kisses without 
exciting one breathless sigh; the passing caress causes no 
flutter in its bosom. How different, reader, are our feelings 
when we are nineteen I Then, the slightest pressure of the 
hand will fly to the heart like an electric shock; and an 
embrace, delightful Grorgon, can render Pygmalion's mistress 
again a statue! 

Have you forgotten, , when, hand in hand, by Tweed's 

iair and limpid stream, how we delighted to chase the butterfly 
from flower to flower,, from blue-bell to brier! how much the 
sight of a full-blown daisy pleased us ! and how readily our 
little, untarnished hearts would palpitate in infantine ecstasy 


and uniBon with the fluttering note of the layerock, or when 
listening to nurse Peggy as she lilted the ^^ Broom o' Cowden- 
knowes/' or the '* Flowers of the Forest." Fatigued, and 
sent to rest at the close of the day's joys, I can even now 
remember with devotional pleasure^ how nightly I did, and 
could repeat, with a simplicity of heart that knew nought but 
innocence, ^' Our Daddy which art in heaven!" 

A little older^ gentle reader, and care^ like a diligent 
husbandman, begins to furrow-in his wrinkles. It is true, 
youth's forehead is like a lake ; the keel of sorrow may 
plough it for a moment, but in another, scarce a vestige of 
its wake remains. By and by the impressions of anxiety 
become more permanent, and, like icebergs, they require the 
genial warmth of a summer s sun before they melt away ; 
till at length they accumulate like a glacier, and freeze the 
intellect they surround! 

Romancing thus, I forgot that night was fast drawing on, 
until the joyous hurra of the children, on leaving thdr play- 
ground, suggested that it was time also for me to forsake my 
pastime; and so I folded up my cane seat, and began to 
ascend the mountain. The rustling of the leaves in a thicket 
to the left, caused by the evening breeze, excited a sympa* 
thetic shudder and chill over my whole frame. Every step 
I took, the night fell thicker and darker ; for the sun at this 
time of the year sinks to rest with the alacrity of the wearied 
traveller. The sea-mew over head flew on rapid wing to her 
pebbly bed ; so I, too, mended my pace, with the double 
object of casting off the horripilation I felt, and of gaining 
my nest for thg night. Of a sudden a man jumped fix)m out 
of the bushes that grew on my left, and I instinctively grasped 
firmer my cudgel. I may here mention, that towards even* 
ing I always took the precaution, to avoid being surprised, 
of walking in the middle of the road. The man passed me, 
after having exchanged side-glances of suspicion on my part, 
and wariness, as I thought, on his ; yet the circumstance 
went unheeded. Shortly, I heard a loud whistle, sounding 
something in the manner of a signal ; when, conceiving that 
the fellow I had just seen intended perhaps to frighten me. 


I continued my way. I had not gone far, when I thought 
I heard steps behind me ; but on halting to listen, I heard 
them no more ; and surmising it to be but the sound of my 
footstep echoed by the mountain, I proceeded on my way. 
Again the same noise stole on my ear, and on stopping a 
second time, I heard it still more distinctly; the sound 
seemed as of four feet, and I said, it is a man on horseback 
perhaps ; however, as the better part of valour is discretion, 
I redoubled my pace, for the steps were gaining upon me. 
By this time I had nearly reached the summit of the moun* 
lain ; and on looking back, I plainly perceived two men^ by 
the light of a crescent moon, running after me, one of whom 
I recognised as the fellow who had jumped out of the bushes ; 
so, no longer doubting their purpose, I took off my knap^ 
sack, drew off to the side of the road next the sea, and raising 
my stiff little stick over my head, I stood in a posture of 
defence. The two fellows were opposite to me ; neither party 
spoke ; and when we had remained in this almost ridiculous 
position, eyeing one another with looks of no friendly intent, 
for full five minutes, I noticed the cowards exchange signi- 
ficant glances with each other, and then they suddenly left 
me. Throwing my knapsack hastily on my back, I fol^ 
lowed, that, by keeping them in sight, I might not be taken 
unawares at some turning of the road ; but the fellows dis- 
appeared somehow ; and I arrived late at Chiavari, without 
having seen any thing more of them. This little adventure 
tells somewhat perilously, and yet it is very possible the 
men might be quite innocent of any bad intent ; but we read 
so much of Schidonis in our early days, that no man enters 
Italy without having first made up his mind to be assassi- 
nated, at the least, ere he leaves it. 

Cbiavari is a fishing-town on the coast; and the only 
remark I have to make is, that one's saltrwater acquaint- 
ances are noisy folks all over the world ; for a knot of them 
kept up such a hideous bawling, which, if asked, they might 
call singing peradventure, that I could not get to sleep, tired 
as I was, for fiiU two hours after I was in bed. 

From Cbiavari I proceeded by Mattarana to Spezia ; and. 


after Bleeping at Massa over night, I arriyed at Pietra Santa, 
where I breakfasted, and had nearly got into a scrape; bat 
the story is ludicrous enough to deserve teUing. After look- 
ing at the sculptured pulpit in the church, a specimen of 
mixed Gothic and Pagan elegance, I returned to the inn 
to settle my bill; and on asking how much I had to pay, 
the padroney choosing by preference to speak badly-pro- 
nounced French, told me, " // faut payer cinq paulsJ* 
" Pay Saint Paul!" replied I, in utter astonishment, mis- 
taking his meaning, through his corrupt pronunciation; 
*' why, then, I suppose, to fulfil the adage, I must begin by 
robbing Saint Peter." On this Boniface, not understanding, 
or, more likely, provoked at my profane allusion, repeated 
emphatically in Italian, ** Cinque paolij Signer!** which at 
once elucidating my unlucky mal-entenduy I was happy to 
find that I could satisfy mine host for my breakfiist, without 
being obliged to commit so dangerous a sacrilege. 

It was the time of the olive-harvest when I passed through 
this part of the country, and they thrash them as we do wal- 
nuts ; the men getting up on the trees, while the women are 
engaged in picking them up. The songs of the rustics in all 
countries are very properly considered as stamping the dis- 
tinctive characteristic on national music; and, judging by 
this criterion, no music, certainly, is in more wretched taste 
than the national music of Italy. No chorus of calves, I am 
sure, ever bellowed more dissonantly than these olive-pickers ; 
and yet this style of singing is not peculiar to this part of 
Italy ; for afterwards, in the Neapolitan states and elsewhere, 
I recognised the same eternal whining monotony, the whole 
band of choristers dwelling on the last syllable of every line 
with a never-ending drawl, like the unchecked drone of an 
expiring bag-pipe. Now, a donkey, when he chooses to 
imitate a Pasta or a Paganini, has at least two masical 
contrapuntas to play ofi^, cut alternately short and sweet, 
resembling in their spasmodic enunciation the hurried re- 
spirations of a pair of bellows, panting in despair to revive 
the almost-extinguished flame in the heart of a cold cinder. 
But the prolonged bellowing of these Italian rustics falls 


infinitely short, in varied melody, of my friend Neddy ; and 
therefore I aver, all prejudices to the contrary notwithstand- 
ing, that the real national music of Italy is uncouth and 
barbarous. How, then, are we to account for their acknow- 
ledged superiority in the science and execution of it? It is 
to gifts, in my opinion, entirely of an incidental kind, by 
which the Italians have attained to this confessed pre-emi- 
nence. Wherever Nature is bountiful in her productions, 
the necessity and amount of labour is abridged ; the mind, 
not so oppressed in providing for our natural wants, gets and 
retains the placidity of equanimity; and in such a happy 
state, it is inclined to vent its gladness in the natural voice 
and language of joy — music and poetry. The temperate 
climate of Italy has strung the larynx with the finest mus- 
cular chords, and adjusted them micrometrically by the nicest 
attachments ; here are no choking fogs to dog their delicate 
vibrations, or damping thaws to relax their sensitive tension ; 
the air itself vibrates more elasticly; and to these physical 
advantages, when combined with a natural good taste, cor- 
rected by cultivation, and a fine and disciplined ear, ought 
to be ascribed, I apprehend, the origin and superiority of 
Italian music. Natural capabilities almost necessarily pro- 
duce artificial excellence ; and this physical state of the organs 
favours the cultivation, and promotes the improvement, of 
this enchanting accomplishment. Hence it is, I make it 
out, that music has been acquired by study, circumstances, 
and locality, rather than through any innate gift specially 
bestowed by nature on the Italians; and therefore there is 
no incongruity or contradiction, I venture to maintain, in the 
assertion, however heterodox it might at first appear, that the 
original native music of Italy is, of itself, barbarous. 

From Pietra Santa I got to Montramido, and thenee to 


is a fortified town, situated in a plain; and its ramparts 
afibrd a delightful promenade. It was here, nearly 2000 
years ago, that Csesar, Pompey, and Crassus, tore to pieces 


the lioiiuui universe, and divided it amongst themselves. 
But tlie eirciunstancc which i-ives to modern Lucca its cele- 
l)rity, is its possession of the Volto Santo. This is a 
woiuh'n crucifix, heirun hy Nicodenius, but, being rather a 
liunglcr at carving, some angels, who observed him at work, 
took his tools, and finished it for him. The Volto Saiito 
forms the grand o])ject of devotion at Lucca, and you find 
the figure on the coin. This holy image formerly occupied 
the church of ?^t. Ferdina ; but not likinir its lodiiinirs, it 
made a uioonlight Hittin<j: one night, and established itself in 
the cathedral cliurch of ??an Martino; it alighted in the left 
aisle, round which they have erected a chaj)el, of an octairon 
form, ornamented witli statues of the Evangelists, and on the 
side facinii; the urand altar there is one of St. Sebastian. 

Tlje exterior of the cathedral is of black and white marble, 
disti'ibuted in a checkered mannci' ; and the windows are of 
lieautifullv stained uhiss. 

In a chapel to the left of the choir we observe a fine 
statue of the Redeemer, with statues of St. Peter ami St, 
Martin on each side. Over head we read the following in- 
scription, savouring sonu'what of paganism : 

A ( ■ 

1)1 VIS 1 n Li.ARiin s. 

Paintings adonuMl ench of the altars: but tliev were all con- 
ceah'd bv curtains, nor could I tind anv one to draw them aside. 

TiiKCuntcii or St. Micuakl stands in the grand piazza, 
and is renuirkabh* onlv for the fanlastic stvle of its archi- 
tecture, and for \\\k\ ti'^sellatcd arnmgement of the coloured 
nuirbles of which it is constructed. 

If the traveller be cnri(»ns to see a modern (hsctnsifs 
Arcrniy let hini visit the Curiaii ov tuk Aicustins. The 
liole you iiud here, leading <lown to the infernal regions, was 
opeiU'd on the following mirjuMihuis t)cca>ion. The clnu'ch 
occupies the site of an old mr/is (Iff t/f/rdc, in a niche of which 
stood an imaix<^» of the \ iririn. Two soldiers plaviuii* at dice 
one dav, one of them was Ncrv uiduckv, and ijetitioned the 
image to change the fortun*' of the lun : he plaved on, and 


yet lost ; at which he got wroth, Bwore at the lady, blaming 
her as the cause of his unlucky stars, knocked his fist on 
the table, howled at the moon, tore his hair, turned his stool 
round, and went through the most approved evolutions of a 
gamester in bad luck ; yet continued, notwithstanding these 
various incantations, still to lose. At length, wound up to 
frenzy, the impious wretch seized a stone, and flung it at 
the blessed image. The stone, says the legend, would have 
hit the figure of the infant Jesus in her arms, which the 
Vii^gin perceiving, she adroitly threw the child from one arm 
to the other, to avoid the blow. In commemoration of the 
miracle, the infant stiil rests on the left arm of its mother, 
over which you read the following lines : 


As a matter of just retribution, the earth opened under the 
feet of the sacril^ous miscreant, and he sunk down to where 
Pluto now amuses himself in making matches ; and what is 
more, the hole still remains to attest the fact. It is of an 
oval form, crossed by two bars of iron. I took a peep down, 
through sheer itching curiosity, and began to fancy, as I 
snuffed, like a terrier at a rat-hole, that there verily was 
something sulphurous in the scent. 

There is one painting in this church that struck me as 
good, over the altar of the chapel of Our Lady. It exhibits a 
Madonna and child, with an adult St. John in a kneeling 
posture, pointing to the group above. There is an enchanting 
sweetness in the countenance of the Virgin, and the boy is in- 
fant divinity personified. Well may the Baptist kneel, for ado- 
ration here becomes instinctive ; to point was not necessary, 
for dull must be the perception that cannot see its beauties. 

The princes of this mighty empire, of eight square leagues, 
are a branch of the Spanish Bourbons. The royal family 
were at Lucca at the time I was there, which prevented me 
seeing the interior of the palace. 

Before quitting the place, I may mention a ludicrous in- 
cident that, I was told, happened some little time ago. A 


Luccose, over head and ears in debt, was haunted by the 
bailiffs; and l)eing obliged to leave his home one day to 
visit a friend, he was beset. The cliureh of St. Michael 
was close by, but the tipstaffs were between him and the 
sanctuary, so he was forced to give Ivrj-hail, in running for it, 
as fast as every patriotic friend to liberty, out of principle, does 
on all such occasions. The bailiffs, in full cry, were coming 
ftist up with the chase, when the run-down, breathless 
debtor meeting a little, knock-kneed, broad-set priest of his 
ac([uaintance, had just time to tell his predicament, and to 
denjand his assistance. '* A friend in-hncedy is a friend 
indeed," says the old saying, and so it turned out; for tlie 
priest, laying liold of his unfortunate friend, threw him on 
his back without more ceremony. The bailiffs arrived to 
seize their prey, when the priest claimed the privilege of his 
order, and insisted on tlie sacred nature of his person ; so 
that the law's l)ody-snatchers, thus foiled, saw their booty 
borne off in triumph, to the great anuisement of a crowd 
which the oddity of the circumstance had collected. 

(,'onsulting my travelling map, 1 found Pisa lay nearly 
due south of l^ucca ; I therefore crossed a ridge of hills which 
intervene between the two places, and came immediately 
down on the baths of Pisa. The mineral waters here are 
lukewarm, and not disngreeable to the taste. They are both 
drank and used as a batli, and, no doubt, j)rove efficacious 
where the humours recpiire diluting and cleansing: society 
adds its charms, and variety its stinnilus ; hence the benefit 
derived from waters of otherwise very insignificant intrinsic 


The situation of Pisa, on the banks of the Arno, the 
air of elegance about it, the Cathedral, Hanging Tower, 
and Campo Santo, all render it a place of attraction to the 
in([uisitive traveller. The three last stand close together ; 
and on entering the Piazza del Duomo, the Hanging Tower 
first olitains the stranger's attention. Its height and incli- 
nation have an irresistible effect upon the eye, although, in 


mj conception, it is far from being a pleasing object. To me, 
life in any shape about expiring, and objects in the position 
of falling, alike convey a disagreeable idea — that of annihi- 
lation and destruction. The Tower of Pisa indines so much 
from the perpendicular as to impress the beholder with some 
degree of apprehension lest it should fall and bury him 
amidst its ruins; and even though persuaded that it is a 
structure designedly erected with this inclination, he still 
must consider it a monstrous and displeasing anomaly in 
architecture. This tower consists of eight ranges, or stories, 
each surrounded by a colonnade : it is a hundred and eighty 
feet in height, and inclines thirteen feet from the perpendi- 
cular ; from the top of which you have an extensive view 
towards Florence on the east, and of Leghorn and the coast 
to the south. It is still a question in dispute, whether this 
tower was built in this manner originally, or got its incli^ 
nation from the sinking of its foundations. Independent of 
the fact of the uncouth Leaning brick Tower at Bologna having 
been built so purposely, and thus giving the idea, and serving 
as an example, if not a model, to the architect, there is suffi-' 
cient external evidence, I think, about the building itself to 
decide the question. If the lower range of columns be ob^ 
served, it will be at once perceived that those on the side of 
the inclination are curved in the middle. Now, supposing 
the ground on the inclined side to have sunk, this could not 
have happened, unless the stone were flexible. There is a 
species of limestone, we know, that is so; but, from its great 
friability and softness, it is totally unfit for columns sustaining 
any considerable weight. Again, the columns and stories 
lowest down diverge the most from the perpendicular, which 
is exactly contrary to every principle of gravitation, unless we 
gire to the structure a Hving effort to counteract its tendency 
to fall. Both of which circumstances abundantly prove, in 
my opinion, that the Hanging Tower of Pisa was erected as a 
fantastic and difficult specimen of architectural skill, to shew 
what art, when idly employed, was capable of performing. 
It was from the top of this tower that Galileo made his famous 
experiment to confute the Aristotelians, and to demonstrate 


the simultaneoas velocity in the falling of bodies of dissi- 
milar weights. Galileo was bom at Pisa in 1564, ten years 
before the building of the tower, the whimsical architect of 
which was a German. 

The Campo Santo. — This elegant cemetery was erected 
under the direction of the architect Nicola Pisano, when 
Pisa was an independent republic, towards the expense of 
which six hundred of the principal families contributed, only 
fifteen of whom remain unextinct at this day. The soil was 
brought from the Holy Land in the time of the crusades, 
and it is pretended that it possesses the property of pre- 
serving nncorrupted the bodied of those who lie interred in 
it. This edifice is four hundred and eighty-six feet long, 
by one hundred and sixty in width; and the graceful and 
richly fretted Gothic arcades contain the finest collection of 
Etruscan, Greek, and Roman sarcophagi any where to be 
found ; and the walls are adorned with paintings in fresco, 
most of them as old as the thirteenth century. Those 
on the north side were executed a century later, by Be- 
nozzo Gbzzoli, and denote the progress and improvement of 
the art. 

Turning to the left on entering, you find the tomb of 
Algarotti, whose elegant treatise on the art of painting has 
deservedly distinguished his name as a critic of refined taste. 
It is by Carlo Bianconi. Under a medallion portrait of the 
author reposes a graceful statue of Minerva. At the south- 
west comer, near to which you now are, observe a rude 
piece of sculpture, remarkable as having been placed here 
to commemorate the termination of the feuds between the 
Guelphs and Ghibelins ; and where ought feuds to end more 
appropriately than where mortality is obliged to surrender 
itself to the worm ? 

The frescos which ornament the western end are by the 
master of Michael Angelo. Ranged along its sides are 
various pieces of sculpture : among others, a head of Agrippa 
in nero antico ; and a charming head of Venus, of Grecian 
workmanship. At the east extremity of the parallelogram 


which the Campo formSi you will find the principal chapel, 
remarkable for a crucifixion painted on leather, by Apol- 
lonia Greco in a.d. 1200, before painting in oil was in- 
vented. Returning to where you entered, you pass a bust 
of the Emperor Hadrian, as perfect as when left by the 
chisel of the sculptor, and another of Julius Brutus. Close 
to the door, the guide points out a beau morceau of Michael 
Angelo's ; it is a miniature portrait of the artist himself, in 

The Cathbdral. — As the Campo Santo might properly 
enough be called the museum of Pisa, so the cathedral may 
be considered its gallery — so rich is it in paintings of first- 
rate merit. Indeed, they are so numerous, it will oblige 
me to throw most of them into the Appendix at the end of 
this work, for the use of the traveller, instead of describing 
them severally. 

The high and richly sculptured columns by the grand 
entrance, were brought from Egypt, as were those of the 
Baptistery opposite. There are three entrances in front, each 
widi bronze doors, the exquisite workmanship of John de 
Bologna. The bas-relie& on that of the middle represent 
the principal passages in the history of the holy Virgin; 
while those on the two side-doors refer to subjects taken 
firom the life of our Saviour. The preference in honour 
given on all occasions to the Virgin, is apt to strike a poor 
heretic like me. God the Father and Creator, seems, in 
Catholic countries, to be almost forgotten — so strongly sets 
the tide of idolatry in favour of what appertains to mortality 
in the relations of the Godhead. The Virgin, the DeiparUf 
as they sometimes style her, is every thing amongst these 
modem polytheists. On a former excursion, when walking 
round the ramparts of Namur, I remember being petitioned 
by an old woman for '^ Charit^ pour Tamour de Dieu et de 

On entering the cathedral by the bronze door which 
leads into the left aisle, you see over the first altar the 
martyrdom of some saint by three Moors, by Benvenuti, a 


disciple of the niodcrn French school, and head of the 
present Italian, reniaikable only for the faults in the desig-n, 
espei'ially conspicuous in the foreshortenings. Farther on, 
yon come to St. Vinc ent de Paul siccouring deserted 
FoiNDLiNGS, bv Ciramlolfi. The exquisite beauty of the 
colonrinLT of this paintiuLr falls on the delighted eye like sleep's 
narcotic poppies on the eyelids of the wearied. Observe the 
chubby, rosy, little cberub> that creep and gambol about, m 
si^iit of bosoms most exuberant and fair, like playful kittens 
on a heartli-ruLT. Xext remark a painting, by the parsi- 
njonious pt*ncil of Salembeni, representing the Attributes 
OF tue Almighty. — Surrounded by a festoon of infant an- 
gels, with their little arms interlaced in every graceful posi- 
tion, a sublime figure of Ilim ** from ^vhom no secrets are 
hid,' hovers in the sky : beneath, five angels, as attributes, 
stand in the foreground. The one in the middle holds in 
his hands a balance and a sword, and the angelic sweetness 
of his countenance bespeaks the forgiveness of a merciful 
God, tempering the decrees of his justice. Another, denoting 
piety, with his hands crossed on his breast, looks up to the 
fountain of all goodness in fervent adoration. A third, kneel- 
ing and holding a tuje dc h/s in his hand, typifies the virtue 
of purity. A fourth, bearing a two-edged sword, stands the 
symbol of divine wrath ; whilst a fifth, the most beautiful of 
all, holds in his hands, as he kneels, the emblems of pen- 
ance and purification. What a lovely countenance! Veil it 
not with your wings, () angel of light ! for such alone can 
behold, if aught can, the glorious efi'ulgence of the Divinity ! 
What beautiful hands! — only such are fitted to minister at 
the throne of grace I 

In the north transept you iind five paintings by Aulerio 
Lommi, which exemplify the proteiform nature of his pencil. 
Of these, Christ disputing in the Temple, and the Ado- 
ration OF THE Shepherds, pleased me tbe most. 

The choir, again, is one splendid galaxy of beauties. I 
can only point out a few, and must rcl^iir to the Appendix 
for the remainder. 


MosBs DB8CVNDINO FROM MouNT SiNAi, bearing the 
tables of the Decalogue on his shoulders, by Domenico Bec- 
cafumi. What a sublime and terrific figure ! In the midst 
of the idolatrous Jews stands the image of the golden calf, 
and he surprises them in the act of worshipping it. Observe, 
in particular, the alarm of detected guilt in the countenance 
of a most beautiful female in the foreground, at the approach 
of the lawgiver of Israel coming from the presence of his 
God. It is the portrait of Beccafumi's mistress. 

Thb Sacbificb of Abraham, by U Sodoma. Isaac is 
seen kneeling on the altar, and in his features you perceive 
fear, horror, and resignation, intermingled in one compound 
expression. Venerable, sorrowful, and agonised, Abraham 
hath already raised his hand in desperate obedience, armed 
with the sacrificial knife, while an angel, at the very moment 
he is about to inflict the mortal blow, arrests his arm, and 
you involuntarily shudder lest it should be too late. 

Near to this is a painting of Moses in thb Wilderness 
STRIKING THB RocK, whcH the living stream gushes out to 
quench the thirst of Israel. It is another of the rare and 
fasdnatine productions of Salembeni's angelic pencil. A 
female seated, with a pitcher by her side, is so charming and 
beautiful, that Tantalus himself might forget his thirst in 
beholding her : but all Salembeni's females are the creatures 
of sapid imagination. 

On the ceiling which vaults the choir there is an ancient 
mosaic of the Lux Mundi, by Gaddo Gaddi. A large 
bronze crucifix surmounts the high altar, in firont of which 
a tessellated carpet extends, and the altar itself is composed 
of lapis lazuli, and of the most rare and beautiful marbles. 
It was in this cathedral that Gralileo, while watching the 
vibrations of one of the lamps suspended to the ceiling, first 
conceived the idea of a pendulum as a measure of time ; and 
as he was originally intended for a physician, he first em- 
ployed it to ascertain the rate of the pulse, a use to which 
it was for a long time afterwards applied by the physicians 
of that period — the pulsilogia. — (Vide Santarioy Comment, 
in Avicennam^ Venetiis, 1625.) 


TriE BvPTisTERV OF ^^T. John is in front of the cathedral, 
Mini of a circular form. A bronze statue of the Baptist 
stands under tlic centre of the dome, enclosed by a balustrade 
of ricldv sculptured marble, near which stands a pulpit of 
elahoi'ate woi'kinan.-liip, executed as early as the thirteenth 
ci'Hturv, by Nicola Pisano. The Ba[.>tistery contains two 
iniintiiiL^s : one of anixels adorinjj: a nionoijrain of the Viririn ; 
the otliei', The Fekuing of the MrLTirrDE, by V^anni. 

Niewinii' the tiat country all around Pisa, extending; from 
the heitrlits behind it and spreading- to the sea, it appears 
manifest that the LTJ'eater part nnist have been p:ained from 
tlie retreat of the Mediterranean. Even now deep ditches, 
towai'ds Leuhorn, conduct the water to the sea ; and the 
preNailiuLT diseases of the country sliew its damp and marshy 
nature, Xotwith-tandinii* the authoritv of a late very enter- 
taining and intelliirent traveller, (Mr. Mathews,) I think 
his opinion of the climate of Pisa, as a fit residence for the 
consumptive, nnist be taken with considerable reservation. 
Tiiere aie forms, certainly, of [)hthisis which yield under 
the influence of a moist antl bland atmosj)hcre : the coast 
of Di'von founds its claim to preference and selection in 
J'jigland, on such (jualities. But there are other forms of 
this fatal malady, which, instead of beini^ benefited by a 
climate of a humid character, become nuich aLri;Tavated, by 
its increasing; the hmiruor and debility, au2;menthig the 
expectoration, at the same time that the hectic pei*spirations 
]>ecome nu)re colli([uative and profuse. To this latter species 
of the disease, the moist and relaxinir air of Pisa acts like 
an exhausting pump, and the disease gallops to its goal. 
According to a census given by Dr. Palloni, a physician at 
f.eghorn, one in live of the native inhal)itants, out of a popu- 
lation of 7»3,0()0, die ol' consumption — a proi>ortion larger 
even than in England. Agues are very conunon here, which 
might be expected from the quantity of stagnant water that 
is at all times in the fosses. TJiis, satmated with animal and 
vegetable corruption, when acted upon by an Italian sun, 
generates pestilential miasmata, and hence also the preva- 
lence of low, paludal fevers. 


To-morrow we are to proceed by La Seala to Florence : 
meanwhile, traveller, good night ; and may the favourite 
angel of Salembeni'B bewitching pencil hover over your 
pillow, and whisper in your ear dreams such as angels 


The country between Pisa and Florence teems with 
fertility, where, at every step, you see com, wine, and oil, 
the simultaneous produce of the same field. 

The city of Florence is one of the finest in Italy, situated 
in the valley of the Amo, and contains from seventy to eighty 
thousand inhabitants. The approach lo it is through groves 
of olive-trees, and in spring it is in the midst of a bouquet 
of flowers — the beautiful and apposite circumstances iVom 
which it derived its name — Florentia. It is situated in 
ancient Etruria, from whence Rome borrowed the arts and 
sciences. Etruria gave an order also to architecture, and a 
king even to Rome itself, for the elder Tarquin was an 
Etrurian. Much also of the religious worship of the Ro- 
mans was borrowed from the Etrurians ; for it was an early 
principle of those politic people, in annexing new states to 
their own, to adopt, in the general amalgamation, what 
nations cling to with greater pertinacity even than to their 
liberties, the creed of the conquered. They parcelled out 
Olympus after an Agrarian manner, and in colonising it 
with strange deities, made them all equal denizens of the 
same adoration. 

The climate of Florence is delightful in summer, but 
fogs prevail in autumn and spring ; and in winter the air is 
cold and damp, from its vicinity to the Apennines. The 
beautiful stream of the Amo divides the city into two un- 
equal parts, connected by four bridges, of which that of 
Santa Trinita is justly esteemed a model of beauty and per- 

It was in the time of the carnival that I arrived. Gaiety 
in her liveliest mood paraded every street, in dresses the 
most fantastic, and devices of merriment the most amusing. 


rioreiice is a cily of gentle-people ; the Florentines are a 
gentet'l race in extori .r seeming even : the city is a city of 
pulaces ; its puhlic walks are laid out in the most delightful 
spots, and all its amusements are elegant. The grand dis- 
phiy on tlie hist day <►(' the carnival takes place close to the 
Piazza del (rianiluca, where 1 thought my countrymen, as 
maskers, were as entertaining as any. The grand duke and 
duchess honoured the motley group w^ith their presence, and 
seemed to enjoy the lively scene. 

In the eveninii', hefore li'oinji: to the masked ball at the 
Pergola, I strolled towards the spot which had exhibited so 
nnich life and gaiety at noon; hut tlie place was deserted — 
the spirit of frolic had tied, by a sort of metempsychosis, to 
some other rendezvous of pleasure, and the place seemed the 
sepulchre of merriment defunct : not so the statues of Buon- 
arotti, John de Boh)gna, and Cellini, in which you perceive 
that, though the cliest heaves not, they ])reathe — they speak, 
though the articulation be inaudible. 

It is my usual plan, on coming to a new place, to get to 
some commanding situation in the neighbourhood, the better 
to Itarn its local geography, and guide my excursions accord- 
in<rlv ; so I went to tln^ Boholi gardens. I ascended until I 
came to the uppermost range of terraces which form the seats 
of the theatre, directly fronthig the palace Pitti. Here the 
traveller is greeted l)y the tutelary goddess of Tuscany in the 
form of a colossal Stati e of Aiu ndanck, of inlinite sweetness 
and njajesty, a creation of the superb imagination of John de 

From this height the visiter gets a fine bird's-eye view of 
the city ; of the cathedral and its magnificent dome, the tower 
of the old ducal palace, the wiiuhng Arno [)lunging under 
the arches of its bridges like an expert diver ; of the innu- 
merable villas whieh speckle its environs, like dew^-drops on 
the leaves of the cowslip ; of the hills and still more distant 
mountains gradually receding from the delighted sight, with 
villages cresting their sunnnits like the featluirs on the head 
of the cockatoo. Having now ascertained the relative posi- 
tion of the principal objects of a stranger's curiosity, I de- 


acexided into the labyrinth of afreets below, and instinctive! j 
found myself on the stairs of The Gallery ; for where else is 
the lover of the fine ai*ts first to be found but in the sanctuary 
of the chefs-d^cBuvre — on his knees before the Venus ! 

Innumerable as were the casts I had seen of this cele- 
brated statue, how imperfectly they all represent the original ! 
The chilliness which Paris plaster imparts to a statue is like 
the icy hand of death on the human form. The lineaments 
may remain entire, but the beauty of life is destroyed ; and 
such it is with every cast of the work of Cleoraenes the 
Athenian — to cast it in plaster is to embody but its shade — 
to imitate the original a V ombre Chinois. It must be seen to 
be appreciated ; for nothing else can convey any just idea of 
this extraordinary production of Grecian sculpture. 

The entire suiface of this delicate statue blooms with 
youth and shines with divinity. Seeming unconscious of any 
one gazing at her, Venus's attitude is that of naked modesty 
alone and unseen. Her countenance breathes the innocent 
voluptuousness of Nature in full blow ; and the eye glides 
from beauty to beauty, and from grace to grace, in fugitive 
playfulness, embracing each charm in endless succession un- 
satiated, for there is no resting-place. It dares not settle oa 
her lips, they are too inviting ; it ventures not to repose on 
her bosom, it is so pure. Naked, and yet the figure is not 
lewd : it warms the feelings, but does not inflame them. 
Observe the soft contours of her body, and with what grace 
the timid foot steals from under that charming knee. Venus 
is on earth, and yet she does not seem to press it ; for the 
Queen of Love treads so lightly, that she appears to stand on 
the froth of a fresh-broken wave. 

The Apollino, which faces the Venus, is, in my opinion, 
misplaced, and fails, in such presence, to make that impression 
its beautiful delicacy otherwise would do. This fine statue 
were better placed in the middle of a small cabinet beside 
Delia Robbia's Trio singing lo Peeans, surrounded by land- 
scapes from the lyric and classical pencil of Poussin. 

At the top of the staircase which leads to the gallery you 
enter a vestibule where busts of all the Medici stand, as it 


were, on the threshold to do the honours of their palace. 
Thence you pass into an ante-room, where you see three 
majestic statues of Augustus, Trajan, and Hadrian : a Phoeboa 
leaning in an attitude of the utmost elegance ; an admirable 
statue of a horse of Greek workmanship, which appears 
impatient to leap from the pedestal ; two magnificent woI& 
dog^ that bay to the moon ; the celebrated wild boar, besides 
some beautiful heads and busts. 

From this you enter the gallery ; and whilst yon, fellow* 
traveller, are pacing down an avenue of 157 statues and 
busts, containing, among others, the whole suite of Roman 
emperors from Julius Ceesar to Alexander Severus, with the 
catalogue at the end of the volume as your guide, I, like an 
excursive butterfly, shall sip sweets from the flowers of art 
that please me the most. 

Near the entrance you find a representation of that im- 
promptu from the brain of Jupiter — the Birth of Minerva. 
It is much mutilated, and "stands between busts of Cicero and 
Mark Antony. 

Pomona, a statue. — No position can be more delightful. 
A garland of grapes and vine-leaves encircles her forehead, 
and her lap is full of fragrant fruits. The drapery of this 
statue is cast in the most becoming manner, the sleeves of 
which are buttoned from the shoulder downwards, exposing 
her beautiful arm in the betweenities. The whole is per- 
fumed with an aroma of sweetest elegance. 

On the opening of spring, in a grove, amidst lilies and 
roses, on the banks of a murmuring stream, with the cooing 
of doves and the song of the nightingale, the fancy of Moore 
even could not conceive any thing more beautiful than Titian's 
Flora. Every charm blossoms at the same instant, like the 
flowers she holds in her hand. 

St. Francis webpino ; by Cigoli. The tear is not stuck 
on his cheek to indicate the passion the features do not 
otherwise express, nor like a dew-drop hung on a thorn: 
the wretched old man appears to weep real tears. 

Venus l — sing Cupid, by Giovanni da San Giovanni. — 
What! does Love need a 1 — se-trap? Horrid thought! A 


creeping sensation mns over your pericraniam at the bare 
idea, and yon impatiently cry, as you scratch your sconce, 
'* Dame Venus, lend me the comb !" No, no, it cannot be t 
Petals of roses ought alone to be there, fallen from some 
faded garland. 

The Tribune. — The walls of this sanctuary of the chef^ 
d*{euvre are covered with crimson velvet, and lighted by a 
window in the vaulted ceiling, regulated by blinds, 

Raphael's Fornarina enchants yon with the power of 
the basilisk. They tell a story of the Pope for whom this 
artist painted the celebrated frescos in the Vatican. His 
holiness never came to view the progress of the paintings 
but he was sure to find Fornarina by the artist's side. ** Who 
is this woman, Raphael," asked his holiness one day, in an 
offended tone, '* that I always see here?" ** She is my eyes," 
replied the doating artist ! 

His St. John has all the wild sublimity of inspiration 
about it ; and you can fancy, as lost in a reverie of admira- 
tion, you hear the voice crying in the wilderness, '' Make 
straight the way." A rude cross of reeds, is in his hand, 
from which scintillate flickering streams of fire. 

Buonarotti's Holt Family exemplifies the utmost cor- 
rectness of design, so excessively perfect as almost to destroy 
the best impression of a painting — the pleasure of being 
momentarily deceived into a sense of its reality. Michael 
Angelo painted this when only sixteen years old. 

Here also is an allegory beautifully painted by Rubens — 
Innocbncb between Virtue and Vice. Innocence is per- 
sonified by a young man : Virtue has brought his helmet ; a 
horse is standing behind ready to mount ; she endeavours to 
persuade the youth to quit the enticements of Vice, and to 
follow her banner : while Time, emblematical of experience, 
hovers over the head of the fair advocate. Vice, again, is 
seated by his side, having hold of his arm with one hand, 
while the other encircles his waist, and she regards him with 
eyes fiill of fascination, pleasure, and yoluptuousness. In- 
stead of Medusa's snaky head, roses strew the background. 


where two beautiful females beckon lunocence to follow tbem 
into an adjoining thicket : — and to whom does he listen with 
most pleasure ? Alas, human nature can answer for us all ! 

Behind the group of the two Gladiators fighting is a 
painting of the Murder of the Innocents, by Daniel da 
Volterra. The sight of both the one and the other always 
makes me shudder ; and in regarding either, the eye instinct- 
ively flies away to Guercino's Samian Sibyl, to ding to the 
beauteous beam that radiates from hers as it traverses, amidst 
magic stars, the regions of divination. 

In the transept gallery, fronting the Amo, there is an 
admirable statue of Cupid defying the Gods. No expres- 
sion could be more provokingly insulting than what the 
countenance of this imp displays. His head and body are 
bent back, as he looks towards Olympus laughing in scorn, 
and his hands, though empty, fling volumes of defiance at 
the assembled gods. 

Nearly opposite to this a statue of Mercury stands, of 
the lightest and most ethereal proportions. The sweetest 
harmony of form pervades every limb in movements of 
softest undulation. The eye can trace no angle in the line 
of beauty : by contours it vanbhes, and by contours it returns, 
and each gliding form, where you think it terminates, is but 
the commencement of a new one : the eye never stops in 
pursuing it ; and you quit viewing the beauties of the fleet 
messenger of heaven with an unsatisfied feeling, as if you had 
been chasing a shadow. 

There is another statue of Mercury nearer the Tribune, 
more mundane in its form, holding a purse in his hand, as 
the god of commerce. 

At the upper end of the gallery, opposite to that of the 
Tribune, on the tomb of Telegennus, lies stretched in deepest 
slumber the Genius of Eternal Sleep. This statue is of 
polished nero antico : every muscle is relaxed : his jaw is 
fallen as if breathing with stertor, his close-shut eyelids 
seem as if sealed with the signet of Eternity, and he sleeps 
the apoplectic sleep of the poppy. 

Not far from this is a statue of David with the bead of 


Goliath at his feet, by Donatello, which, though rather stiff, 
is good for the period. Opposite to the David is a St. John 
THB Baptist, by the same artist : so meagre he looks, that 
he appears to have deserted from a churchyard, and in such 
a hurry, too, that his ghost hath forgotten to flesh itself. 
Donatello's *' vox clamantis" personifies Ovid's '* vox et prtB^ 
terea nihil;'* and, to speak my mind, such a St. John de- 
serves to be sent back again to the wilderness. 

At the very top of this wing you find Bandinelli's copy 
of the group of the Laocoon ; but it is a mere copy. The 
eye ialls flat on the marble, and gathers no elastic impulse 
to play between the object and the sense : it crawls over the 
group, and quits the inanimate mass of stone disgusted with 
the sodden contact. 

How different from this is Buonarotti's Bacchus ! It is 
difficult to determine in which of the three arts of archi- 
tecture, sculpture, and painting, Michael Angelo most ex- 
celled ; his statuary pleases me the most, and this Bacchus, 
in my estimation, is his cke/'cTosuvrej it is so faultless and 
beautiful. Observe the graceful ease in the bend of the 
body; in what fine positions the arms are displayed; and 
how all the parts harmonise in elegant proportion : grapes 
cluster round bis head, and his lips seem to utter audibly 
the incoherences of a mind inebriated. Every joint totters 
on its hinges, and every muscle partakes of the mind*s flabby 
listlessness. Give me that cup you hold in your hand, 
babbling prater! for, Bacchus, you have drank enough. 

Opposite to Michael Angelo's stands the Bacchus of 
Sawbovino. This statue is more gay and less intoxicated. 
Bacchus is holding up the cup, drinking *' a health to all 
good lasses,*' and seems delighted with the rosy juice. His 
form is light and delicate, resembling the remembrance of a 
beloved object reflected in the mirror of a tender imagina- 
tion, and the eye wanders over it in meanders as varied and 
beautiful as those of the neighbouring Amo. 

There is another Bacchus by Michael Angelo, of exqui- 
site outlines, but unfinished ; yet the eye of &ncy dips be- 
neath the nnchiselled surface, and imagines it can perceive. 


t'lrnii'^h tilt* coar>e \*A\ Tnit iritervt-ne'i. those excellencits 
uliu'h tile inaLiic chisel of Buoiiarotti i::ieinifd to create. 

Im^oto eiiteriiij: the cabiiiets whioh « piu from the srallery, 
ninark a ])aiiitiiiix of an (Jld Max begging, hy Cre^pi w7 
Sii,i,//h>/n). I lis fiico is wriukhnl with aje, wrt-tolieihiess, 
and sorrow ; in tatters he suppHcate? yonr ])ity and chanty. 
Tlii^ portrait is <'arefnlly fhiished ; and f.istidi(»us ninst be the 
ta<te that wonld rcM'n^e tlie ol)olns of praise to the mendicant 
of Sj)aunohMto. 

Anion:: i^\r Vtruvran vases yon find a strikinir and 
friLi'htfnl ^mv.** .m '..u' (irvu s o[' Death — so fair and vet so 
t:lia*-tl\ jv^'v" • ' Nv^.;".:; ami vet so relentless — winixed — 
restini;' on :\ n '.\'u ■•; a nu><t «;'raceful altitude, i^ivinLT, as 
it would >ti".u. ii\''. ' N iv lu>lvday : yet his countenance, 
thou<::h heautiurilN iv-'iLu\ expresses a ciiillinir severity ; 
min^linir in its nH;v\-NL.»ii a paradox of sentiment, in repre- 
sent in<j^ what the poN>er v>ftlie understanding caimot define, 
or tiie most sunnv inui^iuation scarcelv trace a shadow ot* — 
l)((if/i (tlirc! Death, loo, in hovhood, ere he has vet un- 
Ju')itlied his bones, and a>sunied his occupation of assa^sin- 
•eneral of the human race. 

I'm, Nit)ui: l^)OM. — In this little theatre the traiiedv of 

\i,.l»e. \\\ iMarl»b\ i> continuallv beinir einicted. Here vou 

,, ilu- ibddreu of Niobe all assend)led. Apollo has just 

I.I. Iv ^'oe of her sons; lie has fallen on his knees, aiul the 

I ,\ t»4) leiubied ium a statue. Twice wounded by the 

,,iildrn-i bund, another lies stretched at his lenixth, 

lu.l iswoonmir in his blood. Dismay has seized the 

'i uMii» and some are seen flvino- a\vav or hidiuL? 

,, . ..I. |u(ulied by fear, have become what they 

.. \, NwibvMil the sculptor's chisel. Her eldest 

, bii bosom to the avenger — she implores 

v»u I be countenance of Niobe is depicted 

.[ .i mother, \vho sees her children slain 

tb» j,iuf is sublime and beautiful (if grief 

^. !»e -«ui>es to hide in her arms the 

... lo^ 1 I Tbis beautiful creature holds 


up her hand to protect herself, hiding her fiue from the 
offended deity ; but nothing lees wUl asBoage the yengeanee 
of Apollo and his sister than the destruction of all. 

Among this pathetic group the celebrated statue of Psjche 
has been placed. The lovely Psyche crouches in an attitude 
of inexpressible fright : she entreats, she implores, but im- 
plores and entreats in yaiu. 

There are a few paintings in this apartm^it by Rubens, 
SnyderSy Carlo Lotti, and Delia Notte (Gerard Honthorst). 
Here also we observe a fine bust of Juno, of heroic propor- 
tions, and another of Albxakdbr thb Gbbat bxpibino. 
He dies as he lived, amidst convulsions. Every feature 
seems rent asunder, as if to steal quietly into the grave were 
unworthy of one who had held the world in his hand, and 
torn it into shreds for his &vourites. 

In a narrow corridor off this long gallery, to the west, 
observe a group in bas-relief singing a tiio, by Luca della 
Robbia, in which the keys are so admirably represented, that 
you may fimcy yon hear the treble, tenor, and bass. Here 
also you find, near to the bust of Ovid, the unfinished 
portrait of Lorenzo di Medici, who killed his cousin the 
Duke Alexander. When believed to be the liberator of his 
country, Lorenzo was designated the Florentine Brutus ; but 
when this pretended liberator was discovered to be a new 
oppressor, die sculptor (Michael Angelo) would not finish it. 
This iact, so honourable to the feelings of Michael Angelo, is 
commemorated by the following inscription upon it : — 



At the comers you read the artist's initials, M. A. B. F. 

In the Bronzb Rooms ancient and modem art have 
wreathed their laurels into one coronet. Here you see John 
de Bologna's celebrated statue of Mbbcury bobmb up ok thb 
brbath of Borbas ; two fine antique statues of Vulcan and 
Vbhus ; a statue of Cupid chained like a felon, and I do not 


know a p^reater : tho little wrotch calh 1.m;.11v for h^lp : but 
he who ever felt his power would rather double his lN:>nd^. 
This coHectioii was made bv Co?tiio the Fir^t, anionir which 
you iiiid a bust of himself. 

TuK (\\iuM:r ov thi: I If^irm aphrodite. — Amiable mo- 

de^'tv, double wow \onv veil, or dare n it to enter, if vou 
• * • 

\uuild refrMin from bbi*»hlnt;- with coii^ci'^u-s shame and de- 
hL;ht ! \<^\! !o the \ euus. this, perhaps, is the statue of the 
iMDst d«'lieMt<» pi'oportiouv fliat exists. Here vou likewise 
find u uni«|Ui» eoUeetioii of tlu* ])ortraits ofarti-ts |)ainted bv 
themselves. 'I'hose \>hieli most interest an Enirlishman are 
Sir Joshua, /othmi, and Harlow. Zoffani has made a picture 
of the subject. Before leavin^^ this apartment, cast a glance 
at the beautiful Vigee \v Ibun, C'anova, and Salvator Rosa. 
fhe portrait of the last sur|>rised me; for instead of the 
rugged features of an ascetic savage, which I expected to see, 
Salvator's countenance is, on the contrary, extremely Dleasin"- 
Ihe adjoining room is likewise studded with portraits, in the 
ooiitre of which stands a su])erb anticjue vase with bas-reliefs, 
•vpresenting the sacrifice of Iphigenia. 

For the paintings in the WMietian and other schools, I 
•iiu>t refer to the Appendix. 

Fiking leave of this sph^ndid collection of all that is great 

i.Ki hcautiful in art, and which in viewing makes the human 

. i.d proud of its powers, calls to mind an anecdote I was 

• . \\\\cn at I'lorence, of an I'Jiglishman, relating to it. 

r travelling, or rather posting, countrymen was 

day by an acquaintance as he was stej)pinfi^ 

X, ,;\ jntsfc from luatherstonehaugh's, in his 

w hru the following characteristic dialogne 

VS Fk*'* ' \ou here?" *' Yes, my boy,'' quoth 

. , . I i\»i Kome. I came here, dVe see, the day 

X . A dx trrniined to see what is to be seen; 

' ■i'.,iM to snooze all the way to the Eternal 

. / m curiv)sities as I have done here." 

. .\ ot" tlie (iallery, Bob?" asked his 

. 1 v' ^^•|oined Bob, ''what's that.'" 

" > >n 

K -'lu-r 

\ > 


" What! have you not seen the Venus?" " Not I; but, 
well minded, I will though." So Bob ordered the postilion 
to driv^e to the gallery: he ran up the stairs, and in five 
minutes was back again. '' Well," said Bob to his friend, 
as he bade him good-bye, *^ they can't now say, when I get 
back to Old England, that IhaiCt seen the Wenus!" 

Close to the gallery is the Loggia db* Lavzi. This hand- 
some portico was built by the architect Andrea Orcagna, so 
early as the year 1365. It is here that, on St. John's day, 
the grand dukes receive the homage of all the communities 
of Tuscany. Under the arcades stand three magnificent 
statues : the first is of bronze, by Donatello, of Judith cut- 
ting off the head of Holofemes. The second, also of bronze, 
represents Pbrsbus trampling on the body of Medusa, and 
holding a sword in one hand, and her bleeding head in the 
other. It is by Benyenuto Cellini, and exemplifies the per- 
fect mastery of art, saving, perhaps, in the representation of 
the blood which gushes from the head and trunk of Medusa, 
for it resembles more the flame from an antique tripod altar, 
than stalactites of gore clotted by death. The third is the 
well-known group of the Rapb of thb Sabinbs, in marble, 
by John de Bologna. Under the pedestal a bronze tablet 
is let in, representing the same event in bas-relief, executed 
by the same inimitable artist. 

To the right of the Lo^a three colossal statues of marble 
stand, in front of the Palazzo Vecchio. The one representing 
David is by the chisel of Michael Angelo ; but he appears 
to have failed in an appropriate conception of the subject, 
for the figure may stand for any other character, take but 
away his sling. The best apology for this is, that the artist 
executed this gigantic statue when a mere youth. The two 
others are by Bandinelli : one is Hbbculbs overcoming the 
giant Cacus ; the other, a statue of Nbptunb in his car, 
drawn by four sea-horses; and the font, in the centre of 
which this statue is placed, is surrounded by four bronze 
figures, emblematical of the course of the Amo. But, in 
my opinion, no statues could well be more misplaced. The 
giant-killers, David and Hercules, stand sentry at the palace- 

1 1 1- 1 roiu:N( i: — Tin: ( aihkdual. 

L:at(', imd IkIow ihciii ym stt* a couple of liviiiir piirniy 
uijuidiiciil ^ivnadicis, with iuii>kc'ts over their phoukler>, 
walkinu" ahoiit as if in iiioekery ol' their duty- Neptune, 
auain, stainU in the midst of a fountain without water, 
like a eau'cd ])olar hear. Were this marine deity in his 
a|)j»r(n>rlale situation, he ought to he on the sea-heach, 
eanopied only hy a stormy sky, or standing on the edge of 
some lofty weather-heaten rock, whose precipitous base repels 
the rolling' sur^e. Had fate ordained me an artist, 1 would 
not have envied Bandinelli his taste, which, to say the most 
for it, i>> of a elumsv, unwieldv, and colossal cast, as if euixen- 
dered in the caves of the Cyclops. His statues are only fitted 
to adoiMi the brim of the crater of a volcano during an 
eruption. Let such hideous figures anmse themselves in 
])layiiig at snow-halls with an avalanche, or at shuttle-cock 
with a knoh of one of the Alps, if they will ; and when tired 
of tlu'ir s|)()rts, the merry monsters might refresh themselves 
Iw swelt<'ring in a hath of molten lava, (iive me, again, 
for mv taste, to frolic with Alhani's nvmidis in a nu^adow^ 
checkt'red with dairies and cowslips — now chasing a hutter- 
Mv — now a svli)hoid wench, in lau<'hini;, innocent, breath- 
less deliLiht : and \\iien exhausted bv exceeding: iov, Hebe, 
thou loNely creation of Canova's ethereal fancy, give me a 
goblet of nectar — or, sweeter far, a kiss ! 

The DroMo. — This celebrated cathedral is built upon 
the ancient site of the Campus Martins of the Florentine 

I'Jrurians. It was begun a.d. 1*298, as we learn from an 
inscription on that part of the exterior wall which faces the 
Cam])anella, under the direction of Arnolfo di Lapo, u pu])il 
of Cimabue, and finished, in one hundred and fifty years, 
by other celebrated architects who succeeded him. The 
entire of this noble edifice is coated with beautifully varied 
marble, synnnetrically disj)osed. In the interior a solemn 
twilight reigns, where the statues of the four Evangelists, by 

Donatello, standing in the middle tribune, aj)pear like the 
spirits of the dead. 

It has been obiected to the Duomo by some travellers, 


that it is gloomy and druidical; How far this is to be con- 
sidered a defect, depends so much upon taste, that no single 
opinion can have pretence to decide. For my part, a certain 
degree of obscurity appears almost essential to the full fer- 
Tour of adoration. We love to kneel alone, in the stillness 
and privacy of night — to impart our griefe to Omnipotent 
Benevolence, asking solace in our afflictions : we seek the 
shade of solitude to confess our manifold sins — to offer up 
our thankfulness for some unmerited good, or to implore 
remission of some past transgression ; which we would not, 
or could not do in any other place, or to any other confidant ; 
and to all of which the sombreness pervading the interior of 
this sanctuary appears eminently favourable and appropriate. 
This church is divided into three naves, terminating in 
corresponding tribunes of an octahedral form. In that of 
the Holy Cross, observe a circle of marble on the pavement, 
upon which, at the summer solstice, a sun-ray falls, passing 
through an aperture in the lantern of the dome. This is 
ToscAKBLLi's FAMOUS MERIDIAN, ouc of the first and oldest 
in Europe. The majestic cupola raises its lofty canopy over 
the tribunes, ornamented with frescos by Vasari and Zuc- 
cheri. The choir corresponds beneath, of the design of Bru- 
nelleschi, but executed by Baccio. It is of the Ionic order, 
and constructed of variegated marbles, crowned by an elegant 
border, supported on columns whose bases are enriched with 
bas*relie&, from the chisels of Bandinelli and Giovanni dell' 
Opera. Over the grand altar are three statues in marble, 
by Bandinelli; and behind it, facing the middle tribune, 
you see the last work of Michael Angelo — it is a Pieta, 
supported in the arms of the Virgin and the Magdalen. 
Every limb lies in the lax attitude of death ; the head has 
Mien upon the shoulder ; the left arm is twisted with the 
elbow in front, and there is no articulation but what de- 
notes the complete separation of the divine essence from 
the mortality it had put on. This admirable group, though 
unfinished, does not less evince the superior genius of the 
artist ; and every frightful trait tells that it is an exact copy 
of some corpse that had sat for the portrait. 


Against the wall of the left aisle there is a full-length 
portrait of the poet Dante, crowned ^ith laurels, painted 
by Paolo Orcagna, and placed here by a decree of the re- 
public, with some indifferent Latin verses beneath, by Sain- 
tati. Over the middle porch of the fa9ade there is an 
ancient mosaic painting, by Gaddo Gaddi ; and near the 
door in the right aisle you see two medallion portraits : one 
of Giotto, the reviver of the art of painting, and architect 
of the Campanella, with some verses underneath, written 
by the famous Politian, which begin : 

** I lie ego sum per quern pictura extincta rsTixit,'' &c. 

The other of Philip Brunelleschi, the architect of thtf cupola. 

Close to, but insulated from, the church, stands the Cam- 
PAVELLA, a Gothic tower, one of the most celebrated in Italy. 
It was designed by Giotto, and it is difficult to conceive any 
thing of its kind more elegant or beautiful. This edifice is 
also coated with differently coloured marbles, forming divers 
beautiful designs, and its sides are embellished with figures 
by Donatello, Giottino, Andrea Pisano, and Luca della 

Opposite the Duomo stands the ancient B aptistbby op St. 
John. You enter it by three bronze doors ; that facing the 
cathedral, and the other opposite the column of San Zanobi, 
are those which Michael Angelo called the gates of Paradise : 
they were made by Ghiberti, after designs by Amolfo di 
Lapo. The third, which fronts the Bigallo, is more ancient 
still, and was executed by Andrea, the son of the celebrated 
Nicola Pisano, from designs by Giotto, the subjects of which 
are taken from the Old and New Testament. The two 
columns of porphyry which are placed before the principal 
entrance, were presented by the Pisanese to the Florentines, 
on their return from the conquest of the islands of Majorca 
and Minorca in 1117; and the chains which are suspended 
to them are trophies of the valour of the Florentines at the 
taking of the port of Pisa, of which they formed the entrance. 
Sixteen antique columns, with their capitals, sustain a gallery 
which surrounds the interior : between these are statues of 


the TwBLVB Apostles, and of the Law of Nature and the 
Written Law, by Ammannato. Under the arch of the 
tribune^ and over the grand altar, you see a statue repre* 
senting the apotheosis of St. John, encircled by a glory 
of angels, by Ticciati. 

The baptismal font is extremely elegant, and richly 
sculptured, opposite to which is the tomb that contains the 
remains of Baldassar Coscia, who, under the name of John 
XXII., died at Florence, a.d. 1418, after having, in 1416, 
renounced the pontificate and delivered up the keys at the 
council of Constance. The tomb and sculpture are by Do- 
natello, except the statue of Faith, which is by his pupil 
Michelozzo. Above, you read the following epitaph : 





Observe a statue in wood of the Magdalen penitent over an 
altar, likewise the workmanship of Donatello ; and the rich 
mosaic dome by the hand of Gaddo Gaddi. 

As a relief to the grandeur and pomp of an Italian cathe- 
dral, I went to visit the Palace Riccardi. This is one of 
the largest and most beautiful edifices in Florence, combining 
the Tuscan, Doric, and Corinthian orders in its structure, 
terminated at top by an elegant cornice; 

Here it was that the arts had their birth, and where the 
liberty of Florence expired — the tomb of liberty was the 
cradle of the fine arts. This palace formerly contained an 
infinity of fine paintings, sculptures, and inscriptions. They 
have all been removed ; but the ceiling of the gallery re- 
mains, and merits a visit from the stranger. The subject is 
allegorical, representing The Dsstiny of Man, painted in 
fresco, by Luca Jordano. Destiny, Time, the Fates, and 
Nature, appear in the attitude of expectation. Destiny passes 
a sign to Time, Time to the Fates ; their spindle turns round, 
and in the arms of Nature you now see an infant. Prome- 
theus approaches and shakes his torch over it — 'tis the 


spark of life. Already the child creeps at the feet of Natnre 
— it gets up — walks — and wishes to leave its nurse. Na- 
ture tries in vain to retain it — in vain she weeps. He gets 
fi^rther and farther o£F, and soon wanders astray : two ways 
open to him — that of Virtue and of Vice ; the one, steep, 
rugged, and thorny; the other, carpeted with flowers, and 
presenting every enticing pleasure. Is it necessary to tell 
which he takes ? Human nature answers for us all ! De- 
lightful allegory ! Truth never put on a veil more brilliant 
or diaphanous. 

Church of San Lorekzo. — ^This church was built in the 
time of the Emperor Theodosius, at the expense of one Giu- 
liana, a rich and devout widow. It was consecrated by St. 
Ambrose, archbishop of Milan, in 393, and was then called 
the Basilica Ambrosiana. The ancient temple being destroyed 
by fire, the present edifice was erected by John de' Medici 
and his son Cosmo the Great, after the plan of Brunelleschi. 

Referring the reader to the Appendix for the more minute 
details, as indeed I purpose doing in all other matters where 
these are tedious, let him accompany me into the 

Capella db' Principi. — It was Leo X. who diarged 
Michael Angelo with its construction, and it was begun at 
the expense of Clement VII., who destined it for the sepulchre 
of his family. This chapel is remarkable for the fine statuary 
which adorns the tombs of the two brothers, Giulio and 
Lorenzo de Medicis, executed by the architect of this mag- 
nificent mausoleum. The statue of Lorenzo occupies a niche 
over the tomb : he is represented seated in a position of 
inimitable ease, resting his head on his hand ; and, by the 
shade of contemplation thrown over his features, this figure 
is commonly known by the name of il Pbnsbroso. Below, 
you see the statues of Day and Night. Facing these repose 
the statues of Twilight and Dawn, on the tomb of Giulio. 
Night is represented asleep, and an owl stands watch by her 
side. A foreigner, on first seeing this beautiful statue, wrote 
with his crayon on the plinth beneath — '^ She sleeps, but she 
lives ; if thou dost not believe it, awake her, and she will 


speak to thee." To which the artist, in the character of Night, 
replied, " Awake me not; it is so sweet for me to sleep, and 
sweeter still to be a stone ! So long as injustice and shame 
reign, it is a blessing neither to see nor to hear. Then, for 
pity's sake, awake me not: speak low — I wish to sleep." 
The statue of Day is, like many other of Michael Angelo's 
works, unfinished. The head and features are imperfectly 
made out, but the attitude in which the body reposes is 
admirable. What the head would have expressed when 
finished, would require a genius as profound and original as 
the artist's to surmise. Opposite lie Twilight and Dawn. 
Dawn has not yet drawn up the curtains of her eyes, and 
yet you can perceive that the active principle of life is 
awake — it stirs the drowsy limbs — it vermiculates among the 
muscles, and tingles in every sense. The whole body begins 
to unfold itself, like the closed petals of a flower to the first 
kiss of Day, while the features expand into that kind of 
dubious expression which the refreshened soul evinces when 
it begins to recover its consciousness. What a sublime con- 
ception must that man have had who could bend the uncouth 
stone to represent a moment and situation which the most 
vivid unagmation, by a strong creative effort, can picture one 
moment only, to vanish the next, and, like a globule of 
quicksilver on a polished surface, try but to sieze it, and it 
flies the farther off! On the other side lies Twilight. The 
features have fallen into an expression of still, contemplative 
sombreness, as if Evening had thrown her mantle of grey over 
the radiant countenance of wearied Light, as he prepares to 
couch to rest for the night. This statue has assumed the 
position of repose t the right leg is thrown over the opposite 
knee ; and unaffected truth and nature pervade every listless 
muscle. Nothing can be more correct than the anatomy, 
or more chaste in taste than what these inimitable groups 
exemplify. Here also you see a statue of the Virgin and 
Child, by Buonarotti. Michael Angelo, full of his subject, 
seldom diverts or divides your attention from the main im- 
pression he aims to make ; hence the infant Christ in this 


composition, however perfect and beaulifuly becomes, by the 
skilful management of the artist, a secondary object of your 
regard : the eye is thus left disengaged and unembarrassed ; 
the feelings are hence directed to, and absorbed in, one object 
of admiration, and the visiter has only to behold this Virgin 
of Buonarotti's to be sensible how completely he becomes the 
unconscious automaton of the sculptor's art. The counte* 
nance of the Virgin beams with divine benignity ; and as yoa 
gaze on it, you involuntarily exclaim, *^ So ought to be repre> 
sented the mother of the glorious Propitiator I '' 

A passage leads from this chapel into a goi^geoua and 
most magnificent rotunda, called the Capblla Rbalb obi 
Sepolcri. It was built by the Grand Duke Ferdinand the 
First, thinking he might be able to transport thither from 
Jerusalem the holy sepulchre ; but the Turks hearing of his 
project, took precautions to defeat the noble enterprise. 

On the stranger's first entering it, he is struck dumb by 
the magnificence and astonishing workmanship which present 
themselves on all sides. A superb basement or continued 
pedestal surrounds the entire building, upon which rise the 
principal pilasters, of jasper from Braga, the bases and 
capitals of which are of bronze. The cornice is of beautiful 
granite from the island of Elba, the border of Flanders 
pierre de touche, and the letters, which are let in, of giallo 
antico. Around the interior you see the arms of the principal 
cities of Tuscany, formed of the most precious stones and 
marbles, of lapis lazuli, giallo antico, verd antique, pierre 
de touche, oriental alabaster, lumacfaella, &c. Below, there 
is a subterranean chapel, which, when finished, is to contain 
the bodies in recesses corresponding with the monuments 

On returning to the body of the church, observe the 
richness of the grand altar, over which is placed a Crucifix 
by John de Bologna, between a holt Virgin, by Michael 
Angelo, and a St. John, by one of his scholars. On going 
out by the door which leads to the Canonica, you see a statue 
of Giovio, the celebrated historian, sculptured by San Oallo. 


A staircase opens from the canonica to the Mediceo-Laa- 
rentian library, the vase of which was constructed after the 
design of Buonarotti. 

Church op Santa Croce. — Thb splendid edifice is the 
Westminster Abbey of Florence ; and were it any where else, 
it might be called the gallery, it is so rich in paintings by the 
first masters of the Florentine school. The architect of the 
cathedral, Amofo di Lapo, was also the artist who planned 
this church. Here it is that we find the Tomb op Michael 
Angelo. At the foot of a sarcophagus you see the statues 
of Sculpture, Architecture, and Painting, in attitudes of 
deepest affliction, surmounted by a bust of this great man, 
of a bold style of sculpture, with a triple coronet of laurel 
on each side. Of the three statues it is difficult to say which 
is most graceful : Sculpture seems most disconsolate. 

Next to AK EccE Homo, at whom the Jews are pointing 
in scorn, by Del Meglio, you find the Tomb of the Italian 
Sophocles, Alfibri* It is by the chisel of Canova. This 
superb monument consists of a sarcophagus, ornamented at 
the corners with tragic masks, in the front of which you see, 
under a laurel crown, a medallion profile of Alfieri, encom- 
passed by his name. By the side of, and leaning on, the 
sarcophagus, stands a majestic semi - colossal statue of a 
female of whitest marble, resting her head on her hand in 
an attitude of grief, and never was grief depicted with more 
majestic grace. A mural crown is on her head, and at her * 
feet diflerent fruits lie strewed in profusion, enibleniatical of 
the fecundity of the author's genius. This monument was 
erected to the memory of Alfieri, by Louisa, Countess of 
Albany ; and the liaison which subsisted between these two 
illustrious persons in life is continued even on the tomb : 


A little farther on, and you come to the Tomb of 


On a l{ir<jje and beautiful sarcophagus sits tlie Genius ol* 
Politv, rcstinii" her v\<j:\\t liand on a niedallion likeness of this 
celebrated writer ; on the pedestal of wliicli you read the 
I'ollowing simple inscription : 




Spinazzi was the sculptor. These splendid monuments are 
against the wall of the aisle to the right as you enter. In 
that to the left you find the Tomu of the immortal Galileo, 
which encloses likewise the ashes of his pupil, the celebrated 
mathematician Viviani. 

Over an inscription beginning, 




IIH • BENE • gi I ESC AT- tVc. 

there is a sarcophagtis of fine Siena marble, surmounted by 
a bust of Galileo, holding a telescope in his right hand : his 
left rests on a globe, under which is a diagram of the solar 
system of this immortal astronomer. His eyes are turned 
towards the heavens, as if watching the planets in their flight, 
even in the grave. Two statues of Astuonomy and her sister 
Geometry lean on the tomb. 

Among the many fine paintings that adorn the altars, 
remark a splendid painting of the Martyrdom of St. Law- 
rence, by Ligozzi ; the figure of the martyr is surpassing 
fine: Christ's Entrance into Jerusalem, from the joint 
pencils of Cigoli and Biliverti ; note the rich tone of the 
colouring, and the fine perspective shewn through the gate- 
ww^ Perspective in painting is always i)leasing : it is like 
hope in life. We delight in the prospect of misty distance, 
by its affording imagination scope to fill it up with visions 
of one's own creation. The Scepticism of St. Thomas, bv 
Vasari, is another excellent painting. Observe the breadtli 
in the casting of the drn))ery, the warmth of the colouring, 
and the varied expression in the countenances of the other 


apostles. Here also is a fine AscBifsiON, by Stradano, and 
THE CoMiKG OF THE HoLY Ghost, by Vasari, in which a 
choir of angels; of exquisite beauty and in attitudes of the 
utmost grace, strew twigs of myrtle down on the group 
below. Salviati has a Descent remarkable for its fine 
grouping, soft and charming tone of colouring, and beauty 
of the sweetest cast, intermixed with grief sunk down into 
that state of stupor which is left after the first great agony 
has passed away. Santi di Tito's Crucifixion, which is next 
to the last, though a highly toned painting, is not so skilfully 
composed. There is a striking and offensive sameness in the 
position of the three crucified figures, and too strong a resem* 
blance to one another in the countenances of St. Peter and 
the Virgin. Bronzino's Christ about to be conveyed to 
the Tomb, is a most superb painting, and is intended for 
the gallery. 

There are several chapels on each side of the grand altar, 
with paintings by (Jaddi, Giotto, and Giottino, near to which 
is the magnificent chapel of the Niccolini family. It is 
entirely coated with beautiful Carrara marble of admirable 
workmanship, and inhabited by five fine statues representing 
Moses, Aaron, Chastity, Prudence, and Humility, by Fran- 
cavilla, the favourite pupil of John de Bologna. The two 
paintings of the Assumption and Coronation of the Virgin 
are by Alexander Allori ; the first is particularly excellent. 
On the dome of this chapel you see the four Sibyls, painted 
in fresco, with the perfection of a master, by Volterrano. 
Over the altar which follows, stands Donatello's celebrated 

In the sacristy and the neighbouring corridors you see 
several ancient paintings by Cimabue and Giotto. At the 
farther end of an open passage you find the place where 
Louisa Countess of Albany, the last scion of the Stuarts, lies 
in unconsecrated ground ; and in the opposite comer they 
shew the place where the body of Galileo lay, whilst his 
grand discoveries in astronomy caused him to be deemed and 
treated as a heretic. In an apartment adjoining you see the 
celebrated painting of St. Cecilia, by Carlo Dolce. Her 


whole countenance is of the most enchantmg cast, and on her 
mouth, so sweet and beauteous, 

'* — the lip would linger, like some bee 
Sipping a iavourite flower;" 

for there the spirit of melody itself seems to form an atmo- 
sphere around it for her voice to vibrate on. 

Church of the Annukziata. — This ancient chaTx^h 
occupies the north side of the piazza of the same name. 
First observe, before entering the church, a bronze eqae»- 
trian statue of the Grand Duke Ferdinand the First, in the 
centre of the square, by John de Bologna. On the girth of 
the horse you read : 


A beautiiul covered gallery forms the outer fa9ade of the 
church, so light and airy in its architecture, that it merits 
to be tacked to the hem of the Virgin s garment, and taken 
upwards in Volterrano's Assumption. From this you pass into 
a court, or cloister, painted by the first artists of the day : 
those by Del Sarto are especially fine ; in one * of which he 
introduces a portrait of himself; and in auother,f that of 
his wife. 

On entering the interior, the stranger is struck with the 
rich and massive elegance which presents itself on all sides. 
On the ceiling you see splendid gilt reliefs on a white ground, 
after designs by Silvani ; and in the middle there is a noble 
painting of the Assumption, by Volterrano. On turning to 
the left, you find the magnificent chapel of the Annunciation. 
The altar is of massive silver, richly chased, as well as the 
step before it, which is enriched with jewels and precious 
stones. In a tabernacle you see a head of our Saviour, by 
Del Sarto. On two large columns of alabaster rest a rich 
architrave, with its cornice of silver, from which depends 
a curtain of admirable workmanship; and the whole is 
illuminated* by lamps of solid silver. Off the chapel there is 
a little oratory of an astonishing richness. The whole of its 

* The Offering of the Magi. f 1*he Birth of the Virg;in. 


walls are lined with agates, oriental chalcedony and jaspers, 
representing emblems of the holy Virgin . Two slabs of 
dasky blue marble represent the Stella Maris, and Pulchra 
ut Luna. Their colour well depicts the veil of night, with a 
sky speckled here and there by light clouds of white. On 
one you see a crescent moon in mother-of-pearl; on the 
other, a golden star shedding its soft chaste rays over a 
rippled ocean of sombre blue* From this you pass into the 
chapel of the Feroni family, and behold the altar-piece by 
Carlo Lotti, representing the Agony of St. Joseph. But for 
the numerous fine paintings in this church, I must, as usual, 
refer to the Appendix ; suffice it to name a chef-dCcsuvre of 
Stradano's, of the Crucifixion ; a Universal Judgment, 
by Alexander Allori; and a Resurrection, by Angiolo 
Bronzino. On the dome of the Tribune, Volterraoo has 
depicted the Virgin at the moment of her assumption into 
heaven, crowned by the Holy Trinity, surrounded by the 
patriarchs, prophets, and saints of the Old and New Testar 
ment. This artist painted the above at a very advanced 
age ; yet age seems to have brightened, rather than dimmed, 
the splendour of his imagination ; for nothing can well exceed 
the fineness of the design, the beauty and brilliancy of the 
colouring, or the vivid invention shewn in its conception. 
The choir is immediately under the dome, with the Grand 
Altar in front, on which stands a mc^ificeat pyx of silver, 
ornamented with figures in bas-relief, vases, statues, and 
different precious ornaments. 

This church contains the ashes of two celebrated artists, 
John de Bologna and Baccio Bandinelli. The first lies in 
the chapel of the Iloly Cross, immediately at the feet 
of one of his chefs-dCceuvrej a crucifixion in bronze, round 
which you see six tablets, also of bronze, by the same great 
artist. These represent : 1st, Christ brought before Pilate ; 
2dly, Pilate washing his hands ; 3dly, Christ bound, with 
the Jews crying " Crucify him ! " 4thly, the Scourging of 
Christ ; 6thly, Christ crowned with thorns ; and, lastly, 
Christ falling under the weight of his Cross as he bears it to 
Mount Calvary, while St. Veronica wipes his face with her 

12<) T>")Mi'. or r.ANi'iNKLM — Tin: madonna del sacco. 

lir.ihlkeiviru'f. The tomb of Baiidiiielli is in the cliapel 
o Urd afn r \\]< name. It 1^ adorned with a Dead Christ, 
-n|>]>r)rt»-d (in the knees of Xicodemns. This group is bv 
r>nnd;nt4]i him-elf, and the liead of Xicodemus is a poiirait 
of tlu' arti-t. The cloisters of the convent, attached to the 
clunvh of the Nimziata, are extremely rich in frescos; and 
herr vou sre tlie celebrated Madonna del Sacco, bv Del 
Sarto. It i^ so called from Josej)h leaning on a sack, intro- 
duced bv the artist, from a sack of flour beins: the wasfes 
he rcct'ivt'd i\>v paintini^ it. I confess I was somewhat dis- 
aj^jxiintt'd on seeinix this well-known fresco. Its greatest 
nierit, in niv judLrment, consists in the extraordinary relief 
it pos.-cs^cs, and the tine casting of the drapery ; other- 
wise tlie \'ii'gin appears a very countrified girl — heavy, 
coar>e, and uood-natured, without one trait of divinity about 
her — the carpenter's wife, in short. The infant Jesus, again, 
seems to l>e makinu* a Lrreat noise about nothins: at all ; whilst 
.losepli very sulM^rsidedly contents himself, as he leans his 
ellwjw on the sack, with dozinL? over a book. Michael Anjjrelo 
greatlv admired this ])ainting, and so he did every thing that 
had nature and stren!::th about it ; this celebrated fresco 
possesses l>oth, Init without one touch of inspiration. 

There are three fine frescos by the graceful pencil of 
SahMubeni : that which represents Clement IV. granting the 
lirst indulgence to the church of the Nunziata is exceed- 
ingly fine : what attitudes are here for the player to study! 
Another (,by Uosselli, if 1 mistake not) commemorates the 
miracle of the painter Bartolomeo and the Angel. The artist, 
while painting the subject of the Annt nciatiox for the 
oratory of the convent, being unable to depict the idea he 
had conceived, fell asleep in despair; and when he awoke, he 
found an angel at work, giving it the cotfp de grace. This 
occui'red in 1*252 ; and miracles were rathcn' rife in those davs. 
This angelic painting rendered the church of tlie Annunciation 
a J dace of pilgrimage formerly, on account of the miracles it 
performed ; but the wonder-working aroma has evaporated 
like the dream that <i:ave birth to the talc. 

The cliurch of J^anta Maria Nuova contains a few fine 


paintings, particularly the Martyrdom op St. Barbara, by 
Buti, in which the calmness of resignation is beautifully per- 
sonified ; a Descent, in which angels alone assist, by Alex. 
AUori; St. Akthony and the Infant Jesus, by Ficherelli, 
a deep and richly toned painting ; and a Virgin and Child, 
with St. Agnes, St. Cecilia, and others, by Allori. The 
High Altar is of Carrara marble, of great beauty, adorned 
with a pyx representing a church in miniature, constructed 
of the richest marbles, inlaid with lapis lazuli, standing on a 
pedestal equally beautiful, and the whole surmounted by a 
crucifix, thought to be by Giovanni Bologna. 

The Church of S. M. Novella is remarkable as con- 
taining THE FIRST WORK of Cimabuc. It is a figure of the 
Vii^n. The reader is, perhaps, aware that Cimabue was the 
inventor of painting in oils; and this painting, therefore, is 
considered a very great curiosity. 

I looked in vain for the tombs of Boccacio and Peter the 
Martyr, who are said by some writers to lie buried here. In 
the transept to the right lies the body of the patriarch Joseph, 
who died at Rorence in 1440, whilst attending the council 
convoked by Eugene IV., for the union of the Greek and 
Latin churches. 

There are many fine paintings adorning different altars, 
among which I may note a sublime painting of St. Vincent 
Preaching, by Del Meglio ; St. Raymond restoring a child 
to life, by Ligozzi ; three charming paintings of the Birth, 
Presentation and Descent, by the elegant pencil of 
Naldini ; Christ and the Woman of Samaria, by Alex. 
Allori; a Resurrection, by Vasari ; and Christ raising 
from the dead the daughter of the Archisynagogus, 
by the superb pencil of Bronzino. 

In the same chapel with Cimabue's Madonna, there is a 
painting by Bugiardini, but designed by Michael Angelo. 
The subject is the representation of a miracle. You see three 
martyrs dead or dying, who had undergone the torture of 
the wheel : the Holy Virgin is calling for the interference 
of heaven : an angel appears in the sky, from whom a stream 
of light issues down, and the instruments of torture are 


instantly broken in pieces. A group of soldiers in the fore- 
ground admirably represents the various expressions of terror. 
Over the grand altar, between two beautiful columns of 
marble, you see an Assumptiok, by Sabatelli. The five 
paintings in the choir are by Ghirlandaio, and depict passages 
in the lives of the Virgin and St. John the Baptist. Here 
the artist, has taken occasion to introduce the portraits of 
several celebrated persons. In the first to the right, where 
the angel appears to Zacharias, the figure with one hand 
raised is Angelo Politian, the famous reformer: in another, 
where Joachim is driven out of the temple, Ghirlandaio has 
introduced a portrait of himself, in the figure in the blue 
and red mantle : the old man in the red cap is his master 
Baldovinetti : he with the black head of hair is his pupil 
Gemignano ; and in some of the others he has placed the 
portraits of Peter, John, and Laurence de' Medici. In this 
church you also see the fine Crucifix carved in wood by 
Brunelleschi, on the occasion of his famous dispute with 
Donatello. Near to this, you ascend by steps to the chapel 
painted in fresco by the two brothers Andrew and Bernard 
Orcagna. One is a representation of the joys of Fabadisk, 
the other of the torments of Hell. They are both singu- 
larly curious for the manner in which they are treated. In 
the latter, you see Charon's boat ferrying across the Styx with 
the damned; and in another part, the wicked cast into a 
lake of fire, with centaurs on its shores amusing themselves 
in shooting at them with bows and arrows. 

In the Spanish chapel, in the cloisters of the convent 
attached to this church, among many fine frescos, observe 
the portraits of Cimabue and Memmi, painted by Memmi 
himself. For some notice of several other remarkable churches 
in Florence, I must refer the reader to the end of the volume. 

There are several detached objects of ai*t in different parts 
of the city meriting examination. 

The Colonna di S. Trinita is a fine granite column of 
the Doric order, surmounted by a graceful statue of Justice, 
in porphyry by Del Tadda, presented by Pope Pius IV. to 
Cosmo the First from the baths of Caracalla. There is a 


maid-and-a^magpie sort of story told of this statue of Justice, 
about something that was stolen, of a person being con* 
demned for the theft, and of the property being afterwards 
firand in one of the scales she holds in her hand. 

Crossing the Ponte Vecchio, you come to the Fountain of 
the Centaur, so called from a group which ornaments it, 
representing Herculbs killing the Cbntaur Nbssus, by 
John de Boloena. It is chiselled out of one block of marble, 
and is justly esteemed one of the artist's finest works. 

A little fiuther on, and you arrive at the Palazzo Pitti. 
This is one of the largest and most majestic palaces in Italy. 
It was commenced in 1440, after designs by Brunelleschi, for 
the residence of a Florentine nobleman, whose name it still 
bears. Its whole exterior fagade is of the Tuscan order, and 
its interior contains many splendid paintings by the first 
masters. Here it is that the traveller will find Raphael's 
celebrated Madonna della Seggiola, i> Impbgnato, his 
portrait of Leo the Tenth, and the Vision of Ezbkiel ; 
besides abundance of other fine paintings by Salvator Rosa, 
Rubens, Schidone, Giulio Romano, Carlo Maratta, Guido, 
Dolce, and others of the same high class. The boudoir of 
the grand*dutchess contains Ca nova's Venus ; but this cele- 
brated statue will bear no comparison, in my judgment, with 
the divine Venus of the Tribune. Though modest certainly, 
yet the goddess looks as if sensible of her nakedness ; and as 
she shrouds her beauties from sight, she seems as if aware of 
your beholding her. The dorsal view is the finest, or facing 
her as she looks aside. The view in front is spoilt by the 
drapery, which, however decorous, gives an ungraceftil flat- 
ness to the figure ; and as your eye instinctively drops, it 
iails on limbs that are coarse when compared with those of 
the Grecian Venus, every contour of which, as you endeavour 
to gaze, is so slippery and fine, that the eye glides off the 
polished surface like tears from the cheek of sobbing girl- 

The BoBOLi Gardes, behind the palace, are open to 
the public twice a-weelc — on Thursdays and Sundays ; and 
besides the fine exuberant statue of Abundance, which we 



formerly noticed, there is one of Oceak in another part of the 
gardens, likewise by John de Bologna. It is placed in the 
centre of a parterre, surrounded by a pool of water ; and at 
the upper comers of the pedestal on which it stands, there 
sit statues of the Ganges, Euphrates, Danube, and the Nile. 
This statue, though both superb and imposing, shews some 
awkward angles, especially about the left lower extremity, 
when viewed in certain positions ; and in my opinion, the 
general effect would be improved by removing the pet^ 
parterre about it, and encompassing it wholly with water. A 
statue of Ocean looking at daisies is not quite in character. 
Let Fiamingo's Infant Cupids make posies of them : Ocean, 
again, ought to play with a whirlwind in his hand, or kick 
about mountain billows with his feet. 

Not far from the Palace Pitti is the Museum of Natural 
History. This museum was founded by the munificence 
of the Grand Duke Leopold ; and its different chambers are 
enriched with rare specimens belonging to each of the three 
grand kingdoms of nature : but what gives it most singularity 
is, the inimitable collection of preparati(ms in wax of the 
different parts of the human frame, executed principally by 
the artist Susini. These last occupy the first seven rooms, 
besides another suite which contain demonstrations of every 
muscle separately, with its origin and insertion, and a fine 
collection of models of the different stages of pregnancy, from 
the foetus fifteen days* old from conception, till the full period 
of gestation : but for the particulars of these, and other objects 
of curiosity, I must refer the reader, as usual, to the Appen* 
dix. There is only one room which I cannot so summarily 
dismiss — that in which the traveller finds those pictures in 
wax, the offspring of the most extraordinary imagination that 
ever embodied its horrible conceptions,—*! mean Zumbo's re* 
presentation of the plague of Florence. 

From a room containing a small collection of savage 
ornaments and weapons, you enter a small cabinet, round 
which you see ranged some Egyptian mummies, and several 
small wax statues, exhibiting the different layers of muscles. 
Here it is you find what ought to mortify the overweeningneas 


of all human vanity, and of what disgusting ingredients the 
utmost beauty of proud mortality is composed, when struck 
with the poisoned dart of Death. The artist iiitroduces the 
horrid picture of a plague, with the representation of a 
young man, with a fillet bound across his eyes to hide 
firom his sight a dead corpse which he carries in his arms to 
the general charnel-house, where the dying are seen lying 
under piles of the dead in horrible confusion. He stops his 
breath, lest he should inhale the mortal contagion ; and as 
he advances with his putrid burden, he holds back his head, 
as if overcome with the deadly stench. An infant is seen 
crying by the livid bosom of its expiring mother : in the back- 
ground, men, women, and children, in different stages of 
corruption, rest on the bare and worm-picked ribs of a gore* 
stained skeleton. Horrified at this appalling picture, you turn 
to another. Here a female sits on a tomb in an attitude of 
disconsolate grief: hope and joy have left her eye tenantless 
of beams, and, save the spectre Despair throwing an obscure 
glare of light on the threshold of the sunken orbit, all within 
is vacant, dark, and frightful. At her feet lies a skeleton, 
with the gore dried on the bones. In front you see the car- 
cass of a human being, livid, swollen, succulent with the 
juices of putridity — dissolved, as it were, into a gelatinous 
mass of corrupt concocted humours for crawling vermin to 
wallow in : the abdomen has burst with the distension and 
flatulence of putrefiEu;tive fermentation ; and a glutton of a 
rat stands snuffing up the redolent halitus by the brink of 
the horrid fissure. To the right you see a marble sarcopha- 
gus, on the front of which is represented the proud triumph 
of some hero, preceded and followed by a giddy, shouting 
multitude. On it reposes the body of this candidate for 
glorious immortality. Arise, heroes ! from your graves, and 
look at it. The carcass of Renown, erst stuffed and em- 
balmed with the aroma of &me even to cramming, and 
fragrant with the breath of flattery, has become livid and 
fetid, pufied up with putrid flatus, lacerated into shreds, 
half-eaten : the bowels hang out, and a villanous rat tuga, 
ravenous, at the disgusting morsel of tripe ! Skulls and 


vnrions disjointed bones lie strewed about to make up the 
inor/is innff/o, and the carcass of a doij^ even puts in its claim 
to share tlie victory of the <j;rave. Did satire ever sting with 
more point, for here it truly becomes '* the stlnfj/ of Death ?*' 
The third and last represents Time with a sceptre in his hand 
]K)inting to a corpse in which the humours of cankering 
corruption have eva])orated, and the carcass become too 
insipid for even the hungry rats to feed on. By its side 
lies stretched another human figure, w^ith the crackling 
ribs of a skeleton for its rickety, uneasy pillow. What a 
contrast such a revolting scene as this makes with that repose 
where the elastic heavings of a lover's respiration alone rocks 
the cradle of the chest, and the soft sii^hinofs of ecstatic 
nature forms the only lullaby ! Opposite to this lies another 
corpse, bent double over a broken column. The figure of a 
female occupies the foreground : she has not been long dead, 
and over her bo?om you perceive a scorpion creeping, while 
spiders rjin along her arms : her head rests on the decollated 
tj*unk of a fallen statue, and clotted blood oozes from her 
month and nose : dead children and skulls fill up the terrific 
scene ; and the l)ody of one of the children is so bestirred with 
maggots, as to give to it a frightful kind of animation : hard 
l>y, you see a book in tatteis, on a scroll of which you read 

Ol'l UA LMM 
I l.l.OlU M 

MgriNTni n.i.os. 

An autograph note, of the great physiologist Haller, acquaints 
the visitor with the name of the author of these most extra- 
ordinary works of art. There is an anatomical ])reparation of 
the head by the same arti^t, so real in its appearance as far to 
surpass any thing of Sjisini's, wonderfully fine as they are. 

Zumbo was a Sicilian monk, whose sepulchral imagina- 
tion seems to have been engeiulered by brooding, in the 
s(ditude of his cell, on images of death in their most ab- 
horrent shape, until it got perverse and corrupt through the 
unkindly contemjdation. That his genius was marvellous 
and original, will readily be admitted by all who see his 


worksy and I have sometimes thought that it might bear a 
parallel, in some respects, with that of Michael Angelo's : 
both were distinguished for the utmost perfection in their 
works : while Michael Angelo excels in the grandeur and 
sublimity of his conception, Zumbo does* not less so in the 
horrible character of his imagination, — both were, almost to 
a iault, true to nature in her least inviting mood, and both 
equally terrific in their images of death. 

From the Museum I went to visit The Palace Corsini, 
situated on the Lung' Amo, near the Ponte Carraja. This 
magnificent palace, which ranks among the largest in Florence, 
is of the Tuscan order, and is particularly rich in paintings, 
produced by the tender heart, delicate imagination, and pa- 
tiaat pencil of Dolce. His Poetry is, perhaps, the sweetest 
painting that ever animated canvass. She wears a crown 
of laurel round her temples, and an azure robe, spangled 
with golden asterias, decks her fine person. Golden hair 
and hazel eyes illuminate a countenance expressive of the 
noblest simplicity, and beauty of the sweetest cast sheds 
on every enamelled trait beams of the softest inspiration. 
There is likewise a personification of Hope by the same 
pencil, and a head of St. Cecilia. A stream of rays issues 
firom the throat of the latter, typical of the notes of celestial 
harmony, which, as you gaze, steal on the ear of imagina- 
tion, and waft the enchanted beholder, on the wings of fancy, 
to where even angels might listen with delight. Here, also, 
are two fine Marine Views, by Salvator Rosa ; Cupids in 
a landscape, by Albani ; and Fortuke, by Michael Angelo. 
Fortune is seated on her wheel, blindly distributing her 
favours, holding a crown of laurel in one hand, and strewing 
ivy leaves with the other. Capricious dame ! jade, I could 
call you ! throw me, in pity, but one withered leaf of your 
coronet, for my share of ivy hath already been superabundant. 
Repulsive representations seem to have delighted Buonarotti ; 
and Fortune, the Furies, a Last Judgment, and a Pieta, were 
the subjects most congenial to his taste. How difierent from 
that of the gentle Albani ! Here we see Cupids in a valley, 
by the mai^n of a rill, on the green grass, among fragrant 


floweris, where the happy little urchins laugh, dance, and 
gambol, accompanied on the flute by old daddy Silenos. The 
ludicrous gravity of the sot is in fine contrappunta with such 
a gay and charming scene. There are many other fine paint- 
ings in this palace ; among others, I may note the Rapb of 
Dejanira by that excellent artist, Furiho ; a Head op St. 
Jerome, by Tintoretto; an Eccb Homo, by Dolce; Vbkus 
AND Adonis, by Hannibal Caracci ; and a Venus, by Titian. 
There is a chapel, also, in the palace, painted by Gherardini, 
and an altar-piece by Carlo Maratta.* 

Florence has given birth to a multitude of celebrated 
men. Salvino was born here, who first invented spectacles, 
which a Dutchman improved upon by inventing the tele- 
scope, of which a Florentine (Galileo) made such notable use 
in his discoveries in astronomy. Leopold de' Medici, younger 
brother of Ferdinand II., was the first who expelled the air 
from, and hermetically sealed, Galileo's thermometer. Ves- 
puccio Americano was also a native of Florence, who cheated 
Columbus out of the honour of giving his name to America; 
and the poet Dante causes this city to blush even to this day 
for her ungrateful treatment of him she is now proud to own 
as one of her sons. Its situation is healthy, but in winter 
it is exposed to the piercing winds from the Apennines — a 
circumstance which renders it particularly unsuitable as a 
residence for the pulmonary invalid. To-morrow I purpose 
again slinging my knapsack on my back, on* my way to 

The road between Florence and Siena is vari^ated by 
hill and dale, occasionally presenting points of view which 
approach the picturesque. Many of life's little cheering gra- 
tifications are made up, as the reader may have often found, 
of the ready interchange of little good offices, — a remark 
which su^ested itself to me from an amusing incident that 
happened on the way. A short distance from Tavemella I 

• A notice of the paintings in the Accademia delle Belle Arte wiU be 
found among the catalogues in the Appendix. 


came up with an old woman in a dilemma. She had overladen 
her asSy and the poor brute had sunk under the burden. The 
old lady was striving hard to produce a resurrection, by 
making a lever of the ass's tail, at the same time kicking 
its haunches with her foot, but unavailingly. To have thrown 
off the sack under which it lay, would have cut the Gordian 
knot ; but who was to lift it on again ? So as I drew near to 
the scene of her sad mishap, the dame solicited me, with 
polite frankness, to assist her. It is every man's duty to aid 
his fellow, and doubly so the fair sex ; so, unshipping my 
knapsack with alacrity, proud of the Quixotic opportunity of 
soceouring a damsel in distress, I took hold of one end of the 
sack, my wrinkled Dulcinea of the other ; when the brute, 
fiindiog himself relieved of his load, sprung up on his legs, 
only to find himself saddled again with his old burden. 
** Tante^ tante grazie^*' was my grateful recompense ; and as 
I moved my beaver in bidding the fair one adieu, I felt that 
I trod more elastically on my feet. Monte Rotondo is in 
this neighbourhood, wherein are two caverns from which 
explosions, it is said, take place in rainy weather, heard at a 
distance of several miles. I slept in Po^bonzi the first 
night, and arrived early in the afternoon of the following day 
at Siena. 


Siena is the second city in Tuscany. . It is ^id to have 
been founded by the Senonese Gauls, who entered Italy under 
Brennus, and called it after the capital of their own country. 
Sens : a derivation not adopted by the modem Sienese, who 
prefer owning the children of Remus for their founders. 
The arms of the town is a wolf suckling twins. Siena 
stands on the top of a mountain, with its main street running 
along its back, from the Porta Firenze to the Porta Romana, 
whence the other streets diverge at right angles, like the 
costal o£Siets of a skeleton. This city is distinguished in the 
CathoKc world for originating the. abominable story of St. 
Oatherine. This woman was a dyer's daughter ; and her 


iatlier's lioiise, in \vliich she lived, is still standing in the 
Costa de' Tiiitori. Here it was, as the blasphemous lejrend 
jxoc s, that this saint received in secret the nightly visits of 
the Son of(iod,as her lover, in her bed-chamber, who, after a 
courtship of several years, espoused her. This celebrated 
event is said to have taken j)lace about the year 13G7. Her 
divine lover j^ave her a rich diamond ring, and invited his 
mother, the X'irgin Mary, St. Peter, St. John, and St. 
Dominick, to witness the ceremony ; and kinij David was 
ordered from heaven to play the harp — a group which the 
stnmger will see re])resented in an altar-piece in the Cathedral 
hejv, by the pencil of Dandini. The traveller will readily 
recognise the lioiise by the inscription over the door: D. cat. 
.KDEs sACR.i:. In one part they shew the kitchen, with its 
pristine utensils and furniture : the shop, again, of her father 
is converted into a chapel, adorned with paintings; the one 
representing Christ's visit to St. Catherine is by 11 Sodonia, 
her Deatli is by Pacchiarotti, St. Catlierine curing one sick 
is by Vanni, and another of her miracles is from the hand of 
Huonaventura. There is anotlier painting of a Pope pre- 
senting something sent her from heaven, by Conca. To see 
her bed-chamber, and the window through which Christ 
])rivately entered, it is necessary to get to the ])ottoni of the 
Vicolo del Trapaso. Vou ascend ])y steps to a vestibule, tlie 
ceiling of which is painted in azure, and spangled with stars 
of gold, ovei' which you read : 

M'ost:. xi'i. KrniT.t. domls. 
(Sposii! Cliristi Kiiterinx Domus.) 

TuE Cathedral is reckoned among the finest in Italy. The 
front of it is extremely rich in sculpture: Corinthian columns 
of variously coloured marbles are clustered together in sheaves 
of infinite beauty ; others, again, run up in spiral shafts. On 
each side of the middle porch you see two antique columns 
of florid sculpture, like those at Pisa, which were brought 
from Egypt, and thought by some to have belonged to Solo- 
mon's Temple : there are two corresponding ones within. 
The pavement of this church is remarkable, being laid out 


in deeigDB, ehaded simply in black and grey marble. These 
represent different events in Scripture history, as the sacrifice 
of Abraham, the passage of the Israelites across the Red 
Sea, with the Phrygian, Tiburtine, Samian, and Helespontine 

The high altar is of most beautiful Siena marble, oma-» 
mented with statues of angels in bronze^ by pupils of Michael 
Angelo ; behind which there is a fine Assumption of the 
Virgin, painted by Cesi, of the school of Guido. The frescos 
in the choir are by Beccafumi. The Chapel of the Holy 
Virgin, erected at the expense of the Cbigi family, contains a 
miracle-working image of her holiness ; it is concealed from 
profiine gaze by a monogram : four gilt bronze angels, by 
Bernini, sustain the wondrous portraiture, and it is framed in 
an immense slab of lapis lazuli. Here, also, we see four fine 
statues in marble ; the St. Jerome and the Magdalen are 
by the masterly chisel of Bernini. Over one of the side 
altars we observe a beautiful painting of the Visitation, by 
Carlo Maratta ; and on the one opposite, a charming mosaic 
copy of the Flight into Egypt, from a painting by the same 
excellent master. The Holy Family are represented at the 
moment of crossing a little stream : Mary is giving the infant 
Jesus to Joseph, who stands in the water, and the rippling 
streamlet laves his feet : four angels hover over the holy 
groap, as guardians of their way. Eight composite columns 
of beautiful Cipolino divide the statuary and paintings, and 
the whole is shut in by a handsome bronze gate, supported 
on each side by a Corinthian column of Siena marble. Facing 
this beautiful chapel is the Library, better known as the 
Camera di Raphablb, from its containing the seven cele- 
brated frescos designed by this illustrious artist. Six of these 
were coloured by Pinturicchio, and the seventh by Raphael 
himself, wherein he has introduced his own portrait riding 
on a dark-chestnut horse. Four relate to events in the life of 
MneBA Silvius Picolomini ; the other three, to those of Pope. 
Pius the Second. In that in which Pius is canonisiag St, 
Catherine, Raphael has introduced his own portrait as a 
young man ; and in another next to this, where the same 


Pope is represented retaining from an expedition against the 
Turksy Raphael again introduces himself as a boy. The 
frescos in this camera are in the highest presenration of any 
in Italy. It is in this chamber, also, that the traveller will 
find the well-known group of the Graces, so justly reputed a 
ehef-d^ceuvre of ancient Greece : they were found in digging 
the foundations of the dome. These gracefiil, elegant, almost 
lascivious figures formerly stood in the sacristy, in whose 
naked presence the priest was wont to prepare himself 
'for mass ! Before quitting this sanctuary <^ chefs^auvrtj 
let the traveller cast a glance on the tomb of the illus- 
trious Mascagni. The door of the library was scnIpUired 
by the scholars of Michael Angelo, as was likewise a chapd 
to the left of it. The tomb of Archbishop Pieolomineas 
is immediately adjoining, on which we observe two Akobls, 
i^nd Christ holdinq his Cross, by the chisel of Bnonarotti 

The ceiling of this church is painted in azure, and speckled 
with stars of gold : the cupola rises majestically from the 
centre of the edifice, sustained on beautiful columns of black 
and white marble, and busts of all the Popes are ranged 
around the whole of the interior. Each of the altars is sap- 
ported by two Corinthian columns of choice Kena marUe, 
and adorned with paintings by some of the first masters. 
Note, among others, St. Bsrvard prbaohing, by the ener- 
getic pencil of II Calabrese ; in the opposite transept remark 
the CoKVBRSiOK OF St. Ansaro, by Vanni ; observe, also, a 
richly toned painting, by Pietro Sorvi, of the Adoration ov 
THE Magi, and, what I have already mentioned, the Mar« 
RiAQB OF St. Cathbrinb, by Pietro Dandini. Among the 
precious relics which this cathedral contains, the most holy 
is the arm of St. John, with which he baptised our Saviour 
in the Jordan : they also pretend to shew the sword with 
which St. Peter cut off Malchus*s ear. 

Near the Church of the Cordeliers they point out a tree 
said to have sprung from the staff of St. Francis, who, 
coming to Siena to settle some disputation, stuck his stick 
into the ground, when it forthwith took root and shot up 


a goodly tree, thus proving, by the miracle, th§ divinity of 
his mission. Before the traveller quits this city, let him 
visit an ancient edifice called Rocca Bruna, said to be older 
than the vulgar era, as well as the suspended arch in the 
Grand Piazza, which apparently rests upon nothing. It is 
the work of Balthasar, a Sienese architect, and is reckoned a 
wonder of art. 

Siena is subject to earthquakes ; and some of the springs 
are tepid, sulphureous, and aperient. The air here is pure, but 
keen : in summer it is pleasant and cool, but exposed to the 
mistral, especially in spring ; and every one has heard of the 
celebrity of this city for the perfect purity with which Italian 
is spoken. I attended a sermon in the cathedral, antl was 
delighted both with the language and the graceful animation 
and delivery of the preacher. With such eloquent advocates^ 
no wonder I could not help thinking that stories equally 
horrible as even that of St. Catherine should come to be 
believed. Siena prides itself in giving seven popes and 
several saints to the Romish church : the celebrated anato- 
mist, Mascagni, was a native of this place ; so was St. Ber- 
nard, and St. Catherine, the spouse of Jesus Christ, and the 
fiimous schismatic Socinus, the founder of the sect now 
called Unitarians. 

I%e Maremma di Siena is an unhealthy marsh, which 
extends about thirty miles to the south along the coast. In 
ancient times this plain was covered with towns and villas, 
and now is one vast marshy desert. Agues and the ** pancia 
piena," formed by. enlargements and indurations of the liver 
and spleen, are, consequently, the endemics of the soil. 

After visiting the Prato della Lizza, the Citadel, and the 
Theatre, I took the road towards Rome. The evening previous 
I went to the theatre ; the farce was of a Jeremy Diddler cast ; 
and, by way of a spree, I tried the character on myself, but it 
would not fit. The waiter of the inn had told me that noble- 
men and strangers paid the double of what the inhabitants 
did : having learned what the latter sum was, I walked boldly 
in, put down the plebeian rate, thinking to diddle the door- 
keeper ; but it was no go — Cerberus was awake ! 


The route to Rome lies through Buonconvento, famous^ 
or rather iniauious, in history, for the poisoning of the Em- 
peror Henry the Seventh, by a monk in administering the 
saeranient to him. Before coming to Torrinieri, the geolo- 
gi>t cannot liclj) Ijeinjj: struck with tlie immense track of blue 
dav which bliews itself to the left of the road: it is cracked 
into yawning tissures, wliich expose its great thickness ; and 
from characters which l)ecame more legible every step I 
aihanced, I had no doubt but such had [)eeu vomited up 
by an eartlupiake. The country has a sterile and inhos- 
pital)le aspect all the way from J^iena to Ricorsi, where I 
slept on the second evening:. In this neiirhbourhood are the 
casciule and baths t>f ir^an rili])pi. They are situated on a 
ujountain about thiee miles from the post-house of Ricorsi, 
anil I took them in mv wav to Ivadicofani next morninir. 
As you approach you see the cascade tumbling down a pre- 
cipict\ in a milk-white smoking stream, over stalactitic rocks 
oi' its own fornuition. These assume, in ditf'erent places, 
beautiful fantastic ibrms, and tlie weeds by the side of tiie 
inlpt*tuou^ tonvnt steal a coating of calcareous earth as it 
rushes bv, thus reseniljlinu: icicles uf urass-piles bv the bor- 
dei's of a fro/en waterfall. The water is steaming hot, 
anil contains abundance of lime in solution and suspension, 
white as arragonite, together with sulphuretted hydrogen, 
magnesia, and iron. Besides the natural medicated baths, 
there is a mamifactory here of sulphur, and of those beau- 
tiful medallions known in the cabinets throughout all Europe, 
under the direction of, and belonging to, the physician of 
this wild district, J^ignor (iaetano Rim])ici. These medallions 
are made by placing sulphur-moulds in a reservoir; and 
when thi' deposition from the water is thick enough, they 
are taken out, the moulds are broken oti', and the impression 
renuiins. I bouiiht two excellent likenesses of his Grace of 
Wellington, when IManpiis ; and as Rimpici and 1 parted 
like old, though short, acquaintances, he was polite enough 
to present me with a (lalileo as a sourcNir. Above the 
baths, which, bv the way, are wretched enou*::h, without 
ditparajiiuij: their etiicacv, vuu see the i)laces where the water 


springB out frnm the bowels of the mountain. It is called 
Moute Fiore^ from whichy it is said, in stormy weather sub* 
terranean noises issue. Descending again to the main road, 
yon ci'oss a bridge, and begin to ascend the high and steep 
mountain of Radicofani. On gaining the summit, I was 
agreeably surprised to find blocks of lava strewed on all 
Sides. It is chiefly of a reddish colour, hard, compact, 
lithoidal, and speckled with minute grains of mica. The 
mountain terminates in a cone, with the tip, as it were, 
broken off: here you find the crater of an extinct volcano, 
containing water at an astonishing high level above the sur* 
rounding country. At the upper part of the base of the 
cone I picked up lava of a vesicular, cineritious nature, and 
this, with the crater and the hot sulphureous waters of San 
Pilippi, tend to confirm the conjecture I hazarded, of the 
blue clay in the distance being the product of a volcanic 
phenomenon. The volcano of Radicofani had continued 
active, it would seem, but for a short period — one hiccup 
probably, and no more — enough to knock its bonnet off; 
while the intestine grumblings of Monte Fiore, and the 
earthquakes occasionally felt at Siena, would indicate that 
the combustion below was still at work, and, had it water 
sufficient to supply its thirst, might one day force the barriers 
which confine it, to revel like an unchained maniac in de- 
structive violence. The road now having attained the ridge 
of the mountain, begins immediately to wind down to its 
foot, in the same rapid manner it had climbed over its 
shoulder. Three miles from this you cross the Vela, which, 
a bow-shot below the ford, loses itself in the Paglia. This 
rivulet forms the boundary between the Tuscan territories 
and the patrimony of St. Peter : a short step farther, and 
you come to the custom-house of the papal frontier at Cen- 
tino, where the traveller s passport and baggage are exa- 
mined. The country now assumes a less uncouth and barren 
appearancci the road traversing the valley of the Paglia, 
which you cross by a bridge four miles from Centino. Pitiful 
as this bridge is, it has no fewer than four tablets on it, to 
inform the traveller that it has been repaired by as many 


munificont potentates. Fanciful and puerile, indeed, I could 
not help thinking, must have heen that " longing after im- 
mortality/* which could dictate on so paltry a structure — 

" i»ri:TU(^ I.I oi'oi.Do magno r.TRi riaf duce." 

Wearied, 1 sat down on its parapet to rest myself, and 
forgot, in the reverie 1 sunk into, how speedily the inaudible 
foot of Time steals on : the top of Radicofani had lost its 
gilding : that blunted cone, wliich formerly had shone as a 
beacon in the night, supplying the materials of its com- 
l^ustion from its own bowels, was now shadowed under a 
mantle of dusky clouds, which, warning me of the danger 
of late marching alone in so lawless a country, hurried me 
u|) the op})osite steep to Aquapendente. 

AciiAPENnKNTE, SO Called from a little cascade which 
falls in its vicinity, has all the appearance of a town that had 
drank of the nightshade ; its houses crumbling into ruins, 
its streets deserted — where beggary alone stalks about in all 
its s(pialid wretchedness, and poverty in all its filth. What 
a contrast with the neatness and comfort which pervades the 
Tuscan states! where, though the power of the prince is as 
despotic as the ])apal edict, yet, being hereditary, he treats 
his p(H)])le as the progeny of his family; while each succes- 
sive pope, a mere being of a day, having no prospective in- 
terest in the welfare of the peo])le he governs, thinks only of 
enriching himself at their expense, and hands them over to 
his successor in a worse condition than he found them. This 
town is the birth-place of the well-known Fabricius, who 
took its name as his cognomen. It possesses no object of 
curiosity ; and unless it were that my worthy landlord 
appeared to covet strongly my walking shoes — and which I 
ani now sorry I did not give him, for they came to a worse 
end — I know of nothing else which reminds me of the ])lace. 
The rock about Aquapendente is of a volcanic character, 
and, if named for its resemblances, might be designated 
stratified volcanic sandstone. That which is not consolidatc^d 
is light and pulverulent, arising apparently from the passage 


ibrmerly of hot vapoiirs through it, giving it the commotion 
of fermentation, which, by commixing materials of different 
colours and consistence together, gives it a spongy texture, and 
consequently a small specific gravity. Five miles from Aqua- 
pendente we come to San Lorenzo Nuovo. On the way the 
volcanic stone puts on the resemblance of indurated clay, of 
a light flesh-red colour, some of which is vesicular. 

From San Lorenzo you first get a view of the beautiful 
lake of Bolsena. On surveying the circular expanse of water 
befi>re yon, and the range of hills which encompass it, what 
a grand idea it gives of the majesty of nature, to conceive 
that this was once the spacious cauldron of a volcano ! an 
idea confirmed by the volcanic debris in the distance, which 
leads the traveller to the centre of action, only to have it 
impressed on his conviction by more unquestionable pheno- 
mena. On its now-tranquil bosom the two islands of Mar- 
tana and Presentina seem as it were to float. It was to the 
first of these that the unfortunate Amalazonte, daughter of 
Theodoric, king of the Goths, and one of the most eloquent 
women of her age, was banished, and afterwards strangled, 
by the orders of her ungrateful cousin, Theodatus, whom she 
bad associated in the government. It is here, also, that 
the seignors of the princely house of Famese lie interred — a 
fiimily now merged in the royal house of Naples. The road 
winds down to thie margin of the lake, and on each side the 
traveller may perceive the charred trunks of trees lying by 
the wayside. These are all that remain of the ancient forest 
sacred to Juno. Formerly it was the retreat and fastness of 
banditti, in the recesses of which they defied pursuit, and 
committed every sort of atrocity with impunity, until Bona- 
parte, at the time when he overran Italy, unable to ex- 
terminate them by other means, set the whole forest on 
fire. Seven miles from San Lorenzo lies the town which 
gives its name to the lake — Bolsena. This little town, the 
ancient Volcinium, is remarkable, in the history of Catho- 
licism, for giving rise to one of the greatest festivals in the 
Romish church. A priest, whilst saying mass, conceived a 
doubt of the reality of the transubstantiation : in an instant. 


saith tbe legend, sorrowfal and wounded by the impious 
scepticiBm, the consecrated wafer wept Mood ; in memoiy of 
which great miracle, Urban the Fourth instituted the festiTal 
•of Corpus Christi, and of which Raphael has further perpe^ 
tuated the remembrance, in a beautiful fresco-painting in the 
Vatican. Past Bolsena jou find detached columns of basalt 
lying along, and at a little distance from, the road, which 
have fallen from a cluster you see to the left, shooting out of 
the rock in the manner of the pruned stem of the palm-tree. 
All around there is nothing but volcanic products, some per- 
fect, some in a state of decomposition ; and the soil which 
this forms by the edge of the water is extremely rich and 
fertile. I sat down on a pentagonal column of basalt to nest 
myself; the wind blew across the lake, and threw up the 
water in rippling waves, cresting their heads with firothing 
snow-white air-bells: how different, methought, is sacfa 
peaceiul agitation from the same abyss when filled with 
matter in a state of red-hot fusion, shaded by the dense fumes 
which rose from a molten ocean of liquid lava — a blood-red 
sun looking on the while, broiled by the intensity of the heat, 
and blushing at his eclipsed splendour! What a glorious 
sight it must have been, I thought, to have seen the sides of 
this immense cauldron give way; to have beheld the ele- 
mental war betwixt earth, fire, and water ; . the throes of the 
one, the fuming of the other, the hissing ^f the third ; the 
cracking of the outer crust, the crash of the fall, and the 
demoniacal yell of some chained Moloch, writhing under the 
torments of such a conflict ! But, reader, such sublime 
strophes as these happen only in ages when man, timid 
his fellow-brute, flies from, rather than remains to witness, 
parturient Nature brought to bed of a mouse. That this 
Tartarean scene must have occurred, the parched tongue of 
every volcanic cinder declares, though the event distances 
the retrospective view of the remotest tradition. The lake 
is ten miles across, and the circle of hills which surrounds 
it, had formed merely the base of the volcano. This will 
convey some idea of the original height of the volcanic moun* 
tain itself before its walls fell in and extinguished it, and 

I « 


aoooont for the appearance of the yolcanic dost, novr con- 
solidated in various shapes, which it had thrown all around 
in the distance. As the road quits the skirts of the lake, it 
begins to ascend to Montefiascone. On the left you pass a 
broad stream of petrosilicious lava, with its inclination dip* 
fing towards the water. The naturalist can readily perceive 
that there are several strata of it, apparently formed by the 
falling back of the fused matter, when the projectile force was 
not strong enough to throw it over the edge of the crater. 
Higher up, you again come in contact with lava, covered by 
lime burnt to a matter resembling old dry mortar, over 
which an impure sandy-like matter lies in layers of different 
colours and thickness, together with gravel formed of decom- 
posed lava: the sandy-like matter, indeed, is the same sub- 
stance, only in a state of greater comminution — a proof, in 
the absence of other tradition, of the antiquity of the period 
when this volcano was in activity ; for all know how many 
agea it requires before lava suffers decomposition. 

I had spent so much time by the lake side, that it was 
late when I arrived at Montsfiascome. I hung out at an inn 
outside of the walls of the town ; and whilst waiting until 
supper was ready, I occupied myself in wrapping up in paper 
the different volcanic specimens I had collected. And here 
a ridiculous-enough incident occurred. The waiter was an 
inquisitive fellow, and b^an to question me about their use 
and value. A little good-nature is requisite every where, 
and to none is it more than to a pedestrian traveller ; so 
I said that the stones he saw had told me the past history 
of his country ; for there are stones that speak, added I, un- 
wittingly, not caring to be further interrupted by his idle 
prating. Unconscious of the figurative language I had used, 
or of the literal sense into which it was to be construed, 
guess, then, my surprise, when the whole household, with 
die waiter at their head, came in a body to consult me con- 
cerning a hidden treasure. The father, it seems, of the pre- 
sent landlord had died some time ago ; and although known 
to have possessed monies of different descriptions, none could be 
found after his decease ; and the purport of their corporate visit 


was, that I should give a specimen of my art by interrogatin<x 
the stone-Avalls whei'e thi^ pelf was thougiit to be concealed. 
Not exactly wishinLr to ])e had np before his holiness as one 
in such intimate comnnmion with his worship the devil, I was 
fain to explain myself as well as I could out of the dilemma 
mv uiducky trope had ])laced me in. The supper was in- 
difierent ; but, to make amends, I had an excellent bottle of 
the celebrated triple ./:.s7 wine. This wine fjcot its name, as 
th(* reader mav know, from the followinji: trasri-comic circum- 
Stance. A certain (jlerman bishop, whenever he travelled, 
had a ])ractice of sending' his servant on before him to taste 
the wines of the dillerent inns lie had to pass in his route ; and 
whenever he should meet with one more than ordinarily 
^(jod, lie was directed to write in chalk over the door, as a 
guide to his reverence, the Latin word ^* Est," meaning 
honnnt est, Arrivinix nt Montetiascone, this bacchanalian 
((r<nif'('(n(rier found the wiiui so delicious, that he wTote the 
cabalistic word thrice over the door, as a sitrn for his master 
to iditiht. This the reverend father did ; and beinc: of the 
same opinion witli his servant, he drank of it so copiously, 
that lie died on the spot. 1I(* was buried in the subterranean 
pai't of the ancient church of San Flaviano, in front of the 
altar. This church is about forty paces to the left of the road, 
facing* th(! ixate ])v which you enter the town. You descend 
by a lliglit of steps to the lower chapel, where the tombstone, 
which was ])lac(Ml over his body by his faithful servant, is 
still in existence : on it you se(; engraved a full-length portrait 
of this priest of J^acchus, with his mitre on, graced on each 
side Avith his arms and two drinking- cups. Over all, you 
read the following epitaph : 

1>'I, r--I, IM", I'll I'. N IM.* 

1^1, nil lo. I). 1 v(;. Do.f 

MI l>« MOIiri I > 1>1. 

To perpetuate both his memory and the event, this faithful 
and affectionate domestic fountled, with the goods of his 
master, an annual ceremony, now discontimied, ofemi)tying 

* Prophr nimiiini . \ Dontiruis. 


two batts of wine over his grave on the first Tuesday after 
Pentecost : the fond has been appropriated to the benefit of 
the poor. Mine host, in narrating the storj, pretended 
that the event actually happened in his house, and that the 
sign of his ancestors was the goodly figure of the bishop, with 
the words est, bst, bst, as an inscription beneath — a name 
given to the wine even to this day. 

When you have passed Montefiascone, yon get a view of 
Viterbo in the distance. Descending for about four miles 
and a half, you reach a hollow by a gently inclined plain, 
into which streams of lava accompany you ; and as you 
ascend from it, you again meet other sheets of lava, falling in 
a direction opposite to the preceding — circumstances which 
would indicate that this spot also had formerly been the 
centre of some eruptive action, marking out the grave of a 
volcano that had died of convulsions, and torn itself to pieces 
in the struggle. Where, you ask, is its skeleton ? — Crumbled 
into dust by the comminuting fingers of Time, and by his 
breath scattered about on the surrounding level, of which no 
other vestige remains save the hollow shallow cone from 
which we have just emerged. 

Three miles farther, and within as many of Viterbo, lies 
the little lake of Solfatara. The traveller will find it about 
fifty paces to the right of the road, and close by a building in 
ruins. Its surface presents the appearance of a large cauldron 
of boiling water, from which air-bells continually ascend in 
rapid and tumultuous succession ; and the peculiar smell 
which seizes on the nostrils at once declares its chemical 
nature. As I approached the brink, a large piece of lava, 
which I held with the intention of throwing it into the 
boiling vortex, accidentally dropped out of my hand, and 
the sound it produced as it fell, gave me warning of the 
hollow footing I stood upon. When got to the edge, where 
the water bubbled up freely, I cautiously put in the tip of 
my finger, and was not a little surprised and disappointed, 
relying on the accounts I had read in guide-books, to find it 
of the ordinary temperature. On taking some of it into my 
mouth, I found it tasted strongly of sulphuretted hydrogen. 


joined with a very sensible acidity, owing, probably, to some 
admixture of sul[)liiireoiis acid. Various ingenious conjec- 
tures might l)e hazarded of the origin of tliis gaseous ebulli- 
tion ; but, without entering into any recondite and dubious 
surmise*^, of no earthly account, let us rather solve them at 
once in a moi'e rational and feasible manner, bv dare-savinjr 
they j)rocee(led from some of Lucifer's acquaintance quietly- 
smoking a cigar. (Jur friend Moloch may have shifted to 
cooler (juarters, and may thus anuise himself, as he re- 
counts to his vinificuvrt'Oinnes companions the catastrophe of 

The voK'anic ashes and dust that form the entire soil of 
the plain on the ])0]*(ler of which \'iterbo is situated, are of a 
very scoi-itird cliaracter, chiefly soot-black with white specks 
of calcined leucites. A short hour now brought me to Viterbo, 
a city famtnl for possessing the incorruptii)le body of Santa 
Rosa. Von enter \ iter])o by a gate of the Doric order, 
erected I)y Pope Clement XIII., who was a native of this 
])lace. Santa Rosa is its })atron, and the church, which is 
endowed with lier innnortal inumniy, is situated at the top 
of the \ ia Santa Rosa, annexed to a convent of the same 
name. The tomb is to the right of the grand altar, enclosed 
by an iron giating. The body reposes in a richly chased 
sarco[)hagus of gilt silver. On drawing near, a very pretty 
nun, whose countenance beamed with the most amiable 
sweetness, asked me if 1 wished to sec the body — tlie cor- 
ruptible lliat had put on incorruption, even on earth. On 
replying in the affirmative, she obligingly unfolded the doors, 
and 1 knelt before the grate, whilst a crowd of nmmbling old 
women j)i'essed anxiously forward, uttering their aves. The 
face of the saint is of a beseeming mummy brown ; every 
thing about her is extremely decorous, and altogether the 
entire keeping of this pious farce is very well sustained. Not 
being allowed to api)roach nearer than the grating, I cannot 
say whether the body be actually embalmed, or merely an 
adult image ; but tliere is no doubt that the face is a mask 
— a lamitum fuinis — for no feature is in the least shrunk, nor 
do any wrinkles meander on her brow ; but tlie whole outer 


integament is screwed up to a d^ree of tension, as if kept 
on the stretch by antagonist muscles. Like the Scottish 
emblem, the thistle, her body cannot be touched with im- 
punity. Ere I left the grate, the kind-hearted nun presented 
me with a cord of white cotton, the exact length of the saint's 
body, which had been imbued with a portion of the essence of 
her incorruptible body, with directions that I would wear it 
round my arm as a talisman or safeguard against the devil and 
all his works — a gift which I accepted with sincere gratitude ; 
for whatever doubts may be entertained of its efficiency, there 
can be none of the benevolence of the amiable donor. 

As I sat by the kitchen fire of the inn in the evening, seeing 
my supper prepared, I began, as usual, to converse right and 
left with those about me ; and, as our chat was of Santa Rosa, 
I picked up the following little particulars concerning her. 
They are obliged to cut her nails and change her chemise 
once a week, and, during hot weather, the body is vulgar 
enough to perspire. A French officer, in a sceptical mood, 
cut Santa Rosa's finger, when, miraculous to tell, it bled, 
and the infidel was of course converted : by putting money 
to the wound, the bleeding stopped. Of the latter part of the 
miracle I think there can be no doubt ; for money has before 
now stanched more wounds than this. As the late Pope 
Pius the Seventh passed through Viterbo, in his way to 
France, a state prisoner, he paid a visit to this holy shrine, 
when, in the presence of a great multitude, who still live to 
bear witness to the fact, Santa Rosa stretched out her hand 
to his holiness : he took the diamond ring off his finger, and 
put it on that of the saint's ; and as she drew it back to her 
breast, she was seen to weep tears of gratitude. Santa Rosa 
is no bad hand at the chisel and trowel. When the French 
entered Viterbo, during their devastating career over Europe, 
these profane conquerors caused her name over the principal 
gate of the town to be erased ; next day the venerated letters 
were as l^ble as ever. To obliterate more effectually th6 
inscription, they demolished that part of the wall, but all to 
no purpose ; for by next morning an invisible hand had 
built the whole up again ! 

I'll : VKi^ . r v.. o — K3\CI<^L10NE MONTEROSl. 

- !-• ty.:::i/'H'i in ilie cathedral of Viterbo.*' 
: v:. ■ V a:i'-t'..Lr sue, uho of the Doric order, 
V :; -:.;:'>j *:!'i:f patron saint, supported on eacli 

Tiurj are natural hot baths near 

1 * 

X h k t i. t t 

^^^^^^. I :t_:\: I ilid n».-t \is:t. 

. s V 

, , X ♦ 

k 1 4 , V 

1 . 

V. :.: y .'.-r^' v. u i.-e- r. 1 f-r about six miles. On 
:. :_ r\ >:.::.:*, ilu- t'\e Kills into the placid-looking 
. t \ ... 1- is ' !aoi«l ::: a eireular vallev to the riirht : 
. ' : : \ . v. -t < :'..: v \: jc < f the Aptnnines, and at your 
.1 -^ •...'■ > :'.,.::.. v ;:!l a rt ^ f of rocks abruptly pro- 
•...■.., :' :.. :•- ^ \:'t,. iL':- i- ilie ancient ]\Iount Soracte. 
i'L :',.i - :/.x.: _ «.!. '^:. .^:" :i;e c.^'inrrv before vou, \ ico seems 
:> !..^t \ t . -:v:..*. 1 on tl.e o:;:-kiits of the ixt'neral coni- 
V e, li •• ../. n: ■;::.:. :ho ba^e of which stands on a 
\\ •'.; ::;r !..\t\ ;>; |.> ;vs ;.- if it Iiad ])een deserted by the 
.•...■• _ _:\ ;.; ! ; -.'.i : ^ i ^liieb lieconies more a])parent 
' li- ^ li'ii K'./. i fi'^Hi the I'lain between Roiici- 
_i ^ ^v -Vvi ^^-^ r^.v-'.. r. ^:-<- > a \auue tradition of a town 
!.;i\::.: - '.:.k r.. 'v n ;:.:o '!.e i.ike i-f \ ico, and of its walls 
ih:.^ -::.. V.-. -le .:i tlu In*;!, in >\]ien the weather is clear 
: •. .! :■ e ^^ . Tor r.iinr/rlt J< : lut this I re^iard as a contc bleu, 
l:kv- : ' ^:'.\ ot'u"-- T>re\.;unT of 

^ v^u r.ow vi.-v'i'.mI Uv :\]\'\\i ten miles to Konci-jlione, a 
{ '\\:\ 111 a >:.;:e of e^^vu ::u d. si:\:lon:u'v wretoliedness ; where 
pal,'.v\> ;;:\' taniMiii^- 1:1:0 n;LH-. or uninhabited, or occupied 
b\ (lu^ lo\M>i and nio-t iv.i-i ra-le of s-eirtv. The houses are 
oon^^tnu-lid ehiill\ of \ole:inie mate'ial-, and supporting; the 
porfu'o of a bv»u>r 1 ob-er\ed two handsome Doric cohunns 
ot iM-ahif la\a. At .Mo:itrro>i there is a siiiall lake of threat 
ilipib, i!ii' roruiaiiou and wreck of s.nne volcanic convulsion. 
All tln> i>ari of the counti'v i> rxtrtinelv unhealthv in summer, 
MitKria^- untler the virulence o( remittent and intermittent 
t'cNers, aeconinanii^l witli a strong' intiannnatorv tendency to 
t'.ie brain. 'llu* route between Abniterosi and F^accano 
pui'-ues an inelini'd jdain. It is pnit of the ancient Flami- 
nian wav, \> hich is ba^^inl a foot or two under the surface, on 

' 'olm \\I.. Al. \.ii'<h'i I \ .. A-Iii.iii \ ., .111(1 IW 


sheets of lava of so hard a texture that they form mill-stonesf 
of it : to the left there is a mountain composed of lava so 
thoroughly vitrified as to resemble exactly the cinders from 
a smith*s forge. Five miles from Monterosi the road leads 
over a ridge of hills, and thai descends into the plain of 
Baccano. This is a circular basin, so perfectly r^ular that it 
would seem as if the moon had slept here for a night, and 
left her form behind, marking the very spot where the prude 
Diana slily embraced the sleeping Endymion. But, if fiancy 
be not permitted her conjecture, facts must then prosaically 
pronounce it another crater of an exhausted volcano. It is 
about a mile in diameter, edged by a low ridge of hills all 
nearly of the same height, and before the water was drained 
off, it was occupied by a swampy marsh. Emerging from 
this basin, and scaling the rampart of little hills which hems 
it in, you now get a first view of the majestic cupola of St. 
Peter's peering over the intervening heights, distant seventeen 
miles. The volcanic soil does not leave you in the inter- 
mediate space : you find it at II Fosso in the form of volcanic 
clay, variegated with white and brown specks ; you follow it 
up to the post-house at La Storta, and you distinctly trace it 
three miles and a half from Rome, disposed in strata of 
varying thickness. In some places this clay becomes so 
indistinct in its character, that you only know it to be the 
same from having traced it from a spot where there could be 
no doubt of its volcanic nature ; but time and the amalga* 
mating hand of accident and industry have so blended its 
features together, as to be alone cognisable by its nicer re* 
lations and affinities. At the five-mile-stone you meet with 
the first antique remain : it is a massive sarcophagus, with a 
Pegasus sculptured on one of its sides, said to be the tomb of 
P. Vibius Marianus. The traveller shortly afterwards crosses 
the Tiber by the Milvian bridge. It was here that Constan- 
tine engaged with and defeated Maxentius, when the vision 
of the signum salutare appeared to him in the air, prognostic 
of his victory. This bridge was built by the censor Scaurus, 
in flying across which the tyrant Maxentius was drowned. 
At the farther extremity you find two statues ; one of 


w:.:o:, rvr^e^e^t^ the ^'IRGI^ Dianafied, but with this diffei'- 
tnot. il.a*. o.f the Diana of ai;cient polytheism wore the em- 
llt:!:i !\-::.i-::*v, a ortM.\'iit m on, on her forehead, the Diana 
of !:; .:tr:i ra^'a!::-m. on trie coiurary, trample? it under her 
ftv:. Fr?in :h> ihe ^'ia F'.an.ii.ia leads straipfht to Rome. 
V:;: e:;:tr : v t'::e P.rta del Popolo, where the statues of St. 
Ty::::-; a:: A "^r. Pail, on tirher side of the porch, stand to 
^:\t : ::.e srrAr.^-er's arri\al. St. Peter is ba^ylintr as lustily as 
if i.o wt re :'.:c c::i.n:;n rown-orier, while, pointing to a book 
^^!l'.v:; lie 1; 1 .s in liai.d. he proclaims the glorious truths 
vf ri.e li« s: t' : : :;: in such a place, and amouLT such a 
ivor'.o. ti.c ::ua:.i::j: is lost — it is a voice merelv crvinp: ia 
a ^^ iivU :':uss. ** Make st''ai_:ht the F/'zinifild/i wav I " 


Aral car. :lrs 1\ K nie .' No, it is but its corse. Cam- 
i\i:iia is i:> tv :rl'. a:;<l i:s populace the worms wliich feed on 
:t> cov!- ;r::o:i ' Ti.v 'his iv liomo, the stranirer aLCiiiii cannot 
hv'.o ,-'n::c P^' I '\ailv 1 rtathe the air which the Casars 
>:'.v\^*N N> rh Sv^ T^ar.N icni 'le ciccrees. that caused a suppliant 
NXvv'.o. tv^ N> ^ I p rca:^ v»f I hod. and \^hich popes have for so 
n\/.r.\ a^i> >' liii'.td uitii e^licts of enchantment ? How 
Lirca'.iN IS c\cr\ ti.i'.;^' chaiLTtd I Formerlv tliev adored 
\ iu;i< »':uiv i> -vlav ihcv wvM'siiii) the \ irixin. The Lares 
a'.ul l\r./.;cs take ihc tl'iin of Madonnas, iMau's, and saints: 
the rianMc> haNC only chan«^ed tlieir luune, not their office ; 
piic--t> cunNucd \\'\i]\ laurel are mctcmpsychosed into capu- 
i*hiu> NMih shaven >calps : in lieu of the most exalted and 
aui',u-.t v>f lunuc's olden times, celebratinir the con([uest of the 
»vmK1, drcssod in tloaiing robes o{ purple, glisteidng with 
i^v>Kl, marching in gorgeous prvvession to the soimd of trumpets 
aiul iind>reN, and l>earing statues of Ceres, Juno, or X'enus, 
No\i no\> have processions of bald-pated fiiars chanting au 
,..\. as tiicN luiwk alH>ut a tawdry Paris-])lasler cast of the 
\ n^ui. iov {\w adoration o\l the basest of the ii^norant. 
Instead i>f the troplnes and sj)oils oi Asia, borne in cars 
diawn b\ lions atid leopards, descending in all the pomp and 

ROME — ST. Peter's. 153 

circumstance of majesty from the Capitol^ advancing under 
triumphal arches, attended by captive monarchs, and pre- 
ceded by statues of the immortal great, you now see a string 
of the same greasy group bearing on their shoulders the 
rotten, canonised bones of the cobbler St. Crispin ! How just 
are the lines : 

" Servierant tibi, Roma, prius domini domiaoruin, 
Servorutn servi tibi sunt jam, Roma, tyranni." 

What a change, indeed, from those times when Rome alter- 
nately displayed the most heroic virtues and paraded the most 
atrocious crimes; giving birth to heroes the most exalted, 
and to monsters the most execrable ! On this ground it was 
that Cato censured and Lucullus sinned — where Lesbia 
listened while Catullus sung : every stone conceals some 
precious vestige of antiquity, or associates itself with some 
grand recollection of the past. But it is time to have done 
with such apostrophes and reflections : there is much to do, 
fellow-traveller; therefore, cul rem — let us walk to St. Peter's. 

St. Pbter's. — This magnificent basilica stands on the 
Monte Vaticano, so called, as Varro tells us, from a temple 
which stood here dedicated to Aius Vaticanus, the god who 
presided over the tongues of infants, and taught them to 
pronounce their first words. This hill was formerly beyond 
the boundaries of Latium, and belonged to the territory of 
the Etrurians. The Tiber separates the Monte Vaticano 
from the city, to which it was connected by the Pons Trium- 
phalis, over which victors passed on their entrance into 
Rome ; and its ruins are still to be seen in the river. That 
which you cross in the present day is the Ponte Sant' Angelo, 
&cing the castle of the same name, the ancient tomb of the 
Emperor Hadrian. It was Gregory the Great who changed 
its denomination, in consequence of a vision he pretended to 
see while parading the streets, in grand procession, at a time 
when Rome was desolated by a pestilence. His holiness saw, 
or said, or thought he saw, an angel perched on the pinnacle 
of the mausoleum, in the act of sheathing a sword ; in 

15 i 110 Mi: — ST. Peter's. 

ineiiK^ry of which protli^y, he placed a colossal statue of the 

nrc'haiiuol Michael on its siuiimit, and called it after the 

circiun>t:incc. Foniicrlv one could count more than seven 

Innidrcd tiuurcs of men and horses on its hattlenients ; but 

they wort- all broken to j)ieces ])y the soldiers of Belisarius, in 

rcpuUinir the assaults of the (xoths when thev hesieu'ed tliis 

f(uircss. It was ili-mantlcd bv C'onstantine the (jreat, to 

build the aui'icut church of St. Peter, and four and twenty 

heautilul coluuuis were afterwards taken away to adorn the 

clnnch iA' St. Paul. 

The ])i-e-ent chuirh of St. l\^ter stands on the sj)Ot 

occupii'd hy tliat erectiul l)y ( 'on>tantirje to the same apostle. 

It i-- related (>f this iMinuM'or that he worked in disTirinir its 

Ibundniions \\ith his own ham), tilhni:" and carryinj^ away 

no flower than twelve hodsful of earth on his shoulders, in 

honour of St. Peter and the other apostles. 

riie ]>re>ent stupendous ediiice was beifun by Pope Julius 

the StH'oud, and coutiiuuMl l)y his successors, who, upon the 

plans oi' Mieliai^l An^t'lo and ("iacoino Porta, have raised it 

to tliat p')iut of surpassinir excelU'iice and splendour in wdiich 

\N e now M*e It. 

lt< eh'vution i- sur|)ri>lnij.-, beinii' three hundred i^eome- 

trical fe'et, and its length four hundn^d. The <>Tand altar 

stands lieiu'ath the donas mider a ma^niHcent haldacc.hino, 

sustained bv four twisted and richly chased bronze cohnnns, 
. • ' 

and is sumptuous be\ond descri])tion. r>eneath the altar lies 
tlie hody of the faxourite aiu)Sth' of (lirist, where, ni'^ht and 
(lav, numerous lamps shed their softest liuht ; and around 
which ci'oNxds of devotees kneel hi^lore the confessional of 
St. PetiM*, as it is called. It is to this altar that they bear the 
pope alter his election, aiul none but a succe^sol• to the keys 
ever savs mass under its canonv. 

'J'he enormous pillars which support the roof of this grand 
editice are coated with the richest and most heautiful nuir- 
bles, and decorattHl with mosaic copies of some of the finest 
]>aintinL!:s that exist, and several niaij:nitic(!nt tond>s of the 
po])es : the ])aveinent also is wholly composed of ditibrent 
coloured marbles, ^lisjmsed with the t;featest skill and taste. 


The portico of this temple is of the Ionic order, and you 
enter it bj five doors of bronze, of exquisite workmanship, in 
which I remarked Leda and her swan mingling with subjects 
drawn from a holier source. That to the left is the Porta Santa, 
which is opened on the year of the jubilee, a period which 
recurs only once in five and twenty years. This is one of the 
grandest ceremonies in the Romish ritual, when the pope, 
attended by the whole conclave, and in the presence of an 
immense concourse of spectators, goes through the manoeuvre 
of knocking it down with a golden hammer. When de- 
molished in reality by less sacred hands and a ruder tool, 
the public obtain indulgencies by crossing its threshold on 
their knees. 

In front of St. Peter's there is a Piazza of an oval figure, 
surrounded by a colonnade after a plan by Bernini. The 
majestic portico which it forms is surmounted by a balustrade, 
from which the pope gives his benediction to the people on 
Holy Thursday. It is truly a grand sight to behold this 
spacious piazza filled with troops, and the multitude that 
flock from all parts, not only of Italy, but of the catholic 
world, kneeling to receive the blessing of him whom they 
believe to be Vice-God Omnipotent, for so his holiness is 
sometimes styled. In the centre of the piazza there stands a 
lofty obelisk of granite, and on each side a superb jet d'eau, 
from which the water falls into fountains below in cooled and 
ventilated fillets. The height of this prodigious obelisk is 
eighty-one geometrical feet, exclusive of its pedestal, which is 
one-third more. Its faces are ornamented with hierc^lyphics ; 
and tradition says that it was made by Sesostris, son of 
Noncoreus of Alexandria. Fontana, under the pontificate 
and direction of Sixtus the Fifth, was the architect who placed 
it on its pedestal, in doing which, it must be allowed, he per- 
formed a feat so miraculous, that many a saint for performing 
infinitely less has obtained a niche in the calendar. — But it 
is time to re-enter the church. 

Among the many Tombs which adorn its interior, the 
traveller will remark the following : 

The first to the left on entering is that erected to the 

150 ST. Peter's — the tombs. 

last of tlie Stuarts, tlie old and young Pretender, and the 
late Cardinal York. It is by the chisel of Canova, and pre- 
sents a model of chaste and elegant simplicity. Its form 
is Eiryptian. On the uj^per part you perceive the profile 
PoRTJrviTS of the last of this royal race, surmounted by the 
arms of I'jigland ; and below, an inscription, tainted some- 
what, I could not help thinking, w^ith the Jesuitical turn of 
mind of this unfortunate family : 


J A( OBI • 11 • MAGNAE* RHIT* 

lire. IS" I ILIO • 

KAiK.n.o" rnvARDO • 

1 I ■ 111 N r, I( • I>1 < ANO • I'M lU'M • CAUDINAl.llM ' 
J ACOIU • HI • 1 I LI IS • 

iii:(.i vr. • SI inns • si iaudi ae • tosthemis • 

ANNO • Ml)( rCXIX. 

J^eneath this, a door is represented, of the Egyj)tian style of 
architecture, and on each side of the portal an Angel stands 
in a mournful attitude, with an inverted torch* in his hand, 
scul[)tured with faultless beauty. Over the door you read : 


«»)ri • i\ ■ DOMiNu • Mor.irNTrn. 

Opposite to tlie preccHling, wliich is placed against one of the 
])illars of the aislu to the left, you see tue Monument erected 
to Maria Ch'nitnlina So])ieski, wife of James, son of James 
the Second. A Ixautlful statue of a female representing the 
(ij'Nirs ()]• Kti:hnal Lii e suv)j>or(s a mosaic medallion por- 
trait of the i)seudo-(iueen, assisted by an infant genius, under 
whom a curtain of beautifully sti-ijied alabaster falls in graceful 
f(dds, and beneath this, two other genii hold a crown and 
sceptre : annexed to her name you read: 

M • LRllAN ' niANC " El" HIIJEIJN ' RE(ilNA. 

Next observe tue Tomb or Leo XI. and the two iine 

* At funerals, among tlic ancknl Ivoinuns,it was usual to carry the hsccs 
Ml an inverted position — 

" fasces 

\itli versos, indiciunujiie niali." 

ST. Peter's — the tombs. 157 

stataes of Wisdom and Liberalitt, emblems of the qualities 
for which this amiable pontiff was distinguished. The first is 
particularly delicate in the conception, and engagingly sweet 
in the expression. Under such a mild tutoress, who would 
not search after wisdom ? — Facing this is the Tomb of Inko- 
CENT XL A statue of Rbligiok seems to address that of his 
holiness: on the other side Minerva stands, armed with a 
sword and buckler; bas-reliefs, representing battles, orna- 
ment the front of the sarcophagus. The whole is boldly exe- 
cuted, and forms a fine contrast with the, pacific cast of the 
tomb last noticed. Hard by, remark a fine mosaic copy of 
Raphael's Transfiguration. 

Haying crossed the transept, you come to the beautiful 
Monument of Paul III., executed by Delia Porta : it is 
oruamented with two statues ; one of Virtue, in the figure 
of an old woman — a negative sort of type, by the way; the 
other of Immortality. This last is personified by one of the 
loveliest forms that ever perhaps was sculptured. In her 
right hand the embodied essence of eternity holds the symbol 
of the soul ; in her left, the key that opens to another world. 
Her countenance is illuminated with the noblest and sweetest 
expression that eye ever adored. Her figure lies stretched 
in an attitude too dangerous for innocence long to contem- 
plate with impunity; and, though the body be clothed in 
cold bronze, yet those limbs are uncovered, and alas ! they 
even are too beauteous to gaze upon ! 

It is told that this beautiful statue was clothed in 
bronze on account of a certain Spaniard £dling in love with 
it.* So, Pygmalion, your lovely bride can no longer pride 
herself on an anomaly, save in being less obdurate ; yet 
Hohenlohe may one day remove even this chasm in the 

In the transept to the right observe the finest mosaic 
painting in the church : it is a copy of Guercino's Apo- 

* Pliny relates a somewhat similar story of a Roman knight who fell in 
love with one of the Thespiades, — statues executed by the sculptor of the 
V^enus, Cleomenes, and brought to Rome by Mummius, after the taking of 


iinosi> OF Sr. PiMRONiLLA, wliicli is in the arallerv of the 

Nrxt oli'-erve the Tomb of Clement XIIL ; it is hv 
(':uuna. Ahovo you soo the Statue of the pope kneeling on 
a cMiriliK^n, and his foatures, which are hfe itself, depict the 
nio-^t (h'vout and fervid piety. Below, hy the side of the 
>aroo|)hauii<, stands Ueli(;iox with a lion crouching at her 
icc\, and a cross in lier right hand. Her position is expres- 
Mvo oi' inulanntod iinnness and courage ; her countenance, 
the holdno<s and consciousnoss of truth : the drapery of the 
siaiuc i- ca^-t with a grandeur of simplicit}^ in fine keeping 
with the cluiracttM- of a faith that ought to disdain the niere- 
tiiclons aid of taw(h'y decoration. On the other side of the 
])i'(U^>tal re|H>>-cs the (ii:\irs or Death. This statue is placed 
to a di'^aih anta'je, and sliews too evidently that it was arhlrd 
to th(^ LLTonp : it i> not near enougli the sarco[)hagus, against 
>\hirh it was intended to rej)ose ; the («enius leans his shoulder 
against thi' shar]) (mIuc of tlie sarcopliagus, and you cannot 
help perceiving- that the ]»osition is too nneasy for so long a 
niuht of i\'St - \()u feed it nuist l)e ])ainful, aiul this destroys 
the \{\c[\ of npose. Vet the tigure isheautiful; and though 
the einmtenanee l)e (h^ath-like, vet it is lovely even in death. 
At Ills ft c't A Lion lies asleep on his paws, and every hrindled 
liair >h('ps with liini. 

In the sj)len<lid eha])el dedicated to the Holy \'irgin, you 
s(M^ A Fit:ta of the hiuluv-^t finish and perfection, hv the mo- 
(h'ln Phi(has, iMiehael Anirelo : von find it adorning' the altar. 
Death is represented, as is usual with this great artist, in all 
its terrific fidi'lity. The luxly of the ci'uciHed Kedeenier is 
wasted hy long sulfering : the heatl falls ])ack on the supple 
n(!ck ; the right arm appears as if dislocated from the socket, 
and the knees ai*e ]>ent, as when the nuTe mechanism of the 
hody is its only mc^an of cohesion : nanark how the lef\. le<r 
drops and swings to the rocdving of the Virgin's knee; and 
how sweetly sad the mother looks on her crucified lifeless 
'-on and ( Hh\. 

Among the otluM* Mosam's I may point out as excellent a 
ro|»\ ol' ( hiido's ('nudlixion of St. Peter; of his Archangel 

ST. Peter's — the mosaics — the relics. 169 

Michad ; of the Incredulity of St. Thomas, hy Oaercino, kad 
of Domenichino's Communion of St. Jerome. In the left 
aisle, near the transept, there is a bronze statue of St. Peter 
seated, with his toe quite polished by the kisses of devotees. 
This was formerly an antique statue of Jupiter Capitolinus, 
which, by a little appropriate alteration, makes a passing 
good St. Peter : but the converting a statue of Jupiter into 
the keeper of the keys, is certainly a new species of peter- 

Pi^riip, as I professedly am, to holy shrines, it were out 
of character did I not tell of the many precious Relics which 
St. Peter's contains. I omitted mentioning to the reader 
before, that I was here on the holy week, and the relics are 
exhibited from a balcony under the dome on the Monday and 
Tuesday after Easter: they are proclaimed individually as 
they are brought forth ; and the manner of it was so very much 
after that which we see and hear announced by certain public 
orators at Bartholomew fair and elsewhere, that I could not 
drive out of my ear the irreverent association, '* Valk in, 
ladies and gentlemen, and view the royal Bengal tiger from 
Bottom*hou8e Bay, in the Vest Injees ! " Among the most 
remarkable they exhibit are, the handkerchief St. Veronica 
wiped our Saviour's face with as he bore his cross to Mount 
Calvary, which left the impression of his portrait upon it ; 
the spear the soldier pierced our Saviour's side with, pre- 
sented by the Sultan Bajazet to Pope Innocent VIII. ; a 
table, having imprinted on it the likenesses of St. Peter and 
St. Paul, authenticated by Constantine the Great, who saw 
both of these apostles at Pope Sylvester's ; the shoulder of 
St. Christopher,— ^ and the shoulder, we know, is his most 
precious joint, -for on it, they say, he carried the infant 
Jesus, a circumstance verified by numerous paintings and 
engravings ; the arms of Joseph of Arimathea, in which the 
body of our Saviour was borne to the tomb. Sec. &c. 

From St. Peter's I ascended to the palace of the Vatican, 
to view the paintings in the Picture Gallery ;* and, first, 

* The galleries of the Vatican are open to the public on Mondays and 
Thursdays, but remain shut the whole of Lent. 


of the Tran>fh;uratiox. Tlii^ celebrated painting affords an 
example of tlit' inadtNiuaoy of all verl)al description to convey 
auirht save a feeble idea of a tine picture. It has been ol> 
iected to it as a fault, tliat there is a want of unity in its 
structure, l»v its re])re-entinLr a double action ; but how else 
was it possible to make so tine a paintinir of a subject which, 
if treated to tlie letter, aflbrded so contracted a scope even for 
tlie divine imnirination of a Ra])hael ? Tliouirh a double 
action be it> comix 'sition, yet how admirably lias the an- 
iiealinu' skill of the artist surmounted this objection and diffi- 
culty, by his intimate identification of the two subjects; a 
circumstance tluit becomes the more obvious the more criti- 
callv strict it is examined. 

In everv i)ictui'e the eve naturallv fixes on the larsrest 
Ciroup, that is, the lai'i^est mass of colouring, first, whicli 
in the Transtiiruration is placed in the foreground ; here 
everv eve and tiiiuer direct the retrards towards tlie bov 
])0'=>essed, and after wandering in varied delight from figure 
to fiLiure, thev i\\ on the terrific vet sublime subject of the 
miracle : here they rest, partaking, 1 had almost said, of the 
Iiossession, till, >tirred by curiosity to behold the whole, the 
eve is led upwards bv the riiiht hand of the boy to tiie mystic 
scene which gives name to the painting. I'ollow the impulse, 
and as von rei^ard the Redeemer spiritualised, you find it 
insensildv involved in a vortex bv the ma«ric circle made by 
the prophets and the apostles on the eminence. Ciiddy with 
its own involuntarv revolutions, the wearied eve sinks down- 
ward into the distant landscape for a moment's repose; but 
caught in its fall by an outstretched hand, it is thrown to the 
opposite side of the painting, only to be seized by another; 
where, getting again entangled in tlie eddy of this painted 
whirlpool, it recommences making the same revolution it has 
so often made before. 

This celebrated painting exhibits in its composition a 
fine contrast l)etween Divinity in all its glory and power, and 
humanity in all its infirmity and nothingness. It was this 
elocpient chcf'cCa'uvre of art that spoke the artist's funeral ora- 
tion, for it was placed by his side when his corpse lay in state. 


Every painting in this small collection is a chef^d^ceuwre. 
Onereino's St. Thomas expresses incredulity with great force 
and effect ; even with his fingers in the wound, he appears 
scarcely to believe. 

There is an amusing AKVUVCiATioKy by Baroccio, in 
which the angel appears so polite, and tb^ Virgin so con« 
descending, that the painting, though undoubtedly fine, might 
be characterised as affectedly beautiful. Another chef-dCceuvre 
is Domenichino's Communion of St. Jerome. Life is just 
alive, scintillating feebly in his eye, like a spark going out. 
He dies surrounded by the few consolations of which the 
wretchedness of extreme old age is susceptible. Angels hover 
in the air, ready to convey his soul to the presence of a 
merciful God ; while those who minister to him in his agony, 
express, in their countenances, sentiments of the tenderest 

The Madonna di Foligno of Raphael abounds in beau- 
ties. In the Virgin you see depicted the utmost grace ; in 
the St. John, the wildness of the hermit ; in the saints, the 
beauty of holiness ; and in the boys, the fascinating interest 
of childhood. Guido's Crucifixion of St. Peter, done on 
panel, is painted in his first, and, in my opinion, his finest, 
manner. Remark the fine inverted position of the body, 
and the deep, rich tone which characterises the colouring. 
Here, also, is another of the same artist, in which St. Jerome 
is seen reading ; and his macerated, wrinkled frame betokens 
the rigour both of his penance and his extreme old age. 
The Birth of the Virgin, by Albani, though beautifully 
painted, fails to please those accustomed to the productions of 
his playful and pastoral fancy : here there is no scope for it. 
The same thing may be said of Poussin's Martyrdom of 
St. Erasmus, but for a different reason : it is a revolting 
subject, otherwise the fine transparency of the colouring, and 
its noontide effect, are master-pieces of art. There is like- 
wise a Titian in this collection, chiefly remarkable for a 
naked figure of St: Sebastian — it is so naturally coloured 
and so finely designed. 

Three others complete the collection : a kneeling, dishe-. 



relied, weeping Magdalen, with blood-shot eyes fixed on 
the instruments of onr Saviour's passion and di^race, hf 
Guercino ; the Martybdom of two Saints, by Valentin ; 
and a Dead Christ, borne to the tomb in the arms of 
St. Peter, which abounds with excellent painting, varied ex- 
pression, and stfong relief, by the gloomy sepulchral pencil 
of Caravaggio. 

Before leaving this gallery, to proceed to those containing 
the antiques, the Englishman is struck with pleasure and 
surprise at beholding, within the very sanctuary of Roman 
Catholicism, a full-length portrait of the '* Defensor Fidei,*' 
by Lawrence. It was presented by the munificent subject of 
the portrait to Pope Pius VII., accompanied with a splendid 
collection of casts from the Elgin marbles ; and placed here 
by his holiness, as a token and memorial of the generous 
tolerance of two exalted and majestic minds. 

The Gallery of Antiques. — This consists of various 
apartments, containing such a multitude of rare and beautiful 
objects, that I can only notice a few of the most prominent. 
Passing through the first, which is appropriated to inscrip- 
tions of various kinds, you come to the tomb of SoiPio Bar- 
BATUS. It is made of a volcanic product, somewhat resem* 
bling sandstone, and called, from its colour, piperino. It is 
Doric in its form and ornament, and by its perfect and ele- 
gant simplicity it pleased me more than any sarcophagus I 
ever saw. On the face of it you read the following in- 
scription : — 





Farther on, you come to a portico, under which are four 
little halls for the Apollo Belvidere, the Laocoon, the Me* 
leagcrs, and the Perseus and Wrestlers of Canova. 


The Apollo. — This glorious example of marble made 
god by the creative chisel of the sculptor, stands in the first 
hall to the left. Time has fortunately respected this com- 
bination of human forms the most perfect. The body ex- 
hibits proportions of the noblest and most harmonious descrip* 
tion ; the limbs are freed from all the wants of humanity — ** 
the countenance depicts the perfection of manly beauty, some- 
what ruffled by a frown ; and the entire figure may be con- 
sidered the ch^'d*cBuvre of the beau*id6al ; not masculine, 
nor yet adolescent — the god of day and of music. Whatever 
be the action represented, it is performed with the fiat of a 
divinity: the arm which had bent the bow is still extended, 
the other hangs down by his side, as if the shaft had fled : 
from his eyes darts a look that precedes the arrow, and his 
lips indicate vengeance triumphant : the serpent Python is 
pierced, and writhes in the agonies of death. This beautiful 
statue was found on the sea-shore, among the ruins of ancient 
Antium, towards the end of the fifteenth century. 

The Laocoon. — This celebrated group, as the reader 
knows, represents the misfortunes of Laocoon, a priest of 
Apollo, whose story is related in Virgil. At the first glance 
the traveller is struck with the difference between this and 
all the copies he may have seen of it. Bandinelli's, in the 
Florence Gallery, is the group defunct — the mere corpse of 
the original. To represent outline and muscle is a mere 
mechanical excellence — ^what the hand can copy ; but what 
genius inspires is wanting — the vital principle of originality. 

Pain^ sentiment, and courage, are the three athletics 
which you see wrestling for mastery in this admirable group. 
Laocoon is attacked in flank by one of the serpents, which 
winds its coils round his arms and body. The cry of pain 
from the bite is almost forcing itself from his half-opened 
lips, but the courage of the man closes them again. What 
perfection of anatomy ! every tortuous vein swells with ex- 
ertion and agony. But the sufferings of the man are what 
you least and last notice : it is those of parental tenderness 
that engross the feelings. The children, whilst flying to their 
father for protection, are seized by the serpents; and here 


note the judgment of the artist. To have represented them 
both ])itten would have l-een a sameness : one alone shall he 
their immediate victiu), and that the vounirest ; the other is 
merely imprisoned in the folds of one of the horrid reptiles, 
and his sacrifice is deferred. The fate of the youngest is the 
most pathetic : he runs to shelter himself in his fathers 
bosom ; the serpent seizes him — coils round his tender limbs, 
and lifts him up in the air ; while with another fold he fixes 
one of his feeble arms : another coil winds round his infant 
breast, stifiinir the dvinij: scream which calls on his father for 
succour. But the traixedv is not finished : the fate of the 
elder is not decided. Pinioned in the horrid embrace, in 
vain the boy casts a piteous look on his helpless parent; 
in vain his hands attempt to sever the folds which entwine 
him ; his hands, alas! arr too feeble. \\ ill these reptiles be 
satiated when they have devoured Laocoon, and sucked the 
life's-blood of the vounut-r bov ? What a sublime genius it 
indicates to make of an event so horril)le a scene so pathetic! 
In Vir»j;il the action is successive; here it is simultaneous. In 
Virgil the serpents have already destroyed the two children, 
when the father fi ies to their succour : here the children and 
the father are bound together in the same fatal coils. Lao- 
coon, in \ irgil, utters piercing cries ; on the marble he is 
silent. Virgil describes the bodily, the sculptor the moral, 
sufferings of the father. The artist is the poet, and Virgil 
the mere artist : the latter gives a narrative ; the sculptor 
has made a poem of the subject. Tlie group of the Laocoon 
was found on the Esquiline Mount, in the ruins of Titus's 
palace. Pliny mentions having seen it in the same place ; 
and it is from him we learn the names of the authors w^ho 
executed it — Agesander, Polydorus, and Athenodorus. 

The next apartment you come to contains the statues of 
the two Meleacers. Both are extremely fine, particularly 
the mutilated one, the contour of which is so softly undu- 
lating, that it keeps the eye in a perpetual floating motion. 
Poussin esteemed this statue, from the beautiful harmony of 
its different parts, superior to every other in its perfection of 
human proportions. 


Next to these is the Perseus of Canova. Canova. when 
he conceived this statue, evidently had the idea of the Apollo 
in his mind's eye, and his attempt is obvious — that of rival- 
ling this inimitable statue. Medusa's head is in his left 
hand, and he holds the sword which severed it in his right. 
The head and trunk are fine, yet want the fascination of the 
grand prototype ; while the thighs appear too short for the 
body ; and there is a harshness and stiffness about the limbs, 
which disfigures the grace and ease of the upper parts. The 
fault in the proportion of the limbs, which is so manifest at a 
little distance, disappears as you approach the figure, owing 
probably to the eye being incapable, from its position, of 
embracing it entirely. The drapery is well cast, excepting 
that the roll round the arm is too precise and formal, and 
diecks the eye as it pursues the direction given to it by the 
look of Perseus. 

The figures of the two Wrestlers, again, by the same 
artist, are still more faulty. That to the right of the Perseus 
advances the left leg so far as completely to enfeeble the 
position. This is most conspicuous when seen in profile ; 
while, in his antagonist, the great breadth under the axilla, 
the enormous projection of the ribs and latissimus darHy and 
the stunted length of the left forearm, are defects which 
cannot but strike the most superficial observer. Canova's 
forte, in fact, was not of a colossal cast : a Hebe, a danza- 
trice, or an angel, were the legitimate ofispring of his delicate 
chisel ; and though the Perseus partakes of the latter cha* 
racter, it cannot be considered otherwise than a failure. 
Icarus, when he ventured to approach the God of •Day, 
failed in the bold attempt ; smaller, then, the marvel that 
Canova should not surpass the son of Dedalus. 

The traveller will find a notice of some other of the more 
remarkable objects in the Vatican among the catalogues. 

Proceeding now down the right bank of the Tiber, by a 
gate under the bastion on which the Villa Cavalieri is 
situated, you find the church of the hermit Sant* Onofrio, 
son of a king of Persia, on the Monte Gianicolo. Here you 
behold glory in all its nothingness — fortune in all her caprice 


^-and genius in all its misfortune. Approach, pilgriai of 
genius, and shed a tear over the tomb of Tasso ! The bones 
of this celebrated poet lie immediately to the left on entering, 
over which you read the following inscription : — 

D. O. M. 









The platform before this church commands one of the 
finest views of Rome^ on descending from which, and con- 
tinuing your way, you come to the Palacb Corsiki. This 
palace is richer in paintings even than that belonging to 
the same princely family at Florence. Among a crowd of 
others, I was struck in particular with the following : — A St. 
Sebabtiak, by Rubens. An angel is represented drawii^ 
out the arrow, which has pierced his heart ; and the strides 
of death are finely portrayed on a yet living countenance. 
Life is visibly ebbing apace, and the cold sweat of death 
bedews his forehead ; his head has fallen on his shoulder, 
and his features express the unutterable sickness of a faint- 
ing fit. 

Susanna and the Elders, by Domenichtno. — Under 
the cover of a hill, where rises a cool and refreshing spring, 
the unconscious Sue laves her beauteous limbs, splashing the 
water about in all the playful wantonness and freedom of 
innocence unseen. Ah, luckless Sue! you little know how 
mightily you are mistaken ; for, lo ! two hoary sinners are 
peeping over the hill-side, and witnessing your sportive, 
unrestrained gambols. 

Judith, by Delia Notte. — This is a fine dramatic picture. 
She enters with the head of Holofernes in her hand, as if 
just come from committing the murderous deed ; and the 


glare of taper-light assists the expression of horror which 
pervades her every feature. 

pROMETHSUSy by Salvator Rosa. — Whilst the vulture 
is feeding, ravenous and insatiable, on his regenerating liver, 
and tearing it in pieces, Prometheus roars aloud with pain, 
and the glore clots on his breast. There are also some fine 
landscapes by Claude, Miens, and Orizonte ; a St. John in 
THB Wilderness, by Caravaggio ; an Ecce, by the divine 
pencil of Dolce ; and a great many others of similar merits 
for which I must refer the reader to the Appendix. 

All this part of the city, at the foot of the Monte Oiani- 
colo, is called Trastevere, from being on the other side of the 
Tevere, or Tiber. This quarter of Rome is reckoned particu- 
larly unhealthy, and must be so from its crowded and con- 
fined situation, and the quantity of organic matter, the wreck 
of ages, buried under its foundations. Modem Rome is in 
reality the sepulchre of the ancient, and its inhabitants 
breathe nought but the noisome and noxious vapours of its 

There are two Churches, among many others, on this 
side of the water, which the stranger may visit : Santa Maria 
IN Trastevere, and Santa Maria della Pace. The 
first was built by Pope Calisto the First, on the spot where 
the earth poured out a stream of oil into the Tiber on the 
night of the glorious nativity. They even shew you the hole 
whence it flowed ; and an existing evidence of the miracle is, 
that you have only to introduce your fingers, when even now 
they come out besmeared with grease. What a miraculous 
device — fac^h ! — when a badger's bottom is necessary to its 
accomplishment and perpetuation! There is a very ancient 
and fine mosaic in the Tribune, of Christ and the Virgin 
SEATED, with figures on each side : that of the Virgin is both 
graceful and beautiful. The ceiling of the nave is adorned 
with a fine Assumption, by Domenichino ; and in a chapel 
to the left you see two beautiful frescos, representing the 
Verification of the Scriptures, by the same hand. 

The second church, that of Santa Maria della Pace, con- 
tains several esteemed paintings by celebrated masters: — 


Raphael's Sibyls and Prophets, painted in fresco; a Pre- 
<KNTATmN OF THi: ViRGiN AT THE Temple, by PcFUzzi ; her 
AssiMpnoN, bv Alb:ini ; her Birth, bv Vanni ; and her 
Death. Iv ^lorante. There is also an excellent Visitation, 
bv Carlo ^laratta. 

Approaching the river, you come to the islet Tiburina, 
>v]iere the t\unous temple of .tsculapius stood. Crossing 
the i?laiul by the ancient Pons Cestius and Pons Tarpeins, 
you come to the quarter inhabited by the Jews, called the 
(ihetto. It was here that Porsenua encamped after having 
taken the Janieulum. wliere Mucins Scaevola burnt off his 
v'hSni hand, in ]>re?enee of this kiuix, for liavin^: failed of its 
uttiee : am.! tlirouLrh this heroic action induced Porsenna to 
rai^e tlie siej:e of Rome This quarter of the city, extending 
as hii^ii up as the Ripetta, was afterwards given to Mucins, 
and thence took the name of Miicia Prata. 

TurniuLT to the rii;ht, you come to what is called Pilate's 
Uoi sE, the remains of the Temple of Fortune, and the beau- 
tiful Htile temple which Xuma built in honour of the i^foddess 
\'e>ta. In this neighbourhood, also, the Cloaca Maxima 
opens into the Tiber ; and hard by stand the ruins of the an- 
cient Pons Senatokiis, — so named because of the senators 
cro^-in^ it in their wav to consult the books of the Sibvl on 
the Janieulum. A little lower, by the Porta Portese, you 
see the remains of anot4ier ancient bridue, originally built by 
the pru'tor Emilius Leindus, and called after him. Being 
carried awav bv a tlood of the Tiber, it was rebuilt of marble 
by AntoniioLS Pius, and took the name of Marmoratus. It 
was from this bridge that the Romans threw their criminals 
into the Tiber; and on it lloratius Codes withstood, sinirle- 
handed, for some time the a-sault of the Tuscans, when they 
attenqited to replace Tar([uin on the throne. 

Passing the Temple of \'csta, you come to the Church op 
Santa Maria in Cosmedin. Tnder the porch you see a large 
ancient ma^k, which had probably served for an oracle. It 
is called by the vulgar the Bocca della Verita, from a belief 
of its formerly serving as an ordeal, or test of truth, by putting 
the hand into its mouth : if the thing atHrmed was true, the 


person withdrew bis hand unhurt ; but if otherwise, it was 
sure to be bitten. 

From this church the stranger may either proceed to the 
Forum, to view the ruins situated there, as indicated in the 
Appendix, or passing through the Circus Maximus, between 
the Palatine and Aventine hills, get to the Church of Sait 
Grbgorio, to yiew the rival frescos of Domenichino and Oaido 
— the one representing the Flagellation of St. Andrew; 
the other, his being led to crucifixion. Here, also, is a Statue 
OF St. Gregory by Michael Angelo, and the table at which he 
daily entertained ^e beggars. From this a road crosses the 
Monte Cello to the churches of S. Maria Nayicella, so called 
from a marble ship in front of it, placed there by Leo X., and 
of S. Stefano Rotondo. In the first, the frieze in chiaro 
oecuro was designed by Raphael, and painted by his pupils 
Giulio Romano and Pierino del Vaga, as well as the presbytery 
and two altar-pieces ; the second, again, was a temple built by 
Agrippina to the god Faunus, and afterwards consecrated^ to 
the first martyr by Saint Simplicius. Close by, you see some 
remains of the Aqueduct of Claudius, which is said to 
have cost the prodigious and almost incredible sum of 60,000 
talents — about 36,000,000 crowns. A little to the south lie 
the immense ruins of the Baths of Caracalla, the Tomb 
OF THE SciPios, and the Arch of Drusus : towards the east 
is the Church of S. Gioya*nni Laterano. This magnificent 
basilica was built by Constantine the Great, and is the mother 
church of Rome. The ceiling is entirely gilt, and it contains 
several singular objects of cariosity. Observe the three porches 
of marble, through which, it is mid^ our Saviour passed when 
taken befoi^ Pontius, close to which there formerly stood the 
porphyry chair, on which the new-elected pope sat, and suf- 
fered it to be ascertained of what gender he was — a ceremony 
appointed after the discovery of the English papess (Joan), 
who once occupied the emasculate chair of St. Peter; but this 
is now discontinued. The rude baptismal fonts of porphyry 
which you see, were given by Constantine ; and the tomb, of 
the same valuable stone, at the end of the church, is thought 
to be that of his mother, St. Helen. This-church contains a 

1-". '.N " — ?.i.L::S — SCALA SANTA. 

"7. :!.- f-r-: :li: wa? ever exhibited at 
?.-- .-r :_.::.;. :r-::.::i relic?. Anioni: 

- '--: c-r : i: of" wh:oh the apoj-tle 
.''-'_^ -.; -:r. ^::L ::;.t uLitv : the chains 

- ~ --- L . -^ v. jL: : : R : n.^ : aij J Ids tunic, 
-^.r:-: ::' r.>>„j :Le -itad : but this, 

- :. ■_ j'.'^.- niustv, LiiS lost its powers 
~L-. . •'.: L ".V \ irjiii made for the 

'. -.:!: -^l.::!. Cl:::s: wiinid the feet of 

:.zL s'«. :.jr :V::. ^hich he drank; 

-^ -.:-.: :..".: r.r^ri frvau his wounded 

. :' J :-:s 1 .:r ::*>:. J.Ln the Baptist; 

M-r-:- . :... A:.~ ::'s rc^is : the wooden 

>: ^.:::l^ v .^j tfiien : all the sacred 

, ; -ijL: :-.::: ^.l:•Il:on*s Temple by 

:.. - --. :..'..•: -::: wl.ioh the sokliers 

....: s ^\-::..:.:s: aii-i an ahar made 

'.;: f-.... :.::.??. ..:./. ^^ l.trt- none but the 

«. - . > . N • ^ 


. . .V. . V 

- : : /..irv?'. :. ::»<: left. This edifice 
s. :w.„:y-t:_!.: in numWr, which 
s l.use ;\: JtTUialem : thev are 
/„ :::• >.-.'. :.;;r asotnJed when led 
Nv ■ : ! •. 1 . . s 1 1 . : ..: . a : : 1 w h t re d e v o t ees 
vi: ::.c :r kihtrs for indul- 
^v ...- <.'•■ F.>:.r M. :;.:.. V :: !s o':::t i:ui:vT0i:s to see the 
v•'v^^.!^ v f :i >1 .1 :'.-v.\:!v> ^^^. k:-...i i::t:r >Miy up; and on 

:^, 0...:' vl c.-'.ltvl the Sanctum 
..«•. of our Saviour, which is 
^,-...' :.» :..\\o 'v\oi: vu>:_:.!.v: *\ *^:. L\:k^.\ a::d tinislied bv an 
, •.\;vl. n.:> r.ii.ut :- l>v^-i.o ::: ^r:;:!.! ]">rooossion every year, 
0-' :'.u^ i i'.ii o!' V:;_;>:. TO i:io okuivh oi' >. ^laria MairLriore, 
NX, .0:0 i: \\\s-os ti.o muk: : a".d :::o utxt clav it is brouixht back 
u^ :r> 0N\ u don ioilo w hh t'.;o s;inio tpithahunic j>omp and 
^v^'a '.r.r.;t\ . W retoliOil siipi vstilkm I >\ ht^rc will you stop? 

l\u*;ni: the pojvh of M. .lolnTs you will perceive an avenue 
v't' NiHMi^- i:iH^^, \>hioh h\ui< lo tlu' church oi^ Santa Croce. 
liu- N\,ilU to ila' K't't an^ tiio>o ofanciiHt H()nh\ built bv 


Marcus Aurelius ; and close to the church are the ruins of 
the Amfiteatro Castrense, erected by Tiberius for the amuse- 
ment of the soldiers. Santa Croce was built by Constantine 
the Gh-eat, near the Temple of Venus and Cupid. This 
church is chiefly remarkable for the relics it contains. The 
body of St. Anastatius lies under the grand altar ; and among 
the relics are the following : — A phial containing some of the 
blood of our Saviour ; three morsels of the holy cross ; two 
thorns from the crown of scorn, and a nail of the cross. 
These nails, it may be remarked, have multiplied in a mar* 
vellous manner. Every Christian knows that the Propitiation 
was ignominiously attached to the cross by three nails only — 
one through each hand, and a third transfixing both feet. 
Now histoiy makes mention of one which the Empress Helen 
caused to be thrown into the Adriatic to appease a storm, 
and it did so ! — we also know that Constantine the Great made 
a bit for his horse of another ; and the third he had made into 
a pummel for his sword ! Nevertheless, besides these, there is 
another, as we have seen, in Santa Croce, a fifth at Venice, 
another at Siena, a seventh at Milan, and the cathedral of 
St. Denis, near Paris, boasted of possessing an eighth. A 
Catholic writer very ingenuously asks, '* How are we to ac- 
count for this? Why, that it is a miracle ; and if God should 
will it BO, there might be a hundred more." It must be con- 
fessed, that nothing can more satisfactorily explain this 
untoward circumstance. A miracle explains, in the most 
accommodating mood, every stumbling anomaly ; and heretics 
even must admit that there is nothing impossible with faith. 
The same may be said with equal probability and truth of the 
wood of the holy cross. It has been computed that a hundred 
wagons would not hold all the genuine chips of this precious 
relic ; and yet every separate morsel is authenticated beyond all 
doubtl In this church they likewise preserve the sceptical finger 
of St. Thomas ; a scrap of the inscription which Pilate caused 
to be placed over the head of the crucified Redeemer ; and one 
of the thirty pieces of gold, the price of Judas's treachery. 

By the Porta Maggiore you see the remains of a fine 
aqueduct. Turning northward, you find the ruins of the ' 


Templb op Minerva Mbdica, in a garden to the right ; and 
crossing the Esquiline hill, upon which the ancients burned 
the bodies of their dead, and which afterwards became Me- 
ceenas's garden, you descend, and the Church op Sta. Maria 
Maooiore appears before you : it is sometimes called ** ad 
PrsBsepe," from its containing, among its relics, a portion of 
the holy manger ; sometimes S. M. Oenitriz, a more profane 
appellation, borrowed from one of Venus's cognomina. 

In this church there is a chapel consecrated to a certain 
St. Anthony, the protector of mules and asses. On the festiTal 
of the saint, the people lead these favoured beasts to the 
church all saddled and caparisoned, where they duly receive 
an annual benediction, and get sprinkled with holy water. 
A majestic fluted column of the Corinthian order stands in 
front of this church : it was found in the ruins of the Temple 
of Peace, and placed here by Paul the Fifth. On the oppo* 
site side there is a handsome Egyptian obelisk, which for* 
merly ornamented the Mausoleum of Augustus. 

At the foot of the Monte Viminale you find the church of 
St. Prudenti an a, famous for her pious care of the bodies of the 
martyrs who were massacred in thousands in her days ; and 
hard by, that of her sister, St. Prassede. In this church 
you see, in a chapel which was formerly the oratory of 
St. Zeno, enclosed by a trellis of iron, the Column to which 
our Saviour was bound when scourged. Here, a}80, it is 
believed that St. Peter said mass in person. 

From the church of St. Prassede, let the visitor go to that 
of San Pibtro in Vincoli, so named from its possessing the 
chains which bound this apostle in prison when released by 
the angel. This church is remarkable for the Tomb of Pope 
Julius the Second, and the Statue of Moses, by Michael 
Angelo, which adorn it. Among the gigantic works of this 
great artist, the sublime Statue of Moses, the Basilica of 
St. Peter's, and the Last Judgment, form the three chefs* 
(Tceuvre. The august forehead of Moses seems but a trans* 
parent veil which scarce covers his immense mind ; his 
beard descends to his middle ; his mouth is full of expression, 
and the thought seems only to wait utterance. 


Next proceed to the Palace Rospigliosi, and yiew 
Grnido's celebrated allegorical representation in fresco of the 
Rising of the MoENiifo Star. While Night still envelops the 
vast sea in her mantle of grey, lit only here and there by the 
foam of the bubbling waves ; jroang, innocent, and beautiful, 
clothed in variegated veils of every iridescent hue, emblema* 
tical of the clonds which accompany her, Aurora of a sudden 
appears with flowers in both her hands, and the sky reddens 
aroond her. She advances with her head reverted, and eyes 
full of tenderness, regarding the God of Day, who, with looks 
not less affectionate, is gazing at his beloved harbinger as he 
follows in her train. In full day these two lovers never can 
have but a glimpse of each other. Four superb coursers 
playfully graze the azure waves : these acquire the tint of the 
blushing star, and are magnetically harnessed to a car of ver- 
milion. The youngest daughters of rosy-fiiigered Mom, the 
Hours, so like their mother, laughing, hold each other by the 
hand around the chariot of the Sun, whilst hovering between 
the goddess and the steeds, Cupid bears the flaming torch of 
day ; he shakes it over the universe ; parting tears tremble 
on the eyelids of Aurora ; and in an instant daylight shines 

There are several other fine paintings in this pavilion. 
A deep and richly toned Landscape, by Ouercino ; a fine 
magic painting of Sophonisba drinking the Poison, by 
II Galabrese; Adam plucking Fig-leaves for Eve, by 
Bomenichino ; and an Andromeda, by Gruido. Here like- 
wise is a fine Pieta, by Hannibal Caracci; and David's 
Triumph, by Domenichino. 

The Monte Cavallo is hard by ; so named from the two 
marble horses which were presented by Tiridates, king of 
Armenia, to Nero; and, if the inscription on their pedestals 
be genuine, are the rival works of Phidias and Praxiteles, 
representing Alexander and his horse Bucephalus. 

Turning up the street to the right, you come to the Church 
of Sant' Andrea, and that of Victory. Ye lovers, deserted op 
betrayed by your mistresses, enter not the latter ; for here 
sculpture, in representing the Death of St. Theresa, has 


clii-olled »i tiirure Sd exquisitely lovely as to renew all your 
paius. She i> luilf roeunibcnt ; luul her eye?, her feature?, 
eveiy llnil), are yielded up, and languish in an attitude too 
voluptuous lor a saint, or for chastity, under any denoniinatiou, 
to appear in, in iCLiardiuiX which the mind involuntarilj- blushes. 
This statue is hy Tx-ruiui. Nearly o])posite to this is the Forx- 
TAiN OF Mosi:<, so called from a suidime fi2:ure of this letri^- 
lator which ornaments it. It is seud-colossal. With a rod in 
hi-^ hand Moseys is striking the rock in the desert ; and there 
is a terrific calmness in the countenance fittinjx the dicrnifiixl 
airent of Divine ])ower. Two lions, in black marble, repose 
at his feet : from their half-open mouths two streams of water 
e*-cape into a nuirble reservoir below. Art can execute 
repose, but ordinarily it is the repose of death — here it is 
the repose of life. 

l)efore LioiiiLi: t(^ the Palace Harberini, let the stranixer 
first vi-it tlie Cnnu'H or St. Maim a dkgli Axgeli, and the 
ruins of the l^alhs of Diocle>ian, in thi< neighbourhood. Tlie 
clunvh is in the form of a Latin cross, and owns Buonarotti 
tor its aichitect. Salvator Ro^a and (Jarlo Maratta lie buried 
liere : ovei* Mai'atta's irrave you read, 

soi.iM Mini MPiuLsr SI IT r ( iinrM. 

He foi'Liot the fanu^ of an inunortal name emblazoned even 
in this church by a ])aiutiiii>: from his own pencil, The Bap- 
'iisM or CiiiM^r. This is Maratta's cJicf-divuvrCy from whicli 
the fine copy in mosaic, in the* Chigi cluipel at Siena, was 
taken. ( hrist is standinif in the water; and his entire fiixure 
is so truly divine, that you can scarce spare a glance to some 
beautiful amrels, who kneeliuii; witness the mystic sacrament. 
Nothing could ]>e bett(»r managed than the composition of 
this picture : the eye cannot wander from the principal 
subject ; and the tone of colouring is in softest, most harmo- 
nious diapason. Maratta was among the ult'unl Romanorum ; 
and in Battoni and Costanza, who followed, you can plainly 
perceive the decline of the art. In the same transept you see 
Domenichino's iNIartyrdom of St. Sebastian. Sebastian is 
l»ound to a cross* and liis countenance expresses the resig- 


nation of a martyr : a figure in the foreground is preparing 
his bow and quiver, whilst a centurion rides furiously over 
a group of females who had come to behold the execution* 
This circumstance spreads a variety of expression among the 
assembly ,^-of fright, commiseration, and curiosity : that of a 
child is particularly fine, of mingled timidity and curiosity* 
There are four other good paintings in this church : St. 
PsTSR RAisiNa Tabitha FROM THB DsAD, by Placido 
Costanza ; the Fall of Simon Magus, by Pompeo Battoni ; 
the same subject repeated by an artist whose pencil I could 
not recognise ; and a Crucifixion of St. Pbtbr. In Cos- 
tanza's painting yon see the traits of death making their 
escape from Tabitha's countenance, and supplanted by those 
of gratitude springing fresh into life : the surprise of the 
attendants is likewise Well expressed. In Battoni's St. Peter 
the expression is that of calm consciousness of his inspired 
miraculous power ; and the composition of the whole displays 
great art : note the out-stretched hand of the devil, directing 
the eye downwards, lest it should dwell too long on the 
figure of the magician; and when the spectator's regard has 
obeyed the secret impulse, it is again led into the circle by 
the attitude of the female who is seated below. In the other 
representation of the same subject there are several fine 
points : remark the beautiful figure of a female seated, with 
an infant at her breast ; and the fine fore-shortening in the 
upper part of a male figure, who, with fright and horror in 
his countenance, seems to fiy towards the spectator. 

To the left of this church you find the ruins of the Baths 
of Dioclbsian, consisting of remains of walls of prodigious 
thickness; chambers and vaults sustained on enormous 
pillars, and subterraneous cisterns. These, as the reader 
may know, were built by convicted Christians, persecuted by 
the cruel Emperor whose name the ruins bear* Upwards oi 
40,000 men were employed during the space of fourteen 
years in their construction, and as their recompense, it is 
said, they all sufiered martyrdom. 

Return now to the Fountain of Moses, and descending 
the street to the Quatro Fontane, you come to the Palazzo 


IVkkpfrtm. Htiv art and prodigality have disputed with 
tWv^li otiuT wh.ich were to outvie in perfecting this noble 

Ir. :'!iO tlieie are two fine statues, one of 
Fix, ly M.oiiatl Aiictlo. the other of Diana, by Bernini: 
K:!i ;ire i\>lit;\ arid make a tine contrast. Here also is a 
l..:v^e paiiKii-c l\v iho iiur^rotic pencil of II Calabrese, repre- 
Mi;::!.^ >v. t ATiUKiNK IN Phison, in which the dark tone 
of :\\c cy.o\\v::\z oorre>iMiul? admirably with the depth of 
^.ttiiL-t'o:; diviotid 1 \ t!io 5u]»ieot. From this you enter the 

* • » ^ 

C!v:\: l...'l. a::.l fto :iu^ uiacnitioent fresco which enriches 
li.o oiil::.^.. l\ Fitrv^ iia Coriona. Four rooms open from 
tliis : in :lu t:r>:. i\ iiiaT'k a -MviiDALEN, bv Guercino : often 
a> iliis siil'iot >va> | ai'.ittii by the artist, he appears in this 
in<ta!u*o tv> b.a\i' siir: asrtd himself. The custode now con- 
ducts )ou up >taii^ tv> a suit o{ live rooms, decked with 
raintiu::> bv ilio tii'-t lr.a^:t*^s : l>ut for these in detail I must 
refer tlie Vi aiu r to die Ap|Hiuii\ : yet two or tliree demand 
pariioular noTi*.'e. In the second room observe a St. Jerome, 
bv Spa^noU'iro. ^ili^ master's style of pencilliuix was quite 
ada]ned to such a subject : iiivleed, lie painted nothiuir more 
lVei[uenilv : and the macerated, mortiried, solitary ascetic 
stands per>onit\inir abstinence in its utmost rigour and 
wretchedness. AM) Pot umiak's Win:, bv Biliverti. The vir- 
tuous Iiorror and repui:nance o{ .losepli are admirably ex- 
pressed. Had an ordinary arti^t painted the scene, Joseph's 
i\)untenance would, nrobablv, have exhibited only a volcano 
of contortion, and every disruptetl feature had been wTenched 
fmm its natural place only to caricature the feeling. Here 
vou have the workings of the soul as they appear through 
the features lit from within, and thus Hindered visible by 
rcHection on the transparent veil that intervenes. 

A Sacrifice to Diana, by the gay and classical pencil 
of Poussin. 

FoRNARiNA, by Raphael. This ditiers from the one in 
the tribune of the Florence Gallery ; and the polite custode of 
the palace will have it that this is the only true original. 


Portraits of the Cbnci and her Mothbr : the last is by 
Graetani, the first by Ghiido. The reader, perhaps, already 
knows the sad history attached to the first of these portraits. 
Cenci owned a monster for a father, who strove to seduce his 
own child. Horror-struck at the unnatural purpose, Cenci 
withstood her father's revolting attempts. At length, being 
threatened with violence, she made her mother the confidant 
of her wrongs. The latter furnishes this second Lucretia 
with a da^er, and instructs her how to use it : the avowed 
ravisher comes — again employs persuasion with no avail; 
he now has recourse to force, and the parricidal hand of his 
own daughter alone could stay his incestuous attempt. Cenci 
is tried — convicted, for the Cenci offered no defence — and 
executed ! We have now to r^ard her portrait, taken in 
the dress in which she suffered. Her pallid cheek bespeaks 
the sadness and inward horror of her feelings ; and yet you 
may perceive that a sense of virtue vindicated tempers the 
severity of her i^ony, shedding beams of most melancholy 
sweetness over a countenance of the loveliest expression. — 
Lovely, unfortunate Cenci ! how imperious soever the deed, 
and however well merited the punishment, yet Fate dealt 
harshly by thee, sweet girl, that thy hand should be obliged 
to strike the murderous blow ! * 

I cannot quit this palace without mentioning a trait of 
the great condescension of this princely family to strangers. 
When I came, the young Princess Barberini was taking a 
lesson of her music -master ; and as I proceeded onward in 
viewing the apartments, dhe most politely retreated from 
room to room, until she could actually retreat no further ; so 
I called another day, by appointment, before I could see the 
Cenci, which is in the last room of the suite. 

Near the Piazza Barberini you find the Church op tub 
Capuchins, which contains Ouido*s celebrated painting of the 
Archakgbl Michael, — the Apollo of painting, as it has been 

* Plutarch (in Parall.) mentions a similar case of parricide committed 
by MeduUina on her father Aruntius ; but Cenci had more to palliate her 
crime than MeduUina -»- her ftitber was not inebriated. 



cliuracteristiciiUy ilosiixuf^ted. IVothiiig can exceed the beauty 
of the iipjK'r part of the fiiriirc, but the lower hinl)s are some- 
what har?h in the outline. Opposite to this is a paiiithig by 
Da ("ortona, of Pai l keceiving nis Sigut ; and in a chapel 
to the rii::ht, the Death of St. Francis, the founder of the 
order of the mendicant friars, bv Ludovico Caracci. He 
expires in the arms of an angel; and the scene is laid in a 
rich landscape. There is a fine copy of this paintin^^ in 
mo>aic in St. Peter's. 

The Piazza Bakherini occupies the site of the ancient 
Circus of Flora, in the centre of which a Triton throws up 
water throuLrh a shell from a fountain : hence a street leads 
in a straiirlit line to the Monte P'litcio ; or the stran^cer may 
descend the 17^/ (A7 Trifone, and get, by the Fcnnitain of the 
Trcv'iy to the neighbourhood of Trajan s and Antonine's 
( 'olinn/ts. At the extremity of the Monte Pincio, vou find 
yourself at the Liate bv which you first entered Rome. The 
Poit r.\ i)i:i. PoroLA is thought to have been a triumphal arch 
eii'Oted by Hilisarius. It was anciently called the Porta 
llaminia, from the r'ni of that name connnencing here, and 
^onuMinies inunicntana, from its proximity to the river. To 
the ri-'ht of this uate, on uointi; out, you find the (,'hi'rch of 
Santa Maria dee Potola. The first and second chapels were 
painted bv Pintnriechio, l)etween which there is a paintinc: 
on the wall in oil hy Maratta. In the chapel to the right 
vou see an A>MMrTiON of the Viimun, by Hannibal Caracci, 
and that of the Chigi family was designed by Raphael, as was 
also tiie Stati E or Jonas : the other statues are by Bernini. 
From this the stranger may })roceed down the Corso, and 
visit the church of San Carlo al Corso, and that of San 
Lorenzo in Lucina ; for the objects in which 1 nnist refer to the 
cataloii'ue ; or, lcoiul:: by the Hipetta, visit the Mausoletm 
OF Ariii sTi s. This magnificent palace of death is now used 
as a sort of bear-garden ; and the roarings of the baited wild 
beast is heard over the former silence of the trt'aye. It is 
somewhat ditHcult to find it out, glided as it is into a corner, 
crundding to pieces like a dried corse, covered with dust and 
bv aiit's which devom* it. Lower down, vou come to the 


Palagb Borohbse. Here the visitor will be struck with 
astonishment at the great number and excellence of the 
paintings which it contains. They are arranged in a suite 
of nine apartments ; and, by the truly princely munificence 
of the owner, a custode is in daily attendance to shew them 
to strangers. Among the host of such a superb collection, 
I may note the following : — 

In the Second Room observe a superlatively fine painting 
of a Prize-shootinq Party among Diana*s Nymphs, by 
Domenichino. In a rich landscape scene of wood, water, 
hill, and dale, Diana has assembled her nymphs at a trial of 
skill. The prizes are seen hanging to a may -pole. Three 
nymphs compete for the palm, and the moment taken for 
representation is that of victory. A wood-pigeon had been 
tied by the leg to a post, and the arrow of the first sticks in 
it; the second has cut the string in two ; and just as the bird 
was about to escape, the arrow of the third has transfixed its 
head. A shout of joyful triumph is uttered by the goddess; 
while two dogs held in a leash by a nymph are eager to 
spring on the lifeless bird. Others of her nymphs, in the fore- 
aground, bathe their fair limbs in a pool of limpid water, too 
translucent far for frail flesh to contemplate with indifierence. 
What delightful pastime ! to partake in which, where is the 
stoic even that would not risk the fate of Actceon ! 

Room III. — A Holy Family, by Pierino del Vaga. 
Raphael's pupil has here copied all his master's grace. A 
virgin of enchanting beauty holds an infant on her knee, to 
whom a little St. John is presenting fruit. 

Room IV. — A Female Magiciah, by Dosso Dossi; and 
where is the female that is not a magician ? But Dossi has 
incorporated the whole magic of the sex in this one figure. 

A Magdalen, by Fontana. Her auburn hair floats in 
sparse ringlets over a bosom of alabaster, and her tears only 
make her the more lovely. Cease, cease your weeping, fairest 
of penitents, else I shttU doubt the sincerity of your tears, and 
think you a mere sentimental coquette! Note Raphael's 
celebrated Descent feom the Cross, and particularly the 
figure (of St John) who supports the shoulders. 


Tni: CRIMEAN Sibyl, hy Domeiiicliino. This, in myjiul^- 
niniT, i> tlu' iiU'^t c'liariiiin<r of all the heathen prophetesses 
I have vot >oon painted. The liLrht of inspiration shines in 
her larm' hliie eves. The first si^ht of day cannot be more 
ileli^htt'ul to the bliiul restored to sight, than the impression 
ilii^-ilivine paintiiii;" makes, and you look upon it as a celestial 

Room V. eontains four circular paintings by Albani, 
Muiilar to those ot' a ditVereiit form, by the same artist, in the 
l.iMivre at Taris. That representing Adoms departing for 
rur Ch v-.r i>, ji rliaps, the most pleasing of the four. Adonis 
i^ bituilii^ hi^ mi^iri'^s, tor the thou'^andth time, adieu, with the 
pre-eniinuni that it is to he for the last time; while Venus, 
streiehivl at length on the irrten irrass, surrounded bv cud- 
illinu- rupitls, hi'L^s him not to go, with looks so sweet, enti- 
eina. auii persua>i\e, tiiat you perceive he still lingei'S on the 
eansa^s. unal»le \o jiart. \\ hat a strong cobweb Love can 
>|MU ! Slnu'lvU- ot adamant are not half so irrefrani^ible. 

In tiu^ St^NOHth Kooin tliere is a Titian, intended to repre- 
mui Pi vio\u Ami iion, and love of a more human kind. 
Imu \\\c :\\:\<\, in treating the subject, has made a distinction 
»uhiMii a ii.tlevmee. (hie of the tiirures is more clothed than 
\\\c o\\\c\\ and this eonipri>es the whole point of contrast. 
S|>lin,hil. rich, and harmonious as was Titian's taste for 
eolvMiriU"-. ht^ raroK e\iuees anv com]>ass of poetical imairina- 
iu>n . et>^iunu^ almost aUiui' tbrm^ his idea of character; and 
if lu^ paint a Magdalen, slie seem> to weep only through the 
help t^f an onuMi anil some Mpiee/iui:". 

All ilii> iMiarter ot' the eitv, hv the edLce of the Tiber, is 
tht^ site of tlu* ancient Campus Marlins. 

I'rom tin* l\dace Horghese, let the stranger go to the 
V{ \// V .N WON A, and \iew the superb fountain which adorns 
it. This was aucientlv the I'orum Aiionis, where Numa 
in«-tituttul the lestival o( the Aixonalia, in honour of the jrod 
who presidtnl i»ver enterpri^^e of every sort, it was afterwards 
the eiri'us of .\le\anih'r the IMous. 'I'he CnnuMi of St. Agnes 
stands on the western side o( this j)aralh*logram, in which 
ohM'rve the nuirtyrdom of this >aint in marble : opposite. 


there is an ancient statue, which, by a little management, has 
made an excellent St. Sebastian. 

A little further to the westward you come to the Palacr 
FsRNBSB. This noble edifice was built by Paul the Third, 
after designs by Michael Angelo, of materials chiefly taken 
from the Colosseum. It now belongs to the royal house of 
Naples ; and the celebrated Farnese Hercules, by Glycon, 
the Toro, and other fine pieces of sculpture, have been re- 
mored to the studj at Naples. None of its former precious 
ornaments remain, save the noble Frescos of Hannibal 

Before getting to the Capitol, let the stranger, in his way, 
▼isit the Church of Sant Andrea della Vallb. This church 
IS adorned with some fine fresco paintmgs by Lanfranco, U 
Calabrese, and Domenichino. Those of the last occupy the 
lower part of the ceiling of the Tribune, and the comers 
immediately under the cupola. The figures of Hope and 
Charity are particularly fine. In the Barberini Chapel you 
see an excellent Visitation by Passignano. This chapel was 
built by Urban VIII. over the spot, it is said, where the body 
of St. Sebastian was found ; and the site of the church itself 
is on that where the Curia of Pompey stood, in which Csesar 
was assassinated. Opposite to the Barberini you see the 
Strozzi Chapel, of which Michael Angelo was the archi- 
tect. It is quite a bijou of art, for nothing can well be more 
beautiful or perfect. On entering it, the spectator is im- 
pressed with a feeling as if he had come out of a dungeon 
into full day ; and yet the body of this church is in no part 
either heavy or gloomy. 

For a notice of several other churches in this quarter, I 
must refer to the Appendix. 

Arriving now at the Capitol, you ascend to it by 124 
steps, which were all taken from the ancient temple of Quiri- 
nus. Facing you, in the middle of the Piazza^ you see the 
superb bronze equestrian Statue of Marcus Aueelius. 
It was to this statue that Michael Angelo said '^ Cammina/' — a 
command that was needless, for it seems to keep continually 
marching time on its pedestal ; and crack but a whip, and 


it would Start off at a gallop. Viewed in front, the majestic 
head of AureliuSy and the no less majestic of its kind, of the 
horse, first catch the eye, to which the right hand of the rider 
gives additional life ; but, taken in all points, it is equally 
faultless and beautiful. Remark the graceful bending of the 
horse's neck ; the natural, easy, and dignified position of the 
rider. The statue must once have been gilt, for some of the 
gilding is still perceptible. 

Enter now the Palace of the CoN8ERVATORi,to the right. 
In the open quadrangle, before ascending to the Picture Gral- 
lery, observe a group in marble of a Lion which has seized 
A Horse : the horse is down on his haunches, and the beast is 
biting his sides : the neigh of horror is finely expressed, for the 
pain of the wound is lost in the stronger feeling. Under the 
arcade, facing the entrance, you see a fine group of Rome 
Triumphant, with a captive Dacian King on each side, and 
a bas-relief of the Weeping Province is let into the centre 
pedestal. This last figure is represented seated, leaning her 
head on her arm, wailing in bitterness of heart her humbled, 
abject, tributary condition. Here, also, you see a head and 
hand of enormous proportions in bronze, part of a statue of 
the Emperor Commodus ; and a colossal foot of marble, of 
which the great toe alone measures a foot and a half, thought 
to have belonged to the statue of Nero, which, for its colossal 
size, gave the name of Colosseum to the noble Amphitheatre 
of Vespasian. We are told that this statue stood in the 
centre of the arena, and was 120 feet in height, the stu- 
pendous work of a Greek sculptor named Zenodorus. After 
the death of the monster it represented, this statue was dedi- 
cated to the sun. 

Ascend now the stairs, and visit the apartments, not op^i 
to the public generally ; but for the particulars contained in 
them, I knust again refer to the end of the volume. As there 
is still a good deal to describe in Rome, I must hurry the 
traveller on to the paintings in this palace, of some of which 
let him take the following brief sketch : — 

Guido*s Bacchus and Ariadne. Seated on a rock by 
the sea-shore, where the billowy ocean splashes its hushing 


waten on the beach, you see the lovely Ariadne listening to 
the passionate suings of her youthftil lover. And here the 
artist displays the propriety of his judgment ; for the lover of 
Ariadne is not represented as the rude and noisy god of port 
and porter, but the delicate, respectful deity of champagne 
non mausseux. 

A Magdalen, by Guercino. Her grief is beautiful, not 
affecting ; for she cries like a child that wanted a play-thing. 

Another, by the same. — Here the fair penitent is kneeling 
before a skull, flogging himself; but, like Sancho, she takes 
special good care to lay it very gently on. 

AncUher, by Albani. The Magdalen weeps most piteously, 
it is true ; but yet you cannot help perceiving they are a 
woman's tears, that, like an April shower, only brighten the 
heaven from whence they fall. 

How different all these, and Guide's to boot, from the 
same subject by Tintoretto ! Here you see real compunction 
— sincere, deep, and solemn — glaring dimly, yet visibly, in 
every wretched feature. A skull and crucifix are beside her ; 
her only covering a mat ; her couch, a bed of rushes ; and 
with clasped hands and weeping heart, expressive of the 
misery of guilt in all its utter desolation, she fervently im- 
plores the forgiveness of her offended God. 

Poussin s Triumph op Flora. In a car, drawn by two 
azure-winged Cupids, lovely as May-mom, and fresh as the 
vernal breeze. Flora sits smiling like an opening rose-bud. 
A crowd of adorers (and who is not of the number ? ) encircle 
the goddess, and press round her car, presenting their sweet- 
est primituB^ primroses and every blooming flower; while 
nymphs, as beauteous as the posies they hold in their hands, 
dance before, and strew her path with others, of every 
faigrant scent and rariegated hue. 

Guercino's Pbbsian Sibyl is beautiful as a painting, and 
particularly in the management of the drapery ; but her eye 
is small, and bespeaks none of that inspiration which shines 
so resplendently in Domenichino's Cumban. Here you have 
loveliness in full bloom ; eyes like a new-unfolded convol- 
vulus, blue and clear as the unclouded vault of heaven, and 

1^1- iALvr. .'7 HIE r«:)N>ERVAT''RI TME PAINTINGS. 

reo::/.r.j wi'h -••^'>-r!.^:>? that never clovf : bp»ws arcluxl like 
rii^"- rn::.' •:'^^ : 1^.-, cl.errv-ripe, th\t sue to W^ pre>M-(l : ami a 
f■•^^ .t-ri.i t'jir, l-irv, -.ii : » :^t ;in?ive — t-O sinoo'ii "'ud polishod 
r:ir It :\.^ v.rii.k'.f i i* v: «jI L':ire i" rest '-n. Guercino's mav 
prupl.e-v. "jii'l r-~k < ii-^ wuM o.iirradict so pretty a hulv — 
' /• '/ * ./ •'. -. :l.:i'*- Jill: D:»:r.t-i.i«.'lJn'j'^, a-'uin, has only 
Vj avf.r, r » ii.akf^ -o^ prieisni irs^ll' the nio-si credulous (•!* 

'YiiK r;EAi:FiED >riRir, I'V (Tiiido. The artist has re- 
prr-t-nrrd tlii-^ -iii'liiiie i'U^i bv a tiirure with wiiijis, standiiiii 
on t1i»' iiMi -'^ vt r j».' *\ the world. rea<lv to take tiiixht to 
n'_:ioii- f»v'>nd th*- 1-t tixud star: but he has failed in the 
coIraniiiLT — iitik-d in L'i^inj: it that c^^atin:^ of ether which 
the re]»re-=«'ntjiti"n of -iich a s\ihjeot deniandrd ; and vut no 
j)eneillini: so npproj riate as Guido's to such a delinea- 
tion, for the liliie nii-t of the moon soeni-i alwavs to hauix 
round this artist's pallet. The LTetieral tiirure is spare, not 
delicate : humaniry emaciated, not spiritualised ; and to nie 
it appears more like a beincr tliat had fretted itself to a 
fi<ldle-strin<j at tlie loss of its ^oul, than the ethereal repre- 
sentation of the divine essence frt^ed from the dross of iiior- 
talitv. Xevcrthele-is there is a certain j^i'ace in the greneral 
outline : but it is chilliii'j:, mea'j:re, and revolting in detail, 
colon rinir, and execution — onlv tit to >it on a cohl cloud, and 
manufacture snow-drift, or cool the scorched moths that flit 
too near the sun. 

Let us walk into the other room. 

The first paintinp; that strikes the observer is Guercino's 
Apotheosis of >t. Petromlla. Fault has been found 
with Raphael's Transi igvration, because it represented a 
double action. Here this objection is moi'e forcibly apj)li- 
cable, for the unities of both time, place, and action, arc 
still more manifestly disreixarded, without any redeeminLr 
skill in the composition of it to compensate the transgression. 
In the lower part of the picture you se(^ the interment of Pe- 
troriilla ; and in the upper, her apotheosis. The first is so 
manaii'ed as to dmui the eve downwards, and there bury it 
in the same cold grave with the dead i)ody of the saint. 


Escaping frcmi this uncomfortable scene, by a sensible effort of 
the will — a circumstance always uniayourable to a pleasing 
impression, for the chain of feeling is broken in upon, and its 
unison destroyed — the eye now rests, in the upper part of 
the canvass, on the figure of the saint received into heaven. 
There it may rest, and with pleasure ; but should it wander 
towards two figures behind that of Christ, it is carried in- 
voluntarily hence, to admire the white-washing of the ceiling. 
Yet, with all these defects, it is a noble painting, abounding 
in beautiful, though unconnected, groups; and time has 
given it its richest, mellowest tint. 

Paul Veronese's Eubopa. This well-known painting 
possesses all the characteristics of the Venetian school in an 
eminent degree : drapery beautifully and highly finished ; 
colouring brilliant and harmonious ; and the composition of 
the whole extremely well balanced. In a rich landscape- 
scene £nropa is represented seated on the back of the bull, 
which lies in an attitude of repose, licking his mistress's feet 
There is a lascivious warmth, in this picture, of colouring, 
action, and attitude,, that. quickens the pulse, and insensibly 
makes the bashful blush, and the chaste to turn aside. 

Cleopatra before Augustus, by the same artist. She 
kneels at the feet of the victor, and iinplores death with the 
earnestness, and in all the despair, of love plucked in full 

Gaido's Eubopa. Here you have this artist's usual 
lovely femtde, who indifferently serves as a Mag, Lucretia, 
or Earopa, as attributes may denote* She is r^rding 
Cupid, who returns her love-sick looks vnth an arrow. 

A Witch, by Salvator Rosa. Sitting in her den, resting 
her feet on cabalistic figures enclosed in a circle, edged by 
bits of candles that are lit, the hag is consulting a book filled 
with figures of mystical meaning, and characters legible only 
to spirits who have learned their alphabet of the deviK 

The Conversion op St. Paul. The conception of the 
composition of this painting is particularly appropriate and 
striking, and resembles the bursting of a bomb-shell. The 
accompanying figures fly out of the picture in all directions, 


and leave the eye to gaze undisturbed on the flounderintr 
hor-^e and fallen hor-ienian. 

>o. 7^) marks a beautiful Landscape, by Domenichino ; 
and his Fool of Bethesda is not less fine. Observe, also, 
two St. Sebastians, one bv Ludovico Caracci, the other by 
CiutTrino : but both of them sutler the arrow to stick in their 
breasts with tiie same indifference as if it were a flower-stalk 
Ky{ heart s-ease, and more particularly that by the often-un- 
meaning: pencil of Guerciuo. Guercino w%is a painter, but 
no Lrlazier; his eyes shew no transparency; his corneas are 
literallv hnrnv, not lucid — mere stable lanterns; and vou 
look in vain for crvstal any where, to exhibit the inward 
workiuixs of tlie ht-art. 

0]i]>osite the j>alace of the Conservatori you find the MrsEO 
(\\riTOi.iNO, appropriated to statuary in marble and bronze. 
Iveforrinix to the Apjiendix for the minuter details, I may draw 
the visitor's attetition to the following more particularly: — 

TuE Dying (Gladiator. Sittiiuj: on the irround, and 
supporting himself on his arm, remark how finely the faint- 
ness of approachinir death is portrayed in his countenance : 
his lu'ad droops, as the life-stream gushes from his wounded 
side ; but this expres-ion is not confined to the countenance 
— every limb dies. It was in this school that [Michael An- 
ireh^ studied : and the arm on which tlie (iladiator rests was 
restored by this inimitable artist. But to call this statue a 
Gladiator, is, in my opinion, a misnomer. His short, coarse 
hair, the profile of his nose, the form of his eyebrows, his 
mustachios, a kind of collar round his neck ; nothing, in 
short, accords with the figures of gladiators elsewhere repre- 
sented, but denote appropriately that of a barbarian warrior. 
Gtesilas was the sculptor. The character of soul represented 
in this statue is truly astonishinir, and beautifully illustrates 
the remark of Hume, when he says that, '* it will be found 
that the most perfect ])roduction still proceeds from the most 
perfect thought, and that it is mind alone which we admire, 
while we bestow our applause on the graces of a well-pro- 
portioned statue, or the synunetry of a noble pile." 


The apartment of the Dying Gladiator, which takes its 
name from this celebrated statue, may be considered properly 
a tribune, for every object in it is a chef-dCceuvre of art. 
Here is a glorious Apollo, a beautiftil Antinous, a most 
majestic Juno, Zbno, and die celebrated group of Cupid 


Zeno. His knit and shaggy eyebrows express defiance of 
the caprice and buffetings of fortune, with a total indifference 
to the most despotic edicts of fate ; and, in perfect keeping 
with such characteristics of the philosophy Zeno taught, the 
statue exhibits a form made to endure. He looks the Stoic : 
firm even to obstinacy ; obdurate even to unfeelingness. 

Cupid and Psyche. Were limbs e'er before entwined 
in such voluptuous coils? Here even priests stand and gaze ! 
It is not Cupid who embraces Psyche, but the wanton girl 
herself, who, in pressing her lover's bosom to her own, seals 
his lips with an eternal kiss, lest he should chide her fond- 
ness too soon. This group is emblematical of the union of the 
soul and body, and is not unfrequently seen on sarcophagi. 

Apartment op the Faun. — The statue which designates 
this room is of rosso antico ; and though undoubtedly very 
fine, it did not strike me so much as the one to be seen in the 
Vatican, perhaps from its being a second impression. Yet 
its general contour seemed harsher, its form not so perfect, 
and its expression less characteristic ; but the marble is in 
finer preser\'ation. 

The Saloon. — Observe a bronze Hercules, the only 
bronze statue yet found, on which the ancient gilding is so 
perfect. He holds his club in one hand, and the apples from 
the garden of the Hesperides in the other. His position is 
that of the most graceful ease ; the proportions are heroic, 
and display, in full perfection, manhood in all its athletic 

Two statues of Centaurs, in iiero antico. Both are ex- 
tremely fine, and being of coloured marble, the eyes are of 
black and white, to impart the requisite animation : indeed, 


when they iEti*e so managed, they are more expressire even 
than statues of common marble. In one of them an eye k 
wanting, which accident giyes additional character to the 

An Infant Hbbculbs in bronze, of colossal proportions. 
This is a remarkably fine statue^ and shews the admirable 
skill of the artist, in preserving perfect the proportions of 
childhood on a scale so exceedingly difficult and unfen 

A Vbnus. She stands in the same modest attitude as 
the Tuscan Venus ; but, though fine, this statue has nothing 
of the inconceivable delicacy of proportion and finish of that 
of Florence. 

Habpoorates, the God of Silence. The most remark- 
able thing about this statue is the ear-trumpet which he holds 
in his hand, as it shews that this aid to hearing was used by 
the ancients. 

Here, also, I could not help regarding the statue of Caius 
Mariub as an old acquaintance ; and another to which, I 
am afraid, I have been somewhat longer a stranger — that of 
Innocbncb, Who, personated by a little girl, presses a dove 
to her breast. Traveller ! are you a little girl ? If not, I 
apprehend you likewise will not see here the exact portraiture 
of your most intimate acquaintance. 

The collection of busts in this Museum is invaluable. 
Note a Homer, represented blind ; likewise Cato the censor : 
stem inflexibility of resolve and purpose is in his features, 
depicting the very beau-ideal of stoicism in its utmost rigidity; 
also Plato, in whose countenance a species of divinity shines ; 
and DiooENBS — but such a savage deserves to dwell only in 
a tub. 

In the Long Gallery, observe an Infant Hbbculbs 
strangling two serpents, a portrait evidently of some child. 
A Gladiator fighting, like Withrington in Chevy Chase, 
on his stumps ; and a tine statue of a Female, numbered 24, 
but very badly restored. Hence you enter 

The Apartment of the Vase. — The elegant vessel, which 


gives name to its habitat, was found near the tomb of Cecilia 
Metella. Here you also see the Bronze Vase, which for- 
merly belonged to Mithridates, king of Pontus; and the 
well-known moecdc, in pietra duray which is mentioned in 
Pliny, of four pigeons drinking out of a bowl. It was found 
m Hadrian's villa, at Tivoli. 

The stranger naturally asks, as he stands on the Capitol, 
Where are all those noble edifices — those temples of the Capi- 
toline Jupiter? where the Flaminian Circus, the finest that 
ever existed, which once adorned this place, not even a ruin 
of which remains ? ' 

On the spot where formerly the Temple of Jupiter Fere- 
trius stood, you now find the church called Ara Cceli. This 
church is held in great veneration, from the circumstance of 
an angel appearing to Gregory the Great when he founded 
it ; and they still shew, as a proof of the fact, the impression 
of two small feet on a stone, like those of an infant. 

From the Capitol you descend by two ways to thb Cahpo 
VACcmo, the ancient Forum Romanum ; and he that treads 
it for the first time without feeling a desire to take off his 
shoes, has no reverence for the memory of the mighty and 
immortal great who figured on this eventful stage. 

At the bottom of the hill you find the chapel of San 
PiBTRO IN Cabcbrb, SO named from St. Peter having been 
imprisoned here. There is a spring of water at the bottom 
of it, which, they tell you, St. Peter caused to rise out of the 
ground; and by this miracle he contrived to convert the 
jailor and all his fellow-prisoners. It was anciently a prison, 
built by Ancus Martius : the underground story was after- 
wards added by Servius Tullius Hostilius. From the upper 
part, which was called Robur, criminals were thrown ; and 
hence this punishment was designated Pr<Bcipitatio de robore. 

Enter now the Forum, and view the vestiges of miracles 
of less pretending performance : those of the Temple of 
Concord, of Jupiter Tonans and Jupiter Stator ; the Basilica 
of Sempronius, now the church of St. Gregory in Velabro ; 
the Triumphal Arch of Septimus Severus ; the Temple of 


Festina and Augustus ; the Church ofSts. Cosmo and Damiah, 
the bronze door of which was brought from Perugia by Pope 
Adrian the First ; the magnificent ruins of the Temple of 
Peace, built by Vespasian, after the taking and destruction 
of Jerusalem; the Temples of the Sun and Moon ; the Triam- 
phant Arch of Titus, with the admirable bas-reliefs under 
the arcades, some of which represent the spoils brought from 
Jerusalem, as the chandelier with seven branches, the two 
tables of the law, vases, and other utensils, taken from 
Solomon's Temple, brought by Vespasian to Rome, and 
deposited by him in the Temple of Peace, as we learn from 
St. Jerome. Next view the ruins on the M ons Palatinus ; and, 
finally, thb Colobsbum. Thirty thousand workmen were 
employed during eleven years in its construction ; first under 
Vespasian, and afterwards under his son Titus. It is one 
hundred and thirty paces long and eighty wide; and when 
entire, it was capable of containing 190,000 spectators com* 
modiously to see the games and spectacles. Dilapidated as 
it is, it still is a noble ruin, surpassing in grandeur any that 
exists. Among the foliage which- adorns its ruined arcades, 
feathered songstera, in choirs, chant their little sonnets, 
making those vaults and arches that formerly echoed back 
only the roarings of wild beasts and the groans of the dying 
gladiator, resound with notes of softest, sweetest cadence. 
Visit it at all hours, by noontide or moonlight, its fitscinating 
effect is the same ; and the oflener you go, the more charmed 
you become, by the crowd of recollections and reflections it 
excites. Behind the Colosseum are the ruins of the Baths 
of Titus. 

Retrace now your steps by the Campo, and getting to the 
Corso, there are some objects in this quarter that claim the 
stranger's notice ; and first of the Palazzo Doria. 

The following are some, among a multitude of other, fine 
paintings contained in this palace, which admit of a succinct 
description : — 

The Death of Abel, by Salvator Rosa. Abel is down ; 
Cain stands over his brother, and holding him by the hair of 
tlie head, he kills him with the jaw-bone of a horse. The 


scene is laid in a landscape, canopied by a dark and angry 
sky, as if the sun had veiled his face in clouds, not to view 
the murderous deed ; whilst the light which illuminates the 
picture proceeds from the fire of the altar to the left. 

Hagab in the Desbrt, by Spagnoletto. Nothing could 
be more finely conceived than the accompaniments of this 
afiecting subject : the scene is bleak and dreary ; the colour- 
ing dun and cold : a broken pitcher lies on the ground, to 
typify the well of the living Grod ; the child Ishmael is seen 
by its side, pallid, ghastly, and expiring, as if from thirst 
and exhaustion ; while the angel of the Lord leads Hagar 
away from a scene so horrid and appalling, to humble herself 
before her mistress. 

Time plucking Cu pid's Wings, by Albani. This gadster, 
more fluttering and variable in his tastes than a butterfly, 
well deserves to be punished ; but, good father Time, when 
I shall give you the job, it must be only to clip, not pluck, his 
pinions — pluck them entirely, so that he cannot flirt about 
at all, and he will sometimes be in the way when he is not 
desired. Cupid himself seems to think so; for the little 
urchin looks pitiful and sad, as if afraid he was going to be 
treated like a chicken — singed and roasted. 

The Repose in Egypt, by Caravaggio. The subject is 
singularly treated. Seated on the ground, the Virgin and 
Child have fallen asleep to the music of an angel, who plays 
on a violin : Joseph holds up the book, as if the seraphim 
could not play but by note. You have a back view of the 
angel, who, with expanded wings, appears more like a Cupid ; 
only this little wretch's music are sobs and tears, which do 
any thing but lull. 

The Sacrifice of Abraham, by Titian. This painting 
exhibits more expression than is usual with Titian. Isaac 
lies on his back: you believe that you hear his cries, for, 
stretching out his hands towards the angel, he calls aloud for 
help, with the lusty sincerity of a boy, and the clamorous 
fright of a female. 

Belisarius, by Salvalor Rosa. The aged and unfor- 
tunate hero leans on a staff which he holds in his right hand, 


and his left is soiriewhat extended — date ohohnn : he walk? 
do\^n to the speotator. and with u]x*ast eyes he appears to 
lament aloud his wretched condition. The scenery around is 
rockv a!ul uncouth: tlie landscape develops no sunshine; 
rocks and the sjdintered trunks of trees are the acconipani- 
nitnts and enihhnis of his hard and broken fortunes. 

In this select and invaluable collection you find many 
other examples of the first artists. iSassuferrati's well-known 
M V DONNA, so full of sweetness and beauty ; Claude's Molina, 
so called from a mill beinir introduced — a waterfall occupies 
the centre ; tigures dance in the foreground, and mountains, 
recediiiii fri>m the eye in measured perspective, lose them- 
selves in the mist of distance. Here, also, are two superior 
Guercinos : the Martyrdom of St. Agnes, and St. John 
IN THE Wilderness gettinu* water at a spring. 

C)n the ojiposite side of the Corso, and not far from the 
Doria, the Sciakra Palace is situated. This also is re- 
markaVile for its tine collection of paintings. Among many 
others, observe a splendid copy of Raphael's Transfigu- 
KATiON, bv Giulio Ixomano. 

AbrauamV Sacrifice, by Delia Xotte. This is a frightful 
representation of the patriarch's obedience. Abraham's hand 
presses the throat of his devoted son, whose countenance 
depicts the struggling, clioking u'asp of strangulation. 

(Iamblers cheating a Johnny, by Caravagi>;io. Two 
youths are seated at play : one evinces in his countenance all 
tlie rawness of unsuspicious simplicity ; the other, though 
ecpuilly young, the keenness of thoroughly initiated knavery. 
A third, the finished ade{)t, and the confederate of the young 
aspirant for the gallows, is looking over the hand of the 
novice, and telegraphs to his apprentice what he is to do. 
Villanv is leiriblv eiifxraved on the features of both; and the 
painter has a))ly exemplified the traits which characterise the 
progressive grades of de])ravity. 

Two Magdalens, by (hiido. The finer of the two is a 
copy of the other, distinguished by a dress of a purplish hue, 
with some radishes by her side : hence its designation '^ (die 
ntdia'.^' As a painting it is deservedly esteemed a c//c/- 


(Tceuvrey possessing all the soft peDcilling of the artist, and 
penitence of the sweetest, most contrite cast. 

There are many others in this collection of no less merit. 
A portrait of Raphael, by himself; his mistress Fornarina, 
by Giulio Romano; Titian's Mistress, by himself, which 
well may vie with the Fomarina in loveliness and beauty ; 
Moses, by Guido, in his first manner ; Modesty and Vanity, 
by Da Vinci, represented by two females of fascinating grace ; 
but there is magic in the eye and smile of all Leonardo's 

Behind this palace you find the Church of the San- 
TTSsiMi Apostoli, in the piazza of the same name. Under the 
vestibule to the left of the porch, observe, before entering the 
church, a monument erected and executed by Canova to his 
friend Valpato. But what makes this church chiefly an 
object of the stranger's regard are the Frescos by Odazzi, 
which adorn the ceiling of the tribune. The subject repre- 
sents the rebel angels driven from heaven. Remark the 
foreshortenings of the figures, which are so extraordinarily 
fine : the very prominent relief given to them is so real, 
indeed, that while you regard them, a sense of dread creeps 
over you lest they should fall upon you. Here also is the 
tomb of Pope Clement XIV., ornamented with statues of 
Meekness and Temperance, by Canova. The painting over 
the grand dtar is by Muratori, and exhibits skilful com- 
position. • 

Hence let the stranger visit Trajan's Column, erected in 
honour of his victories over the Parthians. ^ It is 140 feet in 
height, and 192 steps lead to the top of it, where formerly 
stood the urn placed here by the senate of Rome, and which 
contained the ashes of the emperor. Getting to the Fountain 
of the Treviy one of the most ancient in Rome, originally 
constructed by Agrippa, as we learn from Suetonius, let the 
stranger descend the Via de' Crociferi to view the Column op 
Marcus Antoninus in the Piazza Colonna, facing the post- 
office. It stands 161 feet in height: on it the military 
exploits of this emperor against the Armenians, Parthians, 
and Germans, are engraved. You ascend by 207 steps, which 


coil round its interior, to the top, on which a bronze-irilt 
statue of St. I^uil stJinds. A short distance from this yni 
come to the Pantheon. 

Tliis famous tenipU^ was huilt by Agrippa, who dedicated 
it in })artieuhir i a-^ PHny tells ns) to Juj)iter the Avenirer. 
Statues of tlie other deities encompassed their chief. The 
li»'!L::ht of tliis noble edifice is one hundred and forty -four 
ftM't, its width the same, and the thickness of its walls i« 
eighteen feet. Its dome is justly estecaned a pi*odi<2"y of art. 
Jn front there is a muij:niticent vestibule, supported by tliirteen 
colunms of tiranite of prodigious height and size, beiuL: ^i\ 
feet in dianu'ter, and tifty-three hiu:h. Ihit the nobh^ness of 
the effect nni^t, in the present day, be considerably dimini.^hed 
from the elevation of tlie surroundintr c^round. Formerly a 
fliillit of ste])s led up to tlie vestibule ; now you must descend 
in Older to enter it. The Pantheon of the ancient pagans has 
])een consecrated to tlu^ Virgin by modern polytheism ; perhaps 
it would have been moie in keeping with its original appro- 
priation to have dedicated it to ^* Ognisanti." This temple 
is the most ])erfect of all the antique remains in Rome, and 
derives additional attraction from the ashes of the celebrated 
men it enshrines — the urn, as it were, of the dead more im- 
mortal tluin itself. Raphael, the modern Apelles, lies here; 
his pupil, Pierino del Vaga, and Hannil)al Caracci : here also 
you hnd the i-emains of Zuccheri, ^'acca, and others. C)ver 
\ acca's tomb you read : 

I). O, M. 

I T.AM INTO . VA( f A. 


<.>rf . IN . Onill lUS . ',»! AT . I H I I . 

M sj^MAM . >jiu . sA 1 l>\ \A II. 

(Jver Zuccheri 's : 

M \(,N A . «jrop . IN" . ma(;ko . 1 nniT . n \imi \i i r . pi u \n»u f . 
i\i>\ro . IN . MAGNo . ri.ijTiMi I r . (.HM mix. 

Rajdiael's is on one side of the altar of the Virgin : 

Ml I. . inc . , RAIMIALL . lIMCn . «»»l () . SO-^I'IIK . VINCI . 
r. I lU M . M A(.N \ . FMRl N-^ . 11 . MUl'II N 1 I, . MOI'.I. 


On the other side you read : 

D. O. U. 


BIC . £aT . 









VOMEN . ET . STUDIA . COLENS . P. AM. 1674. 

Below : 


In one of the niches you see a fine antique statue of a 
Vestal Virgin^ which has been baptised afresh, under the 
name of St. Ann. She holds up her drapery with one hand, 
and rests the other on the shoulder of a young girl with a 
scroll in her hand. The drapery of the principal statue is 
cast in a bold and graceful style, and the general idea of 
this picture seems to have been adopted and copied by painters 
as the model and pattern for Madomias and Matri Doloris 
to crucifixions, and for St. Anns in compositions where it 
was necessary for both the Virgin and her mother to be 

Whatever delight the visitor may take in viewing the 
various objects I have attempted to describe, I yet feel con- 
scious that their bare recital must have been as tedious for 
the reader to peruse as it has been tiresome to the writer to 
enumerate. Let us, then, quit the mouldy atmosphere and 
mouldering ruins of former ages, and breathe a newer, if not 
a more refreshing, air. 

Walking on the Monte Pincio one day, I perceived thin 
and variously composed strata of volcanic dust, developed by 


tlie ]vartial c/ittins: away of the hill for the path which ranges 
on its height : and on exaniiiiiiig it in different places, I 
fou!.d it t«^ he eiitirelv furnieJ of a mound of the same 
volcanic iiKitorial. It is o{ a l)lnisli colour, speckled with 
\vbi:o STx.ts portVctly calcined, and possesses a strong attrac- 
tion ibr Luinidirv. Some tliat I <j:ot several months a'j:o is 
ovtn new more damp than when taken from the hill, thouirh 
rt!\a:edlv dried by the -^nn a^ carried a])Out in my knapsack. 
This proportv of tlie -^oil of Rome is, in my opinion, the chief 
somve i<f tlie malaria, so fatal in its effects here at certain 
St asvMi- of the year. Its line of distribution niarks the limit 
oi its operation, and this circumstance will explain how one 
>ide of a -treet -boiild l>e notoriou-^lv unhealthy, and the other 
free o( anv noxious inlUience. The most heedless observer 
nni^t frei[iuMuly liave witnessed how speedily tiie roads in the 
neiubbourbood of Rome diy after even great torrents of rain. 
He mistakes mucli if lie thinks this proceeds from evapora- 
tion ; for tiie beat of the sim, even in the hottest sunuiier 
months, could dissipate but little in so sliort a space of time: 
it i> absorbed bv the tbirstv nature of the soil; and he may 
convince himself of tlie fact, by remarking how permanently 
moist this is all the vear round a few inches under the sur- 
face. Heat and moi^ture, we all know, vivify and disen2:a<re 
the fomitt\'5 of disease : no wonder, then, that these, acting on 
the drbris of animal and veuetable matter in a state of deconi- 
position, buried foi* a«j:es, and daily ^ainint:: fresh accumula- 
tions, should uenerate pestilential etHuvia, and by contanii- 
natiiiir the atmosphere of Rome during summer, produce 
fevers of so fatal a type. 

This pernicious condition of the soil is not confined to 
Rome (^six out of seven of the hills on which it stands 1 ascer- 
tained to be volcanic\ but extends as far as the deliquescent 
earth (,its peculiar matrix) itself does ; and hence the un- 
healihiness of the whole of the Campagna. Circumstances 
certainly modify its degree of intensity ; but I think facts 
will bear me out in circumscribing the sphere of the operation 
of nndaria to the demarcation made l>y the line of its extent. 


The Pontine Marshes^ again^ owe any peculiar unhealthine^ 
they possess to another kind of formation, of which I shall 
speak hereafter. 

The Tarpeian Rock is composed of volcanic dust consoli- 
dated, forming a yariegated lithoidal tufa, enclosing mealy 
leaciteSy scales of black and green augite, and, in some parts, 
small portions of felspar ; and although abundantly absorbent 
of moisture, it is less deliquescent and friable than that of the 
Monte Pincio. The peculiar character of this yolcanic forma- 
tion, it may be remarked, affords an infallible index of the 
original depth of the foundations of ancient Rome, and there- 
fore presents an exact guide to the antiquary io pursuing ex- 
cavations in search of antique remains. 

Facing the northern extremity of the Pincian Hill, on the 
left of the new road near the Porta del Popolo, I was struck 
accidentally one day with the singular appearance of the 
ground ; and on approaching it, I was surprised to find it 
formed of a pile of petrified matter, eighteen or twenty feet 
in height by about forty in length, entirely composed, at the 
lower part, of the petrified trunks of very large trees, lying 
obliquely forward or outward ; above which the whole rock 
consists of petrified branches and typolithic leaves, intermixed 
in various places with volcanic sand and gravel. I made a 
selection of specimens from each, several of which are very 

Some of the branches that were in contact with the vol- 
canic matter have a torrefied appearance — the ligneous fibre is 
entirely consumed, but its texture is perfectly preserved. My 
surprise and joy at such a discovery, to which, I believe, I 
may justly lay claim, was not lessened by finding this petrified 

* A notice of this discovery, which has escaped ohsenration for so many 
ages (for the catastrophe that caused it roust have happened prior to the 
foundation of Rome itself), appeared in the Edinburgh New Philosophical 
Journal for Jan. 1832, conducted by my respected and distinguished tutor, 
Professor Jameson. In making the ancient Via Flaminia level, they had 
cut away the flank of the hill ; and it is this section of it that forms great 
part of the exposition now to be seen. Previous to this, the road had in 
all probability led over its shoulder, as the high ground in some places must 
have approached close to the banks of the Tiber. 

IV> ri:niiFiED sibteruanean forest. 

t'. Tr-t to ♦xtf. (I Up the yi'A Flaniinia toward? the Ponte 
M<'l!t' — f-'r:i!i:>Lr. in tiict, the entire escarpment to the right 
( f :\.r r»K{-l. li 'W hill iortv feet in thickness. Before irettinir 
r • the ]'• i<L'».- it i'l-Linch^'S utf still more to the riL:;ht; and al>oiit 
a uiiif jil)"\e it tli« iv is an interruption of this subterranean 
f ';r<r, \\lh'r^' vuii pt iveive, under the petrifactions, the original 
fi.jKf.'U'i toru.ation of the country, consisting; of cemented 
Lfravel. -and. a'.id clav, l>rfore it was covered over hv the 
v<']e:ni:e du^t nr^l the forest we have been describing:. A 
ijiiarter of a mile higher up the Tiber, you come to a mineral 
>prinj:. ha\inLr a suhaeid taste. It seems once to have been 
fi» <^'i( nted f.r its u.edicinrd <jualities. The petrified forest 
iiou cro>«-(.'- tlif Tiber, and you perceive detached parts of it 
a-e»'iidinLr in the ilireetion of the stream. The question 
natniallv aii-e- in the mind, uhat could have occasioned so 
j-in-ular a catastrophe .' Is this the work of an earthquake, 
wljen t]ii> part of the coiintrv was the scene of the volcanic 
c()n\ ul>ion- wliieh so many contiguous appearances confirm .' 
The cri-antie nature and extent of the phenomenon admit the 
proljal'ility of tlie conjectui'e : the admixture of volcanic dust 
anionLT the ti'unks and ).)i'anclR> of the forest, strengthens the 
su})po>ition : the overthrown po>ition of the whole mass shews 
that the event was sinuiltaneous : and the scorched impres- 
sions on the j^etrifactions point out the agency of fire. The 
p<'tj"itic matter is calcareous, but of a peculiar appearance, 
diihrent from anv 1 ever saw : it is of a liirht brown colour, 
and wvy ])ulverulent. The upper parts of the petrifactions 
partake of the friabU' nature of the petrifacient ; Init as it gets 
dee[)er, it hecomes nioie and more indurated bv the increase 
of the superincum])('nt pi'i^^sure. The abrupt manner in whicli 
this extensive bed of petrititd wood terminates, is not one of 
its least singularities; and altoirether it is, perhaps, one of the 
most anomalous circutnstances of the kind vet discovered. 

The volcanic soil seems to lie bounded in the immediate 
vicinity of Rome l)y the Tiber. Some of it may be seen 
under the foundations of the bastion on which the Villa 
( a\allieri stands, near the church of Saint Onofrio ; but the 
whole of Monte Gianicolo, and the hills behind it, are of 


aqueoos formation. This consists, first, of loose^ small, pebbly 
grayel mixed with sand ; under this lies the same materials 
cemented together, forming conglomerate ; thirdly, pure sand, 
abounding in mica* of a silvery whiteness and splendour ; 
and lastly, lias, enclosing marine organic remains. This last is 
used in making a coarse sort of pottery, tiles, &c., and, when 
mixed with pounded volcanic tufa and sand, in making 

In my excursions round the suburbs, chance led me to the 
Monte Mareo. Here it was that the French took up their 
position when they summoned Rome to surrender. The upper 
part of this hill is wholly composed of a congeries of marine 
organic remains ; of large ostracites firmly cemented together, 
on forcibly separating which, you sometimes expose delicate 
dendritic impr^ions — they are of the ostrea hippopus species. 
Here, also, you find aggregations of dentalia, mactrse, and 
pectines. Similar marine remains are found in the lias before 
mentioned, together with tellinse lepantes, and remains of 
plants of the fuci species, as observed by M. Von Buch. I 
may here take occasion to remark, that this geologist has 
mistaken the nature of the stone to be seen along the wall 
between the Porta Santo Spirito and that of Santo Pancrazio : 
he describes it as a peculiar sandstone ; whereas more careful 
observation would have shewn it to be a matter compounded 
of greenish gray volcanic dust indurated. I confess that I 
also mistook it for a sandstone the first time I saw it, which 
was on the rise about half a mile before arriving at the Ponte 

The Church of St. Paul, outside the walls, before it was 
burned down, was an object of the stranger's curiosity. A 
silly belief is prevalent among the lower class of the Romans, 
that it was set on fire by the English, in envy of its emulating 
our own church of the same name. 

* It was from the sparkling sand on it, that this part of the Janiculum ob- 
tained its name of Mons Aureus ; of which Montorio, its modem appellation, 
is a corruption. 

- ' .f . . • \ :\ .\i?:a i..*^:'f are some ob"ects that 

- • ' * • : _ < ^ :._: ^: ' V :L»:- V rta San Seha^tiaiio, v«ni 

■ -" • ./..-'. .^1'.' : •• D'jMine. gio VADi> f This 

'..•-■ . :> :..:::.e rVoin the tullowiiiix circuni- 

r' - - . ..- .' .- ] -•'.'.> i: ^:. PcTcr, ht-iiii; obli«^od one tini»^ 

*-.::- : : :- - •'! :.:- V:i^, nit-t our Saviour un 

" - r' ■ : . • ..-. ::. ::?-!. ** D"iiiino, quo vadis T' — 

-..-•' :. i. - '. T.' '"L!c':i Jtru> replic'I, '' To 

■ - r :. -. :.. t 0':\"ti:" a.rer ^vhieh he disap- 

« * ' ■.* :' '.. - :V.: iij» n a >r^>ne wliich is 

- - . ■ .*.. : .. •..::.. -: '■ r:.^r..t:u:i in the church of 

\ •■.: : . •- ■ --;■'. r.r::»c r.t tje churcli of the mar- 

-":.'. • .. V "..^r- :"..>' f-f' Ttrraiiious trrottos exist, 

X . . : . : • : L.-. ( A7ACL'^IB^. It waji in these that 

" ■ y . -:.-• - ' •-•. .••/.N r.---!i.r.t-d tn p.'rfonn exercise? 

• ^ •- • . .; " . - !:-: v. ri i. aitd tlie «)ldiei*s nias- 

- ....:..'»'.::. 'A..'.:. :!rL i i.:':rie slau^htt^r, thev roHed 

- - . > '. • :'.' :... :^ k^X the cavern, and shut 
. '" - V, .. •_ :" - V \t:o !• wt-arv tu ?lav. Some 

;- . \ .» .. /> :' > >■ : .!.'!. :c vi the livinu: was dis- 

.-.•.. .• . '.. > . .\ i '. >: /;:. 1 ''»;jt"= that were collected 

V, . . . : - :: ?• •-..'. :s ::\a5ure*. Under the altar 

. .H . . ..«.\ : ^: S- ". ..r*:..:. : a:.d Ltiv. also, is a well of 

\\ '.. > \ ' -.v-. :" . \. :..;'.:._■ c nctakd l^r more than two 

" .\i . "..i -.'v Nt..:^i :". : '— .liis of ^t. Ptit-r and St. Paul, 

\. ^\ :> V ;; .\ v\ : .: .:":*.:- c.:^'u:.; iliat the Pope accorded 

'..^ .! r v' : \-.: :"\ -.-r.u- r:^:'.v_ts as those of St. Peter's. 

i.v'v ^ .\r. t\vt'.\:: >:..::< ^ f :!.o MAKTVin)v)M or Sr. Se- 

vv^-. .IN ::; !!v.> c'::v\:, a'ul !:'.vin:-e some :;ood paintinLTS 

r'\\\*\;;r^ or.^^.1:\i. \ lui cmio to the C'iK( i s of (\vi?a- 
. V \ V, /.".vi ::u^ Tv^n::; or C'ri ii i v Mr.rr.i.i.A, the dauL:htt>r of 
r-.;vH;;> \\w latuv > i^t' a circiilar torm, ^upported on a 
^,- -.-x- I'!. :uid \\w wall> are i\mIm' ordinary pacc^ 
•/ AS '.!\'vr a:e c»M>trucail vf la\a and volcanic m(»rtar, 
/.'■.' \\ ^\:'\Uk'\\ a toanJat'oii of p. ii-o>:lit-it»ns la\ a, containiuLC 
i>\vM*.'>t\{ u-::v'::i> I'e-^looii- of finit and lea\es, linked 


together by oz-skullSy surround the cornice^ under which 
you read : — 


Q . CRETICI . F . 


Volcanic mortar was very commonly used by the ancient 
Romans in their buildings, and consists of pounded volcanic 
cinders mixed with lime. The former ingredient seems also 
to have been used in brickmaking : it is for the most part of 
a reddish colour ; and I suspect that in those bricks that are 
so particularly fine, the materials were first carefully sifted. 

The stranger ought not to leave Rome before visiting the 
Villa Borghese, which is outside of the walls beyond the 
Monte Pincio. Columns, pilasters, yases, and statues, in 
marble, bronze, and porphyry, enrich its splendid interior. 
This Villa formerly possessed the celebrated Fighting Gla- 
diator, which is now in the Louvre in Paris. It was given 
as a present by the truly princely Borghese to Bonaparte. 
Two groups in statuary, still here, are particularly striking : 
CuRTius LEAPING INTO THE GvLF, in the Forum ; and 
Apollo pursuing Daphne. In the first, you perceive the 
fright of the horse, unwilling to leap, though urged on by 
his rider. Curtius, on the contrary, delivers himself up to 
certain death, with the unhesitating eagerness of a martyr. 
The contrast is admirable between the unwilling obedience 
of the horse, which reluctantly yields, and the exalted senti- 
ment of the patriot, which triumphs in its devotedness. 

In the odier, Daphne's hair is being metamorphosed into 
leaves, her delicate feet into roots, her fair bosom seeks 
shelter under a covering of bark, and young branches shoot 
forth in the place of her arms. Apollo is close behind, with 
arms outstretched to seize her. You think you hear his 
prayer — ** Daphne! fly not along that flinty path ! Ah, fly 
slower, cruel that thou art, and I will pursue thee less 
quickly ! " 

Rome, in the time of Romulus, was confiued, as all know, 
to the Palatine and Capitoline hills : it had three gates only, 
the Trigonia, Pandana, and Carmenta ; but as Rome ad- 


vaineil in power find greatness, it at last so increased in s'.ze, 
that its circuit became a space of fitty miles. Tliirteen now 
f rm the extent of its circumference, which incUules spiicious 
• ':tr«l»^ii- nn<l vinevard- : and there are other (luarters entirelv 
r.». -' ::l1. C'jver* d «'iiiv with tlie ruins of its former irrandeur. 
M:. vi,.\yii._- the-i', how lorcil»ly the lines of the poet recur 

'* Colos>.'il liomt ! 

II«)\N i>* \\\\ livlni* t cleU. lliy banner low — 
A>'u«^ .\: v". v:..Nt .r.o all ihy ulory now! 
N\ . . . V- .■ . .\ \\.ivk, a liost of inohk> and ^la\^.•-> 
Tv . V ... " ^, . "v / >..>':ioiiial)!e L.Ta\c<. 

• »• 

I ,". iulhian capi;;/.-. v :..v>. tV-merly stood proud and liiirh in 

.. -. vou now tread nvaic r t.v^i : and the sculptured acanthus 

_ t' :> now faniiharlv tir/»:.iood hv the meanest vecretahle 

; ". e Pope, as uullmiiid head c>f hoth cliurch and state, 

. •. :o<t despotic of all ih>nvUs. ^ince his will is sanctioned 

/_\ed tlirouu'h fear of hoth the devil and the hantrmun. 

V et" his edicts are perteoily a^loutiding for their very 

' v; .\ > sake. I rememher >eeinLr one that was issued 

., ::ie handitti of the mountains, in which punishment 

. . .^-.uued not merely against the princi[)al, hut it ranii- 

.:;iv» the third degree of his consanguinity — people 

^ "vw^ihlv, miLilit he luM-fectlv hlauieless and inno- 

'-.v\le o\* intlicling death is sometimes not less 

. e. 'CNoliiiig. ^Vhile I was in Rome, a man 

• sfippJic'nttii in the Piazza del Popolo, the 

X \exMiiions. The criminal had murdered a 

» .-' •. '.e iu'ad with a hammer, and he suffered 

V, .Muu'r — tlu^ executioner striking him on 

/\ PHMitham's proposal of the mode of 

.. \\\c natun* of the crime, is here more 

. V-. it i> in actual operation. 

^ , V.;' eluiir is vacant, and money coined 

A- Iv ctnisidered a sort of pasquinade 

■'•eti struck — they place a cap of 

. ^. Peler. To the existini;' state of 


thingSy I have reason to beliere, erery sensible Roman feels 
any thing but attachment : the people openly regret the fate 
ef Bonaparte, who, enemy as he was to erery other country 
in Enrope, must be allowed to have been Italy's very best 
friend ; and a Roman was never more flattered than by 
telling him you thought II Picolo (the name they gave the 
young Napolecm) would one day be again their king. 

With regard to the private character of the Romans, I 
cannot, as &r as my own experience and observation go, 
speak too highly. They are a polished and very friendly 
people, though seemingly somewhat reserved on first ac- 
quaintance, from being more grave and sedate than the 
French ; sensible of their present degraded state, and se- 
cretly anxious for a change ; above many of the con- 
temptible practices which debase the character of some other 
nations that enjoy more liberal institutions; and if their 
virtues are of a less prominent and exalted cast, so also are 
their vices less mean and universal. The greater the re- 
straints of despotism, the more it seems to diminish the 
general extent of crime, whilst it aggravates its degree of 
atrocity. Hence a Roman, when an abandoned character, 
stops short at the commission of no crime, how flagitious 
soever; and among the most prevalent, the disregard of 
human life is conspicuous. I was credibly informed by one 
of themselyes, that, on an average, there are about five 
assassinations committed weekly in Rome ; but as no public 
notice is given of the facts, a stranger may live long enough 
in this city without hearing of them, unless by accident. 
Jealousy is the most frequent cause for such sanguinary ven- 
geance, and very oflen proceeding, I was informed, from 
illicit intrigues. 

The air of Rome is heavy and unwholesome, especially 
for invalids requiring a strict regimen and great care ; and 
perhaps it would be advisable, on more accounts than one, 
to have r^ard to the ordonnances which the stranger will 
read in the church of Minerva. 

With regard to the fitness of the climate as a residence 
for the pulmonary invalid, I cannot agree in those unqua- 


lified commendations which some have bestowed opon it 
The air, as I have said, is heavy and moist, and certainly 
there are some whose lungs such a temperament of atmo- 
sphere may suit ; but this I think is certain , that if it prove 
not beneficial, the trial cannot be made with impunity ; and 
no physician, if honest in his opinion, can say, a priori^ 
whether it will prove so or not. In spring, again, and even 
hi summer, a cold wind blows at times from the Apennines, 
which suddenly chills the air. This is an observation of 
Pliny's. My conviction is, that many a consumptive patient, 
who might have leisurely walked to the grave elsewhere, 
gallops to his goal at Rome : his languor increases under the 
depressing influence of so moist and relaxing an atmosphere ; 
his nocturnal perspirations become more profuse and colli- 
quative, his expectoration more exhaustingly copious; a 
quickened circulation fans the inflammatory combustion, and 
a keener hectic feeds on the vital principle until it is con* 
sumed, when death, closing the scene, bears away the last 
sigh, fraught with regret for having ever left home. 

Beginning to experience, in my own person, the influ- 
ence of such an atmosphere, or thinking so at least, I felt, 
or thought I felt, a sense of languor stealing over my general 
feelings, with symptoms of a stagnant liver. To dissipate 
bile or ennui, I was now therefore anxious to leave Rome 
for Naples, deferring my visit to Tivoli until my return ; so, 
on the third of April, I again threw my knapsack on my 
shoulders, and quitted Rome by the Porta San Giovanni. 
Once more I turned to contemplate Rome's ruined temples 
and fallen grandeur; and, as I marched onward, I felt the 
like reluctance in leaving '^ the city of the soul," as we may 
suppose an ancient miles to have done as he marched forth 
to join the camp of the legions on the frozen banks of the 
Upper Danube.' How different, again, from this, must have 
been the emotion of the wearied, wayworn pilgrim, as he left 
behind him the shrines of the holy apostles, the saints, and 
martyrs of his faith, towards whose sacred tombs he had bent 
his way from the remote regions of the West ! My own 
feelings, ijt is true, were of a difiercnt cast — less scmctified. 


more heretically imbued — contemplative^ and somewhat phi* 
losophically disposed, yet obtuse, dull, and heavy withal. 
The day was hot and sultry ; and before I got to Castel-Gon- 
dolfo, I felt so irresistibly drowsy, that I was forced to turn 
a little aside from the road, and fell asleep on the grass. 
This sensation is said to be more particularly felt on crossing 
the Pontine Marshes ; but as travellers usually post to Naples^ 
I am inclined to think that this impression is made by passing 
through the heavy air of the volcanic country between Rome 
and Cisterna, which the uninteresting flatness of the Marshes 
that succeed tends only the more to encourage. 

Before attaining the height on which Albano stands, I 
turned off to the left by Castel-Gondolfo, to visit the beautiful 
Lake of Albano, as it is called by English travellers, but 
more properly named by the people in its neighbourhood after 
the town situated on its borders. This lake fills the bottom 
of the crater of an extinct volcano, the brim of which rises 
between 300 and 400 feet above the level of the water. It 
forms a circular sheet, about half a mile in diameter, to 
which you descend by a winding path. In the descent I 
observed large masses of black mica embedded in volcanic 
clay ; indeed, mica seems to characterise the erupted matter 
of this spot, for I found it forming the soil on beginning to 
ascend the high ground which l^ads to Albano. The margin 
of the lake is strewed with sand of a very peculiar character, 
formed of comminuted mica, whose black shining particles 
sparkle on the beach. Turning to the right, by the side of 
the lake, you pass the ruins of the Baths of Diana, and a 
little farther on you come to the Emissario. This last is 
thought to have been begun by Appius Claudius, to drain off 
the water ; yet, as the authority for this conjecture is very 
uncertain, perhaps I may be permitted to suggest that it may 
have been undertaken to supply water to the aqueducts : but 
whatever may have been the end proposed, it seems never 
to have been completed. On viewing this peaceful lake, 
. standing as you know you do, in the crater of what was once 
a volcano, strange feelings and reflections steal on the mind : 
to behold little punts plying on its tranquil bosom^ or lying 


idle on its shores ; to see trardens on its borders, and flowers 
in tVu^rant ])loonj ; fruitful vines |:ri*owing on its banks, and 
birds carolliuLC their softest notes — how stronii:lv the contrast 
Hashes on tlie mind between scenes so peaceful and sweet, 
and the clamorous convulsive throes of a living parturient 
volcano ! 

I now retm'ncd to the town : but findinsr nothirio^ in 
the church to detain my attention, and being hungry, I 
entered a wretclied osteria near the Piazza. A bottle of wine 
and some liard-boiled eairs were all 1 could ^et. Chattinir 
with llie pach'one, as I sat eating my eggs, of the lake and of 
the I'uins bv ils side, he accidentally mentioned some that he 
had discoverc d in a vinevard of his whicli was situated on 
the inner ediie of tlie crater. It was about half a mile from 
the town, to the left of the circular basin, and thither we went 
together. The ruins already excavated consist of the base- 
merits of seveial apartments, one of which is ornamented 
with the most l)eautiful mosaic pavement I liad ever seen.* 
In another part of the vineyard 1 found the remains of a 
tomb, with three niches for sepulcliral urns ; but could learn 
notliiui'- of mine host of what had become of them. The 
richness of the ])avement shews that this must have been the 
villa of some Roman of conse([uence : Pompey, we know, 
had a villa here ; can these ])e the ruins of it ? Is that the 
very vault which contained his ashes I We know that the 
urn which held them was brought by his last wife, Cornelia, 
into Italy, and deposited in a tomb at his Alban villa. The 
mind, in the desire, is inclined, to believe it. Bidding addio 
to my friend Galli, the name of the padrone, I s^ot to Albano 
by a delightful road wliich led through an avenue of ilexes. 
At each extremity of Albano there is a ruin : the one you see 
before enterhig the town is said to be the Tomb of Asca- 
Mi's, the otlier, that of the Moratii and Ciriatii. 

A short mile from Albano brinirs you to Laricia. Colu- 
niella calls this town ^^ the Mother of Onions." In the churcli 
you see an altar-piece* by Borgognone ; it is an As.svmp- 

TION OF THE VlKGIN. Fiom tllCUCe tO (iKNSANO, thougll 

Xonf T alierwards <;i\v at l'(>in])rii rould c(>m]>ar(> \Tith it. 


only two inileSy the road is hilly, and the soil entirely yolcanic. 
The whole territory of this neighbourhood was dedicated to 
Diana ; and hence the ancient name of Gensano was Cinthi- 
annm. From Gensano the eye commands a view of the scene 
of the last six books of the JEueid. Here I slept the night in 
a private honse. Behind the town of Gensano lies the Lake 
OF Nemi, so called from the ancient nemus or grove of the 
Tauric Diana, and which a villi^e built on its opposite bank 
still retains. The lake of Nemi marks out the site of another 
extinct volcano, and is the ancient ** Speculum Diatus ;" but 
is neither so large nor so beautiful as that of Castel-Gondolfo. 
In the time of the Emperor Claudius it was used as a 
naomachia, and its shelving banks furnished a seat for the 
assembled multitudes to view the exhibition of the naval 

This lake, like every other similarly situated, was formed 
at the extinction of the volcano, and long before the imme- 
diate neighbourhood could possibly be habitable: the tradition, 
therefore, that the ruins of ancient Alba Longa are still to be 
seen at its bottom when the water is calm and clear, must 
be regarded as a vulgar error. 

On the thither edge of the crater, beyond Nemi, you see 
Monte Cavo, a mountain of a conical figure, evidently formed 
by showers of dust and ashes ; and its height gives some 
criterion by which we can judge of that of the volcano from 
whence they were ejected before it became exhausted of its 
combustibles, and ftiUing in on all sides, suffocated itself in 
its own rains. 

It b eight miles hence to Veletri, an ancient town of the 
Volei, tmd the birth-fJace of Augustus. You continue to 
descend for the greater part of the way, until you approach 
the town, and at different parts of the route you have occa- 
sional prospects of the sea, distant about fifteen miles. 

Vblethi is usually described as standing on extinct vol- 
canoes, but the high ground on which it is situated is, in fact, 
a mount formed by a shower of ashes thrown out from some 
of the volcanoes to the westward. The consolidated dust 
found in this neighbourhood is beautifully variegated ia 

208 ( isti:r\a — tor-tri:ponti. 

cohnir, and has ninch h^ss of mica niixod with it than tliat 
al;out All)aiio. Behind Vcletri there is a loffv ran<re of 
lUMiiilaiii^, v» liich I could not ^is'.t. Stoppin^j: to rest and 
ri IVo.-h n)\^elf, I was aiiaiii hvSit I'V insuperable drowsiness. 
The rv)oin of tlic inu at wliich 1 j)ut iq) was j lastered with 
a conip()>ition of liujc and volcMnio matter, too attractive of 
damp to i)e j)apcrcJ, and tlicrefoi'e painted in fresco. I 
could not re-ist faUinij; asleep, and awoke (piite chilled ; so, 
rul)]Mn;j: olf the somnifiM'ous malaiMa fi'oni my brow, 1 now 
descended into the plain, leavinij^ the volcanic soil about a 
mile and a half l)i'rore ti'ettini;' to (.'istekna. Haifa mile on 
the hither >ide of Tou-thki'Omi the Pontine IMarshes be^rin ; 
and you have the circumstance amiounced by heralds in 
character, and nmsic iu keejjing, with the nature of the 
scenei'v ; for laii;e ui^lv lizards ci'awl about in multitudes, 
and froL^s croak around you on all sides. Here I slept, and 
had little reason to be sati^i^ed with either my fare or the 
chariic ; the [)eople secmin;^ resolved to indemnify themselves 
for tlie sjicritice they make of their comforts for the accom- 
modation of othei's. I had eels served up for supper — and 
I thought of their diet ; for thouj;"h my appetite cnivvd for 
ibod, 1 had no notion of its croahuKj after it; a fowl so lean 
that it mi<xht have passed for a lizard metamorphosed ; and 
water to drink that i>milt of corruption ; for the fact was, that 
J could t.dstc of nothing- they offered me, however obligatory 
it became to j)ay for it. The church stands close by tlie inn, 
on the front of which you still can read, " Opt, Deo Max.;' 
but it is now abandoned for sacred uses, and has literally 
become a den of thieves. A few antique remains, dug up 
on the Appian Way when lately repaired, lay strewed in front 
of the porch, on which there are inscriptions : on one : 

IMP . M.ilVA . (ArSAIl . \VC. . 

PON 11 H:X . M AXIMl> . I Kim N II lAE . 



Another : 

MNO . PIO . 11 LH I . INVK 10 . AIG . 

nivi . toNS ri . Pii . 1 1 MO. 



Next morning I started by daylight, knowing that I had 
a long day's march to perform ere I could get to Terracina. 
I saw nothing at For-Appia to establish its former ^' local 
habitation/' save its present name and a solitary mile-stone, 
on which, if I forget not, I read the name of the Emperor 

The volume of water which escapes from under the lime- 
stone mountains of the Apennines is truly astonishing. The 
principal drains run on each side of the road^ and more re- 
semble wide canals than drains in the ordinary acceptation 
of the word. They are so well levelled that the stream of water 
cannot stagnate, but runs freely away. With the object of 
ascertaining the nature of the soil of these celebrated marshes, 
I made excursions to the right and left of the road, where the 
water allowed me ; and the result of my observations sur- 
prised me a good deal. The soil in most places is exceed- 
ingly superficial, often not deeper than two or three inches ; 
and below this there is a foundation of solid stone. This last 
is a calcareous deposition from the waters flowing from under 
the mountains, and is precisely similar to the travertine 
found and formed in the neighbourhood of Tivoli. This 
sediment encases, and, in time, petrifies, the reeds and other 
tubular vegetables that grow in the soil, thus forming con- 
geries of interrupted conduits for the lodgement of water. 
It is to this peculiarity of formation that the miasmata of the 
Pontine Marshes, in great part, owe their origin ; but while . 
there is no denying its pernicious influence to a certain extent, 
the d^ree of alarm this excites appears to me one of those 
common errors perpetuated by idle repetition, unconfirmed by 
personal investigatiou, and unreasonably exaggerated by the 
fears of the pusillanimous. In my way I passed above forty 
labourers at work, widening one of the drains ; and, as far as 
I could judge by appearances^ they all seemed robust and 
healthy, working with vigour under a scorching sun, and 
half up to their knees in water. Habit, it is true, is Nature's 
lieutenant, and we see elsewhere indigense thrive in a climate 
which is almost certainly fiettal to a stranger not inured to 
it. Late in the evening I arrived at Terracina, where a com- 



fortable bed and supper wore off the fisitigue of the preceding 
day's march. 


Terracina is situated, as the reader, I dare-say, already 
knows, at the extremity of the Pontine Marshes, and above 
the road, the principal inn being in the suburbs. It is 
a miserable town enough, and remarkable only for its Caths> 
DRAL. Undei* the vestibule you see an antique font — for eo 
I take it to be; from the lions head there is upon it — ^through 
the mouth of which water evidently had spouted ; though 
it is commonly described in guide-books as a sarcophagous : 
it is of red granite, and on the pedestal you read : — 







IN . quest' . ATRIO . 



8 . PAOLfN. . EPIST. . XII. . A . 8EVERO . 

The pavement of the interior is of beautiful mosaic, com* 
posed of verd antique and porphyry. The pulpit is curiously 
inlaid, as well as a spiral column by its side, serving as a 
candelabrum. The baldacchiuo is supported by four hand- 
some fluted pillars of the composite order ; and there is an 
antique pontifical chair in the tribune. The ancient town — 
scopulosi verticis Anxur — stood more on the height above, 
but had taken the name of Terracina even in Tbeodoric's 
time, as appears from a slab with an inscription upon it, too 
long to copy, to be seen near the Duomo. On the very sum- 
mit stand the ruins of Theodobio's Paxaob, as it is thought ; 
but the style of architecture appears to me to be too good for 
those early Gothic days. The stranger is amply repaid for 
the little toil he undergoes in getting to the top, by the mag^ 


nificeDt view which it commands. At your feet you see the 
outline of the ancient port of Antium, repaired by Anto* 
maoB Pins ; it is now occupied by gardens, but its original 
fiMtn and entrance are distinctly perceptible. To the right 
lies Monte CirceUo, famous in song as the spot where the 
mermaid Circe decoyed the companions of Ulysses, and 
turned them into swine; and nearer still, Capo d'Antium: 
in front, the volcanic isle of Ponza, anciently Pontia, little 
notioed under the rq>ublic, but ennobled under the Csesars, 
fay the exile and death of seversi illustrious victims of im- 
perial tjrranny ; and to the south-east, the splendid bay of 
Naples, partly concealing its bosom from the outstretched 
gaze of curiosity by the veil of the Volcian mountains that 
intervene in the distance. 

As you leave Terracina you pass a singular projection of 
rock, called Pisca Marina^ a hundred and twenty feet high, 
with a house clinging to its side about one-third of the way 
up, and from its situation more like a swallow's nest than a 
human habitation. The road now winds at the foot of the 
mountains, and about three miles from Terracina you come 
to the Lake of Fondij noted for the largeness of the eels it 
contains. Here the limestone rock becomes so regularly 
stratified, and so disposed, as to appear like the seats of an 
andflnt theatre. At Torbb de' Confini the passports and 
baggage are examined. A square building marks the limits 
of the ecclesiastical and Neapolitan states, on which you 
read: — 



The miles now lengthen considerably ; yet I got to Fondi 
sufficiently early, where 1 halted for the night. This town 
is little known to travellers in general ; for, being notorious 
as die abode of desperate characters, on account of its con- 


venient proximity to the confines of two states — thereby 
affording Aicilities of escape — people are glad to pass it and 
Itri (the next town) as fast as post-horses can carry them. 
However this may be, I, for my part, met with nothing but 
extraordinary civility. Fondi is a small, dirty, and wretched 
town, but situated in a plain exceedingly rich and fertile, 
though obnoxious to malignant fevers of a remittent type 
during the warm months, from its vicinity to the lake and 
the marshv srround between it and the sea. It is an enclosed 
town, and you see part of*the ancient Cyclopia n Walls to 
the right as you enter it. Passing the gate, obsei've a stone 
to the left, on which you see engraved : — 


Fondi prides itself as having been the favourite residence of 
Tiiomas Acpiinas ; but the Convent in which he lived is in 
a very dilapidated state, since its occupation by the French 
soldiers. The school in which St. Thomas tauorht is now a 
stable : next to this is the saint's chapel, which formerly 
contained his l)ody. They likewise shew St. Thomas's bed- 
cham])er, and the orange-tree he planted : the tree is appa- 
rently very old, and so it ought to he, if it can say, like the 
black bear in Piccadilly, ** I am tffe original* — for St. Thomas 
died in the year 1274. 1 ate of its fruit, through the kind 
politeness of my host, who had accompanied me. Near the 
orange-tree is the well of which he drank, which is lield in 
such high veneration and estimation, that its w^aters are only 
given to the sick in ('jfrenns as a specific. 

The hody of St. Tlionias was sold })y one Count Gaetano 
to tlie cathedral of Toulouse, in France, where it is still pre- 
served. Struck with remorse at the sacrilegious deed, and 
anxious to atone for his conduct, the Count, after the manner 
of Judas and the i)otter's field, built the four churches which 
are in Fondi with the price of his profanation. In the Church 
OF THE Annunziata, HOW shut up, there is a rude and ancient 
fresco, painted to commemorate the sacking of the town by 
Barbarossa, the pirate. The Dfomo contains a painting of 


the Annumciatioh, by Christoforo Saccho, and the Tomb of 
Count Gaetano. Over the porch of the church of Santa 
Maria, the same count is represented, in rude sculpture, 
kneeling before the blessed Virgin, praying for mediation 
and forgiveness. Within, are two paintings on panel of con- 
siderable merit, representing her Death and Assumption. 

A short mile out of Fondi, there is a singular Subter- 
raneous Passage, which b^ns at a platform occupying the 
flank of the high ground, where the ruins of a monastery 
stand. The foundations of the platform are built in pietra 
secca, of very large stones, and evidently contemporaneous 
with the vaulted passage. This singular grotto, as it is called, 
extends, they say, for three miles under ground, having 
spiraculi, or openings, at certain distances to admit fresh air. 
Immediately below the platform, and close to the road, you 
see a considerable part of a wall which enclosed the Villa of 
Cicero's friend, Varro. The wall is built of small diamond- 
shaped stones, which had bronze letters let and fixed into it, 
that were, not long since, melted down for the sake of the 
metal ; but the places they occupied are still conspicuous, and 
being repaired with a material different from the wall itself, 
you can readily make out 


The spring which had supplied the villa with water still 
runs, and waters the garden into which the grounds are now 

My host, who had obligingly accompanied me throughout, 
now took me to a garden that belonged to his wife's brother, 
also bearing indications of its having been the site of a Roman 
villa: he gave the appropriation to Vitruvius Vacco, — why, 
I now forget. It is delightfully situated under the neigh- 
bouring hills, and also supplied with a spring of limpid water. 
A curious circumstance attached to this place is, that the pro- 
prietor dug up a statue, and has re-interred it, — apprehensive, 
perhaps, lest it should be taken from him. I saw a portion 
of it, which he uncovered, but too small to allow me to Judge 
of its worth or merit I believe the man would have parted 


with it; but a full-size statue was somewhat too lai^ a mine- 
ralogical specimen to pack conyeniently in my knapsack. 

When Barbarossa surprised the town, he attempted to 
seize and run off with a princess of the house of Gronzaga, 
then at Fondi. She, being advised of his intentions, escaped in 
her chemise, aided by a gentleman; when, ashamed after- 
wards of haying been seen in such a state, the ungrateful fair 
had her liberator poniarded. The palace where this event 
took place stands close to the gate nearest to Naples; and 
they still shew the window by which the lady effected her 
escape. In addition to the other gratifications afforded me 
by my obliging host, I ought to mention that he spoke very 
pure Italian, and furnished me with excellent wine : of the 
edibles, the less, perhaps, said the better. 

Three miles from Fondi, you come to a small fort erected 
on the ruins of some ancient edifice, shewn by walls of dia- 
mond-shaped stones : they are of limestone cut in this feshioo. 
It is here that the subterraneous passage is said to terminate. 
I again came in contact with it on the left of the road, at some 
distance from Fondi, exposed in its track by a part of the 
vault having fallen in. Although it is impoeeiUe to coi^ 
jecture, from the few co-existing circumstances that remain, 
for what object this passage had been constructed, communi- 
cation between the two extremities must have been one of the 
purposes. The road now begins to ascend the hills — the 
Farmicini ColleSy ramifications of Mount Coecubus — and con- 
tinues to do so until within a mile of Itri. Here I merely 
waited to breakfast, and observed the carobba-tree growing 
in the neighbourhood. Pursuing my way, I turned off the 
main route to visit Gaieta, by a road leading to the rights 
close to Cicero's Cenotaph, and within a mile of Mola. 

The shores of ancient Formise have long been celebrated 
for their delightful situation and cooling breezes ; and a line 
of Martial's 

(O temperatae dulce Formie littus) 

is instinctively suggested by the refreshed senses. The road 
winds round a segment of the bay, ending at Oaieta, where 
I was little aware of the ludicrous incidents that awaited me. 

GAiETA — Rolando's tower — the duomo. 215 

On arriving at the gate, I was much disappmnted at hearing 
firom the sentry that I eould not enter the town without a 
special permission. The sergeant of the gnard was called, 
who examined my passport, and could not decide : the officer 
on duty was next sent for, who seemed no less at a nonplus. 
I mentioned who and what I was, and my object — an 
Englishman — a traveller, who was desirous of seeing the 
town ; still it would not do. At last a soldier was called to 
escort me to the governor's — ^^I with my knapsack on my 
back, he with his musket on his shoulder — we marched along 
as if I were a deserter ; and with the gloss long since worn off 
both my shoes and blouse, I could not help thinking what a 
rery indifferent figure I should cut in the eyes of a gentleman. 
However, I was mistaken ; no one could have behaved more 
politely : I had instant permission to take up my quarters where 
I liked, and leave given me to visit even the fortifications. 
Gaibta is a strongly fortified garrison-town, and is considered 
die key to the kingdom-^- the circumstance which will ex- 
plain the little obstacles I had to encounter before I was 
allowed to pitch my tent for the night. The harbour is well 
described by Homer ; and whoever ranges over it will find 
all the features painted by the poet — the towering rocks, 
the prominent shores, the narrow entrance, and the hollow 

A conspicuous object, close to Gaieta, is the Mausoleum 
of Munatius Plancus (Horace's friend, and the founder of 
Lyons), now turned into a battlemented tower, and called 
Rolando's Tower, after Rolando Furioso. It is a large cir- 
cular building, like that of Hadrian's — like it, stripped of its 
marble casing, situated on a bold eminence on the narrow 
neck that unites it to the main-land. Below this there is a 
smaller eminence, called Month sbll' Etbbnita, uiider 
which the sea flows through an excavation. An impious 
iable prevails here, of this aperture having been formed by 
one of the sighs of the expiring Redeemer, which, passing 
through the hill, left the perforation. 

The Duomo of Gaieta contains a handsome Antique 
Vase, now used as a baptismal font : formerly it was oma- 



1 .i.4 

with it; V>u* 
raloi^ical -; 
seize and 
then at l 
lier eh*;n 
wards <>1 
had her 
took p! 
they ht 
hy u\\ 
\nirv I 

on t' 

It ir- 

In - 


foi" *' 

will I « 
111 It 




for t' 

oi' M 

|M ill 


' 1 r * n 

— . I . », • - -- - 

i:{:-T :n the Jorda>. 

-_ '-ii.^i' representation- 

. tier r'roin a door orr-:- 

A m. 

- - '- »LrMx, covered ^.i. 
♦ - .-'III the Old and >"e-^ 

If iia: which some tn- 
-i.a ? Temple — how r'l* 
- -11 :^e Xric Testaii;-:^: 

• . -'-.r.-alle palutln^-. -^ 

': . :::::ng this churl. 

-• £ V. -:. long enoiijl: : 

•. .'f -tLS-reliefs of J : yj. h 

--1 -c iT*>:eiidinir the siezs 

^ : : _■. :*- the fr-ot wLr"~ 

.r i: -'. me, bv ilv "r:n:ril .:.f 
^ 1 i'l-.j^^iTv. St. A:::h:::v 

. ' — -e C'jr.iiratulates then:. 

..-^ liir^rae^J, thev were nc- 

►. :«:'ilca:es, ought to make 

.-•^: rtfuetit? received ai Lis 

-^ :l:eir 2:ratitude in words, 

.^ ^•lue sit^n of thankfulness. 

--.^cd their heads out of the 

, v: when, as usual, manv 

.yv. jir^ g:o<.^d, and the sea 
. ••' uAtur^ seems to pro- 
- ^e cli:iia:o is so kindly 
-. - \-.i:td here. 

^ X 


Having visited all that was worth seeing in the town, 
which ^neas is said to have called after his nurse, I was 
desirous of crossing the bay in a boat to Mola, but was dis- 
appointedy and so I walked round by the sea-shore. 

Cicero's villa is placed by antiquaries in Mola, at a few 
paces beyond the principal inn ; but were its site a more 
disputed point than it is, I should be inclined to fix it about 
a mile on the Graieta side of Mola, and close to the beach 
where the remains of an ancient wall, nearly 200 feet in 
length, hem in an orchard from the sea. This spot would 
better accord with what we learn from history concerning 
Cicero's death, and with the situation of the cenotaph erected, 
as it is thought, near to the spot where he was murdered. 
This supposition also, if it could be established, would better 
identify the cenotaph as that of Cicero, of which several 
learned antiquaries have entertained doubts : indeed, its 
distance from Cicero's supposed residence at Mola does not 
conform well with the circumstances attendant on his death, 
as related by different historians. Cicero, we are told, flying 
from the vengeance of Pompey, was overtaken by the assas- 
sins sent to murder him, just as he had got to his country- 
house by Gaieta ; and when apprised of their arrival, he had 
time to escape to the sea- shore, carried iir a litter, before 
Herennius came up and accomplished his bloody mission, 
by cutting off his head. Now, Cicero's supposed residence 
at Mola is situated close by the sea, and, had the event 
happened here, there was no need of the lapse of time con- 
veyed in this account, for Cicero to have immediately em- 
barked and escaped; for that was evidently his object in 
making for the beach. 

From Mola the' road coasts along not far from the sea to 
the ruins of the ancient city of Minturnje, celebrated for the 
story of Marius and the soldier sent by Sylla to kill him. 
Here are still considerable remains of an Aqueduct, and suffi- 
cient remains of a Tubatrb to designate it with certainty, 
besides a large circular vestige of some edifice, which seem- 
ingly had been surrounded by a portico. Yet, when we 
think of the extent of this once-flourishing city, and how few 


anl ini!-tinct are the traces of it which now remain, we are 
leiiipreJ to rej^eat the exclamation, 

^' P .-' ' : ; . :•»» ". :^m i:o'TK>rli o<S'J iactnf /"♦ 

1 interjilf! rUrpin^ at the |)Ost-house ; hut on applyins: 
f«jr a-'coiiiTiv -elation, tbev poimedlv denied me. A detachment 
cf Gt-rinaii suldit-rs happeueil to he on their return from 
^^icily. and occupied every bed. I requested leave to sleep 
(.n s -me straw, in a corntr — any where, in short — provided I 
ha'i slulter. for th».'re was no hou-e nearer than Sant Agata, 
a:: 1 i: w-s tO' latt- to walk sj far : hut I was ajrain unhospit- 
a 1\ r^.fll^td, Not knuwiu'^ where I was to lay my head 
for tlie n:::ht. I walked on to a station of Carahinieri, where 
a wo.vun brid^^e cros-es the ancient Liris, now the Garisfliano: 
hero 1 wa- referred back to tlie ruins of the tlieatre, where, 
in one ^>f tlie arcaile^, a man and his wife had made them- 
ScIncs a habitation — but wretchedness had not hardened their 
luarts. for tht'V received me kindlv. I had some tolerahle 
w'/.o and a bttf-srtak for supper, and, after ran2:ing over 
all :' rtsts ot' tb.e wreck oi^ ancient Minturnte, whose U|>- 
r;o:tvl foi;:ula:i. t^s, characterless and irrated to dustv nothins:, 
arc now crx^sse.l by the plouLrhshare of the peasant, with 
scarce a stone to shew where tlie citv once stood, I retired 
to rot. or -i\'^t. To iiet to mv hed-chamher I had to 
!nonn: bv a common stable-ladder, and found a little litter 
\\as all I had to lie upon: my host and his wife pigged 
to'ctbcr in a s.vnilar manner, with oidv a latch on the door, 
and a tb.iu ileal pa!-tition betwixt us. Next morning I rose, 
as n<uaU ai i!avl;::ht. and found mvself but little refreshed 
b\ nw !\:cb.t's loil^rii'.L: : niv bones and head ached, with 
s\u^>ptv^n\s of a tv'^rjnjl livi-r ^whicli I luid not contrived to get 
rui ot*^ much ai:\:ravatcd. However, it was necessary to 


The iwid bciwccn Ciarigliano and Sant Agata offers 
noihmc fvM' remark, >avc that it improves much in appear- 

* V ^- \>1a;i\ on nnIiuIa iho lunis o\' M:nHirna? siarul was the battle-field 
.^ w'vu .\ r.u- S.iv.uMU \xoiv vKtVattvi. M\d vliivi!! oiit of this part of Italy, by 
V.\, V. n\.ux|\a>* v^t' rusi\\n\,in iho pontitkaie of .John X. 


anoe as yoa approach the latter. The mountain to the right 
of Sant Agata is the ancient Mount Massicus, once so famous 
ibr its wines ; and the geologist, on observing the soil, will 
perceive that he has again entered a volcanic country. At 
Sant Agata I turned off to the left, to visit the ancient town 
of Suessa, which stands on an eminence a short distance off. 


Snessa, the ancient Sinuesda, was one of the cities of the 
Volciy which was taken and annexed to the Roman state 
under Tarquin the Proud. Here there are the remains of a 
spacious Theatre to be seen, to the formation of which the 
natural situation and figure of the ground had largely con- 
tributed. Immediately behind the theatre there is a Square 
Arcade and several Hot Baths, in great preservation ; and 
in another part of the town there are others under ground, 
which are shewn by torchlight. This city was much cele- 
brated in ancient times for its natural thermae, which were in 
high repute for the cure of insanity, and rendering women 

The height on which Suessa is situated is formed of 
volcanic dust, mixed with pieces of lava of various size ; and 
the country in the immediate neighbourhood exhibits the 
aspect of a preceding period of volcanic action. Suessa also 
possesses some modem antiques. In the main and leading 
street you see, let into the wall of a house, a rude piece of 
sculpture, of a priest holding a book in his hand ; and, by the 
date upon it, it must be as old as '' MCOI." Near to this 
there are two inscriptions : one, 



* Ovid. Met. 15. ▼. 715 ; Mela, ii. c. 4; Strabo, v. ; Mart. 6. Ep. 42— 
ll.Ep. 8. 


Another commemorates a victory gained by his son PhDip 
over the Tunisians. 

As yott descend from Cascano, a mile and a half from 
Sant Agata^ you get a view of the different layers of volcanic 
dust which composed the whole of this part of the country, 
before these were amalgamated by the hand of the husband- 
man ; for such had once been the soil of the centre of Cam- 
pania Felix, when first ejected from the volcanoes of Agnano 
and Avemus, in their state of activity — but hitjus hactenus. 

The next post-house is at Sparanisi, where I anticipated 
comforts in store to make amends for my privations the 
night preceding : but Hope has told more than one *' flat- 
tering tale/' and too often flatters only to deceive. Having 
spent so much of the day at Suessa, it was becoming dark 
by the time I got within three long Neapolitan miles of the 
post-house. By the road-side there was a wretched hovel, 
made of the unhewn branches of trees, where they sold 
ctqua vitcB; and here I inquired the distance to Sparanisi, 
when a woman within advised me, with some earnestness, 
not to proceed further so late at night, lest I should &11 in 
with bad characters. Her manner somewhat excited my 
attention ; but when I learned that there was no osteria in 
the village which stood on the height above, I considered 
there was no alternative but to proceed. Ghiess my astonish* 
ment on being offered hospitality for the night in her hat, 
alone with her and her husband, away from every house 
except on the distant height, with nothing but a little straw 
to lie upon, and that spread on the ground ! What a com- 
modious opportunity to get murdered on the sly, thought I, 
were a man tired of this weary world ! However, not feeling 
disposed so, I deemed it better to run any uncertain risk 
there might be for one more possible ; and with this estimate 
of the chances, I bade my obliging acquaintance '* good 
night." But a man may sometimes receive good counsel too 
slightingly ; and, what is worse, because more uncharitable, 
put unkind constructions on well-meant intentions. I was 
weary : it was dark ; and as I trudged pensively along, all 
of a sudden I heard voices, and the next moment I found 


myself in the midst of three ruffianSy who stood over the body 
of a man lying on the groij^nd^ on his back, rifling his person, 
as it seemed to me ; and, as I passed close by, almost treading 
upon it, I observed that the body was lifeless, to all appear- 
ance, half-undressed, with blood about the mouth and nose. 
Coming on them so unexpectedly, the men seemed startled ; 
they simultaneously made way for me to pass, and we ex- 
changed no salutation. I had not got out of sight when 
one of them called out to me in a strong and rough tone of 
▼oice, to stop, *' Fertna r to which I replied, in a tone not 
more kindly, ** Que voletef^ but did any thing but stop : in 
fiu^t, I took to my heels, and, although already more than 
sufBciently fatigued, I ran as fast as I could. Again I heard 
the word '* Fertna !*' but this only made me run the faster : 
I now heard footsteps in pursuit of me, or else my appre- 
hensions deceived me ; but luckily the night was quite dark ; 
and when I got to Sparanisi I was ready to drop down with 

I had walked (and ran) eighteen Neapolitan, which are 
^ual to twenty-seven Roman, miles, with a heavy knapsack 
on my back ; I had passed a restless night the night pre- 
ceding; and, moreover, I was now really unwell. On 
arriving at the inn, I threw myself into a chair, unable to 
speak for some minutes, when observing the house full of 
another detachment of Gennan soldiers, I mentioned to them 
what I had seen ; but no one seemed inclined to go in pursuit 
of the assassins, — for such I had every reason to believe them 
to be. I was told, that only a few days before, the bodies 
of three of their comrades had been brought in naked from 
the mountains, murdered for their clothes. But my troubles 
were not yet ended ; for, on asking the landlady to shew me 
to a bed-room, I was again told that I could not be accom- 
modated, and must leave the house: indeed the landlady 
seemed determined to drive me out ; but, as I felt no sort of 
relish to face again the dangers I had just escaped, I was 
not to be affronted so easily as on more ordinary occasions. 

The Neapolitans detest the Germans; and as the soldiers did 
not pay for their billets, the woman seemed bent on wreaking 


hor ill-humour on me. who had no wish to offend her : she 
evt n iU ir.fd nu- leave to ?it in a chair all nijxht, and appeared 
dt!rnnii:t-^l to l>e satistitxl with uothins: less than turning: n^^ 
cut i't\ix>r>. Luckilv one of the soldiers, seeing: how harshly 
I was trt^-attxl. took niv nam. and verv gfood-naturedlv offered 
rje ran of his Wd. The kind-hearted fi.'llow shewed me 
i:p s:a:r> into an apartment where there were three, and, 
a':!. : ;jh wi:h<Viit curtains, I eved them with the look of an 
t'r.o*;:T\. My ntxt stt-p was to see if I could not ^et the 
tr.::-y: of or.e of :!u'Ik-^Is to myself; so, procuring half a gallon 
of >v::.o, 1 vlitxi mv comrade into such 2:ood humour, that, 
i:v.!k^'oi :<:.:. Le iI:^i^ted upon my having the undivided whole, 
' -.>: a> I !:;..: o.MrivtHi : aiul hv wav of clenching: his friendly 
f. t..' j: : w.^.'-l iiu- :V.e m-^re firmlv, I ^rave him and his two 
o :v.r.-.u> ..r. ii> a-iire of wine. Fortunate to excess, I 
>'tv: :'.t sl.^r v?f t::e o^iuented. A trifle next morning: at 
V -.r: . j:. f r :i v k-.r.l av" 'laiTitaTioe to drink my health, squared 
:o ::•> s.\::?f.\o::.^n : — as for the landlady, I took no 

■^ * * • ♦ *^ * * \ 


A vv: v.:-^ v f :'iu^ ,:rt\att>it fertility conducts to Capua ; 
V .: :* ,.:_/. e\ :'tvr.v..:lv fruitful, volcanic soil has none of 
:'..'. xtV.-.."^ >AvtT:: t>s ^^hioh dt lights the senses: on the 
':. v .\' >v^ f:\ ivi it a ^titl:ug halitus — a taint it gets 
'/ .^ .^--.u .' :: h,\> v^Kic'v^^tit^ — which oppresses the head; 
r^ .• N \: <- ". v/. >..:v. f-r :lu fragfrant and unsullied breath 
v^f X ^>^ «; V ;:.;:v. >* ' xii a:.:ura:es ever)* tlower with a smile. 


l\;vv.:; u:>o< n vMi a torttn^te of the annoying: importunity 
r.'N*. ^^ -\ V'.i^'.'o v^f NapIiS. You are pestered at every step 
>x ;^ »» { :..;'" '* A.::..//" ** A\L:i^:m' f" hv a host of 

x^._; ;^ t,» V >v\uv f'.vTt\ \> iiioh I went into the Church of 

^^5 Vnm n". v\ V, Ucuiv.g uiy knap^ack at the porch. 

r* X ol'v.JvV. ivr.iam^ iluve paiutiugs by Solimene : the 
. >v^ > ox^*' •^^'0 i;n\i\d altar, aud npre^euts the event from 
\x> v'; i!ic vlvr.uh vloMNcs its uauu^ : the next is a Visitation* ; 
^.,^j .,!u' ;*VAU luK r*cvsr v>K vuK Pas<\\l Lamb. In the 


last a lamp is Bospended over the heads of the gnmp seated 
at table, and the light proceeding from it is extremely well 
managed, and produces a fine effect ; otherwise these three 
paintings are badly composed — a fault, by the way, common 
to most of this artist's paintings. The frescos on the ceiling 
are more pleasing ; and among those most so are an Ado* 
Flight into Egypt. Before quitting this church, obBerve a 
St. Sbbastian : it is a very indifferent painting, but there is 
merit as well as novelty in the representation of the subject 
— they are shooting at the victim. A good artist could have 
made a great deal of such an idea, by mixing up emotions 
among the group, which would have thrown increased in* 
terest into the subject, and, by varying the feelings, given 
a point to each. 

Two miles from modem, stands the little that remains of 
ancient, Capua. There are some considerable vestiges of an 
Avphithbatbb, and the remains of several Temples, an arch 
or two of an Aqueduct, and several broken columns strewed 
about. '* Urbs Capys hoc campo V^ you cannot help asking 
in the words of the poet, '* ambitiosa hie rnnrnla RanuB?'* 
and yet this is all that rests of Rome*6 gay rival ! 

The soil here is still exceedingly fertile, and the ** dive$ 
Capua* is as highly cultivated and productive now as in the 
days of Vii^. The wreck of this ancient city, the *' om- 
aiiim olim felicis^ima avitas'* of Polybius, is close to the little 
town of Santa Maria, whence there is a way into die high 
road to Naples. Midway, Aversa stands on the ruins of 
ancient Atella, celebrated among the Romans for its bonrtnoU 
— the FabuliB AtellantB,* 


Aversa was built by Robert Ouiscard, Duke of Nor- 
mandy, and is principally remarkable for a large asylum fi>r 

* Tliese Fabula were presented between the acta of other comedies, by 
wiy of exodkam or interlude ; indeed^ Suetonius uses the expression, '< £xo- 
dinm Atellanicum." 


the insane which is here. Dr. Latrillo is the resident phj* 
sician. Fever I understood to be one of the most common 
causes of the disease, and hereditary disposition a rare one. 
Out of 1726 patients admitted within the last ten years, 
twenty only were ascribable to hereditary transmission. Lore 
had been the cause of about one-twelfth of the whole number 
— a much larger proportion than the computation made in 
Paris ; but love, as Esquirol says, has long since ceased to 
break hearts or turn heads in France. The mortality among 
the unhappy inmates at Aversa is excessive, amounting to no 
less than a fourth of the whole, many of whom have been 
carried off by typhus fever — another proof of the incor- 
rectness of the idea, that insane people can successfully resist 
the influence of causes which produce diseases ordinarily in 
the sane. 

I got to Naples, almost suffocated with the dust of the 
Campagna Stellata, on the 10th of April. 


Italy is usually called the garden of the world, and 
Naples the garden of Italy. Fruit-trees groan under the 
burden of their own productiveness, and flowers breathe their 
epithalamic fragrance twice a-year : every thing here seems 
^to be generated in superabundance ; and if population be 
deemed the thermometer of a nation's prosperity, then Naples 
ought to be the most flourishing city in Europe. 

From the many attractive objects that are within view of 
and surround Naples, on a stranger's arrival his first move- 
ments are excursive and unsettled. He gets to the shore of the 
bay, opposite Vesuvius, and watches the smoke that curls up 
its scorified flanks, to hover, like a departed spirit, over the 
abyss it has left : he ascends to the castle of St. Elmo, and 
sends his eye out to sea to make the circuit of the bay : he 
descends to the Villa Reale to inhale the sea-breeze ; and if 
of a taste similar to my own, he will again unconsciously find 
himself in front of Vesuvius — the '^ star in the eaat" of 


Naples was first named Parthenope, after the siren who 
drowned herself here in despair, when she found her song 
had lost its power of enchantment over Ulysses and his com- 
panions. This city was originally a Gh'eek colony, and one 
of its poets has prettily said that it fell from heaven. It was 
here that the doctrine of Pythagoras floorisfaed, and where 
Uerenles established the Olympic games, in honour of whom 
Hercalaneum took its name, and the Via Herculana, which 
leads to Pozzuoli, 

Nothing can exceed the interior magnificence of the 
churches at Naples, in which you see nothing but jasper, 
porphyry, and mosaic. It is my intention to conduct the 
trayeller over some of the most remarkable of these, before 
proceeding^ to view the several interesting objects of art and 
nature in the neighbourhood. 

The Cathsdbal Church of St. Januarius. — This 
church stands on the substructions of an ancient temple of 
Apollo : it is of Grothic architecture, and was built after the 
plan of Nicola Pisano, by Charles of Anjou, first of the name, 
whose monument you see over the grand porch. Under the 
grand altar reposes the body of St. Januarius, the patron 
saint of Naples ; and above it, a statue of the saint in bronze, 
with that of Cardinal Carafia by his side ; and over these 
you see an Assumption, by the pencil of Perugino. The 
whole of the interior is paved with marble, and the ceiling of 
the nave is adorned with frescos by Santafide. The ponti- 
fical throne is also of marble, and was erected in 1342, under 
the pontificate of Clement VI. But the most magnificent 
object in this church is the Chapbl of St. Januarius, called 
U Taoro. The two fine statues of St. Peter and St. Paul, 
on each side of the entrance, are by Oiuliano Finelli : forty* 
two columns of brocatello support its interior, and nineteen 
statues in bronze adorn its walls, one alone of which cost 
4000 crowns. The splendid cupola was painted by Lanr 
franco; and the punting of St. Januarius coming out op 
TBB Furnace is by Spagnoletto. Among its many precious 
relics, the most invaluable of all is the blood of St. Janusr 


riiiji. The phial containing it was found in a convent of 
uu!.>, hut hid Ixeu 5o lonij noirlected that it was unknown to 
whniii it hatl Ix'longed, when the ahbess prayed to the blessed 
\ iivin the conLrealed l)h)od might liquefy on the day of 
tlie U re of the saint in whose holv veins it had circulated. 
Ht 1- ]voi;^ prayer was hoard ; the gory clots melted into a 
limpid liu-siream on the festival of St. Januarius ; and, to 
porpcruatt' xhv nieuiin'y of the fact, this miracle is annually 
Tv ; taud ill tiie church of St. Clare, on the 4th of May. 

Tiif painriujs in this church are few. In a large chapel 
to the r:;:ht of xhv LTiTind altar there is one by Domenichino : 
to tlio Kfr. SCO a Holy Family, bv Vaccari ; and in the 
sauic trai^.soi't, some paintiiiirs hv Solinieiie. Here also vou 
tir.d tlu' ToMH OF Innocent IV., and the still more remark- 
aMc o!ic i»f tlio unfortunate Andrew II., king of Naples, 
^^:lo^c fate i- recorded in the following epitaph : — 

\ \ :^ r. VI ' \ r.'U 1 . i '^ ::t:ti . I'a n non i a . r fg is . f . 

>F vr-, : 17 A NCR . F.IC.I . 

: o \ N \ » . I \ or. I > . :h' i o . t t . i. a tH' eo . n ec a i o . 

I .>; . viN L : r i i . r: r i atf . iiu . ntcoNPiio . 

\ : ; • V :> . V •.-.ri > . in^m'i l 1 1 \i . >FruiTVMVE . fa( iNi s . 

ro^Tt r. :- . ni manfrft . 

> ■. IN . ; "vU < . TF R A i;iM . F . <. ATVl 11'"^ . 
>l . I W UlU M . Ti:i 1 IM . NOMEN»^. 


MOKri O . aNNcK . MX . 

V .. L ». \ l. \ . 


Andrew was Ivtrothed. at the aire of seventeen, to his 
ijiu^cu, (iio\anna, ami fell her victim at nineteen, in the 
HMiist of his court, on the evening of his coronation, through 
the aiivcious pertiily o( his young spouse, whose crime was 
ivunsellcii by lo\e. hazarded by youth, excused by beauty, 
legiimn>e<i by policy, and justified, through tlie power of 
goKl. b\ a po]>e : but which was pardoned neither by nature 
uvM* couMMcnce. l.ouis II., kino* of Ilunirarv, with a black 
haunt r iu his lu\uil, rushed from the iKittom of Germany to 
a\eni;v his bivtlier's death, and for forty years pursued, 
mcnact\l. or watdied over, by turns, the culpable head of 


this cruel qaeen, until, bleached by misfortunes and remorse, 
she felly with her crown still stained with the blood of the 
first of her four husbands, under the iron sword of vea- 
geanee. The unhappy Andrew was assassinated at Aversa, 
and thrown out of a window : his old nurse sought for and 
discovered his body. Assisted by a priest, she conveyed it 
during tJie night to the cathedral of St. Januarius, where 
it was secretly buried by the generous ecclesiastic, who 
afterwards erected, at his own expense, this monument to 
his memory, the original epitaph on which we have just 

Near the principal porch you see a beautiful Baptismal 
Font, ornamented with the attributes of Bacchus. 

Out of the left aisle, the entrance to the ancient Church 
09 St. Rbstituta opens. It was originally a pagan temple, 
bat was converted into the cathedral church so early as the 
times of the apostle St. Peter, and St. Aspreno, the first bishop 
of Naples. The ceiling was painted by Solimene, and the 
beads over the arches are by Luca Giordano. Here likewise 
observe a mosaic representation of the Blessed Virgin, re- 
markable as being not only the first image which was wor- 
shipped in Naples, but in all Italy, and therefore the very 
first that formally introduced idolatry as part and parcel of 
Roman Catholic Christianity. An object here not less igno- 
rantly revered is a Crucifix in relief, because sculptured 
by a man who was bom blind. This church is flagged with 
tomb-stones, several among which are as old as the fourteenth 

Church of San Dombnico Maqgiore. — This church 
possesses the wooden crucifix which miraculously spoke to 
Thomas Aquinas, saying, '^ Bene de me scripsisti, Thama ; 
quam ergo mercedem acdpiesf' to which the angelic doctor 
modestly replied, '' Non aliam nisi teipstan^ Domine" Over 
the crucifix you see a Dbscent from thb Cross, by 

The sacristy contains the tombs of several of the kings of 
Naples of the house of Arragon. Here also is the Tomb of 


Ferrando Davali, Manjiiess of Pescara, so celebrated for his 
l»ravf ;in<l ireiuTous actions, on which voii read the following: 
f'pitaph, hy the pen of Ario?to : 

Qji i .«."«■/ ^t '0 CiLdo >ut> '''jrt/K.rc f Maitmu^ ilk 

Ft< ■ \ r, l- /'V £■' '•/*!, / \-i5 h'noii. 

Xu" ■,'>*•! tt ^iic pi<ccs ctpii f Xnn. EriinqutJ^ UrUs, 

Muj't .\r''o< rci:(S, orridu, rmuay itiices ; 

L)i< irii'us h,:c cepit Pise: tor rttibus* Alto 

C"'tu!t-', nit rep .io cordt^ oltu'ritjiw inanu. 

Qui t<:ntu-n rarue^t duce^n ? Duo numina, MaR5, Mok>. 

It ru;iri'it O'dsn-Ln co'niiuht ^ I'ividid. 

At ,1 'ciitrt nihil ; livit nam fawn supers teSy 

Qua M'-rtr.'n ct Morti/n vificity et Invidiam. 

The ])aintin<is in this church are few. In the Penelli 
ciiapel tliere is a Titian ; and in the sacristy a Flagellatiox 
hv CaravoL^Lrio, and a (tlory hv Soliniene. 

• - * 

Among xhv relics, they preserve the arm of Thomas 
Aquinas; also the chair from which he taught theology; and 
they shew his cell in the dormitory, now converted into a 

Cht RCH OF Sta. Maria ^NIaggiore. — This church, ori- 
ginally a ten)ple of Diana, was built by Saint Pomponius in 
5-33, at the express instance of the blessed Virgin, on the 
occasion of the city being freed from the presence of the devil, 
who had haunted Naples in the shape of a pig; in con mi e- 
moration of which event, a figure of this unclean animal is 
fetill to be seen below the clock. But highly interesting and 
edifying as this circumstance, no doubt, is, the church of Santa 
Maria Maggiore may, perhaps, be considered by some not less 
meriting regard for the epitaphs in the chapel of St. John the 
Evangelist, composed by Pontani on some of his family, in 
which a vein of sweetest pathos, classic elegance, and delight- 
ful affection, breathes in every line, expressed in a style of 
particularly pure Latin ity ; three of which I coied for the 
gratification of those readers wdiose travels do not extend 
beyond the boundaries of an arm-chair. 



ImcIU, iibi lux nomen dedUy tt dedit ipsa 
Mater Steila tibiy sieUaque iusgue MtunU. 
Eripuit nox atra^ mgnt eripuere tenebre, 
Vixisti vix quot lUera prima notat 
Hosne dies ? Breve tamne tibi lusjulsit, et aura 
Maternum in nimbis sic tenuerejubar ? 
Infelixfatumypuer heu maUfelix^ heu, quod 
Nee puer es, nee lux, nee nisi inane quid es ! 
Floreat ad pueri tumukan ver halet, et uma, 
Lucilif et cineri spiret inustus odor. 
Vies L, non implesti,Jiliole / breve natura specimen, atemus parentum maror 

ac desiderium, 


Ilia thori henefida comes, custosque pudid, 
■ Cfdque et acus placuit, cut placuere colt : 
Quaquefocum, custosque lares servavit, et arm 
Et thura et lachrymas et pia serta dedit, 
Inprolem studiosa parens, et amabilis uni 
Qua studtdt caro casta plaadt viro. 
Hie potUa Ariadna rosa vioUtque nitescant. 
Quo posUa Syrio spiret odore locus. 
Uma erocum Dominafimdat, distillet amomum 
Ad tumtdum, et cineri ^arta citissajluat. 
Johannes Javianus Pontanus Uadriana Saxona uxori opt. ac bene merentiss. P. 
qua vixit Ann, XL VI. Mens. VI. Obiit Kal. Mart. 


FiMct domum hone mihi paravi, in qua quiescerem mortttus. Noli obsecro 
inpiriam martuo faccre, vivens quern facerim nemini. Sum et enim Johannes 
Jovianus Pontanus, quem amaverunl bona Musa, suspexerunt viriprobi, hones- 
taverunt Keges, Domini. Scisjam qui sum, out potiusjuerim. Ego vero te, 
hospes, noscere in tenebris nequeo, sed te ipsum ut noscas rogo. Vale. 

The churches of St. Paul and St. Filippi Nbri contain 
many fine paintings, for which, lest I should be too tedious, 
I must refer to the Appendix. In that of the Santi Apostoli 
the stranger will find a fine architectural painting of the Pool 
OF Salome, by Bibiena. The ceiling of the nave is splendidly 
painted by Lanfiranc : the Four Eyanqblists in the angles 
under the dome are by the same masterly p^icil, and those 


above the arches are by Solimene. Two beaatifbl Groups 
OF Children, by the playftil chisel of Fiamingo, ornament 
the chapels in the transept: in that to the right there are 
four Emblems of Virtues, by the pencil of Solimene ; the 
two paintings on the side-walls are by Giordano. The fonr 
paintings in the choir, representing the Annunciation and 
the Nativity, the Birth of the Virgin and her Prbssn- 
TATiON at the Temple, rtc by Solimene. 

This church stands on the site of an ancient temple of 
Mercury, erected by Constantine the Great before his con- 

Near the church of Trinita Maggiore, where, among other 
paintings in fresco, the stranger will see a fine representation 
of Heliodorus driven out of the Temple, by Solimene, 
stands the Cappella of the family Sangro. This deserted 
little chapel encloses several singular specimens of sculpture. 
One represents a Man striving to free himself from the toils 
of a net, emblematical of the thraldom of Vice ; another is 
the statue of a Female of the family Sangro in the character 
of Modesty. She is entirely covered with a veil, and yet 
every contour of her fine form is so distinct, that the veil, 
instead of encumbering the figure, only serves the more to 
display the artist's excellence of skill. Arachne never wove 
a web more delicate or diaphanous. Beneath, there is a 
Noli me tangere in bas-relief. The third is a Dead Christ, 
lying on a mattrass, and wrapt in a winding-sheet ; yet this 
is so fine, that you can trace through the tissue every agonized 
lineament and form. This last was begun by Ck>rradini, and 
finished by Giuseppe da San Martino. Over the high altar 
there is a Pieta in marble, by Francisco Celebrano. This 
chapel also contains the tombs of some of the family ; and up 
stairs they shew an anatomical preparation of the arteries 
and veins of the human body, minutely executed ; but it is 

Let the stranger now ascend to the Castle of St. Elmo, 
where, from the terrace of the hospital, he commands one of 
the finest views about Naples. Immediately below him, and 
a little to the right, the eye alights on the palace and grounds 


of the late Duchess of Floridiano, where temples, and foun- 
tains, and imitations of ancient ruins restored, grace the 
Taried contours of the site ; lower still, lies the Villa Reale 
and its promenades ; in the distance, the ocean girding 
Capri, the infamous seraglio of Tiberius ; to the right, the 
classic neighbourhood of BaisB ; and on the left, the filming 
Vesuvius. On the hill of St. Elmo stands the splendid Church 
op Sah Martino, in beautifying which more than 500,000 
ducats were originally expended on the paintings, sculptures, 
and silver plate, that enrich it. In the choir, the visitor will 
see the four celebrated Cene, as they are called. The first is 
by Massimo, and represents the Preparation for thb Sup- 
PBR ; the second depicts the Suppbr, painted by a pupil of 
the Veronese school ; the third is Spagnoletto's celebrated Com- 
ifiTKiov, in which it is difficult to say whether its fine com« 
position, its clear and harmonious colouring, or high finish, 
18 most excellent ; the last is by Caraccioli, and represents 
our Satiour appearihg to his Disciples after hisUbsur- 
BBcnoK. Here, also, is an unfinished Nativity by Guido, 
the artist having died before he had completed it. This single 
painting cost 6000 ducats, and more than double that sum 
has been offered for it since. 

On the wall fronting the grand altar you see a very fine 
PiBTA, by Massimo; MoSbs and Elias, two remarkably 
expressive frescos, by Spagnoletto ; and two fine statues of 
St. John the Baptist and St. Jerome, by Vaccaro. Spag- 
noletto's TwBLVB Prophets, over the arches of the chapels, 
seem to emulate the statuary of Vaccaro, for they appear 
rather placed there than painted, the illusion is so perfect. 
The figure of Isaiah is particularly fine, for as he reads a 
book you may believe you see his lips move : but they are 
all much faded and injured by time. For the fine paintings 
in the chapels I must refer to the catalogue. I may only 
observe, in passing, that the one representing the Baptism of 
Christ in the Jordan, by Carlo Maratta, did not please me 
80 much as the same subject painted by this artist which we 
see in the Corsini Palace at Rome; in this, our Saviour 
kneels, and the figure is not so imposing. The council* 


room contain^ a FLAaBLLAxioK, by the Chevalier d'Arpino, 
and Christ disputing in tbb Tbmplb, by a pupil of Soli- 
mene. Yoa now enter the sacristy, where, over the entrance 
to the Tesoro, you find a beautiful representation of oar 
Saviour descbndikg thb Steps from Pilate's HousEy <m 
his condemnation, to be crucified. The figures, which are by 
the pencil of Massimo, are exceedingly good ; but its most 
striking and peculiar merit is in the fine architectural per- 
apective, which was painted by Bibiena. Over the opposite 
floor there are a Crucipixion, by d*Arpino, and Peter's 
Denial, by Caravaggio. In the last, Peter is accused by a 
female, while the undutiful apostle attempts to put on the 
hardihood of a practised offender ; and yet yoa can perceive 
the wavering of trepidation pervading his unsteady features, 
as if the faultering tale shook its tremour over his countenance, 
conscious of the unworthy falsehood he was tellii^ : his lips 
quiver in their purpose of utterance ; his eye wants the finn- 
ness of truth, and every muscle of speech vibrates between its 
attachments, unable to obey the effort made to keep it firom 
varying. Sir Joshua Reynolds was of opinion that it was 
impossible to express complex feelings in painting ; but, with 
becoming deference to such high authority, I think this 
picture exemplifies the contrary ; and that a want of unison 
in the expression of the differ^it features is distinctly and 
perceptibly marked, analogous in its effect to the contradic- 
tions in a tale that is false. 

The panels of the sacristy are of inlaid wood-work, exe» 
cuted by a German monk, representing fine perspective effect 
From the sacristy you enter the Tesoro, which contains a 
famous PiETA, the chef-dCoBuvre of Spagnoletto. Never was this 
affecting subject more sublimely treated. The group consists 
of the dead Christ supported on the knees of his mother, whose 
grief is so deep and pathetic as to defy any attempt at de- 
scription ; St. John, amiable, youthful, and sad ; the Mag- 
dalen, who clings to the Saviour's feet, and bathes them with 
her tears ; while Joseph of Arimathea, standing in the back- 
ground, affords the eye refuge from the afflicting scene, by 
the intensity of his feelings being softened by distance. There 


is another fine and highly finished representation of the same 
sabject, by the same artist, in the church of the Annunziata, 
near the Capua gate. It is in the transept, to the right of 
the grand altar. 

The apartment of the Prior of the Chartreuse of San 
Martino contains the famous Crucifixion by Michael 
Angelo, to stand for which a peasant, as the story g6e8, was 
actually crucified. The other apartments have been con- 
verted into a hospital for invalids ; and the traveller will be 
struck with the number of blind that are among them. Here 
I first saw that it was no longer a figure of speech for '^ the 
blind to lead the blind," but a melancholy fact. Blindness 
is a common disease in many other parts of the world, and 
more particularly on the shores and islands of the Mediter- 
ranean. With regard to the Egyptian ophthalmia, both 
Assalini and Baron Larrey attribute its endemic prevalence 
not to any peculiarity in the soil of this country, but to the 
cold damp nights which succeed an intensely hot and dry 
day, producing sudden suppression of the cutaneous per- 
qpiration. Without denying the due share of influence which 
such may operate also in Italy, I entertain a different opinion 
of the origin of its more general cause, and am inclined to 
ascribe it chiefly to the acrid nature of the exhalations which 
proceed from the volcanic constituents of the soil. From 
Saessa to Naples this is uninterruptedly composed of volcanic 
debris, whence various irritating matters and gaseous fumes 
are constantly being given out, and float about dissolved in 
a moist and heated, atmosphere. Such, coming in contact 
with the eyes, first irritates, and then inflames them; and 
hence, in my opinion, arises the prevalence of ophthalmia, 
and its common consequence — blindness, in places where 
these exhalations exist. 

The soil universally is impregnated with sal ammoniac, 
which, when taken up and dissolved in an atmosphere satu- 
rated with humidity, must act as a constant irritant to eyes 
liable to inflame : and sulphureous and other acid fumes are 
continually issuing from the thousand ** sosvi spir acuta DitW 
all around Naples. 


SiBOCCO. — Yesterday and to-day Naples has been beset 
by the sirocco. Few words have a more indefinite meaning, 
or have lately been more frequently abused and misapplied 
than that of sirocco^ since every breath of air oppressive or 
offensive to a travelling Smellfungus*8 feelings must assuredly 
be a sirocco ; and so we read of siroccos every where, even 
at Florence. Since Brydone's day the sirocco has, by the 
consent of every subsequent traveller, been described as a 
suffocating blast coming from the deserts of Arabia. But if 
we are to credit travellers who have experienced the sarnie! 
of the desert, the sirocco and the samiel only resemble one 
another in some of their effects ; but nowise in the identity 
of their nature. The samiel is described as a blast of wind 
first seen approaching from some point of the hori2M>n, and, 
as it passes over the prone traveller, it envelopes him '^ in a 
fine impalpable dust, which not only penetrates into every 
fold of his garments, but into the inmost recesses of boxes 
and other baggage." It is this impalpable dust which pro- 
duces suffocation ; and animals even, as well as men, cover 
their nostrils in the earth, that they may not respire it, so 
sensible are they of its &tal approach. 

Among the places the sirocco infests, Naples, Messina, 
and Palermo, are those principally, and, until the word 
became misapplied, almost exclusively, spoken of by travel- 
lers who have treated of the subject. Agrigentum, and the 
whole south side of Sicily, which are directly opposite to the 
point whence the sirocco is said to come, are not noticed by 
any writer as being particularly exposed to its stifling influ- 
ence, or, indeed, as being obnoxious to it at all. Is this not 
very singular? let me ask. Is it not, in fact, subversive of 
the very idea of its origin? Again, no part of the coast of 
Greece has ever been reputed as liable to the effects of the 
sirocco ; and yet no rational cause can be assigned for tins 
exemption, if it be true that it comes from the opposite coast; 
and, after various inquiries made of naval officers who have 
been stationed in the Mediterranean, and who have navigated 
this sea at all seasons and in all directions, I have not been 
able to find one who had ever experienced its effects while 


tmvereiiig for years tbe very track of its supposed course. 
How 18 it possible, let me again ask, that this could have hap- 
pened, did the sirocco cross the Mediterranean from Africa? 

Its denomination of a tcind^ in the first place, is misap- 
plied ; for it must be well known to every one who has felt 
Its baneful impression, that when this state of atmosphere 
exists there is no wind at all. The day it prevails is over- 
cast, sultry, and calm ; look around, and you see nothing 
but a lurid haze, as ofiensive to the eye as its breath' is 
poisonous to every other sense. 

But after having endeavoured, by the foregoing obser- 
vations, to set aside the unfounded and mistaken notion 
mtertained of the nature and source of the sirocco, how 
otherwise, the traveller has a right to inquire, is the pheno- 
menon to be explained? The following is the view I am 
inclined to take of it. 

From the fuming mouths and crevices of Vesuvius, and 
the pseudo-volcanic vicinity of the Pisciarelti, Solfatara, and 
Baiae {vaporifer<B BauB)y from Stromboli and Etna, there is 
constantly issuing mephitic vapours and gases, which, from 
their heated and rarefied state, naturally ascend, and, mixing 
with the purer circumambient air, get diluted and dispersed 
by every casual wind. But let us suppose not an unusual 
occurrence to take place, namely, that this mephitic atmo- 
S}Aere shall sufier a sudden diminution of its elasticity through 
a change of temperature taking place high up in the air, 
while the aqueous vapour it holds dissolved becomes in con- 
sequence more condensed ; and that at the same time there 
shall be no wind to disperse the gaseous exhalations as they 
continue to arise from below ; the natural effect must be, for 
these dense vapours to descend, and for those which are being 
evolved to fall again, as soon as they have cooled down to an 
equilibrium of temperature with the surrounding atmosphere. 
The necessary consequence of all which must be, for this 
concentrated mass of mephitic vapour to lodge, by reason of 
its greater specific gravity, on the surface of the earth, and 
thus envelope within its range and influence every being that 


AJiltd 10 this state of contamination are the fresh exha- 
lariou- that oomiiiue to be emitted, thus saturating the more 
<troiuly with niephitisin the already infected air ; and in 
ciiit'S where narrow wiiidiiiir streets and hig^h huildinirs 
tiii;uij:lt' iht'se niephites, and impede their dispersion, the 
sutt'ocaiing adiilieratiun must of necessity he more powerfully 
tVh. rSow, tho eti'oots on the human frame which the sirocco 
provluots are preoisoly those known to be caused by mephitic 
ua'^^^ wht n inhaled : and when we consider the proximity of 
>aj'us tv) \'tsaviu<. and of Messina and Palermo to Stromboli 
aiKi r.riia. we can no longer wonder at their being sites par- 
lieiiKirlv exposed to experience the sirocco, or at the immu- 
niiy (>{ *.>ther j)hioes in the same parallel, which, if it really 
procted Ironi the African coast, would encumber the other 
tliifiv'uliios attached to the hypothesis of a wind which is no 
xNii.d, Mith an additional paradox. In a word, the sirocco, 
provt J iy so e^iiUd, is uuthing else, in my opinion, than volcanic 
nie| iiites deposited tVoni a humid and unstrung atmosphere, 
ANiiieli, when inhaled into the lun^s in a condensed and 
conet^iitrated state, ]>roduoes those effects in a poisonous 
nKi!ii:er. whioh ilie ^aniiol of the desert produces solely in a 

A jdieuonienon familiar to all who have resided a winter 
in London, and precisely similar in its philosophical rationale, 
ofiin ooeurs about Novend)er. I allude to the dense and 
dark fo^s o( London. About this time of the vear the atmo- 
spliere is liable to sudden diminutions of elasticity, which, 
when they happen, preci]iitate the smoke proceeding from 
innumerable coal tires alon»r with the humidity, in a way 
[>reei*;ely analoi^ous, as 1 conceive, to what takes place at 
Naples, Messina, ikc. when the sirocco prevails; and many 
delieate invalids, especially the asthmatic, sutler in a w^ay 
very similar to that i)roduced bv the sirocco. Coal-smoke, 
we know, consists principally of mephitic and sulphureous 

The exhalations given out all round Naples are extremely 
irritating to the lungs, aggravating every pulmonic disease; 
and I am afraid the Italian saying, ** Jr^ee Naples and die/' 


has often been too literally verified by many an English 
yictiniy led to a premature death by the pemicioas and self- 
interested counsel of itinerant medical practitioners, the 
modem ns^odforou. According to Dr. Ruggiero, deaths from 
coosamption form a fifUi part of the bills of mortality in 
Naples. This impurity of the atmosphere is even sensible 
to die nostrils ; for the air never has that sweet refreshing 
aroma which makes an English spring so grateful and 

Oppressed by feelings the cause and source of which I 
had taken pains deliberately to analyse, I sought relief in a 
visit to the Studj, to view the fine galleries of statuary and 
painting, by way of getting rid of them. I shall first sue* 
cinctly notice some of the latter, referring to the Appendix 
for a more comprehensive enumeration. 

The FiBST Apartmbut contains nothing very remarkable. 
In the second, observe a Magdalbn, by Titian, delightfully 
painted ; but still she weeps as if her grief were of the Ephe- 
sian kind. This picture seems to be the portrait, in fact, of 
some beautiful woman, with a tear or two sprinkled on each 
cheek, merely to give it an appropriation. Another fine 
painting, by the same great master, is the Finding op Moses, 
which abounds in character, and is marked by prominent 
relief and micrometrical perspective. 

In the Thibd Apartment you find Domenichino's Guar- 
niAN Anoel : an angel of ineffable sweetness of expression, 
depicting to the eye the beauty of holiness, protects with his 
shield an infant boy from the evil fiend ; while the child, 
with clasped hands and an expression of devout confidence 
in the all-sufficiency of the succour, looks towards the throne 
of Omnipotence, to which the angel is directing his regards. 

Over a Magdalen, by Guercino, observe an Infant 
ASLEEP, surrounded with the emblems of our Saviour's pas- 
sion, by Guide. 

The Cabinet.— This little cabinet is appropriated to 
paintings of mythological subjects, some of which are treated 
in a manner not the most favourable to delicacy. Among 
these are Titian's celebrated Danae; the Bacchante dblla 


SrHiANA of Caracci ; Cupid kissing his Mother, by Bron- 
ziiio : and another of the same, copied in crayons by Michael 
Anirolo : Diana and Pan, seated in a wood, with their limbs 
entwined in a manner not very becoming the immaculate 
\ir-j:in of the heathen mytholoiry ; and Hercules between 
\ iHFUE AND Pleasure, bv Hannibal Caracci. The three 
tiiriuvs are represented seated in a rich landscape-scene : 
\'irtue and Pleasure, pointing in opposite directions, are each 
eiuhwvouring to perMiade him towards their respective paths. 
The oxpro!i?ion of indecision is admirable, and affords another 
example of oomjilex feelinir represented by painting. 

Among several other ^na paintings in the Fourth Apart- 
>iuNT, I was more particularly struck with one representing 


CnoiKS or Anckls playing on stringed Instruments, by 
C\M'n;:io. On table? in the centre of this room observe 
MopKi.s in eork of Pa stum, Herculaneum, and Pompeii. 

PirTH Afakimknt. — Here are some gems of art, by the 
>oft and toiulor peuoil of Correirio, one of which is exceed- 
iuiilv Ivautit'ul — the Marriage of St. Catherine. The 
Civiip v^^n^i^t^ of three ti;rures, the Madonna, the Infant, and 
\\\c \ou{\\\\i\ Kate: and the solemn ceremony of marriage 
is Ih ir.^ pertbrnud as if it were a fete of sportive child- 
luvvl. Tlitiv is another !>ij(ui here of the same playful 
eh.iraoter- -a hoy C'l riD. seated in a landscape-scene, with 
his u iuus expandoil like a buttertiy's, gay as his gadding 
prv^tv>i\pe, ;uul ei[ually tickle and shortlived. This cha- 
nieieri<tie i>ortrait of Love is by the pastoral pencil of 

In the SixvH Atartment notice two charmins: Land-? 
sv' vrus, bv Claude Lorraine : Gvpsies telling a credulous 


i'io>\N nis I'oRTUNE, aiul two Sharpers easing a Booby 
vM* ms AIom:\. by C^iravaggio. The same subjects, by the 
siune urti>t, aiv to be seen in the Pitti palace at Florence; 
but those at Naples are nuuv carefully finished. Remark, 
like>\ise, PuvFK denyim; C^hrist, bv Delia Notte : but the 
e\p»>'*s^uMi of St. Peter is objectionable; he tells the unworthy 
faUehvHHl »iih tiH> sincere a countenance. 


The Sbvbnth Apartmbnt contains several exquisite 
paintings by Raphael, to which I must merely allude : they 
are in his last and richest, or Bartholomean manner : whilst 
the Eighth and last is adorned, among others, with a glorious 
St. Joh9, and a Virgin and Child, by Da Vinci ; several 
Portraits by Raphael ; a finished sketch in oil of the Last 
Judgment, by the hand of Michael Angelo himself; a superb 
Rbsurreotion, by II Sodoma ; and Silenus inebriated, 
by Spagnoletto. 

In the centre of this room some cloth, fish-hooks, and 
musical instruments, from Otaheite, are placed. Among 
the last is a flute, on which the Otaheitans play with their 
note — a sort of symphonic stertor ; intended, no doubt, to 
amuse them when asleep. 

Gallery op the Statues. — In the midst of so nume- 
rous and select a collection of statues, it puzzles fastidiousness 
to give a preference ; I shall therefore only gratify those 
among them who seem determined to speak for themselves, 
if I do not. 

No. 120 is a charming statue of a Youthful Bacchus, 
such as a poet would conceive him as the adoring lover of 
Ariadne, ere sensual excess had made him the god of wine 
and revelry. 

No. 98 indicates a beautiful group of Vbnus reprovinq 
Cupid. The queen and mother of Love is accusing the little 
reprobate of some misdeed, and he replies with the sauciness 
and efirontery of an incorrigible ofiender. 

The visitor will likewise find here a superb and most 
charming statue of Flora of colossal size, the celebrated 
Farnbss Hercules, and the no less celebrated group of 
the ToRO. By the sides of the pedestals of some of the 
statues there were several beautiful frescos from Pompeii, 
which had been lately removed firom the king's palace at 
Portici. The subjects of some evince an elegant playful- 
ness of taste, each expressing but a thought, as the odes of 
Anacreon do a sentiment — such as an infant Cupid seated in 
a car drawn by butterflies ; a little car drawn by two bees. 


with a butterfly sitting as coacbman, holding the reins with 
his feet ; another^ drawn by a parrot^ and gaided by a grasa- 
hopper ; a foorth, laden with a ewer interlaced with roses, 
is drawn by two little mermaids, for the first toilette of 
Venns, as we are to imagine, ere she issued firom amidst the 
spicee of the shell that bears her name. Other frescos, again, 
represented subjects no less beautifully conoeived — as, a man 
dancing on the tight rope ; Diana conducted by Cupid to 
Endymion's bower ; a danzatrice, clothed, not corered, with a 
veil of the most transparent texture, displaying all the grace 
and voluptuous suppleness the female figure, &c. 

The Rotal Palace, which can only be viewed by per* 
mission, contains several excellent paintings, in a suite of 
apartments leading out of the private theatre belonging to 
the palace ; for which see the Appendix. 

Church op Santa Chiara. — The royal church of St. 
Clare is remarkable both tbr its antiquily and magnificence. 
It was founded by Robert, king of Naples, and Sancha of 
Arragon, his queen. Behind die grand altar you see the 
Tomb of the royal founder, with a single line for its motto : 


To the right of it is the Sepulchre of his son Charles, the 
illustrious Duke of Calabria, who died a.d. 1328. 

It is in this church that the miracle of the liquefiiction 
of the blood of St. Januarius is performed ; an annual farce 
enacted on the 4th of May. I saw it when here ; but was 
somewhat astonished to observe, that, however much it 
was a matter of pastime for foreigners to witness, it ap> 
peared to excite little or no interest among the resident 
inhabitants. On entering the church, a group of chairs, set 
to the right of the grand altar, indicated the place politely 
set apart for strangers, opposite to which were the relatives 
descendants of the saint. On the grand altar stood the 
Skull op St. Januarius, encased in a mask of solid gold, 
before which was placed the vial containing the clotted 


Uood. And now the farce commences : the masked skull 
keeps staring at the vial without moving a muscle — the vial 
stands like a Stoic unmoved at the scene ; and as a feeling 
of the ridiculous begins to scintillate on the cheek of the 
stranger, the ragged relatives of the saint set up a suppli- 
cating howl in a sort of measured discordance, which, though 
it be impossible to distinguish each separate vociferation, 
sounds very much like what I have often heard elsewhere — 
** Och ! and why did you die, and lave all the praties behind 
yon !" — the head, notwithstanding all these noisy supplica- 
tions, and sometimes abuse, looking the while as grave and 
serious as the wonder-working sconce of Friar Bacon. At 
length the sanguine clot begins to liquefy ; tears of blood 
trickle down the sides of the vial, tears of joy tumble from 
every eyelid ; and the completion of the miracle is announced 
by a shout of grateful exultation from the descendants of the 
saint, that rends the holy vaults of St. Clare.* 

Marvellously inexplicable as this feat may at first sight 
appear, yet, as it is not beyond the boundary of miraculous 
power to perform — as indeed we have just witnessed — 
neither, perhaps, is it beyond the compass of ordinary inge- 
nuity to explain ; and the following receipt may do as a pis- 
oiler, till Margaret Dods of the Cleikum Inn, shall, in the 
next edition of her cookery-book, favour us with a better : — 

" Take a vial filled with some sai^uine-coloured flpid, 
and congeal it artificially, place it on an altar, or other fit 
tablet, and be sure to place before it a relic — no matter what 
— St. Crispin's awl will do ; keep it well frozen until the 
proper moment of the de7U>uement arrives, when, supplying 
the place of the frigorific mixture below by an Argand's lamp, 
the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius, or of any other 
saint, will be accomplished secundum artem — that is, by a 

* A roincle of a somewhat similar description used to be enacted in 
ancient times, and is alluded to by Horace in the 5th satire of his first 

— ^-^ <' flamma sine, thura liquesceie limine sacro 

Pemwdere bipit/' 


Tlie IIic.ii Altar of this church is adorned with a painting 
by Francisco iNIura, and those which ornament the dome 
are by Sebastian Conca. 

Church of San Giovanni a Carbon ara. — This church 
13 noted for possessintx among its rehcs the Blood of St. 
John the Baptist : it, too, smokes and Hquefies on the eve 
of the saint's lestivnl ; l)nt it seems every thing must needs 
smoke and h(|iH*fy in the vicinity of Vesuvius. Near the 
urand aUar vou see the Chapel and Tomb of the unfortunate 
Caracciolo. W hen describing the cathedi*al, I pointed out 
the tomb of the unhappy Andrea, the husband of Joan the 
First ; here I have to speak of Joan the Second, and of her 
lover, wliose history and fate bear a striking simihirity to 
that of our M-^sex. Camcciolo, vet vounii:, had the misfor- 
tune to phrase a queen already in years; and indemnifying 
himself other wavs for tlie ennui he suflered bv such a luiisotf, 
he trusted too mucli to tlie last ])assion of a woman, and 
whilst he was insulting a queen, he ))elieved himself only 
quarrelling with a mistress. Like Essex, Caracciolo reddened 
the scaffold with his blood, shed by her order. Joan, like 
F^lizabeth, died shortly after, consumed by love and regret, 
before tlie adored and bloodv head of her lover, which ni<rht 
and dav was before her eves. 

In this cliurch vou likewise see the fine Gothic Tomb of 


KiNc; Ladl^laus. 

iMaiiy other of the churches in Najdes contain something 
appertaining to the miraculous. In that of Cohradino there 
is a Wooden Cricifix, whicii, when Nai)les was besieged 
by King Alplionso, would infallibly have been broken by the 
fall of an enormous stone, liad it not wisely avoided tlie blow 
bv turniiif]: its head aside. In that of Santa Maria della 
Grazia, there is another of wood, which escaped scathless 
amidst the Hamcs of Vesuvius, and was found witliout a 
singe among the red-hot cinders. St. Agnello possesses a 
third, which miraculously spoke, and, l)y its testimony, con- 
demned a man to pay a debt which he had previously denied. 
Indeed, there would be no end of citintj; the various crucifixes 

Eustace's monument. 243 

and images that have talked and moved abont; and no 
scholar, at least, need be sceptical on this point, when he 
recollects how common similar occurrences were before cruci- 
fixes were ever thought of at all. All may remember reading 
of the prodigies which appeared at Rome in the time of the 
Triumvirate, when the statues of many of the gods sweated 
blood, and when a bull spoke : and then, again, in Caligula's 
time, when the statue of Jupiter burst out into such hear^ 
peels of laughter, that those sent to dismount it from its 
pedestal and transport it fh>m Olympia to Rome, fled 
aflBrighted, and left it standing where it was. 

Two other churches remain to be noticed ; that of the 
Crocellb al Chiatamone ; the other, Sta. Maria del 
Pbato. The first is interesting to the English traveller as 
containing the ashes of the classical Eustace, whose monu- 
ment is, nevertheless, as great a disgrace to the arts, as 
unworthy of the elegant taste of the man whose name and 
memory it was intended to honour. An ungraceful female 
figure is represented weeping over a tomb, supported on each 
side by a stunted fluted column, below which you read :-t- 

U. S. E. 








[Here figures of a chalice and wafer intervene.] 






R . I . P . 


The Church of Santa Maria del Prato, again, con- 
tains the beautiful Mausoleum of the poet Sannazaro. The 
stranger will find it on the road as he proceeds towards the 
promontory of Posilipo. Over a sarcophagus, you see a boat 
of this celebrated writer of piscatory eclogues, with his name 
underneath, ^^ Actius Sincerus." Below the sarcophagus 
there is a fine bas-relief representing Calliope sikging to 
HER Lyse, while Neptune listens : on one side, Pan sits with 
his pipe ; and on the other, you see a satyr bound to a tree. 

The epitaph appropriating the tomb runs thus : 






Two fine statues of Apollo and Minerva are placed on 
each side of the sacrophagus ; but lest such personages should 
be thought to profane the sanctuary of a church, the names of 
David and Judith have been given to them. 

On a plinth at the bottom you read the initials of the 
sculptor: — 

F. 10. AUG. FLO. OR. S.FA. 

Not far from the church of Santa Maria you come to the 
Tomb of Virgil. It is immediately over the entrance to the 
grotto of Posilipo, to which you descend firom the garden of 
St. Severin by several ranges of steps. It is a plain vault, 
with ten niches in the interior for sepulchral urns, con- 
structed of the same pseudo-volcanic material which forms 
the promontory on whose base it stands. From a loggia, in 
another part of the garden, the cicerone of the tomb shews a 
fine point of view. 

Descending from the garden, you come to the celebrated 
tunnel known by the name of the Grotto of Posilipo. It 
is 361 toises in length, and is thought to be one of the stu- 
pendens works of LucuUus. There is a passage in Seneca 
which makes it probable that in his time this subterraneous 
passage was only practicable for foot-passengers. It was 


Alphonso the First .who widened it to its present dimensions, 
so that now two carriages may readily pass abreast. 

The road through the grotto is that to Pozzupli and BaisB, 
where, half-way to the former, a by-way strikes off to the 
right from the valley of Bagnuoli, leading to the Lake of 
AoNAKO. This is an immense circular basin, describing the 
ontlines of an ancient volcano, which had existed long prior 
to the remotest periods of tradition. Its fires even How are 
not extinguished, as the Suditorio di San Germako, the 
well-known Grotta del Cane, and the Pisciarelli, still 
evince. The first is an excavation in the side of the hill, and 
divided into compartments, the innermost naturally being the 
hottest. It is in these that patients submit to a natural vapour- 
bath : they nndress in the outer, and, putting on a flannel 
covering, they enter the inner compartment, where benches 
are cut out of the soil to repose upon ; but whether these stufe 
possess superior advantages to what can be obtained without 
goii^ so iar from home, seems very questionable : I know of 
no physical reason for the preference. The effects of the 
Grotta del Cane, again, are too well known to need repetition : 
it is sensibly warmer than the atmosphere. I witnessed the 
usual experiment on the dog, but they do not now throw the 
animal into the neighbouring lake, in order to recover it; 
indeed, if they did, the dog must inevitably be drowned ; for 
at first coming out of the cave he is wholly senseless and 
motionless : recovering by degrees, he breathes convulsively ; 
and when he is able to stand on his legs, he reels about like 
one drunk. I tried to fire off a pistol with a flint, but failed ; 
but one with a percussion lock and cap went off instantly. It 
is a curious phenomenon to see the stream of white smoke, 
which flows out of the cavern when the door is opened, de- 
scending towards the water. The gas is quite visible, from the 
quantity of steam it holds dissolved ; and the line of demarca- 
tion, separating it from the purer air above, is distinctly appa- 
rent, with its surface fluctuating to and firo, like waves of water. 

Following the road which leads to the left, you traverse a flat 
space of ground forming a valley in the crater ; and what was 
once a cauldron of boiling lava is now a luxuriant garden, 


planted with frait^trees and Yines, which climb from branch to 
branch, and stretch in festoons from tree to tree ; in the midst 
of which the traveller will find an osteria, some not bad wine, 
aiid a guide for the Pisciarelli. The way leads throagh a 
vermicalar path, wormed out of the rock by a pseudo-Yolcanic 
action, which still goes on, when you arriye at a spring of 
hot water, which bubbles up from below. The soil all around 
is hot, tmd you sometimes are not aware of the circomstance 
until a painful burning sensation pierces the feet. In escha- 
rotic cavities, you perceive considerable quantities of sal 
ammoniac and alum mixed together, and through tabular 
apertures around steaming vapours ascend, coating their 
mouths with minute crystals of sulphur. The rock here is 
limestone, beautifully Variegated in colour by the sulphureous 
exhalations that have passed through it. I may observe, fay 
the way, that the coincidence of the presence of limestone 
with the production of native sulphur, has struck me as 
singular on more occasions than one, although our present 
knowledge of chemistry does not warrant a surmise that is 
apt to suggest itself from a connexion so constant as almost 
to seem inseparable. The grand natural manufactoiy of the 
latter, of which we are presently to speak, is seated in the 
midst of limestone in a state of slow combustion. Afiter 
having my feet toasted at the Pisciarelli on as hot a day as I 
had yet felt at Naples, I clambered up the steep rocks that 
separate the Pisciarelli from the Sdfatara. On reaching the 
summit, you have a commanding view of the scenery around, 
— of Pozzuoli and Baice, and its gulf, in regarding which you 
ask of every ruined monument, as it successively catches your 
eye, where are those gay fleets that once covered the bay with 
sails of purple, waving pennants, and masts garlanded with 
flowers, as the elite of Rome*s noblesse forsook the peaoefid 
bosom of the gulf to crowd the theatres with their presence ? 
Where are Hortensius' house, his fish-ponds, his eels and 
lampreys, for which, if a favourite died, this great orator and 
otherwise great man would weep for several days ? You look 
around in vain for the country-seats of Marius, of Pompey, 
of Csesar ; and, save a few bricks which the mortar still keeps 


together, of Cicero's Academy, and the ruins of the Temples 
of Venus, of Diana, and Mercury, you see, as it were, but 
the crumbs of a banquet ! 

From this spot, which is covered with vines, I descended 
to the SoLFATARA. This is a large circular pit, situated high 
up on the side of the hill facing the sea, and over the town 
of Pozzuoli, and is usually described as the crater of a volcano. 
This is quite an error, assumed, as it has been, from its form. 
Volcanic combustion, as we shall see better by and by, always 
tends to act in a circle, and it does so necessarily, even when 
least significant in its operation. Combustion, any how excited, 
commencing at a point, becomes a centre, and inasmuch as 
the circumjacent material is homogeneous, the sphere of its 
action will be by so much the more regular. Of this nature 
is the Solfatara, and its origin and present state is the same 
as the less conspicuous, but precisely similar actions, which 
we observed at the Pisciarelli. I conceive that, when the 
volcano of Agnano had exhausted itself, and when its sides 
had become too thin to sustain their own weight, the walls 
fell in as the final catastrophe, and extinguished the main 
combustion. Notwithstanding this event, the combustion on 
the outskirts still continued, and has continued through ages, 
from the citpability of the surrounding matter to support its 
own fires, up to the present day. Of this description the 
Solfatara is a remnant, as well as the other sources of heat 
still exhibited at the Suditorio, Ghx)tia, and Pisciarelli, on 
other parts of the margin of the feUen crater. 

The Solfatara was the Temple of Vulcan of the ancients, 
underneath which the poets feigned the Titans lay buried, 
and that the fiimes which proceed from it were occasioned by 
their writhings. A late Neapolitan writer has broached a 
still more extraordinary idea, in seriously undertaking to 
prove it to be one of the mouths of hell ! The common people 
in the neighbourhood believe it to be the place of purgatory ; 
and they will tell you, that on Sundays certain dark-coloured 
birds, of an unknown species, are to be seen issuing out of it, 
which they believe are the liberated souls of sinners now 
purified. When within the pseudo-crater of the Sol&tara, 


on stamping on the ground with your foot, a hollow aoand 
proceeds from below, and in some places you hear a noise 
like boiling water. Lilliputian volcanoes may be made by 
obstructing the exit of the steam proceeding from apertures 
in the scorified soil, by covering them up with the naturally 
slaked limestone around, when a volcanic eruption in minia- 
ture will take place. These fuming orifices produce sulphur, 
alum, and sal ammoniac, in abundance. The sulphur is held 
dissolved by sulphuretted hydrogen, which, issuing at a tern* 
peraturo above 160^ of Fahrenheit, on coming in contact with 
the air, deposits the sulphur on the tu&ns matter around the 
crovice by which it escapes. 

On descending from the Solfatara towards Pozzuoli, there 
is an osteria to the left, in the garden belonging to which 
wero discovered, some time ago, two lai^e and beautiful 
Sarcophagi, — one containing the bones of a male adult, the 
other those apparently of a young female : they aro shewn to 
visitors. As you approach Pozzuoli, you find the ruins of an 
Amphithbatre in an orchard to the right : the arcades still 
remain, and the arena is planted with vines, com, and fruit* 
trees. The material of which it is built is a volcanic cinder. 
When perfect, its length was 172 feet, and breadth 82, and 
was said to have been able to accommodate 45,000 spectators. 
It was in the arena of this amphitheatre, according to the 
legend, that St. Januarius was exposed to the wild beasts, 
when he escaped as scathless as did Daniel of old on a similar 
occasion, the animals falling prostrate before him. In one of 
the arcades of the amphitheatre there is a chapel o(msecrated 
to commemorate the miracle. 

I proceeded onward to Pozzuoli. This is the ancient 
Puteoli of the Romans, and was originaUy built by the Greeks 
in the time of Tarquin the Proud, about the end of the sixty- 
second olympiad. It was named Diceearchia by its founders ; 
but when colonised by the Romans, after the defeat of Han- 
nibal at Capua, being found scantily supplied with water, 
the Romans dug a number of wells in its neighbourhood, and 
hence called it Puteoli — a derivative it still retains in the 
modem name of Pozzuoli. 


Pozzaoli is a poor town, occupied chiefly by fishermen and 
ciceroni, who guide strangers to the places of interest in the 
Yidnity. There are still considerable remains of the Moles 
Puteohma yet standing. This, as the traveller may know^ 
was intended for a bridge to cross from Puteoli to BaisB, 
begun by Caligula, but never finished. The distance it was 
meant to traverse is between three and four miles : many of 
the piers are yet above water, and others have sunk under its 
level : they are built of the Pozzuolana stone of the neigh- 
bourhood, well known for its peculiar quality of hardening 
under water ; so that whilst the buildings that were erected 
on land of the same material have crumbled to dust by ex- 
posure to the atmosphere, these piles have become more 
indurated by submersion. 

Pozzuoli was also called Colonia Augusta. Augustus had 
a temple here, which is now a church, and dedicated to Saint 
Proculo. It is said to contain the body of St. Patrobas, one 
of the seventy-two disciples spoken of by St. Paul in the 1 6th 
chapter of his Epistle to the Romans, and it claims the still 
greater distinction of being the first church which received 
the light of the gospel; for it was in this pagan temple that 
St. Paul conversed of his apostolic mission, during the seven 
days he remained here with the brethren, in his voyage from 
Syracuse to Rome ; for which see the 28th chapter of the 


From this place it is usual to take a guide, who conducts 
the traveller, shewing him the remains of the Temple of 
Jupiter Sbrapib, of Cicero's Villa, where he wrote his 
Queestiones Academics,* Monte Nuovo, the Lucrine Lake, 
Lake Avernus, and the many other interesting antique ruins 
on the promontory of Misena, fi>r which I must refer to the 

Monte Nuovo rose out of the earth after the terrible earth- 
quakes that prevailed here in 1638, which changed the entire 
lace of the neighbouring country, and caused even the sea 

* So called from his villa being built after the maoner of the Academy at 


to retire two hundred paces within its bounds, while Lake 
Lucrine was reduced to little better than a pool. The tra- 
veller, on ascending to the top of Monte Nuovo, will tind a 
cavity in the form of a crater : this cup formerly contained 
water; and at its hase he will observe black cindei-s, ditierent 
from anv volcanic matter m the vicinity; both of which cir- 
cunl^tances I shall have occasion to allude to hereafter. Lake 
Avernus is a beautiful object, and its whilome '\f(iuces fjfnirt- 
o!( /fft's'^ arc now as fratrrant as the Ijreath of morninjr. The 
day I visited it was >onibre, toniiip; down sensation to a key 
favourable to the enjoyment of romantic impressions. The 
steep side of the crater threw its shadow into the water ; the 
tenij^le by its Hiaririn added the picturesque to the scene; and 
the (irotio of tiie Sil)yl called up recollections and associa- 
tion> of earlv l>ovliuod, tlirowinir the mind into the haunts of 
fanev, where the iuiaiiinatiou dej)icte(], in its own guise, the 
scene that wa- now jjel'oie me. The temple is said to be that 
of Apollo. The (irotto of the Sibyl, again, has been thought 
by some to have been a subterranean i)assaij:e from Lake 
Avernus to Cumvv : but even on this suj^position it is ditKcult 
to surmise its ])urpose. The proper Sibyl's Cave is at Cumtp, 
on the diclivitv of a hill wliich faces the east: its front is of 
nuii'ble, and its interior is the same now as described bv 
ancient writers. The profane superstition of modern times 
ha< dared to assert, that it wa^ by this sul 'terraneous passage 
our Saviour returned from hell, accompanied by the patri- 
archs. Cumu" itstlf atiorded a retreat and a tond3 to Tarquin 
the Proud, last kinir o( ancient Rome ; but it was in ruin 
c\en in the time of J uvuial — '" vacua Cuma." 

It was now time to retrace my steps back to Naples; but 
as 1 ca-^t a nariinL;- glance on Iniiiv and the scenerv around, 
\ coidd not lulp retUeiini:' on the >ti*ange vicissitudes to 
which cxerv thinLT >nhiunafv is >ul>iect. BaiiV, once the 
resort o( nil that ».i> ilistiui^iuslud for rank, or fame, or 
fortune, in l\i>mo.x\hat i-* ii uvnv ?- -still, and foi'gotten, and 
desertinl as iiio>c \oK\mot><. \\\c >\ov\ o{ whose former ex- 
istence >>ouKl be h>leut\l \o »iih incredulity by the few 
wretched beinL;> »lu> uv^w bi;;ld ilu;r liuts in their cratei>! 


The gay, loxurioas BaisB is now levelled with volcanic dust 
and ashes ; its shores are dreary and deserted ; all its noble 
stmctares sunk into the earth, or swallowed up by the sea ; 
and this haven of health is now changed into a laboratory of 
pestilential exhalations ! How different, I thought, from the 
time when those temples were entire — when they sacrificed to 
Mercury — when the festivals and mysteries of Venus were 
celebrated —when all those thermse and snditoria, those places 
of health and delight, were incessantly frequented ! Day was 
spent amidst scenes of gorgeous pageantry, and evening 
opened her lap of fresh pleasures ; and while the distin- 
guished and the gay resorted to the theatres, love and beauty 
sought the shades of retirement. Then, in such a place, 
amidst such scenes, at evening's hour — the most corrupting 
hour of all, when all was abandoned to voluptuousness,* — 
then I can conceive it was indeed a reproach for Cicero to 
have a country-house at Baies ! 

Not satisfied with the excursive glance I had had of the 
volcanic wreck all around Naples, I rose this morning before 
day-light, in order to get to the top of the hill on which the 
Camandoline convent stands. The moon was yet up, and 
shed a glimmering light through a veil of hazy clouds that 
encompassed it, but the morning was otherwise fine. The 
city was sunk into stillest slumber, and the breeze from the 
sea blew so gentle, that it seemed as the melodious breathings 
of Nature asleep. I had threaded my way through the Grrotto 
of Posilipo, and got somewhat on the ascent, when the sun 
was preparing to rise from his watery bed, and separate the 
sea from the sky ; the heavens appeared to rise with him, an4 
the waves began to fall back on the horizon, like the petal of 
an awakening convolvulus. Rays of gold shot out on all 
sides, — now sparkling among the waves that bathe the feet 
of Capri, and Procida, and Ischia — now driving a-field the 
mists of the new-born mom as a shepherd does his flock, 
when reaching the march-stone which limits the domain of 
heaven and ocean, ** he pillows his chin upon an orient 
wave," shedding his brightest rays on Pozzuoli, on Baiae, and 
the gulf that intervenes, on the Elysian fields, and on the 


rains of the aeven cities which once flourished, like as many 
may-flowers, on its shores. Often turning back to note the 
matin-hymn of awakening Nature — for the development 
of her glories is of itself a mute adoration of their Creator — 
I gained the top of the mountain, when my train of observa- 
tion took a difierent pursuit. 

I have before made the remark, that volcanic action, in 
the state of combustion, has a constant tendency to operate in a 
circle ;* and from this point of view the justness of the obser- 
vation is manifested. Cast your regards around, and circles 
and segments of circles are the only forms which present 
themselves within the eye's scope. The outermost which you 
observe is formed by Nisida, the promontory of Posilipo, the 
hill On which I stood, Monte Barbaro, and terminates in 
Cape Misenum. Within this is another circle or basin, of a 
still more defined form — I mean the range of hills which 
encloses the lake of Agnano, between which and the outer 
circle there is a valley a quarter of a mile in breadth, en- 
compassing the lake like the moat of a fortification. You 
perceive the same form of action preserved, and proceeding, 
in the Solfatara. Lake Avemus presents another centre of 
former volcanic operations ; and segments of the same kind 
may be traced between the promontories of Misenum and 
Minerva, and that of Posilipo, the castle of St. Elmo, and 
the hill (Chiatamone) which formerly joined the palace of 
LucuUus with the dry land. From the castle of St. Elmo 
you see the same circular form of action, extending to the 
Capo di Monte. When, it may be asked, did these gigantic 
convulsions happen — convulsions that must have rendered 
the country to a great distance around uninhabitable, of 
which no tradition remains to hand down the recollection, 
and from whose efiects no data can be deduced of the age in 
which they occurred? To say, " when chaos was a boy," 
is all that surmise can advance towards solving the question. 

Vesuvius has yet to tell its own tale, for at present it 
constitutes its own centre. Indeed, the matter of combustion 

* This fact may be seen illustrated and confirmed by the '* Curie Pky^ 
tique de la Cantpanie^** par S. Breislake. 


in all the places we have named, seems to have nearly ex- 
hausted itself, and the subterranean fire has migrated to a 
fresh position (Vesuvius), where its pabulum still exists in 

The current of the foregoing observations had led me on 
to Pozzuoli ; and returning by the direct road to Naples, the 
traTeller will observe a high hill to the left (Monte Spina), 
about half a mile on the way, composed of a material differing 
from any he has yet seen. It seemed to me to be a petro- 
mlicious lithoid lava, thickly disseminated with large crystals 
of glassy felspar, manifesting little or no scorification in its 
appearance. This huge mass of rock stands isolated, and 
appears to have been thrown up from a great depth by some 
subterraneous conm:iotion, of which no tradition is extant ; 
and by the unscorified and crystalline texture it presents, it 
must have cooled under enormous pressure.* They quarry 
it for building the rampart on the borderii^ beach, for which, 
by reason of its great hardness, it seems particularly well 

Nisida and Ischia are both volcanic islands: Capri, I 
was told, for I did not visit it, is of limestone, similar to that 
of the neighbouring Apennines. 


My next excursion was to Pompeii; but this is a place 
which must be seen, for no description can convey any accu- 
rate notion of it.f In my way I descended to view the ex- 
cavations of Herculaneum, and here again I roust refer the 
traveller to his personal observation. Chance, which, with 
the genius of science, has the pririlege of drawii^ aside the 
veil of nature, discovered the site of this subterraneous city, 

* The perfect ciystaUine stnictuie of this volcanic rock may fairly be 
adduced as ao analogous argument for the igneous origin of granite ; so 
also may the tiachyte porphyry of the Euganean range, hereafter to be 
spoken of. 

t See the catalogue for a verbal enumeration of its more remarkable 


of which hijitory only preserved the record of the catastrophe 

that ontombed it.* 

The event which destroyed Pompeii is well known. Dion 
and riiny have recorded it. In the eruption of Vesuvius, 
wliich happened in the reign of Titus, on a sudden a blast of 
wind arose, loosened a part of the ashes which covered the 
sunnnit of the mountain, and, carried away in whirlwinds, 
buried Pompeii in suffocating dust. It has been a question 
with antiipiaries, whether this eruption was the first of Ve- 
suvius : and the query, by general assent, seems now to be 
>ettled in the negative, from the single circumstance of the 
streets t^f Pompeii being found paved with lava. But this is 
a circumstance, I must confess, which has no such conclusive 
>\ eight with me, since it was quite easy for its inhabitants to 
procure as nmcli as they might require from the hill in the 
neighbourliood of Pozzuoli, of which we have already spoken ; 
and if eni]nions hrid preceded the one in question, it is alto* 
LTCther un;iccoinital>le, consideriuii' the intelliixence of the aire, 
how the writers of that period should have lost all memorial 
oi\ or neulected to record, such momentous and strikinir 

The feelings excited by a visit to Pompeii are strange and 
undeiinaMe — pleasing, yet sad ; wliere, as you walk, in 
epitaj)hic mood, from temple to temple and from house to 
hou>e, you e\}H\'t at every corner of a street to be met by 
the niaiies of some property, and reproved for trespassing on 
their privacy. 

As 1 intended to sleep at the Hermitage on Vesuvius 
the same night, I tore myself away from this singular ceme- 
teiy, wliere that became the tomb which had been the abode 
of its iiduibitant; and, as was not unusual with me on similar 
occasions, I found, too late, that 1 had tarried too long. It 
was ^ettiuii' very dark as I bei:an to ascend the mountain, 
aiul I shortly repented me of not having remained at Portici 
until the morning. After I had got a good way up, I found 

* TIjo tlioatro of Uerculancum is ihc only jart yet excavated. The palace 
at Poiiici (losoivi's a visit iVoin the stranger; but as the king was residing 
there while 1 reniained at Naples, this prevented my seeing it. 


that a man had been follofwiog me ; and when he oreilook 
me, he was pressing in his offers to be my goide : but 
thinking he might purposely mislead me from the path into 
danger, I declined his services. He was not, however, to be re- 
pulsed by a civil denial ; and now his nrgen^^ and pertinacity 
rousing my suspicion, I was obliged to threaten him with 
something more impressive than words, if he did not instantly 
go about his business. I was alone ; the place was solitary ; 
and as it was now quite dark, I thought it better to confide 
to any portion of instinct there might be latent within me, 
than trust to one who might be encouraged by place, time, 
and circumstance, to watch his opportunity to smite me. I 
still continued onward, and shortly found myself bewildered 
in a stream of lava. I wandered about, not knowing where, 
for full two hours, and became so tired, that I had made up 
my mind to pass the night in the first Cyclopean cavern I 
should find ; when, somehow or other, I had waded out of the 
stream, after many a bruise and tumble, and fi>und myself 
unexpectedly in front of the Hermitage. Listening at the 
door, to ascertain if I was right, I heard the hermit and his 
acolyte at their midnight devotions ; so, knocking long and 
loud, it was with difficulty I obtained admission. The good 
old man, however, soon made me as comfortable as he could, 
by placing some bread, wine, and salami before me, and 
afterwards kindly busied himself in arranging me a bed on a 
cane sofa which stood in the room. My difficulties being 
over, I set about enjoying myself: the salami I thought 
delicious, and the lacrime brought tears of joy into my eyes. 
Hard as my couch promised to be, I saw cause to felicitate 
myself on the difference betwixt this and roosting among 
lava, with nothing but cold cinders for supper ; and in this 
humour I opened the album of the place in search of 

There are various ways of judging of men and manners, 
and sometimes an album gives one a wrinkle. Ordinary, 
conmiontensical people, in inscribing their names fer the 
edification of posterity, for the most part content themselves 
with simply banding down their autograph to coming ages, 


that ftiture Layatera may decipher their characters bj the 
diagnoBtice therein developed ; whilst otfaersy again, are meve 
obligingly copioas in their sketches of themselves ; of wbkh 
latter description I selected- the following, and those the moat 
nationally characteristic :- r- 

tt i^th gber 1825. 

" Mr. Cheeks on his ass with his two bow-wows.*' 

** Thomas 01-^r has ass ended Mount Vesnyioa tor the 
fourth time. 

*' Mr. and Mrs. 01 — h — m had the plesure of passing this 
hermitage the 12th Oct. 1825, and made a plesant breech- 
fast on the plateform.'' 

Above Mr. Cheeks you read : — 

'' Itaque etiam nos inter coronata et oomnta capita ^leii«> 
deamus in sacculum saceulamm. 

** H. A. Mekgltgh, LnsanuB." 

Then followed a French one, where, in recording the 
visit of the party, '' toutes les divinites de la concorde et de 
la paix furent invoquees, et qui furent tr^s favorable." 

And, lastly, came — 

" Dr. Charles W. Ch— nc— y, Boston, U. S. Visited Vesa- 
vius— went entirely round the crater — trod on burning 
sulphur — put the mountain in commotion — and returned 
to this place without difficulty or danger, Sept. 27, 1826.** 

After this, said I, as I shut the book, Shadrach, Meshach, 
and Abed-nego, hide your diminished heads! 

By daylight next morning I started for the cone, with the 
determination to find a way for myself to its summit, horn a. 
persuasion that the one used by the guides had long ago been 
gleaned of every volcanic specimen worth picking up.' '' Viam 
aut inveniam aut faciam," said I, repeating my own motto, 
as I gave directions to my steps to lead me up the steep. 


Sueoeifflve emptions have divided the moiintain into two 
parts, Moote Somma and Vesuvias proper — the former re- 
taining its altitude entire by being now separated from the 
immediate sphere of the volcanie action. After viewing the 
scorified and precipitous face of the Somma, I crossed a 
stream of lava which separates them, and began to ascend 
the cone. This the traveller will find a laborious under- 
taking, fix>m the steepness of the acclivity, and the loose 
fiioting which the a^es afibrd, so that he slides back on an 
average almost as much as he ascends, thus more than 
douUing the height and distance to be surmounted before 
he attains the edge of the crater. Sitting down to rest 
myself, and pack away the specimens I had already collected, 
a singular phenomenon presented itself at my feet. Below 
me there was an irregular mound of erupted matter, which 
began to throw out volumes of dense steam, that crept up the 
side of'^the cone in the direction I sat, and I shortly found 
myself enveloped in a doud of vapour so copious and dense, 
that I could not see but indistinctly the distance of a yard or 
two. I remained in this situation for about ten minutes, 
until it had passed over my head, before the objects below 
reappeared. This cloud had no perceptible smell, but seemed 
to consist wholly of the steam of water. I watched it curl to 
the crater's edge, when, quitting this, it hovered over the 
truncated apex of the cone in the manner of a baldacchino. 
I followed it as fast as I could, and stood under its canopy 
when contemplating the cavity of the crater. And here I 
must leave the traveller to his own reflections, whilst his 
imagination dives down to the abyss of molten matter whence 
issue those exhalations, or, casting his eye towards Pompeii 
and Herculaneum, he may muse on catastrophes bygone, or of 
those which are still likely to recur. 

The first recorded eruption of Vesuvius happened in the 
79th year of the Christian era, in the reign of Titus ; for an 
account of which I refer the reader to the ancient writers 
who have described it. I have already mentioned the reasons 
for inducing me to adhere to the opinion that this was the 
first eruption of the mountain. Subsequent writers have 


2j8 phenomena of a volcanic eruption. 

1»lH'11 0([ually particular in their accounts of several eruptions 
which have taken phice since. In all of these the eruption 
has been described as preceded by dreadful hollow noises, 
and eartlicjuakes, lasting for a longer or shorter time ; the 
wells in the neiiihbourhood are observed to sink and become 
di y, and even the sea retires from the coast. Tliese pre- 
cursory phenomena are followed by an abundant issue of 
white t\iuies, forming clouds, which Sir William Hamilton, 
in speaking of the eruption that occurred in 1779, compares 
to bales of cotton. These were piled over the mouth of the 
crater, exceedin^c bv four times the hei<i:ht of the mountain. 
A\'ht'n the eruption begins, stones are first ejected : those 
Ivinii* at tlie ])ottuni of the crater, and forminsT the vault of 
the furnace, are necessarilv the first thrown out ; the lava 
next follows; and, lastly, an eruption of ashes, so great as 
frequently to darken the air, usually puts an end to the 
terrific scene. Other eruptions, again, are chiefly aqueous 
and nuuldv. Humboldt describes certain volcanoes in the 
Andes as ejecting nothing else ; and, what is still more 
siniiular, that fish are often found thrown out with the 
nuid, evincinir the subterranean source whence the water is 
derived.* In one eruption of Cotopaxi the quantity of water 
ejected was so prodigious that it swept away all before it to 
a distance of eighty miles. The eruption of Vesuvius which 
buried Herculaneuni was accompanied by a profuse eructa- 
tion of water, that cemented the volcanic dust into mud, which 
time and pressure have indurated into tufa and pozzuolana; 
and atrain in 1630, Portici and Torre del Greco were de- 
stroyed bv a torrent of boiliny; water and lava. 

It is a fact worthv of remark, that all volcanoes which con- 
tinue for any lenirth of time in action are to be found in the 
vicinity of a plentiful supply of water. Most of them arc 
situated on islands, or near the sea-shore ; and those that are 

* TlkSL' fi>li arc a species of i'/;//( AhAs, iianied C}iclopum by Humboldt 
tioin tlu'ir habitat ; but lliey do not difler from tliose found in the streams of 
tlio country. The fact gives us a stupendous idea of the suction going on in 
tlio interior of the volcanic abyss, when \vc vellect upon the height at which 
ihi'V ari- dis>;t>ri;cd. 


inland, as the volcanoes of the Andes, are found to commu- 
nicate with vast caverns of water and underground rivers. 
Indeed, those in Peru and Quito are remarkable for throw- 
ing out scarce any thing save mud and water. This mud is 
called moya ; and, when in South America, I saw some of it 
so combustible as to be used for fuel by the inhabitants. 

Water acted upon by fire is, in my opinion, the moving 
power in all volcanic eruptions — an opinion which I shall 
endeavour to sustain in the sequel by facts both existent and 

One curious circumstance is, that, as far as I have seen 
or been able to ascertain, volcanoes almost invariably exist in 
mountains consisting of limestone and in limestone ranges.* 
Vesuvius is a limestone mountain, the same as the neigh* 
bouring Apennines ; ^tna has a similar basis ; and the 
volcanic range in the Andes consists of the same rock.i- 
Now, limestone districts have also this peculiarity, that they 
abound with water, and are often the seats of hot springs* 
Derbyshire, in our own country, exemplifies the first fact; 
the Pontine Marshes afibrd another abundant illustration; 
we have seen it in copious and fuming streams at San 
Filippi and at Aix, and in cold torrents from under the 
limestone of Vaudnse. The same fact is to be observed in 
the limestone range of the Jura, on the shores of the lake of 
Nenfchatel, where rivers are to be seen of only a few hundred 
yards in length, bursting into life finom under a mountain, and, 
more short-lived even than the ephemeron, becoming extinct 
almost as soon as bom ; running their rapid and short course 
of existence to be swallowed up and lost in the general waters 
of the lake. Humboldt mentions, in his *' Political History of 

* The only exception to this general fact, that I am aware of, is to be 
found in the chain of mountains on which the Puys in Auverfl;ne are situated ; 
but this apparently anomalous circumstance will be attempted to be explained 
when noticing the basaltic hills about Bolca. 

f I was shewn, when in New Holland, by my respected and distinguished 
friend Mr. M'Leay, the colonial secretary, specimens from the pseudo- 
volcano by the Hunter river. The rock was limntone, incrusted with 
crystab of sulphur, sal ammonia, and alum. 


New Spnin/* that there exi-r«, between the villages of Chama- 
ra-apa, IMataniilo, aii-l Tchuiloioi>ec, in the bosom of calca- 
reous inuiMtaiii*, a <it rit"= of cavern? and natural galleries, 
from which Wdter issues in profa-ion, and that subterraneous 
river>, similar to th-se in Derbyshire, traverse those scalleries, 
coiiimunicatin'j one with another. At Poole's Hole, near 
Buxton, there is a vast cavern in the limestone rock, with a 
stream of water running throuirh it. Of a similar nature is 
the stupendous cavern at Castleton, which is crossed by four 
subterraneous streams. In several parts of the Malpays, 
also, fjreat masses of water are heard to run in the direction 
from ea^t to west — the direction of the volcanic range of the 
Anahiiac."^ Another striking coincidence is, that in all ex- 
tinct volcanoes water is found. The lake of Bolsena exem- 
plifies this circumstance on a colossal scale ; the little cup on 
Radicofani, hiirh as it stands above contiguous levels, is 
nevertheless filled with water ; the beautiful lakes of Albano 
and Nemi attest the same unvarying phenomenon, as well as 
those of Agnano and Avernus, not excepting the volcanic 
goblet on Monte Xnovo. Can the limestone in slaking,f 
when stronalv urtred bv heat, and rendered thirsty by torre- 
faction, direct the current of water towards the centre of 
igneous action, and thus add to the combustion instead of 
<|uenching it ? We are told that the volcano in the island 
of Tanna first took fire after great lains, and ceased only 
when the water that had fallen seemed to be exhausted. 

* \'olcanic action, under ground, seems to proceed in a straight line — 
tlial of the telluric electric meridian. There is a parallel or narrow zone of 
ihis description, of great elevation, between 18° .^9' and 19* 12' N., in which 
all the summits of the Anahuac rising above the region of perpetual snow 
are situated. The^e rt^gions are cither volcanoes which still continue to burn, 
or mountains which, from their form, as well as from the nature of their 
rocks, Humboldt thinks, have, in all probability, been the seat and result of 
volcanic action. The range of volcanic islands from the Azores, including 
Porto Santo, Madeira, the Canaries, and Cape de \'erd, to Ascension, 
exemplify the same fact : so do the Puys in Auvergne. 

t It is mentioned of one eruption of /lltna, that it covered a space of 
fifty leagues in circumference, and twelve feet in thickness, with cuicarcoiis 


TUb supposition would acoount fer the sinking and drying 
np of wells in the vicinity of Tolcanoes, and for the white 
douds of steam which proceed more or less at all times from 
them. In the *^ Bulletin de la Society de Geographic" for 
November 1829, an acoount is given of a volcanic eruption 
proceeding from a mountain in Java ; and from the pheno^ 
mena preceding it, it was evident that it had communicated 
with a neighbouring river three months before the eruption 
took place ; when hot mud, which was thrown to a distance 
of ten leagues, was the first matter ejected. And, lastly, I 
may add, that there cannot be a doubt of the communication 
which Mount ^tna has with the sea. This fact was esti^ 
Uished by what occurred in the great eruption of 1761, when 
a stream of boiling scUt water continued to flow for a quarter 
of an hour from the volcano, in quantity so vast as to get the 
descriptive name of NUo H acqua* 

When this planet was first launched into space, no notion 
appears more feasible than that it was in the b^inning a 
molten mass surrounded by matter less resistant of heat in 
a gaseous form, each component of which having attractions 
and repulsions imposed upon it the same as exist at present, 
but separated and controlled by the power of heat, yet held 
together as a whole by the fundamental law of attraction. 
All matters easily evaporable took up positions round the 
coitral mass, according to their respective gravities; and 
among these, the waters now forming the ocean must have 
been held in suspension. While the upper matters cooled 
and condensed, still the elastic vapour immediately over the 
molten surface was capable of sustaining the superincumbent 
pressure, a fact whidi is easily imitated in miniature, by 
dropping water on melted glass ; but, in proportion as the 
heat diminished in intensity, the natural gravity of the water 
would keep constantly tending to overcome the repulsive 
force which upheld it. As the fused mass cooled by radiation, 
its exterior surface would gain consistence, would emanate 


less heat, and les>einnfr bv dei^rees the elasticity which floated 
the supernatant ocean, the waters would at length assume 
their proper place, and tiow on the surface of the cousoli- 
(latt d crust. 

From the hetero2:eneous nature of the matter forniiniir the 
molten mass, chemical phenomena of all kinds would in 
turn take ])lace, and tliese the more numerously as the mass 
cooled. Natural aftinities, severed by the tumult, would 
now beirin to act : and arrangements of gravity, at first incon- 
gruously intermixed by the explosions of combustibles, would 
settle down into order : and the globe, in time, would become 
habitable for the lower classes of animal existence. 

The entire glol)e, under the preceding view, must have 
formed oriixinallv but one immense volcano ; and those that 
at present exist, or have existed, are but the feeble scintil- 
lations of its tlvinor end>ers. But while the more colossal 
phenomena, which we have imagined to have existed, were 
subsidin:^, others of enormous maijnitude would, for a lon<r 
time, continue to operate, though diminishing in violence 
and freijuency as lime advanced in years : states of eruptive 
turbulence would more partially, and, at more distant in- 
tervals, recur to disturb the natural arransrement which had 
taken idace, and thus account for many of those irre«;ular 
appearances which the surface of the earth presents. Com- 
motions from below would raise up ranges of mountains 
from the plain, or elevate them from the bottom of the 
ocean :* thus blending tlie igneous and aqueous formations 
toirether, and, bv channini*- from time to time the bed of the 
ocean, would leave its formations drv, while it soucrht a new 
level. If the u]>heavin<j: of the sid)marine strata was exten- 
sive, and the degree of force equal and sinmltaneous through- 
out, these strata, in nianv instances, would retain their 
horizontal position, or decline verv slii^htlv from it. In the 
opposite case, the disruption might place strata of aqueous 
formation, which were formerly level, almost on their edi»*es : 

* Dr. Hook conceived that all land liad l)ccn lai^cd from the bottom of 
the sea by llu* powtr and agency of subterraneous {\\(^ — an idea, in my 
opinion, unnecessarily extensive. 


shells and other marine remains would thus be placed where 
it would otherwise be difficult to account for their elevated 
poeitionSy and matters of pyrogenous origin be found piercing 
materials of a very different formation from themselves. 
Deposits indisputably of aqueous origin, which are so often 
met with so many thousand feet above the present level of 
the sea, are, by the foregoing supposition, very readily ac^ 
counted for; and the surplus oceans, which, according to 
some geologists, have so often deluged the world, be got rid 
of by an hypothesis less obnoxious to objections than that 
which seeks out some vast cellar somewhere under ground, 
to bottle off some thousand millions of cubic miles of water, 
until a fresh deluge be wanted for the support of their 
drenching system of cosmogony. We have had the world 
drowned once, and that is quite enough to satisfy my hydro- 
phobic taste. 

I think there is abundant proof that fire and vast caverns 
still exist at a great depth below the surface of the earth, 
else how can we account for those earthquakes which are at 
times felt simultaneously, extending to such distances ? On the 
cessation of the eruption of Vesuvius which occurred towards 
the end of December 1831, an earthquake took place at 
the same instant, which extended along the whole chain of 
the Apennines. In another, which happened in December 
1760, earthquakes were felt for fifteen miles all around 
Vesuvius, accompanied with unusual and terrific roarings of 
the sea bordering its base. That this volcano has a sub- 
terranean communication with the Solfatara, was proved by 
flames bursting from the latter in the eruption of Vesuvius 
in 1822. What else than a submarine volcano of prodigious 
force and magnitude could have raised up a range of volcanic 
islands stretching nearly in a straight line from Staffa by 
the Azores to St. Helena? The island of Madeira, as well 
as I could observe when there, presents no vestige of ever 
having had a living volcano upon it, and yet it consists 
mainly of basaltic lava, and had, consequently, been fused 
at an enormous depth below the bed of the ocean, which 
itself is of great depth all around the island, and close in 


shore. The island of Teneriife, viewed as a ^hole, is of a 
similar nature ; for I coneeive that the yoleano known by tfie 
name of the Peak has thrown out but very little lava, com- 
paratively speaking, considering the extent of the island ; 
and the same remark I believe to be applicable to the whole 
suite of this volcanic range. 

Several new islands have appeared within the recotd of 
testimony. Seneca tells us that in his time die island of 
Theresia arose all at once out of the sea ; and Pliny infoma 
us of thirteen islands which emerged from the bottom of 
the Mediterranean. Sir William Hamilum believes that the 
island of Ischia issued from the same watery bed; Monte 
Nuovo* still exists, to testify a similar event on the neigh- 
bouring land : we all may remember die emerging, and after- 
submersion, of the island Sabrina among the Azores ; and 
another (Graham Island) rushed into existence only the other 
day. Submarine earthquakes have been repeatedly noticed. 
In that which was experienced on board the Volage, in the 
bay of Callao (30th March, 1828), it is mentioned that a 
hissing noise was heard in the water, as if a red-hot iron had 
been plunged into it. An immense quantity of bubUes aitMe 
to the surface, and the sea was covered with the bodies of 

* Humboldt telU us, in his ^' Statistical Analysis of the iBtaDdancy of 
Valladolid, in the kingdom of New Spain," that the volcano of JoruUa was 
raised 1695 feet in one night from the surrounding plain; and Strabo relates, 
that in the pluins in the neighbourhood of Methone, by the shores of the gulf 
of Hetmione, a volcanic explosion prbduced a mountain of soorise, to which 
be gives the piodigious height of seven stadia, which, computed by the Olym- 
pic stadium, would amount to 4096 fset Bngliah. 

In June 1765, the town of Rocco di Monte Piano, in the kingdom of 
Naples, was swallowed up by the earth opening under it, and protruding a 
great rock in its stead on the very spot where the town formerly stood, mark- 
iDg, in monumental guise, its grave. This catastrophe took place so mea- 
soredly, that five or six hundred of the inhabitants, who had Sed at the fint, 
retmned with the hope of saving their more valuable eflbcts, aod were aM 

From many of the small cones which encompass the sides of the volcano 
of JoruUa, there issues a dense steam, the temperature of which was Ibuod to 
be 202* of Fahrenheit, accompanied by a subterraneous noise, like that of a 
fluid in ebullition. 


dead fish floating about. Before these pbenomena took place 
the sea had been perfectly calm : during their continuance it 
was so agitated, that the ship was observed to roll more than 
a foot on each side under water ; and the chain-cable, on 
being weighed, was found to have undei^ne a sort of fusion 
for some part of its length. 

It is a well-known fact, that shells are found as we rise to 
the foot of great chains of mountains, and up their sides, even 
to the height of many thousand feet. On Mont Perdu, the 
highest of the Pyrenees, whole strata of sea^shells are found ; 
Ulloa states, that he found marine shells on a mountain in 
Peru more thui 14,000 feet above the level of the sea ; and 
Saussure met with them on the Selenche and the Mole — 
mountains whose elevation exceeds 7,000 feet. But a fact, 
which is invariable, merits particular consideration, and that 
is, that the strata at these elevations, instead of being hori* 
zontal, as in the plains, are of various degrees of inclination, 
and sometimes even vertical. Can probability produce a con- 
comitant circumstance more corrobomtive of the supposition 
that these strata were placed vertically by force acting from 
below, and that the shells found imbedded in them were 
formed when these strata were horizontal, at the bottom of 
the ocean, and at an infinite depth below their present posi- 
tion ? That the entire island of Sicily has been raised from 
the bottom of the sea at some remote period, is rendered pro- 
bable by the circumstance of a bed of sea-shells being found 
by Dolomieu on Mtna, 2,400 feet from its base ; and from 
iBtna being a volcano, the supposition is not improbable, that 
the commotion which uplifted the island from the bottom of 
the ocean ignited the mountain at the same time. 

Chaptal thinks that volcanoes owe their origin to the 
ignition of pyritous coal ; and, according to D'Aubuisson, 
Werner, from studying the cont^uity of coal and basalt in the 
mountains of Saxony, entertained a similar opinion. Now I 
am inclined to think, from what I have before stated, that 
volcanoes derive their ori^n from the combustion of lime, 
and owe their phenomena to the generation of steam ; in 
fiict, that a volcano is a natural steam-engine, and the cavity 


formed in the mountain constitutes its boiler. When the 
steam that is generated can find ready vent, so as to escape by 
sufficient apertures, then no commotion takes place ; but 
should tljese by any accident be closed up — an event always 
liable to happen from the falling in, and consequent displace- 
ment, of the matter subject to the internal combustion, — or 
should the steam be generated in increased and iucreasiug 
quantity, and the apertures of escape, the safety-valves, not 
enlarged proportionately, and by the augmentation of the 
heat get more elasticity, and hence greater force, then the 
phenomena of a volcano commence, — earthquakes are felt, 
clouds of steam are seen to issue from crevices in the moun- 
tain, or from the crater, if already formed ; at the same time, 
the fire within, increasing in intensity, augments the genera- 
tion of tlie confined steam, until the mountain, being no longer 
capable of bearing the internal pressure, gives way at the 
spot which offers the least resistance, and an explosion, or 
eruption, as it is more usually termed, ensues. Nothing ex- 
plains the projectile force of a volcano so well as the idea of 
steam pent up and acted upon by the heat of a vast cauldron 
of molten lava. Spallanzani ascertained, when at the summit 
of Stromboli, looking down the crater, that the ascent of the 
liquid lava, its explosions, and jets, were all occasioned by 
the production and disengagement of elastic fluids. The pro- 
jectile force with which volcanoes act is sometimes almost 
incredibly prodigious. It has been computed, that to throw 
up lava to the edge of the crater of the Pic of Teneriffe, merely 
from a depth on a level with the ocean, would require a power 
equivalent to one thousand times the pressure of the atmo- 
sphere. Could any pliysical power else than that of steam 
throw a column of lava ten thousand feet above the crater of 
Vesuvius ? a fact certified bv Sir WilHam Hamilton ; and 
this stupendous height is exclusive of the abyss whence it 
was projected. Another circumstance not to be forgotten 
is, that earthquakes invariably cease as soon as the eruption 
commences. The pent-up and highly elastic vapour has now 
found an issue, and no longer rages like a confined demon in 
the caverns of the earth. It sometimes happens that the 


steam forces a yent through a more extended surface, and 
then we have whole towns oyertumed, and movements of the 
earth's surfisice which have been compared to the wares of 
the sea. Such eyents are not uncommon , especially in Chili 
and Peru. Tacitus, in his second book, makes mention of a 
terrible earthquake that happened in Asia in the reign of 
Tiberius, by which twelve famous cities were totally ruined. 
It occurred in the night, and so suddenly, that the inhabit- 
ants had no time to save themselves. The earth opened, 
and the cities were swallowed up, high mountains sunk into 
the earth, and plains were raised up into mountains, during 
which terrible catastrophes it lightened tremendously, and 
flames of fire issued from the earth. 

During the period of the intensest heat of an eruption, the 
water in immediate contact with the lava seems to get decom- 
posed, as appears from the height the flame of the hydrogen 
will ascend. The flame from Vesuvius in 1779 rose to a 
height equal to three times that of the mountain itself, that 
is, about eleven thousand feet. But I am afraid the general 
reader is already tired of the subject ; and so we will have 
done with it. 

Only one word more. It appears to me that when a vol- 
cano has nearly exhausted itself, the matter latterly ejected is 
almost entirely pulverulent ; and of this nature I consider that 
which forms the ancient promontories and mounds in the 
vicinity of the extinct volcanoes of Agnano and Avemus, and 
that it was the pulverulent matter latterly ejected, proceeding 
from the last throes of the volcanoes of Castel-Grandolfo and 
Nemi, which produced six out of the seven hills on which 
Rome stands. We noticed the difference in the cinders form- 
ing Monte Nuovo from the other volcanic d6bris around, 
shewing its anterior origin, which, before it was uplifted from 
its sunken bed, had been covered with the ordinary tufous 
matter last ejected ; and the same observation suggested the 
idea of the mountain of lava (Monte Spina) having been 
elevated at some forgotten period in a similar manner. 

A volcano in its decrepitude, when it has worn out it fires, 
and has blown its sides so thin and lank that they can no 


longer sopport their own weight, fells in upon itself; and now 
assisted by the water within, thus extinguishes the lambent 
and exhausted combustion, leaving to some dbtant genera- 
tion to write its ** Ci-git," as one day will happen to the stiQ 
athletic Vesuyius. 

Cogitating thus, I began to descend the cone, with the 
ashes slipping from under me at eyery step ; and as I kept 
tumbling down on my back, I thought of my own *' Ci-git,*' 
and of the little volcanoes of human passion which wear out 
this puny frame of ours — for our feelings are as vapours, and 
our bodies but dust and ashes. 

Would that I were of a romantic cast of mind ! It b a 
disposition that furnishes more than ought else dreams to gild 
over the bare wretchedness of reality ; for the happiest scenes 
of life are but the romance of a day. Such a happy turn of 
mind, more certainly than the philosopher's stone, converts 
dross into gold out of all sorts of matter, bends every event to 
its own natural proclivity, and dresses in Fancy's gayest rain- 
bow the dullest scenes of life : by its ready power of aasimila* 
tion, it turns them all to its own gratification, and may be 
numbered among the best caterers that contribute to aid tbe 
fiction of human felicity. Fenelon remarked justly when 
he said, that man is the happiest who believes himself so ; 
and no occupation, or scheme, or pursuit, is too extravagant 
which, in the alchymical hand of ronmnce, may not be con- 
verted into a prolific source of enjoyment. Would that I 
were romantic ; for there are a thousand projects I could 
devise ! I would pass one year of my life, for example, seat- 
ing myself daily on the sea^shore, and numbering the grains 
of sand. Ghost of Cocker ! what service might I not render 
to science, if, from such a nucleus, I could compute the pre* 
cise number of atoms of which this globe is composed ! Were 
I romantic, I'd pluck the rainbow from the skies, and joining 
it with that belonging to our antipodes, make a grindstone of 
it to polish opals upon, or weave it into a fillet for thy ftdr 

brow, dearest C ! Were I romantic, I would have a 

balloon made, set every rope-maker to work to spin me some 
120,000 miles of cord, put two Fellows of the Royal 


ia it, — with a good breeze they'd get half-way to the moon 
by luncheon -time, there to float about like condors at the 
•perihelion of their flight, until obeenred by some prying star- 
gazer of earth's satellite. Hereupon two. lunar academicians 
are despatched to hold a palaver ; but when the four sages 
meet, not a word on either side can be made oat : a mutual 
exchange takes place, a Lunatic Acad, for a Royal Fellow ; 
the reering-line is hauled in, and, through the interpretation 
of a Bedlamite, we might thus come to learn the whole his- 
toiy and mystery of the moon I Were I romantic, I would 
have a deep well dug to confine the reflection of the evening 
star ; for, with the help of a gimlet, I could have a peep 
down when I liked, and it would put me in mind of the soft- 
beaming eye of her I love ! Were I romantic, I would that 
on every leaflet and flower, on rock and cave, on every 
precipice, over every water&ll, around each gay->tinted cloud, 
among the stripes of the rainbow, in the centre of the thun- 
derbolt, were written, <' O ! NatubbI" — what a grand 
motto for contemplation ! Were I romantic, I would desire 
a friend, when this corruptible shall have put on incorrup- 
tion, to have engraved on my humble tomb, *' Here lies he 
who was : passenger, bestow one tear to moisten the j^rass- 
dad grave of the Rambler, now at hif travels' end — for tears 
are the alms of the heart 1" Such are a few of the projects 
which the romantic could suggest to advance science, to make 
discoveries, to indulge his own sensibilities, to adore his God, 
— and all this, too, without injuring his fellow-man, while 
he improves his own benevolent feelings in their harmless 

I had now visited, in the course of the five weeks I had 
remained here, the many interesting objects which Naples 
presents in such abundance and variety to the curiosity of the 
stranger, and I was impatient to be gone. My health had 
begun to suffer from the unwholesomeness of a volcanic 
atmo^here: I felt ill, latterly, at Rome, from a torpor of 
the liver coming on, which I expected to have walked oS; 
but fiitigue, and the run I had for it at Sparanisi, aggravated 
my ailments, and they ended in a confirmed jaundice two 


days after my arrival at Naples. I contrived to get rid of 
the outward and visible signs of my complaint in about ten 
days, but still felt very unwell. Having, therefore, com- 
pleted my rambles in and about Naples, I again endorsed 
mvself with my knapsack to return to Rome. Were it not 
for the y)estiferous soil of Naples, how much do its localities 
excuse the enthusiasm their natural beauties call forth. 
What fresh mornings ! what brilliant noons ! what calm and 
silent evenings ! what lovely amorous nights ! what sparkling 
stars ! what blue waves ! what deep azure skies ! — all so 
fiivourable to love and so fatal to innocence ; presenting 
scenery and inspiring sensations that detach the soul from all 
tlijit is austere, and sink in the giddy whirlpool of forget- 
ful ness those sobrieties that sustain Virtue on her throne ; 
for how else could emperors and conquerors revel here in 
disgraceful pleasures, whilst the rest of the world was drowned 
in blood and tears bv their cruelties and devastations? 

Of the beggars of Naples, I may observe that their im- 
pudence is quite astounding. None here are ashamed to 
beg : they w^alk in and out of the cift'S like so many do- 
mestic animals ; and if they see you are determined not to 
listen to their importunities, they will tap you on the elbow 
to comj)el your attention, as if they were demanding a right. 
Charity is a debt, it is true, but nobody likes to l>e so dunned 
into it. 

I got back to Terracina on the third evening from leaving 
Naples, and, crossing the Pontine Marshes on the following 
day, I slept at Tor-Treponte. On my way 1 fell in with a 
barge which was being towed up one of the drains by several 
men, against the stream, and being invited to embark, I had 
an opportunity of seeing the poverty and utter wretchedness 
of these unfortunate men. They were anxiously inquisitive 
to know something of the state of affairs in Europe, and 
seemed ardently to wish for a war that should emancipate 
them from their miseries. We stopped mid-way to rest while 
they dined : their meal consisted only of a piece of brown 
bread, which they soaked in the dirty water alongside, and 
their only beverage was drawn from the same foul source. 


It was curious to see the way in which these men quenched 
their thirst, it resembled so much the lapping of a dog, both 
in manner and noise. With the first two fingers of their 
right hand dipped into the water they threw it thus to their 
mouth, and caught it with their lips with great dexterity. 
I tried to imitate them, for I was excessiyely thirsty ; but 
my awkwardness only made them laugh, for I splashed the 
water all over my face ; on which I heard one of them re- 
mark, with something like disdain^ that '' the signor had 
only been accustomed to drink out of a bicchiere/' Though 
living so poorly, and working so hard, yet these men appeared 
perfectly healthy : they had been up all the preceding night, 
conveying billet-wood to Terracina, and were now on their 
return for more. The steersman very truly remarked that 
it was the life of a dog. He had formerly served in the im- 
perial army of France, and certainly had reason to regret 
his altered condition. 

Reflecting on the circumstance, I cannot see any reason 
to doubt the account handed down of the former populous- 
ness of the district of the Pontine Marshes in the time of the 
Volsci, or of the twenty-three towns spread over it, which 
they inhabited. The marshes, I conceive, had not existed at 
that day ; but when the water which now deluges this ex- 
tensive plain began to issue from under the mountains in the 
background, this, by converting the country into a marsh, 
and, consequently, rendering it incapable of supporting popu- 
lation, would drive away its inhabitants, and bury the towns 
in its sinks. That suchlike events have happened before and 
have afterwards ceased, is rendered probable by observing 
the country between Tivoli and Rome. At a few inches 
under (he scanty soil you come to nothing but extensive beds 
of travertine, a petrifying deposit of calcareous matter from 
water which had at one time inundated a great part of the 
flat at the foot of the neighbouring hills. The same kind of 
deposit forms a considerable part of the foundation of the 
Pontine Marshes ; a fact which the traveller may easily 
ascertain, by walking into those parts where the water has 
forsakcQ the spot, or has been drained off. 


The porous nature of travertine exerts strong capillary 
attractions, and will always keep that country moist whose 
ba<is is composed of such a material. I walked considerably 
out of the road early in the morning, to examine a solitary 
house in ruins to my left, and was surprised at the profuse 
quantity of dew which had fallen on the grass through which 
I had to walk. 

My last visit to Vesuvius, on the day before I quitted 
Naples, had so shook the constitution of my shoes, that I was 
obliged to leave them by the road- side, and don my slippers 
as my only resource, as I ascended the hill to Veletri. On 
arriving at Albano I struck off to the right, and by a road 
that wound round one side of the lake, I got to Frascati. It 
was a fete day, and the town was filled with people from the 
country. A horse-race was one of the sports of the day ; and 
had the genius of caricature presided as steward of the course, 
the scene could not have been more ludicrous. The horses in 
Italy, as the reader may know, run without riders, being 
goaded on by weights suspended by loose ropes against their 
sides ; and they were such wretched hacks, that I am sure 
an English knacker would not have owned them for their 
hides. The race took place in the piazza, along an avenue 
made by the gazing and delighted country-people, whilst the 
nobU'ssc of the neighbourhood, the magistrates, and high dig- 
nitaries of the church, condescended to grace this farcical 
scene with their presence. The prize was a saddle. After 
it was ended, the winner was brought forth to receive the 
homage of the crowd, decked all over with ribands, and led 
by his master, preceded by a band of music ; and nobles, and 
priests, and soldiers, followed in the train of this triumphal 
procession. In the evening the town was enlivened by fire- 
works, and dances and merriments of all sorts. 

In the midst of so many delighted faces around me, I 
could not but envy the feelings of those whose *' ignorance is 
bliss,'' as I, perhaps, was the only spectator present who could 
not participate to the full in the simplicity of the enjoyment : 


but y/rhete sU appeared so gentdnely mnff who would have 
leoked for jockejfvhip in sbch a Boeiie?*--aDd jet I thought I 
pereeited it ; for whiht the knaekera etroye for the goal at 
an eqvai pace, a dog that had bean trained, as I imagined, 
for the pnrpoae, was let loose from amoi^ the crowd, whiefa, 
snatekiag at the heala of a particular horse^ so hastened his 
wpeed as to make him the winner! Prerious to this race I 
had paid a visit to the supposed site of Cicbro*s Tusoulah 
Villa, where a mosaic pavement is its only remains, at a 
place called Qnortx Fshrata, lying under Frascati. Here, 
aho, the travdler will eee a fresco painting by Domenichino, 
in a chapel in the abbey. Neat morning I walked on to 
OoLOKVA to breakfost, a ifistance of seven miles, through si 
drilling rain, and a country entirely formed of volcanic 
d^briB abounding in black mica. Colonim is a miserable 
town, bailt on a litde hill of reddish-coloured cinders, which, 
though perfectly sooiified, present an appearance as if they 
had onoe been liquefied. It rained so hard, lliat I did not 
proceed to Palestiina, ae was my intention ; but took the 
road, as I thought, to 'RvoK ; — ^and h^e it was, I may remark, 
that I had a ^metidal Joke played upon me, for the first time 
in my travels ; for the person of whom I inquired my route 
directed me in a Way direotly contraiy. I had proceeded a 
Gonsidendble distance before I found out my mistake^ when, 
strfkmg at random across the country, through vineyards and 
open fields, without a path to guide me, I descended a pre<- 
dpice by the help of the roots of trees, and tumbled, late in 
the day, accidentally upon Vioovaro. TUs is the ancient 
Villa Varroni, the former residence of Cicero's fKend, whose 
v ft Uimin ooB writings are lost to poeterity. The town is now 
foil of emptiness, voluminous in nothing bat dirt and wretch* 
adaesB ; aiid the oidy i^mark I made worthy a note, was the 
singular appearance of the volcanic soil, it being beautifally 
variegated in colottr. 

NotwiflistaiKting that the rain continued to foil in torrents, 
I determmed to get to Tivoli that night if possible. I was 
fatigued, and wanted aometlmig to eat, but could get nothing 
except cold hard-boiled eggs ; and of these, per force, I made 


inv meal, — scanty enough, it was true; but I comforted my- 
self with the reflection, that had I had a brain-fever, or some 
other atrocious inflammation, I should then have been obli<Ted 
to fare as sparingly ; and of the two evils, I certainly had 
the least to complain of. In this satisfied state of mind I again 
took the road, in the hope of faring better by bed-time ; but 
** ri'sptraficc est le sonfjccVun homme cveille,'* The night grew 
thicker and thicker, and the rain fell equally dense ; and I 
wandered onward more by guess than from any certainty 
I had that I was going right : in short, I got quite bewildered ; 
and, after wading for nearly an hour, over the knees in water, 
up a stony and rugged pathway, which the rain descending 
fmm the heights had converted into a precipitous and con- 
tinuous stream, I gave up all expectation of reaching Ti vol i 
that night. I was stupified, too, by the rain, and the fatigue 
1 had undergone. What the hour was I could not well 
«^uess ; but it must have been near midnight. So, perceiving 
a sort of cave in the mountain, (for by this time I calculated 
that I had attained the level of Tivoli,) I had nothing else 
to choose but to accept the shelter it offered me. I gathered 
toireiher some diT grass and leaves that lay strewed about 
its interior, to make me a couch ; and binding a hand- 
koroliief round my temples, by way of tutameny if not decus, 
I laid my head down on my friendly knapsack, putting my 
trust for the safety of the night in Him who tempers the 
wind to the shorn lamb. My prayer was short as the Per- 
j;ian's : ** In tliee have I trusted: let me never be con- 
founded :*' and in the firmness of this reliance, I soon slept the 
sleep of luulymion. Next morning I awoke some time after 
davliuht, blessing the man who first invented sleep : my limbs 
weivstifi'and benumbed with cold ; so, shaking myself up, to 
find if I was ** all over right," as the horse-dealers express it, 
I strapped my night's pillow on my back, and, on getting out 
o( the cave, I saw Tivoli under my feet, a short distance off to 
the westwanl! A passing regret shot across my heart, as I 
thi^Uiiht how comfortably I might have passed the night had 
1 Uvn in Ivtter luck ; but '^ where is the use of sighing" in a 
world which so abounds in occasions for doing nothing else ! 


The rain had now ceased, and the morning sun beamed 
as bright as if it had never shed a tear. On casting my eyes 
around, the objects before me presented one of those glorious 
prospects that entrance the feelings : at my feet lay the 
Campagna, over my head spread a refulgent expanse of sky : 
eastward the sun had begun his career toward the land of his 
setting, to sleep in the bosom of the Andes : on the verge of 
the horizon were Rome, the rugged Apennines, and the sea, 
where distance unites earth and heaven in prospects so fugi- 
tive and evanescent, that, viewing them twice, you perceive 
them changed. I watched the blue vapour that veiled the 
mountains' side as it left its dewy bed ; awoke by the sun- 
beams, it curled up the steep, and dissipated into air, like a 
dream forgotten. I regarded the nitescent soow that glis- 
tened on the summit of the more elevated Apennines; and 
in the midst of all stood pines, and poplars, and cypresses, 
among tombe and aqueducts in ruins. Ruminating on re- 
flections in harmony with the surrounding scene, my mind 
got tuned for a treat ; so I took the road to Tivoli, forgetful 
of the miserable plight I was in : but it seemed my wretched 
attire was more obvious to others than to myself ; for, as I 
approached the town, an old woman seeing me walking in 
slippers lashed to my feet with cord, asked me, with a feeling 
of concern, why I went so badly shod ; and, without waiting 
for a reply, added, '' Sta par penitenza ?" The idea tickled 
me, and I answered, ** Signora, si." '^ Ah ! poveretto ! 
poveretto!" cried the old woman, in a tone of voice which, 
when translated, said, ** Who among the children of men is 
not a sinner?" 


While every other part of Italy may, with equal claims, 
exact homage as classic ground, every footstep about Tivoli 
is doubly consecrated ; and I felt, in visiting those sacred 
haunts, as if I ought to have left my slippers as well as shoes 
at Veletri ; for here it was that Cicero rehearsed to the 
sound of the &Uing waters, and Horace repeated his odes, 
while the birds on the surrounding sprays filled in the 


chorus : tlie?e green hills were trodden by Catullus and his 
Leshia : these same fields were tilled by the band of the 
elder Cato : in these irroves Seneca meditated ; and in the 
tranloiis of tlie M!la Estense, m later times, it was that 
Tasso coniposed a g-reat part of his Gerusalcmme Liberata. 

Tivoli is the ancient Tibur, and its picturescjue beauties 
have iW u^zcs made it the resort of the pilgrims of nature. 
The iiranil cascade is at the back of the town, to view 
whicli vou de-coiid hv a diaironal path cut out of the tra- 
vcrtino, fornud by the waters of the Agnello. This white 
and turbid stream tlows aentlv over its bed, bathinsr the 
tinvii in its course, shaded bv branchinix elms, stealing: onward 
cahn and majestic, like a swan. Of a sudden it bursts into 
turbulence, da>hing itself against the rocks into foam; when, 
falling back on itstlf in impetuous seethings, it leaps over the 
rock in desperation, and is j)recipitated into the abyss below. 
As vou desceiul bv the path I have mentioned, the sruide 
dirocis your eye to the dilierent objects of interest as they 
pre>ont themselves. Cast your regards upward, and you 
SCO the simple and chaste Temple of Vesta, and, by its side, 
the circular l\vxE of the Sibyl, its beautiful, fluted, Corin- 
iliian colunms. and its richlv festooned entablature. Draw 
vour eve forward, and the view of the Caduta dazzles the 
^iihiv >i«j:ht in its fall : thix^w it downward, and you perceive 
ilic I'umiui:' mist into which it is dissipated, whose spray, as 
it cvMuicnscs. tails in a continual shower, and will wet a 
>pt>v't;\tor at the distance ot' six hundred paces. Let your eye 
sink >:iil loucr iio>\u. and you now see the *^ pra?ceps Anio" 
i:r»i:\c;i'.:c tv^::ciluM' i;< sc:utrrod waters, like a boa recoilins:, 
to plunge nndi r t'.iC Cujorio or the Sykex. At the foot of 
\]\c \\\\\\\\:\\ NvMi v\Mnc tv^ a caNcrn. hollowed out of the rock 
b\ the cluscl oi v.iV.wxw whose \aidt is formed of two enor- 
mvMi< atviu> onianur.t«\l \%;:h nu^>s. and creepers hanging in 
ti>toon> i'.t,> IS ti;c i^Ki^; \\^ vn NvrrixE. in the continued 
uoi>e vM ^^hlch tu^ht \\;\:\\ v.v> mIouvv. Heiv vou atrain have 
a \ il^^^ ol' tb.c taT.^v.;; (uwi. cv^ •/. \i;i>!;cs {;cadlong through the 
uc*»tio in tinvc r'.\v\\'ito,'.> >:*a\;'-,:> . :r.ui a< vou stand aniidst 
the tlnck dt ;./'..* i':;:;i <;ov\^'vV^ \vi:. no;; ihivcin e a richlv- 


tinted rainbow, which follows yoa about as jon shift your 
position, as if it were the shadow of your own eye's iris. 
Listening in dumb delirium to the thunders of rebounding 
waves, and to the continuous reverberation of the fallmg of 
so many waters, while all else around is silent, you insen* 
sibly get wetted to the skin ; and the chill working itself up 
to a shudder, at last awakens you from your day-dream, and 
obliges you to quit this elfin cave, and regain the height. 
Ab you ascend, observe on the wall of rock to your left the 
various forms the travertine assumes, and how nature, in the 
midst of so much sublime tumult, can find leisure even to be 

From the Caduia Orande you wind round by a delightful 
road, shaded by poplars, and plantains, 'with mulberry and 
fig-trees intermingled, to arrive in froni of the CaseateUe, 
On each side of your path are flowers of fragrant sweetness, 
bloomii^ on a carpet of nature's richest verdure. Concerts 
<tf birds of sweetest song ravish with their notes the delighted 
ear, and flocks feeding on the bills coat their summits with 
fleecy white. Reverting the eye, the temples of Vesta and 
the Sibyl, overhanging the foaming gnlf of the cascade, buist 
again into view, where ivy and other leafy pknts dispute 
with the Corinthian acanthus which <»f tbem shall crows 
the fallen columns strewed around. You pass the rained 
villa <tf Horace and his garden, now that of an idle set of 
UKmks, and at length come in full view of the Cascatblls ; 
to form which yon see a torrent rushing impetuously forward, 
that separates into five streams, and bounds over the edge of 
the bill with the gay alacrity of a hunter in full cry. Here 
the water rushes over in sheets — there it trickles down in 
fillets oi silver ; and every timid tiny shrub on the maropn of 
its coarse is kept in a constant tremor by the gushing stream. 
The successive leaps made by the different cascades m their 
foil are no longer terrific ; but what they lose in svUimity 
they gain in beauty : nothing can be finer than the sop* 
rounchng accompaniments. Look upward, and a pore azure 
sky is in keeping with yo«r peacefol sensations : listen to 
the murmurings, as if of congratulation, caused by the various 


streams as they meet to mingle again their waters on a carpet 
of emerald^ and the pulses of the heart respond to the 
quietude of the Elysian scene. 

From this enchanting spot the traveller may now pay a 
visit to the Villa Adriana. This was a space inclading 
about ten miles in circumference, at the foot of the mountains 
in which the Emperor Hadrian imitated all the most cele- 
brated monuments of Grecian architecture: here stood the 
Lyceum ; there, the Academy ; in the plain, the Portico ; 
on the brow of the hill, the Temple of Thessalia ; in the 
valley, the Elysian Fields ; in the midst of a wood, the Poedle 
of Athens ; besides baths, and libraries, and naumachia, and 
theatres : but the place must be seen to shape any conception 
of what it might have been ; for little remains to guide even 
probability in a guess, and leaves description at fault, for 
want of substance to portray ; so, determining to indulge in 
fancies of my own creation, I lay down on the grass, with 
the marsh in sight which had formerly been the garden of 
LucuUus. On a sudden the sentinels stationed in my orlnts 
deserted their post, to steal a march to a canteen in one of 
the innermost ventricles of the brain, when my mind, thus 
left in the dark as to what was passing in the external world, 
unconsciously lost itself in the labyrinths of fieaicy, and I be- 
gan to imagine myself, by some inward gastric association of 
feeling; at a feast given by this refined voluptuary of anti- 
quity. LucuUus, methought, was entertaining his guests with 
a lamentation on the rigour of fate, in the following pathetic 
strain : — <* Let us be thankful to the gods," said Lucullos, 
apparently in continuation — for I do not remember being 
present at grace-time, but had popped in somehow acci- 
dentally — '' Let us be thankful to the gods," said he, " for 
the good things they have given us. The profusion and kind 
partiality of fortune ought not to shut our eyes to the wretch- 
edness of those whom fate hath treated less bountifully ; for 
when I consider, my friends, that there are so many miserable 
beings who have nothing to eat but black bread — (Catv^, 
pass the turbot this way) — who have no other beverage than 
water to quench their thirst — {Lucius^ pour me out a goblet 


of FaUrnian) — who suffer from the cold, from sickness and 
penury, and who groan under some wretched hovel, stretched 
upon a miserable pallet — {Davus^ pour perfumes on our 
AeadSy and strew our couches with roses) — when I think of 

all these things, oh ! my friends *'. At this moment Caius 

entered, and announced that the sports of the naumachia had 
commenced in the Villa Adriana : and this untoward inter- 
ruption cut short — bad luck to it! — the lament, just as we 
all had begun to shew that sorrow was indeed dry. We now 
hastened from the table, and the bustle the company made in 
rising awoke me to a sense that I had only been, what, by 
the way, I am very apt to do, day-dreaming. On opening 
my eyes, I perceived the sun fast sinking into the west ; and 
I was now fain to return to the inn, to try if I could not 
" cloy the hungry maw of appetite" with something more 
substantial than ** the bare imagination of a feast." 

Before leaving the heights of Tivoli, let the traveller cast 
his eye in the direction of those hills which had formed, 
when in operation, the centre of the volcanic action around 
Albano and Nemi. Here he will again see exemplified the 
circular form in which it has so invariable a tendency to act. 
A champaign space intervenes between these and the lime- 
stone formation of the Apennines, composed entirely of gra- 
nular and lithoidal tufa, till within a mile and a half of Tivoli, 
when it meets the travertine, the fantastic appearance of 
which in some places closely resembles the gyri of roots of 
trees in a state of petrifaction. This singular deposit extends 
its bed six miles in breadth across the ancient Via Tiburtina ; 
and the grass and reeds which you find converted into stone, 
furnish beautiful specimens for the cabinet of the naturalist. 
He may pick them in abundance even fix>m the stone fences 
by the road-side. It seems probable that the Agnello had 
once flowed directly down the hill from Tivoli, before it took 
the more circuitous route of the cascades, and perhaps also 
in streams more copious than at present ; but, even on this 
supposition, the Anio alone never could have furnished cal- 
careous sediment sufficient to produce so extended a bed. 
The water must have issued from a more abundant and wide* 


spread Bource, now exhaoated ; a snppoeition which, if comci^ 
renders it not improbable but that the Pontine marshes them- 
selves may one day become dry. 

Aboat five miles from Tivoli, on the direct road to Rome, 
you cross a little bridge stretching over the aestuary of an ad- 
joining SoLFATABA, a name usually given in Italy to springs 
of water of a sulphureous nature. You are apprised of yo«r 
approach to it, for more than a mile, by a strong hydro- 
sulphureous smell> especially if the wind Uows in yoar teeth. 
The lake whence it flows lies about a mile and a half lo the 
right of the road, close to a house in ruins, havii^ some- 
thing of a feudal appearance in structure. Its shape is cir- 
cular, about a hundred and fifty feet in diameter, and it boils 
up in several places with great vehemenee ; while in other 
places detached air-bells arise, resembling the leaping of a 
trout as it snatches at a fly. I approached its quaggy margin, 
where the water bubbled up so as to cause a continual frothy 
seething, to taste it, and to feel if it was warm ; but though 
its taste was very strongly hydro-sulphureous and a little acsd, 
its temperature was that of ordinary spring water. I may 
caution the traveller, in making the same examination, to be 
careful; for the footing is both hollow and slippery, and 
therefore hazardous. Notice the travertine around it, and 
the snlphuro- calcareous crusts which are thrown up, and 
adhere to its edges; and the unaceouutable conjunction of 
lime and sulphur, to which I have had occasion, more than 
once, to draw the traveller's attention ; but to account toK 
which, I dare not venture a surmise. 

There is another sulphureous lake hard by, which pours 
its superabundant water, by a natural canal, into the one I 
have just described. 

Further on, you come upon the volcanic soil which 
stretches to Rome ; and in your way thither, you pass a tomb 
in ruins^ by the side of which stands a Triumphai. Momu- 
MBNT, erected to Plautius. Triumph and a tomb ! There is, 
then, no longer need to ask, '^ Grave I where is thy victory T" 
— the spot is here commemorated by a monument. 

I re-entered Rome by the gate of San L<M*enxo. 


ROMS*— The first reflection that obtraded itself on my 
mindy on finding myseLf again within the walls of the ancient 
nuBtresB of the worlds was, Where is all the gay crowd of 
strangers that flocked to riew the splendid ceremonies at the 
Vatican when I was last here? — fled like butterflies to flowers 
of pleaaare blossoming elsewhere ! Rome is at all times 
sombre ; and when she essays a smile, it is as the gleam of a 
fiiUing star thnwgfa the dark shade of night. Modem Rome 
is, in fieiet, the sepulchre ^ all its former grandeur : a rank 
odour of CNEOictity sujqdies fetor to the natural corruption 
around ; and as you walk amongst the universal dilapidation, 
ill rains seem but the kiejaeets of its gloriee, over which the 
loonger ponders with the melancholy feeling of epita^^ic 
cmitemplation* No gay bustle now disturbed the dust of the 
mighty dead, and the multitude of priests I met at every 
turn, seemed as if provided only to repeat requiems for the 
days that were gone. 

It is a disputed point, whether Rome was equally noxious 
to heahh in ancient as it is found to be in modern times. I 
think a review of its peculmr topography can settle thia 
matter, Independent of history. Livy tells us of the nineteen 
plagnes* that occurred between 287 and 460 a.c, for which 
Saiinator,t with a prophylactic view, instituted the Ludi Jw- 
veniuHs. Cato mentiona several places which were rendered 
uninhabitable from the malaria. Tacitus, in his 16th book» 
likewise relates how a pesttfierous air, in Nero's time^ laid waste 
the Campagna, desolating its towns and villages, and thence 
extending into and devastating Rome itself: it attacked all 
classes of the people indiscriminately. The houses were filled 
with the dead, the streets with fimerals ; and it was lamentable 
to hear the wailings and cries of a universally bereaved people 
mourning the loss of husbands and wives, of mothers and 

I think a wrong idea is entertained of the former high 
state of cultivation of the Campagna di Roma, since the soil 

* Vide an interesting work on the maUuda by Dr. M'CuUoch. 
f Ciceco in Bruio. 


irenorally sooins never to have been disturbed by the plough, 
-a t'not distinctly demonstrated by the unequivocal volcanic 
I'haraoror it still hears ; whereas, over the entire of the Cani- 
}>Mi:iia Felix, >vhich we know to have been subjected to tillatre 
tor aLTt'S, the several ingredients composing the soil are so 
anialiraniated as no longer to possess their original character, 
now only coixnisahle by its diy, pulverulent, and cineritious 
a|>|>t aranoo, and by wliat remains yet untouched about its 
ouiskins. When last in Rome I took occasion to explain my 
\iows i^t'tlie strong attractive nature of its soil for humidity, 
o( the icnacitv with which it retains it, and of the morbific 
ttHmia oniiondcrcil bv the united action of heat and mo is- 
tmv on the iiinaius of animal and vegetable corruption em- 
IviliKd in a soil so favourable to putrefactive decomposition. 
\\ iih Mich tacts before our eyes, there is no necessity, nay, it 
IS absurd, in my (^pinion, to look so far as the Pontine 
::;.;rshc>, a distance of fortv miles, with the Alban hills inter- 
>c'.iiic as a i\uriiM\ tor malarias, which, be it remembered, 
u ■..-: 1m\c inn aryiiig winds, at a certain season of the year, 
tv^ 1 '.vn\ ;!u ni lliitlur undiluted, otherwise they will not ac- 
Cv^i;:;; tor tiio periodic autunnial unliealtliiness of Rome. At 
•/.:>> v.Vi.c of tlic Near the weather is sultrv ; the miasmata 
li;.\c ;.:t.,;iivd tiu ir ir.tcnscst virulence, and most abound; the 
cv^'.>.;:;;:.o:i ot^ ilu' i:.hahiiants is, at the same time, predis- 
jv^<<\i In \]w rtiaxanon produced by the continuance of the 
lu.;:; ar.vl lu ucc arises tlic prevalence of those remittent 
IcNC!^ pro\c annually so t'atal in this place. It is these 
.■uvnnnilau\l cxhahuions, indeed, that constitute what has 
Ken iK nvM\inKUt\l. m> improperly, the sirocco of Rome, 
Nxl.uh. \>licn CvMulcnst^l and precipitateil by their own gravity, 
or b\ a change v>l ainio-pluM'ical ela>ticity, ditiuse themselves 
t^i\>n:;l\out the narl^>^^ >uvcis and low situations of the city, 
,r>d tlv.i-* onr,* J^lcr tiMMS ot' ilie most dangerous type. It is 
oo'.rr/;,d \\m\\ a'oo\c h^.lHH^ ptuuids weight ol bark are yearly 
>^ ';-;r.;x\\ \t; Iumuc and its \icinity. The population of Rome 
» X n; '...;ud at 1 iS.iHH^ and the deaths exceed the birtlis in 
, \ \ \s^:',.v>r, otOll \ to {'29\>. Phthi.^is, I mav add, is far 
N^ ; ;\ . ., „n utu\nnnion di>case among the inhabitants. 


With sueh an undeniable and fnghtfal fact before him, I take 
that medical man to be either unpardonably ignorant or 
cruelly unprincipled, who can recommend such a place indis- 
criminately as a fit residence for the consumptive. 
« During my short stay, the splendid procession of the 
Corpus Christi took place ; but I shall not attempt to de- 
scribe the empty pageantry of a scene instituted to commemo- 
rate a blasphemy, for puppet-shows have lost their power to 
please me ; and so, as was usual in similar predicaments, now 
that I had nothing new to interest me, I and my knapsack 
were on the trot early one morning outside of the Porta del 
Popolo. I took the road that turns off to the right imme- 
diately on crossing the Milvian bridge, on my route to Civita 
Castellana, by the foot of Mount Soracte, with the object of 
examining of what this mountain consisted ; for insulated as 
it stands in the plain, I was curious to ascertain whether it 
was a Tolcanic eruption or not. Three miles and a half from 
Rome, where the road winds by the banks of the Tiber, the 
traveller comes to hills consisting of volcanic clay inclosing 
leucites torrified to powder, and black, spongy scoriae, having 
insulated transparent tabular crystals of calcareous spar, in- 
terspersed through the mass.* 

I brought specimens of these away with me, as, indeed, I 
did of every variety of volcanic and other formation I met 
with in my tour. The opposite bank of the Tiber is evidently 
formed of the same materials, and it accompanies the traveller 
as far as Grotta Rosa. At Prtma Porta, the road leaves 
the river-side, and here I remarked alternations of granular 
volcanic dust and small cinders in strata of great regularity : 
some of this granular matter much resembled pisolite ; it was 
white, and gave the idea of a shower of volcanic hail having 
fallen. . On the road you pass the ruins of several ancient 
tombs, and about half-way between Prima Porta and Castel 
Nnovo you see one entire, now called the Cento Cblli. The 
country between Prima Porta and Castel Nuova is of the 

• I remember seeing also, in the Ecole des Mines at Paris, specimens of 
amygdaloid lava from Val di Noto, enclosing crystals of carbonate of lime not 
at all calcined. 


roaghest aad modt imgaliu* aspect — now hill, now h<dlow — 
as if it had been sabjeeted to great convulsions at some remote 
period, which nothing could so well account fov as the colossal 
operation of earthquakes. As you approach Regnaka, when 
about tw^ity-four miles from Rome, the ft^ce of the country 
alters greatly for the better: hiU and dale succeed each other 
in gentle undulaticMiSi and cultivation and fertility entice 
from the earth the fruits of her bosom in abundance. This 
little town is seated at the foot of Mount Soracte, or, as it is 
now by corruption denominated, Mount St» Oreste, By the 
way, I may mention that Roman Catholicism, in its abhor- 
rence of paganism, not only transubstantiated Soracte into 
St. Oreste, but confirmed the pious metamorphosis by a 
miracle ; a boy pointed one vestige of it out to me. The 
saint of Soracte, it seems, mounted his horse one day to pay 
a visit to the Holy City, and the animal^ under the load of so 
much sanctity, left the imprint of his hoof in the adamantine 
lava on three different places in his way : the one I was so 
blessed as to see with my own eyes, as the expression goeS| 
was on a curb-stone by the way-side, which made a part of 
the ancient Via Fhxminia^ yet in high preservation at this 
spot, about a mile before getting to R^nana. But Mount 
Soracte has long been famous for prodigies. This mountain 
was celebrated in ancient times, not only because of a certain 
herb which grew here, whose virtue was so potent, that if any 
one but rubbed the soles of his feet with its juice, he might 
walk through a fiery furnace with impunity, but also on 
account of the water of an extraordinary fountain, which, 
according to Pliny and Varro, flowed at sun-rise, and not 
only killed birds which drank of it, but likewise animals of 
the most venomous description. 

Two miles past Regnano, I turned off from the road to 
examine the nature of the rock forming Mount Soractb, 
and found it to consist of limestone, the same as that of the 
neighbouring Apennines. A village is situated on its flank, 
and takes its Christian name — St. Oreste. Volcanic dust 
encompasses its base, and ascends as high up as gravity will 
allow pulverulent matter to adhere. Before leaving Soracte, 


I may mention that the raburbe of ancient Rome extended as 
fiur as this mountain even in the days of Marcus Aurelius. 

I slept at Cabtbl Nuovo, and breakfasted next morning 
at GiviTA Castbllana. Thb town stands on a mound of 
indurated Tolcanic dust, with deep ravines about it, which 
serve as fosses to the citadel. Save this there is nothing else 
to detain the traveller's notice. 

Between Oivita Castdlana and Otricoli the landscape 
improves eveiy step you take after passing Mal-Borghbtto. 
Befinre arriving at the latter, you fall in with tufa, bearing a 
resemUanoe to that composing the promontory of Posilipo ; 
leaving which, you quit the volcanic district occupied by the 
ancient Sabines, and come into a hilly country, consisting of 
limestone breccia. 

OsTBiooLi stands on a hill, and commands a superb view. 
At its foot, the Tiber winds its serpentine course through a 
plain of richest pasturage, in the midst of which are still per^ 
oeived the ruins of ancient Ostriculum, — Hmc turn nomine 
erantf nunc nmt rine nomine campi. 

Hence to Nami is two posts. In the road thither you 
pass a village very picturesquely situated at your feet, and 
of this character is the approach to Narni, where, from a 
height along which it runs, you see the Nar rushing on in 
the ravine below. Nabki stands on a rocky, barren moun- 
tain, of difficult access towards the north, at the foot of which 
lies a fertile valley watered by the Nar. livy tells us, that 
this town was formerly called Nequinum^ and the inhabitants 
Neqninates, — as much as to say, ** idle rascals ; " a designa* 
tion which the Roman soldiers quartered here disliking, 
dumged it to Namia, after the neighbouring stream. A foot- 
path behind the town leads down to the ruins of a bridge 
which was erected across the Nar by Augustus : it is built 
en pierre *siche, and is best seen from a ricketty modem 
bridge, so awkwaidly and enigmatically placed, that it does 
not appear to cross the stream, and when you reach the 
opposite bank, yon are surprised to find younielf on the other 
side of the river. A plain of astonishing fertility extends hence 
to Temi, where the saeadows yield their dense crops to the 


scythe four times a-year, and where turnips are said some- 
times to grow to the enormous weight of thirty pounds. 
Term is situated on the side of an eminence to the right of a 
charming valley between two branches of the Nera, whence 
it derived its ancient name of Interamnn. Terni boasts of 
great antiquity, having been built in the time of Numa Pom- 
pilius, seven hundred years before the Christian era ; and 
claims additional distinction from behig the birth-place of 
(Jornelius Tacitus. Its remains of antiquity are few. In the 
garden of the bishop there are vestiges of a theatre to be 
seen ; an ancient aqueduct, which formerly served to water 
the meadows, still performs the same fertilising office, and 
the CniRcn of S. Salvatore embodies the ruins of the Tem- 
ple OF THE Sun. When the traveller visits it, let him observe 
a painthig of a Madonna, which he will find in the Rotondo. 
Four miles and a half from Terni lies the charming glen 
of Papigna, into which falls the magnificent Cascade best 
known in England as that of Terni. It is formed, as most 
readers know, by the Velino, which precipitates itself into 
the ?sera over a fall three hundred feet perpendicular. The 
noise of the waters is heard at a great distance. The stream 
is seen to hasten its pace as it approaches the edge of the pre- 
cipice, each wavelet rushing before another with suicidal 
impatience, as if struggling which should be first to take the 
l(?a]), they rush over in a torrent, and, dashed into dust by the 
fall, if pulverized water may be so called, they rebound again 
to double their former height, and fill the valley with a cloud 
of dew, completing Horace's picture of the *' Rosea rura 
Vdlni,^' Rainbows play round the eye in all directions, and 
the visitor has only to shift his position to vary the iridescent 
arch. Falling at length, this cloud of spray condenses, and 
uniting with the Nera, they roll on their waters together, and 
whiten with their foam the whole lengtli of the valley. The 
best place to view the fall in all its sublimity is from a grotto 
made of the branches of trees at the bottom, and in front, of 
the cascade; but the delighted visitor cannot rest satisfied 
with one point of view alone, however fine ; let him, therefore, 
defying a wetting, accompany his guide up the precipice, let 


him view the cayems in the rock, and their stalactites ; the 
singularly heantiful deposits of reticular tufa, of which the 
rock consists ; the large grotto on the top, the roof of which 
is sustained by colossal stalactitic columns ; and the Velino ere 
it plnnges over the precipice. The path which leads to the 
cascade is through a grove in perfect keeping with the sur- 
rounding scenery, at the top of which you observe part of an 
ANCIENT Bridge, which excavation has developed, lying 
under a mass of calc-sinter, ten feet thick, deposited from the 
waters of the Velino ; indeed, the water is so strongly im- 
pregnated with calcareous matter, that both men and animals 
that drink of it are said to be extremely subject to lithic com- 
plaints. Before quitting Papigna, it were a crying sin to 
omit recording another miracle of the blessed Virgin, for who 
can tell but the same kind interposition may once more save 
some venturous wight from perdition, when aware of the 
means by which it may be secured ? The story goes thus : — 
A certain gentleman of Siena had come to see the Caduta, 
and when crossing the Velino too near the fall, he lost his 
footing, and was hurried down by the strength of the current ; 
^but at the moment whilst shooting the edge of the precipice, 
thinking^ no doubt, like Pat, when sliding down a roof 
some five stories high, of what a &11 he was ** going to get,'* 
he luckily had the presence of mind to invoke Our Lady of 
Loretto. His prayer was heard, and Our Lady's man escaped 
with merely a ducking; — so much for the miraculous tale of 
the worthy hostess of Papigna. And I may draw attention 
to a rock of limestone breccia of singular appearance, which 
the traveller will find to his right, just as he enters the village 
from Temi. A horse-path crosses from Papigna to the main 
road leading to Spoleto, by which a distance of four or five 
miles is saved : I need not say I took the shortest route. For 
the first four or five miles Nature puts on her gayest attire, 
and the laurel and wild olive-tree, holm-oaks, juniper, and a 
great variety of other beautiful trees and shrubs, diversify and 
enrich the scene. The country after this assumes a more sterile 
appearance ; and when within three miles of Spoleto, you pass 
over the Somma, the highest mountain in this neighbourhood. 



Spoleto was ancie&tly a rerj powerftil Roman colony, and 
afterwards the capital of a province of Lombardy. The Goths, 
also, once occupied it, and their Idng Theodoric bnilt a palace 
here. The principal objects deserving notice are the Abch 
OF DnirstTS, under which one of the streets passes, the Porta 
FuaA, and the Duomo, or Cathedral. The Porta Fuoa is part 
of the remains of an Amphithbatrb, famous in the memories 
of the Spoletese as being the arch through which Hannibal 
and his army escaped when repulsed by the inhabitants in his 
advance on Rome, after the victory of Thrasymene. The cir- 
cumstance is commemorated on the gate by the following 
inscription : — 

CJEfilS . AB . r&ASTIf EMOM . BOXAVtS . 




The Duomo, again^ has an arcade in front, supported by. 
beautiful columns of the Ionic order, and surmounted by a 
handsome frieze. The high altar, which stands in the middle 
of the church, is enriched by four beautiftd columns, which 
support a handsome baldacchino : the two in front are of 
marble, the two behind of ophite, — all of the moat perfect 

The chapels are vaulted, and adorned widi paintings by 
several excellent masters, among which I observed a Goao* 
NATION OF TELB ViRGiN, by Annibal Caraoei ; a Visitation, by 
Del Sarto ; a Gtta&dian Angxl, by Oanucd ; a Yision or 
THE ViBGiN AND Child, by Nocci ; and Danibl ik thn 
Lions' Dbn, by an artist I cannot name. There are soaoe 
faded finescos in the Tribune, and an ancient mosaic pavement 
beautifully checkers the floor. 

Behind the citadel, yon see the AauEDUcr ibr confcying 
the waters of the Tesino to the town : it is above 360 paees in 
length, and nearly 700 English feet m height above the low* 


est part of the yalley, across which it strides so majesticallj. 
Five hundred paces outside of the town, in the direction of 
La Veneyby turning to the right, you come to a Mokastbry, 
which incorporates the ruins of an ancient Temple of Con- 
cord, now consecrated as the chapel of the Holy Cruci- 
fixion. Its remains are few, but these are exceedingly beau- 
tiful. This temple must have been of the Corinthian order^ 
if we may judge by three beautiful portals which still exist, as 
well as by six lo% fluted columns of the same order, with 
their capitals entire, standing before the high altar. 

Spoleto is described in some books of travels as being 
built on the crater of an extinct volcano, but there is no 
foundation for such an assertion. 

A little beyond the village of La Vbnb you find a bijou 
of exquisite architecture, so situated that the pedestrian 
even, if not previously aware of its existence, would pass it 
unnoticed. This is the Temple erected by the Umbri to the 
River Gtod Clitumnus, at the foot of which flows the peace- 
ful streamlet that takes his name. ' It is of white marble, 
and of the Corinthian order. On a rustic basement stands a 
portico of the most delicate proportions, where columns, 
whose shafts are richly sculptured, sustain a^ elegant en- 
tablature, frieze, and pediment. From the vestibule, a door 
opens into the body of the temple, which, by being of the 
Tuscan order, acts as a foil in the background to the fairy 
lightness of the portico, and sets it out in fine relief. By a 
wise policy, it has been consecrated as a chapel. It is to 
this beautiful little temple, and the stream that flows by it, 
that Lord Byron alludes in the fourth canto of his '^ Childe 

'' And on thy happy shore a temple stUl, 
Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, 
Upon a mild declivity of hill, 
Its memory of thee/^* 

Near to this, at the foot of the hill which environs the plain, 
a living spring gushes from under the rock : it is one of the 

* The Clitumnus. 


sources of the Clltumnus. Henee to Foligno is nine miles 
and a half, and yon traverse a valley of the richest soil, 
where nature teems forth her treasures in bounteous pro- 
fusion : the fields are covered with abundant crop», and the 
hills are clothed with the vine, the olive, and the almond-tree. 
It drew towards evening as I approached Foligno, when I 
met a crowd of pilgrims, men and women, returning from 
Loretto, on their way back to Naples. They were chanting 
the evening hymn to the Virgin ; and the wild sweetness of 
the music struck on my ear with that mi^ic effect which all 
may have felt from music that delights, but which words are 
incapable of describing. I saluted my fellow- pilgrims as they 
passed. They continued their hymn, and I too struck up, 
by way of accompaniment, as I trudged along, *' The girl I 
left behind me." 

On an eminence to the left, before arriving at Foligno, 
you see the town of Moktefalco, celebrated in the legends 
of the church for possessing three stones, as laige as nuts, 
found in the heart of Saint Clara, whereon there is engraved, 
in legible characters, the whole history of the passion ; but, what 
is still more wonderful, these three stones together weigh no 
more than one taken singly, and, consequently, one weighs as 
much as the three ! — a travestie, I need not add, of a doctrine 
which needed no such impious fac-simile to make it more 
comprehensible or less sublime. 

FoLioNO has nothing to detain the attention now that 
Raphael's Madonna is removed to the gallery of the Vatican. 
A few miles further brings the traveller to Ispbllo, the 
ancient Colonic Julia. Two of its ancient gates still remain, 
and part of its walls : the latter, if an inscription on them is 
to be believed, were built by Callimachus. There are two 
churches here deserving of a visit. That of S. Maria Mag- 
GiORE is embellished with several good paintings : one repre- 
senting a Dead Christ, in a winding sheet, with landscape 
scenery, and Mount Calvary in the dbtance, pleased me more 
particularly ; another, depicting the Virgin in the sky, sur- 
rounded by infant angels, like so many rose-buds in a bouquet, 
is ako good. This church likewise contains several old 


pcdntingB by Michael Angelo Ardine, wolA, frescos by Perugino 
and Pintariccbio. The other is the Church of St. Andrew 
THB Apostle. Here we see an early specimen of Raphael's 
pencil after the Perugino school, where the artist has called 
in the aid of gilding to bedizen a Madonka. There are 
several paintings in this church which I was preyented from 
seeing by the service of the mass being performed at the 
moment. A short distance out of Ispello you pass the ruins 
of an Amphitheatre to the left ; several arches which had 
supported the seats still remain, and the eye can distinctly 
trace the ellipsis of the arena. 

The country from Ispello to Assisi partakes of the same 
exuberant nature as that which characterises the valley of the 
Clitumnus. Under Assisi, and close by the road, you pass 
the Basilica of that seraphic patriarch of the beggars, 
St. Francis. It was on this spot that he first founded, by 
divine inspiration, the holy order of the mendicants ; and 
within the basilica you see the couch on which he lay, and 
his usual promenade. The sacred ground is enclosed in a 
sort of tabernacle, on which you read the names of the first 
twelve proselytes to the rules of the order. The exterior of 
this tabernacle is decorated with paintings representing the 
most illustrious passages in the history of Saint Francis. Over 
the high altar of the basilica there is a charming painting of 
the Virgin and Child, with St. Ann on one side, and 
St. Francis on the other ; the Virgin, of loveliest expression, 
fiimiliarly leans her arms round the neck of the friar ; and an 
angel of exquisite beauty stands behind the Madonna. This 
picture is delightfully balanced, the attitudes are most grace* 
fully varied, and the colours admirably opposed ; the whole 
completing as charming a group as the art of painting could 
well compose. 

Leaving the basilica, I turned up a lane which seemed to 
lead by the shortest route to Assisi ; but I was mistaken, — so, 
to cut the matter shorter still, notwithstanding my blunder, 
I clambered over hedge and ditch, taking a bird's course to 
Assisi, which stood on the high ground above me. 

Assisi is filmed as the birth-place of the saint who preached 

292 ciirRCii OF st. francis — temple of minerva. 

to the swallows, stopping them m their flight to listen ; and 
who, exceeding far that pagan thief of old, Prometheus, made 
a woman and her whole family out of snow, and that, too, 
strange to say of any one of the order, without committing a 
rohbery. They still point out the house in which he was born, 
near tlie church of San Filippini. The church which bears 
his name contains his bones. This ancient edifice was built by 
the architect Giacomo Germano, under the auspices of Pope 
(iregory IX., and in its construction is exemplified architec- 
ture in all its Gothicism. Enter it, and all is gloom, as if 
Death himself had erected a palace expressly to contain the 
ashes of him whose garment was sackcloth. The tomb of 
the saint is situated in one of its inmost recesses, sunk under 
ground, and dimly lighted day and night by lamps, w^hose 
lurid glare, in making darkness more visible, only renders 
the obscurity more dismal.* The richly stained glass windows 
around serve to deepen the shade cast over the interior by the 
massiveness of the outer walls ; and the whole effect strikes 
on the imagination, and suggests the idea of a shrine, with 
such accompaniments, as a place fitted only for the assassin to 
go and confess in secret crimes that he dared not utter even 
to himself in the convicting light of day. Under the first arch 
which faces you on entering this church, you see the Portraits 
OF SIX Popes, who proceeded from the order of St. Francis. 
There are several other paintings and frescos meriting notice 
— a St. Sebastian, a Pieta, a Crucifixion, and others. 

To brush the cobwebs of ascetic gloom from my brow, I 
hastened to visit the ancient Temple of Minerna, now dedi- 
cated as a church to San Filii)pini. This temple is one of the 
most perfect remains of anticpiity among the few such that 
exist. Its front is ornamented with a handsome portico, with 
six fluted Corinthian colunms supporting a pediment ; and the 
interior preserves its ancient form and its vaulted roof. A 
few tolerable paintings adorn its walls, especially that repre- 
senting Christ curing the Sick : there is Divinity in the 
person and countenance of the Redeemer, sickness well 
depicted in that of the patient, and interesting compassion in 
that of the female who stands at the foot of the bed. I next 


▼isited the DuoMOy which is embellished with several paint- 
ings ; for a brief aocount of which I refer the visitor to the 
Appendix : and before leading the reader down the hill again, 
I may mention, that in the Church of Santa Chiara he 
will see the celebrated miraculous wooden crucifix that used 
to converse so familiarly with St. Francis. 

At Santa Maria degli Angeli, which lies at the bottom 
of the hill, a noble and spacious edifice enshrines a little 
chapel, or oratory, of low and very ordinary structure, having 
a small Grothic steeple. It was in this little chapel, now called 
the Portiuncula of St. Francis, that this saint first used to offer 
up his devotions. It is held in high veneration by the people, 
and is annually the resort of a multitude of pilgrims from all 
the neighbouring country. The magnificent church which 
envelopes this beggarly edifice, like a mantle of silk covering 
the withered limbs of crapulent decrepitude, contains many 
beautiful paintings, most of which illustrate passages in the 
legendary history of St. Francis: his curing the blind — an 
angel appearing to him — a vision, wherein he appears to 
some one sick — St. Francis preaching — his death — his 
fonerai, &c. There are several others that are also extremely 
fine : a Virgin and Child, where a nun is represented kissing 
the boy's hand ; Christ kneeling before his mother, who 
is weeping, with a beautiful architectural background ; be- 
sides several fine frescos. In another part of the church you 
see the place in which St. Francis died, a. d. 1226 ; it is con* 
verted into a chapel, and is said to contain, in a shrine, his 
heart and entrails, — that is, if he ever had either; one thing 
appears certain, if he had the latter, they were not bowels 
of compassion. 

It is amusing to compare the only acknowledged patri- 
mony, the Portiuncula, of the Franciscans, with the crumbs 
it has, and still does, cost the community, wherever these idle 
drones reside. The friars of this order are in general taken 
from the lowest of the people ; they are beastly in their habits, 
ignorant in their minds, and unprincipled in their practices. 
It is true, they have no fixed revenue, and they send out 
foraging parties to beg, as they pretend, their daily bread ; 


but in reality, when they enter a house they help themseWeB. 
This, in common parlance^ merits no other name than rob- 
bing, and I have often seen them do it ; but, perhaps, they 
reconcile their consciences like the negro, who, when accoaed 
by his master of something very similar, replied, '^ No, 
Massa; I take um, but I no tief um," — a sort of casnistfy 
very accommodating and comfortable to more conscuences 
than Quashy's. 

My route lay across the Tiber in the road to Perugia, two 
posts off ; and just as I had passed the church outside of a 
Tillage standing about mid-way, my attention was arrested 
by a capuchin friar galloping after me on a jackass. He dis- 
mounted in haste, and ran hopping, for he was lame, and 
hallooing and bawling after me. When he came up, for I 
stopped for him, an amusing scene ensued ; for the fellow, I 
soon discovered, was a spy. It appeared he suspected me of 
being a freemason, travelling to disseminate the heretical doc- 
trines of the craft among the disaffected. Though no mason, 
I kept up the misconception ; and we nipped knuckles and 
scratched wrists as if we had both been Scotsmen. The 
knave pretended to be a Frenchman, although when be 
attempted the language he spoke it most abominably. He 
would have it that I, too, was a Frenchman, and would take 
no denial ; and to evince that he himself was so, he swore 
and blasphemed most lustily, though dressed in his cano- 
nicals, and turned the while his cowl and shaven scalp into 
ridicule. This rencontre tickled my fancy much at first - tired 
at length of the lying impostor, I endeavoured to gel rid of 
him, by stretching out and mending my pace ; but though 
I made the big drops course down his brow and fiice in a 
torrent, it was long to no purpose ; for he limped after, and 
stuck to me like a leech. Quite knocked up at last, he 
stopped before a house by the road-side, and insisted on my 
entering with him. The people were friends of his, he said, 
and again he would not be denied ; indeed, he compelled me 
to enter, although I could see that the lady of the house gave 
us any thing but a friendly welcome. He now set about calling 
for a fowl to be cooked, and dinner served with wine, &c. ; but 


aa I kuew iu what coin capuchins pay for their fare, I 
resolutely declined giTing so much trouble; so we had a 
bottle of wine only, and some bread. Afraid that the lady of 
the house might acquaint me into what hands I had fallen, 
he, in the most impudent manner, told her, and that to my 
face, that I did not understand a word of Italian ; so, by way 
of teasing the friar, I sought every opportunity to address her 
in that language, while he, as diligently, strove to interrupt 
me. Becoming indignant at the scene, and sick of the farce, 
I took an opportunity to slip a trifle into the servant's hand 
who attended us, for the trouble I had unwillingly given, and 
very unceremoniously bade my fellow-traveller adieu. The 
house was near the bottom of the high ground leading up to 
Perugia, at which latter place I was again to see my friend 
the capuchin, by his own invitation, he assuring me that 
under his fraternal patronage I should have nothing to pay 
any where for my entertainment. 

The evening was now closing around, a storm was brew- 
ing over head, and although I put my best foot foremost, it 
was late ere I arrived at Perugia. 


Perugia is a very ancient city, and tradition goes even so 
far back as to date its foundation in the year 261 after the 
Deluge ! It was reduced to ashes during the wars of the 
Triumvirate, and afterwards rebuilt by Augustus, and thence 
took his name as a cc^nomen — Perusia Augusta. Modem 
Perugia stands on a mountain, and is a fortified town, but 
of no great strength. Its churches claim a visit from the 
traveller : that of San Lorenzo pretends to possess the 
nuptial ring of the Virgin. I did not see the Church of 
St. Pbtbr, which, I believe, contains several Paintings by 
Perugino and his pupil Raphael. It rained a torrent. I 
entered one church only ; but the weather had so darkened 
the sky, that it fretted me to strive to see what was invisible ; 
and that cursed capuchin having set my back up, lest he 
should trouble me any more, I strapped on my knapsack in 


the afternoon^ and started in a right-earnest, wrothful hamoar 
to smite, d priori or a posteriori^ the first yilhun of a spy, 
priest or layman, who should again attempt to molest me. 

A rich and eyer-varying landscape enlivens the way as 
far as La Maggiona. Leaving Monte Colonia on the height 
to the left, you now descend a steep hill, where the road 
winds through an avenue of oaks, and, as you descend, the 
lake of Thrasymene suddenly breaks upon the eye, through 
an opening in the thick foliage, like the silvery moon 
emerging from behind a doiid. There is an osteria at the 
bottom ; and as the sun was tumbling fast towards the 
horizon as I approached it, and Passignano promising no 
better accommodation, it left me little choice in deciding 
whether to stay here or perhaps fare worse. Having finished 
my little meal, of which some delicious fish from the neigh- 
bouring lake made a part, I. strolled out in the evening in 
front of my humble resting-place. The reader may have 
already perceived that I delight in dreaming awake — that I 
delight to contemplate Nature in all guises — in glorious efful- 
gence and exuberance — in the utmost wildness and sterility 
— amid the wreck she has spread around in her murkiest 
moods of anger — and not less so, as seated 

*' By the lake with trembling stars inlaid, when earth is still. 
And midnight's melancholy pomp is on the distant hill," 

to view her in all her sweetest simplicity. Opening my cane- 
seat, I sat down by the side of the lake of Thrasymenus, under 
a pavilion formed by a grove of oaks that threw their deep 
shadows like a mantle over its mai^gin. The site was cool 
and serene ; and the hushing murmur of the sylvan scene 
imparted to my wearied senses its quietude and repose ; where 
the loudest noise was the whisperings of the passing breexe, 
as it bade '< good night" to sleepy leaflets that waved in return 
their adieus. Here were vestiges of no bygone convulsion 
to harrow up imaginings of contention and turmoil ; and, 
surrounded by scenery such as was before me, the mind 
enjoys a state of feeling of a totally opposite character to 
that excited by witnessing the sublimer disorder of nature. 


Enveloped in the contemplation of such, 'tis then the hours 
glide over the solitary reverist like flitting clouds, and fall in 
silence into eternity without making him feel their irrevocable 
passage. The haze and rain of the now-spent day, which 
had tarnished the gilding on every fresh leaf and flower, had 
entirely dissipated ; a beautiful sky, lighted by the full moon, 
formed a deep azure vault over the magniflcent landscape 
around ; while, among the oaks under which I sat, a beech- 
tree reared its lofty head, whose large trunk spread to a 
distance its tafted and umbrageous branches, to form a pro- 
tecting asylum for Meditation to dwell in — ^the whole seeming 
as a temple dedicated by Nature herself to Peace — the peace 
'' that passeth all understanding" — under whose shade the 
soul instinctively rises up in grateful adoration to the throne 
of the Creator of so many wondrous beauties. In this temper 
of mind, and with sentiments like these, I retired to my 
ru^ed pallet, and forgave the capuchin. 

By daylight next morning I had passed Passignano and 
its defile, and had entered the Battlb-fibld of Thrast- 
MBVUS. Here every step is classic ground, and drenched 
with the blood of the slain. But more than enough has 
already been written on this theme, so I shall leave the 
traveller to his own observations and reflections. I may 
merely point out, that it is the third bridge yon come to after 
passing the post-house of la Casa del Piano, which crosses 
the Sangiiineto — a small stream with a steep embankment 
on each side. This is the vantage ground the most likely to 
have been chosen by Hannibal for posting his troops to resist 
the first attack of the Romans, and hence would prove the 
theatre of the most obstinate struggles. If so, no wonder 
that this little rill should have obtained the name of the 
Sanguineto. How difierent now the ensigns of such a scene ! 
The field once irrigated with human blood is now planted 
with the peaceful olive. 

The traveller, on leaving the plain, passes through the 
opposite Defile of Borghetto, by which the Carthaginian 
army entered. The road winds round the side of a hill, from 
which there is a fine view of the lake below — of the three 


islands which appear to float on its surface — and of the vil- 
lages that border it, and scatter their unruffled shadows on 
its bosorn. Two or three miles farther we quit the Roman 
states at the wretched village of PapaUno — they retain- 
hvSy to their utmost boundary, the same wretched aspect 
that met the eye on entering them at Aquapendenfte. rso 
sooner is the traveller across the frontier, and from under 
the Ijaneful influence of the papal upas, than he perceives the 
contrast between the mild despotism of the Tuscan govern- 
ment and the mephitic effect of the j)apal — than which the 
breath of the anaconda cannot bo more stifling. He sees it 
in a thousand little neatnesses and proprieties the moment he 
enters Tuscany. I thought the air more pure, and my mind, 
as if it now had room to stretch itself to its ordinary dimen- 
sions, experienced that relief which a person feels who has been 
long wedged up in a too-crownled vehicle. I slept at Arezzo, 
the birth-place of Casalpinus, one of the earliest botanists. 

AuKzzo is situated in a flue fertile plain, which, among 
other good things, ])roduces excellent wine : the luscious 
Aleatica is from this neighbourhood. In the way thither you 
pass Cortona, the cajiital of ancient Etruria, situated on a 
mountain to the right. After leaving the plain of Arezzo the 
comitry becomes hilly, and the geologist will hereabouts observe 
a curious change of the earth's surface in progress. The rocks 
composing this district are clay-slate and dark-grey sandstone, 
but uudergoing decomposition by the w^eather so rapidly, 
that the inequalities of the surface are fast being filled up ; 
so that what was formerly hilly and uneven is now becoming 
a level jilahi. Six posts from Arezzo brings the traveller to 
Incisa, in which vicinity those beautiful dendritic specimens 
abound in an indurated marl that are to l)e seen every where 
in the cabinets of the curious. These dendritic forms have 
been considered by some naturalists as the tvpolithi of marine 
plants : but very little observation of the less beautiful exam- 
])les will shew that they are nothing more than arborescent 
crystallisations, frequently borrowing their stem from a capil- 
lary rent in the clay. To all appearance it is some metallic 
oxide, probably that of manganese, which imprints, in ar- 


ranging itself, these pleasing landscapes on the lamina, which, 
when in a more fluid state, was diffused through the mass. 
The scenery now becomes more embellished the nearer you 
approach Florence. In the route you cross the Amo ; and, 
by following its left bank, the traveller arriyes once more in 
this celebrated seat of the arts. 

Florence. — When last here, I had omitted visiting some 
places and objects from want of time, and among others, the 
Pratolino, and paintings in the Accadcmia delle Belle Arti, 
which I now had leisure to do ; but, by an accident, I lost 
the notes I took ; and the impressions made, particularly by 
the latter, are so much effaced, that I dare not venture to 
retouch them. Among the paintings in the Academy, the 
visitor will find several by the best masters of the Florentine 
and Lombard schools — as Ghirlandaio, Andrea del Sarto, 
the AUori, Carlo Dolce, Rosselli, &c., besides several original 
cartoons by Fra. Bartolomeo, Pietro da Cortona, Baroccio, 
Cignani, Franceschini, and others. In the Gallery appro- 
priated to the casts in plaster of the most celebrated statues 
both here and at Rome, the visitor ought to note in parti- 
cular a superb Tabernacle, painted by Giovanni da San 
Giovanni, representing the Repose in Egypt, and a Paris- 
plaster cast of the celebrated B&onzs Door of the Baptistery 
of St. John. 

Five miles on the Bologna road from Florence, formerly 
was situated the superb Palace of Pratolino ; but its splen- 
dour has dissipated with the evanescence of a rainbow. Its 
walls are levelled with the ground ; and, save the colossal 
Statue of the Apenninb, the work and prodigy of the 
gigantic genius of John de Bologna, nothing else remains to 
guide the imagination in forming a vision of what had once 
realised an Arabian Night's tale. The fountain at the foot of 
the statue still flows, but the organ which played by the fall 
of its waters — the grotto of the sibyl, adorned with figures in 
marble and alabaster — the floating dolphin, on the back of 
which the visitors might ride — the grotto of the god Pan, 
who played on the flute while artificial birds carolled in 


response to the music — those walls of coral, of mother-of- 
pearly and precious stones — those delicious bowers, gashing 
cascades which appeared to start into life, and statues that 
almost spoke, and all those scenes of enchantment — are fled 
like a fairy dream firom off the awaking eyelid of morning. 
The statue of the Apennine must be seen, for it cannot be 
conceived ; and, without meaning to depict it, I may mention 
that it is built of pieces of rock, so artfully put together as 
to preserve the most perfect proportion : natural stalactites 
form its tangled and hoary beard. The greatest curiosity is 
to enter the body of the Apennine. This you do through an 
opening in its back, and, when there, yon ascend by a flight 
of steps through the neck into his cranium ; and here the 
visitor cannot help being surprised at finding himself in an 
apartment large enough to dine six people conveniently, and, 
like Jonah of old, seeing through other eyes, and breathing 
through another's nostrils. 

I returned to Florence, preparatory to crossing the Apen- 
nines, with the chief purpose of visiting the natural flame of 
fire which issues night and day fi*om a spot in the neighbour- 
hood of Pietra Mala. A traveller frequently has cause to 
wish, after the manner of Sir Boyle Roadi, that, ** like a 
bird, he could be in two places at once ;" in which case I 
should have practised this bipartition at Foligno, by starting 
over the Apennines to Loretto, and thence to Bologna, after 
having seen Rimini and Ravenna. It was Pythagoras, I 
think, who asserted that man's progenitors were fish : it is to 
be regretted, for travellers' sake, they were not polypi, for 
then, by cutting a man into slices, his four quarters might 
have been visiting those of the world at one and the same 
time. However, despite of all wishing to the contrary, and 
I never knew much got by the practice, I was obliged to set 
out as one and indivisible on the route to Bologna. 

For the first seven miles the road continues to ascend. 
Two miles from Florence you meet with micaceous sand- 
stone ; above this lies an impure sandstone, of a clayey 
aspect ; but as you mount it gets clear of this impurity, and 
becomes much veined with calcareous spar. The road now 


descends ; and, after following the wiodings of a ravine for 
0ome distance, passing through Fontebaono, Tagliferro, and 
Cafaggiolo, yon again begin to ascend, which continues un- 
interruptedly until you get to the post-house of Tre Maschere. 
Tbb Maschbbb is situated on the summit of the central 
ridge of the Apennines. The view from this commanding 
spot is beautifully varied ; here, mountainous, sterile, and 
rugged ; there, smoothed by the velvet hand of culture, 
adorned with clumps of forest-trees, or graced by sloping 
hills : now bleak, and barren, and precipitous, the abode of 
the eagle and the vulture ; now peopled with smiling viUages 
amid wooded valleys and plains, that yield their fruits in boun- 
teous profusion, in reward of the labourer's toil. From Tre 
Maschere the road descends, for about eight miles, to Pibtba 
Mala. I arrived at dusk of the evening, just in time to 
thread my way to the Fuoco, as it is called, which is about 
a mile's walk from the inn. The circular space occupied by 
the flame may be sixteen feet in diameter, within which no 
herbage grows : the ground is strewed with small limestone 
nodules, among which little apertures, like ant-holes, open 
on the surface, and from these the flame issues. Its colour is 
pale red, changing firom that to blue, and, as far as I could 
ascertain, without any perceptible odour. It rose to the 
height of six or seven inches, and burned with a flickering 
flame, leaving no soot or deposit round the edge of the aper- 
ture. From all the consideration I could give this curious 
phenomenon, I came to the conclusion that it proceeded from 
the combustion of hydrogen, arising from the decomposition 
of water in contact with pyrites in a state of spontaneous 
combustion. At what depth this takes place it is impossible 
to conjecture; but it would solve the question in favour of 
Lemery's old idea respecting the origin of volcanic flre, if, at 
some future period, this spark should be that which is to 
ignite thie train of some volcano in the neighbourhood — a 
catastrophe not improbable, if, as they say, earthquakes are 
sometimes felt in the surrounding mountains.* Travellers, 

• The sacred fires of Uie Parsis, inXartary, which are continually burning, 
were so increased before the earthquake that reduced the city of Bakou to 


repeating Pliny's words, hare continued to describe the Fnoco 
at Pietra Mala as a diminutive volcano up to this day ; but 
no epithet can be more premature, to say the least of it. In 
fact, the inflammation of the gas that issues from the con- 
duits described, had probably been, at first, a matter of acci- 
dent ; and, at present, it is well known to be a matter of 
artifice whenever the flame becomes extinguished from any 
cause. This is a circumstance capable also of analogous de- 
monstration, by an experiment usually shewn by the rude 
cicerone of the place, at a spring of water a short mile distant 
from the inn, on the slope of the mountain behind it. This, 
in the guide-books, is usually denoted the Acqtui JBuia, an 
appellation not at all applicable, as the water is perfectly 
clear. The people of the place call it the *^ Acqua Bolls," 
the latter word being a corrupt abbreviation, I take it, of 
Bollente. I accompanied the guide to the spot : it was now 
quite dark, the best time for making the experiment: he 
had a lantern with a light in it. The spring is shallow, 
small, oval,, not above three or four feet in each broadest 
dimension ; and from all parts of its surface, and from around 
its margin, multitudes of bubbles arise, causing a constant 
boiling. These bubbles, when the hand is held over them, 
communicate no heat ; but you have only to apply a lighted 
taper to the sur&ce of the water to produce their immediate 
inflammation. This curious appearance, in like manner, is 
not difficult to explain — it being merely the escape of the 
same gas through a portion of the same water, probably, 
which furnishes a source for its own decomposition. No 
herbage surrounds the immediate border of this little pool. 

The Fubco is described as rising to a much greater h^ht 
in stormy and rainy weather ; globules of fire dart upwards, 
and are lost in the atmosphere, while the surrounding moun- 
tains glare luridly on the scene, and appear, amid the gloom 
of night, like spectres round the cauldron of some wizard 

ruins, that they illuminated the whole horixon ; and Humboldt mentions, that 
near to Cumana (S. America), he saw two caverns situated in calcareous 
mountains, whence flames issued, and ascended at timet to the height of a 
hundred feet. 


incantation. This effect is produced, if I am not mistaken, 
by the density of the atmosphere on the surface mechanically 
obstructing tiie free ascent of the gas, by which the com- 
bustion of the hydrogen is more complete, and thus attains a 
greater height ; for I do not conceive that the gas is gene- 
rated in larger quantity by any state of the weather, but that 
its production is regulated by causes wholly unconnected 
with it. 

I saddled myself next morning as usual, and was on the 
trot by daylight. Three miles from Pietra you pass through 
Filigare, and a bow-shot hence the traveller comes to a 
bridge, which separates the Tuscan from the Bolognese terri- 
tory. A mile and a half farther brought me to Sgarica 
l'Asino ; so, taking a gentle hint from the name of the 
place, I took off my knapsack and baited — I beg pardon — I 
meant to say, I breakfasted. Here the country assumes a most 
savage aspect. What ! in the holy father's states again ? 
Yea, verily ; the truth must be told, all bulls, decretals, Cle- 
mentines, code9^ charts, rescripts, sextiles, edicts, and summs- 
papal to the contrary notwithstanding. Look to the left and 
view it : regard these sterile rocks, those mountain summits, 
made bald by the unshod tread of the Storm, whose rugged 
brows, deeply furrowed with the uncouth wrinkles of Time, 
tell of times and seasons not exactly halcyon. The scene 
softens in asperity the nearer you approach Poggioli, within 
two miles of which you leave the limestone formation of the 
Apennines ; and the plain, stretching to the Adriatic, broke 
on my eye through a blue mist, which hung in perspective 
density on the horizon, and appeared in the distance like 
the sea. By nightfall I had arrived at Bologna. 


Bologna is the second city in the ecclesiastical states, and 
one of the largest and finest in Italy. It is situated at the 
foot of the Apennines, on the ancient ^milian way, which led 
from Rome to the north of Italy. The origin of its name, 
and its early history, are quite conjectural : all that is known 


with certainty, is, that it became a Roman colony about six 
hundred years before the Christian era. The Bolognese bear 
a yery unsteady character, and have often revolted against 
the authority of the pope : at one time, the most abject of the 
subjected, when overcome ; at another, the most insupportably 
arrogant, when temporarily successful in their efforts to 
throw of the yoke of papal dominion. 

The town occupies a circuit of five miles, and contains 
70,000 inhabitants and 200 churches : it is well built, and 
the streets have arcades on each side throughout their whole 
length, which protect the fi>ot-passengers from the sun and 
rain. The form of the city is much longer than it is wide, 
and has suggested the idea of comparing it to the hull of a 
ship, with the high tower of Asinelli standing in the centre 
as its mast. 

Before visiting the churches or public institutions, I de- 
voted the first day to strolling about the town to learn its 
geography, and to see the lions at large. The Towbb ov 
AsiNBLLi has nothing but its height to attract notice ; and 
that of the Gabisbndi, nothing but its obliquity from the 
perpendicular. A late intelligent traveller has aptly com- 
pared the latter to a stack of bricks ; but rude though this 
structure be as a specimen of architecture, it yet furnished 
the prototype for its more elegant rival — the Hanging Tower 
of Pisa. Proceeding onward, I came to the Piaxza dbl 
Nbttuno, so named from a bronze statue of that god which 
adorns a fountain — the chef-^ceuvre of John de Bologna. 
This fine statue stands on a handsome pedestal, holding a 
trident in his hand : the attitude is easy and dignified, and 
the expression of the countenance noble and striking. Con- 
trasted with Bandinelli's representation of the same figure at 
Florence, this appears the deity who *' rules the waves;" 
that, the tyrant of the ocean, " who rides the whirlwind, and 
directs the storm." And yet this statue has one fistult that 
obtrudes itself on the eye ; and that is, the awkward angle 
made by the right leg with the body, which destroys the 
beautiful outline of the figure, viewed in almost any position 
except in front. Here you lose the asperity of the angle by 


the foreshortening of the eye; otherwise, the most imposing 
point of view is that directly to the left, where its perfections 
are seen most conspicuously. Around the cornice of the 
pedestal are four sea-nymphs, riding on dolphins in rather 
indecorous attitudes, pressing streamlets of water from their 
breasts with their hands. The god of storms, by the way, is 
treated by his salt-water acquaintances — the nymphs — as if 
he were a flower that fed on dew-drops, for the puny asper- 
sions from the fontlets scarcely moisten him. 

In the same piazza, the visitor will find the Palazzo Pub- 
Buco and the Church of Sam Pbtbonio. This church is of 
Gothic architecture, and one of the largest in Italy. Over the 
porch you see a statue in bronze of the Pope (Grboort XIII.) 
who instituted f6tes in commemoration of the atrocious mas- 
sacre of St. Bartholomew. It is remarkable, also, for being 
the place in which Charles V. was crowned by Clement VII. ; 
and on the pavement you see traced the famous Meridian, 
executed by Domenico Cassini in 1695, the gnomon of which 
is 83 feet high and 206 in length. In the evening I went to 
the public promenade, and afterwards to the cf>era, to hear 
Rossini's T€nicredi, leaving the following day for toils of less 
excursive pleasure. 

Chubch of St. Dominick. — This church has a magni- 
ficent chapel within, enriched with lamps and chandeliers of 
massive silver, dedicated to the saint from whom it takes its 
name: its walls enclose his ashes, and their sides are em- 
bellished with paintings representative of his life and miracles. 
In the tribune. you see an Adobation of thb Maqi, and to 
the left of the grand altar, St. Thomas Aquinas writing 
by the inspiration of Angels, by Guercino.* The seats in 
the choir are ornamented with beautiful inlaid work by 
Francisco da Bergamo, and represent passages in the Old and 
New Testament. In the convent attached to the church they 
shew the cell in which St. Dominick lived and died; and 
the library contains some invaluable MSS. on parchment^ 

* For a more complete list of the paintiDgs to be seen in the churches 
Ice. of Bologna, turn to the catalogues. 



and one in particular, written, as some think, by Esdras, 
with his own hand, while others again ascrilje it to one 
I'^phora, who lived in the reign of Cyrus. 

The church the most celebrated for its paintings is that 
of St. Paul, usually called on this account La Galleria. 
Here the visitor will see masterly specimens by the pencils of 
IjkI. Caracci, (Tuercino, Spagnoletto, and several by Cave- 
(h)ne and other pupils of the Caracci school. Guercino's 
PiiiGATORY is in the cross to the right, and Lud. Caracci's 
Paradise in the second chapel to the left of the grand altar. 
A painting in the chapel of the Holy Cross (the first to the 
right as you enter) is finely treated ; it is by Ma^telleti, and 
represents Oir Saviocr in tue Garden. An angel holds 
in his hands the cross and the cup, and as Christ seems to 
utter '' rsot my will, ])ut thine, be done,*' the artist has thrown 
into the countenance of the victim for man's atonement a depth 
of sentiment which, in any representation of the same subject 
I have yet seen, never was more emphatically expressed. 
Cain killing his Brother is another fine, though terrific, 
painting ; and in the tJiird chapel to the left there is some 
skilful foreshortening in a painting depicting the Mor- 
tality OF THE Plague at Milan, by Garbieri. 

Cathedral of St. Peter. — This church likewise con- 
tains several excellent paintings ; among which, that repre- 
sentino; Christ delivering the keys to St. Peter in the 
presence of the other apostles, is deserving of particular 
notice. It is a fresco by Aretusi, and occupies the dome of 
the tribune. Note also the last work of Ludovico Caracci — 
a fine fresco of the Annunciation. The chapter of this 
church likewise contains a beautiful painting by the same 
ixreat master — Mary lamenting over the body of Our 
Saviour. She is seated, leaning her arm on a table, before 
which St. Peter is seen kneeling : the Magdalen, St. John, 
and another apostle, stand in the background. The grief of 
all is deep and silent ; there is no audible lamentation — it is 
too stupifying to be capable of utterance ; while the rich and 
dee}) tone of colouring given to the whole corresponds with 


the profound melancholy of the scene. A Baptism ov Our 
Saviour, by Grraziani, which is placed over the font, is also 
good : there is a softness and sweetness abont the colouring 
which make it pleasing; but, perhaps, some part of the 
design is harsh, from the too angular outline of the joints. 

Bologna has been long celebrated for the eminent men 
it has produced, both in science and in the arts. In the 
former department Galvani stands distinguished ; and science, 
to shew her gratitude, has matriculated his name among 
the other branches of knowledge which she teaches — galvan- 
ism. Volta, also, was a native of Bologna, and the micro- 
metrical physiologist Malpighi. This city has given five 
popes to the Romish church, and more than a hundred 
cardinals, among whom many were men of great merit. 
The fine arts are not less indebted to Bologna, and it is only 
necessary to mention the Caracci, Ghiido, Sirani, Domeni- 
chino, and Albani, to shew the weight of the obligation ; 
the ashes of three of whom, Guido, Ludovico Caracci, and 
Elizabeth Sirani, repose in the church of St. Dominick. 

The Univbrsitt of this city is still the most celebrated 
in Italy, though much fallen from its former reputation. It 
was instituted by Theodosius the younger in 425 ; afterwards 
rebuUt by Charlemagne, and enlarged by Lothaire. In 
former times it excelled eminently in all the sciences, more 
particularly in civil and canonical jurisprudence ; and hence 
came the apothegm ** Bologna docet." 

The Museum of the University is rich in objects of an- 
tiquity and natural history, and plentifully furnished with 
all the apparatus connected with physics. Here, also, the 
visitor will see the first wax anatomical preparations ever 
made. They were executed by Giovanni Manzolini and his 
wife, under the auspices of Benedict XIV., who was a native 
of Bologna. Among the natural objects of rarer curiosity, 
I may mention the typolithus of a bird, an organic vestige 
so seldom met with ; a large loadstone from Elba, weighing 
above 600 lbs., and a fine preparation of the Limulus Poly- 
piemuSf from the West Indies. In the department of the 
fine arts, observe several dbhes in ismanieoy the designs 


omamenting which are by GKulio Romano, and a smaB 
BRONZB Nept0nb, John de Bologna's premiire pensie of the 
snperb statue we saw in the great square. 

I next visited the Agcadbmia dbllb Bblle Arti, where 
the finest specimens of the Bolognese school of painting are 
collected together, taken chiefly from the churches of the 
city and placed here. A r^ard to my limits will only allow 
me to notice a few of them. 

In the first room the visitor will see a fuU-length figore 
of the Magdalbn, by Timoteo Vite, a pupil of Raphael, of 
exquisite beauty ; but traits of grief have had no charms for 
this graceful but graceless artist, for he makes the frail sister 
of sin neglect to disfigure her beauteous countenance with 
any effort to force a tear. 

In the second, let him observe a St. John preachiko ik 
THE Dbsert, by Ludovico Caracci. It is a bold and finely 
toned painting, yet soft and harmonious withal. 

The third contains a number of splendid paintings 
Guidons Crucifixion combines all that painting could per- 
forip, or 'SO fine a subject afford — ineffable resignation to the 
Divine will in the sufferer, and most affectionate sympathy 
and affecting grief in the beholders. St. Paul's Cohybii- 
BiON, again, by the same artist, is not less masterly treated. 
St. Paul is on the ground, and his countenance expresses 
awe and horror in the most frightful degree as he looks to 
the heavens, where the light beams speakingly: the horse 
even seems to hear the terrific words, ** Saul, Saul, why 
persecutest thou me?" This room also contains a Transfi- 
guration by Ludovico, which, though it cannot bear a com- 
parison with Raphael's, is still a fine painting. 

Samson, by Guide, appeared to me a fiiilure : the figure 
is not gigantic enough to answer my idea of this Hercules 
of the Israelites ; the attitude also is bad — it is too stu- 
died, and conveys offensively the idea of that of a po6tur&> 

Albani's Baptism of Christ in the River Jordan, again^ 
is a painting without a fault. Independent of a richness of 
colouring that no words can depict, the extraordinary relief 


thrown on parts of this superb painting by the magic skill of 
the artist defies conception. It possesses all the relief of 
statuary with the reality which colouring imparts to design : 
the left arm of the Saviour is beyond wonder. 

Domenichino's Martyrdom of St. Agnes is another 
astonishing painting, as far as the art of mere painting goes ; 
bat it wants the soul of the preceding. The executioner has 
plunged his sword deep into her bosom ; the mangled corses 
of other martyrs lie strewed in gore at her feet ; yet the 
by-standers around look on with an apathetic indifference 
unsuitable to the horror and atrocity of such a scene. 

Opposite to this is an allegorical painting by the same 
master, representing the Persecution and final Triumph 
OF Christianity; wherein it is difiicult which most to 
admire, the enchanting sweetness of the Virgin, or the divine 
beauty of the infant Christ. 

Here, likewise, observe a superb Assumption of the 
Virgin,' by Sabatino. 

The fourth and last room is studded in like manner with 
gems of art, including several of the creations of some of the 
first masters. Never was horror more frightfully portrayed 
than in Domenichino's Death of Peter the Martyr ; a 
soldier stands over the fallen saint, about to smite him, while 
Peter spreads abroad his arms to save himself — the scene, a 
landscape. In Guido's Murder of the Innocents, fright, 
horror, and despair, contend for the mastery, amid scenes of 
blood and death. The painting is in the artist's first manner 
and richest tone of colouring. His Pista, again, though in 
appearance a double picture, is so beautifully composed that 
the eye wanders round the group as if entangled in the mazes 
of a magic circle. Guido was a pupil of Caravaggio's, and 
this painting is in his master's style. 

The Death of St. Francis, by Cesi, a pupil of Guido. 
Rich landscape scenery fills up the background, in front of 
which you see St. Francis in the last agonies of expiring life, 
supported by two angels, of such exquisite beauty and sweet- 
ness of countenance, that to die in such arms must be a 
foretaste of the bliss that awaits the righteous. 


The Mabbiaqb op St. Cathebimb, by Tlarini, is another 
channing picture. 

The last I shall notice is Raphael's St. Cbcilia. — The 
group composing this charming painting consists of St. Panl, 
St. Jol|p, Cecilia, St. Augustin, and the Magdalen : a choir 
of angels hover in the sky, and various instruments of music 
are on the ground. St. Cecilia represents the very soul of 
music, and the Magdalen is equally beautiful ; no longer 
the weeping, dishevelled, emaciated penitent, but, with the 
rivalry inherent in the sex, she puts in her claim to share ia 
the admiration of the beholder, which, in strict pictorial 
justice, ought to belong principally to the chief subject of the 
painting. The two female saints divide betwixt them Mil* 
ton's description of the Mother of all saints ; for, in the Mag- 
dalen, '* grace in all her steps,*' is exemplified, and in Cecilia, 
" heaven in her eye." 

There are some objects outside the gates of Bologna 
worth visiting. The Church of San Michblb in Bosoo is 
delightfully situated on a rising ground, a short walk distant 
from the gate of San Mamolo. The mount on which it stands 
commands a view of Bologna, and of the plain extending to 
the Adriatic on the east, and of the Euganean mountains that 
intervene between Verona and Bologna on the north. I 
must refer to the Appendix for a list of the paintings in tliis 
church; yet I cannot help particularising a fresco painting 
over the archway leading under the dome, representing the 
Aroh ANGEL Michael dbiving out thb rebbllious ksonus 
VEOM Heaven. It is full of foreshortenings of most asto> 
nishing skil} : as you stand below them they threaten to &11 
upon you. It is by Lionel Spada. 

A natural curiosity, peculiar to Bologna, is the Boloqna 
Stone. It is found in the neighbourhood of Monte Paderao, 
and its singular property of becoming luminous was first dis- 
covered, in 1630, by a cobbler, named Vincent Cassiorolo. 
To produce this efiect, it is necessary first to dip it in oil or 
water, and afterwards calcine it, when, by exposing it in the 
sun for a few seconds, it throws out a strong phosphorescent 
light in the dark, and remains so for four or five minutes. 


Hie light of a candle will Buffioe to give it this property, but 
not that of the moon. Even without calcination it imbibes 
light on exposure ; but its phosphorescent radiation is but 
momentary* Analysis gives the following substances as the 
components of the Bologna pyrophorus : sulphate of barytes^ 
allezy alum, gypsum, and a trace of oxide of iron. It is semi« 
transparent, of a pearly lustre, a lamellar and fibrous struc* 
tare, and not particularly heavy. Movtb Padbrno is about 
three miles from the Porta San Mamolo. About a mile from 
the town the road forks ; take that leading up the height ; 
the other goes by a brook's side. A quarter of a mile before 
arriving at Monte Pademo, which the traveller will see 
straight in front, let him turn down a pathway to the right, 
and he presently comes amongst heaps of this singular mi* 
neral. The ground is very uneven all around the ne^h- 
bourhood, and detached expositions of it, occupying a circuit 
of about two miles, are dispersed over the space. The sur« 
rounding hills consist of indurated marl. 

From Monte Pademo I made a bird's-flight path of it to 
the Church of the Madonna dblla Ovardia, so named 
from there having been a watch-tower there formerly. In the 
oom-fields which I had to cross, the white-heart cherry grew 
in juicy luxuriance without further culture ; and vines crept 
in tangled garlands from tree to tree, embracing with their 
ruddy bunches the lily-white cheeks of the cherry. The 
church was about three miles off, over hedge and ditch, bush 
and briar ; but that was nothing, when it is recollected that 
I was in search of a sample of the art of painting by the 
evangelic pencil of St. Luke himself, the miraculous history 
of which is as follows : — The painting is a correct Portrait 
OP TUB Virgin Mary, and was brought, it seems, by a 
hermit from Constantinople, in the time of the Emperor 
Barbarossa, where he found it in the church of St. Sophia, 
authenticated by an inscription in Latin, written by the artist's 
own hand, in which was predicted that a church would 
one day be specially built for it on the spot where this 
now stands, and that it would be placed over the high altar, 
there to be adored: and, certes, no Scotch prt^beey ever 


turned out more correct. All prophecies, it may be well to 
remark, especially from the time of Merlin upwards, pro- 
vided they be made (as is, indeed, usual on all prodigious 
occasions) after the event has happened, are almost certain 
to prove true ; but without this trifling, yet necessary pre- 
liminary, even Scotch prophecies lack an essential towards 
their sure and perfect fulfilment and verification. A priest 
was so obliging as to shew me the painting that gave need 
and occasion for the posthumous prophecy alluded to above. 
It is enclosed in a superb beaufet of massive, chased silver, 
on opening which he repeated a short prayer : he next 
removed a sliding door of silver, richly inlaid with gold, 
behind which was the portrait of the Madonna. You see 
nothing but the face ; her nose is somewhat aquiline and 
Judaic, and her features, taken altogether, are rather hand- 
some : over which crosses and other ornaments of large 
emeralds and other lustrous stones diffiise an artificial glory. 
The priest, on shutting it up, prayed again. This miraculous 
painting — for the very sight of it, it seems, performs wonders 
— though not exactly a daub, yet I must say, but with mil 
due reverence, that the artist performed no miracle in paint- 
ing it ; and Bonaparte, no bad judge of these matters, thought 
so too, it appears, for he generously left it to the church ; 
but he did not remember to forget to take away several other 
paintings by a less pretending artist — Guide Reni. 

This Church of the Madonna di San Luca^ as it is some- 
times called, is seated on a mountain, and commands a fine 
prospect of the surrounding country, and of the magnificent 
portico which conducts the pilgrim a distance of three miles, 
under six hundred and fifty arcades, from the gate of Sara- 
gossa up to the portico of the church. Its interior is hand- 
some, though small. The high altar is enriched with a 
massive silver-gilt tabernacle, with five large candlesticks of 
the same metal on each side. There are two paintings in 
the sacristy relative to the history of the miraculous portrait : 
all I could learn regarding them was, that they were of the 
Roman school. 

The traveller must not leave Bologna before visiting the 


Campo Santo, or Cimitario. Though not to be likened with 
that at Pisa, it is nevertheless extremely neat, having an 
open space in the centre, and arcades on the sides. Some of 
the tombs are remarkable, not for their sculptare, for that is 
indifferent, but for the illustrious personages they commemo- 
rate : among others, those of the first two bishops of Bologna 
are conspicuous ; and distinguished talents draw attention 
to that of Clotilda Tambronia, who in her lifetime publicly 
taught Greek: she died in 1817. In the Carthusian church 
attached to the Cimitario, there are several paintings by able 
masters, one only of which I shall here notice, Mascaro's 
Christ beariko his Cross to Mount Calvary. The artist 
for some crime took sanctuary in the church, and during his 
refuge he executed this painting. The then cardinal-bishop 
of Bologna, it seems, was his bitterest persecutor ; and, in 
revenge, Mascaro has introduced his portrait on the canvass. 
The figure dragging forward the Saviour, who has fallen, by 
a rope over his head, is intended for the cardinal ; and, in 
order to designate him more particularly, he has put a red 
hat on his head. But this church possesses tokens of a more 
enviable feeling than revenge — the chains of Christian cap- 
tives redeemed from the Turks and Algerines ! 

Before leaving Bologna for Ferrara I was anxious to see 
the &mous enigmatical epitaph, to solve which has puzzled 
ingenuity more than the Gordian knot. I had read some- 
where that it was to be found three miles from Bologna, 
going out of the town by the Porta Mascarella ; but after a 
fruitless search I was obliged to relinquish the pursuit. A copy 
on parchment, written in the old Grothic character, is preserved 
at Milan, which I shall present as a crux for the curious : 

D. M. 


Nec vity nee muUeVy nee androgynoy 

Nee puelloy necjuvenii, nec anuM^ 

Nec casta, nec meretrixy nec pudicoy 

Sed omnia, 


Neguefame, neque/erroy neque venenoy 



Nee dUo, nee aquU, nee terns, 
Sed ubigvejacet* 


Nee maritus, nee amatory nee necesuriuMy 
Neque marenty negue gattdensy nequeflens, 

Nee moiem, nee pyramidemt nee eepdeknmy 

Sed omnia, 
Seii, et nescit cut potuerit, * 

During my stay in thb city a most atrocious occoirenoe 
took place, se^en persons having been assassinated in one 
night. The preceding day had been fine, when, as not on- 
frequently happens in southern climates, about ten o'clock in 
the evening a violent thunder'Storm, accompanied with a 
torrent of rain, suddenly came on. I was luckily at home 
this evening, copying out the pencil-notes I had made daring 
the day. Two assassins took advantage of the obscurity of 
the arcades, which I have mentioned as lining the streets of 
Bologna, and of the storm, which had now rendered them 
darker still, to sally forth and first murder, and then rob, 
every one they met. Six had already fallen their victims 
before the police got on the pursuit, when a earabintera 
coming up with the murderous villains, commanded them to 
stop ; one of the two coolly drew a pistcd from his breast 
and shot half of the poor fellow's fieuse off, and thos escaped. 
The very next evening, by way, as I suppose, of enlivening 
the impression of such an event, and delighting the worthy 
inhabitants of Bolc^a by presenting it before their eyes as 
near to the life as possible, there was enacted, at the Teatro 
Communale a horrible melo-drama, according as closely to 
the passing circumstances as the story would allow. I heard 
that the theatre was crowded ! It was easy to perceive, in 
the different cafes, that the dreadful events of the preceding 
night were the universal topic of the day ; next day, even, it 
held its ground : the third came, and it was forgotten ! We 
manage these things in a more business-like way in England. 
Is an obscure gambler murdered by a brother swindler? lo! 
the newspapers teem with the most minute particulars, proxi- 
mate and remote, of the case — the entire accidents, the 


whole of the aeeesBorieB; feeording them in detail, with the 
meet laudable ecrapulotity, for at least rix weeks thereafter. 
The scene must be carved in wood, and all the letters of the 
alphabet called into requisition, to denote the precise spot of 
every step of the interesting proceeding. The felon's clothes 
even are not safe from the memento-keeping hands of the 
curious in the horribles ; and every leaf, twig, and branch, 
of any unfortunate tree that might witness the scene, are 
forthwith lopped off to affi>rd memorials for future generations 
to brood over, ponder over, prose over, with never-dying, 
horror-loving, shoe-shaking delight. Then comes the trial, 
accompanied with its portraits, its plans, its aocusations, its 
defence ; next the execution, the last dying speech, the con- 
fession, the dissection. Even here the matter is not left at 
rest, fer the craniolo^st must — for it is a matter of necessi^ 
— he must find bumps of acquisition, bumps of destruction, and, 
in short, of every other construction, to make it manifest that 
the man was indisputably and inevitably bom to be hanged, 
and not to be drowned I Now, in Italy, they are so parsimonious 
of their feelings, that such life-stirring matters do not make 
even a three days' wonder. I may mention, en passant^ that 
I learned from the carabiniere who examined my passport at 
the gate as I was leaving Bologna, that no trace of the assas- 
sins had been discovered, and, in fact, that the search was given 
up : this was not more than a week after the murders. 

The country about Bologna is healthy, but the winters are 
severe, from its vicinity to the Apennines : the soil is fertile and 
provisions cheap ; the beef is excellent, and was selling at two- 
pence per pound : every epicure knows its celebrated morta- 
dellas. * The traveller may go by the canal to Ferrara. I, as 
was my wont, saddled myself with my knapsack and trudged. 

The country hence to Ferrara is flat and uninteresting. 
While resting myself at Mai Borghetio, I was asked if I bad 
met any one in my way ; and on replying in the negative, 
the people told me, that only the day preceding a former had 
been stopped by a footpad, whose first salutation was that of 
firing a pistol at him. The ball, by a fortunate chance, hit 

arm instead of his body, breaking the bone ; the ruffian 


then proceeded deliberately to rifle him. This accoont caused 
me to think it was time to look about me a little more 
sharply. With the propensity to conjare up an adventure, I 
started, and I was not long in meeting with what appeared to 
me to be the reality. Proceeding on my way, I perceived a 
fellow a-head looking, as I fancied, with some anxiety around 
him, to observe whether any one else was in sight ; and as I 
approached directly up to him — for that was the part I took 
under suspicious circumstances — I thought I could see inde- 
cision in his countenance and action : he advanced a step or 
two, then stopped ; now watched my approach, now turned 
aside ; at length, when close up with him, he had taken his 
part, and only asked ** charity, for the love of God." I gave 
the wretch a trifle, under the idea, that if driven to the com- 
mission of crime through stem necessity, this might, perhaps, 
turn his mind, and dissuade him from it; but I observed, or 
thought I observed, as I returned my money into my pocket, 
that he eyed it with the longing of avidity : '' Let no one," 
uttered I inwardly, *' demand of me my purse or my life ; for 
if he do, I know which I would first part with/' — it was the 
one you netted for me, Clara. 

The traveller passes the Rheno in a boat, about twenty- 
one miles from Bologna ; and he may observe abimdanoeof 
limestone gravel in his route, formed, in all probability, 
when the present relative levels of the Adriatic and the land 
differed inversely. 


This city, the ancient Forum Alibni, formerly belonged 
to the princes of the noble house of Este. After the death of 
Alphoneo the Second, the last duke of Ferrara, it was claimed 
and appropriated by Pope Clement VIII. in 1597, in con- 
sequence of a certain donation which it was pretended the 
Princess Matilda, of this august house, made to Holy See of 
all her possessions in 1077. Under her dukedom the state 
of Ferrara flourished, and the arts of elegance and utility 
were every where cultivated and patronised. As soon as it 
was annexed to the popedom, it then ate of the upas, under 


whose baneful influence the arts fled, its lustre tarnished, and 
its former prosperity and fertility, the *' magna parens fru- 
gum,* were changed to sterility and wretchedness, no longer 
claiming from its richness the fancied derivation of its name, 
" Fere aurea^ 

It is said with truth of Ferrara, that there are more houses 
than inhabitants. The fine palace of the Bentivoglio family, 
the ornament of this once flourishing city, is in ruins; some 
of the churches contain paintings of merit by Grarofalo and 
other masters. Observe a Dbcollatiok of St. Johk in 
the DuoMO, where the chiaro-scuro is finely managed, and 
the subject poetically conceived : it is in the first chapel to 
the right on entering. That of S. Fbakcbsco Grande is 
enriched with several paintings not less worthy of notice. 
There is a beautiful fresco in the first chapel on the right 
hand, of fine design and admirable expression — the artist, 
Volta Paletto — the subject, Judas betbatino Jesus with 
A Kiss. A Holt Family, Christ healing the Sick, a 
ViBGiN AND Child seated on a pedestal, and the Mubdeb 
OF THE Innocents, by Garofalo, are likewise fine paintings* 
A St. Agnes, and a Descent fbom Calvaby, are not less 
excellent. The Chubch of Sta. Mabia in Vado possesses a 
very charming Ascension, after the manner of Garofalo. 

The old ducal palace is surrounded by a moat, and, except 
as a memorial of its former government, ofiiers nothing to 
claim attention. It is otherwise with the Hospital of St. 
Anne, where you see the cell in which the poet Tasso was 
confined so long through the unjust tyranny of the Duke of 
Ferrara. Over the door you read : 











It was in thi» dangeon that tksso finished his '* Jetnalem De- 
Kyered." On the walls yon read the wcwJ " Btboit/' scratched, 
as the enstode told me, by himself, amidst a mnltitude of 
names which ** nobody knows." 

Ariosto's Tomb, in the Studio Pubblico, sheds its lustre 
on, and adds interest to, Ferrara. It is snrmonnted by a hand- 
some bust of the poet supported ou the head of a cherubini : 
Gnarini wrote the inscription : 


OB. £T. 59 . A.D. 1433 . 

Here, also, the traveller will see a manuscript copy of 
Guarini's " Pastor Fido," written in a very neat hand by 
himself; a manuscript copy of Ariosto's comedy, and some of 
his letters ; a like copy of Tasso's ** Jerusalem,'* with oorree- 
tions in his own hand -writing ; and various poetry, by the 
same author. The Studio, likewise, possesses several rare 
books : one of St. Augustin's, printed at Venice in 1473 ; the 
Psalms of David, written on parchment, enriched with paint- 
ings, done in gold, by one Gusme, in 1400 — they are in high 
preservation, but this peculiar art is now lost ; a copy of the 
BiUe, richly illuminated by an unknown hand, and still more 
ancient than the Psalms. They shew Ariosto's standish, the 
humble medium into which so many immortal thoughts dipped 
in passing from his brain to paper ; also a medallion of the 
poet, which was found in his tomb when removed from the 
church of the Benedictines. On one side you observe his 
name and profile ; on the obverse, you see a band holding a 
forceps in the act of extracting the sting from a serpent's 
mouUi, with an inscription, in allusion to his satires — *' pro 
bono manum." 

Five miles and a half from Ferrara, the traveller crosses 
the Po, at a ferry, on a pont-volant, in the route to Padua. 


The boat is fastened to a long hawser, anchored some way up 
in the middle of the stream ; and it is the strength of the 
current alone, when the boat is kept broadside on to it by 
means of the helm, that carries the passengers across from 
either side. The river at this spot is as broad as the Thames 
at London, cleaving the valley with its rapid and flood-'like 
stream, and gliding through its deep bed amidst meadows of 
richest herbage, and fields waving with yellow grain. The 
Adioe, the ancient Atbesis, is crossed in a similar manner 
three miles from Rovigo, when the traveller enters the Aus- 
trian territories, in the north of Italy. 

No sooner is the traveller across the Adige, than he is led 
to the idea that he has left the Italians behind, if not Italy, 
and got among the descendants of the Cimbri that escaped 
after their defeat by Marius, and who, according to Strabo, 
settled on the banks of the Athesis ; the features of the people 
are so very different ; the women going with their heads un* 
covered, with light hair, and wanting the oomeliness of their 
cU'Adegian neighbours. Hitherto, the stones strewed, on the 
soil consisted chiefly of limestone gravel ; but as you approach 
MoNTB SiLics,one of the outskirtings of the Euganean range, 
the soil is composed of the comminutions of the semi-volcanic 
rocks of which these mountains are constituted. That of 
which Monte Silice is formed is a trachyte porphyry, com* 
posed of silez, felsj^r, and mica, intermingled in so peculiar 
a manner as to stamp a character for itself. 

If the pilgrim of genius wishes to visit Arqva, he must 
turn off to the left over a bridge which crosses the canal at 
Arriveglio, half a mile before coming to Battaglia.* On 
the way, the traveller will see the laurel-rose growing wild 
in the hedge-rows, as if Nature herself would deck the path 
which led to the Tomb of Petrarch. A walk of three miles 
brings you to the last retreat of this admired poet; and the 
first object that presents itself on entering the village is his 

* Near Battaglia, you pais the Palazzo Obizzo, now the property of the 
house of Modena. It it adorned by frescos, representing the distinguished 
parts in the history of the original family, by Paul Veronese ; besides an 
armoury, museum, and paintings. 

320 Petrarch's tomb and house. 

tomb. Mr. Eustace is mistaken in saying that it is placed in 
tlio churclivard : it stands a little in front of the church, and 
close bv the road leadiiiij to Petrarch's house. The Tomb is 
in the form of a sarcophagus, sustained by four short pillars 
on tN^o plinths : the whole is of a coarse red marble, and so 
substantial, that, if left untouched, it will stand for an infinity 
of aut'S. The massive cover of the tomb has a bronze bust of 
ilie |xxt on the side facing the road, and lower down you read 
his epitaph : — 

I T.iv :?A . I r. vNci^ci . I \ris . iiic . tegit . ossa . petrarce . 

>; -CIj E . \ MUO . 1' VUIN> . AMMAM . STATE . VIRGINE . PARCE . 
; y<>\':. J VM . TFRRI^ . C F.I I . UEQIIESCAT . IN . ARCE . 


1 roin the cliurch vou ascend to the House wherein 
Pttniivh i^assed the latter period of his life. The lower part 
ot' tlie tvlitioe is of the Tuscan order, and is now used as a cow- 
house ; over which there are several rooms, all kept in tolerable 
o!\ur. In one. you see portrayed in fresco painting, under 
ti.e cornice of the room, the events the most memorable to 
h.iniself in his connexion with Laura : in one he is represented 
uisooveriniT her bathinir, and she laving: the water in his face; 
in anoilu r. Petrarch is in a bower, and Laura comes to him 
niaskovl : in a third, is depicted Laura's death, and Petrarch's 
^rief; in another, he has taken the religious habit. They 
\Neiv done in Petrarchs life-time, and are extremely good for 
the ace. This room also contains a portrait of Petrarch. 
0\er a chinniey- piece in another apartment observe an 
ancient }>ainring of a \'tMs, coeval, it is said, w^ith the house, 
Ih arin^r a stivn^r resemblance to one of Titian's in the Florence 
Fribune. Could this have served him ^s n premiere petisee ? 
\\\ the same i\>om, the visitor will find the embalmed Cat 
upon which the jK>et, in a playful mood, wrote the following 
epiiaj»h, which those that run may still read : 

Y.tru^cu^ ^tmino vatts txarcit omorc ; 
MiLvi'iitis i^uis t'i:i\ Laura stcundus erat. 
Quid ruicsf diriuii ilium si frufiu foDUtc 
Mt dii:nam ixitnio ftctt umantf //</<>, 


Si numerot gemumque taeris dedit ilia UbeUit^ 
Cinaa ego^ ne titvit murilna etcaforent 
Arcebam taero vivens a Umine mures ; 
Ne domini exitio icripta diserta darent, 
Incutio trepidis eadetn defuncta pavoreniy 
Et viget exanimi in corpore priica fides. 

They shew his grotto in the garden, and the well of which 
he drank ; and his bed-room still retains the chair in which 
he died. The walls of this room, like that of Shakspeare at 
Stratford-upon-Avon, are crowded with the names of the 
pilg^ms who have visited this shrine of genius, from among 
which the reader, perhaps, will pardon the extract of Alfieri s 
eZ'Voto: it is written in pencil on the wall, and a sort of 
frame is placed before it, to preserve it from being effaced: — 

Preziasa diaspro, agaia ed oro 

Foran dehito pregio, e appene degiio 

Di rwestire si nobile tesoro. 

Ma noy tombafregio (f uom eh* ebbe segno 

Vualsi ; e poi gemme, oro disdico alloro : 

Old basta il nome di quel divo ingegno, 

Victorio Alfieri manuproprio. 

Petrarch's house commands a beautiful view of the sur- 
rounding country, with the situation of which the traveller is 
forcibly struck by its kindred resemblance to the scenery 
about Vaucluse. Mountains with summits tufted with un- 
derwood, or made bald by the sweepings of the passing 
storm — valleys teeming with exuberant fertility, and variously 
checkered by the busy hand of industry — hOl-sides fringed 
with the vine,* and meadows bespangled with flowers, scent- 
ing the air with their fragrance. From this delightful spot 
I wended my way back by the road I had come, and followed 
the canal towards Mbzzavia. Here the curious traveller has 
another opportunity of gratification, by visiting the Hot Bathb 
OP MoNTBOROTTA : they lie but a short mile out of his way. 
The baths of Montegrotta are supplied from two hot springs 
of the extraordinary high temperature of 66® of Reaumur, 

* The wine made here takes its name from the poet, vino di Petrarca, 



uliicli Is equal to 178" of Fahrenlioit; so that the water takes 
three (lays in cooling clown to the usual temperature of a hot 
hath. Tliat these haths, as well as those of Aba no, in this 
neip:hbourhoocl, have been the resort of the sick in former 
jvj:es, is proved by the ruined foundations of ancient buildinsrs 
having been dug up, and coins and other antiquities being 
found on the spot. 

I'oth tJie nuid and water of these springs are used medi- 
eiiially, and are found of i>:reat efficacy in many chronic 
dihoases, particularly cutaneous complaints, paralysis, and 
rJKnnnatisin ; indeed, the ancient name of Abano (Aj)onon) is 
(U»rived from the power of its waters to relieve pain. The 
mild, like the water, is too hot to be used without ])ein2: first 
eodlcd down by kneading, it is then applied, either partially 
or ^enei'ally, to the person of tlie patient, where it retains its 
heat for nearly an hum', after which the patient passes into 
the bath, and tliere cleanses himself of the mud. Both the 
waters and muil of these s[)rings are said to contain sul- 
phureous and saline matters; tlie former producing the usual 
(^Hects of a medieated Ixath, the latter those of a powerful 
stimulatinii' i)oiiltice. The nuid, even wlicn applied partially, 
indepenih^nt of its local stinnilus, induces a general perspira- 
tion, and e>])eeially eo|)iuus fi-om tlie part diseased. Hence 
it is not ditlicult to believe in the benefit to be derived from 
their use in all cases of morbid congestions and chronic deter- 
niinations, through tlie powerful inHuence which universal 
euticular relaxation effects in restoiing to a healthy equilibrium 
parls in which the just balances of action is deranged. Nothing 
is more uncertain, every experienced physician must allow, than 
that of producing diaphoresis by medicines taken internally ; 
and yet there is no effect often more devoutly to be wished 
than that of inducing and establishing an equal action in the 
extreme vessels, with the object of relieving particular deter- 
mination ; for what, indeed, constitutes the essence of every 
disease but the general equilibrium of healthy action some- 
where deranged?* The lines of Claudian, when speaking 
of these spriugs, still hold true : 

* The nuid l)aths of Neris, in Auvcrgnc, arc of a similar (lescri|)tion. 

PADUA — pra' della vallb. 323 

** Amittum lymplM reparani impune vigarem, 
Pacatwquef egro luxuriante^ dolor" 

Fiye miles from Mezzayia brings the traveller to Padua. 
The country around Padua is flat, but extremely fertile, — 
Yerifying the saying *' Bologna la grassa^ Venetia la guasta^ 
ma Padua la postal In itself, it is poor and depopulated. 
Under the iron scourge of Austria, its industry is the depressed 
energy of a slave willing to die rather than work for a tyran- 
nical taskmaster. 


Padua is situated on the Brenta, in the midst of a fine 
and extensive plain, on the north -•west of the Euganean 
Mountains. It is said to have been built by Antenor ; and 
the ciceroni pretend to shew the Sarcophagus of this ancient 
Trojan in the Via San Lorenzo ; but without exactly meaning 
to pun {salvo pudarel), it may safely be averred that the 
building is a story without a foundation, and the tomb 
another ghost-tale — a ** baseless fabric of a vision." The 
existence, indeed, of the latter has been ascribed, with greater 
probability, to a date much more modem, and is, to all appear- 
ance, a tomb of the barbarous ages. 

This city suffered severely, at different times, from the 
ravages of the barbarians who invaded Italy. It was destroyed 
by Attila, and afterwards rebuilt by Narses ; it was again 
burnt and razed to the ground by Barbarosea, and again it 
rose from its ashes. The principal lions of this place are the 
Pra' dblla Valle ; the Church of St. Anthokt, called, 
by way of eminence, H Santo ; that of Sta. Giustina ; the 
Grahd Hall, or Palace of Justice ; and the University. 
The Prato is close to the gate as you enter from Ferrara, and 
occupies the site of the ancient field of Mars. It is of a cir« 
cular form, the centre of which is laid out in avenues for 
public promenade, and the whole surrounded by a branch of 
the Brenta, and a double row of statues divided by the stream. 
The statues are those of the illustrious men who have either 
been bom in Padua, or have been educated at its university. 
Among others, the visitor will see those of four popes, Paul II., 


Eugenius IV., Alexander VIII., and Clement XIII. ; those 
of John Sobieski, Stanislaus, Gustavus Adolphns, Guicciardino, 
Galileo, Andrew Mantegna, Petrarch, Tasso, Ariosto, Livy, 
even of Antenor, and of many others with whose particular 
merits I was unacquainted. A few vacant pedestals are 
interspersed, offering, were, a footstool of emulation to 
the present and future alumni, whereon, by proper desert, 
they may step to immortality. 

The Church of II Santo is an ancient Gothic structure, 
erected by Nicola Pisano, and dedicated to St. Anthony. This 
saint died in 1231 ; he was canonised by Gregory IX. six 
years afterwards ; and the church built in 1307, on the site of 
an ancient temple consecrated to Juno. It was evening when 
I entered it, with the desire of seeing merely its interior. A 
large congregation were chanting the evening hymn, and 
though first attracted by the paintings, the music stole in- 
sensibly on my ear, so sweet and solemn, that I seated myself 
by the choir to listen, lliough not one of the most pioos 
admirers of the Roman Catholic church, it were unjust to 
deny the charming influence of certain parts of their church 
service, and the solemn impression often made on the feelings 
by the majestic gloom of a Grothic edifice, softened by the ridi 
diapason of tones that, wafting adoration to the throne of 
the Creator of all mankind, captivate the heart, and wile it 
instinctively upwards : then it is that a man forgets all re- 
ligious distinction of sects ; for in such communion there can 
be no difference of sentiment. I returned on the. morrow to 
see the interior. Here the visitor will find tombs, and chapels, 
and paintings, to interest his attention. 

Among the paintings, the Martykdom of St. Agatha, 
by Tiepolo, is managed with good taste : the sight of her 
lacerated bosom is not permitted to revolt the eye, and yet 
the sense of pain is expressed in her countenance with fright- 
ful truth. The Decollation of the Baptist is another 
good painting. The executioner is baring his arm preparatory 
to the blow : it is reckoned one of Piazzetta's best produc- 
tions. Of a similar high character is Pittoni's representation 
of the Martyrdom of St. Bartholomew. The subject is 


.boldly conceived and masterly executed. The chapel of the 
Sanctuary contains many invaluable relics, the foremost 
among which is the pickled tongue of St. Anthony himself, 
as fresh, and, ruddy, and incorruptible, as saltpetre or a 
miracle can make it ; next comes some precious blood from 
the stigmata of the holy St. Francis ; item, some of the hair 
and milk of the blessed Virgin ; a portion of the wood of the 
vera croce ; a part of the linen stained with the blood of our 
Saviour; and three thorns of his crown. The statues of 
Faith, Charity, Humility, and Penitence, which adorn 
this chapel, are by Parodio ; and that of St. Anthony, and 
a group of angels in front, by Roncajolo. 

The chapel of the patron saint himself is magnificent, both 
in its architecture and sculpture : the former was executed 
by Bardi, Sansovino, and Falconetto ; the latter by Minello, 
Pduca, Campagna, TuUio Lombardi, and Sansovino. Under 
the altar repose the ashes of St. Anthony ; and the two 
massive silver candelabra you see on each side of it weigh 
3134 ounces, and are of the most exquisite workmanship ; the 
whole is lit by twenty lamps of silver, which burn night and 
day before the altar. Among the most remarkable of the 
tombs b that of Helen Piscopia, who knew seven languages. 
She was a doctor in the university of Padua, and died in 
1688, set. 37 ; her statue is to be seen on the grand stair of the 
university. In the aisle to the left, the visitor may look at 
the tomb of two medical men, for the purpose of noticing a 
fanciful idea of the artist, Comini, who, by surmounting the 
monument with the Figure of a Skeleton, with a trumpet 
between his jaws, presents the paradoxical picture of Death 
attempting to awake himself; while, with outlines of hu- 
manity so '* few and far between," he promises to make but 
a noiseless herald to rouse dormant immortality from her 

I must refer to the Appendix for the remaining objects 
meriting notice ; but, before quitting the subject, I may point 
out a most magnificent bronze candelabrum in the choir, the 
workmanship of Andrea Riccio, a Padovese, who took eleven 
years in executing it. Before leaving the church pass into 


the convent, which opens out of it ; where, in the entranee 
between the two first cloisters, observe an elegant mausoleuniy 
ornamented with four fluted columns of the Composite order. 
On the um two statues of Grief and Pain lean weeping. 
The singular circumstance is, that neither the artist who 
executed this monument, nor the person to whom it is con- 
secrated, is known. 

Adjoining the church of II Santo, the traveller will find 
the ScuoLA DEL Santo, which is justly celebrated for tbe 
excellent frescos painted on its walls, descriptive of the 
miracles worked by St. Anthony. The first is a particolarly 
fine fresco, so warm and rich that it closely imitates oil. It 
is by Titian, and represents St. Anthony making an infant 
prematurely speak, to satisfy a father of its mother's chastity. 
In another part of the room, the same story affords subject 
for another miracle, both to St. Anthony and Titian. The 
cavalier, it seems, who suspected his wife of infidelity, killed 
her. Anthony is here depicted restoring her again to life. 

The second miracle of II Santo exhibits a little, I am 
sorry to say, of the hocus-pocus of legerdemain. A miaer 
dies, and on opening his body they find no heart. St. An- 
thony cries. Presto ! and, lo ! the heart is found locked up in 
the coffer where the niggard kept his pelf. This fresco is by 
Giovanni Contarini. 

The next, though no doubt a miracle, is nevertheless not 
quite so very marvellous in its nature, albeit performed by 
St. Anthony for the meritorious purpose of converting m 
heretic. An ass is represented quitting his feed to kneel 
before tbe host; and truly none but an ass would do so! 
Gampagnola is the artist. 

Next comes the apparition of the saint to the blessed 
Luca Beludi, advising him of the speedy liberation of Padua 
from the tyranny of Ezzelino. 

The next two fiascos portray the death of St. Anthony, 
and the miracle of the glass tumbler, both of the school of 
Titian. The latter was likewise performed, it seems, to con- 
vert an infidel. The tumbler is thrown from a height against 
a stone, and yet does not break — a feat, it may be observed. 


with all becoming reserration, not peculiarly St. Anthony's, 
for it is done at times on something still more fragile — a 
wine-glass, by certain wonder-working school-boys ; nay, 
officers at a mess-table are even gifted after the same manner, 
especially as the evening advances, and when bets touching 
'* another bottle more" are lacking. 

Some other frescos follow, which are not exactly of a 
miracle-mongering character; but there are three others, 
again, which I must not pass over by reference merely to the 
catalogue. The painting in oil relates to an accusation under 
which the saint's own father lay of having committed murder, 
to clear him from which heinous imputation St. Anthony 
restores the real perpetrator to life, to accuse himself, and 
thus attest his father's innocence. It is not said whether the 
xnan was hanged in consequence of this confession ; if so, I 
do not think he was at all obliged to St. Anthony for his 
resurrection. The second is a fresco, and commemorates 
another restoration to life of a boy drowned, by the same 
miraculous agency, and is esteemed the finest of all Campag- 
nola's frescos. The last is likewise a resuscitation, wherein 
the two events of the story are represented separately. In the 
one, you see the body of a boy bobbing like a Norfolk dumpling 
in a kettle of boiling water ; in the other, the corpse is re- 
vived at the fiat of the saint, without even a blister on it, and 
looking as mettlesome as if it had never been parboiled. This 
fine fiiesco is of the school of Titian ; some think it by Titian 

Church of Sta. Giustina. — ^This magnificent temple, the 
work of Andrea Riccio, stands in an angle of the Prato, and 
both its exterior and interior are of extraordinary grandeur 
and beauty. Its plan is that of a Latin cross, its floor is paved 
with marble, and the vault of the great nave is* adorned with 
eight lofty domes, and its whole interior is a model of noble 
simplicity and majestic elegance. The paintings in this 
church are too numerous to notice individually ; suffice it in 
this place to say, that the altars are embellished by the mas- 
terly pencils of the younger Caliari, Liberi, Luca Giordano, 


Palma il Giovane, and others. The high altar is adorned 
with the celebrated Marttkdom of St* Jubtina, by Paul 
Veronesey a painting which has been engraved by Agostino 
Caracci. The Mission of the Apostlbs, by Bissoni, is 
likewise a splendid specimen of the art; as is also Carlo 
Loth's M ABTYBDOM OF St. Sagiusdo^ the character of 
is grand, and the pencilling bold and impressiTe. 
a pupil who does credit to his master Bernini, has adorned 
a chapel in the transept to the right with some beaatifiil 
specimens of sculpture. The grand altar enshrines the body 
of St. Justina ; besides which, this church is said to contain 
the body of the evangelist St. Luke, that of the apostle St. 
Matthias, those of three of the children massacred by the 
order of Herod ; and, moreover, an image of the Vii^n, 
carved by St. Luke : and I may direct the visitor's attentkm 
to the admirable bas-reliefs of the seats of the choir, repre- 
senting the prophecies of the Old Testament touching our 
Saviour, with their fulfilment in the New. 

For the paintings in the Duomo of Padua, I must refer 
to the Appendix ; but may menticMi, in passing, that they are 
all by good masters ; and here the visitor will find a Por- 
trait OF Pbtrabch (who was one of the canons of the 
cathedral), and also a Madonna by Giotto, which once be- 
longed to him. 

Thb Univebsitt. — This university, once so famous, and 
which hath sent forth so many eminent men, has now fallen 
into comparative obscurity. In its zenith of reputation, when 
the immortal Galileo taught here, it was the resort of eighteen 
thousand students from all parts of Europe; whereas, the 
present matriculation list does not exceed a ninth part of the 
number. An order from a professor is necessary for viewing 
the cabinets, &c. In that of Natural History die collection 
of minerals is good ; but the shells, birds, and animals, are 
indifferent. Among the organic remains from the mountains 
about Vicenza, the visitor will see a rarity — a petrified hunaan 
skull and humerus, found among stalactites in Dalmatia. 
Fabricius ab Aqua was, for thirty years, professor of anatomy 


in this ODce-oelebrated school. In the Anatomical Theatre 
the yiaitor will see a bust of the distinguished morbid anato- 
misty Morgagniy by Danieletti. TBe wax preparations ex- 
hibiting the different stages of pregnancy, are to be seen in 
the Cabinet of Midwifery ; and in the School of Medicine, 
the visitor will find a painting of Mart at thb Tomb of thb 
Rbdbbmbr, by Dario Varotari. It was within the seclusion 
of these walls that Petrarch composed his sonnets, and where 
both Tasso and Ariosto cultivated the genius that afterwards 
rendered their names inmiortal. The students of thb univer* 
sity were at one time a very desperate set, rushing out in 
buids after dark, one party before stopping the passenger 
with, '' Chirva-Uf" whilst another behind called out *^ ChU 
vorla?^ and, between the chv-va-lis and the chi-va-lasj the 
peaceable passenger often lost his life. One of the principal 
lamps in the chapel of St. Anthony was a fine imposed on 
these gentlemen Chuvorli, for killing their man in the church- 

Among the objects of curiosity at Padua, perhaps there 
are none more deserving a visit than the Hall of Justice, 
which is the largest room in Europe, being three hundred 
feet long, one hundred in width, and as many in height* 
The walls of this stupendous hall are embellished in fresco 
by Giotto, and represent the Signs of the Zodiac, with 
Figures op the Twelve Apostles distributed among them* 
The signs are so placed, that the shadow of the sun at noon 
is found in its proper allegorical position throughout the year, 
and the apostles are arranged in like manner, so as to indi- 
cate when .the church celebrates their festivals. Here also 
you see depicted the symbols of man, indicating corresponding 
actions, and for what he is most fitted — his temperament, 
inclinations, degree of talent, &c., according to the doctrine 
of the renowned astrologer Igino, all faithfully copied from 
the astrolabic plan of Pietro d'Abano. This hall contains two 
Egyptian Dbitieb, brought by Belzoni from Thebes, and 
presented to his native city : also the Stonb op Opprobrium, 
on which bankrupts were wont to sit in presence of the 
people ; and two Busts, the one that of Livy, who was a 

3o0 L'On:i o:j L'^'OIa — banks of the brlnta. 

native of xh':^ place : the other, of the Liicretia of Padua, 
Dmvdi ^J?'>L"';ia. Tiie latter has no other interest save tlie 
trairiciil evt^nt it rv-cali^ tu ni:n<i. This lady was of 2:oo<l 

faiiiilv. and was niarried, in the bl«x>m of vouth and beautv, 

• • • 

to a noble Padovese, the Marquis Pio dObizzi. She loved 
her hu-l»a!id, and was faitht\il. A vouno: crentleinan, named 
Pa^'aiiino Sala, f 11 in love with this charming woman, but 
she repelled his advances with the indicrnation of virtue in- 
sulted. Borne away by passion and madnofs, Sala killed tlie 
object he so dnated on. in the absence of her husband. The 
as-assin was seized and convicted of the murder; but, as thev 
couM not cret him to confess it, he could onlv be condemnetl 
to fifteen years' iriijiri"-onnieiit. In the meanwhile, the son of 
the cha-te Dondi «j:rew ui» to nuanhiKxl, bein^r onlv five years 
old at the time of his mother's death, and vowed to revenixe 
her nnirder. Sala. in (piitiii],^ the prison, was shot bv the 
younir Ubizzi, who, iiviiiL^ his countrv, entered the Austrian 
Service, wliere he died in 171<>, after sustaining:, durins: fifty 
years of Service, the reputation of an honouralde man and a 
brave soldier. 

The last memorandum I have of Padua, is of a sinirular 
piece of modei'n sculpture, which is to be seen in the Palace 
Papafava. It is of one |)iece of marble, and yet contains 
sixty-six small statues. The subject represents the rebel- 
anirels driven down from heaven bv the archaui^el Michael, 
who fall in every possible attitude. It was executed by Agos- 
tino I assoletto, who took about twelve vears to finish it. 
But as a specimen of art, it is more curious than pleasing, 
and perhaps merits a character rather of eccentricity than of 

Tiiere is a passagc-l)oat on the Brenta, which conveys 
passengers to Fusind, where they embark in other boats, 
which take them aci'oss to \'enice. I walked it, as was my 
wont ; and as the traveller trudges along, he is struck with 
the contrast between the natural richness of the country and 
the general poverty of its inhabitants. All along the banks 
of the Brenta every thing has the aspect of desertion ; and 
villas which were formerly the rural retreats of the opulent 


Venetians, are now tenantless and going to ruin i 6r if in* 
habited 9 it is by the beasts of the field and the fowls of the 
tiir. This scene of desolation prepares the mind for the sad- 
ness which the view of Venice impresses : she still rises like 
Venus from the ocean ; but it is Venus meretrix — the worn-, 
out trull of more wanton days, suffering from her former 
debaucheries. Where, it may be asked, are the opulence, 
freedom, magnificence, and majesty of this once^celebrated 
republic gone to ? Alas ! to the tomb of all the Capulets ! 

Venice, as every one knows, is not one of the ancient 
cities of Italy, but dates its foundation from the time when 
Alaric, king of the Goths, invaded Italy with his hordes of 
barbarians, carrying desolation in his steps as he went. The 
affrighted inhabitants of this neighbourhood, to escape the 
sword of the invader, fled, and took refuge in the little island- 
marshes and lagoons, for obscurity and safety; the insigni- 
ficance alone of which offering them a safe asylum, they 
there built houses. Not long afterwards, Attila, king of the 
Huns, having ravaged Germany, entered Italy likewise in 
this quarter, and, obliging the Padovese to seek shelter a 
second time, they retired to the same retreat ; and, in con- 
sequence of these forced colonisations, the place now began 
to assume the importance and form of a fijced settlement. 

Such were the commencements of the noble and majestic 
city of Venice, which for so many centuries yielded neither 
in riches, magnificence, nor power, to any city in the world ; 
subjecting to its dominion the islands of Candia and Cyprus, 
the Peloponnesus, the greater part of Lombardy, including 
the wealthy cities of Padua, Vicenza, Verona, Trevisa, Ber^ 
gamo, and Cremona ; whilst, on the other side of the Adriatic, 
it possessed Dalmatia, Sclavonia, Istria, and the Friule. How 
different is its present state, where its whole territory is con- 
fined to its original lagoon-girt bed, into the waters of which 
Venice is fast tumbling its walls, as if ashamed of the re- 
flection of its own wretchedness ! But such is the usual fiite 
of states that shoot up like hot-house plants, forced beyond 
their natural strength by a power that has no fixed habitat. 
This for a while may be concentrated like^caloric, but the 



:::?'. Ant^^i tcTi-iencv of it is to diffuse and lose itself in the 
T:«y./:1: r :.iii :i -j'a:e. England! ** snus little isle of the 
• •>:3.:./ a liS-on : for wealth is as erratic and radiant as 
i.-.i. -:.\ a:.': ::::re riKjratorv than even the swallow — sun and 
- :• r:. : - ti'r rv M.^itt- ll-r K>th; but the ecliptic of wealth is 
.. s: .::_: j :ni:k. fii.d tht-re is onlv one siim in the commercial 
:•:..: — :..:.: .: Pr -r-erirv, and this is not a tixed star — one 
'♦ .1-: ' '* .i-.:\. ciL ; :Lis is liable to incessant variation — the 
. » »*^j 


\-. :;.t ?:.\:: I> on o:.e liiiiuin-d and thirtv-eiiiht little 
^Ov.^:^.ly r:^<' :.i*.»ve ihe level of the Adriatic. 
tT'. jtLil I'll piles of wood driven into the 
>-.y ^r. .::..'.. l:kc :L.'^ of Amsterdam, and seem to float 
:"-.t w. ;>;•->. t.>vsvri a:.d o:h- r shfU-lish lix themselves 
:.-: :\ :. .•..-.::::.>. .-.s :Lcv ordinarilv do on rocks; and the 

• • 

w.;r'..;^ :'..t ?>.: s '; v wl.i^h vuu de-cend to the crondolas to 
s :.-. :r. st^.-.: :: s:--:^:. Tais ourxus city is intersecte<l by 
I a: i :*:-:v c/.v.aIs, ai.d the disjointed parts are con- 
fer ': v rVur :.u:..irol and tiftv bridi^res, and vet it 
> :..-: 11. -s: l:.v^v.^ i :.:.::: c.:v I ever visited. Nothinix appears 
:; r/.; :v. .rt u::.iv.v:u::M. '.e ih^n the choice made by a most 
v..-:.*:;:-..>lu\i vvx: o: \\:.ioe as a residence; for certainly no 
\'...vv V..:: .V o;:..i:vt\i lc>^ i\xiicallv dtrvised. The entire 
:.^NM» *.\-.:.iio: *:<^ verier LViKjartd than to a con^nviration of 
v'r.mVvu-:: Allt \ s. I.i::Ie Mavs Buildinirs, and such-like 
IvU'x -..::i:s. N> i:li i:;e .ulditional annovance of not beinir able 
:.^ uvt f:\ in o::t allt v to another unkss ))v liirinLT a iroiidola, 
V 1* tl><^ bv NNa'.kir.j SvMne two or three miles round to iret to a 
lu^ux^ ovivsito. After this description, I need not sav there 
.;:v iiv^ vurriac^s in ^ enice. Lord Bvron is said to have been 
:*ic^ r.>: >>ho kept horsi^s in this city, and then his ride was 
kV'^\c\1 :v^ the oianimamoience of a space little lar«j:er tlian 
-b:v.ik--tlie public irardens as thev are called. 
I \^ r'aoe to which a stranger first directs his stoj)5 on his 
\.»'. i: \ i> the Piazza of J^t. Makk, for this is its 

. , - . -V 

k I 


soul and honour. Here he finds himself as if released from 
prison, and his movements unshackled from the impedi- 
ments of canals, and unravelled of *^ labyrinths that lead 
to nothing." The place itself is grand, spacious, lofty, 
and commodious. It is in the form of a paralldogram, 
surrounded on three sides by majestic edifices, and hj the 
venerable church of St. Mark at the lower end ; presenting 
the appearance of a vast saloon, having for its ceiling the 
vault of heaven. A space opens towards the sea, called the 
PiAZZETTA, with the ancient palace of the Doge on the left, 
and the Procuratorie Nuove opposite. Two lofty columns of 
ophite adorn the Piazzetta, which were brought firom Con- 
stantinople. There was a third, but in the placing of it it 
fell into the sea. The two we see were erected by one Baru- 
tiero, on condition of being permitted to keep a faro bank 
during the carnival as the recompense. On one a winged 
lion stands, the ensign of St. Mark ; on the other, a statue of 
St. Theodore, the original patron of Venice, before being 
superseded by the evangelist. It is between these two co- 
lumns that criminals are executed, and it was on this spot 
that the Doge Marino Faliero was beheaded, as a traitor to 
his country, in 1364. 

Chubcb of St. Mabk. — This venerable edifice was 
erected by the Doge Okseoli in 976, and combines in its style 
of architecture the Arabesque and Gothic. Five domes 
crown its roof: five hundred columns of different orders 
surround the exterior of St. Mark's, which were brought 
chiefly from Athens and other parts of Greece. Above the 
middle porch you see eight porphyry columns of inestimable 
price, and over these stand the four cblbbbated hobsbs, 
cast in bronze by Lysippus, which Nero brought from Greece. 
They were harnessed to a chariot of the sim, and stood on a 
triumphal arch, erected by the senate of Rome to this emperor 
after the victory gained by him over the Parthians. Con-> 
stantine afterwards transported them to Constantinople, and 
placed them in the Hippodrome. The Venetians brought 
them away, among other rich spoils, about the beginning of 


the sixteenth century, when their victorious fleet took the 
capital of the Ottoman empire, under Doge Dandolo, in 1205. 
They again became the spoil of conquest under Buonaparte, 
who removed them to Paris to adorn the triumphal arch in 
the Place Carrousel ; and, after so many peregrinations, they 
travelled back to their pedestals over the portal of St. Mark's, 
at tlie general restitution on the restoration of the Bourbons. 

The appearance of the interior of this church is still more 
Asiatic than its exterior, and conveys the impression of a 
sanctuary devoted to the eternal celebration of acts of penance; 
the iioor when I entered it was paved with prostrate groups 
of men and women. 

Hie grand altar is supported by four large pillars of 
transparent alabaster, which are said to have been brought 
from Solomon's Temple ; and thirty-six others sustain the 
ceiling. The visitor is struck with tlie great quantity of 
mosaic work in porphyry and jasper in this church, with 
which it is both paved and vaulted. In front of the choir 
they shew a large slab of white marble so marked as to 
resemble the waves of the sea, and also the Porphyry Stone 
which points out the spot where Pope Alexander III. put his 
foot ui)on the neck of Frederick Barbarossa, as a public act 
of liuniiliatlon on the penitent return of this emperor under 
the haughty autliority and subjection of that church which 
liad excommunicated him. As this proud priest trampled 
Barbarossa under his feet, he heightened the vile insult by 
rej)oating the words of the Psalmist, ^* Super cuipidem et basi- 
/icuni (tmhnlahl'iy it conculcuhis It out in ti draconem ;^' to which 
tlie emperor answered, ** ^on tihL std Petro :'' on which 
Alexander, treading on his neck more forcibly, replied, 
** Et mihi ct Pciro/^ In days when priestcraft had attained 
its utmost insolence and }>ower, Barbarossa, I daresay, 
thought himself fortunate in not shariuir the fate of the five 
kings who warred agiiinst Culnon, after the enacting of a 
similar scene of degradation \^cidt Joshua, x. 24). 

The riche:> and relics containeil in the treasury and 
chapels of this chun»h weiv inestimable. The cap worn by 
the Doaes was vahunl at 2tK)AKK^ civwiis. Here also were 


goblets of i^te and emerald which formerly belonged to 
Constantine the Great; Aaron's two rode; bat, alx»re all^ 
the moaldering body of St. Mark. This still reposes under 
the grand altar, and was brought by some Venetian merchants 
from Alexandria in 829. The treasury, likewise, contained 
a. manosoript oopy of the gospel of St. Mark, written, it is 
said, by his own hand, and another of the same^ written in 
latters of gold by St. Chrysostom. 

In the Chapel of the Madonna deUa Scarpa, they shew 
the part of the identical rock which Moses struck in the 
wilderness to assuage the thirst of the Israelites. It is a 
greyish-cdoured marble, and nothing can be prettier than 
the four little holes through which the water was nuuie to 
flow : they are about the size of a goose-quill, and it adds 
to the miracle, of course, to perceive that such a prodigious 
quantity of water could escape in so short a time through 
such small apertures as to quench the sandy thirst of 600,000 
men, together with their wives and children, and all their 
flocks and herds. 

In front of St. Mark you see the flag-staffs which formerly 
bore the three banners in token of the domination held over 
the kingdoms of Cyprus, Negropont, and Candia, fay this 
warlike republic* Close to these stands the Tower of 
St. Mabk : it is 230 feet in height, surmounted by a gilt 
figure of an angel as a weathercock, which, as it turns 
round by the wind, appears to bestow its benediction on 
the passengers below. From its top you see this singularly 
built dty at your feet ; its numerous palaces seem doubled 
by their own reflection in the crystal waters which encom*- 
pass them* In the distance the eye loses itself eastward 
in the lar^ mirror of the Adriatic, dotted with isles in richest 
eullivation. On the north rises the Friule, and to the south 
you see the plaia of Padua, bounded by the belt of the 
Ettganean mountains. 

To the right of the church stands the Tobrb dbll' Obo- 
LOGiA. The clock is placed over a kind of triumphal aroh 
through which you enter the Piazaca, and is curious for its 
mechanism, which not only indicates the hour of the day^ but 


also the relative position of the moon and the earth, and of 
the sun as it enters the si^s of the zodiac. Above the clock 
vou see a ijilt inia«re of the Virgin, of the natural size. On 
the day of the Assumption, on each stroke of the clock, two 
anjxels appear with trumpets in their hands ; these are fol- 
lowed })v the wise men of the East, who kneel before the 
iniaixe. On ordinarv occasions, two Moors alone strike the 
liour on a boll with iron hammers, after the manner of our 
own that formerly were at St. Dunstan's. 

The Palace of the Doge. — In front of this palace you 
see two colossal statues of Mars and IVeptune, by San- 
sovino, between which you mount the Scala dei Giganti, 
leaiiiiiir to the interior. 

In the Sal A delle Qtattro Porte the visitor will find, 
amonii otiier tine paintings, Titian's Triumph of the Faith, 
which was once in the Louvre. The frescos on the ceilins: 
nre by Tintoretto, and the architecture of the hall by Palladio. 
The Hai l or the Senate contains Tintoretto's representation 
of Vemi e freed from the Plague, painted to comme- 
moraie the i^.r-IO/c) of t/ie Church of La Salute. Over the 
thrv^.^.e there is a tine Descent from the Cross, bv the same 
iXivat m:\?ier. The ceiling: is also by the same hand, repre- 
senriiic in alleirorv Venice and her Spouse the Adriatic. 

Thk Grand Council-Chamber, which is 74 feet wide 
:\r.d l^>0 loniT, is adorned with paintings representing the 
trii;n^.ph> of the republic over Frederick Barbarossa, the 
h.<tory of the taking of Constantinople by the Venetians, and 
rir.toivtios Paradise, and the Apotheosis of Venice, by 
Paul \*ei\>neso. Venice, surrounded by her attributes, is 
n^piYStMitinl Iving crowned by fame : this painting is justly 
e>ieenuHl one of the artist's finest productions. Portraits of 
the dv^gos Oivupy the upper part of the room ; that of Marino 
Iril'.OTV is not covered with crai)e, as is described by some 
tnuellei-^, but entirely eftaced from the panel by a coating 
of b'.aek paint, on which you read : " Ilic est locus Marini 
y.iiir'w iltCtipifafi pro criminibusJ' 

\\\ the Sala del Scrutinio you see a Last Judgment, 


by the untied pencils of Palma VecchiOy Belotti, and the 
Chevalier Liberi. It is in this paintiag that II Vecchio twice 
introduces his mistress. The first time he placed this beau- 
tifbl portrait in Paradise ; but quarrelling with her before the 
painting was finished, the vindictiye artist the second time 
put her among the damned. Here also are six allegorical 
subjects by Lazarini; a battle between the Venetians and 
Turks, by Tintoretto; a fine Bassano on the ceiling; and a 
continuation of the doges down to Ludovico Mannin, the last 
doge of Venice. ^ 

The Arsenal of the palace of St. Mark is described as 
possessing (for I did not visit it) a large quantity of curious 
ancient armour, among which the sword of the valiant Scan- 
derbeg is carefully preserved. Here also is a bust of 'the 
tyrant Francesco Carrara, the last signore of Padua, so noto- 
rious for his cruelties. They shew a citsket within which 
there are six small cannons connected with springs, so adjusted 
that in opening the box these cannons go off. It was in this 
way the monster killed the beautiful Countess Sacrati, to 
whom be had sent the casket as a present. They likewise 
shew small pocket bows and arrows of steel, with which 
Carrara amused himself in killing those he met, without their 
being able to perceive whence the wound came. There also 
are, or were, kept here, the two beautiful small statues of 
Abam and Evb, made by Albert Durer in prison with a pen- 
knife, which obtained him his liberty. 

It were unnecessarily tedious to give a detailed account of 
the churches of Venice. I shall, therefore, only notice some 
of the principal, confining my observations to what is most 
xemarkable, and referring to the Appendix for particulars. 

That of Sam Giorgio is a splendid specimen of Palladio's 
skill, and it is a disputed question among connoisseurs, whether 
this church or that of Sta. Maria della Salute is the finest 
It contains several good paintings. The story of St. George and 
the Dragon is well depicted ; and in a chapel immediately to 
tlie right of the grand altar you see a Marriage in Can a, 
by Paul Veronese. On one of the columns which support 
ihe pediment of this chapel, those whose eyes are clarified by 


the proper infiision of faith can perceive a natural represen- 
tation in the marble of the Crucifixion. A grand simplidtj 
reigns throughout the church. Above the grand altar yoa 
flee an image of II Padre JEtemo over a gilt globe sustained 
by the four evangelistB, and behind the head of the Almighty, 
a triangle, symbolical of unity in trinity. Two angels, in 
bronze, stand on this altar, together with a handsome cande- 
labrum, with infant-angels as caryatides, of exquisite work- 
manship. The marble pavement of the choir and tribune is 
splendid. The church of St. George preserves the body of 
the first martyr, St. Stephen ; -and on the seats around the 
choir you see the life of St. Benedict carved in beaatiiid 
relief. They were executed by Albert Breughel, and are 
admirable for their perspective effect. 

The Church of La Salute was erected as an oK-voto 
to the Vii^in, on the cessation of a plague. This subject is 
finely represented in marble over the grand altar. To the 
right of a statue of the Virgin holding an in£Emt Christ in her 
arms, you see Venice supplicating her interference to deliver 
the city from the pestilence that desolates it ; while, on the 
opposite side, the plague is represented flying before an angd 
with a torch in his hand. Another noUe edifice is the 
Chubch of thb Jesuits. The inside walls are of verd 
antique, let into a groundwork of white marble, giving the 
semblance of a rich paper-pattern. Ten twisted columns of 
the same beautiful material stand on the grand altar, en- 
closing a tabernacle all of lapis lazuli ; and in firont of it 
an extremely beautiftil and curious carpet extends, composed 
of verde and giallo antico. This church is enriched with 
Titian's magnificent painting of the Marttbdom of St« 
Laurence, and others by Tintoretto and Palma II Giovane, 
as well as by several beautiful tombs ; among others, you find 
that of the Doge Pascal Ciconia, who built Uie Rialto. 

Thb Church of the Scalzi. — This church, as its name 
partly denotes, belongs to the barefooted Carmelites, and is 
particularly rich, both externally and internally, in excellent 
sculpture : the architecture is a noble specimen of Palladia's 


akill, i^nd reflects its beauties on the grand canal, by the side 
of which it stands. There are only two paintings to be seen 
here, in the chapel of Sta. Teresa ; they are by Tiepolo, and 
both are good. This chapel is also enriched with a statue in 
marble of the death of the saint to whom it is dedicated, but, 
though good, it does not equal Bernini's at Rome. Six 
beautiful spiral columns ornament the grand altar ; as many 
Statues of Sibyls surround the tribune ; and the visitor wiU 
find a fine Cbucifixion in the first chapel to the left on 

Venice has dedicated churches to several uncanonized 
saints — as Moses, Job, Jeremiah, Zechariah, &c. Over the 
porch of the last you see a fine statue of this prophet by 
Victoria, whose tomb within is designated by the following 
inscription: — 


Qui viven$ vivoi duxit ^ marmore vuUu$, 

The sacristy of the Church of St. Job contains a body 
of St. Luke, and the Benedictines of Sta. GHustina at Padua 
have another. One of the most precious relics in the church 
of St. Jeremiah is a vial full of his tears ; but this is not so 
richly endowed, for it cannot boast of possessing any of 
St. Job's gall. Behind the choir of the church of St. Zecha- 
riah you see a painting representing Peter Repentant — 
the cock crows, and remorse and self-reproach (the bitterest 
of all) shew in every abashed feature the liar convicted. 

A sarcophagus on the outer wall of the Church of San 
GriovANNi B San Paolo was pointed out to Lord Byron, by 
a priest, as that which contained the ashes of the Doge 
Marino Faliero. There are vestiges of an inscription upon 
it, but now illegible. 

The Church of Sta. Maria Gloriosa contains the 
ashes of Titian, and a monument to Canova ; that of St. Se- 
bastian, the tomb of Paul Veronese: under his bust you 



It was in the convent attached to this church that Paol 
passed the last two years of his life, to avoid the vengeaiiee 
of a noble Venetian whose portrait he had painted. Com- 
plaining of the imperfection of the likeness, the nobleman 
returned it, with a request too peevishly expressed, that he 
would improve the resemblance — to do so, Paul planted two 
horns on his forehead. But the satirical artist paid dearly 
for indulging his wit ; since, to shun the assassination which 
the nobleman threatened, Paul Veronese died in a convent. 

The Accademia dellb Belle Arti contains a nomber 
of paintings by the first masters of the Venetian school, and 
a still greater number is to be seen in the Palace Manfrini. 
Among those in the former, the visitor will see Titian's cele- 
brated Presentation of the Virgin at the Temple, 
displaying all the gorgeous costume and pageantry which 
distinguish this high-toned school. The subject is treated in 
a fine perspective style of conception, and the eye follows 
the procession up the grand flight of steps to where the high- 
priest stands to receive the modest, trembling, youthful Mary. 
A St. John the Baptist, by the same great master, is not 
less beautiful. Raphael's fine painting of the same subject 
in the tribune of the Florence gallery, is diflPerently conceived; 
the sublime wildness about which portrays ** one crying in 
the wilderness;" whilst this represents the forerunner and 
herald of a redeemed world impressed with the grandeur and 
dignity of his mission. 

Tintoretto's Eve offering the Apple to Adam is another 
charming painting : frail humanity when tempted by one so 
fair might well be apt to forget its duty. But, superior 
even to this is a painting which the visitor will find in the 
second room, representing a miracle worked through the 
intervention of St. Mark, where the instruments of torture 
prepared for the martyrdom of a slave are broken in pieces. 
Of a still higher character is Titian's Assumption of the 
Virgin : this truly is the manner how to mount to heaven. 
Paul Veronese has but one painting in this rich collection 
(a Holt Family) ; but it is a sjplendid example of his magic 


pencil. In the room which contains the alto -reliefs and 
busts in bronze by Aspetti, Gilberti, and others, you see the 
porphyry vase which encloses Canova's heart. This artist's 
HsBE» by the way, which used to be in the Abrizzi's palace, 
is on a visit to her uncles — I believe the owner's banker 
daims, for the present, that relationship ! 

Nothing will gratify the admirer of paintings more than a 
visit to the magnificent collection of the Palace Manfrimi. 
I shall point a few out to notice, but without attempting 
any elaborate description. Here it is that you find the three 
celebrated portraits by Giorgione, forming one of the most 
superb paintings of this very rare and much-esteemed master. 
Giulio Romano's Departure of Adonis for the Chase 
delineates again that beautiful idea which the very canvass 
assists in perfecting — the unwillingness of lovers to part. 
Adonis bids Venus adieu, and still seems to repeat the word 
without being able to go. He lingers on the canvass, fixed by 
the magic influence of her he so doats on, and his own re- 
luctance. The THREE Ages of Man, by Titian, is delightfully 
characteristic — innocence in childhood, love's absorbing 
passion in youth, and meditation in old age. There is drama 
in this picture, and never more beautifully portrayed than in 
the second scene of life's stage, " Love's young dream." The 
Trial of Skill between Apollo and Pan, by Guido, is 
another attractive painting. It may literally be said that it is 
full of music, for there is harmony in every touch of the pencil. 

The ceiling of this apartment is adorned with a superb 
painting in oil representing the Apotheosis of Hebe, by 
Paul Veronese. The beautiful Hebe is conducted into the 
presence by Mercury, while Venus advances to introduce her 
to the Thunderer, surrounded by the assembled godhead. 
In another room you see a St. Cecilia and a Magdalen, 
by the soft and glowing pencil of Dolce. Here also are 
Nicholas Poussin s Hours Dancing, while Time plays the 
harp, so well known by its engravings ; and his Time dis- 
covering Truth — Phoebus is peering over a hill; the poor 
girl looks astonished, and well she may, she so seldom sees 
the light. Carlo Maratta's Flora blows with the sweetness 


and freshness of her name : and here also the visitor will find an 
original Cartoon^ by Raphael, apparently a pendant of thoee 
at Hampton Court — the subject, that of Noah and the Ark. 

You now enter a small room, in which you find the 
history of painting exemplified, from its reviyal under Cima- 
hue, Giotto, Andrew Mantegna, Padovano, Verrochio, up to 
old dame Plautilla, &c. Watching, as you haye done in this 
cabinet, the second dawning of the art, you thence enter an 
apartment where the sun of painting emerges from under the 
horizon, and your taste gets sapid at the touch of Frank 
Floris's Venus and Adonis, and pampered to luxuriancy by 
the fine representation of the death of the latter by Paul 
Veronese. Rottenhammer's Actjson shews how channingly 
bare-legged nymphs can scamper; and Time taking Lovb 
away, by the younger Palma, might make more than one 
lady fair follow in despair. 

The last room contains Titian's chef-d'ceuvre — his cele- 
brated Deposition from the Cross — no painting can well 
unite greater excellencies, possess more yaried expression, or 
combine colouring in richer or more harmonious hues. 

The last I shall allude to is Ludoyico Caracci's Bacchus 
AND Ariadne. This is a yery charming picture : the loyer 
beseeches with so much persuasiye grace, while the loydy 
Ariadne, with half-ayerted head, listens to his yows and entrea- 
ties with the delight of one willing to belieye them true. 

Venice is a healthy city, notwithstanding its marehy situ- 
ation — a circumstance ascribable, in my opinion, to the 
following causes. First, it is freely exposed on all sides, firMii 
its insular position, to the breezes that blow from the sea ; 
secondly, to sea, and not fresh water, being the source of the 
humidity ; and, lastly, to the flux and reflux of the tide ; for 
it is a curious fact, that though there is no tide in the Medi- 
terranean, there is a tide in the Adriatic. Both Lncan* 
and Claudian f notice this circumstance. 

* *' Quikque jacet littus dubium, quod terra fretumque 

Vindicat alternis vicibus .'* 

t " Nunc redeuute vehit, nudataque littore fluclu 



No city in Italy can boast of finer edifices, of which the 
grand canal is studded with admirable examples, by San- 
sovino, Longhena, and Palladio ; but they are most of them 
uninhabited ; and Venice is rapidly advancing toward pos- 
sessing, through the selfish, envious, and illiberal policy of 
Austria, the picturesque interest of a city in ruins, and to 
the fulfilment of the poet's prophecy, 

*' Nee tu temper eris 

qtut mediis dtntula ntrgu aquuJ* 

Indeed, the aspect of moral and physical dilapidation is so 
universal, that the traveller, after having seen all that is 
curious and beautiful in Venice, is glad to run away from it. 
Among the other inconveniences of this city, the total want 
of fresh water is not the least. The inhabitants are obliged 
to have it all brought from the main-land, and there are 
numerous shops in this city where they sell nothing else, 
even by the glassful, to the thirsty passenger. What Martial 
says of Ravenna is now more applicable to Venice : 

** Sit ciitema mihi quam vinea malo Raveraut, 
Cilm po$sim muUo vendere plurit aquam." 

Nine thousand gondolas get employment on the different 
canals, in transporting people from one part of the city to the 
other ; and being painted black without, and lined within of 
the same funereal colour, they suggest to the mind the idea 
of a city in mourning. Torrents of beggars in every street 
add to the wretched aspect of thb once flourishing xity. 
When the Emperor Francis II. took possession of Venice in 
1814, he gave a donation of a florin to each public mendi- 
cant — an alms-giving not quite so trifling in amount, when 
it is considered that, out of a population of 140,000 souls, 
there were 48,000 beggars! 

I now re*embarked — got to Fusina — and returned to 
Padua by the passage-boat. 

The country between this last town and Vicenza is ex- 
tremely fertile, and was formerly called the garden of Venice, 
while the soil shews unequivocal marks of having once been 

..- 1. T "". 

* . ... *j'r.i. R": ::: i-r-i i::'l:.t-^ of trachyte poq>livrv, iiiter- 

-'- :' L'. 1::::: ?:::.-. art- «i:?:ri:'u:e.l o:i all side;:, 
.V. ^Ltu :..e 5^a -X'c:.:; ieti the ]»la:n that in- 
•-.--. r-.r-j ''r.: -.v. >rn th-r f • . t «.'f iL- Rht'v'aa Alj-s and the hitrh 
jr. .L : ':vv.!.l iL-r R. '.:..•. «:n the EuL-'j^iiese side of the 
A' -ri.i.h.*.^ : r :: :i. -rt- -- : :.-.s y rtrviitlv. 'lliree miles iH/l'ore« r-.: \ i.'rT.z.i vo i c:\?5 a bridjtr, t-rtoied bv Palladio, 
'. ^ ^r :.. J i ..c. :..j:.e. 


\ :c» i.Z'i is jit'.i^itrd ill a }l:;::i surrouiult-d hy charininir 
i.i!'i- f*»\r;f i with viilas : it wiis the hirih-jilace of the famous 
arohirt-t'i P.-.Ihi .:•> : and he has eiiiiH^lli?hed hi^ native citv 
wiiii -t^vt-nd n.u^tcily ?peeiniens of hi? i:e::ius : as the Olympic 
Tiitatre, tlie Triiunplial Arch in the Cainpo Marzo, and the 
Palazzo deila Rairione, ^o hcautifully attt?t. 

\'icciiza wa- fuuuded hv the Euiraneans 3'24 vears before 
the (. hri^tian era, and in ancient times was honoured with 
the protection lx)th of Brutus and Cicero. It Hourislied 
>\ljil?t the Roman empire did; but in its decline Vieenza 
l-'ccame exposed to great calamities under the ravages of 
those hordes of barbarians, the Ostroiroths and Lonirobardi, 
who entered Italy from this quarter. Tlie Enii)eror Otho 
bestowed great privileu^es on this city, which it afterwards 
forfeited bv its own intestine dissensions ; and Frederick 
Baibaro?sa completed its abasement by reducing it to slaver}'. 
But ])ecoming leagued with Padua, Verona, and Milan, it 
threw ofl' its voke ; and, after surrenderinix to several different 
masters, it finally siiccuudjed to Venice in 1304. Its fate 
ever since has followed that of Venice, and now forms an 
integral part of the Lombardo- Venetian states under the dis- 
ciplinarian rod of Austria. Vieenza contains 3(),0()0 inhabit- 
ants, is four miles in circuit, and in its form it has been com- 
pared to a scorpion. The neigiibouring mountains contain 
numerous organic marine petrifactions : in the limestone 
rock close to the church of Del Monte, I found mactrae and 
the turrilites costatus embedded in the crag limestone, and 


specimens of that extinct remain called lenticulitesi or num- 

The only charch worth visiting is the one alluded to, that 
of Sta. Mabia del Montb, which stands a short half mile 
oat of the Porta Lupia. The yiew from this spot is fine, with 
the Tyrol mountains on the north, and the fertile plain of 
Lombardy stretching to the west. The refectory of this charch 
contains Paul Veronese's painting of St. Greoobt entbb- 
TAiNiMO THB Beggabs at suppcr, at which the artist has 
introduced our Saviour in the disguise of a pilgrim, according 
to the legend. The floor of the church is paved with ex- 
votos — one of a man who was hanged and came to life again. 

Three or four rivers meet at Vicenza ; and on quitting it, 
they take the name of the Brenta. 

A story is told of Vicenza, which has given rise to a 
proverb. When Charles V. was here, many gentlemen and 
several rich bui^esses were troublesomely urgent for being 
created counts ; at length, pestering him one day beyond all 
patience, the emperor called out aloud, '* Yes, yes, I create 
you all counts — town and suburbs and all!*' Hence came 
the saying, *' as common as counts of Vicenza." 

Having read somewhere a vague reference to certain 
basaltic developements about Bolca, I determined to go in 
search of them. Five miles from Vicenza I turned off to the 
right near Tavemella ; and shortly after beginning to approach 
the foot of the Tyrolese Alps, the traveller leaves the trachyte 
which he found strewed on the plain, and gets among the 
limestone formation of the adjoining mountains. About a 
mile and a half from the little town of Arzignano, and mid- 
way to Chiampo, the traveller may observe a mountain 
standing two short miles from the road-side, and, from the 
summit to its base, a multitude of broken basaltic columns, 
piled on one another, are seen coating its side. To get to it, 
all that is necessary is to keep the summit in view, following 
the path as far as it goes. The way to it is a little fatiguing, 
but the colossal sight repays the toil. These fallen columns 


have evidently come from the upper part of the moantain ; 
and it may be again observed how this volcanic phenomenon 
is based on limestone, the strata of which, as developed be- 
low, are beautifully regular. The traveller may now descend 
by a nearer way, in returning, to Chiampo. Half a mik 
from' Chiampo I again turned off to the left, and immediately 
began to ascend the flank of a mountain by a steep and rocky 
path leading to Monte Bolca. Though not more than fixir 
miles to Vestina Nuova, the road was so bad, and the sun's 
heat, as reflected from the limestone, so unmercifully brow- 
beating, that it made the march to it both painful and tedious. 
Vestina Nuova and Bolca are described as being still the 
abodes of a remnant of the ancient Cimbri, distinguishable fi*om 
the Italians both by their language and manners. This I did 
not find to be the case ; but the inhabitants here spoke of a 
strange people, inhabiting a place still more obscure and re- 
mote from the civilisations of life, called Campo Fontana. 

Before descending to Vestina Nuova, let the traveller 
observe the height immediately over him, where he will per- 
ceive broken columns of basalt still in situ, shooting up their 
stunted shafts just above the surface. The horse-path down 
to Vestina is as rough as that I had just ascended ; and on 
my arrival there, I found no albergo or osteria to rest and 
refresh myself in ; but was referred, by the wretched inhabit- 
ants of the place, to a house below the church, in the yallbt 
OF Stakghelliki, where I was informed they gave accommo- 
dation to travellers. The reader may guess at the sump- 
tuousness of this, when he is told, that all these good people 
could offer me was a little bad wine, and nothing to eat. 
This, I must confess, put me out. I had fared hard enough 
at times in my travels, but to be able to get nothing at all 
para tnaTigiare, was the shortest of all commons. They had 
no bed in the house, not even one for the family ; but learning 
fi*om mine host that there was a private dwelling near, owned 
by the proprietor of this miserable domain, I determined to 
obtrude myself on their hospitality by soliciting a night's 
lodging. However, observing some sweet hay in the loft, I 
thought it a necessary piece of foresight to bargain with my 


man, that, in case I was denied a lodging at ^' the great 
house/' I should have leave to sleep amongst the hay. 
Having arranged matters thus providently, the tenant of so 
much wretchedness, who is the cicerone of the place, con- 
ducted me down to ** the lions" of the valley. 

Stanghellini is rather a ravine than a valley, at the bottom 
of which, where it furcates, a mountain torrent has worn a bed 
between clusterings of basaltic columns, which, polished and 
levelled by the stream, present all the appearance of a pave- 
ment of the most beautiful mosaic work, the pentagonal extre- 
mities of the basalt forming the tessellations. Whilst standing 
on this natural mosaic carpet, let the traveller look at the fine 
groupings of innumerable small basaltic shafts on each side^ 
and say, does it not suggest the idea of an armoury, where the 
consular fasces may have been deposited ? or does it rather 
lead to the supposition of their being petrified faggots heaped 
perpendicularly on one another, as if intended for the last 
grand convulsion of all, when Nature herself shall ascend the 
funeral pile ? But it were best to leave the delighted traveller 
to the thick-coming fancies of his own creation, and to the 
enjoyment of his own feelings ; for the place has a fairy aspect, 
and savours of another world. I now re-ascended to the house 
of the lady of the manor, where I met a most kind and hos- 
pitable reception. I sat down at the family supper-table, in 
company of the worthy curate of the parish : we chatted the 
evening away most agreeably; the good people the while 
wondering not a little what could have brought a stranger 
so far from home, to run the risk of so many inconveniences. 
Ashamed of the trouble I had unavoidably given, I started 
early in the morning, though kindly pressed to stay break- 
fast ; and I shortly, and, indeed long afterwards, had reason 
to repent refusing their hospitable attention. 

The village of Bolca stands about two miles and a half 
higher up the mountain ; but wishing to visit the wonderful 
deposit of typolithic fish in the Cata dei Petripicati, which 
I found to be in this neighbourhood, I luckily fell in with a 
guide to the place, in the person of one Giuseppe Cerato, 
whose name deserves to be placed in the tablets of the tra- 


Teller^ for his natural sagacity and intelligence. Yoa quit 
the road] leading to Bolca, to reach what the people in the 
neighbourhood call the Pescabia, and again descend to the 
bottom of another ravine, where these organic remains are 
found. But, chemin faisant, I may mention that the whole 
of this dbtrict is strewed with the debris of basalt in different 
states of decomposition* You find it in this condition near 
the church of Vestina Nuova, and elsewhere on the road to 
Bolca. Where it is in a perfectly comminuted state, it forms 
a soil of a lightish-brown colour : when less completely de- 
composed, it resembles vesicular lava, probably arising from 
the readier destructibility of the crystals it had contained. I 
did not fail to bring away specimens of it in all its variety of 

In the descent to the Pescaria, my guide Giuseppe took 
me- to see a coal deposit, where it shews itself creeping from 
under a bed of decomposed basalt. There are three strata, 
one of which Giuseppe assured me was about twenty feet in 
thickness ; but the coal is stony and very incombustible. I 
shall have occasion to refer to this fact more at large imme- 
diately. The Cava dei Petrificati is now become a misnomer, 
as it is no longer a cave, from its roof and sides having been 
quarried away in search of the organic remains they con- 
tained : these are still found in abundance, and readily, 
every where hereabouts, by merely splitting the rock in the 
direction of its lamellae. The rock which encloses them is a 
foetid schist, and lies immediately under stratified limestone, 
in which there exists no trace of the same organic remains.* 

* Sereral circumstances demonstrate that the catastrophe which upheaved 
the district of Bolca, must have been sudden and instantaneous. In the 
museum of the Jardin de$ Plantes, there is an ichthyolites, of the genus fi^ 
chiia, firom Bolca, holding another in its mouth, which it had not had time 
to svrallow ; and others have been found having fish in their belly which 
they had not had time to digest — a short process, we know, with fiish. Ibe 
same convulsion had, in all probability, uplifted the whole of the Euganean 
pseudo-volcanic range of hills, furnishing fire to the Therme at Abano and 
Montegrotta, and, by raising the plain which stretches from the foot of the 
Rhetian Alps to thai of the Apennines above the level of the Adriatic, exposed 
those pebbles of Lydian stone and trachyte which we noticed on its surfiMe. 


What adds to the carioaity of the place, is the circmnstance 
of the Bingular admixture of fresh and salt-water fish from 
the most remote parts of the ocean — from Otaheite, the Me- 
diterranean, the coasts of Japan and Brazil ; from the north- 
east side of America, as well as from the coast of Africa* 
There are two separate places in this part of the country 
where these organic remains are found, and the one more 
curious in its productions than the other. Impressions of 
leaves are also found in the coal deposit. 

Emerging from this deep ravine, I regained the road to 
Bolca, and had another opportunity of witnessing stunted 
basaltic shafts encompassing, like a mural crown, the summit 
of the monntain on which the little church of Bolca stands. 
Numerous broken fragments of columns cover its steep flanks; 
and when it is recollected, that a space of between 1500 and 
2000 feet in height intervenes between the lowest basaltic 
developement exposed in the valley of Stanghellini and the 
top of this mountain, the circumstance gives rise to a train of 
interesting reflections, and naturally leads to the consideration 
of that disputed question among the geologists of the two 
leading sects which involves the aqueous or pyrogenous 
origin of basalt. Werner justly attaches great importance to 
the geognostic character of rocks, or the nature in respect to 
position which the rock bears to the accompanying substances ; 
and from basalt agreeing so universally in its geognostic rela- 
tions, many distinguished Wemerians have deduced the com- 
mon aqueous origin of all basalts. Now, though the fact is 
very generally correct, it is not unexceptionably so ; and, if I 
do not deceive myself, this circumstance relative to its situ- 
ation even were it universal, and without any exception, may 
be explained on grounds which its analogous resemblance to 
matters of unquestionable igneous origin, and its ordinary 
geol<^ical concomitants, will more feasibly bear out. D'Au- 
buisson, one of Werner's distinguished pupils, objects to any 
comparison drawn between specimens of basalt taken from 
extinct volcanoes and those found elsewhere in support of 
their common pyrogenous formation; but unreasonably, in 
my opinion ; for as well might any one object to characteristics 


taken from a corpse, in proof of its being of the human speeies. 
But to close with our position : the opinion I have formed of 
basalt is, that it has been propelled from below, not* by any 
sudden eruption, but in consequence of a prodigious force 
acting steadily, and from a great depth. A vast stream of 
molten matter, propelled onward by subterraneous Tolcanic 
power, and subjected to a high, increasing temperature, in 
expanding, would first raise up the general crust of earth that 
overlaid it, and, meeting with parts where less resistance was 
afforded than at others, mountains, in such situations, would 
be the consequence ; hence the parallelism of mountain chains 
of synchronous elevation : strata which formerly were hori- 
zontal, would be placed at every angle of inclination, and 
some placed even vertical. Now, whenever the force firom 
below was so great as to break through the surfiu», the basalt 
would, as a natural consequence, be found on the very sum- 
mit of such mountains ; and here, in fact, it is found ; lying 
over all other rocks, in those situations where its apparently 
anomalous situation has given occasion to so much ingenious 
discussion — I allude to the basalt to be seen so generally over- 
spreading the tops of the mountains in one part of Saxony. 

It has been urged by those who advocate the aqueous 
origin of basalt, that, if it had proceeded from below, it 
would not have pierced the surface at the very axis of a 
cone — precisely tfie spot which presented the greatest re* 
sbtance : certainly not, if the mountain previously existed ; 
but if it be the subterranean fire which raised the mountain 
itself, its summit would, as a mechanical consequence, be the 
very place where the basalt would find issues, since the apex 
indicates the axis of the greatest power. In some confirmation 
of this, it is a fact, that the basaltic-capped mountains in 
Saxony are tliose that are the highest ; the force below the 
other surrounding mountains not being sufficient to overcome 
their incumbent resistance to so great an extent, they hence 
shew a less elevation and no basalt.* Another circumstanoe 
which goes in support of the idea of basalt having been pro- 

* Humboldt observed vast masses both of porphyry and basalt on the 
summit even of the Andes, the latter in enormous vertical columns. 


traded from below, is, that it not imfreqoentl j encloses portions 
of the rocks it penetrates. The basaltic columns of the As- 
cherhabel enclose fragments of sandstone; the body of the 
mountain consists of the same rock. Portions of limestone are 
not uncommon, and likewise organic petriiactions, as turbinites, 
giyphites, &c. Shells even, and impressions of shells, have 
been found ; all which are easily accounted for, in supposing 
them involyed when the basalt in a fluid state was ascending 
to the BuHace. D'Aubuisson, a Neptunist, mentions circum- 
stances markedly eyincing the fSsict, that the basalt overlaying 
the tops of the Saxon mountains, after issuing from the aper- 
ture made through their apex, spread itself on all sides. The 
summit of the Stolpen, he tells us, is covered with basalt. 
In the court-yard of the castle which stands upon it, a well 
has been dug through the basalt 290 feet in depth, although 
the exterior thickness of the bed at its edge in only 130 feet, 
— a fact proving a greater depth in the centre. The summit 
of the Luchanerberg is formed of a cone of basalt, exactly on 
the apex of which there is a sinking six or seven feet deep. 
In the basaltic platform which forms the summit of the 
Meisner, in Hessia, a cavity exists which has been described, 
and disputed, by different geologists, as being the crater of an 
extinct volcano. Without professing to have seen this de- 
pression, may it not have been formed in the same way as I 
conceive the cup on the top of Monte Nuovo, at Baise, to 
have happened, that is, after the basaltic matter had been 
ejected on the platform, and the force from below had ceased 
to act, the fused mass sunk on cooling in the direction of the 
aperture whence it had issued, and thus left the cavity ? 

It is in this way that I think many of the Puys in Anvergne 
were formed. These volcanic hills rest on a plateau, and, 
from the description given of them by Mr. Scrope, I am 
inclined to infer that the main mass of lava, of which they are 
composed, was thrown up fix>m an abyss, and not ejected 
from the craters ; and although a few of them may have con- 
tinued in action for some time after, they shortly became 
extinct for want of pabulum — limestone and water. 

A teuct of a somewhat analogous nature is mentioned by 


the same candid observer, D'Aubuisson, of columns of basalt 
shooting up from another basaltic platform of a mountain, the 
name of which I have forgotten, and diverging outwards, like 
radii, from a centre; indicating by this the spot which gave 
vent to the molten matter. Most of the basaltic mountains in 
Saxony have the form of a truncated cone ; on the troncaticm 
lies the basalt. When this pyrogenous matter (for so I must 
call it, agreeably to my belief) finds a free and disencumbered 
exit, it spreads amorphous over the surrounding surface ; firom 
cooling under a less pressure it gets a granular structure, and 
then usually obtains the name of greenstone ; but as it dips, 
its character changes, and it gradually passes into basalt. 
The hornblende and felspar, of which basalt chiefly consists, 
not being able to separate so readily into distinct crystals, are 
blended together, and are kept so by the more gradual cool- 
ing of the liquid mass; and by the incumbent pressure of its 
own weight increasing the farther it dips from the surfiuse. 
Hence it is, that often, while the surface is amorphous, the 
more central part assumes a crystalline, that is a coluomar 
form, (a fact which the Meisner exemplifies,) wherever any 
chasm or fissure exposes its interior structure. D'Auboisson 
compares it, in one place, to wood piled in a timber-yard. 

The prismatic form of a basaltic column must be ad- 
mitted to be a crystallisation ; and although not unifi>nn in 
the number of its sides, seeing the process on so colossal 
a scale is liable to so many unwieldy obstacles, a colunm 
of basalt is, I conceive, nevertheless a crystal. The most 
usual form is a hexagon ; others have only five sides ; some 
only three ; and others, again, as many as seven or eight ; 
so that it is difficult to affix, with certainty, its precise 
form. Crystallisation, as every one knows, only takes place 
under certain circumstances, and the more or the less these 
are favourable, by so much will the perfection of the process 
be modified. In all the columns of basalt which I have 
examined, apparently having but three or four sides, two 
or more narrow faces were to be observed, like the edges of a 
bevelled crystal, thus evincing the effort the process made to 
approach the perfect form of the crystal, whatever that may 


be. It seems essential for basalt, when it assumes the 
oolumnar form, that it should cool in the most undisturbed 
and gradual manner ; and it is from this necessary circum- 
stance, I take it, that arises the distinction between basalt 
and lava, in the manner of enclosing the crystallisations they 
contain. In the former, the crystals are known exactly to 
occupy the cells which enclose them ; whereas those found in 
lava often lie so loose in the cavities they occupy, as to make 
a rattling noise when shaken. But when we consider the 
difference of circumstances under which the process occurs, 
the matter is not so difficult to account for. Lava, when 
ejected, being exposed usually in a broad sheet to the open 
air, and under no pressure but that of its own weight, con* 
tracts irregularly ; basalt, again, is pressed upon all sides by 
the rock it has pierced ; its stitte of fusion, by cooling, gradu- 
ally condenses as it ascends, and penetrating the sur&ce in 
this yiscid form, it spreads itself sparingly and reluctantly, 
exposing a less surface to the atmosphere ; and hence, by 
contracting gradually and uniformly, it closely embraces th6 
crystals whidb have separated from the general mass. 

It has been ui^ged by those who advocate the aqueous 
formation of basalt, that while the upper part of the column 
consists of true basalt, the inferior is often composed of a 
clayey substance ; and as the latter is of aqueous origin, the 
Neptunist infers so must be the superincumbent basalt; but 
this, I apprehend, is not a necessary sequitur. Clay, we 
know, is a matter very commonly ejected by volcanoes; 
indeed, Humboldt, as we have cited before, mentions volcanoes 
in Quito that eject little else : we have seen it in abundance 
in the neighbourhood of Radicofani and Castel-Gondolfo ; and 
that these two substances should pass into one another by 
imperceptible gradations, admits of a ready solution, by con- 
sidering that the power which protruded both from below 
would naturally mingle the clayey with the ftised basaltic 
matter which had immediately preceded it. Hence comes 
the transition not unfrequently observable in basaltic columns, 
first of clay into wacke, and the latter into basalt ; in fact, 
the wacke in all such situations is merely an intimate admix- 

A A 


ture of the two other ingredients.* Were they merely sedi- 
mentSy as the Wernerians believe, how happens it that the 
substance of the greatest specific gravity and least solulnlity 
should always occupy the upper part of this deposition ? 

Considering it necessary that basalt, if the product cl 
volcanic agency, should partake of the nature of the rock in 
which it is situated, the Wemerian advances, as anotho* 
objection to this supposition, the near identity of the chemical 
constituents of basalt wherever it is found. But if circum- 
stances make it probable that it is forced upwards from a 
depth beneath the rock it pierces, the homogeneous nature 
of different basalts is, perhaps, rather an additional confirm- 
ation of the truth of the opinion than otherwise. 

Although vestiges of volcanic agency are not every where 
seen where basalt is found, yet in many places the neighbour- 
hood to a distance more or less remote shews the action and 
effects of subterranean fire. The hot baths of Carlsbad are 
not far from the Meisner, and the pseudo-volcano of Epterode 
is but a league from it. We have spoken of the hot spring 
of Abano and Montegrotta, not far from the basaltic develop- 
ments of Bolca and Monte Matolda, and of the peendo- 
volcanic appearance of the whole range composing the 
Euganean hills. The baths of San Filippi, again, are close 
to Radicofani, where the effort made by this mountain, in 
vomiting forth so much blue slime, has not been sufficient to 
quiet the intestine disturbance in its neighbourhood ; whence 
else the earthquakes which are from time to time felt at 
Siena ? Coal, it may be further remarked, is very frequently 

^ The colomDs of the Scheibenberg are of this tripartite uatare. In die 
interior of the basaltic mass which lies on the top of the Pahlbeig, in Upper 
Saxony, prismatic columns are exposed in a gully of the mountains, standing 
vertical, and continue their form and position into the subjacent wacke. 

Wacke, I suspect, is a term sometimes applied without sufficient dis- 
crimination to a rock of both an igneous and aqueous IbmuUion, having 
resembling external characters. 

Where clay and basalt meet by the intenrention of what I would dianc- 
terise as basaltic wacke, we have the amalgamation of the two grand agents 
which conjointly have formed, in my opinion, all the phenomena of geognosy, 
fire and water. 


ibiind where basalt is. Both in Bohemia and on the Meisner 
thick beds of basalt are found alternating with beds of coaL 
Now, as coal is generally believed to be of ligneous origin, 
this fact introduces the Neptunist into an awkward dilemma, 
since each separate bed of coal bespeaks a successive ligneous 
deposit, and each varying bed of basalt a new deluge. Even 
Werner, mundicidal as his doctrine is, would have paused 
ere he drowned the world so often, to account for what no 
other portion of the neighbouring country could asiust him in 
sustaining. At Burrowstonness, in Scotland, greenstone alter- 
nates in a similar manner with coal. 

Beds of basalt also are found alternating with both lime- 
stone and sandstone, sometimes in very thin layers. This 
fact can be explained, and that without etraining probability, 
by supposing that when the fused basalt was being forced 
irresistibly from below, and almost equally compressed and 
resisted from above, it separated the limestone and sandstone 
strata, and insinuated itself betwixt them — a supposition 
which, from the form basaltic beds assume, comes in aid of 
the idea that basalt is a posterior formation to all the strata 
of the rock it alternates with, or penetrates and overlays.* 

* Professor Jameson, in his account of the island of £igg, one of the 
Hebrides, after describing the series of strata where clay-limestone, sandstone, 
basalt, and wacke, alternate, observes, ** all these beds are travened in 
several places by veins of basalt.'' 

There is a vein of basalt, among a multitude of others, penetrating pei^ 
pendicularly the calcareous sandstone of Strathaird, which is Utelf pierced at 
iit axii hy a smaller vein of basalt in a zig-zag manner. These basaltic veins 
are described by Dr. Macculloch as having descended dirough the sandstone 
from the coulto of lava effused above. But, with all deference to such 
authority, I think the &ct of the vein being itself pierced through by another, 
shews that the issue had proceeded from below, and the zig-zag form of the 
inner one proves it. The laiger vein, I conceive, having become partially 
cooled and condensed, so resisted the impulse from below as to throw it into 
the serpentine shape it takes, which incumbent pressure simply would have 
been incompetent to effect, since that could not have exceeded the weight of 
a column of basalt equal in length to the depth of the coulee only, and in 
diameter to the transverse area of the vein itself— a power quite insufficient, 
in my opinion, to overcome the tenacity of the condensed column it had to 


It is in this manner, I conceiyey that alternations of sbell- 
limestone and basalt are formed ; and not as D'AaboissoD 
would force on the Volcanist, by calling up from '* the vasty 
deep" alternating sub-marine eruptions and marine organic 
depositions. It is in this way that I account for a matter of 
pyi-ogeneous origin being found alternating even with rocks 
of undoubted aqueous formation. Basalt has sometimes been 
found in contact with coal, and yet the latter has shewn no 
marks of combustion ; when fragments of limestone, also, get 
impacted in lava in a state of fusion at some d^tb, they 
retain their carbonic acid, notwithstanding the intensity of 
the heat, from the magnitude of the supeijacent pressure. In 
the instance of the coal, again, if the suffusion of the liquid 
basalt over its surface took place so rapidly as to exclude the 
atmospheric air from between the points of contact, no com- 
bustion, it is evident, could ensue : but though it has been 
ascertained that such is sometimes the fact, we know of others 
where, when basalt has come into contact with ooal, the 
latter has been converted into coke and soot.* At Kenbaan 
basalt is seen insinuating itself between beds of chalk, con- 
verting it at the point of contact into granular marble. In 
the island of Raghlin, in the north of Ireland, veins of basalt 
traverse both coal and limestone-chalk, where, in the latter 
instance, the sides of the chalk contiguous to the basalt are 
converted also into fine granular marbles.f 

But I daresay the general reader, at least, is tired of so 
much about *' chucky stanes.'^ My object has been, in the 
foregoing digression, to endeavour, with becoming deference 
and reservation, to bring together and reconcile two hostile 
elements, fire and water, and their several advocates, the Nep* 
tunist and Plutonist, into co-partnership in the construction of 
the rude skeleton of this world of ours ; for it is my humble 

* Vide an account of Walker's Colliery in the 4th volume of the **Gtih 
logical Transactions." 

t Vide 3d volume of the same. 


eoQYictiony that ntiless it be through an Ignaqueous Theory 
we shall never arrive at a true system of Geognosy : — sed 
i diverticttlo ad viam — let us trot. 

I think I said that I left my hostess in the valley of 
Stanghellini without waiting breakfast, thinking that I could 
break my fast at Bolca ; but in this I was disappointed. At a 
little shop where some fifteen or twenty shiUings would have 
boij^ht all their stock in trade, I expected at least to find 
bread and wine ; but they had none at all of the latter ; and 
the baker, poor fellow! had his house full of his family lying 
sick of a fever, and so I could get no bread. When I heard 
of the fever — for very hunger and exhaustion caused me to 
go myself to see if I could get any thing to eat — I made a 
hasty retreat, glad to escape from a possible sphere of in- 
fection. On getting back to my first quarters, the people of 
the house had contrived to procure a couple of eggs and a 
morsel of bread for me ; and as I sat eating my scanty meal 
with my back imprudently turned to an open window, an 
icy coldness seized me in the spine, making me shudder from 
head to foot, aud ran down it like so much ice-water. The 
sensation was too peculiar and violent not to warn me of 
some impending disease about to attack me ; so, to drive off 
the chill and avert it, I swallowed a little of some vile spirit 
they had in the house. The spirit, bad as it was, removed 
the alarming sensation I had experienced, and, lest it should 
return in a place so devoid of all comfort, I was now desirous 
to get to some other, where, if I were to be taken ill, I might 
command the necessaries, if not the conveniences, of life. 
This untoward accident was the cause which prevented me 
from knowing with what the strata of coal situated in the 
flank of the mountain over the Pescaria alternated — a point 
I had before been anxious to ascertain. 

The road from the wretched village of Bolca ascends for 
about a mile, when you leave the basaltic soil, and come 
amongst mountains composed wholly of . limestone. After 
winding round their summits among diverging pathways for 
two miles farther, you then begin to descend the Monte 
Diavolo — no sobriquet , I can assure the reader, for it is so 


roughy precipitonSy and rugged, that it is no less than the 
devirs job to get down it. Had there been nothing certain 
to locate the Tartarus of Virgil^ an antiquarian topographist 
might safely have averred diat the path down Monte Diavalo 
was not the ^^facilis descensus Ayemi ;*' for of all the ** high- 
ways and by-ways" I eyer travelled — and many a ragged 
one I have paced — this was certainly the most diabolical. 
It is tortuous, stony, narrow, jagged, three-oomeredy and 
almost perpendicularly steep, obliging you to ding to some 
Sisyphoid fragment of rock above, before you can arrive 
on one still more unstable below. Three &tiguing mflea of 
such precipitous descent at length brought me and my knap* 
sack on the strada regidi^ when I regained composure and 
breath, to bestow at my leisure Paddy's blessing on what he 
does not like — its namesake's ** luck" to the mountain. I 
now found myself only eighteen miles from Verona, where 
I arrived in the evening. 


This ancient city is divided by the Adige into two unequal 
parts. It was founded by the Etrurians, and is said to take 
its name from that of one of their most illustrious fiunilies — 
Vera. Verona was one of the largest cities in Italy in the 
times of the ancient Romans, being able to furnish 50,000 
soldiers ; a fact not so impossible, if Tadtus is to be credited 
when be tells us that Osteglia, which is now thirty miles off, 
was one of its suburbs, and that it contained a population of 
200,000 souls — its present population is 70,000. 

The dty of Verona stands in a plain terminated by the 
Apennines, and is naturally strong and advantageously nta- 
ated for defence: it presents a majestic appearance at a 
distance, and the country surrounding it abounds in com, 
oil, wine, and cattle. The town is clean, and built after the 
Grothic or modem -Roman style ; and, by being an entrep6t 
between Italy and the other side of the Rhetian Alps, it 
has more of the bustle of business than is usual in other 
Italian cities. 


After inBtalling himself in an hotel, the grand and inter- 
esting remain of art which it has so long been the object of 
ererj traveller's curiosity to see, the Roman Amphithbatbb 
at Verona, engages his attention first. This noble ruin still 
retains its ancient name of Arena, and having been repaired 
at the expense of the city, its interior presents the most perfect 
example of an ancient amphitheatre extant. There are forty- 
foar ranges of seats for spectators, the uppermost of which 
takes in a circumference of 530 paces, and the longest dia- 
meter of the ellipsis of the arena is 233 French feet, which, 
with the thickness of the walls and corridor included, gives 
474 feet for the extreme length of the building. Nothing 
now remains of the outer walls but a fn^ment, consisting 
of four arches ; but it is - sufficient to indicate its original 
grandeur and beauty when entire. A portal 26 feet high 
opens, at each extremity of the larger axis, into the in- 
terior, where the visitor finds the arena occupied by scaf- 
folding, on which all kinds of farces and harlequinades are 
daily performed; — a conversion due to the French when 
here under the First Consul — that of changing a spot origin- 
ally appropriated to scenes of blood into one of laughter- 
loving, broad-faced merriment. 

I went to the opera in the evening ; and it was whilst 
listening to a beautiful performance of Rossini's Semiramide, 
that I experienced the return of the fiend that shook me to 
the back-bone at Bolca. I thought at first that I had only 
got the fidgets ; for, attractive as the performance was, I still 
kept in a perpetual round of antics — stretching out my legs, 
drawing them in again ; now shifting to the right, now fiicing 
to the left ; in short, changing my position every minute, and 
yet being uneasy in all. At last, from feeling so uncom- 
fortable, I left the opera before the performance was over, 
and retired to bed. But I only shifted the scene of my ail- 
ment, not its action ; for I had not been long there before I 
found myself in a high fever, and became seized with a sort 
of rational— the worst of all deliriums, I take it; for if a 
man is to be foolish, it is as well not to be sensible of it. I 
thought that the room was too small for the bed, and that 


this crushed me on all sides ; I expected no less than to have 
been made brawn of before morning. It was of no use 
reasoiiinij: with myself, for I tried that all night long, by ask- 
ing myself, how came the l)ed to be in the room if the latter 
was not largo enough to hold it; or how came I, ego, into. the 
bed unless there were room enough in it for me ? Such inter- 
rogatives quieted me only for a second or two, when tlie 
former idea would revert as strong and impressive as before. 
1 prayed for daylight, to relieve me from the false persuasion ; 
at length day broke, and with the darkness the painful hal- 
lucination vanished. I got up about eleven, notwithstanding 
that I felt as if my brain were bound round with a cord, and 
crawled out to see the Tombs of the Scaliger Family, 
princes of \ erona, V>efore it became annexed to the Venetian 
republic. They are to be found outside of the church of Sta. 
INlaria Antica, near the Piazza Signori, and are in the form 
of sepulchral temples, ornamented with statuary in armour, 
and are extremely fine specimens of the ancient Gothic. 
Here, also, the visitor will see other tombs and sarcophagi 
— one of a Count Xogaro, as old as MCCX. Hence I went 
to another ancient Gothic structure, the Cuurcii of San 

The Church of Saint Zin, as it is familiarly called, is 
situated near the Porta of the same name, and aftbrds 
samples of rudeness of sculpture not often to be met with. 
The visitor has onlv to ol)serve that which was meant to adorn 
each side of the front portal, to see from what barbarous 
beginnings an art of so much sul)lime beauty may regenerate. 
On one i^ide you have represented the history of our Saviour; 
on the other, that of our first father: remark the sinsrular 
idea of the creation of Eve, — the scul[>tor has joined our first 
parents together by a common umbilical chord! The bronze 
doors of this })orch are not less singulaily executed : among 
nrany other representations of events, a Crucifixion, and 
that of Christ's Entkv into J kri salem, l)afile all descrip- 
tion ; they are so rudely and even ludicrously executed. The 
interior of this church possesses ol)jects not less curious. To 
the right as you enter you see several rude statues of apostles 


and saints; and in the tribune there is a curioas and very 
ancient canred wooden Imagb of St. Zin, in a sort of movable 
altar, and seyeral as rude frescos. One of these represents 
St. Gborob on Horsbback, and a female standing by. The 
knight, with the gallantry of chivalry, totally neglects the 
dragon, and allows him to make a tooth-pick of his lance, 
whilst he the while is casting sheep's eyes on the damsel. 
On the left yon see a Crucifixion, which seems as old as the 
time of Cimabue ; and there are two paintings in the choir, 
which, though much injured by time, shew considerable 
talent : the one to the right is an Adoration of thb Magi ; 
that to the left, Christ disputing in thb Tbmplb — a paint- 
ing which, in the cast of its composition, puts one in mind of 
Raphael's School of Athens. 

I now found myself so fatigued and exhausted with the 
little exertion I had made, that I was obliged to return to my 
hotel in the Corso ; and about seven the same evening the 
exacerbation came on, and forced me to bed. The halluci- 
nation of the preceding night haunted me again the whole of 
this, and disappeared, as usual, at day-break. The fever ran the 
same remittent course for the next and the two ensuing days ; 
when, during the fourth night, a hot, clammy perspiration 
broke out, but in partial spots, than which the cold and clammy 
sweat of death could not, as I conceive, be more horrible. 
However, I was somewhat better in the morning, and it was 
not until forty-eight hours after that my friend again visited 
me ; but, as is not unusual in the world, my old friend had 
got a new face ; in &ct, I was taken with a regular fit of the 
ague. Leaving myself, therefore, to shake in my shoes, I 
will give the reader some notice of a visit I paid in the pre- 
ceding interval to the Duomo. 

The Cathedral of Verona, another Got]^ic structure, 
contains several fine paintings,* and, among others, the cele- 
brated Assumption by Titian. This is one of the many which 
the Louvre was obliged to dbgorge at the restoration of the 
Bourbons in 1814 : it is over the first chapel to the left on 

* See the Catalogues. 


entering. The second and third chapels on the same side 
contain paintings by the Chevalier Liberi ; and opposite, Ae 
visitor will see a Transfiguratiok and a Last Supper hjr 
the warm pencil of Ugolino, a modem. The tribane of th» 
church forms a handsome ellipsis, the architecture of whidi 
is by San Michele ; and on its dome you see an Assumptioit, 
by Francisco Turbido ; a boldly conceived and well-execoted 
fresco. Herei also, you find the ashes of Pope Ludas III. 
whose fortune is denoted by the following simple inscription : 


Verona possesses other remains of antiquity besides the 
Arena. In the Corso, the traveller will find the arch that 
has taken the name of Gallienus, although the better-informed 
antiquaries ascribe to it a date antecedent to the time of 
this emperor; and there is another to be seen in the Via 
Leoni — that of Gavi, erected, as some think, by Vitruvins. 
Vitruvius was a native of this city ; and one of the bridges 
across the Adige, which he constructedi still bears his name. 
Verona, likewise, has the distinction of numbering among its 
natives the elder Pliny, Catullus, and Cornelius Nepos ; the 
Emperors Vespasian, Titus, and Domitian, were also boni 
here ; and one of not less note than any of them, Saint Peter 
the Martyr. Talking of something relative to the church, 
puts me in recollection to mention a circumstance of con- 
sequence to the fame and honour of this good city. 

As many towns have striven with pious and landaUe 
industry to obtain possession of some relic or other of value, 
Verona is not behind the other places in Italy so blessed ; for 
it can, or at least could, boast of possessing the carcass of the 
identical ass on which our Saviour rode when he entered into 
Jerusalem ; and the story of the possession, which the good 
people of Verona tell, is as follows: — The ass, it seems, 
when given '* the keys of the field," that he mi^t pass the 
remainder of his days as he wist, wearying, it would appear, 
of rambling about Palestine, took it into his head to travel, 
as, indeed, many of his kindred and posterity do even to this 
day : he must needs see foreign parts, and, by way of novelty. 


Neddy preferred going by sea. But how to accomplish this 
was the crttar, for the reader mnst know that there were no 
steamers in those days ; when, all of a sadden, and without 
any hyperborean assistance, the waves flattened as if by a 
smoothing iron, and the liquid element became hard as crys- 
tal. So Neddy walked forth on his travels ; and after having 
visited, for so the legend verifies, the islands of Cyprus, and 
Rhodes, and Candia, and Malta, and Sicily, he ascended the 
Gulf of Venice, and tarried on the very spot where that city 
now stands ; but finding the country aguish, and the pasturage 
indifferent, Neddy shifted his quarters. Taking the route of 
the Adige, instead of going by land, he at length arrived, 
dryshod, at Verona, and there abided. After living in great 
credit for several years, Neddy at last went the way of all 
flesh — he died one day ; an event announced by a lamentable 
and universal braying over the whole land : never before was 
there a more melancholy melody heard at the funeral of 
any ass like unto this, not even in Arcadia I Divine honours 
were paid to his relics, which were religiously preserved in 
the belly of an artificial donkey, to the long and great joy 
and edification of all good souls. This sacred bijou is, or was, 
kept in the church of Our Lady of the Organs ; and the holy 
statue, with its still more holy entrails, used formerly to be 
carried in procession by monks in full pontificals on the 
lamentable anniversary of poor Neddy's death — a ceremony 
which, I regret to say, the lukewarm piety of tho age has 
caused to be discontinued. 

I, too, finding the country aguish, was desirous of shifting 
my quarters ; so, after stopping the paroxysm one period by 
a little quinine and a whole bottle of wine, taken about a 
quarter of an hour before the expected attack, I shouldered 
my knapsack once more, and trudged on towards Milan. 

The reader must pardon the n^ligencies and ignorances 
of this part of the tour ; for I was now anxious to get out of 
Italy and homeward, for other reasons besides my state of 
health. On arriving at Brescia I had a relapse of the ague, 
which prevented my seeing the celebrated crucifix which is 
in the church of the Dominicans, called the Orifiamnuif the 


identical one, we are asanred, that appeared in the air to 
Constantine the Great, when on the point of engaging in 
battle against Mazentius. Lately, also, they had 

some ancient substructions and statuary here ; but I was too 
unwell to visit them. Between Brescia and Milan we eras 
the Adda. On arriving at the latter place I was again laid 
up by a relapse, which detained me there for five weeks 
before I could renew my march ; for though my constitation 
was somewhat shaken by the long-continued fotigne I had 
undergone, my resolution was not a whit ; and I was as de- 
termined as ever to put down my knapsack at Calais alone 
— or drop by the way. 


A tertian ague leaves certain intercolumniations of time 
exempt from severe suffering, which, though short, allows 
space for some imperfect remarks and observations, the result 
of which I shall now give. 

Milan, the largest and finest city of all Cisalpine Gaul, 
was founded by the Etrurians, who, having crossed the Apen- 
nines, established themselves in this part of Italy, and founded 
the ancient Mediolanum about 587 years before the Christian 
era. This name, it is said, was given to it, from a sow being 
found half covered with wool {i stie dimidia lanata) on the 
spot where Mediolanum, the modem Milan, now stands.* 

Like some other cities in the north of Italy, it has been 
subjected to frequent reverses of fortune. Brennus, the 
leader of the Gauls, who took and pillaged Rome under the 
dictatorship of Camilla, reduced it to ashes in his track of 
devastation. Attila razed it to the ground a second time. 
Eusebius, archbishop of Milan, rebuilt it ; when the Goths, 
about a century afterwards, overturned it once more, and 
drenched its ashes with the blood of 30,000 of its inhabitants. 
Milan, as if possessed of the never-dying vitality of the 
phceniz, again rose above its ruins, prouder and more power- 
ful than ever ; when, choosing grossly to insult the empress, 

* '' £t quae lanigerft de sue nomen habel/' — SidoH* Apol. 


wife of Frederick Barbarossa, by making her ride through 
the city with her face turned to die tail of an ass, he besi^ed 
and took it, in 1162, razed it again to the ground, and, 
passing a plough over its site, he sowed it with salt ! In a 
sum, Milan has been besieged above forty times, taken nearly 
thirty times, and four times totally destroyed. 

Modem Milan is said to contain 300,000 inhabitants ; it 
is ten miles in circumference ; possesses thirty-two colleges, 
and two hundred and thirty churches, ninety-six of which are 
parochial ; and its population consists of a Babylonish medley 
of Italians, Grermans, French, and Swiss. 

The principal lion of Milan is its Cathedral, which the 
Milanese call the eighth wonder of the world ; and great 
cause for wonder, certes, there is about it, when it is recol- 
lected that it was begun in 1386 and is not yet finished ! But, 
to my taste, it is one of those examples of elaborate archi- 
tecture that do not please. It wants grandeur of effect, and 
excites a sentiment not more elevated than that produced by 
a Chinese pagoda in ivory — its innumerable points and pin- 
nacles are so finical, and its infinity of fret-work is absolutely 
teazing. There are above 4000 statues, it is said, placed 
without and within this great Gothic edifice. On the grand 
altar you see a temple of solid silver, supported by six 
Corinthian columns of the same metal, at least six feet in 
height, under which stands the tabernacle. The outside of 
the choir is adorned with bas-reliefs, and several of them are 
good : one is rather singular in its representation of the mar- 
riage in Cana — the company appear all intoxicated. Imme- 
diately under the grand altar is the Chapel and Tomb which 
enclose the body of St. Charles Borromeo, richly ornamented 
with bafr-reliefs chased in massive silver. There are a few 
good paintings in this church : one wherein two angels appear 
dictating the Apocalypse to St. John ; another representing 
David*s triumphant return from slaying Ooliath ; and a 
third appeared to me to depict the scene described in the 
26th verse of the 68th Psalm. The two last are organ pieces. 
There is an excellent bronze figure by Aretin, on a monu- 
ment to one of the Medici in the right transept. 


The Church of St. Dekis contains the body of 
who, after his decapitation, walked with his head under his 
arm from Montmartre, so called finom being the place where he 
suffered, all the way to the town of St. Denis, which took its 
name from this miraculous circumstance. Yet in such diffi- 
cult undertakings we have good authority for believing '* c'est 
le premier pas seulement qui coiite." It was brought to 
Milan by his successor in the archiepiscopal see, St. Ambrose, 
where, if chronicles are to be believed, it continued to perform 
the most surprising marvels. It opened its own coffin — niee 
upright, having its head still under its arm — saluted St 
Ambrose — asked the news — and, on laying itself down again, 
politely bade him good-bye. 

The Church of St. Eustorgb once possessed the bodies 
of the three Magi : they were removed to C<dogne when 
Barbarossa destroyed the city, but the coffins remain; and 
they likewise shew a piece of gold which made a part of 
the offering presented to the infant Jesus in the manger at 
Bethlehem. Here also you see the Tomb of St. Pbtbb the 
martyr : it is of alabaster, and contains his body, but without 
the head, for that is enshrined in a tabernacle of crystal. 

The DuoMO has likewise its relic — one of the nails used 
in the crucifixion of our Saviour, which Constantino the Ghreat 
had made into a horse's bit. This invaluable piece of rusty 
old iron is held in the highest veneration, and was happily 
discovered by St. Ambrose himself, who was told in a dream 
that he should find it in the shop of a dealer in marine stores 
at Rome. 

The church of the patron saint of Milan, St. Ambrobb, 
also deserves a visit, although the Milanese have not always 
treated their patron with the respect due to such especial 
protection. When the French army was descending the Alps 
before entering Italy, St. Ambrose was applied to to avert the 
menaced invasion ; his statue in bronze, in token of com- 
pliance with the solicitation, extended its arm ; and the 
faithful inhabitants, confiding in the miraculous sign, believed 
that the invader could not enter Milan. What was their 
astonishment when they saw the hostile army approach the 


town — enter the town — quarter in the town? What did 
not St« Ambrose deserve ? Why, they, for thus deceiving 
them, actually committed the statue to prison for the mis^ 
demeanour! The church of St. Ambrose contains the brazen 
serpent which Moses animated in the wilderness, and which 
the king Ezekias broke on seeing the idolatrous Jews wor- 
ship it : the blows of the hammer which the king gave it are 
still visible. 

Several councils have been holden in this church; and 
it was here that formerly the emperors of Germany were 
crowned with the iron crown as kings of Rome. Some even 
of these kings lie buried in this church ; among others, the 
blessed St. Sigismund, king and martyr. In the library of 
this church is the original manuscript of Josephus's history, 
written on papyrus. In one of the chapels of this church St. 
Aug^stin was baptised; and it was on the way to the font 
that he and St. Ambrose composed the beautiful and well- 
known canticle {Te Deum)y "^ We praise thee, O Grod ! we 
acknowledge thee to be the Lordl" — each sin^ng an altera 
nate verse. 

A relic somewhat different from any we have been lately 
speaking of, is to be seen in the Church dbllb Grazie — 
Da Vinci's celebrated fresco of the Gem acolo. It adorns the 
walls of the refectory ; but I despair of being able to give any 
idea of this sublime composition, and shall not attempt it. 
Fortunately for posterity — for it is much defitoed and fast 
going to destruction — Morghen, in his well-known engraving 
of this fresco, has snatched it from total perdition ; and to 
this I must refer. The traveller will find the Ghurch delle 
Grazie near the Porta Vercellina, in the vicinity of that of 
St. Ambrose. 

Disabled by sickness, I did not go to see the Cabinet of 
Paintings adjoining the Ambrosian library, nor the Gallery 
at the Brera ; nor did I visit the Lazzarbto, nor hear the 
famous echo at the Casa Simonetta. 

Goitres I observed to be common in Milan, and agues are 
rife throughout all Lombardy. 

By this time I had again succeeded in putting a stop to 


my agae ; and having had, too frequently of late, nothing 
eke to contemplate except the disagreeablenesB of my own 
Bensations and their rationak^ whilst under a paroxysm of 
ague, I may mention, for the information of the medical 
reader, that the first thing I felt peculiar, giving me a distant 
intimation of the approaching fit, was a singular sensation in 
my inside among the viscera supplied with nerves from the 
ganglionic and spinal plexuses; and this I felt some time 
before what are usually reckoned the preliminary symptoms 
— oscitation, horripilation, or any other 'eUion whatever. This 
was followed by a sense of movement and flatulence within 
me. Shiverings passed over my frame, succeeding each other 
at short intervals, till the whole muscular system became in- 
volved in one general and violent tremor ; and yet the pecu- 
liarity was, that from the first shiver to the full establishment 
and completion of what is usually denominated the cold stage, 
I experienced no sensation of cold. The weather, I may 
observe, was now excessively hot ; but the fact proves this 
much, that the muscular tremor in the first stage of an ague- 
fit is not necessarily connected with or occasioned by a sense 
of cold, but may be independent of, and unaccompanied by 
it. I underwent the ordeal so repeatedly — I directed my 
attention to the fact so carefully — and was so surprised at a 
circumstance not known or acknowledged, as far as I am 
aware, by the faculty, that I speak positively of this patho- 
logical phenomenon. But it is time to throw physic where 
Hamlet did, and with it the ague — ^bad luck to it for teaching 
me so much ! 

Letters which I received at Milan had acquainted me 
that, during the latter part of these travels, 

** La parque i la sourdine avait diablement fil6," 

which made me anxious to get homeward. The reader, 
therefore, who has so long been my fellow-traveller, must 
merely cast a glance at the beautiful Lake Maooiobb ; at 
IsoLA Bblla, its terraces, cypresses, and orangery ; at I sola 
Madrb, and at the different villages he passes through, 
situated on its border — Avona, Sesto, Bavbmo. 

l'homme est Ni: pour souffrir. 369 

The night I got to Domo-Dossola I had the luck to 
sleep in a bam instead of a bed, by one of those accidents 
which had occurred to me before when in better health to 
bear them. Not perfectly aware of the extent of my weak- 
ness, and thinking I could walk faster and farther than my 
enfeebled strength permitted, I got once more benighted. 
Obliged at last to give up all hope of reaching Domo-Dossola 
that night, for by this time I was ready to drop, I put up at 
a bam I found open by the road-side about one o'clock in the 
morning, not without a strong apprehension that I had tra- 
yelled out of the right road. As I crept cautiously forward in 
the dark to explore where I could lie down, I expected every 
moment to be seized by the collar by some clumsy mastiff 
or other, so set to coaxing the imaginary brute, as I kept 
nestling myself snugly in among the straw. When daylight 
broke next morning, 1 rose to reconnoitre, and found, to my 
surprise, that my quarters had been taken up in the very out- 
skirt building of the very town I was so long in search of 
the night before. ^* Fortune de guerre !" quoth I ; '^ so 
again let it pass — L'homme est n6 pour souffrir. II pleure 
en naissant ; en grandissant il est sans cesse contrari6 ; et c'est 
un pauvre h^re s'il n'a pas le bon esprit de rire de tout cela." 
Some people are born and bred up in a barrel, and see no- 
thing of the world except through the bung-hole. 

The route from Domo-Dossola to Isbll, at the foot of the 
Simplon, is exceedingly interesting, and gradually increases 
in beauty and grandeur of scenery the nearer we approach 
the centre of the Alps. The morning I ascended this Titan 
the weather was sultry and lowering. A storm was evidently 
brewing in the clouds. It began to blow in violent gusts, 
and flashes of lightning darted in splendid and rapid succes- 
sion from all parts of the horizon. As I neared the village of 
Simplon, a sudden darkness overcast the sky, and I thought 
it best to seek shelter from the impending storm under a 
cavern which I perceived to the left of the road, and just 
above me. After clambering on my hands and knees, I 
gained the shelter I sought on the steep of the mountain, 
when, all of a sudden, the lightnings became more vivid, and 

B B 


ria?lieil !io near as to dazzle and blind me for an instant ; 
poels of thunder followed, and seemed to roll in gigantic 
masses over the vault of heaven ; the wind blew with fright- 
ful impetuosity, and the rain descended in floods, as if a 
superincumbent ocean, become too heavy for longer suspen- 
sion in ihe atmosphere, had broken dow^n the equipoise, and 
threatened to ingulf the world in a second deluge. IVature 
appeared on tire, with Beneficence trying to extinguish it. 
The violence of the wind tore oaks and pines up by the roots; 
and the torrents of water w hich rolled down from the heights 
swept their splintered trunks over the precipices, along with 
detached masses of rock and earth thrown together in pro- 
miseuous confusion. In the midst of this din of elements, 
mv ear was startled bv a clangorous sound of a bell. Tis for 
a \\eddinij:, peradvtMiture ? and what may we conclude from 
the music, tor that is discordant enough I or hope from the 
accompaniment, for it blows a hurricane ? Tis, perchance, 
a sunnnons to church, to ))ropitiate Him who rides the storm t 
Angels! open the gates of heaven, and let also my prayer 
reach the thix)ne of grace! Tis perhaps the annunciation of 
death — some one is called upon to render in his account be- 
fore the tribunal of his ^luker .^ — O! merciful God, when 
put in the balance let none of us be found wanting! On the 
winirs oi' the w ind thou sendest forth thv wrath : the universe 
shudders in terror of an impending judgment : darkness and 
light are indiscriminately blended together as before sepa- 
rated by thy tiat I — One more peal and the sky brightened; 
llie storm Ux^an to abate — the iiiiu fell in lessened torrents — 
the wiiul subsiiltxl ; but loud peals ot thunder continued at 
intervals, Kaeh mountain and valley •* had found a tongue" — 

•* V'.viv. ;VAK '.o ;xMv I'l-j ra'/.I.r.^ cra^^s among 

and, ivnducttxl by mviue to ravine, it soemeil as if the giant 
sentii\els of the Al^>s At leni;th Nentured to pass to each other 
the iv-assurir.i; wcitch-woi\l- -•" All's welll'* 

I !e>uvv'v\l niN uuuvh. ar.vl ou arrixin:;: at the village of 
^*iMriv^>. I I'ouuvl thai iiwas the tiiunder that had caused the 


tolling of the bell. An Alpine storm is a very delightfiil 
spectacle^ no doubt^ but only at the opera, I apprehend, where 
the thunder is made by the help of double-block tin, and the 
hail and rain by small shot ; then it is enchantingly horri* 
tying — ** m&nstrau8 fine/' indeed ; but when the scene is laid 
on tfie summit of an Alp, and the spectator crouched in a 
low and shallow niche in the mountain's side, the affiur is 
somewhat changed : here you have the terribles in wasteful 
abundance, and in all their unshackled sublimity — but none 
of the comfortable delight. 

On the high Alps the traveller will observe a difference 
in the appearance of the sun ; its disk seems less, and of a 
dazzling whiteness ; but its brilliancy, though vivid, is less 
radiant. The stars shine with purest light, without the scin- 
tillation which, in the plain, distinguishes them from the 
planets, and the moon seems closer to the earth, wading 
through a sky of the deepest azure, far behind which the eye 
stretches its prying gaze, and loses itself in the ocean of space. 
During summer, night does not obscure the summits of these 
mountains, and, from the bottom of a valley, you see them 
tinged with purple long after sunset ; and loi^ before his 
rising, the morning-star announces his coming by a rose- 
coloured blush, beautifully tinted by the silvery reflection 
from their ice-dad sides. - 

On such elevations the clouds are often observed floating 
under your feet : you stand above the wind ; for whilst the 
storm may sweep along the sides of the very mountain on 
which you are, the most perfect serenity shall reign on its 
summit. This I had an opportunity of witnessing on the 
morning I started to descend the Simplon. The sun had 
already mounted his car when I rose, and as he drove up 
heaven's steep, he threw his golden rays in sheets on the 
mountain tops, whilst the valleys were yet sunk in murkiest 
shade, the playground of a storm that raged below me. It 
is amid such sublime scenes as these that one's ideas fly 
towards the Almighty Creator of wonders so beautiful and 
grand, and, struck with religious terror, the mind assumes a 
Druidical cast, and worships the sublime deity of the storm. 


Porc'hed on the frn<j:nic!it of a rock that commanded a virw 
of the coh^^sal scene nronnd, my train of thought insensiMv 
reverled inward, and I shortly found my self ponderinfr over 
a comparison hetween the idleness of my occupation, a sick 
and solitary wanderer in the Alps, and the more lionourahle 
position of those of my accpiaintances engaged in what is 
consiilered the more rational pursuits of life : and then I 
tluniLiht of their voluntary shackles, and their formal duties — 
of liie unavoidable luinovances of society — of the solicitude? 
o{ ambition — of the fictions of vanity — of pleasures that, 
like the crah-apple, are red on the cheek and sour and ronirh 
at eort^-M)f the thir>t of gold — of the constant need and 
>is\phoid toil of amassing it — of the necessity of economising 
ii, until, the need ceasing, the habit becomes a disease, and 
thi* toil a lit'e-ammity — of the requisite distrust among men 
\\\\K\ covetous of others' goods, encompass one another with 
snares of deceit and falsehood ; and then 1 thought of tlie 
chamois and his excursive, careless freedom — and I thoujxht 
of the life 1 led, and how the Fates, in moments like these 
I now enjoyed, spin the thread of life in fillets of bur- 
ni-iliod gold I 

Tivm the top o( the Simplon you descend, with a rapid 
and easy j>ace, to the town of Brigg, situated at the upper 
t \trt inity oi' the \ alais. At Sign, about eight posts from 
Ihigg, tlure are t>No Ciuious epitaphs in the cathedral, on a 
man and liis w ife o( the name of Supersax, running thus : 


\^.v^. MccifLXxiirr. 

//:.• fi.''." sistc iifiiiUi'n tnortti/i nuditurc viator . 
Ixisi , h."/ sitt,>: risctfd uiof fc J'ii:eiit. 
r.: -'ii-'t : •! i: {'.".'/.< \ "^ v\0 sul> ruiH' y?//V.NT(> : 
>.'i''.',» I'l .'ti '/.v ovnii'i t'l'iiniit cmrit ift r. 

thi tbe other side of the chapel, on the right, you read : 

>".'...'(• r/'i. F.\ >>//■<•/',•; >/^<//i» rijrcttiti Unfruni. 
//.•i »v//.'/, >!u nti s, }itct(>r<i lotid ct/htnt, 
Nn\\ Ni pj u si<tttis idct't /lie iiiltura viiorunt^ 
\ 'J?', '::.'»»• »•/(•/«.< sdxm ^^wx tii^it. 


In his way to Martigny the traveller is struck with the 
prevalence of that enlargement of the throat, among the 
inhabitants of the towns and villages he passes through, 
called goitre, and of those unfortunate beings who scarcely 
can claim kindred with humanity, known by the name of 
cretins. Writers on these two diseases have contented them- 
selves, for the most part, with translating Foder6's opinions, 
without examining the subject for themselves. One after 
another tells us the old story of the effect of drinking snow- 
water in producing goitre, forgetting that this disease is very 
prevalent in places where no snow-water exists.* We need 
not go out of England to prove this — a goitrous enlargement 
of the thyroid gland is so common in Derbyshire as to have 
obtained a name from the county — the Derbyshire neck. 
The same diseased enlargement prevails on the banks of the 
Severn ; and I have observed it not unfrequently in almost all 
the towns and villages on those of the Thames, firom Walling- 
ford down to Marlow. Many analogous facts prove that a 
moist veA foggy situation favours the appearance of this dis- 
ease, as river-sides when shut in between hills, as in England, 
and narrow valleys encompassed by high mountains, as in 
those of the Swiss and Tyrol Alps. Females are known to 
be more liable to this disease than men. Another singular 
&ct is, that though they be small in females whilst they re- 
main single, goitres are observed to become much increased 
after marriage by child-bearing; and, to evince the influence 
of situation on this disease, it is a known fact, that in instances 
where the disease had made but little progress, females who 
pass the summer on the mountains lose this deformity, which 
re-appears as soon as they descend to live in the towns and 
villages in the valleys. 

Many writers have entertained the opinion that this glan- 
dular enlai^ement on the neck, and the state of idiocy called 
cr^tinbm, were connected. Foder^ thought so, and his 

* Wlience is the snow-water to come from in the Isthmus of Darien, for 
instance, where goitres attain a size so enormous as sometimes to descend to 
the waist ; or in Sumatra, where the same disease prevails, and no snow is 
ever seen ? 


copyists have continued to repeat the idea ; bnt the casual 
coincidence of two facts establishes no necessaiy connexion 
between theniy for with as much reason might a person con- 
nect goitre, which is so yery common a malady in Switzer- 
land, with any other disease of the country : eyen Sanssnre 
speaks of them as of one and the same nature. But if so, how 
comes it that so many thousands affected with the one disease 
(goitre) should not shew the slightest indication of the other 
(cretinism) — whose goitre shall be monstrously large, and 
yet their intellect perfect and unclouded? The circum- 
stance solves itself; there is nothing bnt an accidental re- 
lation betwixt the two diseases. Cretinism, in its oom- 
plete state, presents one of the most humiliating spectacles 
human pride can well contemplate. The cretin's countenance 
unites all that is most hideous and disgusting: his face is 
broad ; his cheek-bones yery prominent ; his nose flat ; his 
mouth large, and mostly open ; his lips thick ; his eyes small, 
dull, and immoyable ; his forehead low and reclining ; his 
complexion earthy, and somewhat livid ; and, what is cha- 
racteristically peculiar, his occiput is yery broad, and descends 
perpendicularly on the back. The he^ht of the cr6tin seldom 
exceeds four feet and a half, — some are a foot less ; his flesh 
is flabby, and yet he is generally voracious ; his gait is tot- 
tering, and he sustains himself in the upright position with 
difficulty : he scarcely ever moves of his own accord, bat 
remains as motionless as a plant or an oyster. Cretins hare 
eyery sense obtuse : they are frequentiy bom deaf and dumb, 
or with their lower extremities paralysed ; in short, a perfect 
cr6tin, this *^ Ban Atne de Dieu,** is a more stupid being 
than the lowest of the brute creation. The above description 
applies to cretinism in the extreme ; but there are varioas 
grades of it, from that wherein the unfortunate being seems 
to possess the outer form of his species alone, to those in 
whom reason is more or less developed. Some, as I have 
said, are quite dumb, and almost senseless ; others can only 
articulate sounds; others can mutter a few words; whilst 
some can be taught by imitation to perform a few of the 
simpler offices of husbandry ; some even marry. This dread* 


fill affiictioD only attacks infancy ; and a child who attains 
tea years of age without being affected, is considered ever 
afterwards exempted from the disease. Strangers, though 
under the age of immunity, who settle in the places obnoxious 
to cretinism, are never attacked, but their children are as 
liable to it as those of the older inhabitants. A melancholy 
instance of this exists in the entire family of the landlord of 
the Hotel de la Tour, at Martigny, they being cr6tins, though 
neither he nor his wife are natives of the Valais. 

Those of the inhabitants who can afford it, sometimes send 
their children to the mountains until they are ten or twelve 
years old, in order to avoid the disease ; and some even send 
their wives when pregnant to the villages on the heights, to 
be delivered — precautions, it is said, that are followed by 
the happiest results. In all the valleys of the Tyrol these 
equivocal beings — half human, half brute — also abound. I 
heard of a fiimily at Saltzburg who had, out of eight children, 
six cretins among them. In the plains of the Tyrol, the com- 
putation is, that of a population of 12,000 souls, from 170 
to 200 are cr6tins, and the proportion greatly increases the 
deeper you strike in among the valleys. I was told of a little 
isolated village not &r from the town of Saltzburg, which was 
entirely peopled by these hideous abortions of humanity. 
With respect to the probable cause of this endemic malady, 
several have been assigned, as goitre, snow-water, drinking 
the stagnant waters of the hollows, a humid atmosphere 
pent up between mountains, and acted upon by the sun : 
but without disputing the power of all or any of these to 
induce an unh^thy state of the body, and hence of the 
mind, I am of opinion that more may be ascribed to the 
influence of indolence, to the want of intdlectual exercise and 
education, to the powerful effect of hereditary transmission, 
and particularly when all these are backed by excessive 
intemperance in one or both of the parents in the use of 
q[>iritnous liquors. Talking with the master of the post-house 
at Sion on this subject, I was surprised by the information he 
gave me of how much the women in this valley were addicted 
to the vice of drunkenness. They distil here a villanous 


spirit from potatoes, which the poorer classes of the valley 
consume in incredible quantities. What then are we not 
justified in ascribing to such a pernicious cause ? When con- 
ception takes place under a state of inebriation, and that, too, 
habitual, is this to produce no bad efiect? Is the infant to be 
suckled on milk imbued with the same deleterious liqnor 
with impunity ? I once knew a case of complete and incurable 
idiocy brought on in a child by the nurse giving it spirits to 
quiet it ; keeping the infant thus constantly stupified by 
intoxication, the brain, the organ of the mind, became 
paralysed. If my information with r^ard to the fact is 
correct, I think we may safely admit habitual intemperance 
to a share In the production of cretinism. 

I left my knapsack behind me at Martiont, and walked 
by the route of the Col du Midi to view Mont Blanc, in the 
valley of Chamouni. The road to Chamouni is truly Alpine, 
and the scenery, at the same time, both romantic and horrific ; 
where the horse-path winds by mountain flanks, covered with 
dusky pine-trees, and over precipices, with the moantain- 
torrent rushing below. As the valley opens, the scene 
becomes theatrical : you behold the verdure which carpets 
the valley contrasting with the eternal snows on the sur- 
rounding mountains, with forms so proud, gigantic, and 
haughty. Here, your eye is caught by pinnacles of ice 
shooting up in every fantastic shape, representing towers, 
and obelisks, and pyramids, shining more resplendent than 
the purest alabaster; there, a nascent stream creeps from 
under a glacier, or, dashing down through a thousand cure- 
vices, it plunges from iceberg to iceberg, when, re-uniting 
its brawling waters, it tranquilly conducts them through the 
valley, as a swan its brood of young. The pasturage on the 
mountain's side was clad with flocks and herds, the valley 
below with cultivated fields. At every turn of the road a 
new prospect opened : the sunshine of the valley changed for 
the glassy lustre of some ice-capped height ; now the dark 


shadows of a forest socoeed the gay flowers of a smiling 
meadoWy or all at once the scene presented the horrors of an 
Anstic deserty where mountains lifted up their supercilious 
headSy endrded with ice-bound coronets, while their base 
was encompassed by a vast extent of solid ice, and their 
ravines with glaciers, giving to fancy the picture of cub 
Nature yet unlicked issuing from the womb of Chaos. 

The hotels at Chamouni are deservedly reckoned two of 
the best on the continent, for here the traveller meets with 
all he can reasonably desire — good beds, good fare, and 
obliging attention. 

I slept the night at the foot of the highest mountain in 
Europe ; and early on the following morning I sallied out 
to view Mont Blanc, Montant-Vbrt, the Mba db Glacb, 
and the other lions of the vicinity. But these are objects 
which have been so often virited, that it were needless in me to 
attempt to sketch what leaves the most pictorial imagination 
so infinitely behind to figure even in its most shadowy outline. 
I may merely say, that the evening prospect of the general 
scenery pleased and impressed me the most, when seated over 
the glacier from under which the Arve steals into life, beneath 
a canopy of sky of deepest blue, with regions of snow of the 
most dazzling white over my head, the lofty summit <^ Mont 
Blanc to my right, and the glacier of the ** Mer'^ at my 
feet. Silence reigns here in her most frightful guise, amidst 
terror and solitude, unless when broken by the night-screech 
of birds of prey, or the breaking loose of an avalanche. 

Next day I started on my return to Martigoy, and, con« 
trary to the advice of the landlady of the hotel, 1 took the 
route by the C!ol db Bavmb, instead of the one I came. 
Although the day was fine in the valley, yet, from eertain 
appearances cognisable only by the practised eye, the good 
lady predicted a storm on the mountains, and the event 
proved she was right. The valley is subject to dangerous 
hurricanes in the spring and autumn, and they are still more 
terrible on the heights. The winds engulfed in the deep 
ravines, and confined among chains of rocks, escape at times 
in gusts so violent as to take the breath away from the tra^ 



Teller caught in their trad: ; and when a fall of snow is 
joined with these gusts of wind^ which it often is, it darkens 
the sky. If the traveller stops, he dies of cold, or is buried 
under the storm ; if he proceeds, he is in danger ewerf 
moment of falling over some precipice. Part of this scene 
actually occurred. When somewhat more than halfway up 
the mountain, I was overtaken by one of the hurricanes I have 
alluded to, which drifted the snow in clouds from the neigh- 
bouring pinnacles, and at the same time a sleety rain fell in 
abundance. Lest I should fall into some ravine, for I now 
could not see the way before me, I took refuge from the 
stonh, as much as a hea{^ of stones piled up for the purpose 
by some shepherd-boy, as I supposed, afforded; and when 
under the lee of such sorry shelter I became sensible how 
easy a matter it was to be made to die in such a sitoatioii. 
Had the season been ftirther advanced, or had the storm 
continued for some hours longer, I might have had an oppor- 
tunity of inscribing my own Hie jacet on the cairn, without 
farther trouble to my fiiends ; but the wind abating, and the 
drift ceasing to fall, I gathered myself up, and sought the 
summit of the col. Here I found the skeleton of a house 
intended as a place of refreshment and shelter for travellers, 
but which had never been finished. The rain continued to 
pour down in a torrent, and I was wetted to the skin when 
I arrived at a miserable cabin at the bottom of the next 
valley. Here I dried myself, and got what little they had to 
give me to eat, but not without paying rather exorbitantly 
for it. As the day advanced, the weather became finer, and 
I arrived betimes in the evening at Martigny. 

And now my journal must draw to a close ; for though 
it is many a long mile hence to Calais, the weary way, as 
soon as we get into France, offers little to merit remark. 
I arrived at Geneva by the usual route of St. Maurice, 
St. Gingo, and by the beautiful shores of the lake. I suffered 
a relapse of my ague on the way ; and as I sat on a stone 
by the road-side, patiently shaking out the cold fit, it recalled 
to my mind what I had said of Guido's Beatified Spirit, and 
about the manufacture of snow-drift. This accident detained 


me at the Couronne for ten days. I crossed the Jura ; got to 
Dijon; thence to Paris. Here again I had a relapse, and 
was detained a week : at length, arriving at Calais, I laid 
down my knapsack, the old and faithful companion of my 
way, of the contents of which my fellow-traveller, the gentle 
reader, has now seen more than the douanier who examined it. 
From him, however, I must now part, — with my knapsack 
I never will ; for if a pillow of down should fail to put me to 
rest, I'll try the virtue of my friendly knapsack, that hath 
so often before extracted the ache from my throbbing temples, 
and soothed me to sleep. — A steamer next day landed me at 
the Tower. 



[The Author, haying lost, by accident, some small part of his Notes, has supplied the 
deficiency in these few instances from Martyn and Vasi ; but requests to guard 
*' m>m being considered as Touching for their accuracy.] 

Paintings, &c. in the Museum. 

Although tliere are eighty-nine Paint- 
iDgs of the French school here, few 
are by masters of any great merit ; 
among the best, I may note— • 

Joseph recognised by his Brethren, by 

A Storm, by Himry,a pupil of Vemet. 

The Adoration of the Shepherds, Por- 
trait of Ninon de I'Enclos, Portrait 
of Madame de la Valli^re, — all by 
Pierre Mifpurd. 

The Coronation of the Virgin by the 
in&nt Jesus, by Pierre ParroceL 

St. Francis imploring God to put a 
stop to the Plague of 1641, by 
Ettenne ParroceL 

Jesus with Martha and Mary, and a 
Presentation at the Temple, by Le 

No. 90 marks a krge Crucifix in ivory, 
which finely depicts the agony of 

Italian School, 

A Pieta sustained by Angels, by Cara- 

The Building of the Ark, by Bat- 

Charity, by Paul Verone$e, 

A Village Marriage, and David with 

the Head of Goliath, by Hannibal 

The Assumption of the Virgin, by Xu- 

dovico Caracd. This painting is 

placed on the ceiling. 
St. Bruno, founder of the Order of the 

Chartreux ; St. Anthelmo ; St. Ros- 

solina ; St. Hugh (Hugo), bishop of 

Lincoln,— all by Daniel, 

The Guardian Angel, by Domenichino, 
The Visit of Mary to Elizabeth ; the 

Birth of the Saviour ; the Adoration 

of the Magi ; the Presentation at the 
- Temple, — all by Gemignam, 
The Parting of Priam and Hector, by 

Roman Charity, by Guido, 
A Sibvl, by Uica Giordano, 
God the rather, by Lan franco. 
The Virgin and infont Jesus, by Carlo 

The Family of the Holy Virgin, by 

Cavaliers, by Gni/io Romano, 
A Hermit contemplating a Skull, by 

Salvator Rom. 
St. John writing the Apocalypse, by 

A Crucifixion, by Solimene. 
The Magdalen Penitent, by Domeni-' 


The Virgin and Child ; unknown. 

Flemiah Schotd. 

A Landscape, by Breughel. 

The Apotheosis of the Magdalen, by 
Philippe de Champagne. This paint- 
ing is also on the ceiling. 

The Assumption of the Viigin, by the 

The Stoning of St. Paul, by Jean Bap^ 
tiile de Champagne, 

Hercules between Virtue and Vice, by 
Gaspard Crayer, 

The Magdalen Dying, by Fimhomm, 

The Miraculous Draught of Fishes, by 

£neas at Carthage, by Laireite, 



A PtiL<ce on Death, by Quilltmct. 

rortr.iitsofLouis XIII., Ann of Austria, 
arid the issue ot'tliis alliance ; a Boar- 
liunt ; tlie Adoration of tlie Shep- 
herds ; the Fla'j:ellalion of Christ ; 
his Uesurrection, — all by Rubens. 

Kin.: David, by Stiihtrs. 

A Thilosopher reading by Lamp-light, 
bv Skaiktn. 

Portrait of the Earl of Stafford, by J'un- 

A Sea-piece, by Wi/minis. 
In tht Ante-room.among the sculptures, 
^t e two excellent bas-reliefs by Char- 

dine: one representing a Group ot 
Men and Women gathering Oliver ; 
the other, Fishermen and their Wives, 
with nets, fish, &c. : also a Votive 
marble Tripod, a beautiful Grc-^k 
Altar, the Tomb of Glaucias, be- 
sides several ancient Christian Sar- 
In the Bureau de Sdutc you see a bas- 
relief of St. Charles Borromeo ar- 
resting the Plague at Milan, by 
Puget ; and a painting, by David, of 
St. Rock praying to the Virgin to 
put a stop to a Pestilence. 

G E N O A. 


In ilie Catliedral, observe the Chapel 
of St. John the Baptist and the Sta- 
tuary, and that of the Holy Sacra- 
ment; the sculpture in the latter is 
by a pupil ofCanova. In the Choir, 
there is a bronze statue of the \'irgin 
and Child ; and in niches in the sides, 
fourcrand statues of the Evangelists, 
by FrnncaviUu. There is also a paint- 
ini: of tlio Crucifixion, by Baroccio. 

The Church of St. Ambrogio contains 
a superb Assumption, by Guide ; 
a Circumci<!ion, by Rubens ; Saint 
Francis Zavier preaching, by a pupil 
of Ouido ; and an Infant Angel ap- 
pt.iriui: to St. Ignatius, the founder 
of the Order of the Jesuits, in 
which RuUus lu\s introduced por- 
traits of himself and his wife. 

In tilt Cluirch oi tlie Annunziata, you 
>^i a Last Suj'per, by Procaccino ; a 

Paintings in th 

A Madonna and Child, and a Holy 

l\\'ni!\ . by Vivuiyck. 
Portrait of Anna BuUon, by the younger 

A Nativity, by Titian. 

A Sat\r and Ikicchante, by Castii:liimt. 

Aviam and Eve. by PriWurcino. 

The Ptirifaction of Phmeus by Per- 

scv.s. bv Liica Oiorduno. 
St. C aihorine. a Head of our Saviour, 

and ih.o Madonna, bv Carlo Dolce. 

Crucifixion, by Seotlo; a Flight into 
Egypt, and St. Francis in Ecstasy. 
Observe, also, the frescos on the 

In the Church of St. Stephano alle 
Porte, you find the celebrated Mar- 
tyrdom of St. Stephen, by the united 
pencils of Raphael and Giulio Ro- 

The Church of St. Francesco di Paolo 
contains an Adoration of the Shep- 
herds, and an Annunciation, by Cam- 
biaso ; and an Ascension and others, 
by Pa^i. 

There is a St. Sebastian, by Titian, in 
the sacristy of S. M. del Castello; 
and in the Church of S. M. in Canu'- 
nano, you see a Martyrdom, by CorA> 
JMaratta ; and St. Peter and St. John 
curing the Lame, by Dominico 

T. Palazzo Reale. 

Peter's Denial, by Caravafmio. 
TIh^ Deluije, by Jacobo Btissano. 
St. John the Baptist, by 11 Calahreu\ 
The Story of Olindo and Sophronia, by 

J.uca Giordano. 
In the Chapel of the palace you see 

Christ bearing his Cross, by Titian ; 

but the most noted painting of all 

in this collection, is a Noli me tan- 

gcre, by Paul Veronese. 

Paintings in the Di razzo Palace. 

A Tribute-Money, by Giiereino. 
PAx»a. In i>i.r'\tvo. An Infant asleep; Cleopatra dissolr- 

Al'ia^-r.n a);d the Ancils, by Casftf/o. wg the Pearl; a Vestal Virgin; and 

\ \ ; iilit mio F4;vpi. bv ]\i Pes<tro. the Grecian Daughter, — ailbyOf/'<A». 

l\^7\"u. by G.'uio 



A Naiad asleep, in landscape scenery, 
by Michael Angela, 

Portraits of Rubens and bis Wife, 
attended by a Baccbanal; the Mar- 
riage of St. Catherine ; and Judith 
with the Head of Holofernes, — all 
by Paul Veronese. 

A Noli me tangere, by Titian. 

A Flagellation, by Ludovico Caracci. 

St. Peler, by Han. Caracci. 

The Death of Seneca, by Luca Giordano. 

Joseph's bloody Garment, by Carlo 

Portrait of Philip the Fourth of Spain, 
and another of Himself, by Rubens. 

Portrait of Vandyck, by himself. 

The ceiling of the Second Room is 
ornamented with a fresco painting of 

Apollo and the Muses, by Piola. On 
the ceiling of the Drawing-Room 
you see a representation of Vulcan 
delivering the Armour of Achilles to 
Thetis, by JBofit. The paintings are 
by FranceschirUf Zanotti, Boni, and 
In another apartment you find some 
Portraits of the Dunizzo Family, by 
Vandyck; Christ appearing to the 
Virgin after his Resurrection, a St. 
Sebastian, and the Death of Adonis, 
by Domenichino ; Democritus and 
Heraclitus, by SpagnoUtto. The 
fresco on the ceiling is by Piola, 
and represents the Imprisonment of 
Mars in tlie Temple or Janus. 

Paimting3 in the Brignole Palace. 


An Allegorical subject, by Dominico 


A Female of the Family Brignole on 
borseback ; Portraits ; Christ bear- 
ing his Cross, — all by Vandyck. 


An Annunciation, by Lud. Caracci. 
A Praesepe, by Paul Veronese. 
Cbrist and the Money-changers in the 

Temple ; Death of Cato, — by Guer- 

Christ raising Lazarus, by Caravaggio. 
St. Sebastian, by Guido. 


The Evangelist St. Mark, by Guido. 
Adoration of the Magi, by the elder 

Vulcan's Forge, by Bassano. 

Madonna, Infant Jesus, and St. John, 

by Guercino. 
St. Peter repentant, by Lanfranco. 
Daedalus and Icarus, by Andrea Sacchi. 


Judith with the Head of Holofernes, 

by Paul Veronese. 
St. John the Baptist, by Da Vinci. 
A Tribute-Money, by Vandyck, 
St. Rock, by Domenichino. 
An Annunciation, by Paul Veronese. 


An Assumption, by Corregio. 

Jesus and St. Veronica, by Antonio 

Christ in the Garden, by Carlo Dolce, 
A Noli me tangere, and the Car of 

Cupid, by Albani, 
Several other apartments also contain 


The Pasqua Palace contains several 
excellent paintings : as, Cupids 
dancing, and the Hours, by Ra- 
phael; two Pietas, one by Kubens, 
the other by Sebastian del Piombo ; 
Bacchus and Ariadne, by the latter ; 
a Holy Family, by Da Vinci; Jug- 
glers, by Caravaggio ; and Portraits 
by Titian and Vmidyck. 

In the Spionola there is a Nurse and 
Child, by Han. Caracci; a Flight 
into £gypt, and a Magdalen, by 
Guido ; a Nativity, by Schidone ; a 
Holy Family, by Albani; a Pieta, 

and tbe Archangel Gabriel, by Carlo 
Maratta ; the Woman of Samaria, 
by Luca Giordano ; and a copy of 
the Transfiguiation, attributed to one 
of the Caracci. 

The Pallaviciki Palace contains, 
among many fine paintings by Va>^ 
dycky Albania SpagnoUtto^ Schidone, 
Strozzi, Caitiglione, and others, Ka- 
phaeVs celebrated Madonna del Co- 
lonna, and Rubens s Silenus. 

In the DoRiA there is a beautiful fresco 
of Jupiter and the Titans, by Ra- 
phael's pupil, Pierimo del Vaga, 

D D 



TlIF. Cathidr 

X'irijin, C'liil<l, and four Saiiils, by 

\ Muiii, C'liiKl, lliree Anucls, and two 

Saints, l)V Ira Hdi'tif/onii/mK 
A IU>uri(»t.'iion, by 0'///VA'//<M»f Lucca. 
An Annunciation, l>v Lnuiunlo da Pis- 

("hnsl between the Thieves, by l\is- 

Tlu.' Last Sn|:>pcr, by 'i'lntonttn. 

An Ail(uatu)n of the Maiii, bv /•'. Zuc~ 

A N.itiMlv, nioonbulit, bv rus^iniiuno, 

St. (Jeorm', liv lirmizino. 

Till' Ibrtli ol lla- \ nuni, by PaL'i:/. 

A \ iMt.ttion, by Jji:i>::i. 

An A«^Mnn))tion, by Si)/i da Siena. 

St. I'etronilla, ascribed to Daniel da 

I'idtt rra. 
St. Maitni dividing his Cloak, by 


Ai. (3/ar////j.) 

A Presentation, by Ah as. Bronzirjo. 
Tlie .hub^ment of Solonrion, lulaid i:i 

tlie rioor. 
The \ olio Santo, or Wooden Cnicinx, 

bei:un by i^icodtnius^ and hnislie-i 

]>y angels. 

In tlie ( iiL'ucii oy the ArM«»Tf>s 
you sec tlie miraculous iiuaue ul the 
\'ir'j,in, and the I)escensu> A\eria, 
and an Annunciation, by J'anni. 

I'AlA/.zo rriUKO. (Marff^n.) 
Hercules and Onjphale, by Luea Utor' 

A i>;jnker settling his Accounts, by 

A Hurt Durer. 
Tiie Woman of Samaria, by Gutrcino ; 

and aCoiicert, by Titian. 

In the Cm RCii or tmf Domixican 
Convent there is a fine Assumption, 
by Fra hartolommco. 

Paintinos in the Royal Palace. 

A Madonna, by Raphael. 

A Crucifixion, by M. Anptlo. 

A Head, by Corn gin. 

Christ healing the Sick, by Agostino 

Christ before Pilate, by Delia Nottej^c. 


Paintings, &:c. in the Cathedral T AJSl E. 

The ^lartyrdom of a Saint by three 

M(»or>, bv litnreuuti. 
St. l-r.incis explanniig the Doctrines of 

Christianitv, by Paitiii. 
St. \ incciit de Paul, the fomuhr of 

Poinidliiig llospiials, by (irdndo/fi. 
The Pniilinu ofliie Head ot' St. ,Inlin, 

bv Ctntmli. — ()l)Scive two an.:els of 

ineffable beauty in the sky. 
The Attributes of the Divmity, by Sa- 

The Holv Ghost descending on a Saint 

habited in Armour, embracing the 

bamier of the Knights of ALdta, by 

PasiiinantK — A jnunting remarkable 

for lis bold relief. 

1 Ll r I KANSri»T. 

The five following are by Aulirio 
Lonii: — Christ healing the Bbnd; 
Christ disputini,' in the Temple; the 
Adoration of the Shepherds ; the 

Adoration of the Maiji ; the Pre- 

s( ntation at the Temple. 
The Tomb of Cardinal Scipio, adorned 

with two tine statues of Faith iuid 

Not tar from thi>, on one of the pillars 

which supj)ori the dome, see a ^L\- 

doima and infant Jesus, of the school 

of Kaphael. 

THE ( iioin. 

The " Lux Mnndi," in gold mosaic, 
bv (iaddo C'laddi. 

Two large frescos, by Pit tro Sorri. In 
the one representing the Consecra- 
tion of the Cathedral, the mimerous 
figures are grouped without confu- 
sion, and the entire subject abounds 
ni beauties. 

Ciider these are four Saints, by Andrea 
dt I S^irto. 

Abraham and the Angels at Supper, 
bv (ihii landaio. 



Moses and the Serpent, by Rminardi, 
Moses striking the Rock in the Desert, 

by Lommi, 
The same subject, by Ventura SalimbenL 
Judith with the Ilead of Holophemes, 

by Oitavlo VanninL 
Abraham 's Sacrifice, by ilaxzi. This was 

returned from Paris at the Restoration. 
Moses descending from Mount Sinai, 

by Beccqfumi. 
Noah sacrificing on leaving the Ark, 

by Soliani. 


The Birth of the Virgin, by the Che- 
valier Curadi, 

Christ administering the Sacrament to 
St. Peter, a fresco, by Tempesti. 

A Cnicifixion, by Ghilherti. 

This transept is enriched with a charm- 
ing Virgin and Child, seated on an 
altar, with the Baptist and St. George 
on either side, and two female saints 
who kneel, bv Pierino del Vaga, a 
pupil of Raphael. Here you like- 
wise see the Conversion of St. Ra- 

nieri, by Benedetto Nuti; hisCuring 
the Sick on his return from the Holy 
Land, by Muratori; and his Death^ 
by Milani, The large sarcophagus 
on the altar contains this patron- 
saint's body. 


Over the altar of the Souls in Purga- 
tory you see a beautiful painting 
illustrative of the subject, out dis- 
figured by crowns of silver, by Do- 
menico Lorri. 

Near to this is a fine bas-relief of God 
the Father recalling to life and re- 
surrection his beloved Son. — His 
uplifted hand declares the fiat of 

Doctors transcribing the Scriptures 
from a volume upheld by an Angel, 
by Vanni. 

Tlie Procession oftheHost,byTeinpes/i. 

St. John the Baptist presenting a Cross 
to the Infant Jesus, with St. Jerome 
and St. Francis in the foreground, 
by Del Sarto. 

Campo Santo. 

The frescos which adorn the interior 
are forty-one in number, painted by 
some of the oldest masters of the 
Florentine school. The history of 
Job, in six compartments, are by 
Giotto ; the Assumption of the Vir- 
gin, by Simon Memmi ; the last Judg- 
ment, and the Triumphs of Death, 
are by Andrea Orcagna. Tliat re- 
presenting Dante's Inferno is by his 
brother Bernardo, All those on the 
side opposite the door of entrance, 
excepting the four first, are by £t- 
noMzo Gotzoliy and represent sub- 
jects from the history of the Old 
Testament, from the creation to the 
time of Solomon. — Remark the mag- 

nificent ancient sarcophagi, Etrus- 
can, Greek, and Roman. The frescos 
which ornament the western end are 
by the master of Michael Angelo. 
At the opposite end you find the 
principal chapel, which contains a 
Crucifixion, painted on leather, by 
Appolhnia Greco, in a.d. 1200, 
before painting in oil was discovered. 
Among the sculpture, note a Head 
of Agrippa in nero antico ; a bust 
of Hadrian in high preservation ; a 
charming head of Venus, of Greek 
workmanship ; and a miniature por- 
trait of Michael Angelo, by himself — 
you find it close to the entrance. 


Catalogue of the most remarkable Busts, Statues, and Paintings 

IN THE Gallery. 

Wolf-dogs ; Heads of Jupiter and 



Busts of all the Medici. 


Statues of Augustus, Trajan, and Ha- 
drian ; a glorious Apollo ; a Horse, 
(thought to belong to the Niobe 
group) ; a Wild Boar, behind which 
are two beautiful female busts ; two 

The Venus ; the Flayer of Marsyas ; 
the Dancing Faun; the Lottatori; 
and the ApoUino. 


St. John the Baptist ; Portrait of his 


■» r 

V - 

1 f 

AT.: __ _ 

. .1 ,-'. % 

: 1. 

- . r ■ 

/: - 

. ;■ 

< : 

^ - 1 ' f! ( 

■\ r _ 

t ... •. . r, 


-'-. • . . It !. : . \ : >:. i -I .>-.-, 

T ^ p. ; •-: r li - '. .- u/:. t. v 
1:. . i : >' J .. , V /.< .' : . /. 
I '.■ . 

T ►. A ' ru'. r: ot' •.' •: >!■«., 1 v J.^ -: 
/> •-. 

A:. A- .':-• '. ' , ' ^ J :-■ 3/.' ' ^" . 

: • N • ». V ' ! ' r. ^' . 

.i! i \1 •.: N A' ■■. ■ \ : ' ► 'w ^ ♦ n n\ t> (. i 


-••••_ • r [i :t'.. '. r' M • ^ rv >. i.c- 
* r- ; : I ' ri. i.z . hr i i of I a^ar ; 
>••■•• ' - : V '.:[■' \ ; .\ \> < of .'i;' i 
A.._- <'i: I <- vr;i.:nj lit. id ««f t' t- 
l"\ r»; • i: • . >« ; >!i'.'>c <.'f .m Ath- 
!-•.... : «■> ; 'i •►^. i' It «.'• .1 PritNt..>-i; 
!>• xt •" : . • .^\ Nt"o; ^tuiifiif !%>- 
i:. ■• .1 ; • f * '' M .--♦' rraui i ; a \ tiiMS 
( t ■ ' ': :\ : .1 \ A 'i -y ; a Mr rt un , n> 
(' i uf I o ;.');._ ret', ln>KLi.^ ajuii-e 
ill i.iH }, iini. 

A \ irj'n .n,d C iiiM, liy Ai'ditu Kt.o 
til i'i:i'(li'i, j'.iii.lfd ht-foif t!it' tiiii- 
tt--tir;i ft Mtiirvj ; N«unf ( iiulto>, d i- 
o(fi> \\\\< buiii in \'27'2^: an Annuii- ov., h\ Mtnimi, painted hi 1i;)3, 
iiiid t\t; luj litu"i t!ir |'r'>ji\-«iVf iin- 
provtjnent of lliu art; a clMrmiiii 
lir>ly Kaindy, In lyo^lictl/i (this 
artist died in li:*?;; l'haut\, by 
('iCiliimt Sn!<-t.Ji ; an oval j>aintiii'«\ 
hv tlu' ■ prMicil of A^'A//"/; 
St. Irani i<, by ( liitili ; a ALi»;dab^n ; 
ti ( rnc i.'ixion, bv I.orrnzit IJ/i/n ; 
\ vuxi'i 1- ^ifi^ ('n|)i(l, bv (/imanhi 
da Sdff Oioiiinni ; the Hilda! Nii^bt, 

and a Mother suckling her Child, by 

l"".r S.iT.e. 

A M-".':r\. <_>:" r.r.f.' aii^nal propor*'r^''<, 
i- M'-^s^nj.rof Hca\cn; Cup:<i lie- 
:\ .: z til- ( M.ds- 

L 'M'. (AIIFR'^, Cpf'i.iSlte to that Vj 

Tw . -'a'-irs o( .Mari:\n^. bound to a 
trTt. ar.d rr-ad) to be rlavt-il. .\t the 
';::'r •-r. i uMt.e (.i.dle^v you ><-f 
••- (.-'.-> < f ].>rnal Mrvp, l >ti- 
•-:/>'. '• '/.'"> Havul ai.'i Si .b-bn 

/-' ; A i'^ Co; ) in rnarble f^^t V.;^ 
_'. ■.;■ .f :..i; b.i<x.> ni and 

i \[N T INJ." IN lilt'* G AI I.tRY. 

S..- .1!. ( )ld .Man askin'.: Alm^, by 
L '.> . ; ii.d c'b>t.rve li»e nch and 
t.r.iri dr,>.jr.>, p<»rtriit"«, and ara- 
lt^(j'.e uina'Utrit^, wh.cli ei"nl)cllisli 
tilt (t\< ;t and ccii.n^. 

> lOfV IIOOM. 

r »- a .if^cTi'j ';on of the croup whicli 
irur.i r. i'!.».- to tins room, st'e the 
t»-\T. T:.o paintm-^s are : 

A Iv> f-lniir, bv S'iijiitt.<. 

A l»>it;li'-['>'C« , b\ iitii'tn.^. 

Tilt? Truinip^ial Kntry of Henr>' I\'. 

n. /b of A rl, b\ i'lir/it hHti. 

T.-e Fibril. nt'-it Utr, and two others, by 

Ht.;e aUo ob-^erve a fine semi-colossal 
In]-*! of Juno, and a Dying Alex- 

p. i:<iN7r r.ooMs. 
\st. — .hh'ni Jt Ih'loijnd's celebrated 

Ml rtniv. 
A Star .e of X'nlcan, Canli(pie). 
A \ tio;-, (on the corrt-'pondini: pe- 

dt >l d . 
Cupid m I\'tters. 
A sMi.dl H«T( nb's, drnnk. 
A small Anal«'niical Statue, exinbitin^ 

the laver ot muscles, bv 

( iL'i^fl. 

'2f/. — A ClnmcnK 

Stiitnr of an Orator. 

Ib.'ads of llonuT and Minerva, found 
in thf sea ii» ai" J.« ^horn. 

In a n.inH)\v e(irn(h)r otl* the Loxr. 
^.vI^.^u^ the Tnbune, see 
a Hu-it of Alaehi<i\el, executed in 
1 'll>."» ; soNeral by Liua <A Id Rol'ltia ; 
and, in partieul.jr, a uioup of Clio- 
ii>l(r>, b\ the .>aiht' a^tl^l. 



An unfinished Madonna and Childy by 

Michael Angelo, 
A Holy Family, by Rouellino. 
A Group, by Andrea del Verrocchio. 
Several specimens of good composition, 

by Benedetto da Rovexzano, (a.d. 

In the Room containing the Etruscan 

Vases, see a striking statue of the 

Genius of Death. 

Florentine School* 


The Infant Jesus asleep on a Cross, by 

Cristofano Allori. 
Judith with the Head of Holofemes, 

by the same. 
The well-known Magdalen of this artist. 
St. Francis, by his bnither Alexander. 

St. Peter and St. , by Dolce, 

St. John the' Baptist, (as a boy seated,} 

by Fontebuoni. 
St. Francis, (small,) by Cigoli. 
Head of Medusa, by Da Vinci, in his 

usual striking and peculiar manner. 

Snakes form the hair of the head, in 

the tangles of which toads are seen 

crawling about. 
St. Cecilia, by Dalle's soft enamel 

Two small things, from the voluptuous 

pencil of Zuccheri. 


The Last Judgment, by Angelo Allori, 

(11 Bronzino.) 
Mary*s Visit to Elizabeth, by Alberte- 

Joseph and Potiphar*s Wife, by Bi7/i- 

The Martyrdom of a Female, by Cigoli, 
St. Sebastian, by Razzi. 
The Good Samaritan. 
A Portrait of Himself, by Del Sarto, 
An Altar-piece, (en camaieu^ by Fra 


Lombardo- Venetian School, 

Massacre of the Innocents, by Douo 

A Sibyl, by Guido. 
An ^gis, by Caravaggio, 
Cupids shooting at a Heart placed 

against a tree, whilst Venus directs 

the sport, by the lovely pencil of 

Angels ministering to the Saviour in 

the Flight. 
Abraham's Sacrifice, by Ligozzi, 
The Angel releasing St. Peter from 

Prison, by Albani, 

The Stoiy of Toby, by Fagim, 
Diana and her Nymphs, by Solkneney 

in his highest finish. 
The Rape of Dejanira (fine), by Luca 

A Coronet of Cupids dancing, by Albani, 
Europa, by the same. Mounted on 
the back of the bull, and preceded by 
an eagle in the air, the love-sick fair 
traveraes the waves, surrounded by 
smiling Cupids, that seem like so 
many rose-buds tacked on the hem 
of her robe. 
A Virgin and Child, (small, but ex- 
ceeding fine,) by Han. Caracd, 
A small Landscape, by Salvator Bosa, 
Several Cabinet Pictures, by Allori, 

In the Room Aojoining — Portraits of 
Alfieri and the Countess of Albany, 
by Fabre, 

Theseus raising the Stone in search of 
the Sword, by Nicolas Poutwi, 

A fine Claude, 

Venetian School, 

Christ's Entrance into Jerusalem, by 

A Last Supper, by Bonifacio, 
A fine Portrait, by 11 Padovanino. 
Another, by Del Piombo, 
Dogs, by basMono. 
Venus lamenting over the dead Body 

of Adonis, by Bonvicino. 
The Conversion of St. Paul, by Por- 

A Holy Family, by the elder Palma, 
The Marriage in Cana, by Tintoretto^ 

(remarkable for its fine perspective.) 


The celebrated Mater Pietatis of Somw- 

A fine Head, by Francesco Francia, 
Faith ; Portrait of a Female holding a 

Crucifix in her hand ; the Virgin 

appearing to St. Anthony, — all by 

Carlo Dolce, 
The Redeemer, surrounded by young 

Angels, who present him with the 

emblems of his life and passion, by 

A fine Portrait, by Hannibal Caracci, 
A Monkey pediculating a Man, by the 

same. — Both seem to enioy the 

amusement ; one the feast, the other 

the extermination. 
Dido on the Funeral Pile, by Testa. 
Two Tribute- Monies; one by Cara^ 

vaggio, the other by U Cappudno. 

• 9 


% . ♦ t ) 

f '- * • ', 

~ V. •• I 'It \ ' • ','. .\ - ."••■!• .'"•- ■ ... I'' .•■.-. .r^.. ' . 

f:i« . ' s . • . ■ s. • .- ^,r: .- _ : ♦ ^r:. ".: t - :.:• - .;' -^ -rr ^*_' i 

•ill [»< 'F ff III''- 'i! *»,' .1 '■- •;• i,-^" I.n/..i_ 

Afi ■• !■« •• K Miiiiij.'r . i _•■ .'v t— .. ' ■ . 1 : 1 ■ ' r: 

»i(i\.t, /nil. (Ill, .iiitl J'.'. •»'cu:rL. Zt"^.:t .'■ ■':•.■ .: • . r r'- 

V i_'« I If III till. Ill r.n»- •■ . ■•' I*-. a: ./ . d 1* 

|li( I III in.iptiliMlitr, .iimI ir. •'«: 't'l'' *^.;"i:!»- . 

• ■I'M n f I NMiH-il> \(iM- \\u\M If,': \ .,L I l".)!' .1 w" ? . 

Mi.-.v .1'. Ko "f, oil »lii< li !•• r<T.:'.- s'" ,\ 

r»/. . I.: 

« i » 

1.- .,v • i >.:: 


. 1 

l\ ": Pi I'Mn, Di i»i( Ai 10 lo S. M -.:.: & ; 1 1 i . i,i. 

I' ^ » In.u h i> /r> . \\l iiiiu ilinr nuvrs, Tli'r O'T.J-''-'^ ."' itt r: - "* L' i "' 

^\ . . Ii I'iir,' liiluilio olilll (>(t«»- lljf- f :_"'.'. '•I'. I.- V- . ,^ - - 

.. I ! («'i III i«»i ir>|MHul,r.i( li iiK.JUfl- lijiir*.— ::. !».-'r.: :. *l '** ■ r i '. *. 

"I- ti I « li.ipfU. r»-' !<--'• r.'.r _' '.^^ i ■•^^ — --■ - l' 1 

I ' • MiMi II 'I'lciiit M. oli«.»TVf' S';i- A-^.».f Si',!., .ir<r '" •. L. :.■ . J. .■ • ^ 

i' t .« I ,Vanj«ll^l-, I'V Donillt //(i^ Tl.'; |) J.ri*ir._'> <_>* •.'.■i _""■:■_: _ -•- -Tr 

t. i;« I .ir«- :i J ..i^i .Suppc-r, hv Tl.'r ha>»- rt.l.t:f-« cr. Vt -;_*«t : "' f -. 

^1 ■ ' -.'i-ii I'.'illiu I I ; ill*' J)l-CIJ>lf-"» coliiTnu'j (ji '].(: c^:.-' '•■■r " k I*^' :.- 

:'. i .. ...J K.-, ifi'l lln- Mis-irni of the in III liii'i (h'V.'w :;..'•:«--. 

A. • »'!• -. *.v lit f ntirdino i'inntti. T\\ti Crufitix at t:.* r.-iil ;- ::- :* ' .- 

I .« *'..i\.A »•> toiiMM.iNil to St. /a- is l)v lit ntd( tto 'US M .-. , i- i : - 

, \ji-\.''\> «'t I Inriiicc, ;iii(] liis llircc StatiK .s <<\»zT *'.e i.".-' • i-., - 

1- •' •'• jr'-»r\»fl uiidtr flir altar ilifnUi. Jrnrned;'it- 1\ '• r. .: : :' >, 

: "-rit. Ijhi[i/i- Nai( njilianiis mh' an iiiituij'.ii«-fi P.-*:.. ;:. :^ir:.-.. 

••- .-.».'■ »!i-lii|., i»\ (tliihtrti. I)y Michael Aniztlo. 

•' - • *'••• inl.tith- nt the Holy ( )ii llu' pillar^ of the trib.rr^, i". : : ?: 

-V ■•--• t'l* liinii/r tl«)or of till' walls of tile u.T\e>, ^-^-i '^:\*:-:'i .:' 

*•••'•'•. *''i "^♦■« it ;» luihiir, the Apostles, Ml Tiicho. T -'. :' ^:. 

,j, i :> n R'll'ifi. .'amcs is by >V///.sf'ri/io ; Si. Mi*: is, 

-.ji ••♦c., ^*- Aii' with ft's- l>v i^Ci"; St. AndrtiW, hv fV—-- - 

-. . ..h.f,fi.UJ/<>, and the Fiat St. Tiionia*^, by i^ocri ; St. Jc-i.r i*c 

. .^.- :..:■: 1 pr'.H]i-y in archi- KvanjL,M-iist, by Rovezzaw^ a'.d 5r. 

Jariies the Less, by (iioratini Czi*.' 

.".•^•^ :•. '"♦j;'^ ^Qi? it is Optra. 

w ...V. •- ^ j|. ^. Crosx, The mosaic over the front entrance is 

- : •...»: i-*r i^ Ap.^Lin- by (/(/(/(/o Ga(y(/z,' and the six Stamps 

- ■ t -. i-..: .•' Ai-.'ri- ort pede^^tals are models bv tiie tol- 

i... : "1 -•.^"•juii I'lwirvj- celel)rated seuljttors : 

St. .Mmialo and St. Arit"mno, bv />w 

... « 

.^- • N , .^*' n :''< tr;»? rfnzi. 

- ^. , .V -. r*. <_-.» >h St. /anc»bi and St. I'odio, bv Fran- 

... ■..' '..^ -•:; rv- ctiriila. 

N ''/'/-v S'- St. Andrea Corsini, by J/iA)»/c) (/' ^-1/1- 

.--' x'«.v 11 L I'.a, TiiUdi : and 

• • St. ( iro. (TiiaU'erto, by (r/<». C'tnT/w*. 

i -'run. (.Ker the side, tow.ird> [liv C am- 

-». - '.i.Muit pr-el' I. s^e the .MartNuiom of St. 

^'•. •■-. . >>i'n [xeparara. b\ Rusiiiinnio : and over 

K , f- - t v" d»Kir op; osite, t[;e C'ouncd of 

." • , V 4.***/ ».. b'.oance, by B<itn>fii I*Oi:<^i. 



Baptistery of St. Johm. 

Over the principal entrance, ob- 
serve three Statues in marble, two 
of which, representing the Baptism 
of Christ, were begun by Sansovino, 
and finished by Virtcenzio Danti ; 
that of the Angel is by Spinazzi. 

Over the door opposite the Bigallo, 
see the Decollation of St. John the 
Baptist in bronze, also by Danti, 

Over that facing the column of St. 
Zanobi, the three bronze Statues of 
St. John disputing with a Pharisee 
and a Doctor of the Law, are by 

The Twelve Apostles, in the interior, are 
by Ammannato, excepting St. Simon, 
which was broken by accident, and 
replaced by Spinazzi. 

See under the arch of the tribune, and 
over the grand altar, a Statue re- 

S resenting the Apotheosis of St. 
ohn, surrounded by a glory of 
angels, by Ticciati ; also the presby- 
tery before the altar, rich in fine 
marbles, and adorned with bas-re- 
lief, by the same artist. 
lo the TRIBUNE is the symbol of the 
Saviour, with the following inscrip- 
tion in letters of gold : 

" Hie Deus ett magnut mitit quern 
denotat Agnus; * 

around which are the figures of 

Moses, the four greater prophets, 
and the three patriarchs, Abraham, 
Isaac, and Jacob. 

The Mosaic Dome is by Gaddo Gaddi, 
and represents the Last Judgment, 
the principal events in the life of 
the Baptist, the mysteries of the 
Redeemer, the history of Joseph and 
his Brethren, &c. 

The marble Statue of St. John is by 

Opposite the baptismal font, observe 
the Tomb of Baldassar Coscia, who, 
under the name of John XXII., 
died at Florence in 1418: it is by 

The Statue in wood of the Magdalen 
Penitent is also by Donatello, 

On leaving the Baptistery, visit the 
Bigallo opposite. This establish- 
ment is for the reception and care of 
orphans and children abandoned by 
their parents. 

On the facade are two ancient frescos 
of St. reter the Martyr preaching, 
and his delivering the Standard of 
the Faith to Twelve Nobles. Observe 
the paintings in the interior, by the 
sons of Ghirlandaio and the scho- 
lars of Giotto : also a Holy Virgin 
and Infant Jesus^ in marble, by 
Andrea Pisano, 

Church of Sam Lorenzo. 


The Ut to the fight, the Visitation of 
St. Elizabeth, by Veracini. 

2d. The Marriage of the Virgin, by 
Le Rous, 

3d. Si, l^urence, by Niccolo Las$i, 

4th, An Assumption of the Virgin, un- 

5th, A Crucifixion, with St. Francis^ 
St. Jerome, and the Magdalen, by 

6th. St. Jerome in the Desert, by the 
Chev. Nasini, 

Passing the naves, in the first chapel of 
the Cross, St. Creche, by Coiimo 

In the Capella de* Principi you see 
the Tombs of Julian de Medicis, 
duke of Nemours and brother of 
Leo X., and of Lorenzo, duke of 
U rhino. On the tomb of the first ob- 
serve the Statues of Day and Night, 

and, in a niche above, the statue of 
Julian. On that of Lorenzo, oppo- 
site, those of Twilight and Dawn, 
with his statue above; all by the 
chisel of the modem Pygmalion, 
Michael Angelo, 

Here also b a statue of the Virgin by. 
this great artist, between two saints, 
Cosmo and Damiano, the one by 
Montonoli, the other by Raphael 
da Montelupo, 

Next visit the magnificent chapel erected 
by order of the grand duke Ferdi- 
nand I., and designed and modelled 
by Prince Don Juan^ assisted by the 
architect Matteo Nigetti, 

Re-entering the body of the church, 
observe in the second chapel (in 
continuation) the Adoration of the 
Magi, by Girolamo Macchietti, 

Next the grand altar, on which stands 
the inimitable Crucifix, by John dc 




The new-born *' Sacrifice for Sin" in 
the Manger, by Jhllti Notte. 

Two ROOMS or PORTRAITS paintcd by 
the artists llieniselves. Among the 
crowd of celtjl)rate(l painters, note 
the portraits of Sir Josima Reynolds, 
Aii'^L'lica Kanrtman, Harlow, Ca- 
riova, /otVani, and the beautiful 
\ jjTt-e le IJrun. In one room lies 
the lIerinaj>hrodite, and in the other 
observe a superb vase from the \ ilia 
Medici at Home, on which is repre- 
setitcd, in bas-relief, the Sacrifice of 

The DroMO, dedicated 

This church is divided into three naves, 
to which three tnbinics of an octo- 
edrJcidform correspond, each inciud- 
inu five chapels. 

In the Mmnir Tniiii ne observe Sta- 
tues oftlie Evai»gebsts,])y Donattlloy 
in the four lateral chapels. In the 
centre chapel are a Last Supper, by 
Giovanni HalJucci ; the Disciples 
at lumnaus, aiid the iVlission of the 
Apostles, by Bernardino Poccttfi. 

This cha|)el is consecrated to St. Za- 
nobi, bishop of Florence, and his 
asiies are preserved under the altar 
in a inagniticent bronze sarcophagus 
of rich workmanship, by (thibcrti. 

In passing to the tribune of the Holy 
Cross, observe the bronze door of 
the sacristy, and over it a lunette, 
by Lvca dt/la liohhia. 

In the sacristy, see Angels with fes- 
toons, by Dovntillo, and the Flat 
Arch, deemed a prodigy in archi- 

The altar of the cross contains (as it is 
said) a large piece of the Holy Cross, 
and in this tribune are an Annun- 
ciation, by Zucc/icri, and an Adora- 
tion of the Magi by an unknown 

Observe the Iina'jje of St. Joseph in the 
chapel of this saint, by Ijyrenzo di 
Crcdi ; two lateral paintings repre- 
senting his Agony, by Marco So- 
derini ; and the Slarriage in Cana, 
by Giovanni Ftrrtfti. 

Here also observe Joscanillis Meridian. 

On the waiN of the opposite tribune 
you see two pamtings ; one, a Hirth 
of Christ, hy Pagnni ; the other, the\'i- 
sit of Mary to Elizabeth, by Naldini. 

Paint in ij;s which were being ofied in 

diflWent parts of tin Oalltrv. 
Flora, by Titian; a Madonna and 

Child, by Car to Ci^nani. 
Among the Etruscan va^es stands tie 
statue of the (ienius of Death, 

J^or. r, I A D E ' L A N z I. 
Donattilo\s ./udiih ; Cellini si Perseus; 

:\ui\ John dc Bolo<:nus Rape of the 

In front of the F^aea/zo \rfcnioyou 

sec M, Aitiielo\s Da^id, and h-indi- 

rie/li\s Hercules and Cacus, andhu 


to S. Mahia del FlOIlE. 

Tlie ornaments of the gallerj' and of 
the organ above, as well as the 
fiunires in terra cotta over the door, 
r<r[>re.'.entini; the Kesurreciion aiid 
Ascension, arc bv Luca della liobhia. 

The paintings of the trreat dome are 
bv Vassari and Zucchcn. 

The" bas-reliefs on the base of the 
columns of the choir are by -««««- 
wc/Z/and Giovanni deli' Opera. 

The Crucifix at the head of the choir 
is by Bemdttto da il/^//V/wo;and the 
three Statues over the altar by Ban- 
dtneUi. Immediately behmd this, 
see an untiinshed Tieia in marble; 
bv Ulichael Amselo. 

On 'the pillars of the tribunes, and on 
the walls of the naves, see Statues 0' 
the Apostles, in mches. That of M. 
James is bv ^Sansorino ; St. Mathias, 
bv Rozzi; St. Andrew, bv Ferrucct; 
St., by RcKzi ; St. John ^C 
Evangelist, by Hovezzano, a'?^ ?f; 
James the Less, bv Giovanni deli 

The mosaic over the front entrance U 
by GaddoGaddi; and the six Statu^ 
on pedestals are models hy the fol- 
lowing celebrated sculptors: 

St. Miniato and St. AuUmwo,^}'^ 

St. Zauobi and St. Todio, by »««" 
cavil la. 

St, Andrea Corsini, by Antonio d' Af^' 
nibale .-and 

St. (ieo. (iuallierto, l^y GiiK Cuccint. 

Over tlie side door, tow;jrds the C'an^* 
]>mella, see the .M.irtyrdom of S^* 
i^eparata, bv l^asinnano ; and over 
the door opposite, the Coinicil oi 
Florence, by Battista Pon^i. 


Fl^OliZvJS :^L -^L5i :l^^v 

"»: ir 

p *^ 

^ -- --•z: 

It _' 

^ k. 


11. xoarbu. twi 
r-TTTt~ tn< Hanrtsn 

• tticcnzu' J tan*. 
. 1^ r»\ ^mrna — ■ 

AO' o: :m. .mm lot 
kiSA HA. 2 Hint 

r^r: COUUnii O' SL 

r— ■- ^nu. Si Pnansft 
we: u^ ILa«, .an. m 

_ - T"*-!"*- AT'I"*! 

-»w 3: tne iTitFnoi.arf 

cr tut tnbime. 

AzfCXueoBs of Si. 

in a ?^ofr\ of 

titi preshv- 

ncfc m Jane 

-tfv 3fc i: •• w- ^- is^ -> ----T 

itten: !> tor tiir w»rrTm«M, «ni. 4-Mpt t\\ 

then norenu. 
On tlH- VkCAth. aPT m»» ajictrni n<^\M, 
OJ St. I'eMT iht- Aiamn )mw*^huu,. 
■nd his dehvmn? iJw Stiuuianl ui 
theFaitii u^l'welvt N.Uiit*^ l>h«sr^v 
tiu^ paminij^ m uh uutiim,h\ iix 
•cms ot dhirtanuau* min\ Un •* lu*. 
kis of ^TtnfM: ahK. n iJoiv \ uoui 
and Inknt Jeau, w luarhit., *i>v 
AmBbta Vttanu. 

Cettkcb ot Sax Lorekzo. 

in r 

o:' lilt V 


•IS v7 iatt. \ irrTTi, HB. 

• HI hi T 



^ m tue 

liK irr ciiaue o*" 

and. III a thc\h above . tUi tidiiir ni 
Juiuii. (It that 01 lu)rtu*xi» .H„u^ 

«tfc, thou- of iHlli-lil oiw, j,,.^,, 

Willi hi* stdiut aiM>v( nl |>^ |j„ 
cfiiseJ 01 tiH moutn, l*syiu.iuu, 

CK Aifmuiutf, 

W O'Q^ o' tJl. {TTAIU r.,^, t,.,^ 
Banc ^.. anc afv.j^jrt^ ^..^ ••^wJ.ii- 

oi*»trvt n tin « f .»♦. .^ - 
vuirtniuaiifii ^p .v,.^. . . 

tut miiiiitrft**' « "^ 





^ f 


I J' 


F-. .' 


- -v- 

- ' ^ '- _ 


J. » 

_ * i 

• • 

C V 



• . 



*«— "" 

■ ■'- . *^ '. 



— • 

^•. ( ^ 

. • 

. .i ' . 

i '^* 


* 4 * 

'l ' - 

1 • 

I * 


-. • - 

• .1 !^ 

"i>-rr . 

..e: :.. 


:: z-z 

' "-> i^ 

•■ ^ V 



w . 

i*- ^ 

••-=- r '- 


' „- 

\ - . ». . 




2 ^», 

T . -^ : 


: ( . 

X T". 


. j-t'.r 

i ^. 

- _-'. !" 


• -. 


'■. ' i 

r ». 

_ ^ ^- 

l.v . 

: -\'. ^ 

« F 

r.? ^. 

r- • --^ 

• . ,^ -T 

I:. -•..-' 


■!•' or. \ <>•; <r»r 
L-i:re:.c>. . bv 

I'a-*. the >.de->^i'-x>r. a St. >«Lld<t.iii. bv 

T:.-: r'r\*. i^.i^-e! contains an Ii.T'' of 
t - I - . : . - \.vn ; l' ^ ci.e a*t- r, i \v: v 

L-; ■ \r:. -.-.A otv-r s.i.rts : a lu i-.-i 
t -: M'.rt. rior; of St. Arta-ii,.* .. -i 
y -^ C . r... .».:.. r-r.N, by S-jh^iui. A'- '-: 
t.. i '.j.>:. oi.>fr\tr >e\eral sniall b-t 
r.:j ..y c^^'i'T'^.r i pa.i:itin::5, bv K-.<.-- 
i-> . r^. Ar.i listly. you >etr the ("o?:- 
v-r>.:r. ct' St. >iatthew, by Puf^j 
.If .-;'r > 1.. 
Ke:.. ;:k. f v two pulpits in the mi-:':!-; 
! "iX-. t'.r >:ie-i ofv^hich are a'lon.ei 
v^.th ":...i--rel;c;t< iii bi'onze, renresrrit- 
1! J the M\>!f':c< ot'the Pass;-.»n, :lu<] 
t\- (t1::v of the lU-decmer, bv />»- 

A >ta:rLa>e \vid< from the church up 
t-: the BibhottC-i Meiiicto-Lauren- 
z.:».!.i. — rich in r.-.anuscnpts in t}'.^ 
T;:>cin, IItb>t-\v, (rrtrrk, Lir.Tj. 
lMne^e, Ar.ibic. Clialdtan, Syrnt. 
>\oiiic, lVo\encaI, aijd accitiit 
rrench, lan.'uajcs. 

PviNTi-Nt <, \r. IN 111.: Cm Fa H or Santa CnocE. 

C)b<'^r\e 1 -i^tat-.-.e 'u\ bronzo, over tht- 
\ :<h'.'p of T- :l.":>e, by D,> ;-./t//.>. 

I i:i-T CHAFF I to thf ri^ht. 
T. V De-cent from the C ro>s. bv Sii- 

■> T I O N r> C H \ P i I . 

A Cruc.nx...L, by S.nti lii Tito. 

.\r\t cun.t-> tbc l\.nib (y\ M chavl An- 
gtl<.>. Tilt- statr.t rtprtit-nni]^ Sculp- 
tu re i> \ ty / 'u '? /-/, . ( ";. ./< ; i ; i a t of A re 1 1 1 - 
tt-Lture, by C^jvanrn a\/!'()-t m ; aiul 
tile statiio c.f ra.utinj, by BtJtL>.fa 
dtl i'lirdiitu . 

The \"ir:;in in bas-rehef over the bcni- 
lier IS by Rr:>tf(!ni. 


Chn<t bearing hi> Cross to .Mount 
Calvarv, bv I'uMiri. 


An Kcce Homo, by /)</ 3ff -/;,). 
Next comes the Mausoleum' of Altieri, 
by tlie cliiNvl o\ C(iiiov<i. 


The FKuellation of Christ, bv AUs- 

Next to this IS t!ic Tomb of Machiavel. 

sculpture! bv X\'7, ::.-/. 
A painting by '.-Iv,;^,,. Jt,' Mi-^a fo\- 

l')vv>, repre^entinj Christ prayin-^ in 
the (iar-ien. 

In iVleCllMML OF Tfl F. Ca V A l.CA NTI 

F\Miiv,see a Statue of the Holy 
X' 1),.///;,%//,.. The St.Franci^ 
aiul St. John, Viy the >ide, are b_\ 

Pa>t the door of tiie cloister vc>u come 
to the tomb o( the hi>toriaii lininu 
executed bv Rosstllino, one of Do- 
natello'> pupils. The \ ir<^ui above 
i*^ by Andrtii VernKchiOy the m.i>ltT 
of Da \ luci. 

1 i»e Sfv» NTH Cii WW. contains a fine 
panitmj:, be.:un by CiLioli, and fin- 
is he<l by Hi/iurti. The sub.ect is 
C hri>i's Entry into .1eru>alem. 

I n t h e B A n B t n i N I C H a v i. l — S t . Fnn- 

cis receiving the StVirtTiata, bv Ar;/- 


The next i^ the Castfi.lani Ciiapfl, 
tlie ce'l ng of wluch wa'-i painted by 
Sturnina; and llie altar-piece, repre« 
seiitm J the La^t Supper, is attributed 
to ] asari, or his school. Observe, 
alxo, >ome ierr:i-cotla works, bv Luca 
dilUi Kohlna ; and the Tomb of Skot- 
mki, by Ricci. 

Afterwards, the Baroncflm Ciiapfl. 
The ancient painiinsrs on the walls 
are by laJiUo Gaddi ; and the 



Cofonatioo of the Vii^g^in, orer the 
altar, is ao esteemed painting of 

Id the Sacristy, observe the Holy 
Virgin, and Four Saints, over the 
altar, by Taddeo Gaddi ; as likewise 
are the paintings on the walls. 

The Medici Chapel, or of the Novi- 
ziato. — The altar-piece is by FUippo 
L^pi ; the architecture of the chapel 
by Mkhelozzo. 

I^eaving tbe Sacristy, observe the 
•econd, or Riccardi Cuap£L. St. 
Lawrence distributing Alms, is by 
Fatngnsno ; St. Helen (over the 
altar) is by BUiverti; and St. Francis 
in Prayer, by Matteo Rottelli. The 
frescos, representing the Life of tbe 
Apostle St. Andrew, and those on 
the ceiling, are by Giovttnni da San 

In the Chapel of St. Francis, see 
tbe Portrait of the Saint, by Cima- 

On the walls of the choir, the Discovery 
of the Cross, by Agnolo Gaddi. 

In the next five chapels, you see 
paintings by Giotto^ Giottino, and 

You now come to the magnificent 
Chapel of the Niccolini. The 
statues of Moses and Aaron, and of 
Chastity, Prudence, and Humility, 
are by Francavilla, Tlie Assump- 
tion and Coronation of the Virgin, 
are both by Alexander Allori ; and 
tbe frescos on the cupola, as also the 
Four Sibyls, are by the beautiful and 
correct pencil of Volterrano, 

Orer tbe altar in the chapel which next 
follows, you see the celebrated Cru- 
cifix by ikmatello. 

In tbe next, or Chapel of the Sal- 
VI ATI, observe tbe superb painting 
of the Martyrdom of St. Laurence, 
by Ligozzi. 

Returning by the side nave, see a Re- 
presentation of the Holy Trinity, by 
Cigoli ; the Coming of the Holy 
Ghost, by Vtuari, 

Passing the side-door, observe under 
the organ the Chapel of the Con- 
ception, painted by Giotto, 

Next, the Ascension of Jesus Christ, 
by Stradano. The Scepticism of St. 
Thomas, by Vasari. Christ dis- 
covering Himself to his Disciples at 
the Supper of Emmaus, and his 
Glorious Resurrection, by Santi di 
Tito (both fine). 

You now arrive at the Tomb of the 
immortal Galileo, designed by Fog- 
gini. The statue of Astronomy is 
by his son Vincenzio ; that of Geo- 
metry, by Ticciati. 

Next follows a painting of Jesus taken 
from the Cross to the Tomb, by 

On each side of the principal entrance 
there is a Descent from the Cross ; 
and in the Convent adjoining, the 
visitor will find several ancient and 
esteemed paintings by Cimahue and 

In the Piazza Santa Croce, observe 
the fresco paintings on the fii^ade 
of the house of the late head pro- 
fessor of the Academy of Desien, 
painted, in 1619, bv the most dis- 
tinguished artists of the day, among 
whom were Passignano, San Gio^ 
vannif RoiselU, Vanninif Ferrucci^ 
&c. It was finished in twenty-seven 

Church of S. Maria Novella. 

Over the middle door on entering, see 
a Crucifixion, by Giotto. 

Turning to the right — 

Iff. Chapel . An Anounciation,by &in/< 

di Tito. 
Sif. St. Laurence, by Macchietti. 
3d. A Nativity, by tbe graceful pencil 

of Naldini. 
4tk. The Purification, by the same. 
5ik. A Descent, by the same. 
6tk. Resurrection of Lazarus, by Tito. 
7tk. St. Raymond bringing a Child 

again to Life, by Ugoxsi. 

In turning into the Transept, observe 
tlie Tomb of Joseph, Patriarch of 
Constantinople. Mount the stairs 
to the right, and in the chapel ob- 
serve a fine painting representing a 
miracle of the Holy Virgin, by 
Bugiardinif in which several of the 
figures were designed by Michael 
Angela and II Iriboio. Here, also, 
is the Jirtt work that came from 
Cim<d>ue*i easel — it is a Madonna. 

Nextyin the Chapel of St.Domiiiick, 
see a painting by Vignali, and a 
Pieta by Velio. The two Urge side 

B B 



|>aiiitiii(_''N ;irt' by .S/if/f .</</;// T fine) atid 
(//«'. I'i>inr/ii. 

In llic ;nl)t'iiiinu Cu mm i , >< v St. Jolt ii 
till' l'",\ iiiiU'li^^Mai'^in'j, Di' siiiialrHMii 
the Dtad ; and l!;«' A (»siK' I'liilii) 
(Aorci'^iiiu the Idol of ilu'CJod INIar.s, 
ill iVoLo, liy /■'////'/'(' Lijijii. 

Tlic \ ivuiii I HI iiiarl»l(' j lu-liind the altar 
i> I'V lu mdtthi dii M<,jitin> ; and the 
iiiic ]>.iniluius in tlir ehor, irpre- 
Miiliiij, on one vide llu- late of the 
\ iijm, and on the odier that of 
St. Jul'ii the llajtli>t, aie hy Cihir- 
lii iidiSh' . 

The ji.iintin'js on th«' si(le<< o'' the ehoii, 
\% hu h ie[)!e>ent the IveMirieclion of' 
('hii>t,a;e l>y Bt /h <h ffif,\Uv. nephew 
ol ( ^ n the 1 eantilid inaiMe eolnnin^^, 
on ihe lii'jh allar, ohsi-rw an A>^ninj)- 
tion, hy Sal'aft lit. 

In the ehapri in the ht'l, *^ee the Cnici- 
fi\" ill wood, earved hy llnmt Ut -scu^ 
(»n {\\v. oecaNinn ol \\\> famous dis- 
jaite with DoiKjiello. 

In the ne\t,\ou find a >n])erl) |taintiiiL: 
re|iie>( nlni'^ (diriNt ieNtoiin'4 to Life 
the I ).iiiuiiter of the Arelnsy nauo-jns, 
h\ Ji.'7/eA) /^/•i»//:<//e,wh<)aUo painted 
tlu^ eeilmu-. 

^ on now asee?id In steps to a chapel 
panit«(l in iVr-eo, hy tlu; hrotheis 
Ainhi ir .\\u\ ll( nun t{ ihcd^iKi : oin* 
lepitvi iiiiii^ l*aia'!ise ; aniMJier 1 1»-1L 
J he .\ltar-pieee is al-n hy Amlnw. 

Tn lln' S \( m > n , see the ("oiiNer-^uju 
of St. Paul, 1)V N< /'(/,N//^///n (A/ I trtuia, 
a jiiipil of l*anl \ croiHse. Tlie \\.i\)- 
tisni <»f' Christ, 1)\ Strti(/(i>io ; his 
( I iieili\ion, 1»\ I usd/ i : ui\d St. \'in- 
(tnt resiorui'j a Dead Man, hy 7A///- 

Tlie two jtaintin'^"? ni segments are h\ 
liiinti/i ; and tlu,- Crueilix, hy .17^/- 


Itelnrninu to the na\e, oi)serve — 
St. livacinth, hy ^llt la/nh/- Allori. 

The Benitier of granite, in llie corner, 
is hy ^lichdi/ An^tlo. 

In the seeoiul (. hapel — St. Cathent e, 
in relief, by Aflicciufi ; aiul the sin il! 
]>aintin;4s, \)y VtKcdti. St. P» ter '.he 
Marts r is by daolt, and aDolher \\ 

Next, a Resurrection, and a 
by t'ftsuri. By the side of this, ^^-e 
( hrist at the Well, by ^ 

At tlie end of the riavo you ti'iJ lue 
Kieci C'lia|)cl, in which the St. Ca- 
tl urine is by RomnmlU. 

And, l.i>ilv, St, \ iiicenl preaclnnz, bv 
l)t/ Mtiilio. 

(^nittni'4 tin- church, and cntenn.: the 
Ol II iiCLornLU of the convent, ob- 
serve the frescos paint('d by (><«//.» 
and Wf>><7' l)t//o. Here you find 
the Sjianish Chapel, the walls and 
eedinu of which were p.iinted by 
^liuniii and Ttuhito GruUii. The 
panilini: represeTitin'4 St .lames the 
Apostle, is V)y Hronzum ; and iho 
M.irble (ruciti.x, by Pi.nitit. Ol>- 
serve, likewise, the |)ortrait of Cima- 
biie, in a white dress ; and, clo^e 
to this, the ]H)rirait of Memnii, by 

In the second, or Innfii ('i.oistep., wc 
lintl liltv lunettes, representin::: the 
Life <d"St. Doinmick, that of Tlionias 
A<piinas, St. Catherine of Siena, and 
otiiir>, whicb embody the pencd> c)f 
S((iilt (/I I'ifOj PiHCittiy Ci^oii^ the 
Allot i^ ]ht/(/inci^ Soilt/ini^ ^C. 

In the Kirraror.v, see the Rain of 
Manna in the ^^ ilderne^s, by Alrr. 
Alliui; and a Last Supper, by bis 
brother Aiiiii lo. 

On havin.: the Convent, observe, in the 
l'i\//A S. M. Noviijo, two Pyra- 
muU sU)»ported on the backs of four 
tortoises, m bronze, by John ik Bo- 
lt >is nit. 

Cm lu H or 1 III S. S. An m n/i \i v. 

In the Cm. \ I'll oi Si . Smia^i i an, be- 
lonuai'4 to the Pucci family, see St. 
Sibasfian, by Pi>ll(ij(tlo ; and two 
others, by AuviTio Lonii and Pdisiii. 
The Triliune was painted by Voc- 
iifti, and the Statn(.'S a'e hy the 
chi>»el of Aor* ///, 

In the Sm \i I Coi ui, observe a Nati- 
vity III In SCO, to the left t)f the door 
which leads into the church, by Ihd- 

dmintfd; to the left of which you 
ser the \ ision of St. Philip Beiiizi, 
by Citsimo Rosstlli. The others 
which immediately follow, are by 
</< / .Sf///(>, ami a liust of this artist, 
b\ ('ficctni. The paintings represent 
the principal trails m the life of St. 
Philip. The lunette by the side of 
the entrance to the court, represent- 
ing the Marriaj^e of the Mrgiii, is by 



Franciabigio ; the Visit of Mary to 
Elizabeth, by Pontormo ; and her 
Assumption, by Rotto, 

Od entering the Church, observe the 
magnificent Chapel of thr An- 
NUNCfATioN, and the small Ora- 
tory off it. 

Next to this is the Chapel Feroni, 
designed by Foggini^ lined with 
marble, and ornamented with sta- 
tues. The altar-piece, representing 
the Agony of St. Joseph, is by Carlo 
Lotti ; the two Statues of Meditation 
and Maritime Fortune, are by Pia- 
moniini; those of Fidelity and Na- 
vigation, are by Andreoxti; the St. 
Dominick is by Carlo MarceUini; 
the St. Francis, by Cateni. 

In the 2(2, the Universal Judgment, 
by Alex. Aliori, 

3d. A Crucifixion — a chef-d^auore of 

Ath, The paintings are by Perugino, 

5th. An Assumption, with St. James 
and St. Rock below, by Dandim. 

In the Chapel, as you turn into the left 
transept of the cross, observe the 
Lunettes and Ceiling, in fresco, by 
¥ranet$chim (Volterrano) ; and over 
the altar, St. Zenobi, and two others 

The next Chapel is that of the Cru- 
cifix. The Paintings and Archi- 
tecture are by Chaman of Lorraine ; 
the ceiling was painted by Meucci, 
Under the altar lies the body of St. 
Florence the martyr. 

In the Taddei Chapel — an Altar- 
piece, by Franceschini, and tl)e fres- 
cos by Ulivelii, 

In the Great Tribune, over the Itt 
altar, the Birth of the Virgin, by 
Alex. AUori. The side paintine in 
Comu Epistols is by his sou Crit- 
tofano, and the three others by Pat- 
ilgrumo ; the ceiling by Poccetti. 

2d, Chapel. St. Michael, by Pignoni, 

3d, The Virgin and Saints, by Pent- 

4M. The Resurrection, by Angiolo 

Sik, See the bronze ba»-reliefs, by John 
de Bologna; and the Grand Cruci- 
fix, after a model by the same. The 
painting representing the Resurrec- 
tion is by Ligozzi; the Pieta, by 
Patiignano : ai.d a Nativity by 

Paggi. The frescos in the cupola 
are by Poccetti, 

6th, A painting representing several of 
the Blessed in Paradise, is by Nan- 

7th. The Blind Man receiving his 
Sight, by Passignatto, 

8M. The Marriage of St. Catherine, 
by Biliverti. 

9th. The Virgin and Infant Jesus, with 
St. Ann, by Donnini; as are also 
St. Philip Benizi, and St. Julian 

The Dome of the Grand Tribune 
was painted by Volterrano at a very 
advanced age. 

On a level with the Presbytery, seethe 
Tomb and Statue of the Bishop A. 
M. Medici, by Da San Galio, 

At the top of the Cross vou find the 
Chapel of the Holy Conception. 
The Altar-piece is by Meucci, as also 
the Ceiling. The two Laterals are 
by Grifoni, 

In a Chapel to the right, see the St. 
Barbara, also by Grifoni; and two 
Portraits— one of Stradano, the other 
of Lorenzo Palmieri. 

Opposite is the Chapel of the sculp- 
tor Bandinelli. Tlie Dead Chnst 
supported by Nicodemus, is the work 
of this artist; and the flead of Nico- 
demus represents his own portrait. 

Leaving the Cross, and returning to- 
ward^ the door, observe a small 
chapel under the organ, designed by 
Silvani, The altar-piece of Christ 
Risen again, is by Puglieschi; as 
also the figures of two Prophets. 
Observe a St. Rock in linden wood, 
carved by Matter Jann, and some 
fine sculpture in marble. 

In the next, Jesus healing the Wound 
of St. Laziosi, by Vlivelli, 

3d. Frescos, by the same. 

4th. The Martyrdom of St. Lucy, by 
Vignali; the Cupola is by VoU 

5th. St. Piccolomini, by Dandini. 

6th. A Virgin and Child, St. Nicholas, 
and other Saints, by Empoli ; the 
frescos on the walls are by Matteo 
Convent of the Sf.rvi* adjoining. 

See an altar-piece of the Trinity in the 
Chapel of the Academy of Design, 
by Bronzino, St. Luke painting the 

* So called from their enrolling themselves tervanti of the Virgin. 



Poitnit. fifths,- \"irj:ii, i-^ l»v r^/^^rj ; 

iJFid tli<- !>i.ll<llt,_- u! Sol. )I1, <•[!'>■ r«;'ii- 

|)1", hv S tJi ih Ti^'i. 'I\.f- T.\f-l\o 
S!;it'i<^s \\ l,i( !i >urr().,ri'l this r!it;el 
nr>' l.\ <ii\Lr> ^kiih.l '•c; '[)''.ir> oi i:,t- 
A« adf inv. 

'rh(r ( 'i oi-i I v-'^ of tiie Convent com liri 
the c<;hbr-it(-il Miiiici.r.a drl S.<< (.n. 
li\ ill I Siiilo. '\\\ki uliic;" lr''>.fyi^ are 
l)y I'l'Cttd, Mdttn) l\<>s.:rlli, atl'J 
and / f iitnrii Suhmln m. 

Tlio t u'(> ija\ r-< wliicli make an arul'f wit!) 
(I»| .Sarto's M,i'!'>nr.a, vm-m.- painted 
by Pocit til, •A\\i[ H':.r*'Mrit the prin- 
cipal «j\cilt.s 111 tlie li\».S fit the ^« ^eii 
nol;lt; found' r> of the ()idi'i" nf ih«' 
Sei V I ; anion'j' ^^ll;(•h, <( e the Blessed 
Arnadeiis, one of the seven, if^Nloniej; 
Jidousned child t(; life; Manetttis, 
\\i his oKi aje, resi.nui'j the hi- 
slidpiicfjl 1 loicnce to IMnhp Henizi, 
hetore retirinu^ to Monte ."^anaiio ; 
Saitf'uno ]»r(;achin2 ihr- (iospel at 
Pans, in the. time \)^ Kinir Philip, 
A.n. 1'^>G1»: the Death of Alc-so 
Palconien {\\*'\\ the AP<idoi>na) ; the 
S(;\(Mi Ponnders taking lAave of tlxi 
WOrld ift ui^<' thfiDM'lves up to the 
Ser\i<(- r.f the \ irjm ; the Seven in 
the leil'it ^)\ [l(i"ijiits: remark the 
I eiM.t.fu! i^ro 'p m the ^kies, of 
laith, iloj)e,and ("liarilv ; the Seven 

bud'iinj their ftrnt dwelline in tfie 
de-ert <.f Monte S^inario ; the \ ir::tn 
(h!.^e.:n.' the B! ick nre-^^;. to the 
to'indrr> of" her senai.ts." 
T'le fres<:..»«. hy S-Jrnht ni dre — 
Tiie Holy \ ir-jir in a Car, drawn bv \ 
lion and a laml>: Philip B^-nizt ctuitd 
by a \ ision of the \ iPiiin to assunie 
the iiabit of i)}e Servi ; the htnhJiu^ 
of ttie Church of the Anuutizia'a ; 
Clement 1\'. eranim-^ llie tirsl J;i- 
dulc'^nte to thi> Church. 
Tin >e by M (fro Roi'itl/i are — 
St. Mai.titus pre<ichiPix beiore St. 
P<iui> ; In'Kueni 1\ . appomiine ii.s 
nephew, Caiibnal Pie>;co, Protector 
of tne Ordrr ot iheSen'i ; Alexander 
I\ .according to the Order the power 
of establisiuni: Convents in all parts 
of the world ; St. H<.>ntigliuoIo re- 
nouneinLT, in favour of Sl Buona- 
uiunio, the L'ovcrnnienl of the OnJer. 
Keinark also the fre>co coramernoratint: 
the Mirack* of the painter Barto- 
lonimeo and the Ansxel wVio timshtd 
the portrait of the \ ir^iu. 
In the HiJ M ToKV, see the SupY>er of 
the Pharisie, a fresco, by Sinti di 


In the ( 1 vriJ»KN, you see the Parable of 
the \ nie\ard, bv Audna cUl Sarto. 

Cut urn oi S. Maria NfnvA. 

There are four Altar-pieces. 

l.s/ to the ri'^iit — The \ iiu'in uivin<; the 

Infant Jesus to St. Anthony, St. 

i'raneis and St. present, by 

i'ir/i( n III. 
The next is by PdiJiJ^i. 

\st to tlu' h.ft reprcM ntsan event in the 
life of St. ],ouis, by loltcndint. 

111. The Descent iioni the (,ross, by 
Mil. AKon. 

There are .six paintin'json the walls, viz. 

llie Martyrdom of St. liarbara, bv /.//- 
(/itrico Vmti. 

The Ma^^dalen l\ iiiteiit, by Amlnn 
lUl (Hs/fia^iKt. The infant angels 
[)resent are stipposed to be the por- 
traits of the Portmuri fatndv. 

The \ irgin and Infant Jesus, witli St. 
A^nes, St. Rosa, and St. Cecilia, by 
A/t.i. AUori. 

Cnder the urand altar, St. Ejjido, by 

The Pluhl into Egypt, by Veneziauo ; 
and, histlv, 

'I'he Assumption of die \'irgin, by Em- 

At the entrance which leads into tbe 
court and upper apartments, see ^\ 
Tabernacle, in fresco, representitii^ 
( harily, by San Gi(H'(inni ; and to 
the left hand, a Last Judumeiit, be- 
yan by ]h'//a Porta, dud t'lnijshed by 

Mrsro dTsioima Natikaik. 

Hie first seven rooms contain the cele- chiedy of the Abdominal Viscera and 

bn\tetl wax anatomical prtp.nations, liratn. 

executed principally by the arti^t '2d. The centre of this room is occupied 

Su.'^hiii >'i the follouiiii; order: — by a full-lein;lh recumbent statue of 

\st UooM. — IVeparations consisting the Blood-vessels and J^ymphatics, as 



they appc^ on the iotegumeDts being 
removed. Around are seen different 
sections of the brain, and expositions 
of the internal anatomy of the eye 
and ear. 

Zd, The Nervous System, commencing 
with models of the nerves supplying 
the eye, ear, throat, face, ana neck ; 
the distribution of the great sympa- 
thetic and its multitudinous connex- 
ions, and of the accessory nerve. 
The central statue represents the 
superficial veins and lymphatics of 
the head and extremities, and an in- 
ternal view of those of the thorax 
and abdomen. 

Atk, Nerves which descend from the 
head and neck to the thorax; the 
intercostal nerves; beautiful repre- 
sentations of the nerves of the upper 
and lower extremities, and or the 
pelvis. In the centre lies a statue, 
with fine exhibitions of the arteries, 
veins, and lymphatics of the head 
and extremities, and of the interior 
of the chest and abdomen. 

5tk, Nerves of the Viscera : a repre- 
sentation of the spinal chord ; of the 
blood-vessels and nerves of the neck, 
chest, abdomen, and pelvis, in rela- 
tive position. The central statue ex- 
emplifies the entire venous system. 

6M. Nerves of the Upper Extremity in 
their relative situation : a beautiful 
exhibition of the same, divested of 
the surrounding soft parts, horn the 
brachial plexus down to the extre- 
oiitiesi of the fingei-s, with nothing 
el«e save the bones beneath ; nerves 
of the lower extremity similarly re- 
presented ; a fine exposition of the 
fifth pair, and of the nerves supply- 
ing the eye. In the centre is a statue 
of the whole of the arterial system ; 
behind which stands the chef-d'auvre 
of ;$(ttiRi, displaying, with the most 
admirable exactitude and distinctness 
in all their details, the whole nervous, 
arterial, and venous systems, with 
the muscles and viscera so separated 
from each otlier, as to allow the eye 
to combine their relative position and 

7M. Various models of Comparative 
Anatomy : preparations of the head 
of the dog, cat, goat, calf, and turkey ; 
the anatomy of the leech displayed ; 
of the cock and lien ; of the ovaria 
of the last, and the neighbouring 

vessels and nerves ; a beautifiil re- 
presentation shewing the course of 
the egg in the oviduct, and various 
preparations demonstrating the dif- 
ferent stages of incubation ; anatomy 
of the male and female seppia; of 
the silk-worm and other insects ; of 
the head of the viper ; of the snail ; 
and, Ustly, a beautiful illustration of 
the principal viscera and blood-ves- 
sels of the cod-fish. 

8M. This apartment is appropriated to 
specimens in Ornithology^ but con- 
tains nothing very curious or rare. 

9M. Ichthyology. — Observe a Scymnus 
spinosus ; a Chrysostoses Luna, or 
cardinal fish ; a Squalus Americanus; 
a Ilolocentrus Gigas ; and a prepa- 
ration of that shapeless monster of the 
deep, the Orthagoriscus Mola. 

\Oth. Reptilet, — liemark a very large 
scutum of the Testudo coriacea. 

1 1 th. Moths and Butterfliei. — Among 
the latter there are some of great 
beauty; as, the Papilio Midamus, 
Menelaus, Ulysses, and Leilus. 

12M. Testaceous and other IMolluscse. 

13M. Conchoiogy. — The collection is 
indifferent, as a great many of the 
specimens are dead shells. Observe 
some large PennsB Nobiles. On the 
table which stands in the centre of 
the room, remark a beautiful bou- 
quet, composed of various coloured 
shells; also some fine pieces of the 
sea-net, (the Serpula Filograna of 

14M. Madrepores, Millepores, and 

15M. Seeds and specimens of different 

16M. Plants in flower, modelled in 
wax, chiefly exotic; many among 
which are extremely well executed ; 
in particular, the Isis Susiana, Port- 
landia nitida, Stapelia hirsuta, and 
Cactus mamillaris. 

17M. Same continued. — Observe the 
Musa coccinea and Cactus triangu- 

On the central table are four singularly 
contorted branches of the Sorbus 

18M. Here you come to the Minerals, 
beginning with the metals. I'he only 
thing remarkable is tlie table of Flo- 
rentine marble which stands in the 
centre of this room. 

1 9th. The Metals continued. — Observe 



a I'.irze crystalline mnss ofsilicious 
in»ii (^rt', from Hio della Marina 
(I'.licaj, and some larc^e and hand- 
sonic spfH nncns of thu indiscent iron 
OK', also from lllba. 

*20/A. The sinie contnincd. 

•J Is/. Here are several pretty dendritic 
spec linens of the I'loreiitine marl, 
and sonn' has-relief medallions from 
tht' baths of ."Nan I- ilippi ; also several 
laruo and lino specimens of arra- 

'J2r/, .Minerals continned. — Observe 
sonit! Iapj;e cry>tallise<l native alum, 
from Monle Kotondo. 

'J.'f/. Contains tlie more precious mi- 
nt rals. ( )bs»'rve some beautiful 
<lia'>pres, i".i>yptian jaspers and hya- 
line tpiart/. ; also the petrihcl trunk 
of a tree in silex, and two tables of 
leat beautv, e\<inj>itelv inlaid with 


jaspairates, camelians, lipis lazuli, 
anri riband-jasper. 

24M. Lavas, scoria;, and oih-ervo'caT. c 
productions; also a small c'.»l.*rr..vD 
of geologic^al specimens- 

2.5/^. ()rj;anic remains. 

2o/A. A small collecticri ofsiva^eoT- 
naments and weapons. 

From this you erjter a small C^bimt, 
where you find the extraordinary nic- 
tures in wax of Zuii)Ik>'s sepulc.Trji 

Tliere is another Si ite or R-'oys, 
which contains mmlels in wi\ re pre- 
sent in<r every muscle s+-pdratc)y, witii 
its origin and insertion ; and a line 
collection of wax p re f.«a rations, which 
demonstnite the ditierent ^^tai^res of 
l^regnancy, from the foetus, tiU'^n 
days old from conceptioD, tiii the i'l;.'! 
period of gestation. 


This ]>alare i^ one of the largest and 
most ni.iie>tic in Italy. It was 
beiiun alter the (h\simi of Hnnu/- 
/♦s((». as till- residence of l.uca l*itti, 
a riorenime i^entleman (hence its 
name) ; and was afterwards con- 
si(leral»l\ eidirued by Cosmo the 
SiMMid, imdtM' the superintendence 
of tile aielnteet ^i//////^/////'//i'. It is of 
tlu' pun- l".trusean,or rustic order. 

( )n momitiii.: the staircase, you enter 
an anie-rooin, in wlmh is a hue 
heroie statue of Augustus, ami o])po- 
posit(,ihat of a capliv».> Dacian king, 
lien, aK<^, IS a st.itue of Minerva, 
but It wants dignity. 

In the [)oud«ur of the (irand Duciiess, 
yt)U see (V/z/div/'s \ iMius. 

r.xiNriNos IN mi iiksi room (o 
thi- ridit. 
Two liolieinians telling a Countryman 

his Fortune, by i'(irn\uii:i:^'u). 
Two fine Marine \ iev\s, by Salvdtor 

The Hirth of Love, beautifully painted 

by Tl/iforctto. 
Adam and I'.ve, two separate paintings, 

by J Hurt ])iinr. 
The Call of St. Peter, by Cip>lL 
Two small Fids. 
Figures and Game, by Giovanni da S. 

The Triumph of David, by ]\lattco 


The \irixin and Saints, by Bti S*\ru^. 
Aj»ollo tran)pling Marsyas undtr his 
feet, l)y Cniercino. 


A Holy Family, by GinVio Romntw. 

The \ irgin and Child, by Munili. 

A tine Hronzino. 

A 1 bacchante, by Guido, 

A Descent, by Cii^oli, 

Portrait of Rembrandt when young, by 

Tiie Dead Body of the Saviour in a 

winding sheet, in landscape scenery, 

by i)t / .SV/;7(>. 
St. Sebastian, by Gutrcijio. 
The \ irgin. Infant Jesus, St. John, and 

St. Ann, by Del Sarto, 
Anotlter X'lrgin and Chihl,by Murif/o, 
A l'ieta,by Fm Barfo/omnno. 
St. iMulij» kneeling before the Virgin 

and Child .lesus, by Carlo Marat/a. 
Christ at llmmaus,by Pahna il J'ccchto, 

niiun KooM. 
'J*he celebrated Madonna della Seg- 

giola, by Rnphncl. 
An I'.cce Homo, by Ciiioli. 
Portrait of Leo X. by Hf/()harl. 
St. Mark, by Fni Barto/>nnmi'o. 
Portrait of Cardinal Heuti\oglio, by 

The Madonna dTrnpegnato, by Ra^ 

Abraham's Sacrifice, by Ci^oH. 
St. Peter, by Carlo Dolce. 



Judith, by Crisiofano Allusimo. 
A Holy Family, by Angela AUori. 
Tlie Magdalen Penitent, by Caniacci, 
Jacob and Rebecca (unfinished), by 

An Assumption of the Virgin, by Giar- 

St. Sebastian, by Guido* 
A Holy Family, by Carlo Socci, 


Two Battle-pieces, by Borgognone. 

A ditto, by Salvator Rota. 

Mars quitting Venus, by B,uhens. 

The Fates, in chiaro-scuro, by Michael 

A Pieta, and a Birth, by Parmegiano. 

A large Bacchanal Landscape, by Ru- 

The Conjuration of Catiline, by Sal- 
vator Ro$a. 

JVIartyidom of St. Bartholomew, by 

A Holy Family, and Venus retaining 

Mars (fine), l^ Rubens. 
Cupid staying his Mother. 


A Pieta, by Perugino. 

A Virgin and Child, and the Vision of 

Ezekiel, by Raphael. 
A Holy Family, by Carlo Dolce. 
Cleopatra, by Gtado. 
A copy on porcelain of Dolce't 

" Poetry," which is in the Corsini 

Apollo and the Muses, by Giulio Ro- 

Adam mourning over the dead Body of 

Abel, by Scludone. 
The Saviour, by Bartolammeo, 
Martyrdom of Saint Agata, by Del 


The ceilings of all the rooms were 
painted by Pietro da Cortona. 

The Bono LI Gardens are behind the 
Pitti Palace, and are open to the 
public on Thursdays and Sundays. 
Here you see J(^n de Bologna*t 
statues of Abundance and Ocean. 

Paintings in the Corsini Palace. 

This palace was built after designs by 
SUvaniy and is of the Tuscan order. 
You ascend to the first floor by two 
staircases ; and where they unite, 
you see the statue of Pope Corsini 
(Clement XII.). 


Two large paintings, by Pandolfo, re- 
presenting the Siege of Barcelona. 

Toby and the Fish, by Matteo RotellL 

Two Battle-pieces, by Borgognone. 

A fine interior, representing High Life 
below Stairs, by Flamingo. 


The Death of Priam (modem), by 

Martyrdom of St. Andrew, and Christ 

returning the Tribute -Money, by 

Fortune seated on her Wheel, by 

Michael Angela. 
Charity, by Salviati. 
Venus and Adonis, by Han. Caracci. 
A Pieta, by CigoU, 
An unfinished Portrait of Rembrandt, 

by himself. 


Venus and Cupids, in landscape 

scenery, by A&ani. 
Poetry, an Ecce, St. Sebastian, Hope, 

Peace, St. Cecilia, St. Apollonia, — 

all by Carlo Dolce. 


Lucretia, by Guido. 

Virgin and Child, by Dolce. 

Portrait of Pope Julius II., a cartoon, 

by RaphatL 
Two landscapes, and two Marine 

Views, of great beauty, by Salvator 

St. Paul and St. Anthony, by Dolce. 
Two Philosophers disputing, by ^fag- 

The Centaur Nessus and Dejanira, by 


Incantation, by Salvator Rota. 

St. Jerome (a fine head), by Tinto- 

A Venus, by Titian. 

The Baptism of Christ, by Santi di 





The Cathedral. 

Tliis fine dothic church was beojun in 
r284, by (jiiH/ifini da Pisa^ and 
Hiiishcd l^v Ji:ostifH> and ^li:«<>/(», 
Sienf'>>t' nrcliitt cts, in 1333. 

Remark the Historical KnuraviiTjs on 
the pavements ; the Bronze Slatnary 
on the li;'j,li idtar, by the pupils of 
^lichael An^elo ; and an Assump- 
tion brlnnd, by Ccsi. 

In the (iiiGi CuArEE you see St. Je- 
rome and a Mnudalen, V)y hcniini ; 
a \ iMtation, by Ctir/n Mnrattii ; and 
a Vli<j;ht into l-'riypt, in mosaic, 
co])it d from the same ma>ter. 

In the (' vM ir.A in 1(ai faili \ you find 
the tine frescos (h.^si^ned 1)V Haphin /, 
sixofwhuh were coloured l)y Pin- 
turicclno, and llie seventh by Kitplnu I 
him^rlf. Ht-re also you see the cele- 
l)raled uroup of the (Iraces. 

On the Tomb of Archl)ishop Picco- 
luomini are tV^ures of two Au'^els 
and Christ holdin<:j his Cross, bv 
Michml Anm/o. 

The ditlerent altars are adorned with 
paintiiiLTs : that of the Marriiige of 
St. Catherine is by Dmulini ; St. 
1 Bernard preaching, by 11 Caffihrtw ; 
tiie Conversion of St. Ansaro, by 
J'a/nii ; and the Adoration of the 
Miiui, by Putro Sorri. 

Infore the enlriince nuo the Choir are 
four huLM' fie»iCos by IDifurd Solim- 
htiii; nnd m the Cn API i.oi Sr. John 
ihrre is a statue of this saint by Do- 

The CiiiucH OF THE Dominicans is 
remarkable for a very ancient picture 
in wood, representing the \ in:;n 
with the Infant Jesus in her arms, 
by Outdo Sancsi ; it is dated 1*2*21, 
and is in the \ enturini Chapel. — 

Cm r.cH OF Saint Agostino. — ACru- 
cifixion, by Pcrupino ; an Adoration 
of the Magi, liy Razzi ; Christ bear- 
ing his Cross, by Aitss. Casoiatii and 
Sa/iinhtiii ; and Jesus, the Vinrin, 
and Saints, by Carlo Marat ta, — 

In the Chapei. of the Ho«pitai of 
S. M. DELEA ScALA, obstrve a tine 
fresco of the Pool of Betliesda, by 
Sibastian Cone a. 

The Sac urn IIoi >f or St. Catherine 
is situated in tiie Costa de' Tiniori, 
where, in her father's shop, now a 
clia]>el, you see Christ's Visit to St. 
Catherine, by Razzi, and her Death, 
by Paccltunitti ; also, a paintinir 
of St. Catherine curing one sick, 
by I'anni ; another of her miracles, 
by Bnonavcntuni ; and one which 
re|)resents her receiving a Pi-e^ent 
sent from Heaven at the hands of the 
l^ope, by Conca. 


CuTRCH oi- St. PEirii . 

Remark the magnificent double Co- 
lonnade by Pirmni. within whieh 
stands a handsome obelisk, lOS tVet 
in height, includinu the pedestal. 
Though Ivjvptum, it is wiiluMil hitio- 
glyphics, and is the only one in IJoine 
foiiiui entire ; on each ^kle o\ it is 
a beautitul nt-dttiu. 

In the l\iKiUv> vi>u see (i ..•.'.'.•'< e.illtd tlu' Nan leella ; aiul 
in the l\\'inu-nt, a has uluf in 
m.nble h\ /s • ::';., U'prT^t'nMiv; 
('ini>t Cv^nun.uul;:-:; \\w\ u» ti evi hi,> 

At one iiid of the Portico is an e<:|ues- 
tnan statue of Constant ine the Great, 
b\ Riinini ; and at the other, of 
Charlemagne, by Coninci'/iiiu. 

The four bron/e twistid columns which 
susiaui the Baldacchino coverinir the 
Altar and C on'eS'-ional of St. Peter, 
are 122 Utt iii;:h. Tliey are made 
of ("ojinilii in brass, and were taken 
tioin tilt' Paniht on. 

In iheiii; \M) Tkiiune you see the 
Ciuiir i»f St. IVier. enclosed in gilt 
bron/f, and supj>orted by the four 
dottors oi ilie ci'.urch. 


The Mosftics in this magnificent Basi- 
lica are as follow : — 

St. Peter, over the Porta Santa, is after 
Ciro Ferri. 

In the First Chapel to the right you 
see M, Angelo*$ iamous Pieta, sculp- 
tured when he was only twenty-five 
years old. 

The Mosaics of the Cupola are from 
Pietro da Cortona and Ciro Ferris 
and the Frescos by Lanfranc. 


Cupola, from P. da Cortona ; Altar- 
piece, tfie Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, 
uom Domenichmo, 


Cupola, from P. da Cortona. 

The Cibario of lapis lazuli, by Bernini, 

The paintinff representing the Trinity 

is oy P. Ai Cortona. 
St Maurice, by Bernini. 


The Communion of St. Jerome, from 

St. Basil, from Svhleyrat, 
Saints Processus and Martinianus,from 

Hie Martyrdom of St. Erasmus, from 

If. Pomrin. 
La Navicella, firom Lanfranc. 

The Archangel Michael, from Ouido. 

St. Petronilla, from Guercino. 

St. Peter raising Tabitha, from Flacido 

The Cupola of the Clememtive Cha- 
pel is from designs by Michael An- 
gelOf and is covered with arabesques 
and foliage in mosaic : the other 
Mosaics are from RoncaiU. The 
Altar-piece was painted by Andrea 

The celebrated Transfiguration, from 

The Chapel of the Choir contains 
an Assumption of the Virgin, fit>m 
Ptetro Bianchi. 

The Mosaics in the Chapel of the 
Presentation are from designs by 
Carlo Maratta. The Altar-piece is 
by Bomanelli. 

In the Baptistery, the Mosaic of St. 
John baptising Christ, is from Carlo 
Maratta; the two others are from 
Passari and Procaccini. 

Amonff the Mausoleums, remark that 
of Paul III-, by Giacomo delta 
Porta ; that of Gregory XIII., by 
Camillo RuMconi; and those of Ur- 
ban VIII., Alexander VII., and the 
Countess Matilda, by Bernini. Note 
also the fine statue of St. Andrew 
bearing his Cross, by Francesco 

Paimtinos in the Gallery of toe Vatican. 


A Portrait of his late Majesty George 
IV., presented to hb late Holiness 
Pius VII., painted by Sir Thomas 


Two allegorical paintings (Virtues and 

Mysteries), by Raphael. 
A Portrait of a Doge, by Titian. 
Christ, the Virgin and St. Catherine, 

and the Tiburtine Sibyl, by Ga- 



The Transfiguration, by Raphael.^ 

A superb painting, by Titian^ of St. 

Sebastian and others. No figure 

can well be finer than that of St. 

The Communion of St. Jerome, by 

Cows, by Paul Potter. 


The D«id Body of Christ borne to the 
Tomb in' the arms of St. Peter, by 

Caravaggio. Full of varied expres- 
sion and strong relief. 
An Assumption of the Virgin, designed 
by RaphaelydJid painted by his pupil 
Giulio Romano. 


The Crucifixion of St. Peter, bv Guido. 

The Birth of the Virgin, by Albani. 

The Virgin and Child Jesus appear- 
ing in the Sky to St. Francis and 
another, by Guido. 

St. Romualdo's Vision, by Andrea 


The Incredulity of St.Thomas, by Guer- 

The Martyrdom of St. Erasmus, by N. 
Poussin. Remark the fine trans- 

Cncy in the distribution of the co- 
ing, throwing a noon*tide effect 
on the figures. 
An Annunciation, by Barocdo. 
The Martyrdom of Saints Processus and 
Martinianus, by Valentin. 

F P 





A Mnjflalc'ii, by Gucrcino. 

Tli»' -Madonna di I'oliuno, and her Co- 
rf>nitinn, 1)V Rcjthm /, 

Tlu- btaiitilul fiv>cos in KArn.vri.'s 
Sir. \N/! reprc'strit tiic Haiile at ihe 
Milviaii Hridue ; tlie sul)joct'< of 
lUliodorus. Attila, aiul the Miracle 
of the lioruo ; the Mir.icdc of li^e 
Max at HoKena ; the Didiveraiice 
of St. I*»i( r fn^m Prison; and the 
School of Athens. 

In the Pauline Chapel you see the 

Crucitixion of St. Peter, and the 
Conversion of St. Paul, — both by 

In tlie Sintine is 3/. A)ii:rio's Last 
Judijment ; and on the ceiling you see 
a snbbnie figure of tiod the Paiiier ; 
our Fir--:! Parents; and the Pn^pliels 
and Sibyls, — also by J^lic/uul 

St \i VARY IN Tiir Ml'Sfo Pio-Cllmentino. 

IN Tiir. I.0N(. G\].i }:]\\,(i.< i/(fu t iitir. 
No. IMl, Diana Tiiformis, scidpiurtd 

out of unt' jiU't c nt inarblo. 
No. "JH. A coU»-s.d h( ad of Ocoin, 

which bad, prul)ably, served as an 

No. 4t)7. Statue of ;» Don. 
No. -J'J4. Statut' of Tiberius (seated). 
No. .")4 4. SiU'iius. 
N<3. .'xVJ. Ihist of Augustus. 
No. .')M0. A Mercury. 
No. (iHl, llyjcia, holding her symbol 

in her left hand. 
No. G.'<5. A crouching Venus (ex- 

irenudy tine). 
No. 700. A fine Head of Antoninus. 
No. i\V,H. Siatiie of \'<'iuis(drape(l from 

tlie l(>in^ tlounvvards;. 

Passing onward, you see, in tlic Square 
\ i.sjim I I , the iiandsome Doric Sar- 
cophagus of (V»/;/( ////N >'(//)/<', an<l the 
celtlMated Bthic/tn Torst>. After- 
wards, in their appropriate Cabinets : 

The Apollo Ik'lvidere. 

Tile (iroup of the Laocoon. 

The two .Meba^ers. 

Pcrstus, and the Two Wrestlers, botli 
by Cd/fora. 

On each side of the entrance to tlie 
Hall of Animals, observe a ^uj)erb 
statue of a W olf-dog. 


A small Goat bit by a Serpent in the 

A 11 vena devouring a Sheep, in which 

the wool is represented. 
Two ( bilins: the other's 

A Dog which has leapt on the back of 

a Sta'.;, biting its side. 
Another statue of the same subject, in 

which the stag bounds away with 

the speed of the wind. 
A Pointer, of speckled marble. 
A small Lion, of dun-coloured marble. 

A Goat suckling a Kid. 

Tliree Ci-anes killing Serpents. 

A Leopard of Eiryjitian alabaster, with 
the sj>ots beautifully let in. 

A lar'^e Lion couchant, of^'m/A) antioK 

Another statue of a Lion, half recum- 
bent, with the head of an ox bel\\e<:n 
his paas. 

Statue of a Horse. 

A Horse's Head. 

In the G\LLi iiY of Staties sec — 

No. 854. Statue of a Pemale holding 
up her hands in surprise. Il stands 
in a recess to the left. 

No. 1)0-2. A semi -colossal statue of 
.lupiter seated ; a statue of Diana. 
At the opposite end of the Gallery 
observe a n^cumbenl statue of a 
Female Asleej), wearing an armlet 
of the figure of an a.<.p, called, from 
this circumstance, the Cleopatra. 


Statue of a Faun, in nfsso antico. 

A (ranymede. 

No. 04,-,. Statue of a Female Bac- 

Statue of Adonis. 

A Pontitical Chair, in rosso an^ico, quite 

The fresco on the ceiling represents the 
Marriage of Bacchus and Ariadne. 


Note Urania, holding her attribute, a 
globe, in her hand ; tlie Muse of 
Comedy, seated ; and Sappho. 

Here are also some fine termmal busts 
of Pericles, Solon, /eno, Miltiades, 
Socrates, &c. 

In goinii to the Hall of the Porphyry 
Basin, observe a Statue of that hoary 
and obscene sot, Silenus, holding a 
cup in his hand. 


So called from the large magnificent 
basin which stands in the centre. 



Remark two fine Statues of Juno, one 
as Queen of Olympus, with a patera 
in her left hand, the other as Queen 
of Hell,holding a spear and buckler. 

Statues of Bacchus and Amphion. 

A Statue seated, and one of Ceres. 

Busts of Jupiter, Pertinax,and Faustina. 

On each side of the doorway, observe 
two terms of Bacchantes (extremely 

As you leave this hall, observe, on the 
rij^t of the passage, the Statue of a 
Philosopher teaching. 


The Horses and Car occupy the centre. 
No. 1311 is a beautifully delicate Sutue, 

leaning his arm on the trunk of a tree. 
No. 1286. A Minerva. 
No. 1290. A most beautiful Bacchanal. 
A Discobolus in the act of throwing 

the disc. 
A Statue of Ajax. 
Observe, also, two beautiful Sarcophagi, 

the bas-reliefs on which give a good 

idea of an ancient chariot-race. 

The Campidoglio. OB Capitol, 

Derived its latter name from the cir- 
cumstance of a human head being 
found in digging the foundations of 
the Temple of Jupiter, which the 
augurs construed to presage that 
Rome should one day be the capital 
of the world. 

The fine flight of steps by which you 
ascend to the Capitol was designed 
by Michael Angela, at the top of 
which, on the balustrades, you see 
two colossal Statues of Castor and 
Pollux standing by their horses. 
Next to these stand what are com- 
monly called the Trophies of Marius, 
although the best antiquaries con- 
sider them, from the style of sculp- 
ture, to have been executed in honour 
of the victory gained by Trajan over 
theDacians. Beyond these, towards 
the extremities of the balustrade, 
are two Statues of the Sons of Con- 
stantine the Great, found in the 
baths of that emperor, which stood 
on the Quirinal Hill. 

The bdustrade is terminated by two 
small columns : that to the right on 
mounting is an ancient milestone, 
which, by the number, I., marked the 
first mile on the Apptan road ; the 
other, placed at the opposite end, was 
made merely for uniformity's sake. 

The Pedestal on which the equestrian 
Statue of Marcus Aurelius stands 
was made out of a single block of 
marble of the architrave taken from 
Trajan's Forum. 

The Museum, and the Palace of the 
Conservaltori, which face each other 
on the Capitol, are beautiful speci- 
mens of the architectural skill of 
Michael Angtlo. 

In the court, over a fountain, a recum- 
bent colossal Statue of the Rhine 


The door of entrance is opposite to the 
Palace of the Conservatori. 

In the Quadrangle, you see a colossal 
Statue of Ocean ; and in the Arcade, 
a Statue of Polyphemus, Endymion 
and his Dog, and the Dacian Pro- 

hall of canopus. 
We learn from Vaii, that the statuary 
here was found in the Canopus of 
Hadrian's villa at Tivoli. Tliey are 
almost all of basalt, or nero antico. 
Besides a number of statues of 
Egyptian divinities and priestesses, 
you see a Cynocepbalus, a Canopus, 
and a Crocodile. 

The Secoud Room on the ground floor 
contains the Sarcophagus of the Em- 
peror Alexander Severus, and his 
mother, Mammea. The sides are 
ornamented with four beautiful bas- 
reliefs : that iu front represents Aga- 
memnon restoring Briseb to Achilles : 
on one hand, you see the Captivity 
of Briseis represented ; on the other, 
Achilles revenging the Death of Pa- 
troclus. The bas-relief behind shews 
the Restitution of the Body of Hector. 

A Disk, on which the Life of Achilles 
is represented ; HercUles vanquished 
by Cupid, in mosaic; a group of 
Pluto and Cerberus; and a Statue 
of Nero. , 

Ascend now the staircase, and observe 
a plan of ancient Rome let into the 
wall ; and a Statue of Modesty. 


va^e in her 
«, AUxandcr 

T\\(- Aim: :vi nt mi the Dying C^la- 

The (.' .c'Tate'l Statue Nsheiice the 

a; .irlinciit t tko il«i irin"iH. 
T'.- jri.uji (jf ( upki and Psyche. 
A'M- (if Z»-i-o. 
A nvi,t.'>tic Matue ot Juno. 
A I a'in with a Pijiv. 
A tir:.; Sr.itiie "f AiiMiou^. 
An<''l:»r, I'f !ivr"ic |.r(.|»..'rt.o[i?, called 

th«j I-JV) t\in Aniii.(HW. 
X'ti.u-; C('ni;i: ' <'\\\ <-»t tlu- B-ith. 
A S' it'v <.t'.\| -y.l". m the Sol- 

l,;Kira, I » tr 'l';voli. 
A St.iu:. (»; l\ii. lora. 
Ai;ol!iei nt 1 lora. 
A I'lit >k>>>j hullii!.' a 

lUi^N of M.ircns Piruti 

the (»; and Aiiadnr ci"u\s in:d 

\Nilli i\y. 
A haut.fiil (ol'Uiin (jf puddiu_'?tunc. 

.\i' \I>T M F M Vl nil I AL N. 

So narnt.d fioni a licantitul Statue of a 
Pann, ui n>s^o (inliiOy which .stands 
in thr centre of the room. 

A Statue of Innocence ])rebsin^ a Uove 
to hi r l»:ca>t. 

A (In hi with a Swan. 

1 nC s.M (.)ON. 

A 'jdt hr< n/c 1I» rrnlcN. 

Tuo Centaur?, ni ?/(n» (irifico. 

An Infant Hercules, m bronze, of co- 

ht>->al proportioFis. 
A Statue of .i^•^cula^^ius, in lu / o (intin>. 
I^i> holdinu a Cistruin in her hand. 
A W-nus, ni the attitude of the Medicis. 
ll;ir|)ocrat< s, the (jod of Silence. 
Cains Marine in his consular robes. 
Hadrian a> Mars. 
A llercuhs, in uMeen basalt, 
liusi.s of Trajan and Antoninus. 

Tlie Ham. oi tue PniLo'^oiMirr.^ con- 
tains, iipon shelves, \0l busts and 
terms ofdiHerent [)hilo>uphers, poets, 
onitors, and other illustrious men ; 
anions the most remarkable of whom 
sou find busts of Julian the Ajiostate, 
Cleopatra, Archimedes, Homer, Pin- 

dar, Sappho, Virqil, TMato, Epicurus, 
Aristotle, Aspasia, and a mo-it :n 
one of Gabnelle Paerno, bv Mtch-.tJ 
An^tlo. A graceful bronze Slatuo 
occupies the centre of the apart- 

In the Apartment of tiieEmperohs 
observe a Suitue of Agrip])ina, tlie 
mother of Germanicu««, >t'a»eil m 
a curule chair, and placed m t':e 
Centre of the room. The numon'us 
bu>is of tlie emperors and t- mpre>M.s, 
piinces and princesses, are all nanu-d 
and arrauized chronologically, several 
of which are very fine and nire. 
Amonu' others may be noticed those 
of Tiberius and hi> wife Antonina; 
of Poppea, Nero's second wife ; of 
Cali'jnla ; Julia; of LuciUa, one of 
the finest in the Museum ; and, 
lastly, of Comraodus, esteeme<l b«>th 
for Its excellent workmanship and 
the scarceness of portraits of tins 

Von now enter the Long Gallery. 
Here remark an Infant Hercules 
(No. 2<)), evidently the poi trait o{ 
some bov ; a Wounded (iladiator, 
ti^iitiivj, like Witherin-jton in Clievy 
Chase, on his stumps ; Psyche ;Cato 
tlie Censor, No. 18 ; and Scipio 
African us, No. 50. 


Ob>erve liie extremely handsome ves- 
sel whence the aj)artment gets its 
name ; it is ornamented with superb 
ba -reliefs, representing the twelve 
principal divinities of pa<::anism. It 
was found near the tomb of Cecilia 
.Metell.i. Also, a bronze Vase, which 
once belonged to ^lilhridates, king 
of Pont us : a Statue of Diana of 
I'.phesus ; and the celebrated anti(]ue 
mosaic, in pictra liura, of I'our 
Piueon^drinkin.; from a bowl, found 
in Adrian's villa al Tivoli, and de- 
scribed by Plinv, 

Palace or the Conslp^vaioiii. 

Cnder the Poutico op the Coi iit you 
hnd a Statue of Julius Casar to the 
ri'^lit, and one of Augustus to the 
left. Se\eral fragments of colossal 
Statues are- arranged round the court, 
among which you observe two I''eet 
and a Hand of enormous propor- 

tions, t0'.:ether w ith part of a Thiuh 
and a Toe, which are thought by 
some to liave belonged to a colossal 
statue of Apollo, which l.ucidlus 
brou'^ht from Pontns ; ami by others, 
to the colossal statue of NVro winch 
stood in front of the Colosseum. 


A bronze Head of Commodus, and 
another in marble of Domitian. 
Here, also, you see a fine group of 
Greek sculpture of a Lion devouring 
a Horse. At the bottom of the court, 
enclosed by an iron palisade, you 
find a fine Statue representative of 
Rome Triumphant ; and below, the 
well«4[nown bas-relief of the Weep- 
ing Province. On each side stands 
a Statue of a Dacian King as a 
Captive ; they are of gray marble, 
ana of rare workmanship ; beside 
which are two Egyptian Idols, of 
Oriental gianite. 

Facing the First Flight of Steps you 
see a copy of the feroous Rostral 
Column which was erected in the 
Forum in honour of the naval victory 
obtained by the consul Caius Dui- 
lius over the Carthaginians in the 
year of Rome 492 . ( Vati.) Beneath 
is an original fragment of the ancient 

On the First Lamdimg-place you 
find, placed in niches, the Statues 
of the Muses Urania and Thalia; 
and on the walls of the court which 
forms the platform there are four 
superb has -relief, relating to the 
history of Marcus Aurelius. 

Continuing to mount, you observe on 
the wall to the left a beautiful bas- 
relief of M. Curtius, the Sabine, on 
horseback, crossing the marsh which 
was in the forum, on the occasion 
of the single combat betwixt Romu- 
lus and T^tius. 

On the Secono Lamdimo-place are 
two bas-relieis let into tlie wall, which 
formerly belonged to the triumphal 
arch of M. Aurelius : one represents 
this emperor on a pedestal, reading 
the petitions of toe people ; the 
otlier, the Apotheosis of Faustina 
the younger. 

From this Unding-place a door leads 
into a Saloon, named after the 
artist who executed the paintings, 
the Cavallicre UArpino. TTie sub- 
jects are, the Finding of Romulus 
and Remus ; Romulus marking out 
the first Boundaries of Rome with 
a Plough-share ; the Rape of the 
Sabines ; Numa Pompilius at sacri- 
fice with the Vestals; the Battle of 
the Romans against the Veians ; and 
lastly, the Challenge of the Iloratii 
and Cunatii. 

From this you enter the First of a 
Suite of Rooms, where the paint- 
ings relating to parts of early Roman 
history are contmued. In this you 
see Mutius Scsvola burning off his 
hand before Porsenna ; Brutus con- 
demning his two sons ; Horatius 
Cocles arresting the Etrurians single- 
handed on the Sublician Bridee, 
and the Battle by which Tarquin Sie 
Proud was driven from Rome. In 
this room you find an hefoic Statue 
of Mark Antony. 

The Second Room is adorned with a 
beautiful frieze, painted by Daniel 
da VoUerrOf representi ng the Triumph 
of Marius softer the defeat of the Cim- 
bri. In this apartment you likewise 
see the bronze Wolf which was for- 
merly in the Temple of Romulus : 
also a superb bust of Junius Brutus, 
Rome's nrst radical ; a group of Di- 
ana Triformis ; a bas-relief of the 
Gate of Eternity; and a beautiful 
statue, seated, of the Shepherd Mar- 
tins plucking the thorn from his foot. 

In the Third you see several fragments 
of marble in the wall, on which are 
inscribed the Fasti Consulares up to 
the time of Augustus, and two other 
inscriptions of modem date, com- 
memorating the victories of Mark 
Antony, Colonna, and of Alexander 
Faniese. Over the door of entrance 
is a fine Head, in bas-relief, of Mi- 
thridates, king of Pontus. 

In the Fourto, the two bronze Ducks, 
cast to commemorate the Capitol 
being saved by their cackling : they 
were found among the ancient ruins 
of the Capitol. Here is also a Me- 
dusa's Head in marble, by Bernini; 
two beautifiil Mosaics, found at Ti- 
voli ; a Holy Family, by GiuUo R^ 
mano; and representations of the 
Olympic Games, by Zuccheri. 

The Fifth is a Chapel, containing a 
portrait of the late Pope, Leo XII., 
and four busts of Socrates, Sappho, 
Ariadne, and Sabina Pompai. The 
frieze was painted by Hannibal Ca^ 

In the Sixth you see statues of Cicero, 
Virgil, and the goddess Cybele. The 
ftescos are by Ferugino, 

Off" this room is a Chapel. The Altar- 
piece is by Pinel, a modem artist ; 
and the four Evangelists, four Saints, 
and the Deity, on the ceiling, are by 


Carimt^^'io ; and St. Cecilia, by 


The Bealilied Spirit, by (iuiJo ; but it 
wants* the 'liiox Krffctu'uov;. 

The FincUni; of Romulus and Remus, 
bv RulcnSy in liis highest fmished 

Two charming Landscapes, by Van 
B/minn. Nos. (33 and GO. 

The Triumph of Hacchus, by Orizorite, 
No. (>>. 

A Ma^^dalen, by A I bant. 

INJoses striking the Rock in the Wil- 
derness. The style of colouring: finely 
(lej^ictsthe eft'eet of an arid sun, con- 
veying the idea of parched, absorbent, 
almo^it un(|uenehal)le thirst. No. 08. 

The Trium[)h of IMoni, by Poussin. 

Bacchus and Ariadne — School of 

Joseph bold by his Brelliren. 

A Magdalen, by (iatirino. 

Another, by (iitiilo. 

Another, by Tintontlo. 

The Cumaan Sibyl, by Dowenicfiiun. 

The Persian Sibyl, by (iatrcino. No. 38. 

St. John the Baptist, by Da Voltcrra. 

No. .>1. Remark the conectness of 

the design and natural reality of the 

The Marriage of St. Catherine, No. 43, 

by Conrgio. 
Da\id treading on the head of Goliath, 

by Romaml/i. No. 4(3. 
The'Xirgin and Child Jesus, by Alhani. 
A Holy Family, by Garofolo. 
The Communion of St. Jerome, by 

Aiioat. Curacci. 
A miniature copy, in water colours, of 

Suble}ras's Last Supper (in the 

Louvre), by his wife Zibaldl. 
\'anity, by Titiun. 
Judith with the Head of Ilolofernes, 

by GuiJo. 
Orpheus (cabinet size). No. 27. 
Martyrdom of St. Sebastian (small). 

No. 24. 
The Rape of the Sabines, by Da Cor- 

toiui. No. 15. 
Thf Sncnfice of Iphigenia, by the same. 

No. 4. 


The Apotheosis of St. Petronilla, by 

Europa, by Paul Vcromsc. No. 103. 
The same subject, by Guldo (small): 

No. 40. 

Polyphemus, by the same. No. 44. 
The Woman taken in Adulter^-, by 

Titian. Remark the divinity of the 

countenance of Christ. No. 37. 
No. 24 is a naked Figure, in which the 

effect of light and shade is finely 

Lazarus at the Rich Man's Table. No. 8. 
The Conversion of St. Paul. No. lOo. 
7'he Pool of Bethesda, by Dotntnichiih* 

(small). No. .57. 
St. John the Baptist getting water from 

a spring (small). No. 53. 
A Witch, by Sulvator Rosa. No. 86. 
St. Sebastian, by Ludovico Curacci. 

No. 89. 
Another, by Gucrcino. No. 100. 
A Gipsy Fortune-teller, by Caravaiisio. 

No. 72. 
A beautiful small Landscape, by Dt>- 

nunichino. No. 79. 
A Portrait of Petrarch, by Btliino, 

No. 78. 
A Soldier in armour, seated, by Sal- 

vator Rosa. No. 7(3. 
Endymion asleep, by Gucrci?io. No. 94. 
An I'cce Homo, by Baroccio. 
Cleopatra before Augustus, by Paul 

Veronese. No. 93. 
Cupid on a Footstool plucking posies, 

by a female pupil ofGuido's. No. 101 . 
St. Cecilia, by Lud. Caracci. No. 114. 
The Graces, by Palma il Giovanc. 

No. 120. 

Descending from the Capitol you come 
to the FouTM ROM.4.NUM, where the 
remains of the following edifices are 
to be seen : — The Temple of Concord. 
Livia was the wife of Augustus, in 
honour of whose amiable life and 
virtues this temi)le was dedicated by 
Tiberius. The Temples of Jupiter 
Tonans and Stator; the Triumphal 
Arch of Septimius Severus ; the 
Column of the Emperor Phocos; the 
Temf)le of Augustus and Faustina ; 
that of Remus, now forming the ves- 
til)ide of the Church of Saints Cosmo 
and Oamian; that of Peace, and the 
Triumphal Arch of Titus. 

On the P.\LATiNElInL stand the ruins 
of the Palace of the Casars. Here 
also Cicero, Catiline, Cras^us, and 
others, had houses. The Farnese 


Gardens occupy a portion of this hill ; 
but since the royal house of Naples 
became heirs to the Famese pro- 
perty, the statues, &€. which adorned 
them have been removed. 
At the foot of the Palatine Hill, leading 
out of the Forum, on the left as you 
go by the Velabrum towards the Ti- 
ber, you find the Temple of Romulus, 
now consecrated as the Church of 

St. Theodore. The Tribune is oma* 
mented with an ancient mosaic ; the 
High Altar-piece is by Zuccheri; and 
the two Laterals by Baciccio and 
Ghezzi. The bronze wolf we saw 
in the Capitol, was found in this 
temple, which stands, it is thought, 
on the very spot where the twin bro- 
thers were discovered by the shep- 
herd Faustulus. 

The Colosseum. 

This amphitheatre, the most magni- 
ficent ruin in Rome, was erected by 
the Emperor Vespasian, on his return 
from the Jewish war, in the seventy- 
second year of the Christian em. It 
cost above 2,000,000/. in building, 
and 12,000 Jewish slaves, taken at 
Jerusalem, were employed during 
the five years it took ere it was com- 
pleted under Titus bis son. The 
colossal statue of Nero was placed 
in front of it, and hence it took the 
name of the Colosseum. It is built 
of blocks of travertine, and its exterior 
surrounded by three rows of arches 
raised one upon another, of the three 
principal oraers of architecture, and 
the whole surmounted by lofty Co- 
rinthiait pilasters. 

Nearly opposite the Colosseum you see 
the rums of the Temples of the Sun 
and Moon, and of the Triumphal 
Arch of Constantine. The bas-reiieft 
on the frieze of the latter, representing 
the taking of Verona and the Battle 
of Ponte Molle, as well as the figures 
of the four Heroes and the two Cir- 

culars on the sides of the arch, indi- 
cate the decline of the arts under 
Constantine. The other sculptures 
were taken from one of the arches of 
Trajan, when the fine arts were at 
their acm^ of perfection : these are 
tlie ten square bas-relie6 which you 
see in the attic, the eight circulars 
over the small arcades, and the two 
larger ones under the grand arcade. 
They all relate to the life of Trajan. 

The ruins of the Aqueduct which we 
see on the Palatine Hill, near the 
Arch of Constantine, are those of 
Septimius Severus, which conducted 
part of the Claudian water to supply 
the palace of the Cssan. 

Between the Colosseum and the Arch 
of Constantine, you see the remains 
of a fountain, called the Meta Sa- 
DANS, from having had the form of a 
circus goal. The water jutted out of 
its top and tumbled all around. It 
was here the gladiators came to drink 
and refresh themselves when fatigued 
with tlie sports of the arena. 


A Premiere Pens^ of the Transfigura- 
tion, by Raphael. 

St. John, by Giulio Romano. 

A St. Agnes, and a St. Catherine, by 
Han. Caracci. 

Christ and the Virgin, by Rubem. 

The same subject, by Gwdo. 

Saul and David, by Guerdno. 

An Altar-piece, in an adjoining Chapel, 
of the Annunciation, by Guido. 

An Ecce Homo, by Domenichino. 

In another apartment you see an As- 
cension, by Vantfyck. 

Christ disputing in the Temple, by 
Caravaggio. ' 

A St. Peter and a St. Paul, by Fra 

A St. Sebastian, by Paul Veronese. 

An Adoration of the Magi, by Guercino. 



St. Peter after denying Christ, by l^ftag' 

The Judgment of Solomon — school of 

the Cmeci, 


An Ecce Homo, by Han. Caracci, 
A Dead Christ, by Garofoh. 
The same subject, bv ZuccherL 
St. Francis praying, by Cigoli, 



A Holy Family, by Pnrizzo — school of 

])tl Sarftt. 
Led a, bv I'lKnri. 
IMo>('.s, by Cmuh/o. a fiiie painting: in 

the niuniier of his master, C"ara\aj,'.:io. 
Diana bntlnng, by PoUmlx ri:. 
A Prize-shootmg Party of Diana's, by 

Dorm nirfiino. 
A Manger Scene, by Tibahli. 


Lucretia, by Hronzino. 

Joseph and Poliphar's Wife, a beantiful 

c()j>y of hil/ivirti's in the Florence 

Mary and Joseph watchinc: the Infant 

Jesns asleep, by Font ana (small). 
St. Anthony proacliing to the Fishes, 

bv Paul J crontsc. A fine marine 

Polyphemus, by Lanfninco. 
A l*ortrait of Ha[)h:iel when fourteen, 

painted by himself. 
A tine Portrait, by J)a Cortona. 
St. Catlu'rine surrounded by several 

beautiful Heads, by P(irvn<^hi}iino. 
A Holy Family, by Picrino del Vo^a^ 

a pupil of Raphael. 


A \'isitalion, by Ruhctis. This is a 
cabinet ])icture, and resembles in its 
composition the large one we see in 
the ( athedral at Antwerp. 

St. .lohn in the Wilderness, copied by 
(liulio Hiununo from KaphaeFs in 
the Tribune at Florence. 

F.uropa, by the C/nvdlicr dWrpino. 

St. .lohu the Baptist, by hronzino. 

The Nvmph C'alliste asleep in a charm- 
inu: landscape .scene. 

The Female Alagician, by Dosso D(?ssi. 

A Magdalen, by Fontann. 

The celebrated Descent from the Cross, 
h\ Ixap/tdil. The figure of the evau- 
gelist St. John is particularly fine. 

Hie Cumaau Sibyl, by Dounuiihino. 

A Holy Family, by Cunofolo. 

Two of the Prophet*?, by Michael An- 

rum koom. 

Ucmark four circular Paintings by Ai- 
luini. The first represents Vulcan 
and \enus reposing in the foreground 
of a beautiful landscape, while Cu- 
pids amuse themselves in shooting 
at a heart on a shield Wwd to a tree. 

Tlu' *«.<"/./. N'j^nus at her Toilette, at- 
tiMided b\ th«* diaces. 

The /A/m/, Nunphs of Diana stealing 

the Arrows and breaking the Bows 

of Cupids asleep, wlnle two otliers 

withdraw an arrow from a transfixed 

and bleeding heart. 
The f'ourth represents the Departure of 

Adonis for the ('ha<e. 
The Four Aijes of Human I^ife, copud 

by Sdssof'trrati from Titian. Tiie 

original is in England. 
Two small Landscapes, of great merit 

and beautv, bv Frunct&co H^^l^*^^tt se. 
Portrait of Fornarina, by Giulio R.t- 

Led a — of the school of Da Vinci. 
A X'enus, by Giulio Romano. 
Another, by hcccajumi. 


Orpheus charming the Beasts of the 
titld by his ^lusic, bv Paul Hrili. 

Portrait of a Female holding Scissors 
in her hand, by Romanclii. 


A fine Portrait, by Carava^^^io, holding 
in his hand fruit and flowers. 

Figure of a Poor Man kneeling before 
a Saint, bv Ikmiuicio. 

An allegorical representation of Pla- 
tonic and Sexual Love, by Titian. 

Cupid and Psyche, by Dosso Dossi. 

Judith and Holofernes. 

A Marine A'iew, bv Paul Brill. 


A Head of Christ, by Carlo Dolce. 

A Head of the Madonna, by the same. 

Cattle in a Landscape, by Paul Pottt r. 

The Holy Virgin, \>iih (the boy) Je>us 
and St. Ann, a beautiful large paint- 
ing, by Caravaagio. 

A Magdalen, by Del &irto. 

The (i races, by Titian. 

Christ on the Cross, by Vanduck(smdi[\). 

The Prodigal Son. 


Lot and his Daughters, by Delia Noffr. 
This is perhaps one of I'aidHnifhorst's 
finest candle-light effects: the light 
blazes in Lot's face, and the glare of 
his eye denotes and develops the 
flush of lustful and incestuous pas- 
sion and intemperance. 

A \ isitation, by Del Piombn. 

A Holy Family, with St. George, by 

The Flagellation of Christ, by Zncchtri 

A Cook and Viands, by Caravaesio. 

A charming Madonna and Child, by 
the divine and soft pencil of Dolce. 



In the FarkeS£ Palace you see the 
noble Frescos by Hannibal Caracci 
and his scholars, representing the 
Triumph of Bacchus and Ariadne, 
the Stones of Acis and Galatea, of 
Diana and Endymion, Europa and 
the Bull, Apollo flaying Marsyas, 
Salmacis and Ilermaphr^itus, Per- 
seus and Andromeda, Jupiter and 
Ganymede, Hero and Leander, Au- 
rora and Cephalus, Syrinx turned 
into reeds by Pan, &c. 

The Piazza Colonna. 
This piazza derives its name from the 
superb column which the Roman 
senate raised in honour of Marcus 

Aurelius, for the victories he gained 
over the Marcomanni. It is of the 
Doric order, and consists of twenty- 
eight blocks of marble placed one 
over another, the diameter of which 
is eleven feet and a half; and the 
height, comprising the base and 
capital, eighty-eight feet and a half. 
The whole, including the foundation, 
pedestal, and statue, stands one 
nundred and forty-eight feet and a 
half high, to whose summit you 
ascend by an inner staircase of one 
hundred and ninety marble steps. 
The Post-oflice, also, is in this 
Turn down the Corso to the Doria 

DoRiA Palace. 

The Portico, which is before the grand 
staircase, is remarkable for its flat 
ceiling, and the difiiculties which 
the architect had to encounter and 
overcome in its construction : it is 
sustained by eight columns of Ori- 
enlal granite. Thence you mount, 
by a fine and spacious staircase, to 
the apartments, which contain a rich 
and superb collection of paintings 
by the best masters. 

Those in the First Room are all in 
water-colours, by Gaspard Pouuin 
and his scholars. 


The TViumph of David, with landscape 
scenery ; and the Finding of Moses — 
both good — artbt uncertain. 

Two Landscapes, by Giacomo Eremite. 

A Horse drinking at a Well, on which 
a female Turk is seated, by Benedetto 

Several oil paintings, by Gaspard 
Poutdn, 1 he two that pleasea me 
most were the Samaritan, and Saint 
John in the Wilderness. 

Two Landscapes— one representing the 
Repose in Egypt, tne other an 
Offering to Mercury. 

The Conversion of St. Paul, by Zuo- 

Galatea, by Lanfranco. 

Andromeda, by Ludovko Caracci (ex- 

A Storm at Sea, by Tempetti. 

Entrance of the Animals into the Ark, 
bT BatMono (in his better finish). 

Endymion, l^ Guercino. 

The Repose in Egypt, with angels 

ministering, by Franceico Mola 

A Pieta, by Paul Veronete, 
Four paintings emblematical of the 

Quarters of the Globe, by Solimene. 
The Death of Abel, by Salvatar Rota. 
Icarus and Dedalus — school of Andrea 

Galatea, by Pierino del Vaga. 
Two small Landscapes, by Both. 
A Descent from the Crofs, by Vasari, 

There are many beautiful figures in 

this picture, but it wants more depth 

of shade to give it repose. 


A fine Pieta, by Hannibal Caracci, 
Endymion and Diana, by Rubens, 
Narcissus regarding himself ia the 

Water, by Cagnacci. 
Agar in the I>esert, by Spagnoletto. 
Abraham's Sacrifice, by CattigUone. 


The Tribute to C«sar, by // Calabrese. 
Semiramis at her Toilette, by Hamubal 

Bathsheba bathing, by Branca, 
Time plucking Cupid's Wings, by 

Two St. Jeromes, by Spagnoletto. 
Roman Charity, by Valentin. 
Two Bambocci*s. 
You now enter the Qu adbanole. 

FIRST SIDE to the left. 
Sassoferrati^s celebrated Madonna. 
A Magdalen, by II Calabrese. 
Spring and Autumn personified, by Ro- 


G G 



A Mafrdnlen, by Titian ; but she ex- 
f-inj^litics no pt-nitence. 

Cldtult's Moliiid (exquisitely beauti- 

Tiiree Lunettes, by Ilannihal Cmacci, 
K prescuiiuii the Fl.^lit into Kuvpt, 
tilt' \ iMtatinn, and Annunciatioii. 

The Ht'jHxe in Muypt, by Cttravtiiiiiio. 
A beautit^ul s} ecinien of tlie artist. 

A l^i-t Supper, l>y 'I'lHtortUit^m \>hieb 
llie MaL'tlaleu i> batliiui: tiic Sa\ iour^ 
ft et. 

Lot and bis DauLdtters, ])y ])clUi Xotfc. 

A uroup of C'upids tiulitmi:, 1)V Cisi. 

Death of Tancred, by (iturcino. 

Si. l\o(k as a sh» pherd, \vnl) bis do;i', 
in a huid-seapo seene : a sheplierd- 
boy is dre-'Siiic his wound, — by the 
]^.i>toral prncil oi SchuJinit. 

Another le.uitiful landscape, bv Cluuiiv^ 
the pi lulitiit of th.e Molina. 

An unfuusIiL-d Sketch, bv Ccrrasio. 

On the SicoND Side there are no 

nil no ^^inr. 
The Muiiler of the Innocents, by Li/ca 

A >Liudaien, by .l/z//-///o (haviiij^ evcrv 

a p pea ra n ei' o f a p o r I ra it). 
The Ixejiose m l'u\pt, by Claude. 
A .NLejdukn, by l\ti {Donuuichino). 
The Martyrdom of St. Aunes. 

A fine Portrait of Pope Panfili. 

St. John in the Wilderness, by Cuer- 

A fine Marine Landscape, by Torn- 

Judith with the Head of Holofernes, 

by Gnido. 
Bebsarius, bv Saivator Tiosa. 
A Holy Family, by Sassoftrrati. 

rorilTH SIDF. 

The same subject, by Ludovico Ca- 

Portraits of Luther, C'aUin, and Donna 

C'aterina, by Gioriiionc. 
A Madonna and Child, by Sa^nflr- 

The same subject, by Carlo Maratta. 
Armina, by Da Cortona. 
Susanna bathinor, by Hannibal Caracci. 

Small, yery fine. 
Samson, by Guercino. 
St. Peter liberated from Prison by tlie 

Anuel, by Lanfranco. 
Abraham's Sacrifice, by Titian. 
A small Crucifixion, by Michael An- 

Si. John holding a Dimb in his arms. 
A copy of the Aldobrandini Marriage, 

by yicfiolas Poussin. 
Portrait of Giovanna, queen of Ana gon, 

by J)a Tinci. 
Another fine St. Jerome, by Sjxigno- 



riHsT IlOOM. 

Raphael's Transfiiruration in tlie \ ati- 

ean, finely copied by his jiupil Giulio 

St. I)arbaia, by Dr/ Cortona. 
The Decollation of St. John, by Gior- 

St. Peter healing the Sick, by J^>- 

The Sacrifice of Abraham, by Dtlla 

The Magdalen at the feet of Jesus 

after his Resurrection (small), by 

St. Augustin giving Alms, by Carlo 

Kome Tnnniphant. At her feet, in 

r« cumbent po:>lures, the Tigris and 

Tiber lie, with the figures of Ko- 

mulus and Uemus as appropriations. 
Christ and the VVoman of Samaria, by 


The Murder of the Innocents, by Ba$- 
sano. (Small, finished.) 


Rich in Landscapes of great beauty. 
Observe two by Paul Brill, the 
figures in which keep them quite 

Two, by Claude: one represents the 
Flight into Egypt ; the other, the 
Lake of ikacciano, exemplifying, by 
contrast, day and night effects in his 
usual masterly manner. 

A small Landscape, by Breu£:hel. 

Two early Landscapes of Claudes. 

One by AVr. Poussiuy in which he in- 
troduces St. Luke and an Angel. 

Also several beautiful Landscapes by 
Bo t It's brother. 


Charity, bv Elizabeth Sirani. 
A Holy Family, by J mala. 



Noah drank* by Andrew Sacchi, Not 
of the most decorous character. 

SamsoD, by Garotelli. 

Moses with the Tables of the Law. A 
richly toned aod impressive painting, 
in the manner of his master, Cara- 
▼aggio, by Guido. 

A Holy Family, by Albani (very fine). 

Portrait of Fornarina, by GiuUo JRo- 
mono. She is naked almost to the 


A Landscape Scene, by Schidone, in 
which you see two shepherds re- 
garding a human skull : on the stone 
on which it is placed you read, " Et 
in Arcadia ego^ 

Two excellent paintings of the Evan- 
gelists St. John and St. Mark, by 

A portrait of Raphael in a green dress, 
by himself. 

The " Matrimony" of Agottino Caracci. 

Personification of Modesty and Vanity, 
by Da Vinci. 

Two Gamblers ** plucking a pigeon,'* 
b^ Caravaggio. 

Guido*i two well-known Magdalens : 
one the *< AlU Radice.'' 

A small Giotto on panel. 

St. Sebastian, by Perugino. 

Portrait of Titian *s Mistress, bv himself. 

A small sketch of the Martyrdom of St. 
Erasmus, which served as 3. premiere 
pensee for that in the Vatican. 

St. James, by Guercino. 

St. Jerome, by the same (small). 

The Death of the Virgin, by Albert 

Portrait of a Lady in a black velvet 
dress, by Broniino (very fine). 

The Death of Dido, by Schidone. 

Satan tempting three Shepherds in 
their dreams, by the same. 

On the ground floor there are three 
rooms containing ancient sculptures ; 
among which you see a Sarcophagus 
ornamented with bas-reliefs, repre- 
senting the Muses ; a fine statue of 
a Priesttfss ; one of Marcus Aurelius ; 
another in bronze of Septimius Se- 
verus ; a Ceres ; a Bacchus ; three 
colossal Busts; five Egyptian figures ; 
a satue of an Amazon ; and a beau- 
tiful Diana. 

Flaminio Vacca was the architect of 
this palace. 

The Gallery of the Colonna Palace 

contains — 
A Magdalen in Glory, by Hait. Caracci. 
St. John in the Wilderness, by Sal- 

vator Rosa, 
Portraits of Titian's Family, by himself. 
St. Peter and the Angel, by Lanfranco. 
Several fine Landscapes, by Nicolas 

and Caspar Poussin, Orizonte, Ber- 

ghanif &c. 
The Ceiling of this Gallery represents 

the Battle of Lepanto, in which the 

author of Don Quixote lost his hand. 

In the Ante- ROOM you see — 
Portraits of Luther and Calvin, by 

Europa, by Albani ; and 
Hie subject of Cain and Abel, by 


Paintings, &c. in the Baeberini Palace. 


A Statue of Pan, by Michael Angela, 
He lies on his Iraick asleep. Thrs 
makes a fine contrast with another 
statue of — 

Diana asleep, by Bernini. 

St. Catherine in Prison, by 11 Cala- 
brete. The dark shading of this 
painting harmonises well with the 
depth of a£9iction depicted by St. 
Catherine. There is an imposing 
grandeur in all Calabrese's works, well 
illustrated in the present painting. 

From this you enter the Great Hall, 
and see the magnificent Ceiling 
painted by Pielro da Cortona. 


A Magdalen in a landscape scene, by 
Gutdo. This, by a mistake, is as- 
cribed to Guercino in the text. 

Animals, by Fiamingo. 


Four paintings of St. John, St. Paul, 

St. Peter, and St. James, by Carlo 

Four other Apostles of corresponding 

size, by Andrea Sacchi, 
St. John, by Guercino, 
David with the Head of Goliath, by 

The two following rooms are lined with 

Gobelin ta|)estry, representing the 



rnpt.sTi of Con=itar,tine, Si. Helen, 
ivLc a!'v.r d-«>;^r,> bv Ruhtns. 

} ; :.^T r <Mi\i i p ^^AIn-. 
T^Nu !t'j»; j'iwit.iij^, dcpiCtini: ihe Tri- 
Lr:.;''j «_t Biee'ius arj<J the Feast of 
t:,e (t.'1>, bv lioiinm Hi. 

SEC ON I' r.<'<''M. 

jL-tiTi and l*utip!iar*s Wife, by hilt- 

Si. Jt-r.'rne, by />//« yi>(ft\ in liis 

c''iir.<Ll»'r.>t.c >lvle of coluuring. 
At ftiii-.r. by S;-aj'ii'Utlo. 
T:ir»:t: bca':utiil I^iii'l>capes, by the 

S';ri>!iine |'u;til ef h>*tli. 
Ti-e\ ;r^.n. Iiifiiil Je>'.;««. and St. John, 

bv p.. 7 "<:.'/ itiiniK 
A I't.:riale [»l<iyin.' on a Guitar, by 

r>':i-i.t (jI St. Ciiarles Borromeo. 
T^^o .Mrii,:rjr,a<. 

A SaLriti>.c i" Dkir'a, bv the ;:av and 
[OcJic pencil oi F>iu^>in. 

THir.D F.(Mm. 
Ti«r Maruidom of St. Apollonia, by 

Thr' Prophet E'.ias, by (hit rci/io. 

Ttie Adoration of the ^lai^J, by Cura- 

A small Picta, by Guercino. 

Tiie Hifzht into E<r\pt, by AWani. 

Porirdit of St. Andrea Coriini, by 

Tlie .\rchari<re1 Michael, a copy from 

(iuido's, by the Chevalier cfArpi/io. 

lot riTll KOOM. 

Apollo and Diana shooting the Children 
of N lube, by Cumasc(ii. 

Two fine Landscapes, by Hoth. 

St. Uosolia pnltiniT a slop to the Pla^iie 
in Palestine. The dead lie stre^^ed 
about, and an an-jel in the sky is 
repie<enied sheathing the sword of 

1 IITH llOOM. 

Gitido's beautiful and interesting Por- 
trait of the Cenci. 

Portrait of iier .Mother, bv Gnetani. 

A Carihai:ituan Slave, by Titian. 

Portrait of Fornariua, by Raphael. 
This, the custode tells you, is the 
real oritrinal. 

A Landscape, by Cbiude. 

Clirisiandthe FJders,by.'JMfrf Durer. 

The PiO{)liet Elijah, by Guercino. 

The Re|>ose in K<jypt, by Album. 

Adam and Eve, by Domenichino. 

Paintings in thf Pavilion or the Rospigliosi Palace. 

Here it i"- that the visitor sees Guido's 
ceb.l rated Aurora, a fresco on the 

Al>o, two allejoric?il paintings, by 
Tt'iij^t^ti, rt jUL'-f-ntuu:,' the Triumph 
of Lo\t ar.d of X'irtue. How dull 
and })!o-aic lliC pajevUitry of the one ! 
llctw v;;iv and poetic the pr(»cession 
of the olher ! Mrrcury is the avaiit- 
courier. The Father of the Gods, 
mounted on an ea<:le, with Juno by 
his side. leads the joyous band. Gods 
and coddesses of every attribute, 
prectde the triumphal car, — even 
the prude Diana does penance for 
her sly amour with Endymion. Tor- 
pitude, Slotii,and Watciifuhiess, fol- 
low immediately behind ; and em- 
perors and kings, bound to their 
mistresses in the chains of the mi^^hty 
concpieror, with a host of slaves of 
inferior note, bring u]) the rear. 
Cupid's triumph is compkte : his 
slaves hug their chains, and rejoice 
in their servitude. 

In anAPAKTMLM lo the right, you 

see Samson represented pulling down 
the Temple of Da'4on at the feast, 
amidst the consternation of the 
tjuests, by Ludovico Curaccl. 

Oi)posite to this is Adam |. lucking Fig- 
leaves for I'.ve, by Dumtnichitw, 

A Head of Guido, bv himself. 

So})hon!sba drinking the Pcison, by // 
Ca/al>nst. A fine magical paint- 

A ihep and richly-toned Landscape, 
by Gtarcino. Two hermaphrodites 
sit by the side of a nil, going to 

In an Apaktmint to the left of the 
Pavilion lliere are — 

An Andromeda, by Guido. 

The Triumph of David, by Domeni' 
cftino. In landscape scenery, King 
Saul, with nymphs playing on cym- 
bals, the clarion, and lute, welcomes 
the youthful hero on his return from 
slayirii; Cioliath. An army tills up 
the background, and numerous spec- 
tators on the walls of .ferusalem hail 
their deliverrr. 



£▼6 ofierhig the Apple to Adam, by 

Palma Vecchio. 
Chanty, by CignanL 
A 6ne Pieta, by Hannihal CaraccL 
Christ bearing his Cross, by Daniel da 

The Five Senses, by Carlo Cignani. 

Conjugal Loye, by Giorgume. 
Christ and the Apostles, by Rubens. 
An Ecce Homo, by Guido. 

Among several busts in this room, re- 
mark that of Cicero, and the cele- 
brated one of Scipio Africanus. 

Paintings in the Corsini Palace. 


An Ecce Homo, by Guercino. 


Portrait of Rubens, by himself. 
Christ before Pilate, by Vandtfck. 
Two Cabinet Landscapes, by Salvator 

Lucretia, by Guercino. 
St. Peter, by Francetco Mola. 
St. Peter finding Money in the Fish's 

Belly, by Caravaggio. 
A Holy Family, by Fra Bartolammeo 

Apollo tending the Flocks of Admetus. 

Rich landscape sceneiy : Mercury 

announces to him his recall from 


third room. 

The Daughter of Herod ias witli the 
Head of St. John, by Guido. She 
holds it on a salver, and her coun- 
tenance is full of compassion, and 
beams with sweetness. 

Wild Beasts attacking Men on Horse- 
back, by Rubens. A tiger tliat has 
leapt on the back of a horse has 
seized the rider by the shoulder, —his 
alarm is finely expressed : others are 
attacking the beasts, and in one en- 
counter the artist has stolen an idea 
from Hercules and the Nemean 

Christ and the Woman of Samaria, by 

Cleopatra dissolving the Pearl to the 
Health of her Lover, by Guido. 

A Vestal, by Carlo Maratta. 

The Crucifijcion of St. Peter, by Guido. 
Small — the premiere pensre of that 
in the Vatican. 

The Crucifixion of St. Andrew, by the 

A Virgin and Child, by Del Sarto. 

The Judgment of Paris, by Giulio Ro- 

A Rabbit, by Albert Durer (beauti- 
fully executed). 

A Holy Family, by Carlo Maratta, 

Observe a large ivory Ecce, by Michael 


Two Ecce Homos, and a Head of the 
Madonna and of St. Peter, by Guido. 

Another Ecce, by the divine pencil of 

A Female Figure reading, by Carlo 

Two very fine Landscapes, by Agostino 

Polyphemus seizing a young Shep- 
herdess (a story from Ariosto). Mark 
the palsied tremor and fright of a 
shepherd youth. 

Christ at the Well, by Guercino. An 
extremely rich and noble painting. 

A Holy Family, by Parmegianino. 
Small; fine. 


Several Portraits by the first masters. 


A Virgin and Child. Nature and truth 
are in every touch and trait. 

David with the Head of Goliath — 
school of Guido. 

A large and beautiful Landscape, by 
Gaspar Potusin. 

Anotlier charming Landscape, in which 
the artist has assembled together the 
most beautiful objects in nature. A 
waterfall occupies the centre of the 
scene ; on each side, lofty trees ; in 
the distance to the lefi, the sea and 
shipping ; mountains are perceived 
in the distant background, and flocks 
and herds give animation to the de- 
lightful scene. 

St. Sebastian, by Rubens. 

Two fine Landscapes, by Orixonte,— 
that to the left is particularly so. 

Gamblers, by Caravaggio. 

Susanna and the Elders, by Domeni'' 

Judith with the Head of Holofemes, 
by Delia ^'otte. 

The Death of Seneca, by Caravaggio. 
The subject is meagrely conceived : 



t' :• ^ ^t :". -J »:.jT..'> ..<t" ', '....- -pny. 

1 •■ ^•. • r • :> -' :. t v ; ;i. i: ♦ <vyK-ri .i r, 

;i' : ■ t't -!'•- • >■ • . • I* •''» t. L^s.^t 

:• • - : t'> '.ft " " i^^ :n . 
A r ' r ' :i, \ /-- : v / - i .' :ct. 
>\. 'r' ' - . "' \ ** .«'. '• " . 11< ■»* «.'tV:n 

-'•--• c :': 't : ::.*^ "i.^ ?-\' ct, 

!". •. V, t\ ^ • ..^"w^x^s NaT. '\ : I r . Nc 

>:. .' . '. :r. t ,- N\ .'. :• rr> ^<, h\ C .'a- 

• j_ .. >»- 1*' i r. X' r j'M'.i.'i, bis 
I -• -- > •>•: V'.: J a;. -I i.ovtl, yet 

"-F'. r \ ": :• :. • v.. 

• '- K - 

t V /' • ,. A^t:\r>rt-:i ^.rjri.e 
•»■" .• t\ lIti; -:t\ t . lie: ".\ ! ar: \ c-j-. er< 
t ' r. 

M .. 

Ar. I..!-'i"r. ^y 7'r ,ur>. A ^NonMn is 

A H'-y l'.tr..;.\ . by .^^•^/.'^ 5 P"?/<</'/. 
Tw" ri'.ii Landscape?, nmiu Tuuits, by 

Ii. t^t I'Ai.A77n Br. \-i in, voM ><re the 
\ :r_ii) v\;*Ji A: _' ".^. bv Mm-'//,'. 

Ti.e .M;-n.\ ot' I'.t. Lt^.ivto and riNtU'<, 
ru (i ".r M.irr;a4t; in Lar.a, by Ga- 

Tl.t M.rr; ijr ^'t St. Catliermt-, by Fru 
i> rt-''.0'iin<t (>. 

Tne Woman taken in Adulterv% bv 

A Cri.Citixion, by Tintoretto, 

Cmm-^i ,iik1 ilie \ ir-^in, by (hndo. 

Ani.ttijer of the s.inu', by SasiiiUrrati. 

^iati>es of P.ilLis, Ceres, Ccmmodus, 
nn«j Acbillt-s. 

The arms of tliis family consist of an 
e^_'ie and stirs, witli a puffof wind 
blovvmz 'jpon a bly, upon which 
the |>oet Monti made the following 
epi-^nim : 

Rrjdf nqiiiliim imperio, Francornm lilia 

Siitra rt'ddf Polo, catera Braiche fiia. 

In the M\<^iMi Palacf. there is an 
admirable antiqiie statue of a Dis-, and some frescos bv Cara- 

Tiie Si'vnv Paiacf contains a portrait 
of Htalnce C\'nci,by Pan! 1'iTom'$<. 

T;me di>co\truuj: Truth, by Albani. 

Jac'->b at the N\ ell, by Sicolas Fouiisin. 

A Moliier and Child ; and a Musi- 
cian — by ( \ir(ivng<:io. 

Christ before Pilaie, by DtUn Xotie. 

The Flicht of Helen, and Portrait of 
Cvirdmal Spada, by Guido. 

Heaii<oftvvo Hoys, by Cor-rffio. 

Jacob at the Well, by Sico/as Fon^sin, 

r)i(h» on llie Funeral Pile, by Guer- 

The Statue of Pompcy mentioned as 
bt'ni.istdl here by Mrs. Starke, was 
bou»:ht by his (irace the Duke of 
Devonshire some time ago. 


In the Pi v/7\ oi Svn CiiovANM 
T\i rii \Ni) stands the lar,:Gsl obelisk 
in all Koine. It v\as erecte»i at 
Tl.ebts n:ore than tliree thousand 
Years a'j;o by Kaineses, km^: of 
Ivjvpt, and \Nas dedicated to the 
sun. Its heiuht is ninety-nine feel, 
\%ithout reckoiiing its ba>e and 
pedestal. the l>a^ilick of St. John you tind 
tlie Bapti>tery of Con>tantine, so 
called fioin beinoj the place where 
this enijieror received baptism from 
Pojje St. Sihoter. Tiie baptismal 
fonts are formed by an antique urn 
of basalt. 'I'hese fonts are surrounded 
bv an octangular balustrade, and 

covered with a cupola, sustained on 
two rows of columns placed one 
tipon another. Between the ])ilasters 
of the second tliere are eivzht paint- 
inu><, represent ini;;; passas^es of the 
history of the Blessed Virijin and of 
St. John the Baptist: they are by 
the pencd of Andna Sacchi. The 
frescos on the walls are by Gtmig- 
utinij J I tdnidsstij Cur/o ^larattay 
and ^luinu'/ii. 

Thl Basilick or St. John Laterax. 

The colossal statue of C'onstantine in the 
grand portico was found in his Daths. 



The interior is divided into five isles 
. by four ranges of pilasters, and in 
the inter -pilasters of the middle 
nave there are twelve niches, orna- 
mented with statues of the Twelve 
Apostles, between columns of verd 
antique ; they are by Le Gros. 

This temple contains one of the most 
magnificent chapels in Rome. Cle- 
ment XII. erected it in honour of 
St. Andrew Corsini, one of his an- 
cestors, whose name it bears. It is 
the first to the left on entering the 
church. The altar-piece is a fine 
mosaic copy of Guido*i portrait of 
the saint. On the frontispiece stand 
the statues of Innocence and Peni- 
tence, sculptured by Pinceliotti, 
Above, you see a bas-relief, wherein 
the saint is represented defending 
the army of the Florentines at the 
battle of Anghieri. The great niche 
situated beside the Evangile con- 
tains the beautiful mausoleum of 
Clement XII., where you find the 
superb antique urn of porphyry 
which formerly stood in the portico 
of the Pantheon, and is supposed to 
have contained the ashes of Agrippa. 
Opposite, you see the Tomb of 
Cardinal Neri Corsini, the uncle of 
Clement XII. with his statue, that 
of a Genius, and another of Religion, 
seated, — all by the masterly chisel 
of Maini, 

Observe, about the middle of the grand 
aisle, the bronze Tomb of Martin V., 
and the two superb columns of Ori- 
ental granite which support the grand 
arch of this nave. 

The high alar is placed \n the middle 
of the transepts. It is ornamented 
with four columns of granite, which 
bear a Gothic tabernacle, in which is 
kept, amongst its most remarkable 
relics, the heads of the apostles St. 
Peter and St. Paul. 

At the bottom of the cross you find the 
splendid altar of the Holy Sacra^ 
ment. It is decorated with a taber- 
nacle formed of precious stones, 
placed between two angels of gilt 
bronze and four columns of verd 
antique. The entablature and pedi- 
ment of gilt bronze, which crown the 
altar, rest on four fluted columns of 
the same metal. These are believed 
by antiquaries to be the same that 
Augustus caused to be made after the 

battle of Antium, from the stems of 
the Egyptian vessels captured, and 
' which Domitian afterwards placed 
in the Capitol. Above, you see a 
painting of the Ascension by the 
Chevalier D'Arpino, whose tomb 
you find behind the Tribune, and 
near to that of Andrea Sacchi. 
In this church you likewise see the 
Tomb of Boniface VIII., remarkable 
for a fresco by Giotto, representing 
this Pope, between two Cardinals, 
proclaiming on the balcony the first 
jubilee of the Anno Santo. 

The Holy Stairs and Chapel of 
THE Sakcta Sanctorum. 

To Drevent these stairs from being 
wholly worn out, Clement XII. 
covered them with walnut -wood. 
This also having been worn aiyay by 
the knees of the fiiithful, has been 
lately renewed. There are twenty- 
eight in number, and are pretended 
to have been brought from Pilate's 
house at Jerusalem. 

Following the circuit of the ancient 
Aurelian wall, you come to the Ba- 
silica OF THE Santa Croce — so 
• called from St. Helen depositing in 
it a portion of the Holy Cross, which 
she found at Jerusalem. The grand 
altar is bolated, and four beautiful 
columns of coralline breccia sustain 
the baldacchino. 

The ceiling of the Tribune was painted 
in fresco by Pintttricchio, That of 
the church itself is by Giitquinto, 
as well as the two paintings in the 
lower part of the Tribune. The 
pavement b antique. 

To see the remains of the Amphi- 
TBEATRO Castrensi:, you must 
pass out of the Porta San Giovanni, 
and turn to the left, bv the wall. It 
was called Castrense, because it was 
destined for the combats of the 
soldiers against wild beasts, and for 
the celebration of military festivals. 

Close by, but inside of the walls, stand 
the ruins of the Temple of Venus 
and Cupid ; and at a short distance, 
the Porta Maggiore passes under the 
Aqueduct of Claudius. 



The Tortx Ma(.giore. 

This beautiful j^ate is built of larq:e 
blocks of iravirlMif, witliout mortar, 
au<l was ('rt'( led by Titiis, to d( co- 
rate the point whore tlie ancitnt 
Prcnestiin' and I.ahican roads di- 
vided. The water wliu h sunplies 
tho Fountain of Mon^s pierces tlie 
sides of one of its arches. 

Tin? ruins of otlier arpieducts which 
passed towards llie Ks(|uibue Hill, 
are to be SJ.'tii in this neighbour- 

PasNinir hence, in the direction of Santa 
INlaiia Matruioii', you pnceive in a 
\ in«'vard tiic luins of the Temple of 
Minerva Mediea. 

The form of this temple is that of a 
decagon, and measures '2'22 feet on 
its onur cireumreienc e. \N ithin, 
are nine niehes for >tatu«'s. Besides 
the famous statue of Muierva wliich 
was found here, and whuh aflbrded 
the appropriation to the edifice, 
olh'Ts of I'.seulapius, Pomona, 
Adonis, \ onus, l''auiius, Ib-rcules, 
and Antinoiis, likewise diitj fmm its 
ruins, attest the ore^inal niagnihecnce 
of this temple. 

The same vmevard encloses two ancient 
tombs e.died Columbaria, ironi their 
resemblance to dov»'-C()ts. One was 
eonstructi'd by laicms Arruntius, a 
consul under Tiberius, as a burial- 
place for his atlVanchised slaves; the 
other was a a sepulchral chamber for 
diireienl pleheian families. 

Cnnu II or Sr. Biiuan \. 

The thr«'e aisles of this church are se- 
j>arated by ei^ht antupie columns. 
The ceilmu over tlie middle ai^^le is 
painted in fresco. I'hose to the riulit 
on enteriii'^ are by ('/•/////»»•/// ; tho<He 
opposiii> are by i-^" Coiti>n(i. They 
all relate to the history of Saint 
Hibian.i ; and the (iiand Altar is 
adoined with her statue, by the 
maslt'rly chisel of Ikruiui. A su- 
perb antupie urn of oriental ala- 
baster, containing the body of St. 
Ibbiana, stands below. I'nder this 
church is the famous cemetery of 
St. Anastasius, which contains the 
bodies of i;U)0 martyrs. 

Ciii'RcH OF San Lorenzo, cl»-iu: a 
mile outside of the gate of tht iav^t 

This, which is one of the seven Bti^i- 
licks of K^me, is decoraitd wi'ii a 
Portico sup; orted on six aniifpio 
columns, and adorned wiih fre>co?. 
rejirestnting diti'erenl events m f^,e 
hi'-tory of this martyr-saint. Tiie 
Tribune is decorated with iwtbe 
fluted columns of violet -coloured 
marble, the capitals of which are ev- 
ceedinj^ly beautiful. These columns 
sustain an entablature composed of 
different pieces, which are all en- 
riched w ith ornaments of the mt?st 
superb description. The Cirand 
Altar is isolated, and omamenit-'J 
with four columns of red Y)orph\rv, 
supporting a baldacchino of marble. 
I iKkr this altar is the C'ontV>>ion 
of St. I^urence, which contains ms 
bofly and that of the proto-icartyr 
St. Stephen. 

Returning to the city, and pas>ing 
under the Arcii or (»allifn, you 
come to the Piazza or Sta. Maria 
Maggiore, in the middle of which 
stand the magnificent fluted Corin- 
thian column which belonired to t'le 
I'emple of I'eace. It is tiftv-eijht 
feet and a half high, including its 
base and capital. 

The Basilica or Sta.M. Magoiorf. 

This gorgeous temple stands on the 
top of the Ksquiline Hill, on the 
rums of that of Juno Luciiia. It 
was erecte^l under the pontificate of 
St. Libero, by order of Giovanni 
Patri/.i, in consequence of a vision 
which lie had in the night, and which 
was confirmed the next day by a 
miraculous fall of snow on the otii 
of August. The snow covered pre- 
cisely the space on which the church 
now stands, and hence its former 
ap]»ellation of Sta. Maria ad Nives. 

The appearance of this church in its 
interior is truly majestic and noble, 
it is divided into three naves by 
thirty-six superb Ionic columns, be- 
sitles the four of granite which sus- 
tain the two great arches of the nave. 

T\^o tombs ]iresent themselves on en- 
tering ; the first to the right is that 
of ( lomenti I\., the workmanship 



of XhadOf Faneeilif and Ferrata; 
the other of Nichohu IV^ by Lta^ 
nardo de Sarzana. The splendid 
chapel of the Holy Sacrament is by 
FotUanOy and contains, besides the 
Altar, the tombs of Sixtus V. and 
Pius V. The statue of the first is 
by VaiioldOf that of St. Francis by 
fiaminio VaccOf and that of St. An- 
thony of Padua by OUvieri, The 
statue of Pius is by Sarzana, The 
frescos which adorn this chapel are 
by Pozzo HercoUnOf Nogarif Andrea 
ofAncoHOf and C^uar Nebbia. 
The Giand Altar is isolated, and formed 
by a large antique sarcophagus of 
porphyry, covered with a marble 
table, supported at the four angles 
by as many little angeb of gilt 
bronze. This altar is surmounted 
by a splendid baldacchino, which 
Benedict XIV. caused to be made, 
after designs by the Chtv. Fu^a, Jt 
is sustained by four Corinthian co- 
lumns of porphyry, surrounded by 
gilt palm -leaves. The painting at 
the Dottom of the Tribune is by 
Mancini ; and the mosaics of the 
grand arcaule, as well as those of the 
middle aisle, representine different 
subjects taken from the Old Testa- 
ment, were made by order of Sez- 

tus III. A.D. 434. 

In the other aisle vou find the sump- 
tuous Chapel of the Virgin, erected 
by Paul v., after designs by Ponzio, 
Here are two tombs decorated with 
columns of verd antique, statues, 
and bas-reliefs : that to the right is 
of Paul V. whose statue is by SUla^ 
a Milanese artist. The statues in 
the latend niches of St. Basil and 
David are by ^icMos Coniiert. The 
other tomb is that of Clement VIII. 
His statue is likewise by SUia^ and 
tlie two laterals of Aaron and St. 
Bernard also by Cordieri. The 
Altar of the Virgin is adorned with 
four superb fluted columns of ori- 
ental jasper, with bases and capitals 
of gilt bronze : these support an en- 
laUature, the frieze of which is of 
agate, as also the pedestals of the 

The Imaoe of the Virsin, which, it is 
pretended, was made by the evan- 
gelist St Lidce, is placed over a ta- 
Mmade of lapis lazuli. It is enoom- 
paased with pfeciooi stonesy and 

supported by four angels of gilt 
bronze. Upon the entablature of 
the altar you see a beautiful bas- 
relief of the miracle of the ftdl of 
The frescos which are over and about 
the altar, as well as those on the 
arcade and on the arches of the 
cupola, are by the pencil of D*Arpinof 
those of the cupola, by Ludovico 
CwoU : those on the sides of the 
windows, situated above the two 
tombs, aud those of the two arcades 
above the transepts, merit more par- 
ticular attention, from being by the 
finished pencil of Guido, 

Not &r from the Basilica of S. M. 
Ma^iore stands the CHuacH of 
St. Praxede. It is chiefly remark- 
able for a superb painting by Gitdio 
RomanOf of the Flagellation of Our 
Saviour, which is in the Sacristy, 
and for possessing, as it is pretended, 
a portion of the column to which 
Christ was bound when scourged. 
This last is in one of the chapels of 
the church. 

Church of Sak Martiko. 

This church deserves notice for the 
landscapes painted on the walls of 
the lesser aisles by Gamard Pous- 
iin : the fig}>'^ a^^ by bis brother 
Nichoias, The sculptures and paint- 
ings in the Chapel of the Viigm are 
by CavaUued, (Martyn.) 

Church of Sam Pietro in Vincou. 

This church was first erected in 442, 
in the time of Pope St. Leo Uie 
Great, by Eudoxia, wife of Valen- 
tinian III. emperor of the West, to 
preserve the chain with which St. 
Peter was bound, by order of Herod, 
when in the prison at Jerusalem. 
The three naves of this beautiful 
church are supported by twenty-two 
antique fluted boric columns. Here 
it is you find the tomb of Julius II. 
designed by Michael An^do^ with 
the celebrated statue of Moaes, by 
the same great artist; also a painting 
of St. Bfaigaret, by Gnenrmo. 

H H 



In the Ciirncii or S. L; n.i ue' Fran- 

i I •>! v(tu tuul some (.xctlltnt frescos 
bv i>)«»///t//<V/////»», of St. Cecilia v:ivin<z 
awny In r cUniies tj) il.e [ oor, her 
(lealli, ;iii(l her iipoilicosis. 

CiiLRCH or S. Andrfa a Monte 


The Cnicifixioii of St. ^Vndrew, hv 

St. .Slaniblaiis, bv Carlo Morntta. 

C'\ri(iiix ( Firn(H, near the Piazza 

(iuiff(f'!i ceh-'hraled nrchaniiel Micliael. 
St. Paul recei\in'j; Ins sight, by Pictro 

(hi CorlufKt. 
St. I'raiicis in Agony, by Ludovico 

( '(iriicci. 
()\(T ilie door is (liofto's cartoon of 

the jN'avicella at Si. Peter's. 

Santa IMauia I)L(.li Ant.i ii. — It 
\va>; formed out of the Xystnrn of 
the Hath^ of I)i()elelian into a church 
by Mii/iai/ Austin. 

The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, by 
])()///( nicliino. 

The liaptisin of Clirist, by Carlo Ma- 
rat ta. 

Tlie 1-all of Simon Magus, by Pompco 

Tlie satno subject, by another liand. 

St. IVtcr raismg Tal)itha from the 
Dead, l)y Placido Costatiza. 

A Pr» sentation at tlie Temple, {hi j wed 
and rt n/ dirtif). 

Here also" is Hiamhinis Meridian, and 
the Tombs of Salvator Rosa and 
Cailo Maratta. 

Cm U( H or S. Maria pem.a Vk- 

ioi!iA,/'v the Fountain of the Ter- 

The Trinity, by Guercino (fine). On 

each side, a painting by Guido. — 

Those u\ the second chapel are by 

The Death of St. Theresa, a statue by 

The representation of the Last Supper 

in gilt bronze, under the altar, is by 

the same artist. 

Cm nCH (»I THL Jt>LlTS (di Gcsiu,, 

This ma'^niticeni lem]de is one of tlie 
richest and mo^^l be.iuiifid in K«..nio. 
It was erected by Cardinal AU\ jiwUr 
Farne>e, attt-r dor^ns by I'li^tcUi, 
and finished by his pupil DJla 

Over the altar of the cross to the ri^ht, 
in l)ie mid^t of four columns, is a 
]iainting by Carlo Maratta, repre- 
sentincr the Death of St, Francis 

The grand altar is decorated with four 
l)eautiful columns of iiiallo nntuOj 
and a beautiful painting of the Cir- 
cumcision, bv J\Iu:i<ino. 

The chapel of St. Ignatius, in the left 
transept, is the most splendid and 
rich in Rome. It is ornamented 
with four superb columns cc^ited 
with lapis lazuli, and striped with 
gilt bronze. 

The pedestals, entablature, and pedi- 
ment, are of verd antique. 

In the middle of the pediment there is 
a group in white marble of the Holy 
Trinity, sculptured by liernard Lu- 
dovisi ; and ilie globe which God the 
Father holds in his hand is esteemed 
the finest morsel of lapis lazuli which 

The picture of St. Ignatius over the 
altar is by Perc Pozzij a Jesuit. 

Two fine groups in marble adorn the 
sides of the altar: the one repre- 
senting Faith receiving the worship 
of savage nations, is by Giovanni 
Teudoni; tlie other. Religion with 
the C'ross, trampling Heresy under 
her feet, is by the chisel of Le Gros, 

The paintings on the ceiling of this 
chapel are by Baciccio, 

Cm Kill OF thf.Tiumta i»r.* Monti 
etMilaius Datiiil do ]'olttrrus famous 
Di'Ncent from theCross.and Munlcr 
t>f the Innocents, both frescos. 

The Porta del Popolo was rebuilt 
on the site of the ancient Flaminian 
in 15(32, after designs by Bttonarotti, 



The Church of St. M. del Popolo, 
and whence the gate hard by deriTes 
its name, owes its cognomen to the 
circumstance of its being built in 
the 13th century, at the expense of 
the Roman people. 

Over the Grand Altar there is an image 
of the Virgin, painted by Si. Luke, 
In the first chapel on the right is a 
beautiful Nativity, by FetUuricddo^ 
and in the second, a Conception, 
by Carlo Maratta. In a chapel to 
the right of the grand altar, you see 
an Assumption, bv Hannibal Caracci; 
and on either side two paintings b^ 
CaravaggiOt representing the Cruci- 
fixion of St. Peter and the Con* 
▼ersion of St. Paul. 

But the most remarkable is the chapel 
of the Chigi fiunily, dedicated to 
Our Lady of Loretto, decorated 
after designs by RtwhaeL The altar- 
piece was begun oy Dtl Piombo, 
and finished by Salvtati, The figures 

' of David and Aaron in the lunettes 
over the tombs are by Vanni, Here 
also are four Statues; two are by 
the masterly chisel of Bernini, re- 
presenting Daniel in the Lions' Den, 
and Habakkuk with the Angel ; the 

' two others, which represent the pro- 
phet £lias,and Jonas and the Whale, 
are by Lorenzetto. — ^The last is par- 
ticularly esteemed from being ex- 

' ecut^ under RaphaeFt own eye. 
Close to this chapel is the magni- 
ficent tomb of the Princess Odes- 
calchi Chigi, after designs by Pott; 
and the elegant architectural orna- 
ments you see at the eastern extre- 
mity of the church are by Samavino, 

Church of San Carlo al Corso. 

Over the high altar, the Apotheosis of 
San Carlo, by Carlo Maratta. 

In the third chapel to the right, St. 
Baroaba, by Francesco Mola, 

Here likewise is a mosaic copy of Carlo 
Maratta $ painting of the Conception, 
in the church of S. M. del Popolo. 

The Statue of Judith is by Le Brun, 

Church of San Lorenzo in Llcina, 
by the Cafe Ntuwo, 

Christ on the Cross, hy Guido. 
Nicholas Poussin lies buried here. 

Church of the Santissiici Apos- 
TOLi, tff the Piaxxa of the tame name. 

Observe the fine fresco on the ceiling 
of the Tribune, which represents 
the rebel angels driven out of heaven, 
by Odazxi, 

The Crucifixion of St. placed 

over the high altar, by Muratori, — 
Remark its skilful composition. 

Here you see the tomb of Clement 
XI v., by the chisel of Canova ; and 
under the vestibule is a monument 
erected by Canova to his friend 

In the Piazza di Monte Citoeio 
the traveller will see the Solar Obe- 
lisk brought by Augustus from 
Hieropolis. It served as a gnomoh 
to a meridian marked on the ground 
upon a bronze dial. 

In the Piazza di Pietea stands the 
Custom-house, the fa9ade of which 
is formed of the remains of the Tem- 
ple OF Antoninus Pius. £leven 
majestic columns support a mag- 
nificent entablature of Greek marble, 
in good preservation. These columns 
formed part of the sides of a portico 
which surrounded the temple ; they 
are fluted and Corinthian. 

The Pantheon in the Piazza della 
Rotonda. - Eight columns in front 
sustain the pediment of the portico, 
witli three columns and one pilaster 
on the sides. — ^They are all of granite, 
and surmounted with Corinthian ca* 
pitals. The pavement of the interior 
IS of porphyry and giallo antico^ 
bordered with otlier precious marbles. 
Here you see the tombs of Raphael, 
Has. Caracci, Zuccheri, Vacca, and 
the famous musician Corelli. 

The opening in the centre of the dome 
whicli lights tlie interior is 25 feet 
in diameter. 

Church of Sr Acmes, in the Piazza 

"An antique Statue, which, by a little 
management, makes a fine St. S^ 



Opposite to thiB is a statue 
of the Martyrdom of St Agoes. 

Church of Sta. Maria sopra Mi- 
nerva. — See a statue of Christy by 
Mlchad AnMciOf which , though fine 
as a statue, displays et vU et virtus 
enough for a Hercules. The figure 
is too athletic for the meek an4 
peaceful character of the Redeemer, 
and wants " the beauty of hoUoess'' 
to make it in character. 

Church of Sant* Andrea della 
Valle, near tk$ Teatro ddia VaUe^ 

Round the lower part of the ceiling of 
the Tribune there are some charming 

' fiiescos by Domeidchiwy. — The em- 
blems of Hope and Charity are 
especially fine^ 

The three Frescos on the walls of the 
Tribune are by the energetic and 
expressive pencil of II Calabrete, 

The Cupola was painted by LanfrancOf 
and represents the life of St. Ajndre^ ; 
under which, at the comers, observe 
the four Evangelists, by Domeni- 
ehino.-^The St. John and St. Mat- 
thew are charming figures. 

In the first chapel to the left (the 
Barberini) there is an excellent Visi- 
tation, by Fassignani ; and note the 
architecture of the chapel opposite, 
(the Strozzi). — It is by mkhuel 

In the Church of the Santa Trinita 
de' Pellegrini, you see the High 
Altar-piece, representing the Tri- 
nity, by Guido, 

God the Father, a fresco, in the lan- 
teni, is by the same artist. 

Church of San Carlo a Catenari. 

The ceiling of the tribune was painted 
by Lar^ranco ; and the Cardinal 
virtues in the angles below the cu- 
pola are by Damenkhino. 

Observe the personification of Fortitude. 

The High Altar-piece, representing the 
Procession of St. Charles Borromeo 
in the plague of Milan, is by Da 

The finoo behind it ofSt Cbuki is 

by Guido, 
The Death of St. Ann is hj Amkf 

An Annunciation in the first cbspd 

to the right, by hnframto. 
An Assumption of the ViigiB in tba 

sacristy, oy the same. 

Church of San Giovanni de* 


Remark the entablature of the doors. 
The High Altar was designed by Dm 

Cortona^ but finished by Ciro Ferri. 
The Martyrdom of Sts. Cosimo and 

Damiano is by Salvator Rouu 
The St. Jerome is by Cigoii, 
The frescos are by Pomeranda, 
One of the chapels was painted by 


In the Church of Sant* AcooTiva 
there is a painting of the Prophet 
Isaiah on one of the pilasters of the 
nave, by Raphael; and a Corooa- 
tion of the Virgin, by LanfranoK 

Our Lady of Loretto is by Caraoe^gm. 

The paintings in the Chapel St. Ao- 
gustio are by Guercmo. 

On the top of the Monte Capitolino 
is the Church of Sta. Maria 
d' a a AC ELI, erected on the spot 
where formerly stood the Temple of 
Jupiter Capitolinus. An anoent 
legend tells, that at the time of die 
birth of Jesus Christ, Augustus 
caused an altar to be erected in this 
temple, and called it Ara Primih 
geniti Dei, whence, they say» this 
church took its name of AraoeIi,aDd 
vestiges of which are sUH to be seen 
in the transverse nave. The large 
columns of Egyptian granite which 
divide the naves are thought to 
have belonged to the original temple. 
On the third to the left, on entering 
by the principal door, you read. 

Temple of Fortuna Virilis, now 
the Chuech of S. M. Egizziaca. 

Close by is the ancient Temple or 
Vesta, now consecrated to the Ma- 



donna del Sdc^ and the opeDing of 
the Cloaca Maxima into the Tiber. — 
Tliia common sewer of Rome, thought 
to be as ancient as the time of Tai^ 
qninius Priscu8» is fourteen feet high, 
by as many in width. 
S. M. IN CosMEDiN, in this neighbour- 
hood, is built on the niins of the 
Temple of Pudicitia, or Modesty : it 
is here you see the Bocca dtlla 

CnvacH OF S. GaEOoaio (on Monte 

The ceiling was painted by Gtddo; 
but what claim the principal em- 
phasis of the Ttsitor's attention, are 
the rival frescos of Gtddo and Do' 
meniehino. That of the first of these 
celebiated artists represents St. An- 
drew on his way to suffer Martyr- 
dom; the second, his Flagellation. 
The paintings of St Peter, St. Paul, 
and of four Saints, in the Chapel of 
St. Silvia, are also by Gukh. 

On the ceiling of this chapel you see a 
Concert of Angels, by the same great 

S. Maria m Valicella. 

The frescos in the Dome are bv Gior- 
dano, those in the vault of the nave 
by Da Cortona, 

The Entombing of Christ, a copy from 

The Virgin, Christ, St Charles, St. 
Ignatius, and Angels, by (^lo Ma- 

San Filippo Neri, by Guido, 

Three paintings at the high altar, by 

A Presentation and a Visitation, by 

An Annunciation, by PosiijgfMDit. 

The statue of St. F. Neri in the sacristy, 
and his bust over the door, are by 
Algardi ; and the ceiling, by Pietro 
da Cortona, (Martyn), 

Cborch ofS. Stefamo Rotomdo, 

Commonly designated the Temple of 
Claudius; but it seems more pro- 
bable, from its incongruous archi- 
tecture, to be a building of a more 

modem date, erected, in the twilight 
of the arts» from spoils taken from 
other edifi(>BS. Some have ascribed 
it to Pope St. Sireplicius, and by 
him dedicated to the first martyr. 
Tliis church, in its interior, preserves 
an idea of the majesty of the ancient 
temples. It is supported by fifty- 
eight columns, some Ionic, others 
Doric, principally of granite, which, 
from being unequal in hei^^t, and 
unlike in their ornaments, counte- 
nances the idea of their being the 
pillage of purer specimens of archi- 
tecture. The paintings on the wall^ 
between the intercolumniations are 
by Pomarando and Antonio Tern- 

The Churcb of St. Sabiva, on the 
Aventine Hill,po6sessesa round black 
stone, which the Devil threw at St. 
Dominick to frighten him from his 
prayers ; also an Altar-piece of Christ 
and the Holy Virgin, with Saints 
and Angels, by Sauoferrati, 

Tliereare fbur chnrches on the opposite 
side of the Tiber, besides St Peter's, 
that deserve notice : vii. 

Sant' Ohofbio contains the ashes of 
Tasso ; three histories of St. Jerome, 
and other pieces, by Domtmekino ; 
and Our l!adv of Loretto, by Hidoi. 
Caracci. (martyn^ 

Santa Maria in Trastbverb. 

See a fine Assumption of the Virgin, 
supported in lier ascent by infiint 
angek, on the ceiling of the nave, by 

St. John in the Wilderness, of Raphaefs 

In a chapel to the left of the tribune, 
there are two fine frescos by Dome- 
nichino : one, a Council of Cardinals 
and Doctors of the Church, in the 
foreground of which stands the per- 
sonification of Roman Catholicism 
trampling Here<y under her feet, 
surrounded by the allegories of the 
Chrbtian fiuth; the other, a Pope 
•blessing the Scriptures, as authen- 
ticated and approved by the Council. 

A Holy Family. 



A Communinn. 

The Mov.iic in the tribune is very fine, 
alihoiijli ni!tiO!il,arnl rt presents Jesus 
(hriNi arul the H«']y X'irjin st-aitj 
bv o.ith, with other ticnrt-s on 
tMch <\(\t' : that ol the X'lrjin is both 
LT.ict ful anil iK'autiful. 

lliLM-e is another Mosaic more ancient 
still, reprt'^intinii Ducks and Wild 
Fowl ft'rdin'j, designed with great 
lift- and nature. 

S\NTA Maria dflla Pace. 

Tlie \'i*it of Mary to Elizabeth, by 
Carlo Mtirdtia. 

Tlie F*resentation of the Virgin at the 

Temple, by Pin/zzi. 
Tilt' iJirtii of the \ ii\;in, by J'dnni. 

On ihe ct. ilin^; of the tribune there is 
an Assumption, by Alhimi ; and on 
each side, an Anntincialion and Ado- 
riition of the Sliej)herds, by P</s- 

In the transept, fiicino; the Maratta, 
the Deatli of the \'iri:in,by Momnft', 
and the Adoration of the Shepherds, 
by .S( riuoiu Id. 

See two fmc Heads on copper in tbe 
tribune; and near the door, Rup/nir/'s 
Sil)yl>. and Prophets predicting the 
future Messiah : the two figures of 
the prophets to the left struck me 

St. Crni ia in TnA< 

The Decollation nf St. CcLilia over the 
hi^h altar is attributed to Cmitlo ; 
antl an Llrjai.t rtenmbcnt statue of 
lur IS by the cinsil o^ ^ImUini. 

J'our h.mdsonu' colun-iis "f mio ami 
bitimo luitico ailoin the huh altar, 
under which l:e the ri minis c»f St. 
C teib.i. 

Till Hit I"- 

Are tilt Aventine, rapitv»!i!^\ i\!- u\ 
l\S'|i:iline. Palatine, l^ev m'. .uivl 
\ imni.d : boidis \Vc J.e-ic. •!■••.•.», 
\ .Uie.r . .ii'd PiiU'.»n.Me"UA v ..o\», 

i ittM lO. ai'vl 1\ >.t.,vA.O. 

Tilt PoN'^ \\-. ^ t. i •. X-.-. .1 •. v IVe. 
I'.ni.i.... . x, . \i »'..-» 

PoNTE S. AxGELO, ancientlv the PotjS 


PoNTF. Centio, or S. Bartoiom vr*:*, 
and the Ponte (^ixtro C4rr, an- 
ciently Pons Fabricius, join the I>':«'i 
Tiberina to the Trastevere and t?;e 

Ponte Sisto, anciently the Pons Ja- 

The Ancient Bridges in ruin? are ; 
the Pons Tnumphalis, below the 
Ponte S. Anc^elo ; the SuMieiari 
Bridcje, and the Senatorian Brni^'tr, 
now called Ponte Uoito, stand btlow 
the Isola Tiberina. 


CiRcis Max I MI'S, in the valley be- 
tween the i*alatine -and A^entine 

Ciiiri <; or Flora, now occupied by 
the Pi.izzii Barberini. 

CiRcrs Flaminiis, at the foot of the 
Tarpeian rock. 

CiRcis Agonalis, in the Piazza Na- 

Cnuis OF Caracaila, near the 
church of S. Sebastian. 


Cat lis OF TiTis. — The vaults and 
corridors underground were painted 
in arabesrjue, from which, it is sanl, 
Kaphat'l took the idea of his paint- 
ings in the Ix^jj^gie in the \ atican. 

B\ni^ OF Diocletian, near the 
church of S. M. degli Angeli. 

The B\Tii<^ or Caracalla are at the 
f. ot ol' the Aventine Mount. They 
io?ita!ne<l '2300 cells, wherein as 
UKinv per>ons inii:ht bathe at the 
> inu' tinie.witiiout seeing each other. 

F<UN tains. 

l.'v v". e in the Piazza N.ivona is the 
!"o>i '.'• umneuit. It is constructed 
v'l ,; \.iNi ivvk. on which an obelisk 
i> *. "u'. !. At the foot of the rock 
v\''v'>N.'' "^u^ -es are seated, reprcsen- 
1 1. K v"' lA Nile, Dariube, C»aiiizes, 



and La Plata, with their attributes. 
Bernini furnished the design. 

FonTANA Dr Termiki, oppoiite the 
church of S. M. della VUtoria."-'. 
The colossal figure of Moses is b^ 
Bresdano^ fWattawasthe archi- 
tect. Remark the lions in basalt. 
They formerly sto