THE following Diary is published exactly as it was found after
the death of the Author ; varied only by the omission of certain
names. As a real picture of natural and feminine feeling, the
Editor hopes that it may interest others as much as it has interested
him. The asterisks mark the places where one or more leaves had
been torn away by the writer ; and where there may sometimes
appear a want of continuity. The little Poems interspersed were
foun d in another volume, the companion of her travels j and have
been inserted with regard to their dates, when dated,, or to some
evident connection with the feelings expressed in the Diary.
In this new edition several verbal corrections have been made
and some passages in the original manuscript once supposed to
be illegible and irretrievable, have been restored. ED.
DIARY
OF AN
E N N U Y E E.
Sad, solemn, soure, and full .of fancies fraile,
She woxe : yet whist she neither how nor why
She wist not, silly Mayd, what she did aile,
Yet wist she was not well at ease perdie ;
Yet thought it was not Love, but some Melancholic.
SPENSEK.
NEW EDITION.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
1826.
PR
THOMAS WHITE, P
CRANK COUR
CONTENTS.
Calais ; Biddy Fudge ; Necessity of Writing a Diary ;
Diary of a Blue Devil ; Rouen ; Joan of Arc; Paria; Comic
Scenes in the Champs ElisSes ; Anecdote ; Edmonde ; Story of
Genevieve ; Illness of the Writer ; Le Solitaire ; Paris from the
Pont des Arts ; Contrast of English and French Manners ; Re-
marks on Paris 1 32
First Impression of Mountain Scenery ; the Jura ; the Italian
Alps ; Geneva ; Anecdotes of Josephine and of Marie Louise ;
Mad. de Stael and M. Rocca ; Panorama of Lausanne ; De-
parture from Geneva ; La Meillerie Vevai ; Scenery between
Geneva and the Simplon ; Village of Davedro ; Sorrowful Re-
flections ; Anecdote of Rousseau and the Heloise ; Milan ;
Shrine of St. Carlo Borromeo ; Scenes and Anecdotes ; Venus
and Hercules transformed into Saints ; the Brera; Marriage of
the Virgin ; Remarks on the, Hagar 3250
Opera and Madame Bellocchi ; Vigano the celebrated
Ballet Master ; his Didcme Abbandonata ; Exceptionable Scene
introduced ; its Effects ; Vigano's Prometteo ; Medal Struck
in his Honour ; Remarks on Dancing ; on the Scala Theatre ;
Anecdotes of Count Bubna ; the Arch-Duke Reignier ; the
Mint ; Medal presented to Belzoni ; Milanese Airs ; Stanzas
for Music ; Brescia and Mr. L. ; a Compound Goose ; a Spe-
cimen of a New Genius of Fools ; Sinnione and Catullus ; Ade-
laide of Burgundy 51 68
Verona ; Funeral of a Noble ; the Amphitheatre ; Romeo
and Juliet ; Novel of Louis Da Porta ; Palladio ; his Olympic
Theatre ; Padua ; Venice at Sunset ; Venice at Night j As-
IV CONTENTS.
sumption of Titian ; Canova's Designs for the Monument of
Titian ; the Ganymede of Praxiteles ; Splendor of the Churches
at Venice ; the Manfrini Palace ; Picture alluded to hy Lord
Byron ; the Barberigo Palace ; Titian's last Picture ; Excur-
sion to the Island of St. Lazaro with the British Consul ; the
Padre Pasquale ; Theatres ; Characteristic Anecdote ; Comi-
cal Tragedy ; Mrs. H. wife of the British Consul ; Lord Byron ;
Characteristic Marginal Notes, written by Lord Byron in
D'Israeli's Essays on the Literary Character 63 79
Public Gardens at Venice ; an Eccentric Traveller ; Re-
marks on Venice as a Residence ; Rise and Decline[of its Com-
merce ; Society ; Jealousy of the Austrian Police ; Silk Mills ;
Disagreeable and Painful Impressions of Bologna ; Tasso and
the Hospital of St. Anna, at Ferrara ; present State of that
City ; Covigliajo in the Appenines ; Contrast between the
Scenery of the Alps and the Appenines ; Horrible Assassina-
tions at the Inn of Covigliajo ; Fate of the Murderers ; Scene
at an Italian Inn 7991
Florence ; Influence of the Scenery j Gallery ; Venus de'
Medici; the Cascina ; Moonlight -at Florence; the Niobe ;
Mr. Cockerell ; the Dying Alexander ; the Mercury of John
of Bologna ; Melancholy Thoughts ; Samuel Rogers and the
Venus de' Medici ; Carlo Dolce's La Poesia, painted from one
of his Daughters ; Effect of Sorrow on the Heart and Mind ;
Mournful Reflections ; Description of the Grand Duke and his
Family ; the Prince of Carignano ; Love ; Music ; and Devo-
tion ; Magnelli the Singer 89106
Church of San Lorenzo ; Michel Angelo ; his severe and
overpowering style ; his Holy Family contrasted with those of
Raffaelle and Correggio ; his Virgin, a Washerwoman ; Chapel
of the Medici ; Tomb of Lorenzo ; Pictures of Laura and Pe-
trarch ; Galileo's Finger ; Pietra Dura ; Palazzo Mozzi ;
Benvenuto's Picture of the Night after the Battle of Jena ;
School of the Fine Aris ; Remarks on the present Taste in Sculp-
ture and Painting in Italy ; Gallery ; Salle des Portraits ;
Dutch and Flemish Pictures ; the Daughter of Herodias ; the
ghastly Medusa of Leonardo da Vinci ; Contrast between the
CONTENTS. V
Mistress of Raffaelle and the Mistresa of Titian ; the Forna-
rina ; the Flora ; Titian's Venus ; Pitti Palace 106 114
Gardens of the Villa Strozzi ; Opera at the Cocomero ;
Raphael Morghen ; Florence from the Campanile ; Corinne, a
fashionable Vade Mecum ; a Scene in the Church of the San
Spirito ; the Virgin in a blue silk gown ; an Ave Maria in Ita-
lian ; an Evening in the Church of Santa Croce ; Extraordinary
Picture by Cigoli ; two Characters contrasted ; Anecdote ;
famous Blunder of Lord G ; Countess of Albany ; Alfieri ;
Remarks on his Tragedies ; Tragedy of Mirra, a favourite on
the Stage ; would not be endured in England ; the Venus of
Canova compared to the Venus de' Medici ; the Grand Duke's
Madonna ; Remarks on Florence ; Costume of the People ;
Classical Style of Swearing ; a Shoemaker's Oath 114127
Journey to Rome ; Arezzo ; Perugia ; Lake of Thrasy-
mene ; singular Effect of Mist ; Ridiculous contretemps ;
Trevi; the Clitumnus ; Spoleto ; a Bull-baiting; Falls of
Terni; Impossibility of Painting a Cataract ; Villa of Queen
Caroline ; Costume of the Peasantry ; Rome ; Melancholy Im-
pressions of the first day at Rome ; St. Peter's ; Museum of the
Vatican ; its Grandeur and Intoxicating effect on the Imagina-
tion ; Sacrilegious Vanity of the French ; Frescos of Raffaelle ;
the Coliseum by moonlight ; Remark made on the Laocoon, by
Rogers ; the Perseus of Canova, compared to the Apollo ; View
from the Belvedere 127147
The Capitol ; the Dying Gladiator, supposed to represent
a Gaul ; the Disputes of the Antiquarians on this Statue ;
Opinion of Nibby ; Paul Veronese ; Strictures on his style ;
Domenichino's Cumean Sybil ; Remarks on Guido ; on Guer-
cino ; the Sybil of the Borghese Palace, not a Sybil ; the Chase
of Diana ; Sacred and Profane Love ; the Pope's Chapel ; Car-
dinal Fesche ; Cardinal Gonsalvi; Lady Morgan ; her Sketches
after life admirable ; her " Italy ;" the Barberini Palace ;
Story of the Cenci ; her Portrait ; Family Resemblance ; Inde-
cent Behaviour of the English at St. Peter's ; Consequences ;
the Duchess of Devonshire . .147157
v l CONTENTS.
The Festivities and Processions on Christmas Eve ; Exhibi-
tion of the Divine Cradle at Santa Maria Maggiore ; Scene
in the Church ; Characteristic Absurdities ; the Doria Palace ;
Bad Condition of the Pictures in the Doria Gallery ; Joanna of
Naples ; the Nozze Aldobrandini ; the Gallery at the Sciarra
Palace ; Guido's Magdalen ; Remarks on various Pictures ;
Scarcity of Claude's Works at Rome ; the Church of San Pietro
in Vincoli ; Micl.el Angelo's Moses ; Remarks on that Statue ;
the Poet Zappi ; his Wife the Daughter of Carlo Maratti ; her
Beauty and Talents ; a Sonnet by Zappi, and Transla-
tion 157165
Extraordinary Scene at the Ara Celi ; Exposition of the
Bambino ; Trajan's Forum ; the Ulpian Library ; Reflections
suggested by the commencement of a New Year ; Remarks on
the Protestant Cemetery ; Beauty and Interest of its Situation ;
Description of some of the Tombs ; the Quarter of the Jews ;
the Lateran ; an account of some of the extraordinary Relics
exhibited in this Church ; Remarks on the Era of Constantino
and his Character ; the Scala Santa ; the Houses of Claude
Lorraine, Nicolo Poussin and Salvator Rosa, on the Monte della
Trinita ; English Chapel ; St. Peter's ; L's Absurdities ;
Reply to a Compliment ; Reply to a Reproach 165 179
English Weather at Rome ; Anecdotes of a Roman La-
quais de Place ; Madame de Genlis' " Souvenirs de Felicie ;'*
Baths of Titus ; Arabesque Paintings ; Discovery of the Lao-
coon ; the Fetters of St. Peter ; the Church of San Martino del
Monte ; Body of Cardinal Tomasi in a glass-case ; the Vatican ;
Remarks on the Transfiguration of Raffaelle, and the Commu-
nion of St. Jerome of Domenichino ; these two master-pieces
compared ; curious Anecdote relative to the latter . . 179 186
Ascent to the Ball of St. Peter's ; Church of St. Onofro ;
Tomb of Tasso ; the Poet Guidi ; Excursion through the most
interesting part of Old Rome ; Reflections on the mystery in
which the whole is involved ; Characteristic Scenes ; a Sere-
nade ; a young Artist in the Coliseum ; Passage in which Corn-
modus was assassinated ; Dedication of the Amphitheatre ; the
CONTENTS. Vll
Tomb of Cecilia Metella; Remarks on the Fountain of Egeria;
Disputes of the Antiquarians; the Tomb of the Scipios ; Cha-
racteristic Anecdote; Splendid Ceremony at St. Peter's; Per-
son and Character of Pope Pius VII. ; Manufactory of Roman
Pearl ; a second excursion through Ancient Rome, with re-
marks ; Gigantic measurements of the Temple of Venus and
Rome. Via Sacra 186205
Signer P and his Daughter; Anecdote, Trait of Cha-
racter related of a Danish Baron ; the Spada Pompey ; Canova's
Studio ; Remarks on his style ; Remarks on Thorwaldson's
style; Rodolph Schadow's Filatrice criticised; Death of
Schadow ; Studio of Max Laboureur ; Villa Albani ; Rogers ;
Capture of an Austrian Officer by the Banditti ; his treatment ;
his rescue ; Baths of Dioclesian ; Fountain of the Acqua Felice;
Church of the Gesuiti ; singular relics there 205 214
Journey to Naples; the power of beautiful scenery, en-
hanced by association; Ridicule of fashionable nonchalance;
Terracina ; Pontine Marshes ; Mola di Gaeta ; Scene near
Cicero's Formian Villa ; Lines on Mola di Gaeta ; Naples ; the
Carnival ; Singular Masks ; Theatre of San Carlo, why inferior
to the Scala ; Ballet of Niobe and her Children ; Grotesque
amusements of the Carnival ; Extraordinary Scenes ; the Bay
of Naples ; the Song of the Syren Parthenope 214236
Eruption of Mount Vesuvius ; Excursion up the moun-
tain during the height of the eruption ; Imminent danger in-
curred by the writer, who is saved by Salvador, the Guide ;
Dangerous descent of the mountain ; the Eruption ceases on
the sixth Day ; Climate of Naples ; its effect on the moral and
physical temperament ; English Comforts contrasted with Italian
skies ; Character of a young Englishman of fashion, remarkable
for bis beauty of person and dissipated habits ; Excursion to
Pompeii ; the young Lazzarone ; Remarks on the Antiquities
at Pompeii ; a Pic-nic dinner ; Imaginary Party of Pleasure to
Pompeii 236259
Account of the blind man of Cento, remarkable for his Me-
mory ; Anecdotes of Signer B ; his intended Tragedy on
Vlll CONTENTS.
the Subject of the " Sicilian Vespers ;" his characteristic Speech ;
the Lago d'Agnano ; the Grotto del Cane ; the disagreeable old
Woman ; Remarks on some of the Neapolitan Churches ; sin-
gular Instance of Profaneness and Superstition ; two remarkable
Statues in the Church of San Severe ; Remarks on the Museum
of Naples ; Pictures ; the St. John of Leonardo da Vinci ; the
Carita of Schidone ; Parmegiano's Gouvernante ; Domenichino,
&c. ; the Gallery of Sculpture ; the Statue of Aristides ; con-
trast between ancient and modern Sculpture ; between the sitting
Agrippina, and Canova's Statue of Madame Letitia ; the Flora
Farnese ; Statue of Nero ; a dying Gladiator, expression of
mortal agony ; Antiquities brought from Herculaneum and Pom-
peii ; la Toilette de Madame de Pompadour ; Excellence at-
tained by the Ancients in the Arts which embellish Life 259 27 1
The Quarterly and Edinburgh Reviews compared to the two
Giants in Pulci ; Circulating Library at Naples ; Catalogue of
prohibited Books ; general Appearance of Naples ; the People ;
Influence of the Climate ; Exclamation of an Italian ; last Even-
ing at Naples ; Villetri ; Feelings on leaving Naples ; Mola di
Gaeta ; Circean Promontory ; Contrast between Italian and
English Landscape Scenery ; Itri and Fondi ; Costume of the
Peasantry at Mola; Banditti near Fondi 271282
Return to Rome ; Contrast between Rome and Naples ;
Villas in the Neighbourhood of Rome ; the Pope's Gardens on
the Monte Cavallo ; Pamfili Gardens ; the Princess Pauline ; Style
of Italian Gardens ; English Landscape-Gardening ; Capability
Browne ; Gardens of Versailles ; Burial-Place of the Pompeys ;
San Gregorio ; deep Interest attached to Rome ; Wagenal's
Studio ; the ^Egina Marbles, their Restoration by Thorwaldson ;
Gibson, the English Sculptor ; Pozzi, the Florentine Statuary ;
Instance of his affected Taste ; Gibson's Psyche ; Anecdote of
Canova 282 291
Dinner, al fresco, in the Pamfili Gardens ; View from the
Villa Pamfili ; Lines written in the Gardens ; Commencement
of the Holy Week ; the Pope's Chapel ; Ceremonies ; the Va-
tican ; St. Peter's ; Santa Maria della Pace ; Raffaelle's Four
CONTENTS. IX
Sybils ; the Villa Lanti ; Naples and Rome, distinction between
their beauty ; Remarks on Petrarch ; Guide's Aurora ; Triumph
of David, by Domenichino ; Guide's Andromeda ; Twelve Apos-
tles, by Rubens ; Five Senses, by Carlo Cignani ; Death of
Sampson, by L. Carracci ; Portrait of Nicolo Poussin the Mise-
rere ; its solemn effect in the Sistine chapel ; Good-Friday ;
Ceremonies at the Vatican ; splendour of its Galleries ; Camere
dei Papiri ; Sala della Croce ; Second Miserere ; Characteristic
Anecdote ; St. Peter's ; Illumination of the Girandola ; Sestini
the Improvvisatore ; Sgricci ; Gorilla the Improvisatrice ;
La Fantastici ; subjects of Sestini's Improvisazione ; descrip-
tion of Sestini ; his death ; High mass at St. Peter's ; Pilgrims at
the shrine of St. Peter's ; Exposition of the Relics ; Illumina-
tion of St. Peter's ; splendid fireworks 291 323
Return to Florence ; Viterbo ; different sensations on quit-
ting Rome and Naples ; Radicofani ; Lake of Bolsena and
Montepulciano ; Florence ; Mr. Rogers ; contrast between the
general appearance of the Tuscan States and the States of the
Church ; amusing instance of the gossiping curiosity of the
Florentines ; an Italian Summer ; on the style of particular
Painters ; what is meant by the manner of a Painter ; Remarks
on the different manners in which the same subject has been
treated by different Painters, exemplified in the Virgin and
Holy Family ; Remarks on the Virgins of Raffaelle, of Correg-
gio, of Guido, of Titian, of Murillo, of Carlo Dolce, of Carlo
Maratti, of Caravaggio, of Rubens, of Vandyke, of Michael
Angelo, of Carlo Cignani ; his Madonna del Rosario ; the Ma-
donnas of Sasso Ferrato 323348
Anecdote of an English Lady ; the Opera ; Signora Bassi
primo uomo at the Pergola ; execrable dancing ; Rossini, cha-
racter of his Music ; his influence on the Taste of the Age ; Anec-
dote from Doctor Holland : R.ossini compared to Marini ;
Lucca, Remarks on its Decay ; Richness of the Country be-
tween Florence and Lucca ; Style of Agriculture ; Italian
Plough ; Cathedral of Lucca ; Palace ; Pisa, its look of elegant
Tranquility ; the Duomo ; the Baptistery and Leaning Tower ;
the Fabulist, Pignotti j University of Pisa ; Botanic Garden ; a
X CONTENTS.
stupendous Magnolia ; general Appearance of Leghorn ; a Visit
to the Jewish Synagogue ; Women caged up like Monkeys ;
English Burial Ground ; Tomb of Smollett S48 357
On the Meaning of the Picturesque ; England the Country
where the Picturesque least prevails, and why ; the Picturesque
of England and the Picturesque of Italy contrasted ; the Spirit
of the Ancient Mythology still prevalent in Italy ; Claude's
Sunsets ; the Grosvenor Claudes ; Apology for the Enthusiasm
of Travellers ; Sazarna ; Fire-flies ; Adventure at Lerici ; fan-
tastic Apparition ; the Lament of Nina ; a Calm on the Medi-
terranean ; Sestri ; Genoa compared to a noble Matron ; Per-
sonification of the other great Cities of Italy ; Coup-d'oeil of
Genoa ; Strada Nuova ; Beauty no rarity at Genoa ; the Maz-
zara, its Effect on Female Beauty ; Farewell to Italy j Turin;
Influence of the Conversation of Men of the World and Men of
Gallantry on the Female Mind ; the Life of a Coquette ; St.
JVIichael ; Lyons ; sorrowful Recollections of Italy ; increasing
Illness and Death of the Writer ; Conclusion 357380
DIARY
AN ENNUYEE.
Calais, June 21.
WHAT young lady, travelling for the first time on
the continent, does not write a "Diary?" No
sooner have we stept on the shores of France no
sooner are we seated in the gay salon at Dessin's,
than we call, like Biddy Fudge, for " French pens
and French ink," and forth steps from its case the
morocco-bound diary, regularly ruled and paged,
with its patent Bramah lock and key, wherein we
are to record and preserve all the striking, pro-
found, and original observations the classical
reminiscenses the thread-bare raptures the po-
etical effusions in short; all the never-sufficiently-
to-be-exhausted topics of sentiment and enthu-
siasm, which must necessarily suggest themselves
while posting from Paris to Naples.
Verbiage, emptiness, and affectation !
DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE.
Yes but what must I do then with my volume
in green morocco ?
Very true, I did not think of that.
We have all read the DIARY OF AN INVALID,
the best of all diaries since old Evelyn's.
Well then, Here beginneth the DIARY OF A
BLUE DEVIL.
What inconsistent beings are we ! How strange
that in such a moment as this, I can jest in mockery
of myself ! but I will write on. Some keep a diary,
because it is the fashion a reason why / should
not ; some because it is blue, but I am not blue,
only a blue devil; some for their amusement,
amusement!! alas! alas! and some that they may
remember, and I that I may forget. O! would
it were possible.
When, to-day, for the first time in my life, I
saw the shores of England fade away in the
distance did the conviction that I should never
behold them more, bring with it one additional
pang of regret, or one consoling thought ? neither
the one nor the other. I leave behind me the
scenes, the objects, so long associated with pain;
but from pain itself I cannot fly : it has become a
part of myself. I know not yet whether I ought
to rejoice and be thankful for this opportunity of
travelling, while my mind is thus torn and upset ;
or rather regret that I must visit scenes of interest,
DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE.
of splendour, of novelty scenes over which,
years ago, I used to ponder with many a sigh, and
many a vain longing, now that I am lost to all
the pleasure they could once have excited : for
what is all the world to me now ? But I will not
weakly yield : though time and I have not been
long acquainted, do I not know what miracles he
" the all-powerful healer" can perform ? Who
knows but this dark cloud may pass away ? Con-
tinual motion, continual activity, continual novelty,
the absolute necessity for self-command may do
something for me. I cannot quite forget ; but if I
can cease to remember for a few minutes, or even,
it may be, for a few hours ! O how idle to talk of
" indulging grief:" talk of indulging the rack, the
rheumatism ! who ever indulged grief that truly
felt it ? to endure is hard enough.
DIARY OF AN ENNUYfJE.
It is o'er ! with its pains and its pleasures,
The dream of affection is o'er !
The feelings I lavish'd so fondly
Will never return to me more.
With a faith, O ! too blindly believing
A truth, no unkindness could move ;
My prodigal heart hath expended
At once, an existence of love.
And now, like the spendthrift forsaken,
By those whom his bounty had blest,
All empty, and cold, and despairing,
It shrinks in my desolate breast.
But a spirit is burning within me,
Unquench'd, and unquenchable yet ;
It shall teach me to bear uncomplaining,
The grief I can never forget.
SAINT GERMAINS. O
Rouen, June 25. I do not pity Joan of Arc :
that heroic woman only paid the price which
all must pay for celebrity in some shape or other :
the sword or the faggot, the scaffold or the field,
public hatred or private heart-break ; what matter ?
The noble Bedford could not rise above the age
in which he lived : but that was the age of gal-
lantry and chivalry, as well as superstition : and
could Charles, the lover of Agnes Sorel, with all
the knights, and nobles of France, look on while
their champion, and a woman, was devoted to
chains and death without one effort to save her ?
It has often been said that her fate disgraced
the military fame of the English ; it is a far fouler
blot on the chivalry of France.
St. Germains, June 27. I cannot bear this
place, another hour in it will kill me ; this sultry
evening this sickening sunshine this quiet,
unbroken, boundless landscape these motionless
woods the Seine stealing, creeping through the
level plains the dull grandeur of the old chateau
the languid repose of the whole scene instead
of soothing, torture me. I am left without re-
source, a prey to myself and to my memory to
reflection, which embitters the source of suffering,
and thought which brings distraction. Horses on
to Paris! Vite! Vite!
6 PARIS.
Paris, 28. What said the witty Frenchwoman
Paris est le lieu du monde ou Ton pent le mieux
se passer de bonheur; in that case it will suit me
admirably.
29. We walked and drove about all day : I
was amused. I marvel at my own versatility when
I think how soon my quick spirits were excited by
this gay, gaudy, noisy, idle place. The different
appearance of the streets of London and Paris is
the first thing to strike a stranger. In the gayest
and most crowded streets of London the people
move steadily and rapidly along, with a grave
collected air, as if all had some business in view ;
here, as a little girl observed the other day, all
J the people walk about " like ladies and gentlemen
going a visiting : " the women well dressed and
smiling, and with a certain jaunty air, trip along
with their peculiar mincing step, and appear as if
their sole object was but to shew themselves ; the
men ill-dressed, slovenly, and in general ill-look-
ing, lounge indolently, and stare as if they had
no other purpose in life but to look about them.
July 12. " Quel est a Paris le supreme talent?
celui d'amuser : et quel est le supreme bonheur ?
I'amusement.
Then le supreme bonheur may be found every
evening from nine to ten, in a walk along the
Boulevards, or a ramble through the Champs
CHAMPS ELYSES. 7
Elysees, and from ten to twelve in a salon at
Tortoni's.
What an extraordinary scene was that I wit-
nessed to night ! how truly French ! Spite of my-
self and all my melancholy musings, and all my
philosophic allowances for the difference of na-
tional character, I was irresistably compelled to
smile at some of the farcical groups we encounter-
ed. In the most crowded parts of the Champs
Elysees this evening, (Sunday) there sat an old
lady with a wrinkled yellow face and sharp fea.
tures, dressed in a flounced gown of dirty white
muslin, a pink sash and a leghorn hat and feathers.
In one hand she held a small tray for the con-
tribution of amateurs, and in the other an Italian
bravura, which she sung or rather screamed out
with a thousand indescribable shruggings, con-
tortions, and grimaces, and in a voice to w r hich a
cracked tea kettle, or a " brazen candlestick
turned," had seemed the music of the spheres. A
little farther on we found two elderly gentlemen
playing at see-saw ; one an immense corpulent
man of fifteen stone at least, the other a thin
dwarfish animal with grey mustachios, who held
before him what I thought was a child, but on
approaching, it proved to be a large stone strapped
before him, to render his weight a counterpoise
to that of his huge companion. We passed on,
O STORY OF GENEVIEVE.
and returning about half an hour afterwards down
the same walk, we found the same venerahle pair
pursuing their edifying amusement with as much
enthusiasm as before.
******
Before the revolution, sacrilege became one of
the most frequent crimes. I was told of a man
who, having stolen from a church the silver box
containing the consecrated wafers, returned the
wafers next day in a letter to the Cure of the
parish, having used one of them to seal his en-
velope.
******
L'art de bien confer is still a Frenchman's
most admired talent. Our handsome and inte-
resting beau, Edmonde, piques himself on this
accomplishment, and is a " conteur" by profes-
sion. He related to us in the Tuilleries, yesterday,
the following anecdote with infinite grace of elo-
cution, and considerable effect, spite of his odd
falsetto voice. The circumstances occurred at
the time Le Noir was minister of the police : I
forget the year.
Genevieve de Sorbigny was the last of a noble
family : young, beautiful, and a rich heiress, she
seemed born to command all that this world could
yield of happiness. When left an orphan, at an
early age, instead of being sent to a convent as
STORY OF GENEVIEVE.
was then the universal custom, she was brought
up under the care of a maternal aunt, who de-
voted herself to her education, and doated on her
with an almost exclusive affection.
Genevieve resided in the country with her
aunt till she was about sixteen ; she was then
brought to Paris to be united to the Marquis
de ; it was a mere "mariage de convenance,"
a family arrangement entered into when she was
quite a child, according to the ancien regime ; and
unfortunately for Genevieve, her affianced bride-
groom was neither young nor amiable ; yet more
unfortunately it happened that the marquis's cou-
sin, the Baron de Villay, who generally accompa-
nied him in his visits of ceremony, possessed all
the qualities in which he was deficient; being
young and singularly handsome, " amiable," and
" spirituel." While the Marquis with the good-
breeding of that day, w r as bowing and paying his
devoirs to the aunt .of his intended (sa future) ;
the young Baron with equal success, but in a
very different style, was captivating the heart of
the niece. Her extreme beauty had charmed him
at the first glance, and her partiality, delicately
and involuntarily betrayed, subdued every scruple,
if he ever entertained any ; and so in the usual
course of things, they were soon irretrievably and
eperdument in love with each other.
10
STORY OF GENEVIEVE.
Genevieve, to much gentleness of character,
united much firmness. The preparations for the
marriage went on: the trousseau bought, the
jewels set, but the moment she was aware of her
own sentiments, she had courage enough to de-
clare to her aunt that rather than give her hand
to the Marquis, whom she detested past all her
terms of detestation, she would throw herself into
a nunnery, and endow it with her fortune " a
very inconsiderate resolution ;" as Edmonde ob-
served characteristically, " and which betrayed
her country education ; for it would have been so
easy after her marriage to form an arrangement
with the Baron, for which his relationship, and his
intimacy with the Marquis afforded toute la com-
moditc possible; 1 " this excellent and commodious
arrangement did not however occur to Genevieve,
who loved, for the first time, with all the sim-
plicity and devotedness of a first passion. The
poor aunt was thrown, by this unexpected de-
claration, into the utmost amazement and per-
plexity ; she was au desespoir ; such a thing had
never been heard of or contemplated : but the
tears of Genevieve prevailed ; the marriage, after
a long negociation, was broken off, and the Baron
appeared publicly as the suitor of Genevieve.
The Marquis politely challenged his cousin, and
owed his life to his forbearance ; and the duel,
STORY OF GENEVIEVE. 11
and the cause of it, and the gallantry and ge-
nerosity of De Villay, rendered him irresistible in
the eyes of all the women in Paris, while to the
heart of Genevieve he became dearer than ever.
To gain the favour of the aunt was nOw the
only difficulty ; she had ever regarded him with
ill-concealed aversion and suspicion. Some mystery
hung over his character ; there were certain re-
ports whispered relative to his former life and
conduct which it was equally difficult to discredit
and to disprove. Besides, though of a dis-
tinguished family, he was poor, most of his an-
cestral possessions being confiscated or dissipated ;
and his father was notoriously a mauvais sujet.
All these reports and representations appeared to
the impassioned Genevieve mere barbarous ca-
lumnies, invented to injure her love ; and regard-
ing herself as the primal cause of these slanders,
they rather added to the strength of her attach-
ment. A reluctant consent was at last wrung
from her aunt, and Genevieve was united to her
lover.
The chateau of the Baron was situated in one
of the wildest districts of the wild and desolate
coast of Bretagne. The people who inhabited
the country round were a ferocious half-civilized
race, and in general desperate smugglers and
pirates. They had been driven to this mode of
12 STORY OF GENE VIE VE<
life by a dreadful famine and the oppressions of the
provincial taxgatherers, and had since pursued it
partly from choice, partly from necessity. They
had carried on for near half a century a constant
and systematic warfare against the legal authori-
ties of the province, in which they were generally
victorious. No revenue officer or exempt dare set
his foot within a certain district ; and when the
tempestuous season or any other accident pre*
vented them from following their lawless trade on
the sea, they dispersed themselves through the
country in regularly organized bands, and com*
initted the most formidable depredations, extend-
ing their outrages even as far as St. Pol. Such
was their desperate courage, the incredible celerity
of their movements, and the skill of their leaders,
that though a few stragglers had been occasionally
shot, all attempts to take any of them alive, or to
penetrate into their secret fastnesses proved una-
vailing.
The Baron had come to Paris for the purpose
of representing the disturbed state of his district
to the government, and procuring an order from
the minister of the interior to embody his own
tenantry and dependants into a sort of militia for
the defence of his property, and for the purpose
of bringing these marauders to justice, if possible.
He was at first refused, but after a few months
STORY OF GENEVIEVE. 13
delay, money, and the interest of Genevieve's
family prevailed ; the order was granted, and he
prepared to return to his chateau. The aunt
and all her friends remonstrated against the idea
of exposing his young wife to such revolting
scenes, and insisted that she should be left
behind at Paris ; to which he agreed with seem-
ing readiness, only referring the decision to
Genevieve's own election, She did not hesitate
one moment ; she adored her husband, and the
thought of being separated from him in this early
stage of their union, was worse than any appre-
hended danger: she declared her resolution to
accompany him. At length the matter was thus
compromised: they consented that Genevieve
should spend four months of every year in Bre-
tagne, and the other eight at Paris, or at her
uncle's chateau in Auvergne ; in fact, so little was
known then in the capital, of what was passing in
the distant provinces, that Genevieve only, being
prepared by her husband, could form some idea of
what she was about to encounter.
On their arrival, the peasantry were imme-
diately armed, and the chateau converted into
a kind of garrison, regularly fortified. A con-
tinual panic seemed to prevail through the whole
household, and she heard of nothing from morning
till night but the desperate deeds of the ma-
14 STORY OF GENEVIEVE.
rauders, and the exploits of their captain, to
whom they attributed more marvellous atrocities
than were ever related of Barbone, or Blue Beard
himself. Genevieve was at first in constant ter-
rour; finding, however, that week after week
passed, and the danger, though continually talked
of, never appeared, she was rather excited and
desennuyee, by the continual recurrence of these
alarms. She would have been perfectly happy in
her husband's increasing and devoted tenderness,
but for his frequent absences in pursuit of the
smugglers either on sea or on shore, and the
dangers to which she fancied him exposed : but
even those absences and these dangers endeared
him to her, and kept alive all the romantic fervour
of her attachment. He was not only the lord of
her affections, but the hero of her imagination.
The time allotted for her stay insensibly passed
away ; the four months were under different pre-
tences prolonged to six, and then her confinement
drawing near, it was judged safest to defer her
journey to Paris till after her recovery.
Genevieve, in due time, became the mother of
a son : an event which filled her heart with a
thousand delicious emotions of gratitude, pride,
and delight. It seemed to have a very different
and most inexplicable effect on her husband the
Baron's behaviour. He became gloomy, anxious,
STORY OF GENEVIEVE. 15
abstracted; and his absences, on various pre-
texts, more frequent than ever: but what ap-
peared most painful and incomprehensible to
Gene vie ve's maternal feelings, was his indifference
to his child. He would hardly be persuaded even
to look at it, and if he met it smiling in its nurse's
arms, would perhaps gaze for a moment, then
turn away as from an object which struck him
with a secret horror.
One day as Genevieve was sitting alone in her
dressing room, fondling her infant, and thinking
mournfully on this change in her husband's con-
duct, her femme de chambre, a faithful creature,
who had been brought up with her, and accom-
panied her from Paris, came into the room, pale
as ashes, and throwing herself at her feet, told
her, that though regard for her health had hither-
to kept her silent, she could no longer conceal the
dreadful secret which weighed upon her spirits ;
she then proceeded to inform the shuddering and
horror-struck Genevieve, that the robbers who
had excited so much terrour, and were now sup-
posed to be at a distance, were then actually in the
chateau : that they consisted of the very servants
and immediate dependants, with the Baron him-
self at their head. She supposed they had been
less on their guard during Genevieve's confine-
ment ; and many minute circumstances had at first
16 STORY OF GENEVIEVE.
awaked, and then confirmed her suspicions. Then
embracing her mistress's knees, she besought her,
for the love of heaven, to return to Paris instantly,
with those of her own attendants on whom she
could securely depend, before they were all mur-
dered in their beds.
Genevieve, as soon as she had recovered from
her first dizzy horror and astonishment, would
have rejected the whole as a dream, an impossible
fiction. She thought upon her husband, on all
that her fond heart had admired in him, and all
that till lately she had found him his noble form,
his manly beauty, his high and honourable bear-
ing, and all his love, his truth, his tenderness for
her and could he be a robber, a ruffian, an assas-
sin? No; though her woman's attachment and
truth were beyond suspicion, her tale too horribly
consistent for disbelief, Genevieve would trust to
her ow r n senses alone to confirm or disprove the
hideous imputation. She commanded her maid to
maintain an absolute silence on the subject, and
leave the rest to her.
The same evening the Baron informed his
wife, that he was obliged to set off before light
next morning, in pursuit of a party of smugglers,
who had landed at Saint Paul; and that she
must not be surprised if she missed him at an
early hour. His absence he assured her would
STORY OF GENEVIEVE. 17
not be long : he should certainly return before
the evening. They retired to rest earlier than
usual. Genevieve, as it may be imagined, did
not sleep, but she lay perfectly still as if in a
profound slumber. About the middle of the
night she heard her husband softly rise from his
bed and dress himself; and taking his pistols he
left the room. Genevieve rushed to the window
which overlooked the court-yard, but there neither
horses nor attendants were waiting, she flew to
another window which commanded the back of
the chateau : there too all was still ; nothing was
to be seen but the moonlight shadows on the
pavement. She hastily threw round her a dark
cloak or wrapper, and followed her husband,
whose footsteps were still within hearing. It
was not difficult, for he walked slowly, stopping
every now and then, listening, and apparently
irresolute ; he crossed the court, and several out-
buildings, and part of the ruins of a former
chateau, till he came to an old well, which being
dry, had long been disused and shut up, and
moving aside the trap door which covered the
mouth of it, he disappeared in an instant. Ge-
nevieve with difficulty suppressed a shriek of
terrour. She followed however with a desperate
courage, groped her way down the well, by
means of some broken stairs, and pursued her
18 STORY OF GENEVIEVE.
husband's steps, guided only by the sound on the
hollow damp earth. Suddenly a distant light
and voices broke upon her eye and ear ; and
stealing along the wall, she hid herself behind
one of the huge buttresses which supported the
vault above ; she beheld what she was half pre-
pared to see a party of ruffians, who were as-
sembled round a board drinking. They re-
ceived the Baron with respect as their chief, but
with sullen suspicious looks, and an ominous
silence. Genevieve could distinguish among the
faces many familiar to her, which she was ac-
customed to see daily around her, working in the
gardens or attending in the chateau ; among the
rest the concierge, or house steward, who ap-
peared to have some authority over the rest.
The wife of this man was the nurse of Gene-
vieve's child. The Baron took his seat without
speaking. After some boisterous conversation
among the rest, carried on in an unintelligible
dialect, a quarrel arose between the concierge
and another villain, both apparently intoxicated ;
the Baron attempted to part them and the up-
roar became general. The whole was probably
a preconcerted plan, for from reproaching each
other, they proceeded to attack the Baron him-
self with the most injurious epithets; they accused
him of a design to betray them ; they compared
STORY OF GENEVIEVE. 19
him to his father, the old Baron, who had never
flinched from their cause, and had at last died
in it : they said they knew well that a large party
of regular troops had lately arrived at Saint Brieu,
and they insisted that it was with his knowledge,
that he was about to give them up to justice, to
make his own peace with government, &c.
The concierge, who was by far the most in-
solent and violent of these mutineers, at length
silenced the others, and affecting a tone of mode-
ration he proposed, and his proposal was re-
ceived with an approving shout, that the Baron
should give up his infant son into the hands of
the band; that they should take him to the
island of Guernsey, and keep him there as a pledge
of his father's fidelity, till the regular troops were
withdrawn from the province. How must the
mother's heart have trembled and died away with-
in her ! She listened breathless for her husband's
reply. The Baron had hitherto with difficulty
restrained himself, and attempted to prove how
absurd and unfounded was their accusation, since
his safety was involved in theirs, and he would,
as their leader, be considered as the greatest
criminal of all. His eyes now flashed with fury ;
he sprung upon the concierge like a roused tiger,
and dragged him by the collar from amid the
mutinous group. A struggle ensued, and the
20 STORY OF GENEVIEVE.
wretch fell, stabbed to the heart by his master's
hand; a crowd of ferocious faces then closed
around the Baron Genevieve heard saw no
more her senses left her.
When she recovered she was in perfect silence
and darkness, and felt like one awakening from
a terrible dream; the first image which clearly
presented itself to her mind was that of her child
in the power of these ruffians, and their daggers
at her husband's throat. The maddening thought
swallowed up every other feeling, and lent her
for the moment strength and wings ; she rushed
back through the darkness, fearless for herself;
crossed the court, the galleries; all was still;
it seemed to her affrighted imagination, that the
chateau was forsaken by its inhabitants. She
reached her child's room, she flew to his cradle
and drew aside the curtain with a desperate hand,
expecting to find it empty ; he was quietly sleep-
ing in his beauty and innocence : Genevieve
uttered a cry of joy and thankfulness, and fell on
the bed in strong convulsions.
Many hours elapsed before she was restored
to herself. The first object she beheld was her
husband watching tenderly over her, her first
emotion was joy for his safety she dared not
ask him to account for it. She then called for
her son: he was brought to her, and from that
STORY OF GENEVIEVE. 2
moment she would never suffer him to leave her.
With the quick wit of a woman, or rather with
the prompt resolution of a mother trembling for
her child, Genevieve was no sooner sufficiently
recovered to think, than she had formed her de-
cision and acted upon it ; she accounted for her
sudden illness and terrours, under pretence that
she had been disturbed by a frightful dream : she
believed, she said, that the dullness and solitude
of the chateau affected her spirits, that the air
disagreed with her child, and that it was necessary
that she should instantly return to Paris. The
Baron attempted first to rally and then to reason
with her: he consented then retracted his con-
sent : seemed irresolute but his affections finally
prevailed over his suspicions, and preparations
were instantly made for their departure, as if he
intended to accompany her.
Putting her with her maid and child into a
travelling carriage, he armed a few of his most
confidential servants, and rode by her side till
they came to Saint Brieu : he then turned back in
spite of all her entreaties, promising to rejoin her
at Paris within a few days. He had never during
the journey uttered a word which could betray
his knowledge that she had any motive for her
journey, but that which she avowed : only at part-
ing, he laid his finger expressively on his lip, and
22 STORY OF GENEVIEVE.
gave her one look full of meaning : it could
not be mistaken, it said, " Genevieve your hus-
band's life depends on your discretion, and he
trusts you." She would have thrown herself into
his arms, but he gently replaced her in the
carriage, and re-mounting his horse rode back
alone to the chateau.
Genevieve arrived safely at Paris, and com-
manded her maid as she valued both their lives,
and on pain of her eternal displeasure, not to
breathe a syllable of what had passed ; firmly re-
solved that nothing should tear the terrible secret
from her own breast : but the profound melancholy
which had settled on her heart, and her pining
and altered looks could not escape the eyes of
her affectionate aunt ; and her maid either
through indiscretion, timidity, or a sense of duty,
on being questioned, revealed all she knew, and
more than she knew. The aunt in a transport of
terrour and indignation, sent information to the
Minister of Police, and Le Noir instantly sum-
moned the unfortunate wife of the Baron to a
private interview.
Genevieve, though taken by surprise, did not
lose her presence of mind, and at first she steadily
denied every word of her maid's deposition ; but
her courage and her affection were no match for
the minister's art : when he assured her he had
STORY OF GENEVIEVE.
already sufficient proof of her husband's guilt,
and promised, with Jesuitical equivocation, that
if she would confess all she knew, his life should
not be touched, that due regard should be had
for the honour of his family arid hers, and that
he (Le Noir) would exert the power which he
alone possessed to detach him from his present
courses, and his present associates, without the
least publicity or scandal she yielded, and on
this promise being most solemnly reiterated and
confirmed by an oath, revealed all she knew.
In a short time afterwards, the Baron disap-
peared, and was never heard of more. In vain
did his wretched wife appeal to Le Noir, and re-
call the promise he had given : he swore to her
that her husband still lived, but more than this
he would not discover. In vain she supplicated,
wept, offered all her fortune for permission to
share his exile if he were banished, his dungeon
if he were a prisoner Le Noir was inexorable.
Genevieve, left in absolute ignorance of her
husband's fate, tortured by a suspense more
dreadful than the most dreadful certainty, by re-
morse, and grief, which refused all comfort, died
broken-hearted : what became of the Baron was
never known.
I could not learn exactly the fate of his son :
it is said that he lived to man's estate, that he
PARIS,
took the name of his mother's family, and died a
violent death during the Revolution.
May not this singular anecdote be the foun-
dation of all the tales of mysterious freebooters
and sentimental bravos, which have been written
since the date of its occurrence ? not unlikely at
least.
July 27. A conversation with S** always
leaves me sad. Can it then be possible that he
is right ? No, O no ! my understanding rejects the
idea with indignation, my whole heart recoils
from it ; yet if it should be so ! what then : . have
I been till now the dupe and the victim of fac-
titious feelings ? virtue, honour, feeling, gene-
rosity, you are then but words, signifying nothing ?
Yet if this vain philosophy lead to happiness,
would not S** be happy ? it is evident he is not.
When he said that the object existed not in this
world which could lead him twenty yards out of
his way, did this sound like happiness ? I remem-
ber that while he spoke, instead of feeling either
persuaded or convinced by his captivating elo-
quence, I was perplexed and distressed; I suffered
a painful compassion, and tears were in my eyes.
I, who so often have pitied myself, pitied him at
that moment a thousand times more ; I thought,
I would not buy tranquillity at such a price as he
has paid for it. Yetsf he should be right? that
PARIS. 30
if, which every now and then suggests itself, is
terrible ; it shakes me in the utmost recesses of
my heart.
S**, in spite of myself, and in spite of all that
with most perverted pains, he has made himself,
(so different from what he once was) can charm
and interest, pain and perplex me : not so D**,
another disciple of the same school: he inspires
me with the strongest antipathy I ever felt for a
human being. Insignificant and disagreeable in
his appearance, he looks as if all the bile under
heaven had found its way into his complexion,
and all the infernal irony of a Mephistopheles into
his turned up nose and insolent curled lip. He
is, he says he is, an atheist, a materialist, a sen-
sualist : the pains he takes to deprave and degrade
his nature, render him so disgusting, that I could
riot even speak in his presence ; I dreaded lest he
should enter into conversation with me. I might
have spared myself the fear. He piques himself
on his utter contempt for, and disregard of
women ; and after all, is not himself worthy these
words I bestow on him.
******
Aug. 25. Here begins I hope a new aera, I
have had a long and dangerous illness ; the crisis
perhaps of what I have been suffering for months.
Contrary to my own wishes and to the expecta-
26 PARIS.
tions of others, I live : and trusting in God that I
have been preserved for some wise and good
purpose, am therefore thankful ; even supposing
I should be reserved for new trials. I cannot
surely in this world suffer more than I have suffer-
ed : it is not possible that the same causes can be
again combined to afflict me.
How truly can I say, few and evil have my
days been! may I not say as truly, I have not
weakly yielded, I have not "gone about to cause
my heart to despair," but have striven, and not in
vain ? I took the remedies they gave me, and was
grateful; I resigned myself to live, when had I
but willed it, I might have died ; and when to die
and be at rest, seemed to my sick heart the only
covetable boon.
Sept. 3. A terrible anniversary at Paris
still ill and very weak. Edmonde came, " pour
me desennuyer." He has soul enough to bear a
good deal of wearing down ; but whether the fine
qualities he possesses will turn to good or evil, is
hard to tell: it is evident his character has not yet
settled : it vibrates still as nature inclines him to
good, and all the circumstances around him to
evil. We talked as usual of women, of gallantry,
of the French and English character, of national
prejudices, of Shakespeare and Racine, (never
failing subjects of discussion), and he read aloud
PARIS. 27
Delille's Catacombs de Rome, with great feeling,
animation, and dramatic effect.
La mode at Paris is a spell of wondrous
power: it is most like what we should call in
England a rage, a mania, a torrent sweeping down
the bounds between good and evil, sense and
nonsense, upon whose surface straws and egg-
shells float into notoriety, while the gold and the
marble are buried and hidden till its force be
spent. The rage for cashmeres and little dogs
has lately given way to a rage for Le Solitaire, a
romance written I believe by a certain Vicomte
d'Arlincourt. Le Solitaire rules the imagination,
the taste, the dress of half Paris : if you go to
the theatre, it is to see the " Solitaire," either as
tragedy, opera, or melodrame; the men dress
their hair and throw their cloaks about them a la
Solitaire; bonnets and caps, flounces and ribbons
are all a la Solitaire ; the print shops are full of
scenes from Le Solitaire; it is on every toilette,
on every work table; ;adies carry it about in
their reticules to shew each other that they are a
la mode ; and the men what can they do but
humble their understandings and be extasies, when
beautiful eyes sparkle in its defence and glisten in
its praise, and ruby lips pronounce it divine, de-
licious, ll quelle sublimite dans les descriptions,
28 PARIS.
quelle force dans les caracteres ! quelle ame ! feu !
chaleur! verve! originalite! passion! &c."
" Vous n'avez pas lu le Solitaire ?" said Ma-
dame M. yesterday. " Eh mon dieu ! il est done
possible! vous? mais, ma chere, vous etes perdue
de reputation, et pour jamais!"
To retrieve my lost reputation, I sat down to
read Le Solitaire, and as I read my amazement
grew, and I did. in " gaping wonderment abound,"
to think that fashion, like the insane root of old,
had power to drive a whole city mad with non-
sense ; for such a tissue of abominable absurdities,
bombast and blasphemy, bad taste and bad lan-
guage was never surely indited by any madman,
in or out of Bedlam : not Maturin himself, that
king of fustian,
" ever wrote or borrowed
" Any horror half so horrid ! "
and this is the book which has turned the brains
of half Paris, which has gone through fifteen
editions in a few weeks, which not to admire is
" pitoyable," and not to have read " quelque chose
d'inouie."
The objects at Paris which have most struck
me, have been those least vaunted.
The view of the city from the Pont des Arts,
to-night, enchanted me. As every body who goes
PARIS. 29
to Rome views the Coliseum by moonlight, so
nobody should leave Paris without seeing the
effect from the Pont des Arts, on a fine moonlight
night :
" Earth hath not any thing to shew more fair."
It is singular I should have felt its influence at
such a moment : it appears to me that those who
from feeling too strongly, have learnt to consider
too deeply, become less sensible to the works of
art, and more alive to nature. Are there not
times when we turn with indifference from the
finest picture or statue the most improving book
the most amusing poem; and when the very
commonest, and every-day beauties of nature, a
soft evening, a lovely landscape, the moon rid-*
ing in her glory through a clouded sky, with-
out forcing or asking attention, sink into our
hearts ? They do not console, they sometimes
add poignancy to pain ; but still they have a
power, and do not speak in vain : they become a
part of us ; and never are we so inclined to claim
kindred with nature, as when sorrow has lent
us her mournful experience.^ At the time I
felt this (and how many have felt it as deeply,
and expressed it better) I did not think it, still
less could I have said it-, but I have pleasure
in recording the past impression. <{ On rend mieux
compte de ce qu'on a senti que de ce qu'on sent."
30 PARIS.
******
September 8. Paris is crowded with English >
and I do not wonder at it: it is, on the whole,
a pleasant place to live in. I like Paris, though I
shall quit it without regret as soon as I have
strength to travel. Here the social arts are
carried to perfection above all, the art of con-
versation: every one talks much and talks well.
In this multiplicity of words it must happen of
course that a certain quantum of ideas is inter-
mixed : and somehow or other, by dint of listen-
ing, talking, and looking about them, people do
learn, and information to a certain point is general.
Those who have knowledge are not shy of im-
parting it, and those who are ignorant take care
not to seem so ; but are sometimes agreeable, often
amusing, and seldom betes. No where have I
seen unformed sheepish boys, no where the surli-
ness, awkwardness, ungraciousness, and uneasy
proud bashfulness, I have seen in the best com-
panies in England. Our French friend Lucien
has, at fifteen, the air and conversation of a
finished gentleman ; and our English friend C
is at eighteen, the veriest log of a lumpish school-
boy that ever entered a room. What I have seen
of society, I like: the delicious climate too, the
rich skies, the clear elastic atmosphere, the out of
doors life the people lead, are all (in summer at
PARIS. 31
least) delightful. There may be less comfort here ;
but nobody feels the want of it; and there is
certainly more amusement and amusement is
here truly " le supreme bonheur." Happiness
according to the French meaning of the word, lies
more on the surface of life : it is a sort of happi-
ness which is cheap and ever at hand. This is
the place to live in for the merry poor man, or the
melancholy rich one ; for those who have too much
money, and those who have too little ; for those
who only wish like the Irishman, " to live all the
days of their life," prendre en legere monnoie la
somme des plaisirs : but to the thinking, the feeling,
the domestic man, who only exists, enjoys, suffers
through his affections
" Who is retired as noontide dew,
" Or fountain in a noonday grove "
to such a one. Paris must be nothing better than a
vast frippery shop, an ever varying galan tee-show,
an eternal vanity fair, a vortex of folly, a pan-
demonium of vice.
September 18. Our imperials are packed,
our passports signed, and we set off to-morrow
for Geneva by Dijon and the Jura. I leave
nothing behind me to regret, I see nothing be-
fore me to fear, and have no hope but in change
and now all that remains to be said of Paris, and
all its wonders and all its vanities, all its glories
GENEVA.
and all its gaieties, are they not recorded in the
ponderous chronicles of most veracious tourists
and what can I add thereto ?
Geneva, Saturday Night, 1 1 o'clock.
Can it be the " blue rushing of the arrowy
Rhone" I hear from my window ? Shall I hear it
to-morrow, when I wake? Have 1 seen, have I
felt the reality of what I have so often imagined ?
and much, much more? How little do I feel the
contretemps and privations which affect others
and feel them only because they affect others !
To me they are nothing : I have in a few hours
stored my mind with images of beauty and
grandeur which will last through my whole ex-
istence.
******
Yet I know I am not singular ; others have felt
f the same: others, who, capable of "drinking in
the soul of things," have viewed nature less with
their eyes than their hearts. Now I feel the
value of my own enthusiasm ; now am I repaid
in part for many pains and sorrows and errors it
has cost me. Though the natural expression of
that enthusiasm be now repressed and restrained,
and my spirits subdued by long illness, what but
enthusiasm could elevate my mind to a level
with the sublime objects round me, and excite me
GENEVA* 33
to pour out my whole heart in admiration as 1 do
now ! How deeply they have penetrated into my
imagination ! Beautiful nature ! If I could but
infuse into you a portion of my own existence, as
you have become a part of mine if I could but
bid you reflect back my soul, as it reflects back
all your magnificence, I would make you my only
friend, and wish no other ; content " to love earth
only for its earthly sake."
I am so tired to-night, I can say nothing of
the Jura, nor of the superb ascent of the moun-
tain, to me so novel, so astonishing a scene ; nor
of the cheerful brilliance of the morning sun, il-
luminating the high cliffs, and throwing the deep
woody vallies into the darkest shadow ; nor o
the far distant plains of France seen between the
hills, and melting away into a soft vapoury light ;
nor of Morey, and its delicious strawberries and
honey-comb ; nor of that never to be forgotten
moment, when turning the corner of the road,
as it wound round a cliff near the summit, we
beheld the lake and city of Geneva spread at our
feet, with its magnificent back-ground of the
Italian Alps, peak beyond peak, snow-crowned !
and Mont Blanc towering over all ! No descrip-
tion had prepared me for this prospect ; and the
first impression was rapturous surprise : but by
degrees the vastness and the huge gigantic fea-
c5
34 GENEVA.
tures of the scene, pressed like a weight upon
" my amazed sprite," and the feeling of its im-
mense extent fatigued my imagination, till my
spirits gave way in tears. Then came remem-
brances of those I ought to forget, blending with
all I saw a deeper power raising up emotions,
long buried though not dead, to fright me with
their resurrection. I was so glad to arrive here,
and shall be so glad to sleep even the dull sleep
which laudanum brings me.
Oct. 1. When next I submit (having the
power to avoid it,) to be crammed into a carriage,
and carried from place to place, whether I would
or not, and be set down at the stated points de
vue, while a detestable laquais points out what I
am to admire, I shall deserve to endure again
what I endured to-day. As there was no pos-
sibility of relief, I resigned myself to my fate, and
was even amused by the absurdity of my own
situation. We went to see the junction of the
Arve and the Rhone : or rather to see the Arve
pollute the rich, blue, transparent Rhone, with
its turbid waters. The day was heavy, and the
clouds rolled in prodigious masses along the dark
sides of the mountains, frequently hiding them
from our view, and substituting for their graceful
outlines and ever varying contrast of tint and
shade, an impenetrable veil of dark grey vapour.
GENEVA. 35
3d. We took a boat and rowed on the lake
for about two hours. Our boatman, a fine hand-
some athletic figure, was very talkative and in-
telligent. He had been in the service of Lord
Byron, and was with him in that storm between
La Meillerie and St. Gingough, which is de-
scribed in the third canto of Childe Harold. He
pointed out, among the beautiful villas, which
adorn the banks on either side, that in which the
empress Josephine had resided for six months,
not long before her death. When he spoke of
her, he rested upon his oars to descant upon her
virtues, her generosity, her affability, her good-
ness to the poor, and his countenance became
quite animated with enthusiasm. Here, in France,
wherever the name of Josephine is mentioned,
there seems to exist but one feeling, one opinion
of her beneficence and amabilitc of character.
Our boatman had also rowed Marie Louise across
the lake, on her way to Paris : he gave us no
very captivating picture of her. He described
her as " grande, blonde, bien faite, et extrlmement
Jiere and told us how she tormented her ladies
in waiting ; " comme elle tracassait ses dames d'hon-
neur." The day being rainy and gloomy, her
attendants begged of her to defer the passage for
a short time, till the fogs had cleared away, and
36 COPET.
discovered all the beauty of the surrounding
shores. She replied haughtily and angrily, " Je
veux faire ce que je veux allez toujours."
M. le Baron whom we knew at Paris, told
me several delightful anecdotes of Josephine : he
was attached to her household, and high in her
confidence. Napoleon sent him on the very
morning of his second nuptials, with a message
and billet to the ex-empress. On hearing that
the ceremony was performed which had passed
her sceptre into the hands of the proud, cold-
hearted Austrian, the feelings of the woman over-
came every other. She burst into tears, and
wringing her hands, exclaimed " Ah ! au moms,
qu'il soit heureux!" Napoleon resigned this es-
smable and amiable creature to narrow views of
selfish policy, and with her his good genius fled :
he deserved it, and verily he hath had his reward.
We drove after dinner to Copet ; and the
Duchess de Broglie being absent, had an oppor-
tunity of seeing the chateau. All things " were
there of her" of her, whose genuine worth ex-
cused, whose all commanding talents threw into
shade those failings which belonged to the weak-
ness of her sex, and her warm feelings and imagi-
nation. The servant girl who shewed us the
apartments had been fifteen ye'ars in Madame dc
COPET. 37
StaeUs service. All the servants had remained
long in the family, " elle 6tait si bonne et si char-
mante maitresse !" A picture of Madame de Stael
when young, gave me the idea of a fine coun-
tenance and figure, though the features were
irregular. In the bust, the expression is not so
prepossessing: there the colour and brilliance
of her splendid dark eyes, the finest feature of
her face, are of course quite lost. The bust
of M. Rocca was standing in the Baron de StaeTs
dressing room : I was more struck with it than
any thing I saw, not only as a chef d'ceuvre, but
from the perfect and regular beauty of the head,
and the charm of the expression. It was just
such a mouth as we might suppose to have
uttered his well known reply " Je I' 'aimer ai telle-
menty quelle jinira par iriaimer" Madame de
Stael had a son by this marriage, who has just
been brought home by his brother, the Baron,
from a school in the neighbourhood. He is
about seven years old. If we may believe the
servant, Madame de Stael did not acknowledge
this son till just before her death ; and she de-
scribed the wonder of the boy on being brought
home to the chateau, and desired to call Monsieur
le Baron " Mon frere" and " Auguste." This
part of Madame de Stael's conduct seems in-
comprehensible ; but her death is recent, the cir-
38 PANORAMA OF LAUSANNE.
cumstances little^ known , and Jt is difficult to
judge her motives. As a woman, as a wife she
might not have been able to brave " the world's
dread laugh" but as a mother ?
We have also seen Ferney - a place which
did not interest me much, for I have no sym-
pathies with Voltaire : and some other beautiful
scenes in the neighbourhood.
The Panorama exhibited in London just be-
fore I left it, is wonderfully correct, with one
pardonable exception : the artist did not venture
to make the waters of the lake of the intense ul-
tramarine tinged with violet as I now see them
before me ;
" So darkly, deeply, beautifully blue/'
it would have shocked English eyes as an ex-
aggeration, or rather impossibility.
PANORAMA OF LAUSANNE. 39
THE PANORAMA OF LAUSANNE.
Now blest for ever be that heaven-sprung art
Which can transport us in its magic power
From all the turmoil of the busy crowd,
From the gay haunts where pleasure is ador'd,
'Mid the hot sick'ning glare of pomp and light ;
And fashion worshipped by a gaudy throng
Of heartless idlers from the jarring world
And all its passions, follies, cares and crimes
And bids us gaze, even in the city's heart.
On such a scene as this ! O fairest spot !
If but the pictur'd semblance, the dead image
Of thy majestic beauty hath a power
To wake such deep delight ; if that blue lake,
Over whose lifeless breast no breezes play,
Those mimic mountains robed in purple light,
Yon painted verdure that but seems to glow,
Those forms unbreathing, and those motionless
woods,
A beauteous mockery all can ravish thus,
What would it be, could we now gaze indeed
Upon thy living landscape ? could we breathe
Thy mountain air, and listen to thy waves,
As they run rippling past our feet, and see
40 PANORAMA OF LAUSANNE.
That lake lit up by dancing sunbeams and
Those light leaves quivering in the summer air ;
Or linger some sweet eve just on this spot
Where now we seem to stand and watch the stars
Flash into splendour one by one, as night
Steals over yon snow-peaks, and twilight fades
Behind the steeps of Jura ! here, O here !
Mid scenes where Genius, Worth and Wisdom
dwelt,*
Which fancy peopled with a glowing train
Of most divine creations Here to stray
With one most cherished, and in loving eyes
Read a sweet comment on the wonders round
Would this indeed be bliss ? would not the soul
Be lost in its own depths ? and the full heart
Languish with sense of beauty unexprest,
And faint beneath its own excess of life ?
* " Rousseau, Voltaire, our Gibbon, and De Stael,
" Lemau ! these names are worthy of thy shore."
Lono BYRON.
JOURNEY TO MILAN. 41
Saturday. Quitted Geneva, and slept at St.
Maurice. I was ill during the last few days of
our stay, and therefore left Geneva with the less
regret. I suffer now so constantly, that a day
tolerably free from pain seems a blessing for which
I can. scarce be sufficiently thankful. Such was
yesterday.
Our road lay along the south bank of the
lake, through Evian, Thonon, St. Gingough:
and on the opposite shores we had in view suc-
cessively, Lausanne, Vevai, Clarens, and Chillon.
A rain storm pursued, or rather almost surrounded
us the whole morning ; but we had the good for-
tune to escape it. We travelled faster than it
could pursue, and it seemed to retire before us
as we approached. The effect was surprisingly
beautiful; for while the two extremities of the
lake were discoloured and enveloped in gloom,
that part opposite to us was as blue and trans-
parent as heaven itself, and almost as bright.
Over Vevai, as we viewed it from La Meillerie,
rested one end of a glorious rainbow ; the other
extremity appeared to touch the bosom of the
lake, and shone vividly against the dark moun-
tains above Chillon. La Meillerie Vevai ! what
magic in those names ! and O what a power has
genius to hallow with its lovely creations, scenes
already so lavishly adorn'd by Nature ! it was not
42 JOURNEY TO MILAN.
however of St. Preux I thought as I passed under
the rock of the Meillerie. Ah ! how much of
happiness, of enjoyment, have I lost in being
forced to struggle against my feelings, instead of
abandoning myself to them ! but surely I have
done right. Let me repeat it again and again to
myself, and let that thought, if possible, strengthen
and console me.
Monday. I have resolved to attempt no des-
cription of scenery ; but my pen is fascinated. I
must note a few of the objects which struck me to
day and yesterday, that I may at will combine
them hereafter to my mind's eye, and recall the
glorious pictures I beheld, as we travelled through
the Vallais to Brig : the swollen and turbid, (no
longer " blue and arrowy" Rhone, rushing and
roaring along ; the gigantic mountains in all their
endless variety of fantastic forms, which enclosed
us round, their summits now robed in curling
clouds, and then, as the winds swept them aside,
glittering in the sun-shine ; the little villages
perched like eagles' nests on the cliffs, far, far
above our heads ; the deep rocky channels through
which the torrents had madly broken a way, tear-
ing through every obstacle till they reached the
Rhone, and marking their course with devastation ;
the scene of direful ruin at Martigny; the ca-
taracts gushing, bounding from the living rock,
JOURNEY TO MILAN. 43
and plunging into some unseen abyss below ; even
the shrubs and the fruit trees which in the wider
parts of the valley bordered the road side ; the
vines, the rich scarlet barberries, the apples and
pears which we might have gathered by extending
our hands ; all and each when I recall them will
rise up a vivid picture before my own fancy ; but
never could be truly represented to the mind of
another at least through the medium of words.
And yet, with all its wonders and beauties,
this day's journey has not enchanted me like
Saturday's. The scenery then, had a different
species of beauty, a deeper interest when the
dark blue sky was above our heads, and the
transparent lake shone another heaven at our feet,
and the recollection of great and glorious names,
and visions of poetic fancy, and ideal forms more
lovely than ever trod this earth, hovered around
us : and then those thoughts which would in-
trude remembrances of the far-off absent, who
are or have been loved, mingled with the whole,
and shed an imaginary splendour or a tender
interest, over scenes which required no extraneous
powers to enhance their native loveliness, no
charm borrowed from imagination to embellish the
all-beautiful reality.
Duomo d'Ossola. What shall I say of the
14 JOURNEY TO MILAN.
marvellous, the miraculous Simplon? Nothing :>
every body has said already, every thing that can
be said and exclaimed.
In our descent, as the valley widened, and the
stern terrific features of the scene assumed a
gentler character, we came to the beautiful village
of Davedro, with its cottages and vineyards spread
over a green slope, between the mountains and
the torrent below. This lovely nook struck me
the more from its contrast with the region of
snows, clouds, and barren rocks, to which our
eyes had been for several hours accustomed. In
such a spot as Davedro I fancied I should wish to
live, could I in life assemble round me, all that
my craving heart and boundless spirit desire ; or
die, when life had exhausted all excitement, and
the subdued and weary soul had learned to be
content with repose : but not till then.
We are now in Italy ; but have not yet heard
the soft sounds of the Italian language. However,
we read with great satisfaction the Italian deno-
mination of our Inn, " La grande Alberga della
Villa" called out " Cameriere !" instead of " Gar-
con !" plucked ripe grapes as they hung from the
treillages above our heads, gathered green figs
from the trees, bursting and luscious, panted with
the intense heat intense and overpowering from
JOURNEY TO MILAN. 45
its contrast with the cold of the Alpine regions we
had just left and fancied we began to feel
cette vie ennivrante,
Que le soleil du sud inspire a tous les sens.
******
11 at Night. Fatigue and excitement have
lately proved too much for me : but I will not sink.
I will yet bear up ; and when a day thus passed
amid scenes like those of romance, amid all that
would once have charmed my imagination, and en-
chanted my senses, brings no real pleasure, but is
ended, as now it ends, in tears, in bitterness of
heart, in languor, in sickness, and in pain ah '
let me remember the lesson of resignation I have
lately learned ; and by elevating my thoughts to a
better world, turn to look upon the miserable
affections which have agitated me here as *
Could I but become as insensible, as regard-
*ess of the painful past as I am of the all lovely
present ! Why was I proud of my victory over pas-
sion? alas! what avails it that I have shaken
the viper from my hand, if I have no miraculous
antidote against the venom which has mingled
>vith my life-blood, and clogged the pulses of my
heart! But the antidote of Paul even faith
may it not be mine if I duly seek it ?
* The sentence which follows" is so blotted as to be illegible* ED.
46 LA.GO MAGGIORE.
Arona on the Banks of the Lago Maggiore.
Rousseau mentions somewhere, that it was
once his intention to place the scene of the Heloise
in the Borromean Islands. What a French idea !
How strangely incongruous had the pastoral sim-
plicity of his lovers appeared in such a scene ! It
must have changed, if not the whole plan, at least
the whole colouring of the tale. Imagine la divine
JULIE tripping up and down the artificial terraces
of the Isola Bella, among flower pots and statues,
and colonnades and grottos ; and St. Preux sighing
towards her, from some trim fantastic wilderness in
the Isola Madre !
The day was heavenly, and I shall never
forget the sun-set, as we viewed it reflected in the
lake, which appeared at one moment an expanse
of living fire. This is the first we have seen of
those effulgent sunsets with which Italy will make
us familiar.
Milan. Our journey yesterday, through the
flat fertile plains of Lombardy, was not very in-
teresting ; and the want of novelty and excite-
ment made it fatiguing, in spite of the matchless
roads and the celerity with which we travelled.
Whatever we may think of Napoleon in Eng-
land, it is impossible to travel on the continent, and
more particularly through Lombardy, without
being struck with the magnificence and vastness
MILAN. 47
of his public works either designed or executed.
He is more regretted here than in France ; cr
rather he has not been so soon banished from
men's minds. In Italy he followed the rational
policy of depressing the nobles, and providing
occupation and amusement for the lower classes.
I spoke to-day with an intelligent artisan, who
pointed out to us a hall built near the public walk
by Napoleon, for the people to dance and assem-
ble in, when the weather was unfavourable. The
man concluded some very animated and sensible
remarks on the late events, by adding expressively,
that though many had been benefited by the
change, there was to him and all others of his
class as much difference between the late reign and
the present, as between lor et lefer.
The silver shrine of St. Carlo Borromeo, with
all its dazzling waste of magnificence, struck me
with a feeling of melancholy and indignation. The
gems and gold which lend such a horrible splen-
dour to corruption; the skeleton head, grinning
ghastly under its invaluable coronet ; the skeleton
hand supporting a crozier glittering with diamonds,
appeared so frightful, so senseless a mockery of
the excellent simple-minded and benevolent being
they were intended to honour, that I could but
wonder, and escape from the sight as quickly as
possible. The Duomo is on the whole more re-
48 MILAN.
markable for the splendour of the material, than
the good taste with which it is employed: the
statues which adorn it inside and out, are suffi-
cient of themselves to form a very respectable
congregation : they are four thousand in number.
9th. Tuesday. We gave the morning to the
churches, and the evening to the Ambrosian
library. The day was, on the whole, more fa-
tiguing than edifying or amusing. I remarked
whatever was remarkable, admired all that is
usually admired, but brought away few impres-
sions of novelty or pleasure. The objects which
principally struck my capricious and fastidious
fancy, were precisely those which passed unnoticed
by every one else ; and are not worth recording.
In the first church we visited, I saw a young girl
respectably, and even elegantly dressed, in the
beautiful costume of the Milanese, who was kneel-
ing on the pavement before a crucifix, weeping
bitterly, and at the same time fanning herself most
vehemently with a large green fan. Another
church (St. Alessandro, I think) was oddly de-
corated for a Christian temple. A statue of
Venus stood on one side of the porch, a statue of
Hercules on the other. The two divinities, whose
attributes could not be mistaken, had been con-
verted from heathenism into two very respectable
saints. I forget their Christian names. Nor is
MILAN.
this the most amusing metamorphosis I have seen
here. The transformation of two heathen divini-
ties into saints, is matched by the apotheosis of
two modern sovereigns into pagan deities. On
the frieze of the salle, adjoining the Amphitheatre,
there is a head of Napoleon, which by the addition
of a beard, has been converted into a Jupiter ; and
on the opposite side, a head of Josephine, which,
being already beautiful and dignified, has required
no alteration, except in name, to become a credita-
ble Minerva.
10th. At theBrera, now called the " Palace of
the Arts and Sciences," we spent some delightful
hours. There is a numerous collection of pictures
by Titian, Guido, Albano, Schidone, the three
Carraccis, Tintoretto, Giorgione, &c. Some old
paintings in fresco by Luini and others of his age
were especially pointed out to us, which had been
cut from the walls of churches now destroyed.
They are preserved here, I presume, as curiosities,
and specimens of the progress of the arts, for they
possess no other merit none at least that I could
discover. Here is the " Marriage of the Virgin"
by RafFaelle, of which I had often heard. It dis-
appointed me at the first glance, but charmed me
at the second, and enchanted me at the third.
The unobtrusive grace and simplicity of RafFaelle,
do not immediately strike an eye so unpractised,
MILAN.
and a taste so unformed as mine still is : for though
I have seen the best pictures in England, we have
there no opportunity of becoming acquainted with
the two divinest masters of the Italian art, Raf-
faelle and Correggio. There are not, I conceive,
half a dozen of either in all the collections to-
gether, and those we do possess, are far from
being among their best efforts. But RaiFaelle must
not make me forget the Hagar in the Brera : the
/ affecting the inimitable Hagar ! what agony,
what upbraiding, what love, what helpless desola-
tion of heart in that countenance ! I may well re-
member the deep pathos of this picture ; for the
face of Hagar has haunted me sleeping and waking
ever since I beheld it. Marvellous power of art ! that
mere inanimate forms, and colours compounded of
I gross materials, should thus live thus speak
thus stand a soul-felt presence before us, and
from the senseless board or canvas, breathe into
our hearts a feeling, beyond what the most impas-
sioned eloquence could ever inspire beyond what
mere words can ever render.
^ Last night and the preceding we spent at the
Scala. The opera was stupid, and Madame Bel-
locchi, who is the present prima donna, appeared
to me harsh and ungraceful, when compared to
Fodor. The new ballet however amply indemni-
fied us for the disappointment.
MILAN. 51
Our Italian friends condoled with us on being
a few days too late to see La Festale, which had
been performed for sixty nights, and is one of
Vigano's masterpieces. I thought the Didone
Abbandonata left us nothing to regret. The
immense size of the stage, the splendid scenery,
the classical propriety and magnificence of the
dresses, the fine music, and the exquisite acting,
(for there is very little dancing,) all conspired
to render it enchanting. The celebrated cavern
scene, in the fourth book of Virgil, is rather too
closely copied in a most inimitable pas de deux ;
so closely indeed, that I was considerably alarmed
pour les bienseances: but little Ascanius, who is
asleep in a corner, (heaven knows how he came
there) wakes at the critical moment, and the
impending catastrophe is averted. Such a scene,
however beautiful, would not, I think, be endured
on the English stage. I observed that when it
began, the curtains in front of the boxes were
withdrawn, the whole audience, who seemed to be
expecting it, was hushed ; the deepest silence, the
most delighted attention prevailed during its per-
formance ; and the moment it was over, a third of
the spectators departed. I am told this is always
the case ; and that in almost every ballet d'action,
the public are gratified by a scene, or scenes, of a
similar tendency.
O2 MILAN.
The second time I saw the Didone, my atten-
tion, in spite of the fascination of the scene, was
attracted towards a box near us, which was occu-
pied by a noble English family just arrived at
Milan. In the front of the box sat a beautiful
girl, apparently not fifteen, with laughing lips and
dimpled cheeks, the very personification of bloom-
ing, innocent, English loveliness. I watched her,
(I could not help it, when my interest was once
awakened,) through the whole scene. I marked
her increased agitation : I saw her cheeks flush, her
eyes glisten, her bosom flutter, as if with sighs
I could not overhear, till at length, overpowered
with emotion, she turned away her head, and
covered her eyes with her hand. Mothers !
English mothers ! who bring your daughters abroad
to finish their education do ye well to expose
them to scenes like these, and force the young bud
of early feeling in such a precious hot bed as
this ? Can a finer finger on the piano,- -a finer
taste in painting, or any possible improvement in
foreign arts, and foreign graces, compensate for
one taint on that moral purity, which has ever
been, (and may it ever be !) the boast, the charm
of Englishwomen? But what have I to do with all
this? I came hereto be amused and to forget:
not to moralize, or to criticise.
Vigano, who is lately dead, composed the
MILAN. 53
Didone Abbandonata as well as La Vestale, Otello,
Nina, and others. All his ballets are celebrated
for their classical beauty and interest. This man,
though but a dancing master, must have had the
soul of a painter, a musician, and a poet in one.
He must have been a perfect master of design,
grouping, contrast, picturesque and scenic effect.
He must have had the most exquisite feeling for
musical expression, to adapt it so admirably to his
purposes ; and those gestures and movements with
which he has so gracefully combined it, and which
address themselves but too powerfully to the
senses and the imagination what are they, but the
very " poetry of motion" la poesie mise en action,
rendering words a superfluous and feeble medium
in comparison ?
I saw at the mint yesterday the medal struck
in honor of Vigano, bearing his head on one side,
and on the other, Prometheus chained ; to com-
memorate his famous ballet of that name. One of
these medals, struck in gold, was presented to him
in the name of the government : a singular dis-
tinction for a dancing master ; but Vigano was a
dancing master of genius; and this is the land,
where genius in every shape is deified.
The enchanting music of the Prometteo by
Beethoven, is well known in England, but to pro-
duce the ballet on our stage, as it was exhibited
54 MILAN.
here, would be impossible. The entire tribe of
our dancers and figurantes, with their jumpings?
twirlings, quiverings and pirouettings, must be
first annihilated ; and Vigano, or Didelot, or No-
varre rise again to inform the whole corps de ballet
with another soul and the whole audience with
another spirit: for
" Poiche paga il volgo sciocco, 6 giusto
Scioccamente " ballar" per dargli gusto."
The Theatre of the Scala, notwithstanding the
vastness of my expectations, did not disappoint me.
I heard it criticised as being dark and gloomy ; for
only the stage is illuminated : but when I remem-
ber how often I have left our English theatres
with dazzled eyes and aching head, distracted by
the multiplicity of objects and faces, and " blasted
with excess of light," I feel reconciled to this
peculiarity ; more especially as it heightens beyond
measure the splendour of the stage effect.
We have the Countess Bubna's box while we
are here. She scarcely ever goes herself, being
obliged to hold a sort of military drawing-room
almost every evening. Her husband, General
Bubna, has the command of the Austrian forces
in the north of Italy : and though the Archduke
Reignier is nominal viceroy, all real power seems
lodged in Bubna's hands. He it was who sup-
pressed the insurrection in Piedmont during the
MILAN. 55
last struggle for liberty : 'twas his vocation more
the pity. Eight hundred of the Milanese, at the
head of them Count Melzi, were connected with
the Carbonari and the Piedmontese insurgents.
On Count Bubna's return from his expedition, a
list of these malcontents being sent to him by the
police, he refused even to look at it, and merely
saying that it was the business of the police to
surveiller those persons, but he must be allowed to
be ignorant of their names, publicly tore the
paper. The same night he visited the theatre
accompanied by Count Melzi, was received with
acclamations, and has since been deservedly po-
pular.
Bubna is a heavy gross-looking man, a victim
to the gout, and with nothing martial or captivat-
ing in his exterior. He has talents however, and
those not only of a military cast. He was generally
employed to arrange the affairs of the Emperor of
Austria with Napoleon. His loyalty to his own
sovereign, and the soldier-like frankness and inte-
grity of his character gained him the esteem of the
French emperor ; who, when any difficulties oc-
curred in their arrangements, used to say impa-
tiently " Envoyez-moi done Bubna 1"
The count is of an illustrious family of Alsace,
which removed to Bohemia, when that province
was ceded to France. He had nearly ruined him-
56 MILAN.
self by gambling, when the emperor (so it is said)
advised him, or in other words commanded him to
marry the daughter of one Arnvelt or Arnfeldt, a
baptized jew, who had been servant to a Jewish
banker at Vienna ; and on his death left a million
of florins to each of his daughters. He was a
man of the lowest extraction and without any
education, but having sense enough to feel its ad-
vantages, he gave a most brilliant one to his
daughters. The countess Bubna is an elegant, an
accomplished, and has the character of being also
an amiable woman. She is here a person of the
very first consequence, the wife of the archduke
alone taking precedence of her. Apropos of the
viceroy, when on the Corso to day with the
Countess Bubna, we met him with the Vice-queen,
as she is styled here, walking in public. The
archduke has not (as the countess observed) la
plus jolie tournure da monde : his appearance is
heavy, awkward and slovenly, with more than the
usual Austrian stupidity of countenance : a com-
plete testa tedesca. His beautiful wife held his
arm ; and as she moved a little in front, seemed to
drag him after her like a mere appendage to her
state. I gazed after them, amused by the con-
trast : he looking like a dull, stiff, old bachelor,
the very figure of Moody in the Country Girl;
she, an elegant, sprightly, captivating creature ;
MILAN. 57
decision in her step, laughter on her lips, and
pride, intelligence, and mischief in her brilliant
eyes.
******
We visited yesterday the military college, found-
ed by the viceroy, Eugene Beauharnois, for the
children of soldiers who had fallen in battle. The
original design is now altered ; and it has become
a mere public school, to which any boys may be
admitted, paying a certain sum a year. We went
over the whole building, and afterwards saw the
scholars, two hundred and eighty in number, sit
down to dinner. Every thing appeared nice>
clean, and admirably ordered. At the mint,
which interested me extremely, we found them
coining silver crowns for the Levant trade, with the
head of Maria Theresa, and the date 1780. We
were also shewn the beautifully engraved die for
the medal which the university of Padua pre-
sented to Belzoni.
The evening was spent at the Teatro Re,
where we saw a bad sentimental comedy (una
Commedia di Carattere) exceedingly well acted.
One actor I thought almost equal to Dowton,
in his own style ; we had afterwards some fine
music. Some of the Milanese airs, which the
itinerant musicians give us, have considerable
beauty and character. There is less monotony, I
D5
58 MILAN.
think, in their general style than in the Venetian
music ; and perhaps less sentiment, less softness.
When left alone to-night, to do penance on the
sofa, for my late walks, and recruit for our journey
to-morrow, I tried to adapt English verses to one
or two very pretty airs which Annoni brought me
to-day, without the Italian words ; but it is a most
difficult and invidious task. Even Moore, with
his unequalled command over the lyric harmonies
of our language, cannot perfectly satisfy ears
accustomed to the
" linked sweetness long drawn out"
of the Italian vowels, combined with musical
sounds : fancy such dissonant syllables as ex, pray,
what, breaks, strength uttered in minim time,
hissing and grating through half a bar, instead of
the dulcet anima mia, Catina amabileCaro mio
tesoro, &c.
MILAN. 59
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
All that it hoped
My heart believed,
And when most loving,
Was most deceived.
A shadow hath fallen
O'er my young years ;
And hopes when brightest,
Were quench'd in tears !
I make no plaint
I breathe no sigh
My lips can smile,
And mine eyes are dry.
I ask no pity,
I hope no cure
The heart, tho' broken,
Can live, and endure !
60 BRESCIA.
We left Milan two days ago, and arrived early
the same day at Brescia ; there is, I believe, very
little to see there, and of that little, I saw no-
thing, being too ill and too low for the slightest
exertion. The only pleasurable feeling I can
remember was excited by our approach to the
Alps, after traversing the flat, fertile, unin-
teresting plains of Lombardy. The peculiar
sensation of elevation and delight, inspired by
mountain scenery, can only be understood by
those who have felt it: at least I never had
formed an idea of it till I found myself ascending
the Jura.
But Brescia ought to be immortalized in the
history of our travels : for there, stalking down
the Corso h nez en Vair we met our acquain-
tance, L , from whom we had parted last on
the pave of Piccadilly. I remember that in
London I used to think him not remarkable for
wisdom, and his travels have infinitely improved
him in folly. He boasted to us triumphantly
that he had run over sixteen thousand miles in
sixteen months : that he had bowed at the levee
of the Emperor Alexander, been slapped on
the shoulder by the Archduke Constantine, .
shaken hands with a Lapland witch, and been
presented in full volunteer uniform at every
court between Stockholm and Milan. Yet is
LAGO DI GARDA. 61
he not one particle wiser than if he had spent
the same time in walking up and down the
Strand. He has contrived, however, to pick up
on his tour, strange odds and ends of foreign
follies, which stick upon the coarse grained ma-
terials of his own John Bull character like tin-
foil upon sackcloth : so that I see little difference
between what he was, and what he is, except
that from a simple goose, he has become a com-
pound one. With all this, L is not unbear-
able not yet at least. He amuses others as a
butt and me as a specimen of a new genus of
fools : for his folly is not like any thing one usually
meets with. It is not, par exemple, the folly of
stupidity, for he talks much ; nor of dullness, for
he laughs much; nor of ignorance, for he has
seen much ; nor of wrong-headedness, for he
can be guided right ; nor of bad-heartedness, for
he is good-natured ; nor of thoughtlessness, for
he is prudent; nor of extravagance, for he can
calculate even to the value of half a lira : but it
is an essence of folly, peculiar to himself, and like
Monsieur Jaques's melancholy, " compounded of
many simples, extracted from various objects, and
the sundry contemplation of his travels." So
much for the present, of our friend L .
We left Brescia early yesterday morning, and
62 LAGO DI GARDA.
after passing Desenzano, came in sight of the Lago
di Garda. I had from early associations a de-
lightful impression of the beauty of this lake, and
it did not disappoint me. It is far superior I
think to the Lago Maggiore, because the scenery
is more resserre, lies in a smaller compass, so
that the eye takes in the separate features more
easily. The mountains to the north are dark,
broken and wild in their forms, and their bases
seemed to extend to the water edge : the hills to
the south are smiling, beautiful, and cultivated,
studded with white flat-roofed buildings, which
glitter one above another in the sun-shine. Our
drive along the promontory of Sirmione, to visit
the ruins of the Villa of Catullus, was delightful.
The fresh breeze which ruffled the dark blue
lake, revived my spirits, and chased away my
head-ache. I was inclined to be enchanted with
all I saw ; and when our guide took us into an
old cellar choked with rubbish, and assured us
gravely that it was the very spot in which Catul-
lus had written his Odes to Lesbia, I did not
laugh in his face ; for after all, it would be as
easy to prove that it is, as that it is not. The old
town and castle of Sirmio, are singularly pictu-
resque, whether viewed from above or below; and
the grove of olives which crowned the steep ex-
VERONA. tXf
tremity of the promontory, interested us, being
the first we had seen in Italy: on the whole I
fully enjoyed the early part of this day.
At Peschiera, which is strongly fortified, we
crossed the Mincio.
O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood
Smooth flowing Mincius crown'd with vocal reeds.
Its waters were exquisitely transparent; but it
was difficult to remember its poetical pretensions,
in sight of those odious barracks and batteries.
The reeds mentioned by Virgil and Milton still
flourish upon its banks, and I forgave them for
spoiling in some degree the beauty of the shore,
when I thought of Adelaide of Burgundy, who
concealed herself among them for three days,
when she fled from the dungeon of Peschiera to
the arms of her lover. I was glad I had read
her story in Gibbon, since it enabled me to add to
classical and poetical associations, an interest at I
once romantic and real.
The rest to-morrow for I can write no more.
At Verona, Oct. 20.
I had just written the above when I was
startled by a mournful strain from a chorus of
voices, raised at intervals, and approaching
gradually nearer. I walked to the window, and
saw a long funeral procession just entering the
church, which is opposite to the door of our inn.
64 VERONA.
I immediately threw over me a veil and shawl,
followed it, and stood by while the service was
chaunted over the dead. The scene, as viewed by
the light of above two hundred tapers, which
were carried by the assistants, was as new to me
as it was solemn and striking: but it was suc-
ceeded by a strange and forlorn contrast. The
moment the service was over, the tapers were
suddenly extinguished ; the priests and the rela-
tives all disappeared in an inconceivably short
time ; and before I was quite aware of what was
going forward : the coffin, stripped of its embroi-
dered pall and garlands of flowers, appeared a
mere chest of deal boards, roughly nailed toge-
ther; and was left standing on tressels, bare,
neglected and forsaken in the middle of the
church. I approached it almost fearfully, and
with a deeper emotion than I believed such a
thing could now excite within me. And here,
thought I, rests the human being, who has lived
and loved, suffered and enjoyed, and, if I may
judge by the splendour of his funeral rites, has
been honoured, served, flattered while living :
and now not one remains to shed a last tear over
the dead, but a single stranger, a wanderer from
a land he perhaps knew not : to whom his very
name is unknown! and while thus I moralized,
two sextons appeared; and one of them seizing
VERONA. 65
the miserable and deserted coffin, rudely and
unceremoniously flung it on his shoulders, and
vanished through a vaulted door : and I returned
to my room, to write this, and to think how much
better, how much more humanely we manage
these things in our own England.
Oct. 21. Verona is a clean and quiet place,
containing some fine edifices by Palladio and his
pupils. The principal object of interest is the
ancient amphitheatre ; the most perfect I believe
in Italy. The inner ^circle, with all its ranges of
seats, is entire. We ascended to the top, and
looked down into the Piazza d'arme, where
several battalions of Austrian soldiers were ex-
ercising ; their arms glittering splendidly in the
morning sun. As I have now been long enough
in Italy to sympathize in the national hatred of
the Austrians, I turned from the sight, resolved
not to be pleased. The arena of the amphi-
theatre is smaller, and less oval in form than I
had expected : and in the centre, there is a little
paltry gaudy wooden theatre for puppets and
tumblers, forming a grotesque contrast to the
massive and majestic architecture around it: but
even tumblers and puppets, as Rospo observed,
are better than wild beasts and ferocious gla-
diators.
There is also at Verona a triumphal arch to
66 VERONA.
the Emperor Gallienus : the architecture and in-
scription almost as perfect as if erected yester-
day : and a most singular bridge of three irre-
gular arches, built I believe by the Scaligieri
family, who were once Princes of Verona.
It is well known that the story of Romeo and
Juliet is here regarded as a traditionary and in-
disputable fact, and the tomb of Juliet is shewn
in a garden near the town. So much has been
written and said on this subject, I can add only
one observation. To the reality of the story it
has been objected that the oldest narrator, Ma-
succio, relates it as having happened at Sienna :
but might he not have heard the tradition at
Verona, and transferred the scene to Sienna,
since he represented it as related by a Siennese ?
Delia Corte, whose history of Verona I have
just laid down, mentions it as a real historical
event ; and Louis da Porta, in his beautiful novel,
la Giulietta, expressly asserts that he has \vritten
it down from tradition. If Shakespeare, as it is
said, never saw the novel of Da Porta, how came
he by the names of Romeo and Juliet, the
Montagues and the Capulets: if he did meet
with it, how came he to depart so essentially
from the story, particularly in the catastrophe ?
I must get some books if possible to clear up
these difficulties.
PADUA. 67
23d. at Padua. We spent yesterday morning
pleasantly at Vicenza. Palladio's edifices in
general disappointed me ; partly because I am not
architect enough to judge of their merits, partly
because of most of them, the situation is bad, and
the materials paltry : but the Olympic theatre,
although its solid perspective be a mere trick of
the art, surprised and pleased me. It has an air
of antique and classic elegance in its decorations,
which is very striking. I have heard it criticised
as a specimen of bad taste and trickery: but why
should its solid scenery be considered more a
trick, and in bad taste, than a curtain of painted
canvas ? In both a deception is practised and in-
tended. We saw many things in Vicenza and its
neighbourhood, which I have not time, nor spirits
to dwell upon.
We arrived here (at Padua) last night, and to
day I am again ill : unable to see or even to wish
to see any thing. My eyes are so full of tears that
I can scarcely write. I must lay down my pencil,
lest I break through my resolution, and be tempted
to record feelings I afterwards tremble to see
v/ritten down. O bitter and too lasting remem-
brance! I must sleep it away Even the heavy
and drug-bought sleep to which I am now reduced,
is better than such waking moments as these.
68 VENICE.
Venice, October 25.
I feel, while I gaze round me as if I had
seen Venice in my dreams as if it were itself
the vision of a dream. We have been here two
days ; and I have not yet recovered from my
first surprise. All is yet enchantment : all is
novel, extraordinary, affecting from the many asso-
ciations and remembrances excited in the mind.
Pleasure and wonder are tinged with a melancholy
interest ; and while the imagination is excited, the
spirits are depressed.
The morning we left Padua was bright, lovely
and cloudless. Our drive along the shores of
the Brenta crowned with innumerable villas and
gay gardens was delightful ; and the moment of
our arrival at Fusina, where we left our carriages
to embark in gondolas, was the most auspicious
that could possibly have been chosen. It was
about four o'clock : the sun was just declining to-
wards the west : the whole surface of the lagune
smooth as a mirror, appeared as if paved with
fire; and Venice with her towers and domes,
indistinctly glittering in the distance, rose be-
fore us like a gorgeous exhalation from the bosom
of the ocean. It is farther from the shore than I
expected. As we approached, the splendour
faded: but the interest and the wonder grew.
I can conceive nothing more beautiful, more sin-
VENICE. 69
gular, more astonishing, than the first appearance
of Venice, and sad indeed will be the hour when
she sinks, (as the poet prophesies) " into the
slime of her own canals."
The moment we had disembarked our luggage
at the inn, we hired gondolas and rowed to the
Piazza di San Marco. Had I seen the church of
St. Mark any where else, I should have exclaimed
against the bad taste which every where prevails
in it : but Venice is the proper region of the fan-
tastic, and the church of St. Mark with its four
hundred pillars of every different order, colour,
and material, its oriental cupolas, and glittering
vanes, and gilding and mosaics assimilates with
all around it : and the kind of pleasure it gives is
suitable to the place and the people.
After dinner 1 had a chair placed on the bal-
cony of our inn, and sat for some time contem-
plating a scene altogether new and delightful.
The arch of the Rialto, just gleamed through the
deepening twilight ; long lines of palaces, at first
partially illuminated, faded away at length into
gloomy and formless masses of architecture ; the
gondolas glided to and fro, their glancing lights
reflected on the water. There was a stillness
all around me, solemn and strange in the heart
of a great city. No rattling carriages shook the
streets, no trampling of horses echoed along the
70 VENICE.
pavement: the silence was broken only by the
melancholy cry of the gondoliers, and the dash of
their oars ; by the low murmur of human voices,
by the chime of the vesper bells, borne over the
water, and the sounds of music raised at intervals
along the canals. The poetry, the romance of
the scene stole upon me unawares. I fell into a I
reverie, in which visionary forms and recollections
gave way to dearer and sadder realities, and my
mind seemed no longer ii^ my own power. I
called upon the lost, the absent, to share the pre-
sent with me I called upon past feelings to en-
hance that moment's delight. I did wrong and
memory avenged herself as usual. I quitted my
seat on the balcony, with despair at my heart, and
drawing to the table, took out my books and
work. So passed our first evening at Venice.
Yesterday we visited the Accademia where
there are some fine pictures. The famous As-
sumption by Titian is here, and first made me
feet what connoisseurs mean when they talk of
the carnations and draperies of Titian. We were
shewn two designs for monuments to the memory
of Titian, modelled by Canova. Neither of them
has been erected ; but the most beautiful, with a
little alteration, and the substitution of a lady's
bust for Titian's venerable head, has been de-
dicated, I believe, to the memory of the Arch-
VENICE. 71
Duchess Christina of Austria. I remember also
an exquisite Canaletti, quite different in style and
subject from any picture of this master I ever
saw.
We then rowed to the Ducal Palace. The
council chamber (I thought of Othello as I entered
it) is now converted into a library. The walls are
decorated with the history of Pope Alexander
the third, and Frederic Barbarossa, painted by
the Tintoretti, father and son, Paul Veronese
and Palma. Above them, in compartments, hang
the portraits of the Doges ; among which Marino
Faliero, is not ; but his name only, inscribed on a
kind of black pall. The Ganymede is a most
exquisite little group attributed to the age of
Praxiteles; and not without reason even to the
hand of that sculptor.
To day we visited several churches rich, on
the outside, with all the luxury of architecture,
withinside, gorgeous with painting, sculpture,
and many-coloured marbles. The prodigality
with which the most splendid and costly materials
are lavished here is perfectly amazing : pillars of
lapis-lazuli, columns of Egyptian porphyry, and
pavements of mosaic, altars of alabaster ascended
by steps incrusted with agate and jasper: but
to particularize would be in vain. I will only
mention three or four which I wish to recollect :
72 VENICE.
the Church of the Madonna della Salute, so called
because erected to the Virgin in gratitude for the
deliverance of the city from a pestilence, which
she miraculously drove into the Adriatic. It is
remarkable for its splendid pictures, most of them
by Luca Giordano; and the superb high altar.
I think it was the Church of the Gesuata which
astonished us most. The whole of the inside
walls and columns are encrusted with Carrara
marble inlaid with verd-antique, in a kind of
damask pattern ; over the pulpit it fell like drapery,
so easy, so graceful, so exquisitely imitated, that
I was obliged to touch it to assure myself of the
material. Then by way of contrast followed the
Church of San Giorgio Maggiore, one of Pal-
ladio's masterpieces. After the dazzling and
gorgeous buildings we had left, its beautiful sim-
plicity and correct taste struck me at first with an
impression of poverty and coldness. At the
Church of St. John and St. Paul is the famous
martyrdom or rather assassination of St. Peter
Martyr, by Titian, one of the most magical pic-
tures in the world. Its tragic horror is redeemed
by its sublimity. Here too is a most admirable
series of bas-reliefs in white marble, representing
the history of our Saviour, the work of a modern
sculptor. Here too the Doges are buried; and
close to the Church is the equestrian statue of
VENICE. 73
one of the Falieri family: near which Marino
Faliero met the conspirators.
At the Frati is the grave of Titian: a small
square slab covers him, with this inscription:
Qui giace il gran Tiziano Vecelli.
Emulator del Zeusi e degli Apelli.
there is no monument : and there needs none.
It was I think in the Church of St. John and
St. Paul, that I saw a singular and beautiful altar
of black touch-stone, used when mass is said for
the soul of an executed criminal.
This is all I can remember of to-day. I am
fatigued, and my head aches; my imagination
is yet dazzled: my eyes are tired of admiring,
my mind is tired of thinking, and my heart with
feeling. Now for repose.
27. To-day we visited the Manfrini Palace, the
Casa Pisani, the Palazzo Barberigo, and con-
cluded the morning in the colonnade of St. Mark,
and the public gardens. The day has been far
less fatiguing than yesterday : for though we have
seen an equal variety of objects, they forced the
attention less, and gratified the imagination more.
At the Manfrini Palace there is the most
valuable and splendid collection of pictures I have
yet seen in Italy or elsewhere. I have no inten-
tion of turning my little Diary into a mere catalogue
of names which I can find in every guide-book ;
E
74 VENICE.
but I cannot pass over Giorgione's beautiful group
of himself, and his wife and child, which Lord
Byron calls " love at full length and life, not love
ideal," and it is indeed exquisite. A female with
a guitar by the same master is almost equal to it.
There are two Lucretias one by Guido and one
by Giordano : though both are beautiful, parti-
cularly the former, there was, I thought, an im-
propriety in the conception of both pictures : the
^ figure was too voluptuous too exposed, and did
not give me the idea of the matronly Lucretia,
i who so carefully arranged her drapery before she
fell. I remember too, a St. Cecilia by Carlo
Dolce, of most heavenly beauty, two Correggios
Iphigenia in Aulis, by Padovanino : in this pic-
ture the figure of Agamemnon is a complete failure,
but the lifeless beauty of Iphigenia, a wonderful
effort of art : and a hundred others at least, all
masterpieces.
The Barberigo Palace was the school of
Titian. We were shewn the room in which he
painted, and the picture he left unfinished when
he died at the age of 99. It is a David as
vigorous in the touch and style as any of his first
pictures.
******
It is now some days since I had time to write ;
or rather the intervals of excitement and occupa-
VENICE. 75
tion found me too much exhausted to take up my
pencil. Our stay at Venice has been rendered
most agreeable by the kindness of Mr. H the
British Consul, and his amiable and charming wife,
and in their society we have spent much ^of the
last few days.
One of our pleasantest excursions was to the
Armenian convent of St. Lazaro, where we were
received by Fra Pasquale, an accomplished and
intelligent monk, and a particular friend of Mr.
H . After we had visited every part of the
convent, the printing press the library the la^
boratory which contains several fine mathematical
instruments of English make ; and admired the
beautiful little tame gazelle which bounded through
the corridors, we were politely refreshed with
most delicious sweet-meats and coffee ; and took
leave of Fra Pasquale with regret.
There is no opera at present, but we have
visited both the other theatres. At the San
Luca, they gave us " Elizabeth, the Exile of
Siberia," tolerably acted : but there was one trait
introduced very characteristic of the place and
people: Elizabeth in a tremendous snow storm,
is pursued by robbers; and finding a crucifix
erected by the road side, embraces it for pro-
tection. The crucifix flies away with her in a
clap of thunder and sets her down safely at a
76 VENICE.
distance from her persecutors. The audience ap-
peared equally enchanted and edified by this
scene : some of the women near me crossed them-
selves, and put their handkerchiefs to their eyes :
the men rose from their seats, clapped with en-
thusiasm, and shouted " Bravo ! Miracolo !"
At the San Benedetto we were gratified by a
deep tragedy entitled " Gabrielle Innocente," so
exquisitely absurd, and so grotesquely acted, that
the best comedy could scarcely have afforded us
more amusement, certainly not more merriment.
In the course of the evening, coffee and ices were
served in our box, as is the custom here.
With Mrs. H this evening I had a long
and pleasant conversation; she is really one of
the most delightful and unaffected women I ever
met with : and as there is nothing in my melan-
choly visage and shrinking reserve to tempt any
person to converse with me, I must also set her
down as one of the most good natured. She
talked much of Lord Byron, with whom during
his residence here, she was on intimate terms.
She spoke of him, not conceitedly as one vain of
the acquaintance of a great character ; nor with
affected reserve, as if afraid of committing her-
self but with openness, animation, and cordial
kindness, as one whom she liked, and had reason
to like. She says the style of Lord Byron's con-
VENICE. 77
versation is very much that of Don Juan: just
in the same manner are the familiar, the brilliant,
the sublime, the affecting, the witty, the ludi-
crous, and the licentious, mingled and contrasted.
Several little anecdotes which she related I need
not write down ; I can scarcely forget them, and
it would not be quite fair as they were told en con-
Jiance. I am no anecdote hunter, picking up
articles for " my pocket book."
A little while ago Captain F. lent me D'ls-
raeli's Essays on the Literary Character, which
had once belonged to Lord Byron ; and contained
marginal notes in his hand writing. One or two
of them are so curiously characteristic that I copy
them here.
The first note is on a passage in which D'ls-
raeli, in allusion to Lord Byron, traces his fond-
ness for oriental scenery to his having read Rycaut
at an early age. On this Lord Byron observes,
that he read every book relating to the east be-
fore he was ten years old, including De Tott and
Cantemir as well as Rycaut : at that age, he says
that he detested all poetry, and adds "when I was
in Turkey, I was oftener tempted to turn mussul-
man than poet : and have often regretted since that
I did not."
At page 99 d'Israeli says,
78 VENICE.
" The great poetical genius of our times has
openly alienated himself from the land of his
brothers," (over the word brothers Lord Byron
has written Cains.) " He becomes immortal in
the language of a people whom he would contemn,
he accepts with ingratitude the fame he loves
more than life, and he is only truly great on that
spot of earth whose genius, when he is no more,
will contemplate his shade in sorrow and in
anger."
Lord Byron has underlined several words in
this passage and writes thus in the margin ;
" What was rumoured of me in that lan-
guage, if true, I was unfit for England ; and if
false, England was unfit for me. But ' there is a
world elsewhere.' I have never for an instant
regretted that country, but often that I ever re-
turned to it. It is not my fault that I am obliged
to write in English. If I understood any present
language, Italian for instance, equally well, I
would write in it : but it will require ten years,
at least, to form a style. No tongue so easy to
acquire a little of, and so difficult to master tho-
roughly, as Italian."
The next note is amusing; at page 342 is
mentioned the anecdote of Petrarch, who when
returning to his native town, was informed that
the proprietor of the house in which he was
VENICE. 79
born had often wished to make alterations in it,
but that the town's-people had risen to insist that
the house consecrated by his birth should remain
unchanged "a triumph," adds D'Israeli, "more
affecting to Petrarch than even his coronation at
Rome."
Lord Byron has written in the margin " It
would have pained me more that the proprietor
should often have wished to make alterations, than
it would give me pleasure that the rest of Arezzo
rose against his right (for right he had): the
depreciation of the lowest of mankind is more
painful, than the applause of the highest is
pleasing. The sting of the scorpion is more in
torture than the possession of any thing short of
Venus would be in rapture."
******
The public gardens are the work of the
French, and occupy the extremity of one of the
Islands. They contain the only trees I have seen
at Venice: a few rows of dwarfish unhappy-
looking shrubs parched by the sea breezes, and
are little frequented. We found here a solitary
gentleman who was sauntering up and down with
his hands in his pockets, and a look at once stupid
and disconsolate. Sometimes he paused, looked
vacantly over the waters, whistled, yawned, and
turned away to resume his solemn walk. On a
80 VENICE.
trifling remark addressed to him by one of our
party, he entered into conversation, with all the
eagerness of a man, whose tongue had long been
kept in most unnatural bondage. He congratulated
himself on having met with some one who would
speak English ; adding contemptuously that " he
understood none of the outlandish tongues the
people spoke hereabouts :" he enquired what was
to be seen here, for though he had been four days
in Venice, he had spent every day precisely in
the same manner ; viz. walking up and down the
public gardens. We told him Venice was famous
for fine buildings and pictures ; he knew nothing
of them things. And that it contained also,
" some fine statues and antiques" he cared
nothing about them neither he should set off
for Florence the next morning, and begged to
know what was to be seen there? Mr. R
told him with enthusiasm " the most splendid
gallery of pictures and statues in the world!" He
looked very blank and disappointed. " Nothing
else?" then he should certainly not waste his time
at Florence, he should go direct to Rome ; he
had put down the name of that town in his pocket-
book, for he understood it was a very convenient
place: he should therefore stay there a week;
thence he should go to Naples, a place he had
also heard of, where he should stay another week :
VENICE. 81
then he should go to Algiers where he should stay
three weeks, and thence to Tunis where he ex-
pected to be very comfortable, and should pro-
bably make a long stay ; then he should return
home, having seen every thing worth seeing. He
scarcely seemed to know how or by what route he
had got to Venice but he assured us he had
come " fast enough ;" he remembered no place
he had passed through except Paris. At Paris
he told us there was a female lodging in the same
hotel with himself, who, by his description ap-
pears to have been a single lady of rank and
fashion travelling with her own carriages and a
suite of servants. He had never seen her ; but
learning through the domestics that she was tra-
velling the same route, he sat down and wrote her
a long letter beginning " Dear Madam," and pro-
posing they should join company, " for the sake
of good fellowship, and the bit of chat they might
have on their way." Of course she took no notice
of this strange billet, " from which," added he,
with ludicrous simplicity, " I supposed she would
rather travel alone."
Truly, " Nature hath framed strange fellows
in her time." After this specimen, sketched from
life, who will say there are such things as
caricatures ?
E5
82 VENICE.
We visited to-day the Giant's Staircase and
the Bridge of Sighs, and took a last farewell of
St. Mark we were surprised to see the church
hung with black the festoons of flowers all re-
moved masses going forward at several altars,
and crowds of people looking particularly solemn
and devout. It is the " Giorno dei morte," the
day by the Roman Catholics consecrated to the
dead. I observed many persons both men and
women, who wept while they prayed, with every
appearance of the most profound grief. Leaving
St. Mark I crossed the square. On the three
lofty standards in front of the church formerly
floated the ensigns of the three states subject to
Venice, the Morea, Cyprus, and Candia : the bare
poles remain, but the ensigns of empire are gone.
One of the standards was extended on the ground,
and being of immense length, I hesitated for a
moment whether I should make a circuit, but
at last stepped over it. I looked back with re-
morse, for it was like trampling over the fallen.
We then returned to our inn to prepare for
our departure. How I regret to leave Venice !
not the less because I cannot help it.
Rovigo, Nov. 3.
We left Venice in a hurry yesterday, slept at
Padua, and travelled this morning through a most
lovely country, among the Enganean hills to Ro-
VENICE. 83
vigo, where we are very uncomfortably lodged at
the Albergo di San Marco.
I have not yet recovered my regret at leaving
Venice so unexpectedly ; though as a residence, I
could scarce endure it ; the sleepy canals, the
gliding gondolas in their " dusk livery of woe"
the absence of all verdure, all variety of all nature
in short ; the silence, disturbed only by the inces-
sant chiming of bells and worse than all, the
spectacle of a great city " expiring (as Lord Byron
says) before our eyes" would give me the hor-
rors : but as a visitor, my curiosity was not half
gratified, and I should have liked to have stayed a
few days longer perhaps after all, I have reason
to rejoice that instead of bringing away from
Venice a disagreeable impression of satiety, dis-
gust and melancholy, I have quitted it with feel-
ings of admiration, of deep regret, and undi-
minished interest.
Farewell then, Venice ! I could not have
believed it possible that it would have brought
tears to my eyes to leave a place merely for its own
sake, and unendeared by the presence of any one
I loved.
As Rovigo affords no other amusement I shall
scribble a little longer.
Nothing can be more arbitrary than the
Austrian government at Venice. As a summary
84 VENICE.
method of preventing robberies during the winter
months, when many of the gondoliers and fisher-
men are out of employ, the police have orders to
arrest without ceremony, every person who has no
permanent trade or profession, and keep them in
confinement and to hard labour till the return of
spring.
The commerce of Venice has so much and so
rapidly declined, that Mr. H told us when
first he was appointed to the consulship, 150
English vessels cleared the port, and this year only
five. It should seem that Austria, from a cruel
and selfish policy, is sacrificing Venice to the
prosperity of Trieste : but why do I call that a
cruel policy, which on recollection I might rather
term poetical and retributive justice ?
The grandeur of Venice arose first from its
trade in salt. I remember reading in history, that
when a King of Hungary opened certain produc-
tive salt mines in his dominions, the Venetians
sent him a peremptory order to shut them up ;
and such was the power of the Republic at that
time, that he was forced to obey this insolent com-
mand, to the great injury and impoverishment of
his states. The tables are now turned : the op-
pressor has become the oppressed.
The principal revenue derived from Venice is
from the tax on houses, there being no land tax.
VENICE. 85
So rapid was the decay of the place, that in two
years seventy houses and palaces were pulled
down; the government forbade this by a special
law, and now taxes are paid for many houses
whose proprietors are too poor to live in them.
There is no society, properly so called, at
Venice ; three old women of rank receive com-
pany now and then, and it is any thing rather
than select.
Mr. F. told us at Venice, that, on entering the
states subject to Austria, he had his Johnson's
Dictionary taken from him, and could never
recover it ; so jealous is the government of Eng-
lish principles and English literature, that all
English books are prohibited until examined by
the police.
The whole country from Milan to Padua was
like a vast garden, nothing could exceed its fertility
and beauty. It was the latter end of the vintage ;
and we frequently met huge tub-like waggons
loaded with purple grapes, reeling home from the
vineyards, and driven by men whose legs were
stained with treading in the wine-pressnow and
then, rich clusters were shaken to the ground, as
I have seen wisps of straw fall from a hay-cart in
England, and were regarded with equal indif-
ference. Sometimes we saw in the vineyards by
the road side, groups of labourers seated among
86 VENICE.
the branches of the trees, and plucking grapes
from the vines, which were trailed gracefully from
tree to tree and from branch to branch, and
drooped with their luxurious burthen of fruit.
The scene would have been as perfectly delight-
ful, as it was new and beautiful, but for the
squalid looks of the peasantry; more especially of
the women. The principal productions of the
country seem to be wine and silk. There were
vast groves of mulberry trees between Verona and
Padua ; and we visited some of the silk-mills, in
which the united strength of men invariably per-
formed those operations which in England are ac-
complished by steam or water. I saw in a huge
horizontal wheel, about a dozen of these poor
creatures labouring so hard, that my very heart
ached to see them, and I begged that the machine
might be stopped that I might speak to them :
but when it was stopped and I beheld their half
savage, half stupified, I had almost said brutified
countenances, I could not utter a single word-
but gave them something and turned away.
" Compassion is wasted upon such creatures,"
said R , " do you not see that their minds are
degraded down to their condition ? they do not
pity themselves :" but therefore did I pity them
the more.
******
JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 87
Bologna, Nov. 5.
I fear I shall retain a disagreeable impression
of Bologna, for here I am again ill. I have seen
little of what the town contains of beautiful and
curious : and that little, under unpleasant and
painful circumstances.
Yesterday we passed through Ferrara; only
stopping to change horses and dine. We snatched
a moment to visit the hospital of St. Anna and the
prison of Tasso the glory and disgrace of Fer-
rara. Over the iron gate is written " Ingresso
alia prigione di Torquato Tasso." The cell itself
is miserably gloomy and wretched, and not above
twelve feet square. How amply has posterity
avenged the cause of the poet on his tyrant ! and
as we emerge from his obscure dungeon and
descend the steps of the hospital of St. Anna,
with what fervent hatred, indignation and scorn,
do we gaze upon the towers of the ugly red brick
palace, or rather fortress, which deforms the great
square, and where Alphonso feasted while Tasso
wept ! The inscription on the door of the cell,
calling on strangers to venerate the spot where
Tasso, " Infermo piu di tristezza che delirio" was
confined seven years and one month was placed
there by the French, and its accuracy may be
doubted; as far as I can recollect. The grass
growing in the wide streets of Ferrara, is no
88 JOURNEY TO FLORENCE.
poetical exaggeration ; I saw it rank and long even
on the thresholds of the deserted houses, whose
sashless windows and flapping doors, and roofless
walls, looked strangely desolate.
I will say nothing of Bologna; for the few
days I have spent here have been to me days
of acute suffering, in more ways than I wish to re-
member, and therefore dare not dwell upon.
At Covigliajo in the Appenines.
O for the pencil of Salvator, or the pen of a Rad-
cliffe ! But could either, or could both united, give
to my mind the scenes of to-day, in all their splen-
did combinations of beauty and brightness, gloom
and grandeur ? A picture may present to the eye
a small portion of the boundless whole one aspect
of the ever-varying face of nature ; and words,
how weak are they ! they are but the elements
out of which the quick imagination frames and
composes lovely landscapes, according to its power
or its peculiar character ; and in which the uni-
maginative man finds only a mere chaos of ver-
biage, without form, and void.
The scenery of the Appenines is altogether
different in character from that of the Alps : it is
less bold, less lofty, less abrupt arid terrific but
more beautiful, more luxuriant, and infinitely more
varied. At one time, the road wound among pre-
cipices and crags, crowned with dismantled for-
JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 89
tresses and ruined castles skirted with dark pine
forests and opening into wild recesses of gloom,
and immeasurable depths like those of Tartarus
profound ; then came such glimpses of paradise !
such soft sunny vallies and peaceful hamlets and
vine -clad eminences and rich pastures, with here
and there a convent half hidden hy groves of cy-
press and cedars. As we ascended we arrived at
a height from which, looking back, we could see
the whole of Lombardy spread at our feet ; a vast
glittering indistinct landscape, bounded on the
north by the summits of the Alps, just apparent
above the horizon, like a range of small silvery
clouds ; and on the east a long unbroken line of
bluish light marked the far distant Adriatic; as
the day declined, and we continued our ascent,
(occasionally assisted by a yoke of oxen where
the acclivity was very precipitate), the mountains
closed around us, the scenery became more wildly
romantic, barren and bleak. At length, after
passing the crater of a volcano, visible through the
gloom by its dull red light, we arrived at the Inn
of Covigliajo, an uncouth dreary edifice, situated
in a lonely and desolate spot, some miles from any
other habitation. This is the very inn, infamous
for a series of the most horrible assassinations,
committed here some years ago. Travellers ar-
rived, departed, disappeared, and were never
90 JOURNEY TO FLORENCE.
heard of more ; by what agency, or in what man-
ner disposed of could not be discovered. It was
supposed for some time that a horde of banditti
were harboured among the mountains, and the
police were for a long time in active search for
them, while the real miscreants remained un-
suspected for their seeming insignificance and
helplessness ; these were the mistress of the inn,
the cameriere, and the curate of the nearest
village, about two leagues off. They secretly
murdered every traveller who was supposed to
carry property buried or burned their clothes,
packages, and vehicles, retaining nothing but their
watches, jewels and money. The whole story,
with all its horrors, the manner of discovery, and
the fate of these wretches, is told I think by
Forsyth, who can hardly be suspected of romance
or exaggeration. I have him not with me to
refer to ; but I well remember the mysterious
and shuddering dread with which I read the
anecdote. I am glad no one else seems to recollect
it. The inn at present contains many more
than it can possibly accommodate. We have
secured the best rooms, or rather the only rooms
and besides ourselves and other foreigners,
there are numbers of native travellers: some
of whom arrived on horseback, and others with
the Vetturini. A kind of gallery or corridor
FLORENCE 91
separates the sleeping rooms, and is divided by
a curtain into two parts : the smaller is appro-
priated to us, as a saloon : the other half, as I
contemplate it at this moment through a rent
in the curtain, presents a singular and truly Italian
spectacle~a huge black iron lamp suspended by
a chain from the rafters, throws a flaring and
shifting light around. Some trusses of hay have
been shaken down upon the floor, to supply the
place of beds, chairs and tables ; and there re-
clining in various attitudes, I see a number of
dark looking figures, some eating and drinking,
some sleeping ; some playing at cards, some tell-
ing stories with all the Italian variety of gesticula-
tion and intonation ; some silently looking on, or
listening. Two or three common looking fellows
began to smoke their segars, but when it was
suggested that this might incommode the ladies
on the other side of the curtain, they with genuine
politeness ceased directly. Through this motley
and picturesque assemblage I have to make
my way to my bed-room in a few minutes I
will take another look at them and then an-
diamo !
Florence Nov. 8.
" La bellissima e famosissima figlia di Roma,"
as Dante calls her in some relenting moment.
Last night we slept in a blood stained hovel and
92 FLORENCE.
to-night we are lodged in a palace. So much for
the vicissitudes of travelling.
I am not subject to idle fears, and least of
all to superstitious fears but last night, at
Covigliajo, I could not sleep I could not even
lie down for more than a few minutes together.
The whispered voices and hard breathing of the
men who slept in the corridor, from whom only a
slight door divided me, disturbed and fevered my
nerves ; horrible imaginings were all around me :
and gladly did I throw open my window at the
first glimpse of the dawn, and gladly did I hear
the first well known voice which summoned me
to a hasty breakfast. How reviving was the
breath of the early morning, after leaving that
close, suffocating, ill omened inn ! how beautiful
the blush of light stealing downwards from the
illumined summits to the vallies, tinting the fleecy
mists, as they rose from the earth, till all the land-
scape was flooded with sunshine: and when at
length we passed the mountains and began to
descend into the rich vales of Tuscany when
from the heights above Fesole we beheld the city
of Florence, and above it the young moon and the
evening star suspended side by side ; and floating
over the whole of the Val d'Arno, and the lovely
hills which enclose it, a mist, or rather a suffusion
of the richest rose colour, which gradually as the
FLORENCE. 93
day declined, faded, or rather deepened into
purple ; then I first understood all the enchant-
ment of an Italian landscape O what a country is
this ! All that I see, I feel all that I feel, sinks so
deep into my heart and my memory ! the deeper
because 1 suffer and because I never think of ex-
pressing, or sharing one emotion with those
around me, but lock it up in my own bosom ; or
at least in my little book as I do now.
Nov. 10. We visited the gallery for the first
time yesterday morning ; and I came away with
my eyes and imagination so dazzled with ex-
cellence, and so distracted with variety, that I
retained no distinct recollection of any particular
object except the Venus ; which of course was
the first and great attraction. This morning was
much more delightful; my powers of discrimina-
tion returned, and my power of enjoyment was
not diminished. New perceptions of beauty and
excellence seemed to open upon my mind; and
faculties long dormant, were roused to pleasurable
activity.
I came away untired, unsated ; and with a de-
lightful and distinct impression of all I had seen.
I leave to catalogues to particularise ; and am con-
tent to admire and to remember.
I am glad I was not disappointed in the Venus,
which I half expected. Neither was I surprised :
94 FLORENCE.
but I felt while I gazed a sense of unalloyed and
unmingled pleasure, and forgot the cant of
criticism* It has the same effect to the eye, that
perfect harmony has upon the ear : and I think I
can understand why no copy, cast, or model, how-
ever accurate, however exquisite, can convey the
impression of tenderness and sweetness, the di-
vine and peculiar charm of the original.
After dinner we walked in the grounds of the
Cascine, a dairy farm belonging to the grand
duke, just without the gates of Florence. The
promenade lies along the bank of the river and is
sheltered and beautiful. We saw few native
Italians, but great numbers of English walking
and riding. The day was as warm, as sunny, as
brilliant as the first days of September in England.
To-night, after resting a little, I went out to
view the effect of the city and surrounding
scenery, by moon-light. It is not alone the
brilliant purity of the skies and atmosphere, nor
the peculiar character of the scenery which strikes
a stranger; but here art harmonizes with nature :
the style of the buildings, their flat projecting
roofs, white walls, balconies, colonnades and
statues, are all set off to advantage by the ra-
diance of an Italian moon.
I walked across the first bridge, from which
I had a fine view of the Ponte della Trinita, with
FLORENCE. 95
its graceful arches and light balustrade, touched
with the sparkling moonbeams and relieved by
dark shadow: then I strolled along the quay in
front of the Corsini palace, and beyond the co-
lonnade of the Uffizi, to the last of the four
bridges ; on the middle of which I stood, and
looked back upon the city (how justly styled the
Fair!) with all its buildings, its domes, its
steeples, its bridges, and woody hills, and glitter-
ing convents, and marble villas, peeping from em-
bowering olives and cypresses ; and far off the
snowy peaks of the Appenines, shining against
the dark purple sky; the whole blended to-
gether in one delicious scene of shadowy splen-
dor. After contemplating it with a kind of me-
lancholy delight, long enough to get it by heart,
I returned homewards. Men were standing on
the wall along the Arno, in various picturesque
attitudes, fishing, after the Italian fashion, with
singular nets suspended to long poles ; and as I
saw their dark figures between me and the moon-
light, and elevated above my eye, they looked like
colossal statues. I then strayed into the Piazza.
del Gran Duca. Here the rich moonlight,
streaming through the arcade of the gallery,
fell directly upon the fine Perseus of Benvenuto
Cellini ; and illuminating the green bronze, touch-
ed it with a spectral and supernatural beauty.
96 FLORENCE.
Thence I walked round the equestrian statue of
Cosmo, and so home over the Ponte Alia Carrajo.
Nov. 11. I spent about two hours in the gal-
lery, and for the first time saw the Niobe. This
statue has been for a long time a favourite of my
imagination, and I approached it, treading softly
and slowly, and with a feeling of reverence ; for I
had an impression that the original Niobe, would,
like the original Venus, surpass all the casts and
copies I had seen both in beauty and expression :
but apparently expression is more easily caught
than delicacy and grace, and the grandeur and
pathos of the attitude and grouping easily copied
for I think the best casts of the Niobe are ac-
curate counterparts of the original; and at the
first glance I was capriciously disappointed, be-
cause the statue did not surpass my expectations.
It should be contemplated from a distance. It is
supposed that the whole group once ornamented
the pediment of a temple probably the temple
of Diana or Latona. I once saw a beautiful
drawing by Mr. Cockerell, of the manner in
which he supposed the whole group was dis-
tributed. Many of the figures are rough and
unfinished at the back, as if they had been placed
on a height and viewed only in front.
In the same room with the Niobe is a head
which struck me more the Alexandre Muurant.
FLORENCE. 97
The title seemed to me misapplied ; for there is
something indignant and upbraiding, as well as
mournful, in the expression of this magnificent
head. It is undoubtedly Alexander but Alex-
ander reproaching the gods or calling upon
Heaven for new worlds to conquer.
I visited also the gallery of Bronzes : it contains
among other master-pieces, the aerial Mercury of
John of Bologna, of which we see such a mul-
tiplicity of copies. There is a conceit in perching
him upon the bluff cheeks of a little Eolus : but
what exquisite lightness in the figure! how it
mounts, how it floats, disdaining the earth ! On
leaving the gallery, I sauntered about: visited
some churches, and then returned home depressed
and wearied : and in this melancholy humour I
had better close my book, lest I be tempted to
write what I could not bear to see written.
Sunday. At the English ambassador's chapel.
To attend public worship among our own coun-
trymen, and hear the praises of God in our native
accents, in a strange land, among a strange people ;
where a different language, different manners,
and a different religion prevail, affects the mind,
or at least ought to affect it; and deeply too :
yet I cannot say that I felt devout this morning.
The last day I visited St. Mark's, when I knelt
F
98 FLORENCE.
down beside the poor weeping girl and her dove-
basket, my heart was touched, and my prayers, I
humbly trust, were not unheard : to-day, in that
hot close crowded room, among those fine people
flaunting in all the luxury of dress, I felt suffo-
cated, feverish, and my head ached the clergy-
men too
Samuel Rogers paid us a long visit this morn-
ing. He does not look as if the suns of Italy had
revivified him but he is as aimable and amusing
as ever. He talked long, et avec beaucoup
d'onction, of ortolans and figs ; till methought it
was the very poetry of epicurism ; and put me in
mind of his own suppers
" Where blushing fruits through scatter'd leaves invite,
Still clad in bloom and veiled in azure light.
The wine as rich in years as Horace sings,"
and the rest of his description, worthy of a poe-
tical Apicius.
Rogers may be seen every day about eleven
or twelve in the Tribune, seated opposite to the
Venus, which appears to be the exclusive object
of his adoration , and gazing, as if he hoped like
another Pygmalion, to animate the statue; or
rather perhaps that the statue might animate him.
A young Englishman of fashion with as much
FLORENCE. 99
K
talent as espieglerie, placed an epistle in verse
between the fingers of the statue, addressed to
Rogers ; in which the goddess entreats him not
to come there ogling her every day; for though
" partial friends might deem him still alive," she
knew by his looks he had come from the other
side of the Styx ; and retained her antique ab-
horrence of the spectral dead, &c. &c. She con-
cluded by beseeching him, if he could not desist
from haunting her with his ghostly presence, at
least to spare her the added misfortune of being
be-rhymed by his muse.
Rogers, with equal good nature and good
.sense, neither noticed these lines, nor withdrew
his friendship and intimacy from the writer.
* * * *
Carlo Dolce is not one of my favourite
masters. There is a cloying sweetness in his
style, a general want of power which wearies me :
yet I brought away from the Corsini Palace to-
day an impression of a head by Carlo Dolce, (La
Poesia,) which I shall never forget. Now I
recall the picture, I am at a loss to tell where lies
the charm which has thus powerfully seized on
my imagination. Here are no " eyes upturned
like one inspired" no distortion no rapt enthu-
siasm no Muse full of the God ; - but it is a
100 FLORENCE.
head so purely, so divinely intellectual, so hea-
venly sweet, and yet so penetrating, so full of
sensibility, and yet so unstained by earthly pas-
sion so brilliant, and yet so calm that if Carlo
Dolce had lived in our days, I should have
thought he intended it for the personified genius
of Wordsworth's poetry. There is such an indi-
vidual reality about this beautiful head, that I
am inclined to believe the tradition, that it is the
portrait of one of Carlo Dolce's daughters who
died young : and yet
" Did ever mortal mixture of earth's mould
" Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishment?"
Nov. 15. Our stay at Florence promises to
be far gayer than either Milan or Venice, or even
Paris : more diversified by society, as well as afford-
ing a wider field of occupation and amusement.
Sometimes in the long evenings, when fatigued
and over-excited, I recline apart on the sofa, or
bury myself in the recesses of a fauteuil ; when I
am aware that my mind is wandering away to for.
bidden themes, I force my attention to what is
going forward ; and often see and hear much that
is entertaining, if not improving. People are so
accustomed to my pale face, languid indifference,
and, what M calls, my impracticable silence,
that after the first glance and introduction, I
FLORENCE. 101
believe they are scarcely sensible of my presence :
so I sit, and look, and listen, secure and har-
boured in my apparent dullness. The flashes of
wit, the attempts at sentiment, the affectation of en-
thusiasm, the absurdities of folly, and the blunders
of ignorance ; the contrast of characters and the
clash of opinions, the scandalous anecdotes of the
day, related with sprightly malice, and listened to
with equally malicious avidity, all these, in my
days of health and happiness, had power to sur-
prise, or amuse, or provoke me. I could mingle
then in the conflict of minds ; and bear my part
with smiles in the social circle ; though the next
moment perhaps I might contemn myself and
others: and the personal scandal, the character-
istic tale, the amusing folly, or the malignant wit,
were effaced from my mind
" Like forms with chalk
Painted on rich men's floors for one feast night."
Now it is different, I can smile yet: but my
smile is in pity, rather than in mockery. If suffer-
ing has subdued my mind to seriousness and per-
haps enfeebled its powers, I may at least hope
that it has not soured or embittered my temper :
if what could once amuse, no longer amuses,
what could once provoke has no longer power to
irritate : thus my loss may be improved into a
gain car tout est bien, ou tout est mat.
102 FLORENCE.
lit is sorrow which makes our experience ; it is
sorrow which teaches us to feel properly for our-
selves and for others. We must feel deeply, be-
fore we can think rightly. It is not in the tem-
pest and storm of passions we can reflect, but
afterwards when the waters have gone over our
soul; and like the precious gems and the rich
merchandize which the wild wave casts on the
shore out of the wreck it has made such are the
thoughts left by retiring passions.
Reflection is the result of feeling ; from that
absorbing, heart-rending compassion for oneself,
(the most painful sensation, almost of which our
nature is capable,) springs a deeper sympathy for
others ; and from the sense of our own weakness,
and our own self upbraidings, arises a disposition
to be indulgent to forbear and to forgive so
at least it ought to be. When once we have shed
those inexpressibly bitter tears, which fall unre-
garded, and which we forget to wipe away O
how we shrink from inflicting pain! how we
shudder at unkindness ; and think all harshness
even in thought, only another name for cruelty !
These are but common-place truths, I know,
which often have been a thousand times better
expressed. Formerly, I heard them, read them,
and thought I believed them : now I feel them ;
and feeling, I utter them as if they were some-
FLORENCE. 103
thing new. Alas! the lessons of sorrow are as
old as the world itself.
To-day we have seen nothing new. In the
morning I was ill : in the afternoon we drove to
the Cascina ; and while the rest walked, I spread
my shawl upon the bank and basked like a lizard
in the sunshine. It was a most lovely day, a
summer-day in England. In this paradise of a
country, the common air, and earth, and skies/seem
happiness enough. While I sat to-day, on my
green bank languid indeed, but free from pain
and looked round upon a scene which has lost its
novelty, but none of its beauty, where Florence,
with its glittering domes and its back-ground of
sunny hills, terminated my view on one side, and
the Appenines, tinted with rose colour and gold,
bounded it on the other, I felt not only pleasure,
but a deep thankfulness that such pleasures were
yet left to me.
Among the gay figures who passed and re-
passed before me, I remarked a benevolent but
rather heavy-looking old gentleman, with a shawl
hanging over his arm, and holding a parasol, with
which he was gallantly shading a little plain old
woman from the November sun. After them
walked two young ladies, simply dressed ; and
then followed a tall and very handsome young
man, with a plain but elegant girl hanging on his
104 FLORENCE.
arm. This was the Grand Duke and his family ;
with the Prince of Carignano, who has lately
married one of his daughters. Two servants in
;jlain drab liveries, followed at a considerable
distance. People politely drew on one side as
they approached ; but no other homage was paid
to the sovereign, who thus takes his walk in public
almost every day. Lady Morgan is merry at
the expense of the Grand Duke's taste for brick
and mortar : but monarchs, like other men, must
have their amusements; some invent uniforms,
some stitch embroidery ; and why should not
this good-natured Grand Duke amuse himself with
his trowel if he likes it ? as to the Prince of Ca-
rignano I give him up to her lash le traitre but
perhaps" he thought he was doing right : and at
all events there are not flatterers wanting, to call
his perfidy patriotism.
I am told that Florence retains its reputation
of being the most devout capital in Italy, and that
here love, music, and devotion hold divided empire,
or rather are triajuncta in uno. The liberal patron-
age and fine taste of Lord Burghersh, contribute
perhaps to make music so much a passion as it is
at present. Magnelli the Grand Duke's Maestra
di Cappella, and Director of the Conservatorio, is
the finest tenor in Italy. I have the pleasure of
FLORENCE.
105
hearing him frequently, and think the purity of
his taste at least equal to the perfection of his
voice ; rare praise for a singer in these " most
brisk and giddy paced times;" He gave us last
night the beautiful recitative which introduces
Desdemona's song in Othello
Nessum maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria !
and the words, the music, and the divine pathos
of the man's voice combined, made me feel as I
thought I never could have felt again.
106 FLORENCE.,
To
As sounds of sweetest music, heard at eve,
When summer dews weep over languid flowers.
When the still air conveys each touch, each tone^
However faint and breathes it on the ear
With a distinct and thrilling power, that leaves
Its memory long within the raptur'd soul,
Even such thou art to me ! and thus I sit
And feel the harmony that round thee lives,
And breathes from every feature. Thus I sit
And when most quiet cold or silent then
Even then, I feel each word, each look, each tone 1
There's not an accent of that tender voice,
There's not a day-beam of those sunbright eyes,
Nor passing smile, nor melancholy grace,
Nor thought half utter'd, feeling half betray 'd,
Nor glance of kindness, no, nor gentlest touch
Of that dear hand, in amity extended,
That e'er was lost to me ; that treasur'd well,
And oft recall'd, dwells not upon my soul
Like sweetest music heard at summer's eve !
FLORENCE. 107
Yesterday we visited the church of San Lo-
renzo, the Laurentian library, and the Pietra
Dura manufactory, and afterwards spent an hour
in the Tribune.
In a little chapel in the San Lorenzo are Michel
Angelo's famous statues, the Morning, the Noon,
the Evening and the Night. I looked at them
with admiration rather than with pleasure ; for
there is something in the severe and overpower-
ing style of this master, which affects me disagree-
ably, as beyond my feeling, and above my com-
prehension. These statues are very ill disposed
for effect : the confined cell, (such it seemed) in
which they are placed is so strangely dispro-
portioned to the awful and massive grandeur of
their forms.
There is a picture by Michel Angelo, con-
sidered a chef d'oauvre, which hangs in the
Tribune, to the right of the Venus : now if all the
connoisseurs in the world, with Vasari at their
head, were to harangue for an hour together on
the merits of this picture, I might submit in
silence, for I am no connoisseur ; but that it is a
disagreeable, a hateful picture, is an opinion which
fire could not melt out of me. In spite of
Messieurs les Connoisseurs, and Michel Angelo's
fame, I would die in it at the stake : for instance
here is the Blessed Virgin, not the " Vergirie
108 FLORENCE.
Santa, d'ogni grazia plena," but a Virgin, whose
brick-dust coloured face, harsh unfeminine fea-
tures, and muscular, masculine arms, give me the
idea of a washerwoman, (con rispetto parlando !)
an infant Saviour with the proportions of a giant :
and what shall we say of the nudity of the figures
in the back ground; profaning the subject and
shocking at once good taste and good sense ? A
little farther on, the eye rests on the divine Madre
di Dio of Correggio : what beauty, what sweetness,
what maternal love and humble adoration are
blended in the look and attitude with which she
bends over her infant ! Beyond it hangs the Ma-
donna del Cardellino of Raffaelle : what heavenly
grace, what simplicity, what saint-like purity, in
the expression of that face, and that exquisite
mouth ! And from these must I turn back, on pain
of being thought an ignoramus, to admire the
coarse perpetration of Michel Angelo because it
is Michel Angelo's? But I speak in ignorance.
To return to San Lorenzo. The chapel of
the Medici, begun by Ferdinand the First, where
coarse brick work and plaster mingle with marbles
and gems, is still unfinished and likely to remain
so: it did not interest me. The fine bronze sar-
cophagus which encloses the ashes of Lorenzo
the Magnificent, and of his brother Giuliano,
assassinated by the Pazzi, interested me far more.
FLORENCE. 109
While I was standing carelessly in front of the high
altar, I happened to look down and under my feet
were these words, " To COSMO THE VENERABLE,
THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY," I moved away
in haste and before I had decided to my own
satisfaction upon Cosmo's claims to the gratitude
and veneration of posterity, we left the church.
At the Laurentian library we were edified by
the sight of some famous old manuscripts, in-
valuable to classical scholars. To my unlearned
eyes the manuscript of Petrarch, containing por-
traits of himself and Laura, was more interesting.
Petrarch is hideous but I was pleased with the
head of Laura, which in spite of the antique dry-
ness and stiffness of the painting, has a soft and
delicate expression not unlike one of Carlo Dolce's
Madonnas. Here we saw Galileo's fore-finger,
pointing up to the skies from a white marble pe-
destal ; and exciting more derision than respect.
At the Pietra Dura, notwithstanding the
beauty and durability of some of the objects
manufactured, the result seemed to me scarce
worth the incredible time, patience and labour
required in the work. Par exemple, six months
hard labour spent upon a butterfly in the lid of a
snuffbox seems a most disproportionate waste of
time. Thirty workmen are employed here at the
Grand Duke's expence ; for this manufacture,
110 FLORENCE.
like that of the Gohelins at Paris, is exclusively
carried on for the sovereign.
Nov. -20. I am struck in this place with grand
beginnings and mean endings. I have not yet
seen a finished church, even the Duomo has no
facade.
Yesterday we visited the Palazzo Mozzi to see
Benvenuto's picture, " The Night after the Bat-
tle of Jena." Then several churches The Santa
Croce, which is hallowed ground: the Annon-
ciata, celebrated for the frescos of Andrea del
Sarto ; and the Carmine, which pleased me by the
light elegance of its architecture, and its fine alto-
relievos in white marble. In this church is the
chapel of the Madonna del Carmele, painted by
Masuccio, and the most ancient frescos extant :
they are curious rather than beautiful, and going
to decay.
To-day we visited the school of the Fine
Arts : it contains a very fine and ample collection
of casts after the antique ; and some of the works
of modern artists and students are exhibited.
Were I to judge from the specimens I have seen
here and elsewhere, I should say that a cold,
glaring, hard tea-tray style prevails in painting,
and a still worse taste, if possible, in sculpture.
No soul, no grandeur, no simplicity; a meagre
insipidity in the conception, a nicety of finish in
FLORENCE. Ill
the detail ; affectation instead of grace, distortion
instead of power, and prettiness instead of beauty.
Yet the artists who execute these works, and
those who buy them have free access to the
marvels of the Gallery, and the treasures of the
Pitti Palace. Are they sans eyes, sans souls,
sans taste, sans every thing, but money and self
conceit ?
Nov. 22. Our mornings, however otherwise
occupied, are generally concluded by an hour in
the Gallery or at the Pitti Palace ; the evenings
are spent in the Mercato Nuovo, in the workshops
of artists, or at the Cascina.
To-day at the Gallery I examined the Dutch
school and the Salle des Portraits, and ended as
usual with the Tribune. The Salle des Portraits
contains a complete collection of the portraits
of painters down to the present day. In general
their respective countenances are expressive of
their characters and style of painting. Poor
Harlow's picture, painted by himself, is here.
The Dutch and Flemish painters (in spite of
their exquisite pots and pans, and cabbages and
carrots, their birch brooms, in which you can
count every twig, and their carpets, in which you
can reckon every thread) do not interest me ; their
landscapes too, however natural, are mere Dutch
nature (with some brilliant exceptions), fat cattle^
112 FLORENCE.
clipped trees, boors and wind-mills. Of course I
am not speaking of Vandyke, nor of Rubens, he
that " in the colours of the rainbow lived," nor of
Rembrandt, that king of clouds and shadows;
but for mine own part, I would give up all that
Mieris, Netscher, Teniers and Gerard Douw
ever produced, for one of Claude's Eden-like
creations, or one of Guido's lovely heads or
merely for the pleasure of looking at Titian's
/ Flora once a day, I would give a whole gallery of
Dutchmen, if I had them.
In the daughter of Herodias, by Leonardo da
Vinci, there is the same eternal face he always
paints, but with a peculiar expression she turns
away her head with the air of a fine lady, whose
senses are shocked by the sight of blood and
death, while her heart remains untouched either
by remorse or pity.
His ghastly Medusa made me shudder while it
fascinated me, as if in those loathsome snakes,
writhing and glittering round the expiring head,
and those abhorred and fiendish abominations
crawling into life, there still lurked the fabled
spell which petrified the beholder. Poor Medusa !
was this the guerdon of thy love ? and were those
the tresses which enslaved the ocean's lord ?
Methinks that in this wild mythological fiction, in
the terrific vengeance which Minerva takes for her
FLORENCE. 113
profaned temple, and in the undying snakes which
for ever hiss round the head of her victim there
is a deep moral, if woman would lay it to her
heart.
In Guercino s Endymion, the very mouth is
asleep : in his Syhil the very eyes are prophetic,
and glance into futurity.
The boyish, but divine St. John by RafFaelle,
did not please me so well as some of his portraits
and Madonnas ; his Leo the Tenth for instance,
his Julius the Second, or even his Fornarina:
and I may observe here, that I admire Titian's
taste much more than RafFaelle's, en fait de
maitresse. The Fornarina is a mere femme du
peuple, a coarse virago, compared to the refined,
the exquisite La Manto, in the Pitti Palace. I
think the Flora must have been painted from the
same lovely model, as far as I can judge from
compared recollections, for I have no authority to
refer to. The former is the most elegant, and the .
latter the most poetical female portrait I ever saw. ;
At Titian's Venus in the Tribune, one hardly
ventures to look up; it is the perfection of
earthly loveliness, as the Venus de' Medici is 7
all ideal all celestial beauty. In the multiplied
copies and engravings of this picture I see every
where, the bashful sweetness of the countenance,
and the tender languid repose of the figure are
114 FLORENCE.
made coarse, or something worse : degraded in
short into a character altogether unlike the
original.
I say nothing of the Gallery of the Palazzo
Pitti ; which is not a collection so much as a selec-
tion of the most invaluable gems and masterpieces
of art. The imagination dazzled and bewildered
by excellence can scarcely make a choice but
I think the Madonna Delia Seggiola of Raffaelle,
Allori's magnificent Judith, Guide's Cleopatra,
and Salvator's Catiline, dwell most upon my
memory.
******
Nov. 24 After dinner, we drove to the beau-
tiful gardens of the Villa Strozzi, on the Monte
Ulivetto, and the evening we spent at the Coco-
mero, where we saw a detestable opera, capitally
acted, and heard the most vile, noisy, unmeaning
music, sung to perfection.
Nov. 26. Yesterday we spent some hours at
Morghen's gallery, looking over his engravings 5
and afterwards examined the bronze gates of the
Baptistery, which Michael Angelo used to call the
gates of Paradise. We then ascended the Cam-
panile or Belfry Tower to see the view from its
summit. Florence lay at our feet, diminished to
a model of itself, with its walls and gates, its
streets and bridges, palaces and churches, all and
FLORENCE. 115
each distinctly visible; and beyond, the Val d'
Arno with its amphitheatre of hills, villas, and its
vineyards chassical Fesole, with its ruined castle,
and Monte Ulivetto, with its diadem of cypresses ;
luxuriant nature and graceful art, blending into
one glorious picture, which no smoky vapours, no
damp exhalations, blotted and discoloured ; but
all was serenely bright and fair, gay with moving
life, and rich with redundant fertility.
O dell* Etruria gran Citta Reina
D'arti e di studj, e di grand' or feconda
Cui tra quanto il sol guarda e '1 mar circonda,
Ogn' altra in pregio di belta s' inchina :
Monti superbi, la cui fronte alpina
Fa di se contra i venti argine e sponda
Valli beate, per cui d'onda in onda
L'Arno con passo signoril cammina :
Bei soggiorni ore par ch' abbiansi eletto
Le grazie il seggio e come in suo confine
Sia di natura il bel tutto ristretto, &c.
Filicaja will be pardoned for his Hyperboles by
all who remember that he was himself a Flo-
rentine.
******
28. " Corinne" I find is a fashionable vade
mecum for sentimental travellers in Italy ; and
that I too might be d la mode, I brought it from
Molini's to-day, with the intention of reading on
the spot, those admirable and affecting passages
whicl} relate to Florence ; but when I began to cut
116 FLORENCE.
the leaves, a kind of terror seized me, and I threw
it down, resolved not to open it again. I know
myself weak I feel myself unhappy ; and to find
my own feelings reflected from the pages of a
book, in language too deeply and eloquently true,
is not good for me. I want no helps to admira-
tion, nor need I kindle my enthusiasm at the torch
of another's mind. I can suffer enough, feel
enough, think enough, without this.
Not being well, I spent a long morning at home,
and then strayed into the church of the Santo
Spirito, which is near our hotel. There is in this
church a fine copy of Michel Angelo's Pieta,
which a monk, whom I met in the church, insisted
was the original. But I believe the originatissimo
group is at Rome. There are also two fine pic-
tures, a marriage of the Virgin, in a very sweet
Guido-like style, and the woman taken in adultery.
This church is the richest in paintings I have seen
here. I remarked a picture of the Virgin said to
be possessed of miraculous powers ; and that part
of it visible, is not destitute of merit as a painting ;
but some of her grateful devotees, having de-
corated her with a real blue silk gown, spangled
with tinsel stars, and two or three crowns one
above another of gilt foil, the effect is the oddest
imaginable. As I was sitting upon a marble
step, philosophising to myself, and wondering at
FLORENCE. 117
what seemed to me such senseless bad taste, such
pitiable and ridiculous superstition, there came up
a poor woman leading by the hand a pale and de-
licate boy, about four years old. She prostrated
herself before the picture, while the child knelt
beside her, and prayed for some time with fervour ;
she then lifted him up, and the mother and child
kissed the picture alternately with great devotion ;
then making him kneel down and clasp his little
hands, she began to teach him an Ave Maria, re-
peating it word for word, slowly and distinctly, so
that I got it by heart too. Having finished their
devotions, the mother put into the child's hands a
piece of money, which she directed him to drop
into a box, inscribed, " per i poveri vergognosi"
" for the bashful poor ;" they then went their
way. I was an unperceived witness of this little
scene, which strongly affected me : the simple
piety of this poor woman, though mistaken in its
object, appeared to me respectable; and the
Virgin, in her sky-blue brocade and her gilt
tiara, no longer an object to ridicule. I returned
home rejoicing in kinder, gentler, happier thoughts ;
for though I may wish these poor people a purer
worship, yet as Wordsworth says somewhere, far
better than I could express it
" Rather would I instantly decline
" To the traditionary sympathies
118 FLORENCE.
" Of a most rustic ignorance,
" This rather would I do, than see and hear
" The repetitions wearisome of sense
" Where soul is dead, and feeling hath no place."
The Ave Maria which I learnt, or rather stole
from my poor woman, pleases me by its simplicity.
AVE MARIA.
Dio ti salvi, O Maria, piena di grazia ! II Signore
e teco ! tu sei benedetta fra le donne, e benedetto
e il frutto del tuo seno GESU ! Santa Maria ! ma-
dre di Dio! Prega per noi peccatori, adesso, e
nell 'ora della nostra morte ! e cosi sia.*
******
Sunday. Attended divine service at the Eng-
lish Ambassador's, in the morning, and in the even-
ing, not being well enough to go to the Cascine, I
remained at home. I sat down at the window and
read Foscolo's beautiful poem, " I sepolcri :" the
subject of my book, and the sight of Alfieri's house
meeting my eye whenever I looked up, inspired
the idea of visiting the Santa Croce again, and I
ventured out unattended. The streets, and parti-
cularly the Lung' Arno, were crowded with gay
people in their holiday costumes. Not even our
Hyde Park, on a summer Sunday, ever presented
* Hail, O Maria, full of grace ! the Lord is with thee! blessed
art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, even
JESUS. Holy Virgin Mary, mother of God ! pray for us sinners
both now and in the hour of death ! Amen. ED.
FLORENCE. 119
a more lively spectacle or a better dressed mob. I
was often tempted to turn back rather than en-
counter this moving multitude; but at length I
found my way to the Santa Croce, which pre-
sented a very different scene. The service was
over; and a few persons were walking up and
down the aisles, or kneeling at different altars. In
a chapel on the other side of the cloisters, they
were chanting the Via Crucis ; and the blended
voices swelled and floated round, then died away ?
then rose again,and at length sunk into silence. The
evening was closing fast, the shadows of the heavy
pillars grew darker and darker, the tapers round
the high altar twinkled in the distance like dots
of light, and the tombs of Michel Angelo, of Galileo,
of Machiavelli, and Alfieri, were projected from
the deep shadow in indistinct formless masses:
but I needed not to see them to image them
before me ; for with each and all my fancy was fa-
miliar. I spent about an hour walking up and
down abandoned to thoughts which were me-
lancholy, but not bitter. All memory, all feeling,
all grief, all pain were swallowed up in the
sublime tranquillity which was within me and
around me. How could I think of myself, and of
the sorrow which swells at my impatient heart,
while all of genius that could die, was sleeping
round me ; and the spirits of the glorious dead
120 FLORENCE.
they who rose above their fellow men by the
might of intellect whose aim was excellence, the
noble end " that made ambition virtue/' were,
or seemed to me, present? and if those tombs
could have opened their ponderous and marble
jaws, what histories of sufferings and persecution,
wrongs and wretchedness might they not reveal ?
Galileo
" chivide
Sotto Fetereo padiglion rotarsi '
Piu mondi, e il sole iradiarli immoto.
pining in the dungeons of the inquisition ; Machi-
avelli,
quel grande,
Che temprando lo scettro a' regnatori,
Gli allor ne sfronda
tortured and proscribed; Michel Angelo, perse-
cuted by envy; and Alfieri perpetually torn, as he
describes himself, by two furies" Ira e Malin_
conia"
' La mente e il cor in perpetua lite."
But they fulfilled their destinies : and inexorable
Fate will be avenged upon the favourites of
heaven and nature. I can remember but one in-
stance in which the greatly gifted spirit was not also
the conspicuously wretched mortal- our own di-
vine Shakespeareand of him we know but little.
FLORENCE. 121
In some books of travels I have met with, Boc-
caccio, Aretino, and Guicciardini, are mentioned
among the illustrious dead of the Santa Croce.
The second, if his biographers say true, was a
wretch whose ashes ought to have been scattered
in the air. He was buried I believe at Venice
or no matter where. Boccaccio's tomb is, or was,
at Certaldo, and Guicciardini's I forget the name
of the church honoured by his remains but it is
not the Santa Croce.
The finest figure on the tomb of Michel
Angelo is Architecture. It should be contem-
plated from the left, to be seen to advantage. The
effect of Alfieri's monument depends much on the
position of the spectator : when viewed in front,
the figure of Italy is very heavy and clumsy ; and
jn no point of view has it the grace and delicacy
which Canova's statues generally possess.
There is a most extraordinary picture in this
church representing God the Father supporting a
dead Christ, by Cigoli, a painter little known in
England, though I have seen some admirable pic-
tures of his in the collections here : his style re-
minds me of Spagnoletto's.
* * * * *
Our departure is fixed for Wednesday next :
and though I know that change and motion are
good for me, yet I dread the fatigue and excite-
122 FLORENCE.
ment of travelling; and I shall leave Florence
with regret. For a melancholy invalid like myself,
there cannot be a more delightful residence : it is
gay without tumult quiet, yet not dull. I have
not mingled in society ; therefore cannot judge of
the manners of the people. I trust they are not
exactly what Forsyth describes : with all his taste,
he sometimes writes like a caustic old bachelor
and on the Florentines he is peculiarly severe.
We leave our friend L. behind for a few days,
and our Venice acquaintance V. will be our com-
pagnon de voyage to Rome. Of these two young
men, the first amuses me by his follies, the latter
rather fatigues de trop de raison. The first talks
too much, the latter too little : the first speaks, and
speaks egregious nonsense ; the latter never says
any thing beyond common-place : the former
always makes himself ridiculous, and the latter
never makes himself particularly agreeable: the
first is (con rispetto parlando] a great fool, and the
latter would be pleasanter were he less wise.
Between these two opposites, I was standing this
evening on the banks of the Arno, contemplating
a sunset of unequalled splendour. L. finding that
enthusiasm was his cue, played off various senti-
mental antics, peeped through his fingers, threw
his head on one side, exclaiming, " magnificent, by
Jove ! grand ! grandissimo ! It just reminds me
FLORENCE. ~O
of what Shakespeare says: ' Fair Aurora' I
forget the rest."
V. with his hands in his pockets, contemplated
the superb spectacle the mountains, the valley,
the city flooded with a crimson glory, and the
river flowing at our feet like molten gold he
gazed on it all with a look of placid satisfaction,
and then broke out " well ! this does one's heart
good!"
L. (I owe him this justice,) is not the author of
the famous blunder which is now repeated in every
circle. I am assured it was our neighbour Lord G.
though I scarce believe it, who on being presented
with the Countess of Albany's card, exclaimed
" The Countess of Albany ! Ah! true I remem-
ber : wasn't she the widow of Charles the Second,
who married Ariosto ?" There is in this celebrated
beetle, a glorious confusion of times and persons,
beyond even my friend L.'s capacity.
* * * * *
The whole party are gone to the Countess of
Albany's to-night to take leave : that being, as L.
says, " the correct thing." Our notions of cor-
rectness vary with country and climate. What
Englishwoman at Florence would not be au
desespoir, to be shut from the Countess of Albany's
parties though it is a known and indisputable
fact that she was never married to Alfieri ? Apro-
124 FLORENCE.
pos d'Alfieri I have just been reading a selection
of his tragedies his Filippo, the Pazzi, Virginia,
Mirra; and when I have finished Saul, I will read
no more of them for some time. There is a super-
abundance of harsh energy, and a want of simpli-
city, tenderness, and repose throughout, which
fatigues me, until admiration becomes an effort
instead of a pleasurable feeling. Marochesi, a
celebrated tragedian, who, Minnutti says, under-
stood " la vera jilosqfia della comica" used to
recite Alfieri's tragedies with him or to him.
Alfieri was himself a bad actor, and declaimer. I
am surprised that the tragedy of Mirra should be
a great favourite on the stage here. A very young
actress, who made her debut in this charater, en-
chanted the whole city by the admirable manner
in which she performed it ; and the piece was
played for eighteen nights successively : a singular
triumph for an actress : though not uncommon for
a singer. In spite of its many beauties and the
artful management of the story, it would I think be
as impossible to make an English audience endure
the Mirra, as to find an English actress who
would exhibit herself in so revolting a part.
* # * # *
Tuesday : Our last day at Florence. I walked
down to the San Lorenzo this morning early, and
made a sketch of the sarchophagus of Lorenzo de'
FLORENCE.
Medici. Afterwards we spent an hour in the
gallery and bid adieu to the Venus
O bella Venere !
Che sola sei,
Placer degli uomini
E degli del !
When I went to take a last look of Titian's Flora,
I found it removed from its station, and an artist
employed in copying it. I could have envied the
lady for whom this copy was intended ; but com-
forted myself with the conviction that no hireling
dauber in water-colours could do justice to the
heavenly original, which only wants motion and
speech to live indeed. We then spent nearly two
hours in the Pitti Palace ; and the court having
lately removed to Pisa, we had an opportunity of
seeing Canova's Venus, which is placed in one of
the Grand Duke's private apartments. She stands
in the centre of a small cabinet, pannelled with
mirrors, which reflect her at once in every possible
point of view. This statue was placed on the
pedestal of the Venus de' Medicis during her
forced residence at Paris ; and is justly considered
as the triumph of modern art : but though a most
beautiful creature, she is not a goddess. I looked
in vain for that full divinity, that ethereal some-
thing which breathes round the Venus of the
126 FLORENCE.
Tribune. In another private room are two mag-
nificent landscapes by Salvator Rosa.
Every good catholic has a portrait of the
Virgin hung at the head of his bed ; partly as an
object of devotion, and partly to scare away the
powers of evil : and for this purpose the Grand
Duke has suspended by his bed-side one of the
most beautiful of RaiFaelle's Madonnas. Truly, I
admire the good taste of his piety, though it
is rather selfish thus to appropriate such a
gem, when the merest daub would answer the
same purpose. It was only by secret bribery, I
obtained a peep at this picture ; as the room is not
publicly shewn.
The lower classes at Florence are in general
ill-looking ; nor have I seen one handsome woman
since I came here. Their costume too is singu-
larly unbecoming ; but there is an airy cheerful-
ness and vivacity in their countenances, and a
civility in their manners which is pleasing to a
stranger. I was surprised to see the women, even
the servant girls, decorated with necklaces of real
pearl of considerable beauty and value. Onexpress-
ing my surprise at this to a shopkeeper's wife, she
informed me that these necklaces are handed
clown as a kind of heir-loom from mother to
daughter; and a young woman is considered as
FLORENCE.
127
dowered who possesses a handsome chain of
pearl. If she has no hope of one in reversion, she
buys out of her little earnings a pearl at a time,
till she has completed a necklace.
The style of swearing at Florence is peculiarly
elegant and classical. I hear the vagabonds in
the street adjuring Venus and Bacchus ; and my
shoemaker swore " by the aspect of Diana," that
he would not take less than ten pauls for what was
worth about three ; yet was the knave forsworn.
* * * * *
128 JOURNEY TO ROME.
JOURNEY TO ROME.
SOFFRl E TACI.
Ye empty shadows of unreal good !
Phantoms of joy ! too long too far pursued,
Farewell ! no longer will I idly mourn
O'er vanish'd hopes that never can return ;
No longer pine o'er hoarded griefs nor chide
The cold vain world, whose falsehood I have tried.
Me, never more can sweet affections move,
Nor smiles awake to confidence and love :
To me, no more can disappointment spring,
Nor wrong, nor scorn one bitter moment bring !
With a firm spirit though a breaking heart,
Subdu'd to act through life my weary part,
Its closing scenes in patience I await,
And by a stern endurance, conquer fate.
December 8. In beginning another volume, I
feel almost inclined to throw the last into the fire ;
as in writing it I have generally begun the record
of one day by tearing away the half of what was
written the day before : but though it contains
much that I would rather forget, and some things
written under the impressions of pain, and sick and
irritable feelings, I will not yet ungratefully destroy
it. I have frequently owed to my little Diary not
amusement only, but consolation. It has gradually
become not only the faithful depository of my re-
collections, but the confidante of my feelings, and
JOURNEY TO ROME.
the sole witness of my tears. I know not if this
be wise : but if it be folly, I have the comfort of
knowing that a mere act of my will destroys for
ever the record of my weakness ; and meantime a
confidante whose mouth is sealed with a patent
lock and key, and whom I can put out of existence
in a single moment is not dangerous ; so, as Lord
Byron elegantly expresses it, " Here goes."
We left Florence this morning ; and saw the
sun rise upon a country so enchantingly beau-
tiful, that I dare not trust myself to description :
but I felt it, and still feel it almost in my heart.
The blue cloudless sky, the sun pouring his
beams upon a land, which even in this wintry
season smiles when others languish the soft
varied character of the scenery, comprising every
species of natural beauty the green slope, the
woody hill, the sheltered valley, the deep dales,
J nto which we could just peep, as the carriage
whirled us too rapidly by the rugged fantastic
rocks, cultivated plains, and sparkling rivers, and
beyond all, the chain of the Appenines with light
clouds floating across them, or resting in their re-
cesses all this I saw, and felt, and shall not
forget.
I write this at Arezzo, the birth place of Pe-
trarch, of Redi, of Pignotti, and of that Guido who
discovered Counter-point. Whether Arezzo is
G5
130 JOURNEY TO ROME.
remarkable for any thing else, I am too sleepy to
recollect : and as we depart early to-morrow morn-
ing, it would only tantalize me to remember. We
arrived here late, by the light of a most resplen-
dent moon. If such is this country in winter,
what must it be in summer ?
9th, at Perugia. All the beauties of natural
scenery have been combined with historical asso-
ciations, to render our journey of to-day most
interesting ; and with a mind more at ease, nothing
had been wanting to render this one of the most
delightful days I have spent abroad.
At Cortona Hannibal slept the night before
the battle of Thrasymene. Soon after leaving
this town on our left, we came in view of the lake,
and the old tower on its banks. There is an
ancient ruin on a high eminence to the left, which
our postillion called the " Forteressa de Annibale
il Carthago." Further on, the Gualandra hills-
seem to circle round the lake; and here was the
scene of the battle. The channel of the Sangui-
netto, which then ran red with the best blood of
Rome and Carthage, was dry when we crossed it
" And hooting boys might dry-shod pass,
" And gather pebbles from the naked ford."
While we traversed the field of battle at a slow
pace, V. who had his Livy in his pocket, read
aloud his minute description of the engagement ;
JOURNEY TO ROME. 131
and we could immediately point out the different
places mentioned by the historian. The whole
valley and the hills around are now covered with
olive woods ; and from an olive tree which grew
close to the edge of the lake, I snatched a branch
as we passed by, and shall preserve it an emblem
of peace, from the theatre of slaughter. The
whole landscape as we looked back upon it from
a hill on this side of the Casa del Rano, was ex-
ceedingly beautiful. The lake seemed to slumber
in the sun-shine ; and Passignano jutting into the
water, with its castellated buildings, the two little
woody islands, and the undulating hills enclosing the
whole, as if to shut it from the world, made it look
like a scene fit only to be peopled by fancy's
fairest creations ; if the remembrance of its blood-
stained glories, had not started up, to rob it of half
its beauty. Mrs. R compared it to the lake
of Geneva ; but in my own mind, I would not
admit the comparison. The lake of Geneva
stands alone in its beauty ; for there the sublimest
and the softest features of nature are united:
there the wonderful, the wild, and the beautiful
blend in one mighty scene ; and love and heroism,
poetry and genius have combined to hallow its
shores. The lake of Perugia is far more circum-
scribed : the scenery around it wants grandeur and
extent ; though so beautiful in itself, that if no
132 JOURNEY TO ROME.
comparison had been made, no want would have
been suggested: and on the bloody field of Thra-
symene I looked with curiosity and interest un-
mingled with pleasure. I have long survived my
sympathy with the fighting heroes of antiquity.
All this I thought as we slowly walked up the hill,
but I was silent as usual: as Jaques says, "I can
think of as many matters as other men, but I
praise God, and make no boast of it." We ar-
rived here too late to see any thing of the city.
Dec. 10th, at Terni. The ridiculous contre-
temps we sometimes meet with would be matter of
amusement to me, if they did not affect others.
And in truth, as far as paying well, and scolding
well, can go, it is impossible to travel more mag-
nificently, more a la milor Anglais than we do :
but there is no controuling fate ; and here, as our
evil destinies will have it, a company of strolling
actors had taken possession of the best quarters
before our arrival ; and our accommodations are,
I must confess, tolerably bad.
When we left Perugia this morning, the city,
throned upon its lofty eminence, with its craggy
rocks, its tremendous fortifications, and its massy
gateways, had an imposing effect. Forwards,
we looked over a valley, which so resembled a
lake, the hills projecting above the glittering
white vapour having the appearance of islands
JOURNEY TO ROME. 133
scattered over its surface, that at the first glance
I was positively deceived ; and all my topographi-
cal knowledge, which I had conned on the map
the night before, completely put to the rout. As
the day advanced, this white mist sunk gradually
to the earth, like a veil dropped from the form of
a beautiful woman, and nature stood disclosed in
all her loveliness.
Trevi, on its steep and craggy hill, detached
from the chain of mountains, looked beautiful as
we gazed up at it, with its buildings mingled with
rocks and olives
I had written thus far, when we were all
obliged to decamp in haste to our respective bed-
rooms ; as it is found necessary to convert our
salon into a dormitory. I know I shall be tired
and very tired to-morrow, therefore add a few
words in pencil, before the impressions now fresh
on my mind are obscured.
After Trevi came the Clitumnus with its little
fairy temple ; and we left the carriage to view it
from below, and drink of the classic stream. The
temple (now a chapel) ifc not much in itself, and
was voted in bad taste by some of our party. T
me the tiny fane, the glassy river, more pure and
limpid than any fabled or famous fountain of old,
the beautiful hills, the sunshine, and the asso-
ciations connected with the whole scene, were
134 JOURNEY TO ROME.
enchanting ; and I could not at the moment de-
scend to architectural criticism.
The road to Spoleto was a succession of olire
grounds, vineyards and rich woods. The vines
with their skeleton boughs looked wintry and
miserable; but the olives, now in full fruit and
foliage, intermixed with the cypress, the ilex, the
cork tree and the pine, clothed the landscape
with a many-tinted robe of verdure.
While sitting in the open carriage at Spoleto,
waiting for horses, I saw one of that magnificent
breed of " milk white Steers," for which the banks
of the Clitumnus have been famed from all an-
tiquity, led past me gaily decorated, to be baited
on a plain without the city. As the noble crea-
ture, serene and unresisting, paced along, followed
by a wild, ferocious-looking, and far more brutal
rabble, I would have given all I possessed to re-
deem him from his tormentors: but it was in vain.
As we left the city, we heard his tremendous roar
of agony and rage echo from the rocks. I
stopped my ears, and was glad when we were
whirled out of hearing. The impression left
upon my nerves by this rencontre, makes me dis-
like to remember Spoleto: yet I believe it is a
beautiful and interesting place. Hannibal as I
recollect, besieged this city, but was bravely re-
pulsed. I could say much more of the scenes
JOURNEY TO ROME. 135
and the feelings of to-day ; but my pencil refuses
to mark another letter.
Dec. llth, at Civita Castellana.
I could not write a word to-night in the salon,
because I wished to listen to the conversation of
two intelligent travellers, who, arriving after us,
were obliged to occupy the same apartment.
Our accommodations here are indeed deplorable
altogether. After studying the geography of my
bed, and finding no spot thereon, to which San-
cho's couch of pack-saddles and pummels would
not be a bed of down in comparison, I ordered a
fresh faggot on my hearth : they brought me some
ink in a gally-pot invisible ink for I cannot see
what I am writing ; and I sit down to scribble,
pour me desennuyer.
This morning we set off to visit the falls of
Terni (La cascata di Marmore), in two carriages
and four : O such equipages ! such rat-like
steeds ! such picturesque accoutrements ! and
such poetical looking guides and postillions,
ragged, cloaked, and whiskered ! but it was all
consistent : the wild figures harmonized with the
wild landscape. We passed a singular fortress
on the top of a steep insulated rock, which had
formerly been inhabited by a band of robbers and
their families, who were with great difficulty, and
136 JOURNEY TO ROME.
after a regular siege, dislodged by a party "of
soldiers, and the place dismantled. In its present
ruined state, it has a very picturesque effect;
and though the presence of the banditti would no
doubt have added greatly to the romance of the
scene, on the present occasion we excused their
absence.
We visited the falls both above and below,
but unfortunately we neither saw them from the
best point of view, nor at the best season. The
body of waters is sometimes ten times greater, as
I was assured but can scarce believe it possible.
The words " Hell of waters," used by Lord
Byron, would not have occurred to me while
looking at this cataract, which impresses the
astonished mind with an overwhelming idea of
power, might, magnificence and impetuosity ; but
blends at the same time all that is most tremendous
in sound and motion, with all that is most bright
and lovely in forms, in colours, and in scenery.
As I stood close to the edge of the precipice,
immediately under the great fall, I felt my respi-
ration gone: I turned giddy, almost faint, and
was obliged to lean against the rock for support.
The mad plunge of the waters, the deafening
roar, the presence of a power which no earthly
force could resist or controul, struck me with an
awe, almost amounting to terror. A bright sun-
JOURNEY TO ROME. 137
bow stood over the torrent, which seen from be-
low has the appearance of a luminous white arch
bending from rock to rock. The whole scene was
but how can I say what it was ? I have ex-
hausted my stock of fine words ; and must be
content with silent recollections, and the sense,
admiration and wonder unexpressed.
Below the fall an inundation which took place
a year ago, wndermined and carried away part of
the banks of the Nera, at the same time laying
open an ancient Roman bridge, which had been
buried for ages. The channel of the river and
the depth of the soil must have been greatly
altered since this bridge was erected.
When we returned to the inn at Term, and
while the horses were putting to, I took up a volume
of Eustace's tour, which some traveller had acci-
dentally left on the table ; and turning to the de-
scription of Terni, read part of it, but quickly
threw down the book with indignation, deeming
all his verbiage the merest nonsense I had ever
met with : in fact, it is nonsense to attempt to
image in words an individual scene like this.
When we have made out our description as accu-
rately as possible, it would do as well for any other
cataract in the world : we can only combine rocks,
wood, and water, in certain proportions. A good
picture may give a tolerable idea of a particular
138 ROME.
scene or landscape : but no picture, no painter,
not Ruysdael himself, can give a just idea of a
cataract. The lifeless, silent, unmoving image is
there : but where is the thundering roar, the terri-
ble velocity, the glory of refracted light, the eter-
nity of sound, and infinity of motion, in which
essentially its effect consists ?
In the valley beneath the falls of Terni, there
is a beautiful retired little villa, which was once
occupied by the late Queen Caroline : and in the
gardens adjoining it, we gathered oranges from the
trees ourselves for the first time. After passing
Mount Soracte of classical fame, we took leave of
the Appenines ; having lived amongst them ever
since we left Bologna.
The costume of this part of the country is very
gay and picturesque: the women wear a white
head-dress formed of a square kerchief, which
hangs down upon the shoulders, and is attached to
the hair by a silver pin : a boddice half laced, and
decorated with knots of ribbon, and a short scarlet
petticoat complete their attire. Between Perugia
and Terni I did not see one woman without a
coral necklace ; and those who have the power,
load themselves with trinkets and ornaments.
Rome, December 12.
The morning broke upon us so beautifully be-
tween Civita Castellana and Nevi, that we lauded
ROME. 139
our good fortune, and anticipated a glorious ap-
proach to the " Eternal City." We were impa-
tient to reach the heights of Baccano ; from which,
at the distance of fifteen miles, we were to view the
cross of St. Peter's glittering on the horizon, while
the postillions rising in their stirrups, should point
forward with exultation, and exclaim " ROMA ! "
But O vain hope, who can controul their fate ?
just before we reached Baccano, impenetrable
clouds enveloped the whole Campagna. The mist
dissolved into a drizzling rain ; and when we enter-
ed the city, it poured in torrents. Since we left
England, this is only the third time it has rained
while we were on the road ; it seems therefore un-
conscionable to murmur. But to lose the first
view of Rome ! the first view of the dome of St.
Peter's ! no that lost moment will never be re-
trieved through our whole existence.
We found it difficult to obtain suitable ac-
commodations for our numerous cortege, the Hotel
d'Europe, and the Hotel de Londres being quite
full : and for the present we are rather indiffe-
rently lodged in the Albergo di Parigi.
So here we are, in ROME ! where we have been
for the last five hours, and have not seen an inch
of the city beyond the dirty pavement of the Via
Santa Croce ; where an excellent dinner cooked a
ise, a blazing fire, a drawing-room snugly
14Q ROME.
carpeted and curtained, and the rain beating
against our windows, would almost persuade us
that we are in London ; and every now and then,
it is with a kind of surprise that I remind myself
that I am really in Rome. Heaven send us but a
fine day to-morrow !
13. The day arose as beautiful, as brilliant,
as cloudless, as I could have desired for the first
day in Rome. About seven o'clock, and before
any one was ready for breakfast, I walked out ;
and directing my steps by mere chance to the left,
found myself in the Piazza di Spagna and oppo-
site to a gigantic flight of marble stairs leading to
the top of a hill. I was at the summit in a mo-
ment ; and breathless and agitated by a thousand
feelings, I leaned against the obelisk, and looked
over the whole city. I knew not where I was :
nor among the crowded mass of buildings, the
innumerable domes and towers, and vanes and
pinnacles, brightened by the ascending sun, could
I for a while distinguish a single known object ;
for my eyes and my heart were both too full : but
in a few minutes my powers of perception returned ;
and in the huge round bulk of the castle of St.
Angelo, and the immense facade and soaring cu-
pola of St. Peter's, I knew I could not be mistaken.
I gazed and gazed as if I would have drunk it all
in at my eyes : and then descending the superb
ROME. 141
flight of steps rather more leisurely than I had
ascended, I was in a moment at the door of our
hotel.
The rest of the day I wish I could forget I
found letters from England on the breakfast table
Until dinner time we were driving through the
narrow dirty streets at the mercy of a stupid la-
quais de place, in search of better accommodations,
but without success : and on the whole, I fear I
shall always remember too well, the disagreeable
and painful impressions of my first day in Rome.
Dec. 18. A week has now elapsed, and I be-
gin to know and feel Rome a little better than I
did. The sites of the various buildings, the situa-
ations of the most interesting objects, and the
bearings of the principal hills, the Capitol, the
Palatine, the Aventine, and the .ZEsquiline, have
become familiar to me, assisted in my perambula-
tions by an excellent plan. I have been disap-
pointed in nothing, for I expected that the general
appearance of modern Rome, would be mean ;
and that the impression made by the ancient city
would be melancholy; and I had been unfor-
tunately, too well prepared by previous reading,
for all I see, to be astonished by any thing except
the Museum of the Vatican.
I entered St. Peter's, expecting to be struck
142 ROME.
dumb with admiration, and accordingly it was so.
A feeling of vastness filled my whole mind, and
made it disagreeable, almost impossible to speak
or exclaim : but it was a style of grandeur, ex-
citing rather than oppressive to the imagination,
nor did I experience any thing like that sombre
and reverential awe, I have felt on entering one
of our Gothic minsters. The interior of St.
Peter's is all airy magnificence, and gigantic
splendour ; light and sunshine pouring in on every
side ; gilding and gay colours, marbles and pic-
tures dazzling the eye above, below, around. The
effect of the whole has not diminished in a second
and third visit; but rather grows upon me. I
can never utter a word for the first ten minutes
after I enter the church.
For the Museum of the Vatican, I confess I
was totally unprepared ; and the first and second
time I walked through the galleries, I was so
amazed so intoxicated, that I could not fix my
attention upon any individual object, except the
Apollo, upon which, as I walked along confused
and lost in wonder and enchantment, I stumbled
accidentally, and stood spell-bound. Gallery
beyond gallery, hall within hall, temple within
temple, new splendours opening at every step ! of
all the creations of luxurious art, the Museum of
the Vatican may alone defy any description to do
ROME.
it justice, or any fancy to conceive the unima-
ginable variety of its treasures. When I re-
member that the French had the audacious and
sacrilegious vanity to snatch from these glorious
sanctuaries the finest specimens of art, and hide
them in their villainous old gloomy Louvre, I am
confounded.
I have been told and can well believe, that the
whole giro of the galleries exceeds two miles.
I have not yet studied the frescos of Raflaelle
sufficiently to feel all their perfection ; and should
be in despair at my own dullness, were I not con-
soled by the recollection of Sir Joshua Reynolds.
At present one of Raffaelle's divine Virgins,
delights me more than all his camere and loggie
together; but I can look upon them with due
veneration, and grieve to see the ravages of time
and damp.
##***#
19. Last night we took advantage of a
brilliant full moon to visit the Coliseum by moon-
light ; and if I came away disappointed of the
pleasure I had expected, the fault was not in me
nor in the scene around me. In its sublime and
heart-stirring beauty, it more than equalled, it
surpassed all I had anticipatedbut (there must
always be a but ! always in the realities of this
world something to disgust ;) it happened that
144 ROME.
one or two gentlemen joined our party young-
men too, and classical scholars, who perhaps
thought it fine to affect a well-bred nonchalance,
a fashionable disdain for all romance and enthu-
siasm, and amused themselves with quizzing our
guide, insulting the gloom, the grandeur, and the
silence around them, with loud impertinent
laughter at their own poor jokes ; and I was
obliged to listen, sad and disgusted, to their
empty and tasteless and misplaced flippancy.
The young barefooted friar, with his dark Ian-
thorn, and his black eyes flashing from under his
cowl, who acted as our cicerone, was in pictu-
resque unison with the scene ; but more than
one murder having lately been committed among
the labyrinthine recesses of the ruin, the govern-
ment has given orders that every person entering
after dusk should be attended by a guard of two
soldiers. These fellows therefore necessarily
walked close after our heels, smoking, spitting,
and sputtering German. Such were my com-
panions, and such was my cortege. 1 returned
home vowing that while I remained at Rome,
nothing should induce me to visit the Coliseum by
moonlight again.
To-day I was standing before the Laocoon
with Rogers, who remarked that the absence of
all parental feeling in the aspect of Laocoon, his
ROME. 145
self-engrossed indifference to the sufferings of his
children, (which is noticed and censured, I think,
by Dr. Moore) adds to the pathos, if properly con-
sidered, by giving the strongest possible idea of
that physical agony which the sculptor intended
to represent. It may be so, and I thought there
was both truth and tacte in the poet's observa-
tion.
The Perseus of Canova does not please me so
well as his Paris ; there is more simplicity and re-
pose in the latter statue, less of that theatrical air
which I think is the common fault of Cairo va's
figures.
It is absolutely necessary to look at the Perseus
before you look at the Apollo, in order to do
the former justice. I have gazed with admira-
tion at the Perseus for minutes together, then
walked from it to the Apollo and felt instanta-
neously, but could not have expressed the differ-
ence. The first is indeed a beautiful statue, the
latter " breathes the flame with which 'twas
wrought," as if the sculptor had left a portion of
his own soul within the marble to half animate his
glorious creation. The want of this informing life
is strongly felt in the Perseus, when contemplated
after the Apollo. It is delightful when the imagi-
nation rises in the scale of admiration, when we
ascend from excellence to perfection : but excel-
146 ROME.
lence after perfection is absolute inferiority; it
sinks below itself, and the descent is so disagreea-
ble and disappointing, that we can seldom estimate
justly the object before us. We make compa-
risons involuntarily in a case where comparisons
are odious.
******
The weather is cold here during the prevalence
of the tramontana : but I enjoy the brilliant skies
and the delicious purity of the air, which leaves the
eye free to w r ander over a vast extent of space.
Looking from the gallery of the Belvedere at sun-
set this evening, I clearly saw Tivoli, Albano, and
Frascati, although all Rome and part of the Cam-
pagna lay between me and those towns. The out-
lines of every building, ruin, hill and wood were so
distinctly marked and stood out so brightly to the
eye ! and the full round moon, magnified through
the purple vapour which floated over the Appenines
rose just over Tivoli, adding to the beauty of the
scene. O Italy ! How I wish I could transport
hither all I love ! how I wish I were well enough,
happy enough, to enjoy all the lovely things I see!
but pain is mingled with all I behold, all I feel :
a cloud seems for ever before my eyes, a weight for
ever presses down my heart. I know it is wrong
to repine : and that I ought rather to be thankful
for the pleasurable sensations yet spared to me,
ROME. 147
than lament that they are so few. When I take
up my pen to record the impressions of the day I
sometimes turn within myself, and wonder how it
is possible that amid the strife of feelings not all
subdued, and the desponding of the heart, the
mind should still retain its faculties unobscured,
and the imagination all its vivacity and its suscep-
tibility to pleasure, like the beautiful sun-bow I
saw at the Falls of Terni, bending so bright and
so calm over the verge of the abyss which toiled
and raged below.
* * # # * *-
22. This morning was devoted to the Capitol,
where the objects of art are ill arranged and too
crowded : the lights are not well managed, and on
the whole I could not help wishing, in spite of my
veneration for the Capitol, that some at least
among the divine master-pieces it contains could
be transferred to the glorious halls of the Vatican,
and shrined in temples worthy of them.
The objects which most struck me were the
dying Gladiator, the Antinous, the Flora, and the
statue called (I know not on what authority,) the
Faun of Praxiteles.
The dying Gladiator is the chief boast of the
Capitol. The antiquarian Nibby insists that this
statue represents a Gaul, that the sculpture is
Grecian, that it formed part of a group on a pedi-
148 ROME.
merit, representing the vengeance which Apollo
took on the Gauls, when under their king Brennus,
they attacked the temple of Delphi : that the cord
round the neck is a twisted chain, an ornament pe-
culiar to the Gauls; and that the form of the
shield, the bugles, the style of the hair, and the
mustachios, all prove it to be a Gaul. I asked,
" why should such faultless, such exquisite sculp-
ture be thrown away upon a high pediment ? the
affecting expression of the countenance, the head
" bowed low and full of death," the gradual failure
of the strength and sinking of the form, the blood
slowly trickling from his side how could any spec-
tator, contemplating it at a vast height, be sensible
of these minute traits the distinguishing perfec-
tions of this matchless statue ? it was replied, that
many of the ancient buildings were so constructed,
that it was possible to ascend and examine the
sculpture above the cornice and though some
statues so placed, were unfinished at the back (for
instance, some of the figures which belonged to
the group of Niobe) others, (and he mentioned the
^gina marbles as an example) were as highly
finished behind as before. I owned myself un-
willing to consider the Gladiator, a Gaul, but the
reasoning struck me, and I am too unlearned to
weigh the arguments he used, much less confute
them. That the statue being of Grecian marble
ROME. H9
and Grecian sculpture must therefore have come
from Greece, does not appear a conclusive argu-
ment, since the Romans commonly employed
Greek artists : and as to the rest of the argument,
suppose that in a dozen centuries hence, the
charming statue of Lady Louisa Russel should be
discovered under the ruins of Woburn Abbey, and
that by a parity of reasoning, the production of
Chantrey's chisel should be attributed to Italy and
Canova, merely because it is cut from a block OP
Carrara marble ? we might smile at such a con-
clusion.
Among the pictures in the gallery of the Capi-
tol, the one most highly valued pleases me least of
all the Europa of Paul Veronese. The splendid
colouring and copious fancy of this master can
never reconcile me to his strange anomalies in
composition, and his sins against good taste and
propriety. One wishes that he had allayed the
heat of his fancy with some cooling drops of dis-
cretion. Even his colouring, so admired in gene-
ral, has something florid and meretricious to my
eye and taste.
One of the finest pictures here is Domeni-
chino's Cumean Sibyl, which, like all other master-
pieces, defies the copyist and engraver. The
Sibilla Persica of Guercino hangs a little to the
left ; and with her contemplative air, and the pen
150 ROME.
in her hand, she looks as if she were recording the
effusions of her more inspired sister. The former
is a chaste and beautiful picture, full of feeling and
sweetly coloured ; but the vicinity of Domeni-
chino's magnificent creation throws it rather into
shade. Two unfinished pictures upon which
Guido was employed at the time of his death are
preserved in the Capitol : one is the Bacchus and
Ariadne, so often engraved and copied ; the other,
a single figure, the size of life, represents the Soul
of the righteous man ascending to heaven. Had
Guido lived to finish this divine picture, it would
have been one of his most splendid productions >
but he was snatched away to realize, I trust, in
his own person, his sublime conception. The
head alone is finished, or nearly so ; and has a
most extatic expression. The globe of the earth
seems to sink from beneath the floating figure,
which is just sketched upon the canvas, and has a
shadowy indistinctness which to my fancy added
to its effect. Guercino's chef-d'ceuvre, The Re-
surrection of Saint Petronilla (a saint, I believe, of
very hypothetical fame,) is also here ; and has
been copied in mosaic for St. Peter's. A magni-
ficent Rubens, The She Wolf nursing Romulus
and Remus ; a fine copy of Raffaelle's Triumph
of Galatea by Giulo Romano; Domenichino's
Saint Barbara, with the same lovely inspired eyes
ROME. 151
he always gives his female saints, and a long et
cetera.
From the Capitol we immediately drove to the
Borghese palace, where I spent half an hour look-
ing at the picture called the Cumean Sibyl of Do*
menichino, and am more and more convinced that
it is a Saint Cecilia and not a Sibyl.
We have now visited the Borghese palace four
times ; and apropos to pictures, I may as well
make a few memoranda of its contents. It is not
the most numerous, but it is by far the most valu-
able and select private gallery in Rome.
Domenichino's Chase of Diana, with the two
beautiful nymphs in the fore ground, is a splendid
picture. Titian's Sacred and Profane Love puzzles
me completely : I neither understand the name nor
the intention of the picture. It is evidently alle-
gorical : but an allegory very clumsily expressed.
The aspect of Sacred Love would answer just as
well for Profane Love. What is that little Cupid
about, who is groping in the cistern behind ? why
does Profane Love wear gloves ? The picture
though so ppovokingly obscure in its subject, is
most divinely painted. The three Graces by the
same master is also here ; two heads by Giorgione
distinguished by all his peculiar depth of charac-
ter and sentiment, some exquisite Albanos ; one of
Raffaelle's finest portraits and in short, an end-
1 52 ROME.
less variety of excellence. I feel my taste become
more and more fastidious every day.
******
This morning we heard mass at the Pope's
Chapel ; the service was read by Cardinal Fesche,
and the venerable old Pope himself, robed and
mitred en grand costume, was present. No females
are allowed to enter without veils, and we were
very ungallantly shut up behind a sort of grating,
where, though we had a tolerable view of the
ceremonial going forward, it was scarcely possible
for us to be seen. Cardinal Gonsalvi sat so near
us, that I had leisure and opportunity to contem-
plate the fine intellectual head and acute features
of this remarkable man. I thought his counte-
nance had something of the Wellesley cast.
The Pope's Chapel is decorated in the most
exquisite taste ; splendid at once and chaste.
There are no colours the whole interior being
white and gold.
At an unfortunate moment, Lady Morgan's
ludicrous description of the twisting and untwist-
ing of the Cardinal's tails came across me, and
made me smile very mal apropos: it is certainly
from the life. Whenever this lively and clever
woman describes what she has actually seen with
her own eyes, she is as accurately true as she is
witty and entertaining. Her sketches after nature
ROME. 153
are admirable ; but her observations and inferences
are coloured by her peculiar and rather unfeminine
habits of thinking. I never read her " Italy"
till the other day, when L., whose valet had
contrived to smuggle it into Rome, offered . to
lend it to me. It is one of the books most rigo"
rously proscribed here ; and if the Padre Anfossi
or any of his satellites had discovered it in my
hands, I should assuredly have been fined in a sum
beyond what I should have liked to pay.
We concluded the morning at St. Peter's,
where we arrived in time for the anthem.
******
23. Our visit to the Barberini Palace to-day
was solely to view the famous portrait of Beatrice
Cenci. Her appalling story is still as fresh in re-
membrance here, and her name and fate as fa-
miliar in the mouths of every class, as if instead of
two centuries, she had lived two days ago. In
spite of the innumerable copies and prints I have
seen, I was more struck than I can express by the
dying beauty of the Cenci. In the face the ex-
pression of heart-sinking anguish and terror is just
not too strong, leaving the loveliness of the counte-
nance unimpaired ; and there is a woe-begone
negligence in the streaming hair and loose drapery
which adds to its deep pathos. It is consistent
too with the circumstances under which the picture
154 ROME.
is traditionally said to have been painted that is,
in the interval, between her torture and her exe-
cution.
A little daughter of the Princess Barberini was
seated in the same room, knitting. She was a
beautiful little creature ; and as my eye glanced
from her to the picture and back again, I fancied
I could trace a strong family resemblance ; par-
ticularly about the eyes, and the very peculiar
mouth. I turned back to ask her whether she had
ever been told that she was like that picture?
pointing to the Cenci. She shook back her long
curls, and answered with a blush and a smile,
" yes, often."*
The Barberini Palace contains other treasures
besides the Cenci. Poussin's celebrated picture
of the Death of Germanicus, Raffaelle's Forna-
rina, inferior I thought to the one at Florence, and
a St. Andrew by Guido, in his very best style of
heads, " mild, pale, and penetrating;" besides
others which I cannot at this moment recall.
* The family of the Cenci was a branch of the house of Colonna,
now extinct in the direct male line. The last Prince Colonna left
two daughters, co-heiresses, of whom one married the Prince Sci-
arra, and the other the Prince Barberini. In this manner the por-
trait of Beatrice Cenci came into the Barberini family. The
authenticity of this interesting picture has been disputed : but last
night after hearing the point extremely well contested by two intel-
ligent men, I remained conviuced of its authenticity.
ROME. 155
24'. Yesterday, after chapel, I walked through
part of the Vatican ; and then, about vesper-time,
entered St. Peter's, expecting to hear the anthem :
but I was disappointed. I found the church as
usual crowded with English, who every Sunday
convert St. Peter's into a kind of Hyde Park,
where they promenade arm in arm, shew off their
finery, laugh and talk aloud : as if the size and
splendour of the edifice detracted in any degree
from its sacred character. I was struck with a
feeling of disgust ; and shocked to see this most
glorious temple of the Deity metamorphosed into
a mere theatre. Mr. W. told me this morning,
that in consequence of the shameful conduct of
the English, in pressing in and out of the chapel,
occupying all the seats, irreverently interrupting
the service, and almost excluding the natives, the
anthem will not be sung in future.
This is not the first time that the behaviour of
the English has created offence, in spite of the
friendly feeling which exists towards us, and the
allowances which are made for our national cha-
racter. Last year the Pope objected to the in-
decent custom of making St. Peter's a place of
fashionable rendezvous, and notified to Cardinal
Gonsalvi his desire that English ladies and gentle-
men should not be seen arm in arm walking up
and down the aisles, during and after divine ser-
156 ROME.
vice. The Cardinal, as the best means of pro-
ceeding, spoke to the Duchess of Devonshire,
who signified the wishes of the Papal Court to a
large party, assembled at her house. The hint sx)
judiciously and so delicately given, was at the time
attended to, and during a short interval the offence
complained of ceased. New comers have since
recommenced the same course of conduct : and in
fact, nothing could be worse than the exhibition of
gaiety and frivolity, gallantry and coquetterie at
St. Peter's yesterday. I almost wish the Pope
may interfere, and with rigour ; though, individu-
ally, I should lose a high gratification, if our visits
to St. Peter's were interdicted. It is surely most
ill-judged and unfeeling (to say nothing of the
profanation, for such it is,) to shew such open con-
tempt for the Roman Catholic religion in its holiest,
grandest Temple, and under the very eyes of the
head of that Church. I blushed for my country-
women.
******
On Christmas Eve we went in a large party to
visit some of the principal churches, and witness
the celebration of the Nativity ; one of the most
splendid ceremonies of the Romish Church. We
arrived at the Chapel of Monte Cavallo about half
past nine : but the Pope being ill and absent, no-
thing particular was going forward ; and we left it
ROME. 157
to proceed to the San Luigi dei Francesi, where
we found the church hung from the floor to the
ceiling with garlands of flowers, hlazing with light,
and resounding with heavenly music : but the
crowd was intolerable, the people dirty, and there
was such an effluence of strong perfumes, in which
garlick predominated, that our physical sensations
overcame our curiosity : and we were glad to make
our escape. We then proceeded to the church of
the Ara Celi, built on the site of the temple of Ju-
piter Capitolinus, and partly from its ruins. The
scene here from the gloomy grandeur and situation
of the church, was exceedingly fine : but we did
not stay long enough to see the concluding pro-
cession, as we were told it would be much finer at
the Santa Maria Maggiore ; for there the real
manger which had received our Saviour at his
birth was deposited : and this inestimable relic was
to be displayed to the eyes of the devout; and
with a waxen figure laid within (called here II
Bambino), was to be carried in procession round
the church, " with pomp, with music, and with
triumphing."
The real Cradle was a temptation not to be
withstood : and to witness this signal prostration
of the human intellect before ignorant and crafty
Superstition, we adjourned to the Santa Maria
Maggiore. For processions and shows I care very
158 ROME.
little, but not for any thing, not for all I suffered
at the moment, would I have missed the scene
which the interior of the church exhibited ; for it
is impossible that any description could have given
me the faintest idea of it. This most noble edifice,
with its perfect proportions, its elegant Ionic
columns, and its majestic simplicity, appeared
transformed for the time being, into the temple of
some Pagan divinity. Lights and flowers, incense
and music were all around : and the spacious aisles
were crowded with the lowest classes of the people,
the inhabitants of the neighbouring hills, and the
peasantry of the Campagna, who with their wild
ruffian-like figures and picturesque costumes, were
lounging about, or seated at the bases of pillars, or
praying before the altars. How I wished to paint
some of the groups I saw! but only Rembrandt
could have done them justice.
We remained at the Santa Maria Maggiore till
four o'clock, and no procession appearing, our pa-
tience was exhausted. I nearly fainted on my
chair from excessive fatigue ; and some of our
party had absolutely laid themselves down on the
steps of an altar and were fast asleep ; we there-
fore returned home, completely knocked up by
the night's dissipation.
27. " Come," said L. just now, as he drew his
chair to the fire, and rubbed his hands with great
ROME. 159
complacency, " I think we've worked pretty hard
to-day ; three palaces, four churches besides
odds and ends of ruins we dispatched in the way :
to say nothing of old Nibby's lecture in the
morning about the Voices, the Saturnines, the
Albanians, and the other old Romans by Jove!
I almost fancied myself at school again
" Armis vitrumque canter."
as old Virgil or somebody else says. So now let's
have a little ecarte to put it all out of our heads :
for my brains have turned round like a windmill,
by Jove ! ever since I was on the top of that cursed
steeple on the Capitol," &c. &c.
I make a resolution to myself every morning
before breakfast, that I will be prepared with a
decent stock of good nature and forbearance, and
not laugh at my friend L.'s absurdities ; but in
vain are my amiable intentions : his blunders and
his follies surpass all anticipation, as they defy all
powers of gravity. I console myself with the con-
viction that such is his slowness of perception he
does not see that he is the butt of every party ; and
such his obtuseness of feeling, that if he did see it,
he would not mind it ; but he is the heir to twenty-
five thousand a year, and therefore as R. said, he
can afford to be laughed at.
We " dispatched " as L. says, a good deal to-
day, though I did not " work quite so hard " as
160 ROME.
the rest of the party: in fact I was obliged to
return home from fatigue, after having visited the
Doria and Sciarra Palaces, (the last for the second
time,) and the church of San Pietro in Vincoli.
The Doria Palace contains the largest collec-
tion of pictures in Rome : but they are in a dirty
and neglected condition, and many of the best are
hung in the worst possible light: added to this
there is such a number of bad and indifferent pic-
tures, that one ought to visit the Doria Gallery
half a dozen times merely to select those on which
a cultivated taste would dwell with pleasure.
Leonardo da Vinci's portrait of Joanna of Naples,
is considered one of the most valuable pictures in
the collection. It exhibits the same cast of coun-
tenance which prevails through all his female
heads, a sort of sentimental simpering affectation
which is very disagreeable, and not at" all con.
sistent with the character of Joanna. I was much
more delighted by some magnificent portraits by
Titian and Rubens ; and by a copy of the famous
antique picture, the Nozze Aldobrandini, executed
in a kindred spirit by the classic pencil of Poussin.
The collection at the Sciarra Palace is small
but very select. The pictures are hung with judge-
ment and well taken care of. The Magdalen,
which is considered one of Guide's masterpieces,
charmed me most : the countenance is heavenly ;
ROME. 161
though full of extatic and devout contemplation,
there is in it a touch of melancholy, " all sorrow's
softness charmed from its despair," which is quite
exquisite: and the attitude, and particularly the
turn of the arm are perfectly graceful: but why
those odious turnips and carrots in the fore ground ?
They certainly do not add to the sentiment and
beauty of the picture. Leonardo da Vinci's Vanity
and Modesty, and Caravaggio's Gamblers, both
celebrated pictures in very different styles, are in
this collection. I ought not to forget RafFaelle's
beautiful portrait of a young musician who was his
intimate friend. The Doria and Sciarra Palaces
contain the only Claudes I have se,en in Rome.
Since the acquisition of the Altieri Claudes, we
may boast of possessing the finest productions of
this master in England. I remember but one
solitary Claude in the Florentine Gallery ; and I
see none here equal to those at Lord Grosvenor's
and Angerstein's. We visited the church of San
Pietro in Vincoli, to see Michel Angelo's famous
statue of Moses, of which, who has not heard ?
I must confess I never was so disappointed by any
work of art as I was by this statue, which is easily
accounted for. In the first place I had not seen
any model or copy of the original ; and secondly 1
had read Zappi's sublime sonnet, which I humbly
162 ROME.
conceive does rather more than justice to its sub-
ject. The fine opening
" Chi e costui che in dura pietra scolto
" Siede Gigante"
gave me the impression of a Colossal and elevated
figure : my surprize therefore was great to see a
sitting statue, not much larger than life, and
placed nearly on the level of the pavement ; so that
instead of looking up at it, I almost looked down
upon it. The " Doppio raggio in fronte," I found
in the shape of a pair of horns,, which, at the first
glance, gave something quite Satanic to the head,
which disgusted me. When I began to recover
from this first disappointment although my eyes
were opened gradually to the sublimity of the
attitude, the grand forms of the drapery, and the
lips, which unclose as if about to speak I still
think that Zappi's sonnet, (his acknowledged chef
d'oauvre) is a more sublime production than the
chef d'ceuvre it celebrates.
The mention of Zappi, reminds me of his wife,
the daughter of Carlo Maratti the painter. She
was so beautiful that she was her father's favour-
ite model for his Nymphs, Madonnas, and Vestal
Virgins ; and to her charms she added virtue, and
to her virtue uncommon musical and literary
talents. Among her poems, there is a sonnet ad-
ROME. 163
dressed to a lady, once beloved by her husband,
beginning
" Donna ! che tanto al mio sol piacesti,"
which is one of the most graceful, most feeling,
most delicate compositions I ever read. Zappi
celebrates his beautiful wife under the name of
Clori, and his first mistress under that of Filli : to
the latter he has addressed a sonnet, which turns
on the same thought as- Cowley's well known song
" Love in thine eyes." As they both lived about
the same time, it would be hard to tell which of
the two borrowed from the other ; probably they
were both borrowers from some elder poet.
The characteristics of Zappi's style, are ten-
derness and elegance : he occasionally rises to sub-
limity; as in the sonnet on the Statue of Moses,
and that on Good Friday. He never emulates
the flights of Guido or Filicaja, but he is more
uniformly graceful and flowing than either: his
happy thoughts are not spun out too far, and
his points are seldom mere concetti.
164 ROME.,
SONETTO.
DI GIAMBATTISTA ZAPPI.
Amor s'asside alia mia Filli accanto,
Amor la segue ovunque i passi gira :
In lei parla, in lei tace, in lei sospira,
Anzi in lei vive, ond'ella ed ei puo tanto.
Amore i vezzi, amor le insegna il canto ;
E se mai duolsi, o se pur mai s'adira,
Da lei non parte amor, anzi se mira
Amor ne le belle ire, amor nel pianto.
Se avvien che danzi in regolato errore,
Darle il moto al bel piede, amor riveggio,
Come 1'auretto quando muove un fiore.
Le veggio in fronte amor come in suo seggio,
Sul crin, negli occhi, su le labbra amore,
Sol d'intorno al suo cuore, amor non veggio.
ROME. 165
TRANSLATION, EXTEMPORE, OF THE
FOREGOING SONNET.
Love, by my fair one's side is ever seen,
He hovers round her steps, where'er she strays,
Breathes in her voice, and in her silence speaks,
Around her lives and lends her all his arms.
Love is in every glance Love taught her song ;
And if she weep, or scorn contract her brow,
Still love departs not from her, but is seen
Even in her lovely anger and her tears.
When, in the mazy dance she glides along
Still love is near to poize each graceful step :
So breathes the zephyr o'er the yielding flower.
Love in her brow is throned, plays in her hair,
Darts from her eye and glows upon her lip,
But oh ! he never yet approached her heart.
166 ROME.
After being confined to the house for three
days, partly by indisposition, and partly by a vile
Sirocco, which brought, as usual, vapours, clouds
and blue devils in its train this most lovely day
tempted me out ; and I walked with V. over the
Monte Cavallo to the Forum of Trajan. After
admiring the view from the summit of the pillar,
we went on towards the Capitol, which presented
a singular scene : the square and street in front,
as well as the immense flight of steps, one hun-
dred and fifty in number, which lead to the church
of the Ara Celi, were crowded with men, women
and children, all in their holiday dresses. It was
with difficulty we made our way through them,
though they very civilly made way for us, and we
were nearly a quarter of an hour mounting the
steps, so dense was the multitude ascending and
descending, some on their hands and knees out
of extra-devotion. At last we reached the door
of the church, where we understood, from the ex-
clamations and gesticulations of those of whom
we enquired, something extraordinary was to be
seen. On one side of the entrance was a puppet
show, on the other, a band of musicians, playing
" Di tanti palpati." The interior of the church
was crowded to suffocation; and all in darkness,
except the upper end, where, upon a stage bril-
liantly and very artificially lighted by unseen lamps,
ROME. 167
there was an exhibition in wax-work, as large as
life, of the Adoration of the Shepherds. The
Virgin was habited in the court dress of the last
century, as rich as silk and satin, gold lace, and
paste diamonds could make it, with a flaxen wig,
and high heeled shoes. The infant Saviour lay
in her lap, his head encircled with rays of gilt
wire, at least two yards long. The shepherds
were very well done, but the sheep and dogs best
of all ; I believe they were the real animals stuffed.
There was a distant landscape seen between the
pasteboard trees which was well painted, and
from the artful disposition of the light and per-
spective, was almost a deception but by a
blunder very consistent with the rest of the show,
it represented a part of the Campagna of Rome.
Above all was a profane representation of that
Being, whom I dare scarcely allude to, in con-
junction with such preposterous vanities, encir-
cled with saints, angels and clouds : the whole got
up very like a scene in a pantomime, and accom-
panied by music from a concealed orchestra, which
was intended, I believe, to be sacred music, but
sounded to me like some of Rossini's airs. In
front of the stage there was a narrow passage
divided off, admitting one person at a time,
through which a continued file of persons moved
along, who threw down their contributions as they
168 . ROME.
passed, bowing and crossing themselves with great
devotion. It would be impossible to describe the
extasies of the multitude, the lifting up of hands
and eyes, the string of superlatives the bellissi-
mos, santissimos, gloriosissimos, and maraviglio-
sissimos, with which they expressed their applause
and delight. I stood in the back ground of this
strange scene, supported on one of the long-legged
chairs which V** placed for me against a pillar,
at once amazed, diverted and disgusted by this
display of profaneness and superstition, till the
heat and crowd overcame me, and I was obliged
to leave the church. I shall never certainly for-
get the " Bambino" of the Ara Celi : for though
the exhibition I saw afterwards at the San Luigi
(where I went to look at Domenichino's fine pic-
tures) surpassed what I have just described, it did
not so much surprise me. Something in the same
style is exhibited in almost every church, between
Christmas-day and the Epiphany.
During our examination of Trajan's Forum to-
day, I learnt nothing new, except that Trajan
levelled part of the Quirinal to make room for it.
The ground having lately been cleared to the
depth of about twelve feet, part of the ancient
pavement has been discovered, and many frag-
ments of columns set upright: pieces of frieze and
broken capitals are scattered about. The pillar
ROME. 169
which is now cleared to the base stands in its ori-
ginal place, but not, as it is supposed, at its original
level, for the Romans generally raised the substruc-
ture of their buildings, in order to give them a
more commanding appearance. The antiquarians
here are of opinion that both the pavement of the
Basilica and the base of the pillar were raised
above the level of the ancient street, and that there
is a flight of steps, still concealed, between the
pillar and the pavement in front. The famous
Ulpian library was on each side of the Basilica,
and the Forum differed from other Forums in not
being an open space surrounded by buildings, but
a building surrounded by an open space.
******
Dec. 31. Jan. 1. That hour in which we
pass from one year to another, and begin a new
account with ourselves, with our fellow-creatures^
and with GOD, must surely bring some solemn and
serious thoughts to the bosoms of the most happy
and most unreflecting among the triflers on thi s
earth. What then must it be to me ? The first
hour, the first moment of the expiring year was
spent in tears, in distress, in bitterness of heart
as it began so it ends. Days, and weeks, and
months, and seasons, came and " passed like
visions to their viewless home," and brought no
change. Through the compass of the whole year
170 ROME.
I have not enjoyed one single day I will not say
of happiness-~lmt of health and peace ; and what
I have endured has left me little to learn in the
way of suffering. Would to Heaven that as the
latest minutes now ebb away while I write, memory
might also pass away ! Would to Heaven that I
could efface the last year from the series of time,
hide it from myself, bury it in oblivion, stamp it
into annihilation, that none of its dreary moments
might ever rise up again to haunt me, like spectres
of pain and dismay ! But this is wrong I feel it
is and I repent, J recall my wish. That great
Being to whom the life of a human creature is a
mere point, but who has bestowed on his creatures
such capacities of feeling and suffering, as extend
moments to hours and days to years, inflicts no-
thing in vain, and if I have suffered much, I have
also learned much. Now the last hour is past
another year opens : may it bring to those I love
all I wish them in my heart ! to me it can bring
nothing. The only blessing I hope from time is
forgetfulness ; my only prayer to Heaven is rest,
rest, rest!
* * * *
Jan. 4. We dispatched, as L** would say, a
good deal to-day : we visited the Temple of Vesta,
the Church of Santa Maria in Cosmadino, the
Temple of Fortune, the Ponte Rotto, and the
ROME. 171
house of Nicolo Rienzi : all these lie together in a
dirty, low and disagreeable part of Rome. Thence
we drove to the Pyramid of Caius Cestus. As we
know nothing of this Caius Cestus, but that he
lived, died, and was buried, it is not possible to
attach any fanciful or classical interest to his tomb,
but it is an object of so much beauty in itself, and
from its situation so striking and picturesque, that
it needs no additional interest. It is close to the
ancient walls of Rome, which stretch on either side
as far as the eye can reach in huge and broken
masses of brick-work, fragments of battlements
and buttresses, overgrown in many parts with
shrubs, and even trees. Around the base of the
Pyramid lies the burying ground of strangers and
heretics. Many of the monuments are elegant,
and their frail materials and diminutive forms are
in affecting contrast with the lofty and solid pile
which towers above them. The tombs lie around
in a small space " amicably close," like brothers
in exile, and as I gazed, I felt a kindred feeling
with all ; for I too am a wanderer, a stranger, and
a heretic ; and it is probable that my place of rest
may be among them. Be it so ! for methinks this
earth could not afford a more lovely, a more tran-
quil, or more sacred spot. I remarked one tomb,
which is an exact model, and in the same material
with the Sarcophagus of Cornelius Scipio, in the
172 ROME.
Vatican. One small slab of white marble bore the
name of a young girl, an only child, who died at
sixteen and " left her parents disconsolate :"
another elegant and simple monument bore the
name of a young painter of genius and promise,
and was erected '* by his companions and fellow
students as a testimony of their affectionate admi-
ration and regret." This part of old Rome is
beautiful beyond description, and has a wild, de-
solate, and poetical grandeur, which affects the
imagination like a dream. The very air disposes
one to reverie. I am not surprised that Poussin,
Claude, and Salvator Rosa made this part of Rome
a favourite haunt, and studied here their finest
effects of colour, and their grandest combinations
of landscape. I saw a young artist seated on a
pile of ruins with his sketch-book open on his
knee, and his pencil in his hand during the whole
time we were there he never changed his attitude,
nor put his pencil to the paper, but remained
leaning on his elbow, like one lost in extasy.
5. To-day we drove through the quarter of
the Jews, called the Ghetta degli Ebrei. It is a
long street enclosed at each end with a strong
iron gate, which is locked by the police at a cer-
tain hour every evening (I believe at ten o'clock) ;
and any Jew found without its precincts after that
time, is liable to punishment and a heavy fine. The
ROME. 173
street is narrow and dirty, the houses wretched
and ruinous, and the appearance of the inhabitants
squalid, filthy, and miserable on the whole, it
was a painful scene, and one I should have avoided,
had I followed my own inclinations. If this speci-
men of the effects of superstition and ignorance
was depressing, the next was not less ridiculous.
We drove to the Lateran : I had frequently visited
this noble Basilica before, but on the present oc-
casion, we were to go over it in form, with the
usual torments of laquais and ciceroni. I saw
nothing new but the cloisters, which remain
exactly as in the time of Constantine. They are
in the very vilest style of architecture, and deco-
rated with Mosaic in a very elaborate manner : but
what most amused us was the collection of relics,
said to have been brought by Constantine from
the Holy Land, and which our cicerone exhibited
with a sneering solemnity which made it very
doubtful whether he believed himself in their mi-
raculous sanctity. Here is the stone on which the
cock was perched when it crowed to St. Peter,
and a pillar from the Temple of Jerusalem, split
asunder at the time of the crucifixion ; it looks as
if it had been sawed very accurately in half from
top to bottom, but this of course only renders it
more miraculous. Here is also the column in
front of Pilate's house, to which our Saviour was
174 ROME.
bound, and the very well where he met the woman
of Samaria. All these, and various other relics,
supposed to be consecrated by our Saviour's
Passion, are carelessly thrown into the cloisters
not so the heads of St. Peter and St. Paul, which
are considered as the chief treasures in the Late-
ran, and are deposited in the body of the church
in a rich shrine. The beautiful Sarcophagus of
red porphyry, which once stood in the portico of
the Pantheon, and contained the ashes of Agrippa,
is now in the Corsini chapel here, and encloses the
remains of some Pope Clement. The bronze
equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, which stands
on the Capitol, was dug from the cloisters of the
Lateran. The statue of Constantine in the
portico was found in the baths of Constantine : it
is in a style of sculpture worthy the architecture of
the cloisters. Constantine was the first Christian
emperor, a glory which has served to cover a
multitude of sins : it is indeed impossible to forget
that he was the chosen instrument of a great and
blessed revolution, but in other respects it is as
impossible to look back to the period of Constan-
tine without horror an era when bloodshed and
barbarism, and the general depravity of morals and
taste seemed to have reached their climax.
On leaving the Lateran, we walked to the
Scala Santa, said to be the very flight of steps
ROME.
175
which led to the Judgment Hall at Jerusalem, and
transported hither by the Emperor Constantine ;
but while the other relics which his pious benevo-
lence bestowed on the city of Rome have appa-
rently lost some of their efficacy, the Scala Santa
is still regarded with the most devout veneration.
At the moment of our approach, an elegant ba-
rouche drove up to the portico, from which two
well dressed women alighted, and pulling out their
rosaries, began to crawl up the stairs on their
hands and knees, repeating a Paternoster and an
Ave Maria on every step. A poor diseased beg-
gar had just gone up before them, and was a few
steps in advance. This exercise, as we were as-
sured, purchases a thousand years of indulgence.
The morning was concluded by a walk on the
Monte Pincio.
I did not know on that first morning after our
arrival, when I ran up the Scala della Trinita to
the top of the Pincian hill, and looked around me
with such transport, that I stood by mere chance
on that very spot from which Claude used to study
his sun-sets, and his beautiful effects of even-
ing. His house was close to me on the left, and
thoseof Nicolo Poussin and Salvator Rosa a little
beyond. Since they have been pointed out to
me, I never pass from the Monte Pincio along the
Via Felice without looking up at them with in-
176 ROME.
terest : such power has genius, " to hallow in the
core of human hearts, even the ruin of a wall."
Jan. 6. Sunday, at the English Chapel which
was. crowded to excess, and where it was at once
cold and suffocating. We had a plain but excel-
lent sermon, and the officiating clergyman Mr. W.
exhorted the congregation to conduct themselves
with more decorum at St. Peter's, and to remem-
ber what was due to the temple of that God who
was equally the God of all Christians. We after-
wards went to St. Peter's ; where the anthem was
performed at vespers as usual, and the tenor of
the Argentino sung. The music was indeed
heavenly but I did not enjoy it: for though the
behaviour of the English was much more decent
than I have yet seen it, the crowd round the
chapel, the talking, pushing, whispering, and
movement, were enough to disquiet and discom-
fort me : I withdrew therefore, and walked about
at a little distance, where I could just hear the
swell of the organ. Such is the immensity of the
building, that at the other side of the aisle the
music is perfectly inaudible.
7. Visited the Falconieri Palace to see Car-
dinal Fesche's gallery. The collection is large,
and contains many fine pictures, but there is such
a melange of good, bad, and indifferent, that oh
ROME. 177
the whole, I was disappointed. L** attached
himself to my side the whole morning to benefit,
as he said, by my " tasty remarks :" he hung so
dreadfully heavy on my hands, and I was so con*
founded by the interpretations and explanations
his ignorance required, that I at last found my
patience nearly at an end. Pity he is so good-
natured and good-tempered, that one can neither
have the comfort of heartily disliking him, nor find
nor make the shadow of an excuse to shake him
off!
In the evening we had a gay party of English
and foreigners : among them
i 5
178 ROME.
A REPLY TO A COMPLIMENT.
Trust not the ready smile !
'Tis a delusive glow
For cold and dark the while
The spirits flag below.
With a beam of departed joy,
The eye may kindle yet ;
As the cloud in yon wintry sky,
Still glows with the sun that is set.
The cloud will vanish away
The sun will shine to-morrow
To me shall break no day
On this dull night of sorrow !
ROME.
179
A REPLY TO A REPROACH.
I would not that the world should know,
How deep within my panting heart,
A thousand warmer feelings glow,
Than word or look could e'er impart.
I would not that the world should guess
At aught beyond this outward show ;
What happy dreams in secret bless
What burning tears in secret flow.
And let them deem me cold or vain ;
O there is one who thinks not so!
In one devoted heart I reign,
And what is all the rest below ?
180 ROME.
9. We have had two days of truly English
weather ; cold, damp, and gloomy, with storms of
wind and rain. I know- not why, but there is
something peculiarly deforming and discordant in
bad weather here ; and we are all rather stupid
and depressed. To me, sun-shine and warmth
are substitutes for health and spirits; and their
absence inflicts positive suffering. There is not a
single room in our palazzetto which is weather
proof; and as to a good fire, it is a luxury un-
known, but not unnecessary in these regions. In
such apartments as contain no fire-place, a stufa
or portable stove is set, which diffuses little warmth,
and renders the air insupportably close and suffo-
cating.
I witnessed a scene last night, which was a good
illustration of that extraordinary indolence for
which the Romans are remarkable. Our laquais
Camillo suffered himself to be turned off, rather
than put wood pn the fire three times a day ; he
would rather he said, " starve in the streets than
break his back by carrying burthens like an ass ;
and though he was miserable to displease the
Onoratissimo Padrone, his first duty was to take
care of his own health, which with the blessing of
the saints he was determined to do." R threw
him his wages, repeating with great contempt the
only word of this long speech he understood,
ROME. 181
" Asino r " Sono Romano, io," replied the fellow,
drawing himself up with dignity. He took his
wages however, and marched out of the house.
The impertinence of this Camillo was sometimes
amusing, but oftener provoking. He piqued him-
self on being a profound antiquarian, would con-
fute Nibby, and carried Nardini in his pocket, to
whom he referred on all occasions : yet the other
day he had the impudence to assure us that Caius
Cestus was an English protestant, who was ex-
communicated by Pope Julius Caesar ; and took
his Nardini out of his pocket to prove his as-
sertion.
V brought me to day the " Souvenirs de
Felicie," of Madame de Genlis, which amused me
delightfully for a few hours. They contain many
truths, many half or whole falsehoods, many im-
pertinent things, and several very interesting anec-
dotes. They are written with all the graceful
simplicity of style, and in that tone of lady-like
feeling which distinguishes whatever she writes :
but it is clear that though she represents these
" Souvenirs" as mere extracts from her journal,
they have been carefully composed or re-com-
posed for publication, and were always intended to
be seen. Now if my poor little Diary should
ever be seen ! I tremble but to think of it I what
egotism and vanity, what discontent, repining,
182 ROME.
caprice should I be accused of? neither per-
haps have I always been just to others ; quand on
sent, on reflechit rarement. Such strange vicissi-
tudes of temper such opposite extremes of
thinking and feeling, written down at the moment,
without noticing the intervening links of circum-
stances and impressions which led to them, would
appear like distraction, if they should meet the
eye of any indifferent person but I think I have
taken sufficient precautions against the possibility
of such an exposure, and the only eyes which will
ever glance over this blotted page, when the hand
that writes it is cold, will read, not to criticise but
to sympathise.
10. A lovely brilliant day, the sky without a
cloud and the air as soft as summer. The car-
riages were ordered immediately after breakfast,
and we sallied forth in high spirits resolved, as
L** said, with his usual felicitous application of
Shakespeare,
To take the tide in the affairs of men.
The baths of Titus are on the ^Esquiline ; and no-
thing remains of them but piles of brick-work, and
a few subterranean chambers almost choked with
rubbish. Some fragments of exquisite Arabesque
painting are visible on the ceilings and walls ; and
the gilding and colours are still fresh and bright.
The brick-work is perfectly solid and firm, and
ROME. 183
appeared as if finished yesterday. On the whole,
the impression on my mind was, that not the
slow and gentle hand of time, but sudden rapine
and violence had caused the devastation around
us: and looking into Nardini on my return, I
found that the baths of Titus were nearly entire
in the thirteenth century, but were demolished
with great labour and difficulty by the ferocious
Senator Brancaleone, who, about the year 1257,
destroyed an infinite number of ancient edifices,
" per togliere ai Nobili il modo di fortificarsi."
The ruins were excavated during the Pontificate
of Julius the Second, and under the direction of
RafFaelle, who is supposed to have taken the idea
of the Arabesques in the Loggie of the Vatican,
from the paintings here. We were shewn the
niche in which the Laocoon stood, when it was
discovered in 1502. After leaving the baths, we
entered the neighbouring church of San Pietro in
Vincoli, to look again at the beautiful fluted Doric
columns which once adorned the splendid edifice
of Titus : and on this occasion, we were shewn
the chest in which the fetters of St. Peter are
preserved in a triple enclosure of iron, wood, and
silver. My unreasonable curiosity not being
satisfied by looking at the mere outside of this
sacred coffer, I turned to the monk who exhi-
bited it, and civilly requested that he would open
it, and shew us the miraculous treasure it con-
184 ROME.
tained. The poor man looked absolutely as-
tounded and aghast at the audacity of my request,
and stammered out, that the coffer was never
opened, without a written order from his Holiness
the Pope, and in the presence of a cardinal, and,
that this favour was never granted to a heretic
(con rispetto parlando) ; and with this excuse we
were obliged to be satisfied.
The church of San Martino del Monte is built
on part of the substructure of the baths of Titus ;
and there is a door opening from the church, by
which you descend into the ancient subterranean
vaults. The small, but exquisite pillars, and the
pavement which is of the richest marbles, were
brought from the Villa of Adrian at Tivoli. The
walls were painted in fresco by Nicolo and Gaspar
Poussin, and were once a celebrated study for
young landscape painters ; almost every vestige of
colouring is now obliterated by the damp which
streams down the walls. There are some excel-
lent modern pictures in good preservation, I think
by Carluccio. This church, though not large, is
one of the most magnificent we have yet seen, and
the most precious materials are lavished in pro-
fusion on every part. The body of Cardinal
Tomasi is preserved here, embalmed in a glass-
case. It is exhibited conspicuously, and in my
life I never saw (or smelt) any thing so abomi-
nable and disgusting. 4
ROME. 185
The rest of the morning was spent in the
Vatican.
I stood to-day for some time between those
two great master-pieces, the Transfiguration of
Raffaelle, and Domenichino's Communion of St.
Jerome. I studied them, I examined them figure
by figure, and then in the ensemble, and mused
upon the different effect they produce, and were
designed to produce, until I thought I could
decide to my own satisfaction on their respective
merits. I am not ignorant that the Transfigu-
ration is pronounced the " grandest picture in
the world," nor so insensible to excellence as to
regard this glorious composition without all the
admiration due to it. I am dazzled by the flood
of light which bursts from the opening heavens
above, and affected by the dramatic interest of
the group below. What splendour of colour!
What variety of expression! What masterly
grouping of the heads ! I see all this but to me
Raffaelle's picture wants unity of interest : it is
two pictures in one : the demoniac boy in the
fore-ground always shocks me ; and thus from my
peculiarity of taste, the pleasure it gives me is not
so perfect as it ought to be.
On the other hand I never can turn to the Do-
menichino without being thrilled with emotion, and
touched with awe. The story is told with the
186 ROME.
most admirable skill, and with the most exquisite
truth and simplicity : the interest is one and the
same ; it all centres in the person of the expiring
saint; and the calm benignity of the officiating
priest is finely contrasted with the countenances of
the group who support the dying form of St.
Jerome : anxious tenderness, grief, hope, and fear,
are expressed with such deep pathos and reality,
that the spectator forgets admiration in sympathy ;
and I have gazed, till I could almost have fancied
myself one of the assistants. The colouring is as
admirable as the composition gorgeously rich
in effect, but subdued to a tone which harmonizes
with the solemnity of the subject.
There is a curious anecdote connected with
this picture, which I wish I had noted down at
length as it was related to me, and at the time
I heard it: it is briefly this. The picture was
painted by Domenichino for the church of San
Girolamo della Carita. At that time the factions
between the different schools of painting ran so
high at Rome, that the followers of Domenichino
and Guido absolutely stabbed and poisoned each
other ; and the popular prejudice being in favour
of the latter, the Communion of St. Jerome was
torn down from its place, and flung into a lumber
garret. Some time afterwards, the superiors of the
Convent wishing to substitute a new altar piece,
ROME. 187
commissioned Nicolo Poussin to execute it ; and
sent him Domenichino's rejected picture as old
canvass to paint upon. No sooner had the ge-
nerous Poussin cast his eyes on it, than he was
struck, as well he might be, with astonishment and
admiration. He immediately carried it into the
church, and there lectured in public on its beau-
ties, until he made the stupid monks ashamed of
their blind rejection of such a master-piece, and
boldly gave it that character it has ever since re-
tained, of being the second best picture in the
world.
11. A party of four, including L** and
myself, ascended the dome of St. Peters ; and even
mounted into the gilt ball. It was a most fatiguing
expedition, and one I have since repented. I
gained however a more perfect, and a more sublime
idea of the architectural wonders of St. Peter's,
than I had before ; and I was equally pleased and
surprised by the exquisite neatness and cleanliness
of every part of the building. We drove from St.
Peter's to the church of St. Onofrio, to visit the
tomb of Tasso. A plain slab marks the spot,
which requires nothing but his name to distinguish
it. " After life's fitful fever he sleeps well." The
poet Guidi lies in a little chapel close by ; and his
188 ROME.
effigy is so placed that the eyes appear fixed upon
the tomb of Tasso.
In the church of Santa Maria Trastevere
(which is held in peculiar reverence by the Traste-
verini), there is nothing remarkable, except that
like many others in Rome, it is rich in the spoils of
antique splendour: afterwards to the Palazzo
Farnese and the Farnesina, to see the frescos
of Raffaelle, Giulio Romano, and the Caraccis,
which have long been rendered familiar to me in
copies and engravings.
12. I did penance at home for the fatigue of
the day before, and to-day (the 13th) I took a de-
lightful drive of several hours attended only by
Scaccia. Having examined at different times, and
in detail, most of the interesting objects within the
compass of the ancient city, I wished to generalize
what I had seen, by a kind of survey of the whole.
For this purpose making the Capitol a central
point, I drove first slowly through the Forum, and
made the circuit of the Palatine hill, then by the
arch of Janus (which by a late decision of the an-
tiquarians, has no more to do with Janus than with
Jupiter), and the temple of Vesta, back again over
the site of the Circus Maximus, between the
Palatine and the Aventine (the scene of the Rape
of the Sabines), to the baths of Caracalla, where I
ROME. 189
spent an hour, musing, sketching, and poetizing ;
thence to the Church of San Stefano Rotundo,
once a temple dedicated to Claudius by Agrip-
pina ; over the Celian Hill, covered with masses of
ruins, to the Church of St. John and St. Paul, a
small but beautiful edifice ; then to the neigh-
bouring church of San Gregorio, from the steps
of which there is such a noble view. Thence I re-
turned by the arch of Constantine, and the Coli-
seum, which frowned on me in black masses
through the soft but deepening twilight, through
the street now called the Suburra, but formerly the
Via Scelerata, where Tullia trampled over the
dead body of her father, and so over the Quirinal,
home.
My excursion was altogether delightful, and
gave me the most magnificent, and I had almost
said, the most bewildering ideas of the grandeur
and extent of ancient Rome. Every step was
classic ground : illustrious names, and splendid re-
collections crowded upon the fancy
" And trailing clouds of glory did they come,"
On the Palatine Hill were the houses of Cicero
and the Gracchi; Horace, Virgil, and Ovid re-
sided on the Aventine, and Meca?nas and Pliny on
the ^Esquiline. If one little fragment of a wall
remained, which could with any shadow of proba-
bility be pointed out as belonging to the residence
190 ROME.
of Cicero, Horace, or Virgil, how much dearer, how
much more sanctified to memory would it be than
all the magnificent ruins of the fabrics of the Ca?sars 1
But no all has passed away. I have heard the re-
mains of Rome coarsely ridiculed, because after the
researches of centuries, so little is comparatively
known because of the endless disputes of antiqua-
rians, and the night and ignorance in which all is
involved: but to the imagination there is some-
thing singularly striking in this mysterious veil
which hangs like a cloud upon the objects around
us. I trod to-day over shapeless masses of build-
ing extending in every direction as far as the eye
could reach. Who had inhabited the edifices I
trampled under my feet ? What hearts had burne J
what heads had thought what spirits had
kindled there, where nothing was seen but a wilder-
ness and waste, and heaps of ruins, to which anti-
quaries even Nibby himself, dare not give a
name ? All swept away buried beneath an ocean
of oblivion, above which rise a few great and
glorious names, like rocks, over which the billows
of time break in vain.
Indi esclamo, qual' notte atra, importuna
Tutte 1'ampie tue glorie a un tratto amorza ?
Glorie di senno, di valor, di forza
Gia mille avesti, or non hai pur una 1
******
One of the most striking scenes I saw to-day
i
ROME, 191
was the Roman Forum, crowded with the common
people gaily dressed (it is a festa or Saint's day) ;
the women sitting in groups upon the fallen co-
lumns, nursing or amusing their children. The
men were playing at mora, or at a game like
quoits. Under the west side of the Palatine Hill,
on the site of the Circus Maximus, I met a woman
mounted on an ass, habited in a most beautiful and
singular holiday costume, a man walked by her
side, leading the animal she rode, with lover-like
watchfulness. He was en veste, and I observed
that his cloak was thrown over the back of the ass
as a substitute for a saddle. Two men followed
behind with their long capotes hanging from their
shoulders and carrying guitars, which they struck
from time to time, singing as they walked along.
A little in advance there is a small chapel, and
Madonna. A young girl approached, and laying
a bouquet of flowers before the image, she knelt
down, hid her face in her apron, and wrung
her hands from time to time as if she was
praying with fervor. When the group I have
just mentioned came up, they left the path way,
and made a circuit of many yards to avoid disturb-
ing her, the men taking off their hats, and the
woman inclining her head, in sign of respect as
they passed.
All this sounds, while I soberly write it down,
192 ROME.
very sentimental, and picturesque, and poetical.
It was exactly what I saw what I often see : such
is the place, the scenery, the people. Every group
is a picture, the commonest object has some in-
terest attached to it, the commonest action is dig-
nified by sentiment, the language around us is
music, and the air we breathe is poetry.
Just as I was writing the word music, the sounds
of a guitar attracted me to the window, which
looks into a narrow back street, and is exactly
opposite a small white house belonging to a vettu-
rino, who has a very pretty daughter. For her
this serenade was evidently intended; for the
moment the music began, she placed a light in the
window as a signal that she listened propitiously,
and then retired. The group below, consisted of
two men, the lover and a musician he had brought
with him: the former stood looking up at the
window with his hat off, and the musician after
singing two very beautiful airs, concluded with the
delicious and popular Arietta " Buona notte amato
bene!" to which the lover whistled a second, in
such perfect tune, and with such exquisite taste,
that I was enchanted. Rome is famous for sere-
nades and serenaders ; but at this season they are
seldom heard. I remember at Venice being
wakened in the dead of the night by such deli-
cious music, that (to use a hyperbole common in
ROME. I9o
the mouths of this poetical people,) I was " trans-
ported to the seventh heaven:" before I could
perfectly recollect myself, the music ceased, the
inhabitants of the neighbouring houses threw open
their casements, and vehemently and enthusiasti-
cally applauded, clapping their hands, and shout-
ing bravos : but neither at Venice, at Padua, nor
at Florence did I hear any thing that pleased and
touched me so much as the serenade to which I
have just been listening.
14. To-day was quite heavenly like a lovely
May-day in England : the air so pure, so soft, and
the sun so warm, that I would gladly have dis-
pensed with my shawl and pelisse. We went in
carriages to the other side of the Palatine, and
then dispersing in small parties, as will or fancy
led, we lounged and wandered about in the Coli-
seum, and among the neighbouring ruins till
dinner time. I climbed up the western side of the
Coliseum, at the imminent hazard of my neck;
and looking down through a gaping aperture, on
the brink of which I had accidentally seated my-
self, I saw in the colossal corridor far below me, a
young artist, who, as if transported out of his
senses by delight and admiration, was making the
most extraordinary anics and gestures : sometimes
he clasped his hands, then extended his arms,
K
194 ROME.
then stood with them folded as in deep thought ;
now he snatched up his portfolio as if to draw what
so much enchanted him, then threw it down and
kicked it from him as if in despair. I never saw
s uch admirable dumb show : it was better than
any pantomime. At length, however, he hap-
pened to cast up his eyes, as if appealing to
heaven, and they encountered mine peeping down
upon him from above. He stood fixed and mo-
tionless for two seconds staring at me, and then
snatching up his portfolio and his hat, ran off and
disappeared. I met the same man afterwards
walking along the Via Felice, and could not help
smiling as he passed : he smiled too, but pulled his
hat over his face and turned away.
I discovered to-day (and it is no slight plea-
sure to make a discovery for one's self,) the passage
which formed the communication between the Co-
liseum and the Palace of the Cresars, and in which
the Emperor Commodus was assassinated. I
recognized it by its situation, and the mosaic
pavement described by Nibby. If I had time I
might moralize here, and make an eloquent tirade
a la Eustace about imperial monsters and so forth,
but in fact I did think while I stood in the
damp and gloomy corridor, that it was a fitting
death for Commodus to die by the giddy playful-
ness of a child, and the machinations of an aban-
ROME. 195
doned woman. It was not a favourable time or
hour to contemplate the Coliseum the sun-shine
was too resplendent
It was a garish, broad, and peering day,
Loud, light, suspicious, full of eyes and ears ;
And every little corner nook and hole
Was penetrated by the insolent light.
We are told that five thousand animals were
slain in the amphitheatre on its dedication how
dreadful ! The mutual massacres of the gladia-
tors inspire less horror than this disgusting
butchery ! To what a pitch must the depraved
appetite for blood and death have risen among the
corrupted and ferocious populace, before such a
sight could be endured !
##-****
15. We drove to-day to the tomb of Cecilia
Metella, on the Appian Way, to the Fountain of
Egeria, and the tomb of the Scipios near the
Porta Cappena.
I wish the tomb of Cecilia Metella had been
that of Cornelia or Valeria. There may be little
in a name, but how much there is in association !
What this massy fabric wanted in classical fame
Lord Byron has lately supplied in poetical inte-
rest. The same may be said of the Fountain of
Egeria, to which he has devoted some of the most
exquisite stanzas in his poem, and has certainly
196 ROME.
invested it with a charm it could not have pos-
sessed before. The woods and groves which once
surrounded it, have been all cut down, and the
scenery round it is waste and bleak ; but the foun-
tain itself is pretty, overgrown with ivy, moss, and
the graceful capillaire plant (capello di venere)
drooping from the walls, and the stream is as pure
as crystal. L**, who was with us, took up a stone
to break off a piece of the statue, and maimed,
defaced, and wretched as it is, I could not help
thinking it a profanation to the place, and stopped
his hand calling him a barbarous Vandyke : he
looked so awkwardly alarmed and puzzled by the
epithet I had given him ! The identity of this spot
(like all other places here), has been vehemently
disputed. At every step to-day we encountered
doubt and contradiction and cavilling : authoritie 8
are marshalled against each other in puzzling array,
and the modern unwillingness to be cheated by
fine sounds, and great names has become a
general scepticism. I have no objection to the
" shadows, doubts and darkness" which rest upon
all around us ; it rather pleases my fancy thus
to " dream over the map of things," abandoned
to- my own cogitations and my own conclusions ;
but then there are certain points upon which it is
very disagreeable to have one's faith disturbed ;
and the Fountain of Egeria is one of these. So
ROME. 197
leaving the more learned antiquarians to fight it
out, secundum artem, and fire each other's wigs if
they will, I am determined, and do stedfastly be-
lieve, that the Fountain of Egeria I saw to-day is
the very identical and original Fountain of Egeria
of Numa's Egeria and therefore it is so.
The tomb of the Scipios is a dirty dark wine
cellar: all the urns, the fine sarcophagus, and the
original tablets and inscriptions have been removed
to the Vatican. I thought to-day while I stood
in the sepulchre, and on the very spot whence
the sarcophagus of Publius was removed, if Scipio,
or Augustus, or Adrian, could return to this
world, how would their Roman pride endure to
see their last resting places, the towers and the
pyramids in which they fortified themselves, thus
violated and put to ignoble uses, and the urns
which contained their ashes stuck up as orna-
ments in a painted room, where barbarian visitors
lounge away their hours, and stare upon their,
relics with scornful indifference or idle curiosity !
The people here, even the lowest and meanest
among them seem to have imbibed a profound re-
spect for antiquity and antiquities, which some-
times produces a comic effect. I am often amused
by the exultation with which they point out a bit
198 ROME.
of old stone, or piece of brick wall, or shapeless
fragment of some nameless statue, and tell you it
is antico, molto antico, and the half contemptuous
tone in which they praise the most beautiful
modern production, e moderna ma pure non c
cativa !
18. We had an opportunity of witnessing to-
day one of the most splendid ceremonies of the
Catholic church. It is one of the four festivals
at which the Pope performs mass in state at the
Vatican, the anniversary of St. Peter's entrance
into Rome, and of his taking possession of the
Papal chair ; for here St. Peter is reckoned the
first Pope. To see the high priest of an ancient
and wide-spread superstition publicly officiate in his
sacred character, in the grandest Temple in the
universe, and surrounded by all the trappings of
his spiritual and temporal authority, was an ex-
hibition to make sad a reflecting mind, but to
please and exalt a lively imagination: I wished
myself a Roman Catholic for one half hour only.
The procession, which was so arranged as to pro-
duce the most striking theatrical effect, moved
up the central aisle, to strains of solemn and beau-
t jrul music from an orchestra of wind instruments.
The musicians were placed out of sight, nor could
ROME. 199
I guess from what part of the building the sounds
proceeded ; but the blended harmony, so soft, yet
so powerful and so equally diffused, as it floated
through the long aisles and lofty domes, had a
most heavenly effect. At length appeared the
Pope, borne on the shoulders of his attendants ,
and habited in his full Pontifical robes of white
and gold : fans of peacocks' feathers were waved on
each side of his throne, and boys flung clouds of
incense from their censers. As the procession ad-
vanced at the slowest possible foot pace, the Pope
from tune to time stretched forth his arms which
were crossed upon his bosom, and solemnly blessed
the people as they prostrated themselves on each
side. I could have fancied it the triumphant ap-
proach of an Eastern despot, but for the mild
and venerable air of the amiable old Pope, who
looked as if more humbled than exalted by the
pageantry around him. It might be acting, but if
so, it was the most admirable acting I ever saw : I
wish all his attendants had performed their parts
as well. While the Pope assists at mass, it is not
etiquette for him to do any thing for himself: one
Cardinal kneeling, holds the book open before
him, another carries his handkerchief, a third folds
and unfolds his robe, a priest on each side sup-
ports him whenever he rises or moves, so that he
appears among them like a mere helpless automa-
200 ROME.
ton going through a certain set of mechanical mo-
tions, with which his will has nothing to do. All
who approach or address him prostrate themselves
and kiss his emhroidered slipper before they rise.
When the whole ceremony was over, and most
of the crowd dispersed, the Pope, after disrobing,
was passing through a private part of the church
where we were standing accidentally, looking at
one of the monuments. We made the usual obei-
sance, which he returned by inclining his head.
He walked without support, but with great diffi-
culty, and appeared bent by infirmity and age : his
countenance has a melancholy but most benevolent
expression, and his dark eyes retain uncommon
lustre and penetration. During the twenty-one
years he has worn the tiara, he has suffered many
vicissitudes and humiliations with dignity and for-
titude. He is not considered a man of very
powerful intellect or very shining talents : he is not
a Ganganelli or a Lambertini ; but he has been
happy in his choice of ministers, and his govern-
ment has been distinguished by a spirit of liberality,
and above all by a partiality to the English, which
calls for our respect and gratitude. There were
present to-day in St. Peter's, about five thousand
people, and the church would certainly have con-
tained ten times the number.
******
ROME. 201
19. We went to-day to view the restored
model of the Coliseum exhibited in the Piazza
di Spagna ; and afterwards drove to the manufac-
tory of the beads called Roman Pearl, which is
well worth seeing once. The beads are cut from
thin laminae of alabaster, and then dipped into a
composition made of the scales of a fish (the
Argentina). When a perfect imitation of pearl
is intended, they can copy the accidental de-
fects of colour and form which occur in the real
gem, as well as its brilliance, so exquisitely, as to
deceive the most practised eye.
20. I ordered the open carriage early this
morning, and attended only by Scaccia, partly
drove and partly walked through some of the
finest parts of ancient Rome. The day has been
perfectly lovely ; the sky intensely blue without a
single cloud ; and though I was weak and far from
well, I felt the influence of the soft sunshine in
every nerve: the pure elastic air seemed to pe-
netrate my whole frame, and made my spirits
bound and my heart beat quicker. It is true, I
had to regret at every step the want of a more
cultivated companion : and that I felt myself
shamefully no not shamefully but lamentably ig-
norant of many things. There is so much of
which I wish to know and learn more : so much of
my time is spent in hunting books, and acquiring
K5
202 ROME.
by various means the information with which I
ought already to he prepared ; so many days are
lost by frequent indisposition, that though I enjoy,
and feel the value of all J do know and observe, I
am tantalized by the thoughts of all I must leave
behind me unseen there must necessarily be
so much of which I do not even hear \ Yet, in
spite of these draw-backs, my little excursion to-
day was delightful. I took a direction just con-
trary to my last expedition, first by the Quattro
Fontane to the Santa Maria Maggiore, which I
always see with new delight ; then to the ruins
called the temple of Minerva Medica, which stand
in a cabbage garden near another fine ruin, once
called the Trofei di Mario, and now the Acqua
Giulia : thence to the Porta Maggiore, built by
Claudius ; and round by the Santa Croce di
Gerusalemme. This church was built by Helena,
the mother of Constantine, and contains her tomb,
besides a portion of the True Cross from which it
derives its name. The interior of this Basilica
struck me as mean and cold. In the fine avenue
in front of the Santa Croce, I paused a few minutes,
to look round me. To the right were the ruins of
the stupendous Claudian Aqueduct with its gigan-
tic arches, stretching away in one unbroken series
far into the Campagna; behind me the Am-
phitheatre of Castrense : to the left, other ruins,
ROME, 03
once called the Temple of Venus and Cupid, and
now the Sessorium: in front, the Lateran, the
obelisk of Sesostris, the Porta San Giovanni, and
great part of the ancient walls ; and thence the
view extended to the foot of the Appenines. All
this part of Rome is a scene of magnificent desola-
tion, and of melancholy yet sublime interest: its
wildness, its vastness, its waste and solitary open-
ness, add to its effect upon the imagination. The
only human beings I beheld in the compass of at
least two miles, were a few herdsmen driving their
cattle through the Gate of San Giovanni, and two
or three strangers who were sauntering about
with their note books and portfolios, apparently
enthusiasts like myself, lost in the memory of the
past and the contemplation of the present.
I spent some time in the Lateran, then drove
to the Coliseum, where I found a long procession
of penitents, their figures and faces totally concealed
by their masks and peculiar dress, chaunting
the Via Crucis. I then examined the site of
the Temple of Venus and Rome, and satisfied
myself by ocular demonstration of the truth of the
measurements which give sixty feet for the height
of the columns and eighteen feet for their circum-
ference. I knew enough of geometrical propor-
tion to prove this to my own satisfaction. On ex-
amining the fragments which remain, each fluting
204 ROME.
measured a foot, that is, eight inches right across.
This appears prodigious, but it is nevertheless
true. I am forced to believe to-day, what I yester-
day doubted, and deemed a piece of mere anti-
quarian exaggeration.
This magnificent edifice was designed and built
by the Emperor Adrian, who piqued himself on hi s
skill in architecture, and carried his jealousy of
other artists so far, as to banish Apollodorus who
had designed the Forum of Trajan. When he
had finished the Temple of Venus and Rome, he
sent to Apollodorus a plan of his stupendous struc-
ture, challenging him to find a single fault in it.
The architect severely critised some trifling over-
sights ; and the Emperor, conscious of the justice
of his criticisms and unable to remedy the defects,
ordered him to be strangled. Such was the fate
of Apollodorus, whose misfortune it was to have an
Emperor for his rival.
They are now clearing the steps which lead to
this temple, from which it appears that the length of
the portico in front was 300 feet, and of the side
500 feet.
While I was among these ruins, I was struck
by a little limpid fountain, which gushed from the.
crumbling wall and lost itself among the fragments
of the marble pavement. All looked dreary and
desolate ; and that part of the ruin, which from its
ROME. 205
situation must have been the sanctum sanctorum,
the shrine of the divinity of the place, is now a
receptacle of filth and every conceiveable abo_
mination.
I walked on to the ruins now called the Basi-
lica of Constantine, once the Temple of Peace*
This edifice was in a bad style, and constructed at
a period when the arts were at a low ebb : yet the
ruins are vast and magnificent. The exact direc^
tion of the Via Sacra has long been a subject of
vehement dispute. They have now laid open a
part of it which ran in front of the Basilica:
the pavement is about twelve feet below the pre-
sent pavement of Rome, and the soil turned up in
their excavations is formed entirely of crumbled
brick-work and mortar, and fragments of marble,
porphyry, and granite. I returned by the Forum
and the Capitol, through the Forums of Nerva
and Trajan, and so over the Monte Cavallo, home.
23. Last night we had a numerous party, and
Signor P. and his daughter came to sing. She is
a private singer of great talent, and came attended
by her lover or her fiance ; who, according to the
Italian custom, attends his mistress every where
during the few weeks which precede their mar-
riage. He is a young artist, a favourite pupil of
Camuccini, and of very quiet unobtrusive manners.
206 ROME.
La P. has the misfortune to be plain, her features
are irregular, her complexion of a sickly paleness,
and though her eyes are large and dark, they ap-
peared totally devoid of lustre and expression.
Her plainness, the bad taste of her dress, her awk-
ward figure, and her timid and embarrassed de-
portment, all furnished matter of amusement and
observation to some young people (English of
course), whose propensities for quizzing exceeded
their good breeding and good-nature. Though
La P. does not understand a word of either French
or English, I thought she could not mistake the
significant looks and whispers of which she was
the object, and I was in pain for her, and for her
modest lover. I drew my chair to the piano, and
tried to divert her attention by keeping her in con-
versation, but I could get no farther than a few
questions which were answered in monosyllables.
At length she sang and sang divinely : I found
the pale automaton had a soul as well as a voice.
After giving us with faultless execution, as well as
great expression, some of Rossini's finest songs,
she sung the beautiful and difficult cavatina in
Otello, " Assisa al pic d'un Salice" with the most
enchanting style and pathos, and then stood as
unmoved as a statue while the company applauded
loud and long. A moment afterwards, as she
stooped to take up a music book, her lover who
ROME. 207
had edged himself by degrees from the door to
the piano, bent his head too, and murmured in a
low voice but with the most passionate accent,
" O brava, brava cara !" she replied only by a
look but it was such a look! I never saw a
human countenance so entirely, so instantaneously
changed in character: the vacant eyes kindled
and beamed with tenderness : the pale cheek
glowed, and a bright smile playing round her
mouth, just parted her lips sufficiently to discover
a set of teeth like pearls. I could have called her-
at that moment beautiful ; but the change was as
transient as sudden it passed like a gleam of
light over her face and vanished, and by the time
the book was placed on the desk, she looked as
plain, as stupid, and as statue-like as ever. I was
the only person who had witnessed this little by-
scene ; and it gave me pleasant thoughts and in-
terest for the rest of the evening.
Another trait of character occurred afterwards,
which amused me, but in a very different style.
Our new Danish friend, the Baron B , told us
he had once been present at the decapitation of
nine men, having first fortified himself with a large
goblet of brandy. After describing the scene in all
its horrible details, and assuring us in his bad Ger-
man French that it was " une chose bien mauvaise
208 ROME.
a voir" I could not help asking him with a shudder,
how he felt afterwards ? whether it was not weeks
or months before the impressions of horror left
his mind ? He answered with smiling naivete and
taking a pinch of snuff, " Mafoi f madame,je n'ai
pas pu manger de la -ciande tonte cette jourme-la /"
27. We drove to the Palazzo Spada, to see
the famous Spada Pompey, said to be the very
statue at the base of which Csesar fell. I was
pleased to find contrary to my expectations, that
this statue has great intrinsic merit, besides its
celebrity, to recommend it. The extremities of the
limbs have a certain clumsiness which may perhaps
be a feature of resemblance, and not a fault of
the sculptor ; but the attitude is noble, and the like-
ness of the head to the undisputed bust of Pompey
in the Florentine gallery struck me immediately.
The Palazza Spada with its splendid architecture
dirt, discomfort, and dilapidation, is a fair specimen
of the Roman palaces in general. It contains a
corridor, which from an architectural deception
appears much longer than it really is. I hate
tricks in architecture especially. We afterwards
visited the Pantheon, the Church of Santa Maria
sopra Minerva (an odd combination of names) ; and
concluded the morning at Canova's. It is one of
ROME. 209
the pleasures of Rome to lounge in the Studj of
the best sculptors ; and it is at Rome only that
sculpture seems to flourish as in its native soil.
Rome is truly the city of the soul, the home of art
and artists. With the divine models of the Vatican
ever before their eyes, these inspiring skies above
their heads, and the quarries of marble at a con-
venient distance it is here only they can conceive
and execute those works which are formed from
the beau-ideal ; but it is not here they meet with
patronage : the most beautiful things I have seen
at the various Studj have all been executed for
English, German, and Russian noblemen. The
names I heard most frequently were those of the
Dukes of Bedford and Devonshire, Prince Ester-
hazy, and the King of England.
Canova hag been accused of a want of simpli-
city, and of giving a too voluptuous expression to
some of his figures : with all my admiration of his
genius, I confess the censure just. It is particu-
larly observable in the Clori svegliata (the Nymph
awakened by Love), the Cupid and Psyche for
Prince Yousouppoff, the Endymion, the Graces,
and some others.
In some of Thorwaldson's works there is ex-
quisite grace, simplicity, and expression: the
Shepherd Boy, the Adonis, the Jason, and the
210 ROME.
Hebe, have a great deal of antique spirit. I did
not like the Colossal Christ which the sculptor has
just finished in clay : it is a proof that bulk alone
does not constitute sublimity : it is deficient in
dignity, or rather in divinity.
At Rodolf Schadow's, I was most pleased by
the Cupid and the Filatrice. His Cupid is cer-
tainly the most beautiful Cupid I ever saw, supe-
rior I think both to Canova's and to Thorwaldson's.
The Filatrice, though so exquisitely natural and
graceful, a little disappointed me ; I had heard
much of it, and had formed in my own imagination
an idea different and superior to what I saw. This
beautiful figure has repose, simplicity, nature and
grace, but I felt a want the want of some internal
sentiment : for instance, if instead of watching the
rotation of her spindle with such industrious
attention, the Filatrice had looked careless, or
absent, or pensive, or disconsolate, (like Faust's
Margaret at her spinning-wheel), she would have
been more interesting but not perhaps what the
sculptor intended to represent.
Schadow is ill, but we were admitted by his
order into his private study; we saw there the
Bacchante, which he has just finished in clay, and
which is to emulate or rival Canova's Dansatrice.
He has been at work upon a small but beautiful
ROME. 211
figure of a piping Shepherd-boy, which is just
made out : beside it lay Virgil s Eclogues, and his
spectacles were between the leaves*.
Almost every thing I saw at Max Laboureur's
struck me as vapid and finikin. There were
some pretty groups, but nothing to tempt me to
visit it again.
* * * * *
30. We spent the whole morning at the
Villa Albani, where there is a superb collection
of antique marbles, most of them brought from
the Villa of Adrian at Tivoli. To note down
even a few of the objects which pleased me would
be an endless task. I think the busts interested
me most. There is a basso-relievo of Antinous
the beautiful head declined in his usual pensive
attitude : it is the most finished and faultless piece
of sculpture in relievo, I ever saw ; and as perfect
and as polished as if it came from the chisel
yesterday. There is another basso-relievo of
Marcus Aurelius, and Faustina, equal to the last
in execution but not in interest.
Poor Schadow died yesterday. He caught cold the other
evening at the Duke of Bracciano's uncomfortable ostentatious
palace, where we heard him complaining of the cold of the Mosaic
floors : three days afterwards he was no more. He is universally
regretted. Author's note.
ROME.
We found Rogers in the gardens: the old
poet was sunning himself walking up and down
a beautiful marble portico, lined with works of
art, with his note-book in his hand. I am told he
is now writing a poem of which Italy is the sub-
ject ; and here with all the Campagna di Roma
spread out before him above him, the sunshine
and the cloudless skies and all around him, the
remains of antiquity in a thousand elegant or vene-
rable or fanciful forms : he could not have chosen
a more genial spot for inspiration. Though we
disturbed his poetical reveries rather abruptly, he
met us with his usual amiable courtesy, and con-
versed most delightfully. I never knew him more
pleasant, and never saw him so animated.
Our departure from Rome has been postponed
from day to day in consequence of a trifling acci-
dent. An Austrian colonel was taken by the
banditti near Fondi, and carried up into the
mountains : ten thousand scudi were demanded
for his ransom; and for many days past, the
whole city has been in a state of agitation and
suspense about his ultimate fate. The Austrians,
roused by the insult, sent a large body of troops
(some say three thousand men) against about one
hundred and fifty robbers, threatening to exter-
minate them. They were pursued so closely,
ROME.
that after dragging their unfortunate captive over
the mountains from one fastness to another, till "?
was nearly dead from exhaustion and ill-treatment,
they either abandoned or surrendered him with-
out terms. The troops immediately marched
back to Naples and the matter rests here : I
cannot learn that any thing farther will be done.
The robbers being at present panic-struck by
such unusual energy and activity, ar.d driven from
their accustomed haunts, by these valorous cham-
pions of good order and good policy, it is consi-
dered that the road is now more open and safe than
it has been for some time, and if nothing new
happens to alarm us, we set off on Friday next.
I visited to-day the baths of Dioclesian, and
the noble church which Michel Angelo has con-
structed upon, and out of their gigantic ruins. It
has all that grand simplicity, that entireness which
characterizes his works : it contains too some ad-
mirable pictures. On leaving the church, I saw
on each side of the door, the monuments of
.Salvator Rosa, and Carlo Maratti what a con-
trast do they exhibit in their genius, in their
works, in their characters, in their countenances,
n their lives ! Near this church (the Santa Maria
<lei Angeli) is the superb fountain of the Acqua
Felice, the first view of which rather disappointed
me. I had been told that it represented Moses
ROME.
striking the rock, a magnificent idea for a foun-
tain ! but the execution falls short of the concep-
tion. The water, instead of gushing from the
rock, is poured out from the mouths of two pro-
digious lions of basalt, brought I believe from
Upper Egypt: they seem misplaced here. A
little beyond thePortaPia is the Campo Scelerato,
where the Vestals were interred alive. We after-
wards drove to the Santi Apostoli to see the
tomb of the excellent Ganganelli, by Canova.
Then to Sant' Ignazio, to see the famous ceiling
painted in perspective by the Jesuit Pozzo. The
effect is certainly marvellous, making the interior
appear to the eye, at least twice the height it
really is ; but though the illusion pleased me as
a work of art, I thought the trickery unnecessary
and misplaced. At the magnificent church of the
Gesuiti (where there are two entire columns of
giallo antico) I saw a list of relics for which the
church is celebrated, and whose efficacy and
sanctity were vouched for by a very respectable
catalogue of miracles. Among these relics there
are a few worth mentioning for their oddity, viz.
one of the Virgin's shifts, three of her hairs, and
the skirt of Joseph's coat.
31. We spent nearly the whole day in the
gallery of the Vatican, and in the Pauline and
Sistine chapels.
JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 215
JOURNEY TO NAPLES.
February 1st, at Velletri.
I left Home this morning exceedingly de-
pressed : Madame de Stael may well call travel-
ling un triste plaisir. My depression did not
arise from the feeling that I left behind me any
thing or any person to regret, but from mixed
and melancholy emotions, and partly perhaps
from that weakness which makes my hand tremble
while I write which has bound down my mind,
and all its best powers, and all its faculties of
enjoyment, to a languid passiveness, making me
feel at every moment, I am not what I was, or
ought to be, or might have been.
We arrived after a short and most delightful
journey byAlbano, the Lake Nemi, Gensao, &c.
at Velletri, the birth-place of that wretch Octavius,
and famous for its wine. The day has been as
soft and as sunny as a May day in England, and
the country, through which we travelled but too
rapidly, beyond description lovely. The blue
Mediterranean spread far to ..the west, and on the
right we had the snowy mountains, with their
wild fantastic peaks " rushing on the sky." I felt
it all in my heart with a mixture of sadness and
delight which I cannot express.
216 JOURNEY TO NAPLES.
This land was made by nature a paradise : it
seems to want no charm, " unborrowed from the
eye," but how has memory sanctified, history
illustrated, and poetry illumined the scenes
around us ; where every rivulet had its attendant
nymph, where every wood was protected by its
sylvan divinity ; where every tower has its tale of
heroism, and " not a mountain lifts its head un-
sung;" and though the faith the glory and the
power of the antique time be passed away still
A spirit hangs,
Beautiful region ! o'er thy towns and farms,
Statues and temples, and memorial tombs.
I can allow that one half at least, of the beauty
and interest we see, lies in our own souls ; that it
is our own enthusiasm which sheds this mantle of
light over all we behold : but, as colours do not
exist in the objects themselves, but in the rays
which paint them so beauty is not less real, is
not less BEAUTY, because it exists in the medium
through which we view certain objects, rather
than in those objects themselves. I have met
persons who think they display a vast deal of
common sense, and very uncommon strength of
mind, in rising superior to all prejudices of
education and illusions of romance to whom en_
thusiasm is only another name for affectation
who, where the cultivated and the contemplative
JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 217
mind finds ample matter to excite feeling and
reflection, give themselves airs of fashionable non-
chalance, or flippant scorn to whom the crum-
bling ruin is so much brick and mortar, no more
to whom the tomb of the Horatii and Curiatii is a
stack of chimneys, the Pantheon an old oven, and
the Fountain of Egeria a pig-stye. Are such
persons aware that in all this, there is an affec-
tation a thousand times more gross and contempti-
ble, than that affectation (too frequent perhaps)
which they design to ridicule ?
" Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes,
" He is a slave the meanest we can meet."
2. Our journey to-day has been long, but
delightfully diversified and abounding in classical
beauty and interest. I scarce know what to say,
now that I open my little book to record my own
sensations : they are so many, so various, so pain-
ful, so delicious my senses and my imagination
have been so enchanted, my heart so very heavy
where shall I begin ?
In some of the scenes of to-day at Terracina
particularly, there was beauty beyond what I ever
beheld or imagined : the scenery of Switzerland is
of a different character, and on a different scale :
it is beyond comparison grander, more gigantic,
more overpowering, but it is not so poetical.
L
218 JOURNEY TO NAPLES.
Switzerland is not Italy is not the enchanting
south. This soft balmy air, these myrtles, orange-
groves, palm trees ; these cloudless skies, this
bright blue sea, and sunny hills, all breathe of an
enchanted land; " a land of Faery."
Between Velletri and Terracina the road runs
in one undeviating line through the Pontine
Marshes. The accounts we have of the baneful
effects of the malaria, here, and the absolute
solitude, (not a human face or a human habitation
intervening from one post-house to another), invest
the wild landscape with a frightful and peculiar
character of desolation. As for the mere exterior
of the country, I have seen more wretched and
sterile looking spots, (in France for instance;)
but none that so affected the imagination and the
spirits. On leaving the Pontine Marshes we came
almost suddenly upon the sunny and luxuriant
region near Terracina ; here was the ancient city
of Anxur : and the Gothic ruins of the castle of
Theodoric, which frown on the steep above, are
contrasted with the delicate and Grecian pro-
portions of the temple below. All the country
round is famed in classic and poetic lore. The
Promontory (once poetically the island) of Circe
is still the Monte Circello : here was the region of
the Lestrygons, and the scene of part of the /Eneid
JOURNEY TO NAPLES.
and Odyssey ; and Corinne has superadded ro-
mantic and charming associations quite as delight-
ful, and quite as true.
Antiquarians, who, like politicians. " seem to
see the things that are not," have placed all along
this road, the sites of many a celebrated town and
fane " making hue and cry after many a city
which has run away, and by certain marks and
tokens pursuing to find it :" as some old author
says so quaintly. At every hundred yards, frag-
ments of masonry are seen by the road side ; por-
tions of brick work, sometimes traced at the
bottom of a dry ditch, or incorporated into a
fence ; sometimes peeping above the myrtle bushes
on the wild hills, where the green lizards lie bask-
ing and glittering on them in thousands, and the
stupid ferocious buffalo, with his fierce red eyes
rubs his hide and glares upon us as we pass. No
not the grandest monuments of Rome not the
Coliseum itself, in all its decaying magnificence,
ever inspired me with such profound emotions as
did those nameless, shapeless vestiges of the
dwellings of man, starting up like memorial tombs
in the midst of this savage but luxuriant wilderness.
Of the beautiful cities which rose along this lovely
coast, the colonies of elegant and polished Greece
one after another swallowed up by the "in-
satiate maw" of ancient Rome, nothing remains
220 JOURNEY TO NAPLES.
their sites, their very names have passed away
and perished. We might as well hunt after a
forgotten dream.
Vain was the chiefs, the sage's pride,
They had no POET and they died !
In vain they toil'd, in vain they bled,
They had no POET and are dead.
I write this at Gaeta ; a name famous in the
poetical, the classical, the military story of Italy,
from the days of Mneas, from whom it received
its appellation, down to the annals of the late war-
On the site of our inn, (the Albergo di Cicerone),
stood Cicero's Formian Villa ; and in an adjoining
grove he was murdered in his litter by the satel-
lites of the Triumviri, as he attempted to escape.
I stood to-night on a little terrace, which hung
over an orange grove, and enjoyed a scene which
I would paint, if words were forms, and hues, and
sounds not else. A beautiful bay, enclosed by
the Mola di Gaeta on one side, and the Pro-
montory of Misenum on the other: the sky,
studded with stars, and reflected in a sea as blue
as itself and so glassy and unruffled, it seemed to
slumber in the moon-light: now and then the
murmur of a wave, not hoarsely breaking on rock
and shingles, but kissing the turfy shore, where
oranges, and myrtles grew down to the water
edge. These, and the remembrances connected
JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 221
with all, and a mind to think, and a heart to feel,
and thoughts both of pain and pleasure mingling
to render the effect more deep and touching.
Why should I write this ? O surely I need not
fear that I shall forget !
JOURNEY TO NAPLES.
LINES
WRITTEN AT MOLA DI GAETA, NEAR THE RUINS OF
CICERO'S FORMIAN VILLA.
WE wandered through bright climes, and drank
the beams
Of southern suns : Elysian scenes we view'd,
Such as we picture oft in those day dreams
That haunt the fancy in her wildest mood.
Upon the sea-beat vestiges we stood,
Where Cicero dwelt, and watch'd the latest gleams
Of rosy light steal o'er the azure flood :
And memory conjur'd up most glowing themes,
Filling the expanded heart, till it forgot
Its own peculiar grief! -O! if the dead
Yet haunt our earth, around this hallow'd spot,
Hovers sweet Tully's spirit, since it fled
The Roman Forum Forum now no more !
Though cold and silent be the sands we tread,
Still burns the " eloquent air," and to the shore
There rolls no wave, and through the orange
shade
There sighs no breath, which doth not speak of
him
THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY : and though dim
JOURNEY TO NAPLES.
Her day of empire and her laurel crown
Torn and defaced, and soiled with blood and tears,
And her imperial eagles trampled down
Still with a queen-like grace, Italia wears
Her garland of bright names, her coronal of stars,
(Radiant memorials of departed worth !)
That shed a glory round her pensive brow,
And make her still the worship of the earth!
NAPLES.
Sunday, 3rd.
We left Gaeta early. If the scene was so beau-
tiful in the evening how bright, how lovely it was
this morning ! The sun had not long risen ; and a
soft purple mist hung over part of the sea ; while
to the north and west the land and water sparkled
and glowed in the living light. Some little fishing
boats which had just put off, rocked upon the
glassy sea which lent them a gentle motion, though
itself appeared all mirror-like and motionless. The
orange and lemon trees in full foliage literally bent
over the water ; and it was so warm at half-past
eight that I felt their shade a relief.
After leaving Gaeta, the first place of note is
or was Minturnum, where Marius was taken, con-
cealed in the marshes near it. The marshes re-
main, the city has disappeared. Capua is still a
large town : but it certainly does not keep up its
ancient fame for luxury and good cheer ; for we
found it extremely difficult to procure any thing to
eat. The next town is Avversa, a name unknown,
1 believe, in the classical history of Italy: it was
founded, if I remember rightly, by the Norman
knights. Near this place is or was the convent
where Queen Joanna strangled her husband
NAPLES. 225
Andrea, with a silken cord of her own weaving.
So says the story : won lo credo io.
From Avversa to Naples the country is not in-
teresting ; but fertile and rich beyond description :
an endless succession of vineyards and orange
groves. At length we reached Naples ; all tired
and in a particularly sober and serious mood : we
remembered it was the Sabbath, and had forgotten
that it was the first day of the Carnival ; and great
was our amazement at the scene which met us on
our arrival
I looked, I stared, I smiled, I laughed : and all
The weight of sadness was in wonder lost !
The whole city seemed one vast puppet show ;
and the noisy gaiety of the crowded streets almost
stunned me. One of the first objects we encoun-
tered was a barouche full of Turks and Sultanas,
driven by an old woman in a tawdry court dress as
coachman ; while a merry-andrew and a harlequin
capered behind as footmen. Owing to the im_
mense -ize of the city, and the difficulty of making
our way through the motley throng of masks,
beggars, lazzaroni, eating-stalls, carts and carriages,
we were nearly three hours traversing the streets
before we reached our inn on the Chiaja.
I feel tired and over excited : I have been
standing on my balcony looking out upon the
moon-lit bay, and listening to the mingled shouts,
L5
226 NAPLES.
the laughter, the music all around me ; and think-
ing till I feel in no mood to write.
7. Last night we visited the theatre of San
Carlo. It did not strike me as equal to the Scala
at Milan. The form is not so fine, the extent of
the stage is, or appeared to be less ; but there is
infinitely more gilding and ornament : the mirrors
and lights, and sky blue draperies produce a
splendid effect, and the coup-d'ceil is, on the whole,
more gay, more theatre-like. It was crowded in
every part, and many of the audience were in
dominos and fancy dresses : a few were masked.
Rossini's Barbiere di Seviglia, which contains, I
think, more melody than all his other operas put
together (the Tancredi perhaps excepted), was
most enchantingly sung, and as admirably acted ;
and the beautiful classical ballet of " Niobe and
her Children," would have appeared nothing short
of perfection, had I not seen the Didone Abban-
donata at Milan. But they have no actress here
like the graceful, the expressive Pallerini ; nor any
actor equal to the ^neas of the Scala.
*****
The Austrians, who are paramount here, allow
masks only twice a week, Sundays and Thursdays.
The people seem determined to indemnify them-
. selves for this restriction on their pleasures by
NAPLES.
every allowed excess during the two days of mer-
riment, which their despotic conquerors have
spared them. I am told by M** and S**, our
Italian friends, that the Carnival is now fallen off
from its wild spirit of fanciful gaiety, that it is
stupid, dull, tasteless, in comparison to what it
was formerly, owing to the severity of the Austrian
police. I know nothing about the propriety of
the measures which have been resorted to for
curbing the excesses of the Carnival : I think if
people will run away instead of fighting for their
national rights, they must be content to suffer ac-
cordingly but I meddle not with politics, and with
all my heart abhor them. Whatever the gaieties
of the Carnival may have been formerly, it is
scarce possible to conceive a more fantastic, a
more picturesque, a more laughable scene than
the Strada di Toledo exhibited to-day ; the whole
city seemed to wear "one universal grin;" and
such an incessant fire of sugar plums (or what
seemed such) was carried on, and with such eager-
ness and mimic fury, that when our carriage came
out of the conflict we all looked as if a sack of
flour had been shaken over us. The implements
used in this ridiculous warfare, are for common
purposes, little balls of plaster of Paris and flour,
made to resemble small comfits : friends and ac-
quaintances pelted each other with other with real
228 NAPLES.
confetti, and those of the most delicious and ex-
pensive kinds. A double file of carriages moved
in a contrary direction along the Corso ; a space in
the middle and on each side being left for horse-
men and pedestrians, and the most exact order
was maintained by the guards and police ; so that
if by any chance a carriage lost its place in the line
it was impossible to recover it, and it was imme-
diately obliged to leave the street, and re-enter by
one of the extremities. Besides the warfare car-
ried on below, the balconies on each side were
crowded with people in gay or grotesque dresses,
who had sacks of bon-bons before them, from
which they showered vollies upon those beneath,
or aimed across the street at each other: some
of them filled their handkerchiefs, and then dex-
terously loosening the corners, and taking a certain
aim, flung a volley at once. This was like a can-
non loaded with grape-shot, and never failed to do
the most terrific execution.
Among the splendid and fanciful equipages of
the masqueraders, was one, containing the Duke
of Monteleone's family, in the form of a ship, richly
ornamented, and drawn by six horses mounted by
masks for postillions. The fore part of the vessel
contained the Duke's party, dressed in various gay
costumes, as Tartar warriors and Indian queens.
In the stern were the servants and attendants, tra-
NAPLES. 229
vestied in the most grotesque and ludicrous style.
This magnificent and unwieldy car had by some
chance lost its place in the procession, and vainly
endeavoured to whip in ; as it is a point of honour
among the charioteers not to yield the pas. Our
coachman, however, was ordered (though most
unwilling) to draw up and make way for it ; and
this little civility was acknowledged, not only by a
profusion of bows, but by such a shower of de-
licious sugar plums, that the seats of our carriage
were literally covered with them, and some of the
gentlemen flung into our laps elegant little bas-
kets, fastened with ribbons, and filled with ex-
quisite sweet-meats. I could not enter into all
this with much spirit : " non son io quel ch'un
tempo fui .-" but I was an amused, though a quiet
spectator; and sometimes saw much more than
those who were actually engaged in the battle. I
observed that to-day our carriage became an ob-
ject of attention, and a favourite point of attack
to several parties on foot, and in carriages ; and I
was at no loss to discover the reason. I had with
me a lovely girl, whose truly English style of
beauty, her brilliant bloom heightened by her
eager animation, her lips dimpled with a thousand
smiles, and her whole countenance radiant with
glee and mischievous archness, made her an ob-
ject of admiration, which the English expressed
230 NAPLES.
by a fixed stare, and the Italians by sympathetic
smiles, nods, and all the usual superlatives of de-
light. Among our most potent and malignant
adversaries, was a troop of elegant masks in a
long open carriage, the form of which was totally
concealed by the boughs of laurel, and wreaths of
artificial flowers, with which it was covered. It
was drawn by six fine horses, fancifully capa-
risoned, ornamented with plumes of feathers, and
led by grotesque masks. In the carriage stood
twelve persons in black silk dominos, black hats,
^and black masks; with plumes of crimson feathers,
and rich crimson sashes. They were armed with
small painted targets and tin tubes, from which
they shot vollies of confetti, in such quantities,
and with such dexterous aim that we were almost
overwhelmed whenever we passed them. It was
in vain we returned the compliment ; our small
shot rattled on their masks, or bounded from their
shields, producing only shouts of laughter at our
expense.
A favourite style of mask here, is the dress of
an English sailor, straw hats, blue jackets, white
trowsers, and very white masks with pink cheeks :
we saw hundreds in this whimsical costume.
13- On driving home rather late this evening,
and leaving the noise, the crowds, the confusion
and festive folly of the Strada di Toledo, we
NAPLES. 231
came suddenly upon a scene, which from its
beauty, no less than by the force of contrast,
strongly impressed my imagination. The shore
was silent, and almost solitary : the bay as smooth
as a mirror, and as still as a frozen lake ; the sky,
the sea, the mountains round were all of the same
hue, a soft grey tinged with violet, except where
the sunset had left a narrow crimson streak along
the edge of the sea. There was not a breeze,
not the slightest breath of air, and a single vessel,
a frigate with all its white sails crowded, lay mo-
tionless as a monument on the bosom of the waters,
in which it was reflected as in a mirror. I have
seen the bay more splendidly beautiful; but I
never saw so peculiar, so lovely a picture. It
lasted but a short time : the transparent purple
veil became a dusky pall, and night and shadow
gradually enveloped the whole.*
*****
How I love these resplendent skies and blue
seas ! Nature here seems to celebrate a continual
Festa, and to be for ever decked out in holiday
costume ! A drive along the " sempre beat a Her-
* A chasm occurs here of about twenty pages, which in the
original MS. are torn out. Nearly the whole of what was written
at Naples has suffered mutilation, or has been purposely effaced ;
so that in many parts only a detached sentence, or a few words, are
legible in the course of several pages. EDITOR.
232 NAPLES.
gellina" to the extremity of the Promontory of
Pausilippo is positive enchantment: thence we
looked over a landscape of such splendid and un-
equalled interest! the shores of Baia, where
Cicero, Horace, Virgil, Pliny, Mecaenas, lived ;
the white towers of Puzzuoli and the Islands of
Ischia, Procida, and Nisida. There was the
Sybil's Cave, Lake Acheron, and the fabled
Lethe; there the Sepulchre of Misenus, who
defied the Triton; and the scene of the whole
Sixth book of the ^Eneid, which I am now reading
in Annibal Caro's translation: there Agrippina
mourned Germanicus ; and there her daughter
fell a victim to her monster of a son. At our feet
lay the lovely little Island of Nisida, the spot on
which Brutus and Portia parted for the last time
before the battle of Philippi.
To the south of the bay the scenery is not
less magnificent, and scarcely less dear to memory :
Naples, rising from the sea like an amphitheatre of
white palaces and towers and glittering domes:
beyond, Mount Vesuvius, with the smoke curling
from its summit like a silver cloud, and forming the
only speck upon the intense blue sky ; along its
base Portici, Annunziata, Torre del Greco, glitter
in the sun, every white building almost every
window in every building, distinct to the eye at the
distance of several miles : farther on, and perched
NAPLES. 33
like white nests on the mountainous promontory,
lie Castel a Mare, and Sorrento, the birth-place of
Tasso, and his asylum when the injuries of his
cold-hearted persecutors had stung him to mad-
ness, and drove him here for refuge to the arms
of his sister. Yet farther on, Capua rises from
the sea, a beautiful object in itself, but from which
the fancy gladly turns to dwell again upon the
snowy buildings of Sorrento.
O de la liberte vieille et sainte patrie !
Terre autrefois feconde en sublimes vertus !
Sous d'indignes Cesars maintenant asservie
Ton empire est tomb6 ! tes heros ne sont plus !
Mais dans son sein 1'ame aggrandie
Croit sur leurs monumens respirer leur genie*
Comme on respire encore dans un temple aboli
La Majeste du Dieu dont il etait rempli.
DE LA MARTINE.
234 NAPLES.
THE
SONG OF THE SYREN PARTHENOPE.
A RHAPSODY,
WRITTEN AT NAPLES.
Mine are these waves, and mine the twilight
depths
O'er which they roll, and all these tufted isles
That lift their backs like dolphins from the deep,
And all these sunny shores that gird us round !
Listen ! O listen to the Sea-maid's shell !
Ye who have wander'd hither from far climes,
(Where the coy summer yields but half her sweets)j
To breathe my bland luxurious airs, and drink
My sun-beams ! and to revel in a land
Where nature deck'd out like a bride to meet
Her lover- -lays forth all her charms, and smiles
Languidly bright, voluptuously gay,
Sweet to the sense and tender to the heart.
Listen! O listen to the Sea-maid's shell;
Ye who have fled your natal shores in hate
Or anger, urged by pale disease, or want,
Or grief, that clinging like the spectre bat,
Sucks drop by drop the life-blood from the heart
And hither come to leani forgetfulness
NAPLES. 235
Or to prolong existence ! ye shall find
Both Though the spring Lethean flow no more,
There is a power in these entrancing skies
And murmuring waters and delicious airs,
Felt in the dancing spirits and the blood,
And falling on the lacerated heart
Like balm, until that life becomes a boon,
Which elsewhere is a burthen and a curse.
Hear then O ! hear the Sea-maid's airy shell,
Listen, O listen! 'tis the Syren sings,
,The spirit of the deep Parthenope -
She who did once i'the dreamy days of old
Sport on these golden sands beneath the moon,
Or pour'd the ravishing music of her song
Over the silent waters ; and bequeath'd
To all these sunny capes and dazzling shores
Her own immortal beauty, and her name.
*#.##*
236 NAPLES.
This is the last day of the Carnival, the last
night of the opera : the people are permitted to go
in masks, and after the performances there will be
a ball. To-day when Baldi was describing the
excesses which usually take place during the last
few hours of the Carnival, he said " the man who
has but half a shirt will pawn it to-night to buy a
good supper and an opera-ticket : to morrow for
fish and soup-maigre fasting and repentance !"
Saturday 23. I have just seen a most mag-
nificent sight ; one which I have often dreamed of,
often longed to behold, and having beheld, never
shall forget. Mount Vesuvius is at this moment
blazing like a huge furnace ; throwing up every
minute, or half minute, columns of fire and red hot
stones, which fall in showers and bound down the
side of the mountain. On the east, there are two
distinct streams of lava descending, which glow
with almost a white heat, and every burst of flame
is accompanied by a sound resembling cannon at a
distance.
I can hardly write, my mind is so overflowing
with astonishment, admiration, and sublime plea-
sure : what a scene as I looked out on the bay
from the Santa Lucia ! On one side, the evening
star and the thread-like crescent of the new moon
were setting together over Pausilippo, reflected in
NAPLES. 237
lines of silver radiance on the blue sea ; on the
other the broad train of fierce red light glared
upon the water with a fitful splendour, as the ex-
plosions were more or less violent : before me all
was so soft, so lovely, so tranquil! while I had
only to turn my head to be awe-struck by the con-
vulsion of fighting elements.
I remember, that on our first arrival at Naples,
I was disappointed because Vesuvius did not
smoke so much as I had been led to expect from
pictures and descriptions. The smoke then lay
like a scarcely perceptible cloud on the highest
point, or rose in a slender white column ; to-day,
and yesterday, it has rolled from the crater in
black volumes, mixing with the clouds above and
darkening the sky.
Half-past Twelve. I have walked out again :
the blaze from the crater is less vivid ; but there
are now four streams of lava issuing from it, which
have united in two broad currents, one of which
extends below the Hermitage. It is probable that
by to-morrow night it will have reached the lower
part of the mountain.
Sunday, 24. Just returned from chapel at the
English Ambassador's, where the service was read
by a dandy clergyman to a crowd of fine and super-
fine ladies and gentlemen crushed together into a
hot room. I never saw extravagance in dress
238 NAPLES.
carried to such a pitch as it is by my country-
women here, whether they dress at the men or
against each other, it is equally bad taste. The
sermon to-day was very appropriate, from the
text, " Take ye no thought what ye shall eat, or
what ye shall drink, or what ye shall put on,'
and I dare say, it was listened to with singular
edification.
5 o'clock. We have been driving along the
Strada Nuova in L**'s britchka, whence we had
a fine view of Vesuvius. There are tremendous
bursts of smoke from the crater. At one time the
whole mountain, down to the very base was almost
enveloped, and the atmosphere round it loaded
with the vapour, which seemed to issue in volumes
half as large as the mountain itself. If horses are
to be had we go up to-night.
Monday Night. I am not in a humour to de-
scribe, or give way to any poetical flights, but I
must endeavour to give a faithful, sober, and cir-
cumstantial account of our last night's expedition,
while the impression is yet fresh on my mind;
though there is, I think, little danger of my for-
getting. We procured horses, which, from the
number of persons proceeding on the same errand
with ourselves, was a matter of some difficulty. We
set out at seven in the evening in an open car-
riage, and almost the whole way we had the
NAPLES. 239
mountain before us, spouting fire to a prodigious
height. The road was crowded with groups of
people who had come out from the city and en-
virons to take a nearer view of the magnificent
spectacle, and numbers were hurrying to and fro
in those little flying corricoli which are peculiar to
Naples. As we approached, the explosions be-
came more and more vivid, and at every tre-
mendous burst of fire our friend L** jumped half
off his seat, making most loud and characteristic
exclamations, "By Jove! a magnificent fellow!
now for it, whizz ! there he goes, sky high, by
George !" The rest of the party were equally en-
thusiastic in a different style ; and I sat silent and
quiet from absolute inability to express what I felt. I
was almost breathless with wonder, and excitement,
and impatience to be nearer the scene of action.
While my eyes were fixed on the mountain, my
attention was, from time to time, excited by
regular rows of small shining lights, six or eight
in number, creeping, as it seemed, along the edge
of the stream of lava ; and, when contrasted with
the red blaze which rose behind, and the gigantic
black back-ground, looking like a procession of
glow-worms. These were the torches of travel-
lers ascending the mountain, and I longed to be
one of them.
We reached Resina a little before nine, and
240 NAPLES.
alighted from the carriage ; the ascent being so
rugged and dangerous, that only asses and mules
accustomed to the road are used. Two only were
in waiting at the moment we arrived, which L**
immediately secured for me and himself; and
though reluctant to proceed without the rest of the
party, we were compelled to go on before, that we
might not lose time, or hazard the loss of our
monture. We set off then, each with two atten-
dants, a man to lead our animals and a torch-
bearer. The road, as we ascended, became more
and more steep at every step, being over a stream
of lava, intermixed with stones and ashes, and the
darkness added to the difficulty. But how shall I
describe the scene and the people who surrounded
us ? the landscape partially lighted by a fearful
red glare, the precipitous and winding road bor-
dered by wild-looking gigantic aloes, projecting
their huge spear-like leaves almost across our
path, and our lazzaroni attendants with their shrill
shouts and strange dresses, and wild jargon, and
striking features, and dark eyes flashing in the
gleam of the torches, which they flung round their
heads to prevent their being extinguished, formed
a scene so new, so extraordinary, so like ro-
mance, that my attention was frequently drawn
from the mountain, though blazing in all its tu-
multuous magnificence.
NAPLES. 24'1
The explosions succeeded each other with ter-
rific rapidity about two in every three minutes ;
and the noise I can only compare to the roaring
and hissing of ten thousand imprisoned winds,
mingled at times with a rumbling sound like
artillery, or distant thunder. It frequently hap-
pened that the guides, in dashing their torches
against the ground, set fire to the dried thorns and
withered grass, and the blaze ran along the earth
like wild-fire, to the great alarm of poor L**, who
saw in every burning bush a stream of lava rushing
to overwhelm us.
Before eleven o'clock we reached the Her-
mitage, situated between Vesuvius and the Som-
ma, and the highest habitation on the mountain.
A great number of men were assembled within, and
guides, lazzaroni, servants, and soldiers were
lounging round. I alighted, for I was benumbed
and tired, but did not like to venture among those
people, and it was proposed that we should wait
for the rest of our party a little further on. We
accordingly left our donkeys and walked for-
ward upon a kind of high ridge which serves to
fortify the Hermitage and its environs against
the lava. From this path as we slowly ascended,
we had a glorious view of the eruption and the
whole scene around us, in its romantic interest
and terrible magnificence mocked all power of
M
NAPLES.
description. There were, at this time five dis-
tinct torrents of lava rolling down like streams of
molten lead; one of which extended above two
miles below us and was flowing towards Portici.
The showers of red hot stones flew up like
thousands of sky rockets : many of them being
shot up perpendicularly fell back into the crater,
others falling on the outside bounded down the
side of the mountain with a velocity which would
have distanced a horse at full speed : these stones
were of every size, from two to ten or twelve feet
in diameter.
My ears were by this time wearied and stunned
by the unceasing roaring and hissing of the flames,
while my eyes were dazzled by the glare of the
red, fierce light : now and then I turned them for
relief to other features of the picture, to the black
shadowy masses of the landscape stretched be-
neath us, and speckled with shining lights, which
shewed how many were up and watching that
night ; and often to the calm vaulted sky above
our heads, where thousands of stars, (not twink-
ling as through our hazy or frosty atmosphere,
but shining out of " Heaven's profoundest azure,"
with that soft steady brilliance peculiar to a highly
rarified medium,) looked down upon this frightful
turmoil in all their bright and placid loveliness.
Nor should I forget one other feature of a scene,
NAPLES. 243
on which I looked with a painter's eye. Great
numbers of the Austrian forces, now occupying
Naples, were on the mountain, assembled in
groups, some standing, some sitting, some stretched
on the ground and wrapped in their cloaks, in
various attitudes of amazement and admiration:
and as the shadowy glare fell on their tall martial
figures and glittering accoutrements, I thought I
had never beheld any thing so wildly picturesque.
The remainder of our party not yet appear-
ing, we sent back for our asses and guides, and
determined to proceed. About half a mile beyond
our companions came up, and here a division took
place ; some agreeing to go forward, the rest turn-
ing back to wait at the Hermitage. I was of
course one of those who advanced. My spirits
were again raised, and the grand object of all this
daring and anxiety was to approach near enough
to a stream of lava to have some idea of its con-
sistency, and the manner in which it flowed, or
trickled down. The difficulties of our road now
increased " if road that might be called, which
road was none," but black loose ashes, and masses
of scoria and lava heaped in ridges, or broken
into hollows in a manner not to be described.
Even my animal, though used to the path, felt
his footing at every step, and if the torch was by
accident extinguished, he stopped, and nothing
244 NAPLES.
could make him move. My guide, Andrea, was
very vigilant and attentive, and, in the few words
of Italian he knew, encouraged me, and assured
me there was no danger. I had, however, no
fear : in fact I was infinitely too much interested
to have been alive to danger, had it really existed.
Salvador well known to all who have visited Mount
Vesuvius, had been engaged by Mr. R. as his
guide. He is the principal cicerone on the
mountain. It is his business to despatch to the
king every three hours, a regular account of the
height of the eruption, the progress, extent, and
direction of the lava, and, in short, the most
minute particulars. He also corresponds, as he
assured me, with Sir Humphry Davy;* and is
employed to inform him of every interesting phe-
nomenon which takes place on the mountain.
This man has resided at the foot of it, and been
principal guide for thirty three years, and knows
every inch of its territory.
As the lava had overflowed the usual footpath
leading to that conical eminence which forms the
summit of the mountain and the exterior of the
crater, we were obliged to alight from our sagacious
steeds ; and, trusting to our feet, walked over the
Was the letter addressed ' Alia Sua Excellenza Seromfridevi,'
which caused so much perplexity at the Post Office and British
Museum, and exercised the acumen of a minister of state, from
Salvador to his illustrious correspondent]
NAPLES. 24*5
ashes for about a quarter of a mile. The path,
or the ground rather, for there was no path, was
now dangerous to the inexperienced foot; and
Salvador gallantly took me under his peculiar
care. He led me on before the rest, and I
followed with confidence. Our object was to
reach the edge of a stream of lava, formed of two
currents united in a point. It was glowing with
an intense heat ; and flowing, not with such ra-
pidity as to alarm us, but rather slowly, and by
fits and starts. Trickling in short, is the word
which expresses its motion : if one can fancy it
applied to any object on so large a scale.
At this time the eruption was at its extreme
height. The column of fire was from a quarter to
a third of a mile high ; and the stones were thrown
up to the height of a mile and a quarter. I passed
close to a rock about four feet in diameter, which
had rolled down some time before : it was still red
hot, and I stopped to warm my hands at it. At a
short distance from it lay another stone or rock,
also red hot, but six times the size. I walked on
first with Salvador, till we were within a few yards
of the lava at this moment a prodigious stone,
followed by two or three smaller ones, came rolling
down upon us with terrific velocity. The gentle-
men and guides all ran ; my first impulse was to
run too ; but Salvador called to me to stop and see
246 NAPLES.
what direction the stone would take. I saw the
reason of his advice and stopped. In less than a
second he seized my arm and hurried me back five
or six yards. I heard the whizzing sound of the
stone as it rushed down behind me. A little far-
ther on it met with an impediment, against which
it bolted with such force, that it flew up into the
air to a great height, and fell in a shower of red
hot fragments. All this passed in a moment : I
have shuddered since when I have thought of that
moment ; but at the time, I saw the danger with-
out the slightest sensation of terror. I remember
the ridiculous figures of the men, as they scrambled
over the ridges of scoria ; and was struck by Sal-
vador's exclamation, who shouted to them in a
tone which would have become Caesar himself,
" die tema ! Sono Salvador !"*
We did not attempt to turn back again : which
I should have done without any hesitation if any
one had proposed it. To have come thus far, and
to be so near the object I had in view, and then
to run away at the first alarm ! it was a little pro-
voking. The road was extremely dangerous in
the descent. I was obliged to walk part of the
way, as the guides advised, and but for Salvador,
and the interesting information he gave me from
time to time, I think I should have been over-
* Quid times ? &c.
NAPLES. 247
powered. He amused and fixed my attention, by
his intelligent conversation, his assiduity and soli-
citude for my comfort, and the naivete and self-
complacency with which his information was con-
veyed. He told me he had visited Mount ^Etna
(en amateur) during the last great eruption of that
mountain, and acknowledged with laudable can-
dour, that Vesuvius in its grandest moments, was
a mere bonfire in comparison : the whole cone of
Vesuvius, he said, was not larger than some of the
masses of rock he had seen whirled from the cra-
ter of Mount ^Etna, and rolling down its sides.
He frequently made me stop and look back : and
here I should observe that our guides seemed as
proud of the performances of the mountain, and as
anxious to shew it oflf to the best advantage, as
the keeper of a menagerie is of the tricks of his
dancing bear, or the proprietor of * Solomon in
all his glory' of his raree-show. Their enthusiastic
shouts and exclamations would have kept up my
interest had it flagged. " O veda, Signora ! O
bella ! O stupenda !" The last great burst of fire
was accompanied by a fresh overflow of lava,
which issued from the crater, on the west side, in
two broad streams, and united a few hundred feet
below, taking the direction of Torre del Greco.
After this explosion the eruption subsided, and the
mountain seemed to repose : now and then showers
248 NAPLES.
of stones flew up, but to no great height, and un-
accompanied by any vivid flames. There was a
dull red light over the mouth of the crater, round
which the smoke rolled in dense tumultuous
volumes, and then blew off to wards the southwest.
After a slow and difficult descent, we reached
the Hermitage. I was so exhausted that I was glad
to rest for a few minutes. My good friend Salva-
dor, brought me a glass of Lachryma Christi and
the leg of a chicken ; and with recruited spirits we
mounted our animals and again started.
The descent was infinitely more slow and diffi-
cult than the ascent, and much more trying to the
nerves. I had not Salvador at my side, nor the
mountain before me, to beguile me from my fears ;
at length I prevailed on one of our attendants, a fine
tall figure of a man, to sing to me; and though he
had been up the mountain six times in the course
of the day, he sang delightfully and with great
spirit and expression, as he strided along with his
hand upon my bridle, accompanied by a magnifi-
cent rumbling bass from the mountain which every
now and then, drowned the melody of his voice,
and made me start. It was past three when we
reached Resina, and nearly five when we got
home : yet I rose this morning at my usual hour,
and do not feel much fatigued. About twelve to-
day I saw Mount Vesuvius, looking as quiet and
NAPLES. 249
placid as the first time I viewed it. There was
little smoke, and neither the glowing lava nor the
flames were visible in the glare of the sunshine.
The atmosphere was perfectly clear, and as I
gazed, almost misdoubting my senses, I could
scarcely believe in the reality of the tremendous
scene I had witnessed but a few hours before.
26. The eruption burst forth again to-day,
and is exceedingly grand ; though not equal to
what it was on Sunday night. The smoke rises
from the crater, in dense black masses, and the
wind having veered a few points to the southward,
it is now driven in the direction of Naples. At
the moment I write this, the skies are obscured by
rolling vapours, and the sun which is now setting
just opposite to Vesuvius, shines, as I have seen
him, through a London mist, red, and shorn of
his beams. The sea is angry and discoloured;
the day most oppressively sultry, and the atmos-
phere thick, sulphureous, and loaded with an al-
most impalpable dust, which falls on the paper as
I write.
March 4. We have had delicious weather al-
most ever since we arrived at Naples, but these
last three days have been perfectly heavenly. I
never saw or felt any thing like the enchantment
of the earth, air, and skies. The mountain has
M5
250 NAPLES.
been perfectly still, the atmosphere without a single
cloud, the fresh verdure bursting forth all around
us, and every breeze visits the senses, as if laden
with a renovating spirit of life, and wafted from
Elysium. Whoever would truly enjoy nature,
should see her in this delicious land: ' Ou la plus
douce nuit succede au plus beau jour ;" for here
she seems to keep holiday all the year round. To
stand upon my balcony, looking out upon the sun-
shine, and the glorious bay ; the blue sea, and the
pure skies and to feel that indefinite sensation
of excitement, that superflu de vie, quickening every
pulse and thrilling through every nerve, is a plea-
sure peculiar to this climate, where the mere con-
sciousness of existence is happiness enough. Then
evening comes on, lighted by a moon and starry
heavens, whose softness, richness, and splendour,
are not to be conceived by those who have lived
always in the vapoury atmosphere of England
dear England ! I love, like an Englishwoman, its
fire-side enjoyments, and home-felt delights : an
English drawing-room with all its luxurious com-
forts carpets and hearth rugs, curtains let down,
sofas wheeled round, and a group of family faces
round a blazing fire, is a delightful picture ; but
for the languid frame, and the sick heart, give me
this pure elastic air " redolent of spring ;" this re-
NAPLES. 251
viving sunshine and all the witchery of these deep
blue skies !
Numbers of people set off post haste from
Rome to see the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, and
arrived here Wednesday and Thursday ; just time
enough to be too late. Among them our Roman
friend Frattino, who has afforded me more amuse-
ment than all our other acquaintance together,
and deserves a niche in my gallery of characters.
Frattino is a young Englishman who, if he
were in England, would probably be pursuing his
studies at Eton or Oxford, for he is scarce past
the age of boyhood ; but having been abroad since
he was twelve years old, and early plunged into
active and dissipated life, he is an accomplished
man of fashion, and of the world, with as ma,ny airs
and caprices as a spoiled child. He is by far the
most beautiful creature of his sex, I ever saw ; so
like the Antinous, that at Rome he went by that
name. The exquisite regularity of his features,
the graceful air of his head, his antique curls, the
faultless proportions of his elegant figure, make
him a thing to be gazed on, as one looks at a
statue. Then he possesses talents, wit, taste, and
information: the most polished and captivating
manners, where he wishes to attract, high honour
and generosity, where women are not concerned,
252 NAPLES.
and all the advantages attending on rank and
wealth : but under this fascinating exterior I sus-
pect our Frattino to be a very worthless as well as
a very unhappy being. While he pleases, he re-
pels me. There is a want of heart about him, a
want of fixed principles a degree of profligacy,
of selfishness, of fickleness, caprice, and ill temper,
and an excess of vanity, which all his courtly ad-
dress and savoirfaire cannot hide. What would
be insufferable in another, is in him bearable, and
even interesting and amusing : such is the charm
of manner. But all this cannot last : and I should
not be surprised to see Frattino a few years hence,
emerge from his foreign frippery, throw aside his
libertine folly, assume his seat in the senate, and
his rank in British society ; and be the very cha-
racter >he now affects to despise and ridicule "a
true-bred Englishman, who rides a thorough-bred
horse."
Our excursion to Pompeii yesterday, was " a
Pic-nic party of pleasure," a VAnglaise. Now a
party of pleasure is proverbially a bore : and our
expedition was in the beginning, so unpromising,
so mismanagedour party so numerous, and com-
posed of such a heterogeneous mixture of opposite
tempers, tastes, and characters, that I was in pain
for the result. The day, however, turned out
NAPLES. 253
more pleasant than I expected : exterior polish
supplied the want of something better, and our
excursion had its pleasures, though they were not
such as I should have sought at Pompeii. I felt
myself a simple unit among many, and found it
easier to sympathise with others, than to make a
dozen others sympathise with me.
We were twelve in number, distributed in
three light barouches, and reached Pompeii in
about two hours and a half passing by the foot
of Vesuvius, through Portici, Torre del Greco,
and L'Annonziata. The streams of lava, which
overwhelmed Torre del Greco in 1794, are still
black and barren ; but the town itself is rising
from its ruins ; and the very lava which destroyed
it serves as the material to rebuild it.
We entered Pompeii by the street of the
tombs : near them are the semicircular seats, so
admirably adapted for conversation, that I wonder
we have not sofas on a similar plan, and similar
scale. I need not dwell on particulars, which
are to be found in every book of travels : on the
whole, my expectations were surpassed, though
my curiosity was not half gratified.
The most interesting thing I saw in fact the
only thing, for which paintings and descriptions
had not previously prepared me, was a building
which has been excavated within the last fort-
254 NAPLES.
night : it is only partly laid open, and labourers
are now at work upon it. Antiquarians have not
yet pronounced on its name and design ; but I
should imagine it to be some public edifice, per-
haps dedicated to religious purposes. The
paintings on the walls are the finest which have
yet been discovered: they are exquisitely and
tastefully designed ; and though executed merely
for effect, that effect is beautiful. I remarked one
female figure in the act of entering a half open
door: she is represented with pencils and a
palette of colours in her hand, similar to those
which artists now use: another very graceful
female holds a lyre of peculiar construction.
These I presume were two of the muses : the
rest remained hidden. There were two small
pannels occupied by sea-pieces, with gallies ; and
two charming landscapes, so well coloured and
drawn with such knowledge of perspective and
effect, that if we may form a comparative idea of
the best pictures, from these specimens of taste
and skill in mere house-painting, the ancients must
have excelled us as much in painting as in sculp-
ture. I remarked on the wall of an entrance or
corridor, a dog starting at a wreathed and crested
snake, vividly coloured and full of spirit and ex-
pression. While I lingered here a little behind
the rest, and most reluctant to depart, a ragged
NAPLES. 255
lazzarone boy came up to me, and seizing my
dress pointed to a corner, and made signs that he
had something to shew me. I followed him to a
spot where a quantity of dust and ashes was piled
against a wall. He began to scratch away this
heap of dirt with hands and nails, much after the
manner of an ape, every now and then looking up
in my face and grinning. The impediment being
cleared away, there appeared on the wall behind,
a most beautiful aerial figure with floating dra-
pery, representing either Fame or Victory : but
before I had time to examine it, the little rogue
flung the earth up again so as to conceal it com-
pletely, then pointing significantly at the other
workmen, he nodded, shrugged, gesticulated, and
held out both his paws for a recompense, which I
gave him willingly ; at the same time laughing and
shaking my head to shew I understood his
knavery. I rewarded him apparently beyond
his hopes, for he followed me down the street,
bowing, grinning, and cutting capers like a
young savage.
The streets of Pompeii are narrow, the houses
are very small, and the rooms, though often deco-
rated with exquisite taste, are constructed without
any regard to what we should term comfort and
convenience ; they are dark, confined, and seldom
communicate with each other, but have a general
256 NAPLES.
communication with a portico, running round a
central court. This court is in general beautifully
paved with mosaic, having a fountain or basin in
the middle, and possibly answered the purpose of
a drawing-room. It is evident that the ancient
inhabitants of this lovely country, lived like their
descendants mostly in the open air, and met toge-
ther in their public walks, or in the forums, and
theatres. If they saw company, the guests pro-
bably assembled under the porticos, or in the
court round the fountain. The houses seem con-
structed on the same principle as birds construct
their nests; as places of retreat and shelter,
rather than of assemblage and recreation : the
grand object was to exclude the sunbeams, and
this which gives such gloomy and chilling ideas in
our northern climes, must here have been deli-
cious.
Hurried on by a hungry, noisy, merry party,
we at length reached the Caserna, (the ancient
barracks, or as Forsyth will have it, the praeto-
rium). The central court of this building has
been converted into a garden ; and here, under a
weeping willow, our dinner table was spread.
Where Englishmen are, there will be good cheer
if possible ; and our banquet was in truth most
luxurious. Besides more substantial cates, we
had oysters from Lake Lucrine, and classically
NAPLES. 257
excellent they were ; London bottled porter, and
half a dozen different kinds of wine. Our dinner
went off most gaily, but no order was kept after-
wards : the purpose of our expedition seemed to
be forgotten in general mirth : many witty things
were said and done, and many merry ones, and
not a few silly ones. We visited the beautiful
public walk and the platform of the old temple of
Hercules ; (I call it old because it was a ruin when
Pompeii was entire :) the Temple of Isis, the Thea-
tres, the Forum, the Basilica, the Amphitheatre,
which is in a perfect state of preservation, and
more elliptical in form than any of those I have
yet seen, and the School of Eloquence, where
R** mounted the rostrum, and gave us an oration
extempore, equally pithy, classical and comical.
About sun-set we got into the carriages and re-
turned to Naples.
Of all the heavenly days we have had since
we came to Naples, this has been the most hea-
venly : arid of all the lovely scenes I have beheld
in Italy, what I saw to-day has most enchanted
my senses and imagination. The view from the
eminence on which the old temple stood, and
which was anciently the public promenade, was
splendidly beautiful : the whole landscape was at
one time overflowed with light and sunshine ;
258 NAPLES.
and appeared as if seen through an impalpable
but dazzling veil. Towards evening the outlines
became more distinct: the little white towns
perched upon the hills, the gentle sea, the fairy
island of Rivegliano with its old tower, the smok_
ing crater of Vesuvius, the bold forms of Mount
Lactarius and Cape Minerva, stood out full and
clear under the cloudless sky : as we returned, I
saw the sun sink behind Capri, which appeared
by some optical illusion like a glorious crimson
transparency suspended above the horizon : the
sky, the earth, the sea, were flushed with the
richest rose colour, which gradually softened and
darkened into purple : the short twilight faded
away, and the full moon, rising over Vesuvius,
lighted up the scenery with a softer radiance.
Thus ended a day which was not without its
pleasures : yet had I planned a party of pleasure
to Pompeii, methinks I could have managed better.
Par exemple, I would have deferred it a fortnight
later, or till the vines were in leaf; I would have
chosen for my companions two or at most three
persons whom I could name, whose cultivated
minds and happy tempers would have heightened
their own enjoyment and mine. After spending a
few hours in taking a general view of the whole
city, we would have sat down on the platform of
NAPLES. 259
the old Greek Temple which commands a view of
the mountains and the bay ; or, if the heat were
too powerful, under the shade of the hill near it.
There we would make our cheerful and elegant
repast, on bread and fruits, and perhaps a bottle
of Malvoisie or Champagne : the rest of the day
should be devoted to a minute examination of the
principal objects of interest and curiosity: we
would wait till the shadows of evening had begun
to steal over the scene, purpling the mountains
and the sea ; we would linger there to enjoy all
the splendours of an Italian sunset; and then,
with minds softened and elevated by the loveliness
and solemnity of the scenes around, we would get
into our carriage, and drive back to Naples be-
neath the bright full moon ; and, by the way, we
would " talk the flowing heart," and make our
recollections of the olden time, our deep impres-
sions of the past, heighten our enjoyment of the
present : and this would be indeed a day of plea-
sure, of such pleasure as I think I am capable of
feeling of imparting of remembering with un-
mixed delight. Such was not yesterday.
* # * # ^ #
M** brought with him this evening for our
amusement, an old man, a native of Cento, who
gains his livelihood by a curious exhibition of his
peculiar talents. He is blind, and plays well on
260 NAPLES.
the violin : he can recite the whole of the Gerusa-
lemme from beginning to end without missing a
word : he can repeat any given stanza or number
of stanzas either forwards or backwards : he can
repeat the last words one after another of any
stanza or stanzas : if you give him the first word
and the last, he can name immediately the particu-
lar line, stanza, and book : lastly, he can tell in-
stantly the exact number of words contained in
any given stanza. This exhibition was at first
amusing ; but as I soon found that the man's head
was a mere machine, that he was destitute of ima-
gination, and that far from feeling the beauty of
the poet, he did not even understand the meaning
of the lines he thus repeated up and down, and
backwards and forwards, it ceased to interest me,
after the first sensations of surprise and curiosity
were over.
After I had read Italian with Signior B** this
evening, he amused me exceedingly by detailing
to me the plans of two tragedies he is now writing
or about to write. He has already produced one
piece on the story of Boadicea, which is rather a
drama than a regular tragedy. It was acted here
with great success. After giving his drama due
praise, I described to him the plan and characters
of Fletcher's Bonduca: and attempted to give
NAPLES. 261
him in Italian some idea of the most striking
scenes of that admirable play : he was alternately
in enchantment and despair, and I thought he
would have torn and bitten his Boadicea to pieces,
in the excess of his vivacity.
The subject of one of his tragedies is to be
the Sicilian Vespers. Casimir de Vigne, who
wrote Les Fepres Siciliens, which obtained some
years ago such amazing popularity at Paris, and
in which the national vanity of the French is flat-
tered at the expense of the Italians, received a
pension from Louis XVIII. B** spoke with
contempt of Casimir de Vigne's tragedy, and with
indignation of what he called " his wilful misre-
presentation of history." He is determined to
give the reverse of the picture : the French will
be represented as " gente crudelitirannioppres-
sori^enzafede-," Giovanni di Procida, as a hero
and patriot, a I' antique, and the Sicilians as rising
in defence of their freedom and national honour.
The other tragedy is to be founded on the history
of the famous Congiura del Baroni in the reign of
Ferdinand the First, as related by Giannone.
The simple facts of this history need not any or-
naments, borrowed from invention or poetry to
form a most interesting tale, and furnish ample
materials for a beautiful tragedy, in incident, cha-
262 NAPLES.
racters, and situations. B** is a little man,
dwarfish and almost deformed in person ; but full
of talent, spirit, and enthusiasm. I asked him
why he did not immediately finish these tragedies,
which appeared from the sketches he had given
me, so admirably calculated to succeed. He
replied, that under the present regime, he dared
not write up to his own conceptions; and if he
curbed his genius, he could do nothing : " be-
sides," added he mournfully, " I have no time;
I am poor poverissimo! I must work hard all to-
day to supply the wants of to-morrow : I am al-
ready surveillk by the police, as a known liberal
and literato" " Davvero," added he gaily, " I
would soon do, or say, or write something to
attract the honour of their more particular notice,
if I could be certain they would only imprison
me for a couple of years, and ensure me during
that time a blanket, bread and water, and the use
of pen and ink : then I would write ! I would
write! dalla mattina alia sera-, and thank my
gaolers as my best friends : but pens are poig-
nards, ink is poison in the eyes of the present go-
vernment ; imprisonment for life, or banishment is
the least I could expect. Now the mere idea of
imprisonment for life would kill me in a week, and
banishment! Ah lungi dalla mia bella Patria,
NAPLES. 263
come cantare ! come scrivere ! come vivere ! moriro
io anzi neW momenta di partire .'"
******
I drove to-day, tete-a-tete with Laura, to the
Lago d'Agnano ; about a mile and a half beyond
Pausilippo. This lovely fair lake is not more than
two miles in circuit ; and embosomed in romantic
woody hills : innumerable flocks of wild fowl were
skimming over its surface, and gave life and motion
to the beautiful but quiet landscape. While we
were wandering here, enjoying the stillness and
solitude, so delightfully contrasted with the un-
ceasing noise, bustle, and crowd of the city, the
charm was rudely broken by the appearance of
the king ; who, attended by a numerous party of
his guards and huntsmen, had been wild boar
shooting in the neighbouring woods. The water-
fowl, scared by the report of fire arms, speedily
disappeared, and the guards shouted to each
other, and galloped round the smooth sloping
banks; cutting up the turf with their horses' hoofs,
and deforming the whole scene with uproar, con-
fusion, and affright. Devoutly did I wish them
all twenty miles off. The famous Grotto del Cane
is on the south bank of the lake, a few yards from
the edge of the water. We saw the torch, when
held in the vapour, instantaneously extinguished.
The ground all round the entrance of the grotto
264 NAPLES.
is hot to the touch; and when I plunged my hand
into the deleterious gas, which rises about a foot,
or a foot and a half above the surface of the
ground, it was so warm I was glad to withdraw it.
The disagreeable old woman who shewed us this
place, brought with her a wretched dog with a
rope round his neck, bleared eyes, thin ribs, and
altogether of a most pitiful aspect. She was most
anxious to exhibit the common but cruel experi-
ment of suspended animation, by holding his head
over the mephitic vapour, insisting that he was
accustomed to it, and even liked it ? of course, we
would not suffer it. The poor animal made no
resistance ; only drooped his head, and put his
tail between his legs, when his tyrant attempted
to seize him.
Though now so soft, so lovely, and so tranquil,
the Lago d'Agnano owes its existence to some
terrible convulsion of the elements. The basin is
the crater of a sunken volcano, which, bursting
forth here, swallowed up a whole city. And the
whole region round, bears evident marks of its
volcanic origin.
******
This morning we visited several churches, not
one of them worthy of a remark. The archi-
tecture is invariably in the vilest taste ; and the
interior decorations, if possible, still worse : white-
NAPLES. 265
washing, gilding, and gaudy colours, every where
prevail. We saw however, some good pictures-
At the San Gennaro are the famous frescos of
Domenichino and Lanfranco : the church itself is
hideous. At the Girolomini there is no want of
magnificence and ornament ; but a barbarous mis-
application of both as usual. The church of the
convent of Santa Chiara was painted in fresco by
Ghiotto: it is now white-washed all over. At
this church, which I first visited during the merry
days of the carnival, I saw a large figure of our
Saviour suspended on the cross, dressed in a
crimson domino, and blue sash. To what a pitch,
thought I, must die love of white-washing and
masquerading be carried in this strange city,
where the Deity himself is burlesqued, and bad
taste is carried to profanation ! To-day I saw the
same crucifix in a suit of mourning : why should
not our South Sea Missionaries come and preach
here ?
The church of San Severo is falling to ruins,
owing to some defect in the architecture. It is
only remarkable for containing three celebrated
statues. The man enveloped in a net, and the
Pudicita, draped from head to foot, pleased me
only as specimens of the patience and ingenuity
of the sculptor. The dead Christ covered with
a veil, by Corradini, has a merit of a higher class
N
266 NAPLES.
it is most painful to look upon ; and affected me
so strongly, that I was obliged to leave the church,
and go into the air.
I went to-day with two agreeable and intelli-
gent friends, to take leave of the Studio and the
Museum. I have often resolved not to make my
little journal a mere catalogue of objects, which are
to be found inany pocket guide, and bought for a
few pence ; but I cannot resist the temptation of
making a few notes of admiration, and commemo-
ration, for my own peculiar use.
The Gallery of Painting contains few pictures ;
but among them are some master-pieces. The
St. John of Leonardo da Vinci, (exquisite as it
is, considered as a mere painting,) provoked me.
I am sick of his eternal simpering face : the aspect
is that of a Ganymede or a young Bacchus ; and
if instead of Ecce dgnus Dei, they had written over
it, Ecce Vinum bonum, all would have been in
character.
How I coveted the beautiful " Caritd," the
Capo d'Opera of Schidone ! and next to it, Par-
megiano's Gouvernante a delicious picture. A
portrait of Columbus, said to be by the aame
master, is not like him I am sure ; for the phy-
siognomy is vacant and disagreeable. Domeni-
chino's large picture of The Angel shielding
Innocence from a Demon pleases me, as all his
NAPLES. 267
pictures do but not perfectly : the devil in the
corner, with his fork and hoofs and horns, shocks
my taste as a ludicrous and vulgar idea, far re-
moved from poetry ; but the figure of the angel
stretching a shield over the infant, is charming.
There are also two fine Claudes, two Holy
Families, by Raffaelle, in his sweetest style ; and
one by Correggio, scarcely less beautiful.
The Gallery of Sculpture is so rich in chef-
d'ceuvres, that to particularise would be a vain at-
tempt. Passing over those which every one knows
by heart, the statue of Aristides struck me most.
It was found in Herculaneum ; and is marked with
ferruginous stains, as if by the action of fire or the
burning lava ; but it is otherwise uninjured, and
grave yet graceful simplicity of the figure and
attitude, and the extreme elegance of the drapery,
are truly Grecian. It is the union of power with
repose of perfect grace with perfect simplicity,
which distinguishes the ancient from the modern
style of sculpture. The sitting Agrippina, for
example, furnished Canova with the model for his
statue of Madame Letitia the two statues are,
in point of fact, nearly the same, except that Ca-
nova has turned Madame Letitia's head a ^little
on one side ; and by this single and trifling altera-
tion has destroyed that quiet and beautiful sim-
NAPLES.
plicity which distinguishes the original, and given
his statue at once a modern air.
The Flora Farnese is hadly placed, in a space
too confined for its size, and too near the eye ; so
that the exquisite harmony and delicacy of the
figure are partly lost in its colossal proportions :
it should he placed at the end of a long gallery or
vista.
There is here a statue of Nero when he was
ten years old ; from which it would seem that he
was not hy nature the monster he afterwards be-
came. The features are beautiful ; and the ex-
pression all candour and sweetness.
One statue struck me exceedingly not by
the choice of the subject, nor the beauty of the
workmanship, but from its wonderful force of ex-
pression. It is a dying gladiator; but very
different from the Gladiator of the Capitol. The
latter declines gradually, and sickens into death ;
but memory and feeling are not yet extinct : and
what thoughts may pass through that brain,
while life is thus languishing away ! what emotions
may yet dwell upon the last beatings of that heart !
it is the sentiment which gives such profound
pathos to that matchless statue ; but the gladia-
tor of the Studii has only physical expression:
it is sudden death in all its horrors : the figure is
NAPLES.
still erect, though the mortal blow has been given :
the sword has dropt from the powerless hand;
the limbs are stiffening in death : the eyes are
glazed ; the features fixed in an expression of
mortal agony; and in another moment you ex-
pect the figure to fall at your feet.
The Venus, the Hercules, the Atlas, the An-
tinous (not equal to that in the Capitol,) the Gany-
mede, the Apollo, the equestrian statues of the
two Balbi, &c. are all familiar to my imagination,
from the numerous copies and models I have seen :
but the most interesting department of the Mu-
seum is the collection of antiques from Hercu-
laneum and Pompeii, which have lately been re-
moved nither from Portici. One room contains
specimens of cooking utensils, portable kitchens,
tripods, instruments of sacrifice, small bronze
Lares, and Penates, urns, lamps, and candelabras
of the most elegant forms, and the most exquisite
workmanship. Another room contains specimens
of ancient armour, children's toys, &c. I re-
marked here a helmet which I imagine formed part
of a trophy ; or at least was intended for ornament
rather than use. It is exceedingly heavy; and
on it is represented in the most exquisite relievo
the War of Troy. Benvenuto Cellini himself
never produced any thing equal to the chased
work on this helmet.
270 NAPLES.
In a third room is the paraphernalia of a lady's
toilette : mirrors of different sizes, fragments of
combs, a small crystal box of rouge, &c. Then
follow flutes and pipes, all carved out of bone, sur-
gical instruments, moulds for pastry, sculptors'
tools, locks and keys, bells, &c.
The room containing the antique glass, asto-
nished me more than any thing else. I knew that
glass was an ancient invention : but I thought that
its application to domestic purposes was of modern
date. Here I found window panes, taken from
the Villa of Diomed at Pompeii; bottles of every
size and form, white and coloured ; pitchers and
vases : necklaces : imitations of gems ; &c.
There is a little jeu d'esprit of Voltaire's " La
Toilette de Madame de Pompadour," in which he
wittily exalts the moderns above the ancients, and
ridicules their ignorance of the luxuries and com-
forts of life : but Voltaire had not seen the mu-
seum of Portici. We can add few distinct articles
to the list of comforts and luxuries it contains :
though it must be confessed that we have improved
upon them, and varied them ad in/initum. In
those departments of the mechanics which are in
any way connected with the fine arts, the anci-
ents appear to have attained perfection. To them
belongs the invention of all that embellishes life,
of all the graceful forms of imitative art, varied
NAPLES. 271
with such exquisite taste, such boundless fertility
of fancy, that nothing is left to us but to refine
upon their ideas, and copy their creations. With
all our new invented machines, and engines, we
can do little more than what the ancients per-
formed without them.
I ought not to forget one room containing some
objects, more curious and amusing than beautiful,
principally from Pompeii, such as loaves of bread,
reduced to a black cinder, figs in the same state,
grain of different kinds, colours from a painter's
room, ear-rings and bracelets, gems, specimens
of mosaic, &c. &c.
March 7. Frattino brought me to-day the last
numbers of the Edinburgh and Quarterly Re-
views : a great treat so far from home. Both
contain some clever essays : among them, an arti-
cle on prisons, in the Edinburgh, interested me
most.
Methinks these two Reviews stalk through the
literary world, like the two giants in Pulci's Mor-
gante Maggiore : the one pounding, slaying,
mangling, despoiling with blind fury, like the
heavy orthodox club-armed Morgante; the other,
like the sneering, witty, half-pagan, half-baptized
Margutte, slashing and cutting, and piercing
through thick and thin; a tort et a traveri.
272 NAPLES.
Truly the simile is more apropos than I thought
when it first occurred to me.
I went the other day to a circulating library
and reading-room kept here by a little cross French-
woman, and asked to see a catalogue. She shewed
me first, a list of all the books, Italian, French,
and English, she was allowed to keep and sell : it
was a thin pamphlet of about one hundred pages.
She then shewed me the catalogue of prohibited
books, which was at least as thick as a good sized
octavo. The book to which I wished to refer,
was the second volume of Robertson's Charles the
Fifth. After some hesitation, Madame P** led
me into a back room ; and opening a sliding pan-
nel, discovered a shelf let into the wall, on which
were arranged a number of authors, chiefly Eng-
lish and French. I was not surprised to find
Rousseau and Voltaire among them ; but am still
at a loss to guess what Robertson has done or
written to entitle him to a place in such select
company.
8th. Forsyth might well say that Naples has
no parallel on earth. Viewed from the sea it
appears like an amphitheatre of palaces, temples
and castles, raised one above another, by the
wand of a necromancer : viewed within, Naples
gives me the idea of a vast Bartholomew fair.
No street in London is ever so crowded as I have
NAPLES. 273
seen the streets of Naples. It is a crowd which
has no pause or cessation : early in the morning,
late at night, it is ever the same. The whole
population seems poured into the streets and
squares ; all business and amusement is carried on
in the open air: all those minute details of do-
mestic life, which, in England, are confined within
the sacred precincts of home, are here displayed
to public view. Here people buy and sell, and
work, wash, wring, brew, bake, fry, dress, eat,
drink, sleep, &c. &c. all in the open streets.
We see every hour, such comical, indescribable,
appalling sights ; such strange figures, such wild
physiognomies, picturesque dresses, attitudes and
groups and eyes no ! I never saw such eyes
before, as I saw to-day, half languor and half
fire, in the head of a ruffian Lazzarone, and
a ragged Calabrian beggar girl. They would
have embrase half London or Paris.
I know not whether it be incipient illness,
or the enervating effects of this soft climate, but
I feel unusually weak, and the least exertion or
excitement is not only disagreeable but painful-
While the rest were at Capo di Monte, I stood
upon my balcony looking out upon the lovely
scene before me, with a kind of pensive dreamy
rapture, which if not quite pleasure, had at least
274 NAPLES*
a power to banish pain : and thus hours passed
away insensibly
" As if the moving time had been
A thing as steadfast as the scene,
On which we gazed ourselves away."*
All my activity of mind, all my faculties of
thought and feeling and suffering, seemed lost and
swallowed up in an indolent delicious reverie,
a sort of vague and languid enjoyment, the true
" dolce far niente" of this enchanting climate.
I stood so long leaning on my elbow without
moving, that my arm has been stiff all day in
consequence.
" How I wish" said I this evening, when they
drew aside the curtain " that I might view the
sunset from my sofa, and sky, earth and ocean,
seemed to commingle in floods of glorious light
how I wish I could transport those skies to
England !" Cruelle ! exclaimed an Italian behind
me, otez nous noire beau del, tout est perdu pour
nous.
******
Wordsworth.
NAPLES. 275
THE LAST EVENING AT NAPLES.
Yes Laura ! draw the shade aside
And let me gaze while yet I may,
Upon that gently heaving tide,
Upon that glorious sun-lit bay.
Land of Romance ! enchanting shore !
Fair scenes, near which I linger yet !
Never shall I behold ye more,
Never this last last look forget !
What tho' the clouds that o'er me lour,
Have tinged ye with a mournful hue,
Deep in my heart I felt your power,
And bless ye, while I sigh Adieu !
276 VELLETRI.
Velletri, March 13.
It is now a week since I opened my little book.
Ever since the 9th I have been seriously ill : and
yesterday morning I left Naples still low and
much indisposed, but glad of a change which
should substitute any external excitement, how-
ever painful, to that unutterable dying away of the
heart and paralysis of the mind which I have
suffered for some days past. When we turned
into the Strada Chiaja, and I gave a last glance at
the magnificent bay and the shores all resplendent
with golden light; I could almost have exclaimed
like Eve " must I then leave thee, Paradise !" and
dropped a few natural tears tears of weakness, ra-
ther than of grief : for what do I leave behind
me worthy one emotion of regret? Even at Naples,
even in this all-lovely land " fit haunt for gods,"
has it not been with me as it has been elsewhere ?
as long as the excitement of change and novelty
lasts, my heart can turn from itself " to luxuriate
with indifferent things :" but it cannot last long :
and when it is over, I suffer, I am ill : the past
returns with tenfold gloom; interposing like a
dark shade between me and every object : an evil
VELLETRI. 277
power seems to reside in every thing I see, to tor-
ment me with painful associations, to perplex my
faculties, to irritate and mock me with the percep-
tion of what is lost to me : the very sunshine
sickens me, and I am forced to confess myself
weak and miserable as ever. O time ! how slowly
you move ! how little you can do for me ! and how
bitter is that sorrow which has no relief to hope
but from time alone !
Last night we reached Mola di Gaeta, which
looked even more beautiful than before, in the
eyes of all but one, whose senses were blinded and
dulled by dejection, lassitude, and sickness. When
I felt myself passively led along the shore, placed
where the eye might range at freedom over the liv-
ing and rejoicing landscape when I heard myself
repeating mechanically the exclamations of others,
and felt no ray of beauty, no sense of pleasure
penetrate to my heart shall I own, even to my-
self, the mixture of anguish and terror with which
I shrunk back, conscious of the waste within me ?
The conviction that now it was all over, that the
last and only pleasures hitherto left to me had
perished, that my mind was contracted by the
selfishness of despondency, and my quick spirit of
enjoyment utterly subdued into apathy, gave me
for a moment a pang sharper than if a keen knife
had cut me to the quick; and then I relapsed
278 VELLETRI.
into a kind of torpid languor of mind and frame,
which I thought was resignation, and as such in-
dulged it.
From my bed this morning I stepped out upon
my balcony just as the sun was rising, I wished
to convince myself whether the beauty on which I
had lately looked with such admiration and delight,
had indeed lost all power to touch my heart. The
impression made upon my mind at that instant I
can only compare to the rolling away of a palpable
and suffocating cloud: every thing on which I
looked had the freshness and brightness of novelty :
a glory beyond its own was again diffused over the
enchanting scene from the stores of my own im-
agination : the sea breeze which blew against my
temples, new strung every nerve ; and I left Mola
with a heart so lightened and so grateful, that not
for hours afterwards, not till fatigue and hurry had
again wearied down my spirits, did that impression
of happy thankfulness pass away.
I am sensible I owed this sudden renovation of
health, solely to the contemplation of nature ; and
a true feeling for all the " maggior pompa" she
has poured forth over this glorious region. The
shores of Terracina, the azure sea, dancing in the
breeze, the waves rolling to our feet, the sublime
cliffs, the fleet of forty sail stretching away till lost
in the blaze of the horizon, the Circean promon-
VELLETRI. 279
tory, even the picturesque fisherman whom we
saw throwing his nets from an insulated rock at
some distance from the shore, and whom a very
trifling exertion of fancy might have converted into
some sea divinity, a Glaucus, or a Proteus, formed
altogether a picture of the most wonderful and
luxuriant beauty. In England there is a peculiar
charm in the soft aerial perspective, which even in
the broadest glare of noonday, blends and masses
the forms of the distant landscape ; and in that
mingling of colours into a cool neutral grey tint so
grateful to the eye. Hence it has happened that
in some of the Italian pictures I have seen in Eng-
land, I have often been struck by what appeared
to me a violence in the colouring, and a sharp de-
cision in the outline, o'erstepping the modesty of
nature that is, of English nature: but there is in
this climate a prismatic splendour of tint, a glori-
ous all-embracing light, a vivid distinctness of out-
line, something in the reality more gorgeous, glow-
ing, and luxuriant, than poetry could dare to ex-
press or painting imitate.
" Ah that such beauty, varying in the light
Of living nature, cannot be pourtrayed
By words, nor by the pencil's silent skiH ;
But is the property of those alone
Who have beheld it, noted it with care,
And in their minds recorded it with love."
WORDSWORTH.
280 VELLETRI.
And now we have left the enchanting south ;
myrtle hedges, palm trees, orange groves, bright
Mediterranean, all adieu ! How, under other cir-
cumstances, should I regret you, with what reluc-
tance should I leave you, thus half explored, half
enjoyed ! but now other thoughts engross me, the
hard struggle to overcome myself, or at least to
appear the thing I am not.
Man has done what he can to deform this lovely
region. The most horrible places we have yet
met with are Itri and Fondi, which look like re-
cesses of depravity and dirt ; and the houses more
like the dens and kennels of wild beasts, than the
habitations of civilized human beings. In fact the
populace of these towns consists chiefly of the
families of the briganti. The women we saw here
were bold coarse Amazons ; and the few men who
appeared, had a slouching gait, and looked at us
from under their eye-brows with an expression at
once cunning and fierce. We met many begging
friars horrible specimens of their species : alto-
gether I never beheld such a desperate set of
canaille as appear to have congregated in these
two wretched towns.
At Mola I remarked several beautiful women.
Their head-dress is singularly graceful : the hair
being plaited round the back of the head, and there
VELLETRI. 281
fastened with two silver pins, much in the manner
of some of the ancient statues. The costume of
the peasantry, there, and all the way to Rome, is
very striking and picturesque. I remember one
woman whom I saw standing at her door spinning
with her distaff: her long black hair floating
down from its confinement, was spread over her
shoulders ; not hanging in a dishevelled and sloven-
ly style, but in the most rich and luxuriant tresses.
Her attitude as she stood suspending her work to
gaze at me, as I gazed at her with open admiration,
was graceful and dignified; and her form and
features would have been a model for a Juno or a
Minerva.*
* Beyond Fondi I remarked among the wild myrtle-covered
hills, a wreath of white smoke rise as if from under ground ; and I
asked the postillion what it meant ? He replied with an expressive
gesture, Signora, i briganti ! I thought this was a mere trick to
alarm us : but it was truth : within twenty hours after we had passed
the spot, a carriage was attacked ; and a desperate struggle took
place between the banditti and the sentinels who are placed at re-
gular distances along the road, and within hearing of each other.
Several men were killed, but the robbers at length were obliged to
fly-
VELLETRI.
LINES.
Quench'd is our light of youth !
And fled our days of pleasure,
When all was hope and truth,
And trusting without measure.
Blindly we believed
Words of fondness spoken-
Cruel hearts deceived,
So our peace was broken !
What can charm us more ?
Life hath lost its sweetness !
Weary lags the hour
" Time hath lost its fleetness ! "
As the buds in May
Were the joys we cherish'd,
Sweet but frail as they,
Thus they pass'd and perish'd !
And the few bright hours,
Wintry age can number,
Sickly, senseless flowers
Lingering through December !
ROME. 283
Rome, March 15.
We arrived here yesterday morning about one,
after a short but delightful journey from Velletri.
We have now a suite of apartments in the Hotel
d* Europe; and our accommodations are in all
respects excellent, almost equal to Schneiderf s
at Florence.
On entering Rome through the gate of the
Lateran, I was struck by the emptiness and still-
ness of the streets, contrasted with those of
Naples ; and still more by the architectural gran-
deur and beauty which every where meet the eye.
This is at it should be : the merry, noisy, half-
naked, merry-andrew set of ragamuffins which
crowd the streets and shores of Naples, would
strangely misbecome the desolate majesty of the
" Eternal City." Though we now reside in the
most fashionable and frequented part of Rome,
the sound of carts and carriages is seldom heard.
After nine in the evening a profound stillness
reigns ; and I distinguish nothing from my win-
dow but the splashing of the Fountain della
Barchetta.
The weather is lovely; we were obliged to
284 ROME,
close our Venetian blinds against the heat at eight
this morning, and afterwards we drove to the
gardens of the Villa Borghese where we wandered
about in search of coolness and shade.
6. I must now descend to the common oc-
currences of our every-day life.
For the last week we have generally spent the
whole or part of every morning, in some of the
galleries of art ; and the afternoon in the gardens
of the neighbouring villas. Those of the Villa
Medici have their vicinity to our inn, and their fine
air to recommend them. From the Villa Land,
and the Monte Mario, we have a splendid view of
the whole city and Campagna of Rome. The
Pope's gardens on the Monte Cavallo, are pleasant,
accessible, and very private : the gardens of the
Villa Pamfili, are enchanting ; but our usual haunt
is the garden of the Villa Borghese. In this de-
lightful spot we find shade and privacy, or sun-
shine and society, as we may feel inclined. To-
day it was intensely hot ; and we found the cool
sequestered walks and alleys of cypress and ilex,
perfectly delicious. I spread my shawl upon a green
bank, carpeted with violets, and lounged in most
luxurious indolence. I had a book with me, but
felt no inclination to read. The soft air, the trick-
ling and murmuring of innumerable fountains, the
ROME. 285
urns, the temples, the statues the localities of the
scene all dispose the mind to a kind of vague but
delightful reverie to which we "find no end, in
wandering mazes lost."
In these gardens we frequently meet the Prin-
cess Pauline ; sometimes alone but oftener sur-
rounded by a cortege of beaux. She is no longer
the " Venere Vincitrice" of Canova; but her face
though faded, is pretty and intelligent ; and she
still preserves the " andar celeste," and all the
distinguished elegance of her petite and graceful
figure. Of the stories told of her, I suppose one
half may be true and that half is quite enough.
She is rather more famous for her gallantries, than
for her bon-gout in the choice of her favourites ;
but it is justice to Pauline to add that her native
benevolence of heart seems to have survived all
her frailties ; and every one who speaks of her
here, even those who must condemn her, mention
her in a tone of kindness, and even of respect.
She is still in deep mourning for the Emperor.
The Villa Pamfili is about two miles from
Rome on the other side of the Monte Gianicolo.
The gardens are laid out in the artificial style of
Italian gardening, a style which in England would
horrify me as in the vilest, and most old fashioned
taste stiff, cold, unnatural, and altogether de-
testable. Through what inconsistency or perver-
286 ROME.
sity of taste is it then, that I am enchanted with
the fantastic elegance, and the picturesque gaiety
of the Pamfili gardens ; where sportive art revels,
and runs wild amid the luxuriance of nature ? Or
is it, as I would rather believe, because these long
arcades of verdure, these close walls of laurel,
pervious to the air, but impervious to the sun-
shine, these broad umbrageous avenues and mar-
ble terraces, these paved grottoes and ever trick-
ling fountains, these gods and nymphs, and urns
and sarcophagi, meeting us at every turn with
some classical or poetical association, harmonise
with the climate and the country, and the minds
of the people ; and are comfortable and consistent
as a well carpeted drawing-room and a warm
chimney-corner would be in England ?
" But it is all so artificial and unnatural"
Agreed: so are our yellow unsheltered gravel
walks meandering through smooth shaven lawns,
which have no other beauty than that of being dry
when every other place is wet ; our shapeless
flower beds so elaborately irregular, our clumps
and dots of trees, and dwarfish shrubberies. I
have seen some over-dressed grounds and gardens
in England, the perpetrations of Capability Brown
and his imitators, the landscape gardeners, quite
as bad as anything I see here, only in a different
style, and certainly more adapted to England and
ROME. 287
English taste. I must confess, that in these en-
chanting gardens of the Villa Pamfili, a little less
" ingenuity and artifice" would be better. I hate
mere tricks and gimcrackery, of which there are a
few instances, such as their hydraulic music, jets-
d'eau- water-works that play occasionally to the
astonishment of children and the profit of the gar-
deners but how different after all are these Italian
gardens to the miserable grandeur, and senseless
tasteless parade of Versailles !
In these gardens an interesting discovery has
just been made; an extensive burial place, or
columbarium, in singular preservation. The skele-
tons and ashes have not been removed. Some of
the tombs are painted in fresco, others floored
with very pretty mosaic. The disposition of the
urns is curious : they are imbedded in the masonry
of the wall with moveable lids. On a tile I found
the name of Sextus Pompeius, in letters beau-
tifully formed, and deeply and distinctly cut, and an
inscription which I was not Latinist enough to
translate accurately, but from which it appears that
these columbaria belonged to a branch of the
Pompey family.
27. To-day after English Chapel I took a
walk to the San Gregorio, on the other side of the
Palatine, which since I first came to Rome has
been to me a favourite and chosen spot. I sat
288 ROME.
down on the steps of the church to rest, and
enjoy at leisure the fine view of the hill and ruins
opposite. Arches on arches, a wilderness of de-
solation ! and mingled with the massive fragments
of the halls and towers of the Caesars, were young
shrubs just putting on their brightest green, and
the almond trees covered with their gay blossoms,
and the cloudless resplendent skies bending over
all.
I tried to sketch the scene before me, but
could not form a stroke. I cannot now take a
short walk without feeling its ill effects : and my
hand shook so much from nervous weakness, that
after a few vain efforts to steady it, I sorrowfully
gave up the attempt. On returning home by the
Coliseum, and through the Forum and Capitol,
I met many things I should wish to remember.
After all, what place is like Rome, where it is im-
possible to move a step without meeting with some
incident or object to excite reflection, to enchant
the eye, or interest the imagination ? Rome may
yield to Naples or Florence in mere external
beauty, but every other spot on earth, Athens
perhaps alone excepted, must yield to Rome in
interest.
28. This morning we walked down to the
Studio of M. Wagenal, to see the^Egina marbles;
ROME. 289
which as objects of curiosity, interested me ex-
tremely. These statues are on a . smaller scale
than I expected, being not much more than half
the size of life, but of better workmanship, and
in a style of sculpture altogether different from
any thing I ever saw before. They formed the
ornaments of the pediment of the temple of
Jupiter in the island of ^Egina, and represented
a group of fighting and dying warriors, with an
armed Pallas in the centre : but the subject is not
known.
The execution of these statues must evidently
be referred to the earliest ages of Grecian art ;
to a period when sculpture was confined to the
exact imitation of natural forms. Several of the
figures were extremely spirited, and very correct
both in design and execution; but there is no
attempt at grace, and a total deficiency of ideal
beauty : in the Pallas especially, the drapery and
forms, are but one remove from the cold formal
Etruscan style, which in its turn is but one re-
move from the yet more tasteless Egyptian. I
think it was at the Villa Albani, I saw the singular
Etruscan basso-relievo which I was able to com-
pare mentally with what I saw to-day; and the
resemblance in manner struck me immediately.
Thorwaldson is now restoring these marbles in
the most admirable style for the King of Bavaria,
290 ROME.
to whom they were sold by Messrs. Cockerel and
Linkh (the original discoverers) for 8000/.
Gibson, the celebrated English sculptor, joined
us while looking at the ./Egina marbles, and ac-
companied us to the studio of Pozzi, the Floren-
tine statuary. Here I saw several instances of
that affected and meretricious taste which prevails
too much among the foreign sculptors. I remem-
ber one example almost ludicrous, a female Satyr
with her hair turned up behind and dressed in
the last Parisian fashion ; as if she had just come
from under the hands of Monsieur Hyppolite. By
the same hand which committed this odd solecisrn,
I saw a statue of Moses, now modelling in clay,
which if finished in marble in a style worthy of
its conception, and if not spoiled by some affected
niceties in the execution, will be a magnificent
and sublime work of art.
Gibson afterwards shewed us round his own stu-
dio : his exquisite group of Psyche borne away by
the Zephyrs enchanted me. The. necessity which
exists for supporting all the figures has rendered it
impossible to give them the same aerial lightness, I
have seen in paintings of the same subject, yet
they are all but aerial. Psyche was criticised by
two or three of our party: but I thought her
faultless : she is a lovely timid girl ; and as she
leans on her airy supporters, she seems to contem-
ROME. 291
plate her flight down the precipice, half shrink-
ing, though secure. Mr. W** told me that in the
original design, the left foot of one of the Ze-
phyrs rested upon the ground : and that Canova
coming in by chance while Gibson was working
on the model, lifted it up, and this simple and
masterly alteration has imparted the most exqui-
site lightness to the attitude.
Gibson was Canova's favourite pupil : he has
quite the air of a genius : plain features, but a
countenance all beaming with fire, spirit and in-
telligence. His Psyche remains still in the model,
as he has not yet found a patron munificent
enough to order it in marble ; at which I greatly
wonder. Could I but afford to bestow seven
hundred pounds on my own gratification, I would
have given him the order on the spot.*
30. Yesterday we dined alfresco in the Pam-
fili gardens : and though our party was rather too
large, it was well assorted, and the day went ofFad-
mirably. The queen of our feast was in high good
humour, and irresistible in charms ; Frattino very
fascinating, T** was caustic and witty, W** lively
and clever, Sir J** mild, intelligent and elegant,
V** as usual, quiet, sensible and self-complacent*
L** as absurd and assiduous as ever. Every body
* It is understood that this beautiful group has since been
executed in marble for Sir George Beaumont. EDITOR.
292 ROME.
played their part well, each by a tacit conven-
tion sacrificing to the amour propre of the rest.
Every individual really occupied with his own
particular role, but all apparently happy and mu-
tually pleased. Vanity and selfishness, indiffe-
rence and ennui, were veiled under a general
mask of good humour and good breeding, and the
flowery bonds of politeness and gallantry, held
together those who knew no common tie of
thought or interest; and when parted (as they
soon will be, north, south, east and west,) will
probably never meet again in this world; and
whether they do or not, who thinks or cares?
Our luxurious dinner, washed down by a com-
petent proportion of Malvoisie and Champagne,
was spread upon the grass, which was literally
the flowery turf, being covered with violets, iris,
and anemones of every dye. Instead of changing
our plates, we washed them in a beautiful fountain
which murmured near us, having first by a liba-
tion propitiated the presiding nymph for this pol-
lution of her limpid waters. For my own peculiar
taste there were too many servants (who on these
occasions are always de trop\ too many luxuries,
too much fuss ; but considering the style and
number of our party it was all consistently
and admirably managed : the grouping of the
company, picturesque because unpremeditated,
ROME. 293
the scenery round, the arcades and bowers and
columns and fountains, had an air altogether quite
poetical and romantic ; and put me in mind of
some of Watteau's beautiful garden-pieces, and
Stothard's fetes-champetres.
To me the day was not a day of pleasure ; for
the small stock of strength and spirits with which
I set out was soon exhausted, and the rest of the
day was wasted in efforts to appear cheerful and
support myself to the end, lest I should spoil the
general mirth : on all I looked with complacency
tinged with my habitual melancholy. What I
most admired was the delicious view, from an
eminence in the wildest part of the gardens, over
the city and Campagna to the blue Appenines,
where Frascati and Albano peeped forth like
nests of white buildings glittering upon a rich
back ground, tinted with blue and purple; the
hill where Cato's villa stood, and still called the
Portian Hill, and on the highest point the ruined
temple of Jupiter Latialis visible at the distance
of seventeen miles, and shining in the setting sun
like burnished gold. What I most felt and en-
joyed was the luxurious temperature of the at-
mosphere, the purity and brilliance of the skies,
the delicious security with which I threw myself
down on the turf without fear of damp and cold,
and the thankful consciousness, that neither the
294 ROME.
light or worldly beings round me, nor the sadness
which weighed down my own heart, had quite
deadened my once quick sense of pleasure, but
left me still some perception of the splendour and
classical interest of the glorious scenes around me,
combined as it was with all the enchantment of
natural beauty
The music and the bloom
"And all the mighty ravishment of spring."
ROME. 295
TOLSE AI MARTIRI OGNI CONFIN, CHI AL CORE TO-
GLIER POTEO LA LIBERTA DEL PIANTO !
O ye blue luxurious skies !
Sparkling fountains,
Snow-capp'd mountains,
Classic shades that round me rise !
Towers and temples, hills and groves,
Scenes of glory
Fam'd in story,
Where the eye enchanted roves !
O thou rich embroider'd earth !
Opening flowers,
Leafy bowers,
Sights of gladness, sounds of mirth !
Why to my desponding heart,
Darkly thinking,
Sadly sinking,
Can ye no delight impart ?*
Written on an old pedestal in the gardens of the Villa
Pamfili, yesterday, (March 29th.)
296 ROME.
Sunday 31. To-day the Holy week begins, and
a kind of programma of the usual ceremonies of
each day was laid on my toilette this morning.
The bill of fare for this day runs thns :
" Domenica delle Palme, nel Capella Papale
nel Palazzo Apostolico, canta messa un Cardinal
Prete. II Sommo Pontefice fa la benedizione
delle Palme, con processione per la Sala ttegia."
I gave up going to the English service accord-
ingly, and consented to accompany R** and V**
to the Pope's Chapel. We entered just as the
ceremony of blessing the palms was going on : a
cardinal officiated for the poor old Pope who is at
present ill.
After the palms had been duly blessed, they
were carried in procession round the splendid
anti-chamber, called the Sala Regia; meantime
the chapel doors were closed upon them, and on
their return, they (not the palms, but the priests,)
knocked and demanded entrance in a fine recita-
tive; two of the principal voices replied from
within ; the choir without sung a response, and
after a moment's silence the doors were opened
and the service went on.
This was very trivial and tedious. Rospo
said, very truly, that the procession in Blue Beard
was much better got up. All these processions
sound very fine in mere description, but in the
ROME. 97
reality there is always something to disappoint or
disgust ; something which leaves either a ludi-
crous or a painful impression on the mind. The
old priests and cardinals to-day looking like so
many old beggar-women dressed up in the cast off
finery of a Christmas pantomime, the assistants
smirking and whispering, the singers grinning at
each other between every solemn strain of melody,
and blowing their noses and spitting about like
true Italians in short, the want of keeping in
the tout ensemble shocked my taste and my ima-
gination, and I may add better, more serious
feelings. It is wel to see these things once, that
we may not be cheated with fine words, but judge
for ourselves. I foresee, however, that I shall
not be tempted to encounter any of the more
crowded ceremonies.
I remarked that all the Italians wore black to-
day.
We spent the afternoon at the Vatican. We
found St. Peter's almost deserted ; few people, no
music, the pictures all muffled, and the altars
hung with black drapery. The scaffolding was
preparing for the ceremonies of the week ; and,
on the whole, St. Peter's appeared, for the first
time, disagreeable and gloomy.
Monday, April 1. Non riconosco oggi la mia
bella Italia ! Clouds, and cold and rain, to which
o5
298 ROME.
we have been so long unaccustomed, seem un-
natural , and deform that peculiar character of
sunny loveliness which belongs to this country :
and, apropos to climate, I may as well observe now,
that since the 1st of February, when we left Rome
for Naples, up to this present 1st of April, not
one day has been so rainy as to confine us to the
house : and on referring to my memoranda of the
weather, I find that at Naples it rained one day for
a few hours only, and for about two hours on the
morning we left it : since then, not a drop of rain
has fallen : all hot, cloudless, lovely weather. We
have been for the last three weeks in summer
costume, and guard against the heat as we should
in England during the dog-days. To have an
idea of an Italian summer, Mr. W** says we
must fancy the present heat quadrupled.
The day, notwithstanding, has been unusually
pleasant : the afternoon, though not brilliant, was
clear and soft ; and we drove in the open carriage
first to the little church of Santa Maria della
Pace, to see RafFaelle's famous fresco, The Four
Sybils. It is in the finest preservation, and com-
bines all his peculiar graces of design and expres-
sion. The colouring has not suffered from time
and damp like that of the frescos in the Vatican,
but it is at once brilliant and delicate. Nothing
can exceed the exquisite grace of the Sibilla
ROME. 299
Persica, nor the beautiful drapery and inspired
.look of the Cumana. Fortunately, I had never
seen any copy or engraving of this masterpiece :
its beauty was to me enhanced by surprise and all
the charm of novelty : and my gratification was
complete.
We afterwards spent half an hour in the
gardens of the Villa Lanti, on the Monte Giani-
colo. The view of Rome from these gardens is
superb : though the sky was clouded, the atmos-
phere was perfectly pure and clear : the eye took
in the whole extent of ancient and modern Rome ;
beyond it the Campagna, the Alban Hills, and
the Appenines, which appeared of a deep purple,
with pale clouds floating over their summits. The
city lay at our feet, silent, and clothed with the
day-light as with a garment no smoke, no vapour,
no sound, no motion, no sign of life : it looked
like a city whose inhabitants had been suddenly
petrified, or smitten by a destroying angel ; and
such was the effect of its strange and solemn
beauty, that before I was aware, I felt my eyes fill
with tears as I looked upon it.
I saw Naples from the Castle of Sant Elmo
setting aside the sea and Mount Vesuvius, those
unequalled features in that radiant picture the
view of the city of Naples is not so fine as the
view of Rome; it is, comparatively, deficient in
300 ROME.
sentiment, in interest, and in dignity. Naples
wears on her brow the voluptuous beauty of a
syren Rome sits desolate on her seven-hilled
throne, " the Niobe of Nations."
I wish I could have painted what I saw to-day
as I saw it. Yet no the reality was perhaps too
much like a picture to please in a picture : the
exquisite harmony of the colouring, the softness of
the lights and shades, the solemn death-like still.
ness, the distinctness of every form and outline,
and the classic interest attached to every noble ob-
ject, combined to form a scene, which hereafter, in
the silence of my own thoughts, I shall often love
to recall and to dwell upon.
To-night I read with Incoronati, the Fourth
book of Dante, and two of Petrarch's Canzoni " I'
vo pensando," and " Verdi panni," making notes
from his explanations and remarks as I went along.
These two Canzoni I had selected as being among
the most puzzling as well as the most beautiful.
Those are strangely mistaken, who from a superfi-
cial study of a few of his amatory sonnets, regard
Petrarch as a mere love-sick poet, who spent his
time in berhyming an obdurate mistress; and
those are equally mistaken who consider him as the
poetical votarist of an imaginary fair one. I know
but little, even of the little that is known of his
life ; for I remember being as much terrified by
ROME. 301
the ponderous quartos of the Abbe de Sade, as I
was discomfited and disappointed by the flimsy
octavo of Mrs. Dobson. I am now studying Pe-
trarch in his own works ; and it seemeth to me, in
my simple wit, that such exquisite touches of
truth and nature, such depth and purity of feeling,
such felicity of expression, such vivid yet delicate
pictures of female beauty, could spring only from
a real and heartfelt passion. We know too little of
Laura : but it is probable, if she had always pre-
served a stern and unfeeling indifference, she
would not have so entirely commanded the affec-
tions of a feeling heart ; and had she yielded,
she would not so long have preserved her in-
fluence.
Think you if Laura had been Petrarch's wife,
He would have written sonnets all his life ?
In truth, she appears to have been the most
finished coquette of her own or any other age.*
3. What a delight it would be, if, at the end
of a day like this, I had somebody with whom I
could talk over things with whose feelings and
impressions I could compare my own who would
direct my judgment, and assist me in arrang-
ing my ideas, and double every pleasure by
sharing it with me ! What would have become of
* See the admirable and eloquent " Essays on Petrarch, by Ugo
Foscolo," which have appeared since this Diary was written.
EDITOR.
302
ROME.
me if I had not thought of keeping a Diary ? I
should have died of a sort of mental repletion !
What a consolation and employment has it been to
me to let my overflowing heart and soul, exhale
themselves on paper ! When I have neither power
nor spirits to join in common-place conversation, I
open my dear little Diary, and feel, while my pen
thus swiftly glides along, much less as if I were
writing than as if I were speaking yes ! speaking
to one who perhaps will read this when I am no
more but not till then.
I was well enough to walk up to the Rospig-
liosi Palace this morning to see Guido's Aurora :
it is on the ceiling of a pavilion : would it were
not ! for I looked at it till my neck ached, and my
brain turned round " like a parish top." I can
only say that it far surpassed my expectations : the
colouring is the most brilliant, yet the most har-
monious in the world ; and there is a depth, a
strength, a richness in the tints not common to
Guido's style. The whole is as fresh as if painted
yesterday ; though Guido must have died some-
time about 1640.
On each side of the hall or pavilion adorned by
the Aurora, there is a small room, containing a
few excellent pictures. The Triumph of David,
by Domenichino, a fine rich picture ; an exquisite
Andromeda, by Guido, painted with his usual de-
ROME. 303
licacy and sentiment; the twelve Apostles, by
Rubens, some of them very fine ; " the Five
Senses," said to be by Carlo Cignani, but if so he
has surpassed himself: it is like Domenichino.
The Death of Sampson, by L. Carracci, wearies
the eye by the number and confusion of the
figures : it has no principal group upon which the
attention can rest. There is also a fine portrait of
Nicolo Poussin, by himself, and an interesting
head of Guido.
At three o'clock we went down to the Capella
Sistina to hear the Miserere. In describing the
effect produced by this divine music, the time, the
place, the scenic contrivance should be taken into
account : the time solemn twilight, just as the
shades begin to fall around : the place a noble
and lofty hall where the terrors of Michel
Angelo's Last Judgment, are rendered more terri-
ble by the gathering gloom, and his sublime Pro-
phets frown dimly upon us from the walls above.
The extinguishing of the tapers, the concealed
choir, the angelic voices chosen from among the
finest in the world, and blended by long practice
into the most perfect unison, were combined to
produce that overpowering effect which has so
often been described. Many ladies wept, and
one fainted. Unassisted vocal music is certainly the
finest of all : no power of instruments could have
304 ROME.
thrilled me like the blended stream of melancholy
harmony, breathed forth with such an expres-
sion of despairing anguish, that it was almost too
much to bear.
Good-Friday. I saw more new, amusing, and
delightful things yesterday, than I can attempt to
describe or even enumerate : but I think there is
no danger of my forgetting general impressions :
if my memory should fail me in particulars, my
imagination can always recal the whole.
In the morning I declined going to see the
ceremonies at the Vatican. The procession of
the host from the Sistine to the Pauline Chapel ;
the washing of the pilgrims' feet, &c. all these
things are less than indifferent to me ; and the
illness and absence of the poor old Pope rendered
them particularly uninteresting. Every body went
but myself; and it was agreed that we should all
meet at the door of the Sistine Chapel at five
o'clock. I remained quietly at home on my sofa
till one ; and then drove to the Museum of the
Vatican, where I spent the rest of the day : it was
a grand festa, and the whole of the Vatican,
including the immense suite of splendid libraries
was thrown open to the public. Ah 1 the foreigners
in Rome having crowded to St. Peter's, or the
chapels, to view the ceremonies going on, I was
the only stranger amidst an assemblage of the
ROME. 305
common people and peasantry, who had come to
lounge there till the lighting up of the Cross. I
walked on and on, hour after hour, lost in amaze-
ment, and wondering where and when this glorious
labyrinth was to end ; successive galleries fitted
up with the gay splendour of an Oriental Haram,
in which the books and manuscripts are all ar-
ranged and numbered in cases ; the beautiful
perspective of hall beyond hall vanishing away into
immeasureable distance, the refulgent light shed
over all ; and add to this the extraordinary visages
and costumes of the people, who with their fami-
lies wandered along in groups or singly, all be-
having with the utmost decorum and making em-
phatic exclamations on the beauties around them.
"Ah! che bella cosa ! Cosa raral O bella assai /"
all furnished me with such ample matter for
amusement, and observation, and admiration, that
I was insensible to fatigue, and knew not that in
five hours I had scarce completed the circuit of the
Museum.
One room (the Camera del Papiri) struck me
particularly : it is a small octagon, the ceiling and
ornaments painted by Raffaelle Mengs with ex-
quisite taste. The group on the ceiling represents
the Muse of History writing, while her book reposes
on the wings of Time, and a Genius supplies her
with materials : the pannels of this room are formed
306 ROME.
of old manuscripts, pasted up against the walls and
glazed. The effect of the whole is as singular as
beautiful.
A new gallery of marbles has lately been opened
by the Pope, called from its form the Sala delta
Croce : in splendid, classical, and tasteful decora-
ration, it equals any of the others, but is not per-
haps so remarkable for the intrinsic value of its
contents.
I never more deeply felt my own ignorance and
deficiencies than I did to-day. I saw so many
things I did not understand, so much which I
wished to have explained to me, I longed so inex-
pressibly for some one to talk to, to exclaim to, to
help me to wonder, to admire, to be extasiee ! but
I was alone : and I know not how it is, or why,
but when I am alone, not only my powers of en-
joyment seem to fail me in a degree, but even my
mental faculties; and the multitude of my own
ideas and sensations, confuse, oppress, and irri-
tate me.
I walked through the whole gyro of the
Museum, examining the busts and pictures par-
ticularly, with the help of Este's admirable cata-
logue raisonnee, and at half past five I reached the
Sistine just in time to hear the second Miserere :
neither the music nor the effort were equal to the
first evening. The music, though inferior to
ROME. ,'307
Allegri's, was truly beautiful and sublime ; but the
scenic pageantry did not strike so much on repe-
tition : the chapel was insufferably crowded, I was
sick and stupid from heat and fatigue, and to
crown all, just in the midst of one of the most
overpowering strains, the cry of condemned souls
pleading for mercy, which made my heart pause,
and my flesh creep a lady behind me whispered
loudly, " Do look what lovely broderie Mrs. L**
has on her white satin spencer !"
After the Miserere, we adjourned to St. Peter's
to see the illumination of the Girandola. I con-
fess the first glance disappointed me; for the
cross, though more than thirty feet in height, looks
trivial and diminutive, compared with the immen-
sity of the dome in which it is suspended : but
just as I was beginning to admire the sublime
effect of the whole scene, I was obliged to leave
the church, being unable to stand the fatigue any
longer.
To-day we have remained quietly at home,
recruiting after the exertions of yesterday. After
dinner Colonel and Mr. W** began to discuss
the politics of Italy, and from abusing the govern-
ments, they fell upon the people, and being of very
opposite principles and parties, they soon began
an argument which ended in a warm dispute, and
308 ROME.
sent me to take refuge in my own room. How I
detest politics and discord ! How I hate the dis-
cussion of politics in Italy ! and above all, the dis-
cussion of Italian politics, which offer no point
upon which the mind can dwell with pleasure. I
have not wandered to Italy, " this land of sun-
lit skies and fountains clear," as Barry Cornwall
calls it, only to scrape together materials for a
quarto tour, or to sweep up the leavings of the
" fearless" Lady Morgan ; or to dwell upon the
heart-sickening realities which meet me at every
turn; evils, of which I neither understand the
cause, nor the cure. And yet say not to Italy
" Caduta la tua gloria e ta nol' vedi !*'
She does see it, she does feel it. A spirit is
silently and gradually working its way beneath the
surface of society, which must, ere long, break
forth either for good or for evil. Between a pro-
fligate and servile nobility, and a degraded and
enslaved populace, a middle class has lately sprung
up ; the men of letters, the artists, the professors
in the sciences, who have obtained property, or
distinction at least, in the commotions which have
agitated their country, and those who have served
at home or abroad in the revolutionary wars.
These all seem impelled by one and the same
spirit ; and make up for their want of numbers by
their activity, talents, enthusiasm, and the secret
ROME. 309
but increasing influence which they exert over
the other classes of society. But on subjects
like these, however interesting, I have no means
of obtaining information at once general and ac-
curate ; and I would rather not think, nor speak,
nor write, upon " matters which are too high for
me." Let the modern Italians be what they may,
what I hear them styled six times a day at least,
a dirty, demoralized, degraded, unprincipled
race, centuries behind our thrice blessed, pros-
perous, and comfort-loving nation in civilization
and morals : if I were come among them as a
resident, this picture might alarm me : situated as
I am, a nameless sort of person, a mere bird of
passage, it concerns me not. I am not come to
spy out the nakedness of the land, but to implore
from her healing airs and lucid skies the health and
peace I have lost, and to worship as a pilgrim at
the tomb of her departed glories. I have not
many opportunities of studying the nationa} cha-
racter ; I have no dealings with the lower classes,
little intercourse with the higher. No tradesmen
cheat me, no hired menials irritate me, no inn-
keepers fleece me, no postmasters abuse me. I love
these rich delicious skies ; I love this genial sun-
shine, which, even in December, sends the spirits
dancing through the veins ; this pure elastic at-
mosphere, which not only brings the distant land-
310 ROME.
scape, but almost Heaven itself nearer to the eye ;
and all the treasures of art and nature which are
poured forth around me ; and over which my own
mind, teeming with images, recollections, and as-
sociations can fling a beauty even beyond their
own. I willingly turn from all that excites the
spleen and disgust of others : from all that may so
easily be despised, derided reviled, and abandon
my heart to that state of calm benevolence towards
all around me, which leaves me undisturbed to
enjoy, admire, observe, reflect, remember, with
pleasure, if not with profit, and enables me to look
upon the glorious scenes with which I am sur-
rounded, not with the impertinent inquisition of
a book-maker, nor the gloomy calculations of a
politician, nor the sneering selfism of a Smel-
fungus but with the eye of the painter, and the
feeling of the poet.
Apropos to poets! Lady C** has just sent
us tickets for Sestini's Accademia to-morrow night.
So far from the race of Improvvisatori being ex-
tinct, or living only in the pages of Corinne, or in
the memory of the Fantastici, and the Bandinelli,
the Gianis and the Gorillas of other days, there
is scarcely a small town in Italy, as I am informed,
without its Improvvisatore ; and I know several in-
dividuals in the higher classes of society, both
here, and at Florence more particularly, who are re-
ROME. 311
markable for possessing this extraordinary talent
though, of course, it is only exercised for the gra-
tification of a private circle. Of those who make
a public exhibition of their powers, Sgricci and
Sestini are the most celebrated and of these
Sgricci ranks first. I never heard him ; but Signior
Incoronati who knows him well, described to me
his talents and powers as almost supernatural. A
wonderful display of his art was the improvvisa-
zione we have no English word for a talent
which in England is unknown, of a regular tra-
gedy on the Greek model, with the chorusses and
dialogue complete. The subject proposed was from
the story of Ulysses, which afforded him an oppor-
tunity of bringing in the whole sonorous nomen-
clature of the Heathen Mythology, which, says
Forsyth, enters into the web of every improvvisa-
tore, and assists the poet both with rhymes and
ideas. Most of the celebrated improvvisatori have
been Florentines : Sgricci is, I believe, a Neapo-
litan, and his rival Sestini a Roman.
*****
April 7. Any public exhibition of talent in
the Fine Arts is here called an Accademia. Sestini
gave his Accademia in an antichamber of the Pa-
lazzo , I forget its name, but it was much like
all the other Palaces we are accustomed to see
here; exhibiting the same strange contrast of
312 ROME.
ancient taste and magnificence, with present mean-
ness and poverty. We were ushered into a lofty
room of noble size and beautiful proportions, with
its rich fresco-painted walls and ceiling faded and
falling to decay ; a common brick floor, and sundry
window-panes broken, and stuffed with paper.
The room was nearly filled by the audience,
amongst whom I remarked a great number of
English. A table with writing implements, and
an old shattered jingling piano, occupied one side
of the apartment, and a small space was left in
front for the poet. Whilst we waited with some
impatience for his appearance, several persons
present walked up to the table and wrote down
various subjects ; which on Sestini's coming for-
ward, he read aloud, marking those which were
distinguished by the most general applause. This
selection formed our evening's entertainment. A
lady sat down in her bonnet and shawl to accom-
pany him ; and when fatigued, another fair musi-
cian readily supplied her place. It is seldom that
an improvvisatore attempts to recite without the
assistance of music. When Dr. Moore heard
Gorilla at Florence, she sang to the accompani-
ment of two violins.* La Fantastici preferred the
* Gorilla (whose real name was Maddalena Morelli) often ac-
companied herself on the violin ; holding it, not against her
ROME. 313
guitar ; and I should have preferred ekher to our
jingling harpsichord. However, a few chords
struck at intervals were sufficient to support the
voice, and mark the time. Several airs were tried,
and considered, before the poet could fix on one
suited to his subject, and the measure he intended
to employ. In general they were pretty and
simple, consisting of very few notes, and more like
a chant or recitative, than a regular air : one of
the most beautiful I have obtained, and shall bring
with me to England.
The moment Sestini had made his choice, he
stepped forward, and without further pause or
preparation, began with the first subject upon his
list, " II primo Navigatore."
Gesner's beautiful Idyl of " The First Naviga-
tor" supplied Sestini with the story, in all its de-
tails ; but he versified it with surprising facility :
and, as far as I could judge, with great spirit and
elegance. He added, too, some trifling circum-
stances, and several little traits, the naivete of
which afforded considerable amusement. When
an accurate rhyme, or apt expression, did not offer
itself on the instant it was required, he knit his
brows and clenched his fingers with impatience ;
shoulder, but resting it in her lap. She was reckoned a fine
performer on this instrument ; and for her distinguished talents was
crowned in the Capitol in 1779. Ee.
P
314 ROME.
but I think he never hesitated more than half a
second. At the moment the chord was struck
the rhyme was ready. In this manner he poured
forth between thirty and forty stanzas, with still
increasing animation ; and wound up his poem
with some beautiful images of love, happiness, and
innocence. Of his success I could form some idea
by the applauses he received from better judges
than myself.
After a few minutes repose and a glass of
water, he next called on the .company to supply
him with rhymes for a sonnet. These, as fast as
they were suggested by various persons, he wrote
down upon a slip of paper. The last rhyme given
was " Ostello" (a common ale-house,) at which
he demurred, and submitting to the company the
difficulty of introducing so vulgar a word into an
heroic sonnet, respectfully begged that another
might be substituted. A lady called out " Jvello"
the poetical term for a grave, or a sepulchre,
which expression bc-re a happy analogy to the sub-
ject proposed. The poet smiled, well pleased;-
and stepping forward with the paper in his hand,
he immediately, without even a moment's prepara-
tion, recited a sonnet on the second subject upon
his list, " La Morte di Jlfieri." I could better
judge of the merit of this effusion, because he
spoke it unaccompanied by music ; and his enun-
ROME. 315
elation was remarkably distinct. The subject was
popular, and treated with much feeling and poetic
fervour. After lamenting Alfieri as the patriot,
as well as the bard, and as the glory of his country,
he concluded, by indignantly repelling the sup-
position that " the latest sparks of genius and
freedom were buried in the tomb of Vittorio
Alfieri." A thunder of applause followed; and
cries of " O bravo Sestini ! bravo Sestini!" were
echoed from the Italian portion of the audience,
long after the first acclamations had subsided.
The men rose simultaneously from their seats ;
and I confess I could hardly keep mine. The
animation of the poet, and the enthusiasm of the
audience, sent a thrill through every nerve and
filled my eyes with tears.
The next subject was " La Morte di Beatrice
Cenci;' and this, I think, was a failure. The
frightful story of the Cenci is too well known in
England since the publication of Shelley's Tragedy.
Here it is familiar to all classes ; and though two
centuries have since elapsed, it seems as fresh in
the memory, or rather in the imagination of these
people, as if it had happened but yesterday. The
subject, was not well chosen for a public and
mixed assembly ; and Sestini, without adverting
to the previous details of horror, confined himself
most scrupulously, with great propriety, to the
316 ROME.
subject proposed. He described Beatrice led to
execution, "con baldanza casta e generosa," and
the effect produced on the multitude by her youth
and beauty; not forgetting to celebrate " those
tresses like threads of gold whose wavy splendour
dazzled all beholders" as they are described by a
co-temporary writer. He put into her mouth, a
long and pious dying speech, in which she ex-
pressed her trust in the blessed Virgin, and
her hopes of pardon from eternal justice and
mercy. To my surprise, he also made her in
one stanza confess and repent the murder, or
rather sacrifice*, which she had perpetrated ;
which is contrary to the known fact, that Beatrice
never confessed to the last moment of her ex-
istence ; nor gave any reason to suppose that she
repented. The whole was drawn out to too
great a length, and, with the exception of a few
happy touches, and pathetic sentiments, went off
flatly. It was very little applauded.
The next subject was the " Immortality of
the Soul" on which the Poet displayed amazing
pomp and power of words, and a wonderful
affluence of ideas. He shewed, too, an intimate
acquaintance with all that had ever been said, or
sung, upon the same subject, from Plato to
* Othello. Thou mak'st me call what I intend to do
A murder, -which I thought a sacrifice.
ROME. 317
Thomas Aquinas. I confess I derived little bene-
fit from all this display of poetry and erudition ;
for, after the first few stanzas, finding myself irre-
trievably perplexed by the united difficulties of the
language and the subject, I withdrew my atten-
tion, and amused myself with the paintings on the
walls, and in reveries on the past and present, till
I was roused by the acclamations that followed
the conclusion of the poem ; which excited very
general admiration and applause.
The company then furnished the bouts-rimes
for another Sonnet; the subject was " UAmor
della Patria" The title, even before he began,
was hailed by a round of plaudits ; and the Son-
net itself was excellent and spirited. Excellent I
mean in its general effect, as an improvvisazione :
how it would stand the test of cool criticism I
cannot tell ; nor is that any thing to the purpose :
these extemporaneous effusions ought to be
judged merely as what they are, not as finished
or correct poems, but as wonderful exercises of
tenacious memory, ready wit, and that quickness
of imagination which can soar
" al bel cimento
Sulle all dell' momento."
To return to Sestini. It may be imagined,
that on such a subject as " I? Amor della Patria"
the ancient Roman worthies were not forgotten ;
318 ROME.
and accordingly, a Brutus, a Scipio, a Fabius, or
a Fabricius, figured in every line. And surely on
no occasion could they have been more appropri-
ately introduced : -in Rome, and when addressing
Romans, who shewed, by their enthusiastic ap-
plause, that though the spirit of their forefathers
may be extinct, their memory is not.
The next subject, which formed a sort of
pendant to the Cenci, was the " Parricide of
Tullia" In this again his success was complete.
The stanza in which Tullia ordered her charioteer
to " drive on," was given with such effect as to
electrify us : and a sudden burst of approbation
which caused a momentary interruption, evidently
lent the poet fresh spirits and animation.
The evening concluded with a lively burlesque,
entitled "II Mercato d'Amore" which represented
Love as setting up a shop to sell " la Mercanzie
della GtatJenftT The list of his stock in trade,
though it could not boast much originality, was
given with admirable wit and vivacity. In con-
clusion, Love, being threatened with a bankruptcy,
took shelter, as the poet assured us, in the bright
eyes of the ladies present. This farewell compli-
ment was prettily turned, and intended, of course,
to be general : but it happened, luckily for Sestini,
that just opposite to him, and fixed upon him at
the moment, were two of the brightest eyes in the.
ROME. 319
world. Whether he owed any of his inspiration
to their beams I know not ; but the apropos of the
compliment was seized immediately, and loudly
applauded by the gentlemen round us.
Sestini is a young man, apparently about five
and twenty ; of a slight and delicate figure, and in
his whole appearance, odd, wild, and picturesque.
He has the common foreign trick of running his
fingers through his black bushy hair ; and accord-
ingly it stands on end in all directions. A pair of
immense whiskers, equally black and luxuriant,
meet at the point of his chin, encircling a visage of
most cadaverous hue, and features which might be
termed positively ugly, were it not for the " vago
spirito ardento" which shines out from his dark
eyes, and the fire and intelligence which light up
his whole countenance, till it almost kindles into
beauty. Though he afterwards conversed with
apparent ease, and replied to the compliments of
the company, he was evidently much exhausted by
his exertions. I should fear that their frequent
repetition, and the effervescence of mind, and ner-
vous excitement they cannot but occasion, must
gradually wear out his delicate frame and feeble
temperament ; and that the career of this extra-
ordinary genius will be short as it is brilliant.*
April 8. As Maupertuis said after his journey
* Sestini died of a brain fever at Paris in November, 1822. Em
ROME.
to Lapland for the universe I would not have
missed the sights and scenes of yesterday ; but,
for the whole universe, I would not undergo such
another day of fatigue, anxiety, and feverish ex-
citement.
In the morning about ten o'clock, we all went
down to St. Peter's, to hear high mass. The ab-
sence of the Pope (who is still extremely ill) de-
tracted from the interest and dignity of the cere-
mony: there was no general benediction from the
balcony of St. Peter's ; and nothing pleased me,
except the general coup d'ail ; which in truth was
splendid. The theatrical dresses of the mitred
priests, the countless multitude congregated from
every part of Christendom, in every variety of
national costume, the immensity and magnificence
of the church, and the glorious sunshine, all these
enchanted the eye ; but I could have fancied my-
self in a theatre. I saw no devotion, and I felt
none. The whole appeared more like a triumphal
pageant acted in honour of a heathen deity, than
an act of worship and thanksgiving to the Great
Father of all.
I observed an immense number of pilgrims,
male and female, who had come from various parts
of Italy to visit the shrine of St. Peter on this
grand occasion. I longed to talk to a man who
stood near me, with a very singular and expressive
ROME. 321
countenance, whose cape, and looped hat were
entirely covered with scallop shells and reliques,
and his long staff surmounted by a death's head.
I was restrained by a feeling which I now think
rather ridiculous : I feared, lest by conversing
with him, I should diminish the effect his roman-
tic and picturesque figure had made on my ima-
gination.
The exposition of the relics, was from a bal-
cony half way up the dome, so high and distant
that I could distinguish nothing but the impres-
sion of our Saviour's face on the handkerchief of
St. Veronica, richly framed at the sight whereof
the whole multitude prostrated themselves to the
earth : the other relics I forget, but they were all
equally marvellous and equally credible.
We returned after a long fatiguing morning, to
an early dinner ; and then drove again to the Piazza
of St. Peter's, to see the far-famed illumination of
the church. We had to wait a considerable time ;
but the scene was so novel and beautiful, that I
found ample amusement in my own thoughts, and
observations. The twilight rapidly closed round
us : the long lines of statues along the roof and
balustrades, faintly defined against the evening-
sky, looked liked spirits come down ta gaze; a
prodigious crowd of carriages, and people on foot,
filled every avenue : but all was still, except when
p5
322 ROME.
a half suppressed murmur of impatience broke
through the hushed silence of suspense and expec-
tation. At length, on a signal, which was given
by the firing of a cannon, the whole of the immense
fa9ade and dome, even up to the cross on the
summit, and the semicircular colonnades in front,
burst into a blaze, as if at the touch of an en-
chanter's wand ; adding the pleasure of surprise
to that of delight and wonder. The carriages
now began to drive rapidly round the piazza, each
with a train of running footmen, flinging their
torches round and dashing them against the ground.
The shouts and acclamations of the crowd, the
stupendous building with all its architectural out-
lines and projections, defined in lines of living
flame, the universal light, the sparkling of the
magnificent fountains produced an effect far
beyond any thing I could have anticipated, and
more like the gorgeous fictions of the Arabian
Nights, than any earthly reality.
After driving round the piazza, we adjourned to
a balcony which had been hired for us overlooking
the Tiber, and exactly opposite to the Castle
of St. Angelo. Hence we commanded a view of
the fireworks, which were truly superb, but made
me so nervous and giddy with noise and light and
wonder, that I was rejoiced when all was over. A
flight of a thousand sky-rockets sent up at once,
ROME. 323
blotting the stars and the moonlight dazzling our
eyes, stunning our ears, and amazing all our senses
together, concluded the Holy Week at Rome.
To-morrow morning we start for Florence, and
to-night I close this second volume of my Diary.
Thanks to my little ingenious Frenchman in the
Via Santa Croce, I have procured a lock for a
third volume, almost equal to my patent Bramah
in point of security, though very unlike it in every
other respect.
VITERBO.
RETURN TO FLORENCE.
Viterbo, April 9,
" In every bosom Italy is the second country in
the world, the surest proof that it is in reality the
fast."
This elegant and just observation occurs I think
in Arthur Young's Travels \\ I am not sure I quote
the words correctly, but the sense will come home
to every cultivated mind with the force of a prover-
bial truism.
One leaves Naples as a man parts with an en-
chanting mistress, and Rome as we would bid
adieu to an old and dear-loved friend. I love it,
and grieve to leave it for its own sake: it is pain-
ful to quit a place where we leave behind us many
whom we love and regret ; and almost or quite as
painful I think, to quit a place in which we leave
behind us no one to regret, or think of us more
a feeling like this mingled with the sorrow with
which I bade adieu to Rome this morning.
Our journey has been fatiguing, triste and
tedious.
RADICOFANI.
Radicofani, 10th.
I could almost regret at this moment that I am
past the age of romance, for I am in a fine situa-
tion for mysterious and imaginary horrors, could I
but feel again as I did at gay sixteen : but alas !
ces beaux jours sont passes! and here I am on the
top of a dreary black mountain, in a rambling old
inn which looks like a ci-devant hospital or dis-
mantled barracks, in a bed-room which resembles
one of the wards of a poor-house, one little corner
lighted by my lamp, and the other three parts all
lost in black ominous darkness ; while a tempest
rages without as if it would break in the rattling
casements, and burst the roof over our heads;
and yet, insensible that I am ! I can calmly take
up my pen to amuse myself by scribbling since
sleep is impossible. I can look round my vast and
solitary room without fancying a ghost or an as-
sassin in every corner, and listen to the raving and
lamenting of the storm without imagining I hear
in every gust the shrieks of wailing spirits, or the
groans of murdered travellers ; only wishing that
the wind were rather less cold, or my fire a little
brighter, or my dormitory less infinitely spacious ;
for at present its boundaries are invisible.
The first part of our journey this morning was
delightful and picturesque : we passed the beau-
tiful lake of Bolsena and Montepulciano, so famous
RADICOFANI.
for its wine, (il Re di Fino as Redi calls it in the
Bacco in Toscana). Later in the day we entered
a gloomy and desolate country ; and after crossing
the rapid and muddy torrent of Rigo, which as
our Guide des Voyageurs wittily informs us, we
shall have to cross four times if we are not drowned
the third time, we began to ascend the mountainous
region which divides the Tuscan from the Roman
states a succession of wild barren hills, inter-
sected in every direction Iby deep ravines, and
presenting a scene, sublime indeed from its waste
and wild grandeur, but destitute of all beauty, in-
terest, magnificence and variety.
I remember the strange emotion which came
across me, when on the horses stopping to
breathe on the summit of a lofty ridge, where all
around, as far as the eye could reach, nothing was
to be seen but the same unvarying, miserable,
heart-sinking barrenness, without a trace of human
habitation, except the black fort or the highest
point of Radicofani a soft sound of bells came
over my ear as if brought upon the wind. There
is something in the sound of bells in the midst of
a solitude which is singularly striking, and may be
cheering or melancholy, according to the mood in
which we may happen to be.
FLORENCE. 327
Florence, April 14.
I have not written a word since we arrived at
Sienna. What would it avail to me to keep a
mere journal of suffering ? O that I could change
as others do, could forget that such things have
been, which can never be again ! that there were
not this tenacity in my heart and soul which
clings to the shadow though the substance be
gone!
This is not a mere effusion of low spirits, I was
never more cheerful ; I have just left a gay party,
where Mr. Rogers (whom by special good fortune
we meet at every resting place, and who dined
with us to-day,) has been entertaining us delight-
fully. I disdain low spirits as a mere disease
which comes over us, generally from some phy-
sical or external cause ; to prescribe for them is as
easy as to disguise them is difficult : but the hope-
less, cureless sadness of a heart which droops
with regret, and throbs with resentment, is easily,
very easily disguised, but not so easily banished.
I hear every body round me congratulating them-
selves, and me more particularly, that we have at
last reached Florence, that we are so far advanced
on our road homewards, that soon we shall be at
Paris, and Paris is to do wonders Paris and Dr.
R** are to set me up again as the phrase is. But
I shall never be set up again, I shall never live to
328 FLORENCE.
reach Paris: none can tell how I sicken at the
very name of that detested place ; none seem
aware how fast, how very fast the principle of life
is burning away within me: but why should I
speak ? and what earthly help can now avail me ?
I can suffer in silence, I can conceal the weakness
which increases upon me, by retiring, as if from
choice and not necessity, from all exertion not
absolutely inevitable ; and the change is so gra-
dual, none will perceive it till the great change of
all comes, and then I shall be at rest.
******
Florence looked most beautiful as we ap-
proached it from the south, girt with her theatre
of verdant hills, and glittering in the sunshine.
All the country from Sienna to Florence is richly
cultivated ; diversified with neat hamlets, farms
and villas. I was more struck with the appearance
of the Tuscan peasantry on my return from the
Papal dominions than when we passed through
the country before : no where in Tuscany, have
we seen that look of abject negligent poverty,
those crowds of squalid beggars which shocked us
in the Ecclesiastical States. In the towns where
we stopped to change horses, we were presently
surrounded by a crowd of people : the women
c ame out spinning, or sewing and plaiting the
Leghorn hats ; the children threw flowers into our
FLORENCE. 329
barouche, the men grinned and gaped, but there
was no vociferous begging, no disgusting display
of physical evils, filth and wretchedness. The
motive was merely that idle curiosity for which the
Florentines in all ages have been remarked. I
remember an amusing instance which occurred
when I was here in December last. I was stand-
ing one evening in the Piazza del Gran Duca, look-
ing at the group of the Rape of the Sabines : in a
few minutes a dozen people gathered round me,
gaping at the statue, and staring at that and at
me alternately, either to enjoy my admiration, or
find out the cause of it: the people came out of
the neighbouring shops, and the crowd continued
to increase, till at length, though infinitely amused,
I was glad to make my escape.
I suffered from cold when first we arrived at
Florence, owing to the change of climate, or rather
to mere weakness and fatigue : to-day I begin to
doubt the possibility of outliving an Italian sum-
mer. This blazing atmosphere which depresses
the eyelids, the enervating heat, and the rich per-
fume of the flowers all around us, are almost too
much.
April 20. During our stay at Florence, it has
been one of my favourite occupations to go to
the Gallery or the Pitti Palace, and placing my
portable seat opposite to some favorite pictures,
330 FLORENCE.
minutely study and compare the styles of the dif-
ferent masters. By the style of any particular
painter, I presume we mean to express the com-
bination of two separate essentials first, his pe-
culiar conception of his subject; secondly, his pe-
culiar method of executing that conception, with
regard to colouring, drawing, and what artists
call handling. The former department of style,
lies in the mind, and will vary according to the
feelings, the temper, the personal habits and pre-
vious education of the painter : the latter is merely
mechanical, and is technically termed the manner
of a painter ; it may be cold or warm, hard, dry,
free, strong, tender : as we say the cold manner
of Sasso Ferrato, the warm manner of Giorgione,
the hard manner of Holbein, the dry manner of
Perugino, the free manner of Rubens, the strong
manner of Carravaggio, and so forth ; I heard an
amateur once observe, that one of Morland's Pig-
sties was painted with great feeling : all this refers
merely to mechanical execution.
I am no connoisseur ; and I should have la-
mented as a misfortune, the want of some fixed
principles of taste and criticism to guide my judg-
ment; some nomenclature by which to express
; certain effects, peculiarities, and excellencies which
I felt, rather than understood ; if my own igno-
rance had not afforded considerable amusement to
FLORENCE. 331
myself and perhaps to others. I have derived
some gratification from observing the gradual im-
provement of my own taste ; and from comparing
the decisions of my own unassisted judgment and
natural feelings, with the fiat of profound critics
and connoisseurs : the result has been sometimes
mortifying, sometimes pleasing. Had I visited
Italy in the character of a ready made connoisseur,
I should have lost many pleasures ; for as the eye
becomes more practised, the taste becomes more
discriminative and fastidious ; and the more exten-
sive our acquaintance with the works of art,
the more limited is our sphere of admiration ; as if
the circle of enjoyment contracted round us, in
proportion as our sense of beauty became more in-
tense and exquisite. A thousand things which
once had power to charm ; can charm no longer ;
but, en revanche, those which do please, please a
thousand times more : thus what we lose on one
side, we gain on the other. Perhaps, on the whole,
a technical knowledge of the arts is apt to divert the
mind from the generaleffect, to fix it on petty details
of execution. Here comes a connoisseur, who has
found his way, good man ! from Somerset House,
to the Tribune at Florence: See him with one
hand passed across his brow, to shade the light,
while the other extended forwards, describes cer-
tain indescribable circumvolutions in the air, and
332 FLORENCE,
now he retires, now advances, now recedes again,
till he has hit the exact distance from which every
point of beauty is displayed to the best possible
advantage, and there he stands gazing, as never
gazed the moon upon the waters, or love-sick
maiden upon the moon! We take him perhaps
for another Pygmalion? We imagine that it is
those parted and half-breathing lips, those eyes
that seem to float in light ; the pictured majesty of
suffering virtue, or the tears of repenting loveli-
ness ; the divinity of beauty, or " the beauty of
holiness," which have thus transfixed him. No
such thing : it is the fleshiness of the tints, the
vaghezza of the colouring, the brilliance of the
carnations, the fold of a robe, or the foreshorten-
ing of a little finger. O ! whip me such connois-
seurs ! the critic's stop-watch was nothing to this.
Mere mechanical excellence, and all the tricks
of art have their praise as long as they are sub-
ordinate and conduce to the general effect. In
painting as in her sister arts it is necessary
Che 1'arte che tutto fa nulla si scuopre.
Of course I do not speak here of the Dutch
school, whose highest aim, and highest praise, is
exquisite mechanical precision in the representation
of common nature and still life: but of those
pictures which are the productions of mind,
which address themselves to the understanding,
FLORENCE. 333
the fancy, the feelings, and convey either a moral
or a practical pleasure.
In taking a retrospective view of all the best
collections in Italy and of the Italian school in
particular, I have been struck by the endless
multiplication of the same subjects, crucifixions,
martyrdoms and other scripture horrors : virgins,
saints and holy families. The prevalence of the
former class of subjects is easily explained, and
has been ingeniously defended ; but it is not so
' easily reconciled to the imagination. The mind
and the eye are shocked and fatigued by the
succession of revolting and sanguinary images
which pollute the walls of every palace, church,
gallery and academy from Milan to Naples. The
splendour of the execution only adds to their
hideousness ; we at once seek for nature, and
tremble to find it. It is hateful to see the loveliest
of the arts degraded to such butcher-work. I
have often gone to visit a famed collection with a
secret dread of being led through a sort of in-
tellectual shambles, and returned with the feeling
of one who had supped full of horrors. I do not
know how men think, and feel, though I believe
many a man, who with every other feeling ab-
sorbed in overpowering interest, could look un-
shrinking upon a real scene of cruelty and blood,
would shrink away disgusted and sickened from
334 FLORENCE.
the cold, obtrusive, painted representation of the
same object; for the truth of this I appeal to men.
I can only see with woman's eyes, and think and
feel as I believe every woman must, whatever may
be her love for the arts. I remember that in one
of the palaces at Milan (I think it was in the
collection of the Duca Litti) we were led up to a
picture defended from the air by a plate of glass,
and which being considered as the gem of the
collection, was reserved for the last as a kind of
bonne bouche. I gave but one glance, and turned
away loathing, shuddering, sickening. The cice-
rone looked amazed at my bad taste, he assured
me it was un vero Correggio (which by the way I
can never believe) and that the Duke had refused
for it I know not how many thousand scudi. It
would be difficult to say what was most execrable
in this picture, the appalling nature of the subject,
the depravity of mind evinced in its conception,
or the horrible truth and skill with which it was
delineated. I ought to add that it hung up in the
family dining-room and in full view of the dinner-
table.
There is a picture among the chefs-d'oeuvres
in the Vatican, which if I were Pope (or Pope
Joan) for a single day should be burnt by the
common hangman, " with the smoke of its ashes
to poison the air," as it now poisons the sight by
FLORENCE. 335
its unutterable horrors. There is another in the
Palazzo Pitti, at which I shiver still, and un-
fortunately there is no avoiding it, as they have
hung it close to Guide's lovely Cleopatra. In the
gallery there is a Judith and Holofernes which
irresistibly strikes the attention if any thing would
add to the horror inspired by the sanguinary
subject, and the atrocious fidelity and talent
with which it is expressed, it is that the artist was
a woman. I must confess that Judith is not one of
my favorite heroines ; but I can more easily con-
ceive how a woman inspired by vengeance and
patriotism could execute such a deed, than that
she could coolly sit down, and day after day, hour
after hour, touch after touch, dwell upon and
almost realise to the eye such an abomination as
this.
We can study anatomy, if (like a certain prin-
cess) we have a taste that way, in the surgeons'
dissecting rooms, we do not look upon pictures
to have our minds agonized and contaminated
by the sight of human turpitude and barbarity,
streaming blood, quivering flesh, wounds, tortures,
death and horrors in every shape, even though it
should be all very natural. Painting has been
called the handmaid of nature ; is it not the duty
of a handmaid to array her mistress to the best
possible advantage ? At least to keep her infirmi-
FLORENCE.
ties and deformities from view and not to expose
her too undressed ?
But I am not so weak, so cowardly, so fasti-
dious, as to shrink from every representation of
human suffering provided that our sympathy be
not strained beyond a certain point. To please
is the genuine aim of painting as of all the fine
arts ; when pleasure is conveyed through deeply
excited interest, by affecting the passions, the
senses and the imagination, painting assumes a
higher character and almost vies with tragedy :
in fact it is tragedy to the eye, and is ame-
nable to the same laws. The St. Sebastians
of Guido and Razzi ; the St. Jerome of Dome-
nichino; the sternly beautiful Judith of Allori;
the Pieta of Raffaelle ; the San Pietro Martire
of Titian ; are all so many tragic scenes, where-
in all that is revolting in circumstances or
character is judiciously kept from view, where
human suffering is dignified by the moral lesson
it is made to convey, and its effect on the be-
holder at once softened and heightened by the
redeeming grace which genius and poetry have
shed like a glory round it.
Allowing all this I am yet obliged to confess
that I am wearied with this class of pictur.es, and
that I wish there were fewer of them.
But there is one subject which never tires, at
FLORENCE. 337
least never tires me however varied, repeated,
multiplied. A subject so lovely in itself that the
most eminent painter cannot easily embellish it,
or the meanest degrade it ; a subject which comes
home to our own bosoms and dearest feelings ; and
in which we may " lose ourselves in all delight-
fulness" and indulge unreproved pleasure. I mean
the Virgin and Child, or in other words, 'the ab-
stract personification of what is loveliest, purest,
and dearest, under heaven maternal tenderness,
Virgin meekness and childish innocence, and the
beauty of holiness over all.
It occurred to me to-day, that if a gallery could
be formed of this subject alone, selecting one
specimen from among the works of every painter,
it would form not only a comparative index to
their different styles, but we should find, on re-
curring to what is known of the lives and charac-
ters of the great masters, that each has stamped
some peculiarity of his own disposition on his
Virgins ; and that, after a little consideration and
practice, a very fair guess might be formed of the
character of each artist, by observing the style
in which he has treated this beautiful and fa-
vorite subject.
Take Raffaelle for example, whose delightful
character is dwelt upon by all his biographers ; his
genuine nobleness of soul, which raised him far
above interest, rivalship, or jealousy, the gentle
Q
338 FLORENCE.
ness of his temper, the suavity of his manners, the
sweetness of his disposition, the benevolence of his
heart, which rendered him so deeply loved and
admired, even by those who pined away at his suc-
cess, and died of his superiority * are all attested
by contemporary writers : where, but in his own
harmonious character, need Raffaelle have looked
for the prototypes of his half-celestial creations ?
His Virgins alone combine every grace which
the imagination can require repose, simplicity,
meekness, purity, tenderness; blended without
any admixture of earthly passion, yet so varied,
that though all his Virgins have a general cha-
racter, distinguishing them from those of every
other master, no two are exactly alike. In the
Madonna del Seggiola, for instance, the prevail-
ing expression is a serious and pensive tender-
ness ; her eyes are turned from her infant, but
she clasps him to her bosom, as if it were not
necessary to see him, to feel him in her heart. In
another Holy Family in the Pitti Palace, the
* The allusion is to La Francia, when Raffaelle sent his famous
St. Cecilia to Bologna : it was intrusted to the care of La Francia,
who was his particular friend, to be unpacked and hung up. La
Francia was old, and had for many years held a high rank in his
profession ; no sooner had he cast his eyes on the St. Cecilia, than
struck with despair at seeing his highest efforts so immeasurably
outdone, he was seized with a deep melancholy and died shortly
after. EDITOR.
FLORENCE. 339
predominant expression is maternal rapture : in the
Madonna di Foligno, it is ft saintly benignity be-
coming the Queen of Heaven : in the Madonna
del Cardellino, it is a meek and chaste simplicity:
it is the " Vergine dolce e pia" of Petrarch. This
last picture hangs close to the Fornarina in the
Tribune, a strange contrast ! Raffaelle's love for
that haughty and voluptuous virago, had nothing
to do with his conception of ideal beauty and
chastity ; and could one of his own Virgins have
walked out of her frame, or if her prototype could
have been found on earth, he would have felt, as
others have felt that to look upon such a being,
with aught of unholy passion, would be profa-
nation indeed.
Next to Raffaelle, I would rank Correggio, as a
painter of Virgins. Correggio was remarkable for
the humility and gentleness of his deportment, for
his pensive and somewhat anxious disposition, and
kindly domestic feelings : these are the character-
istics which have poured themselves forth upon his
Madonnas. They are distinguished generally by
the utmost sweetness, delicacy, grace, and devo-
tional feeling. I remember reading somewhere
that Correggio had a large family, and was a par-
ticularly fond father ; and it is certain, that in the
expression of maternal tenderness, he is superior
to all but Raffaelle : his Holy Family in the Studii
340 FLORENCE.
at Naples, and his lovely Virgin in the Gallery
are instances.
Guido ranks next in my estimation, as a pain-
ter of Virgins. He is described as an elegant and
accomplished man, remarkable for the modesty of
his disposition, and the dignity and grace of his
manner; as delicate in his personal habits, and
sumptuous in his dress and style of living. He
had unfortunately contracted a taste for gaming,
which latterly plunged him into difficulties, and
tinged his mind with bitterness and melancholy.
All his heads have a peculiar expression of ele-
vated beauty, which has been called Guido's air.
His Madonnas, are all but heavenly : they are ten-
der, dignified, lovely: but when compared with
Raffaelle's, they seem more touched with earthly
feeling, and have less of the pure ideal : they are,
if I may so express myself, too sentimental: sen-
timent is, in truth, the distinguishing characteristic
of Guido's style. It is remarkable that towards
the end of his life, Guido more frequently painted
the Mater Dolorosa, and gave to the heads of his
Madonnas, a look of melancholy, and disconso-
late resignation, which is extremely affecting.
Titian's character is well known : his ardent
cheerful temper, his sanguine enthusiastic mind,
his love of pleasure, his love of women ; and true
it is, that through all his glowing pictures, we
FLORENCE. 341
trace the voluptuary. His Virgins are rather " Des
jeunes epouses de la veille" far too like his Venuses
and his mistresses : they are all luxuriant human
heauty; with that peculiar air of blandishment
which he has thrown into all his female heads,
even into his portraits, and his old women. Wit-
ness his lovely Virgin in the Vatican, his Mater
Sapientiae, and his celebrated Assumption at
Venice, in which the eyes absolutely float in rap!-
ture. There is nothing ideal in Titian's concep-
tion of beauty : he paints no saints and goddesses
fancy -bred : his females are all true, lovely women ;
not like the heavenly creations of Raffaelle, look-
ing as if a touch, a breath would profane them ;
but warm flesh and blood heart and soul with
life in their eyes, and love upon their lips : even
over his Magdalens, his beauty-breathing pencil
has shed a something which says,
A misura che amo
Piange i suoi falli !
But this is straying from my subject ; as I have
embarked in this fanciful hypothesis, I shall mul-
tiply my proofs and examples as far as I can, from
memory.
In some account I have read of Murillo, he is
emphatically styled an honest man : this is all I can
remember of his character ; and truth and nature
prevail through all his pictures. In his Virgins,
FLORENCE.
we can trace nothing elevated, poetical, or hea-
venly: they have not the ideality of Raffkelle's, nor
the tender sweetness of Correggio's ; nor the glowing
loveliness of Titian's ; but they have an individual
reality about them, which gives them the air
of portraits. That chef-d'osuvre, in the Pitti
Palace, for instance, call it a beautiful peasant girl
and her baby, and it is faultless : but when I am
told it is the " Fergine gloriosa, del Re Eterno
Madre 3 Figliuola, e Sposa," I 'look instantly for
something far beyond what I see expressed. All
Murillo's Virgins are so different from each other,
that it is plain the artist did npt paint from any
preconceived idea in his own mind, but from dif-
ferent originals : they are all impressed with that
general air of truth, nature, and commpn life,
which stamps upon them a peculiar and distinct
character.
Andrea del Sarto, who is in style as in cha-
racter the very reverse of Murillo, fascinated me
at first by his enchanting colouring, and the
magical aerial depths of his chiaro-oscuro ; but
on a further acquaintance with his works, I was
struck by the predominance of external form and
colour over mind and feeling. His Virgins look
as if they had been born and bred in the first
circles of society, and have , a particular air of
elegance, an artificial grace, an attraction, which
FLORENCE. 343
may be entirely traced to exterior ; to the cast of
the features, the contour of the form, the dis-
position of the draperies, the striking attitudes,
and above all, the divine colouring : beauty and
dignity, and powerful effect, we always find in his
pictures ; but no moral pathos no poetry no
sentiment above all, a strange and total want of
devotional expression, simplicity and humility.
His Virgin with St. Francis and St. John, which
hangs behind the Venus in the Tribune, is a won-
derful picture ; and there are two charming Ma-
donnas in the Borghese Palace at Rome. In the
first we are struck by the grouping and colouring ;
in the last, by a certain graceful lengthiness of the
limbs, and fine animated drawing in the attitudes.
But we look in vain for the " sacred and the
sweet," for heart, for soul, for countenance.
Andrea del Sarto had, in his profession, great
talents rather than genius and enthusiasm. He
was weak, dissipated, unprincipled ; without ele-
vation of mind or generosity of temper ; and that
his moral character was utterly contemptible, is
proved by one trait in his life a generous patron
who had relieved him in his necessity, entrusted
him with a considerable sum of money, to be laid
out in certain purchases ; Andrea del Sarto per-
fidiously embezzled the whole, and turned it to
his own use. This story is told in his life, with
344 FLORENCE.
the addition that " he was persuaded to it by his
wife, as profligate and extravagant as himself."
Carlo Dolce's gentle, delicate, and melancholy
temperament, are strongly expressed in his own
portrait, which is in the Gallery of Paintings here.
All his pictures are tinged by the morbid delicacy
of his constitution, and the refinement of his cha-
racter and habits. They have exquisite finish,
but a want of power, degenerating at times into
coldness and feebleness ; his Madonnas are dis-
tinguished by regular feminine beauty, melancholy
devotion, or resigned sweetness : he excelled in
the Mater Dolorosa. The most beautiful of his
Virgins is in the Pitti Palace, of which picture
there is a duplicate in the Borghese Palace at
Rome.
Carlo Maratti without distinguished merit of
any kind unless it was a distinguished merit to
be the father of Faustina Zappi, owed his fortune,
his title of Cavaliere, and the celebrity he once
enjoyed, not to any superiority of genius, but to
his successful arts as a courtier, and his assiduous
flattery of the great. What can be more charac-
teristic of the man, than his simpering Virgins,
fluttering in tasteless, many-coloured draperies,
with their sky blue back-grounds, and golden
clouds ?
Caravaggio was a gloomy misanthrope and a
FLORENCE. 345
profligate ruffian : we read, that he was banished
from Rome, for a murder committed in a drunken
brawl; and that he died at last of debauchery
and want. Caravaggio was perfect in his gam-
blers, robbers, and martyrdoms, and should never
have meddled with Saints and Madonnas. In his
famous Pieta in the Vatican, the Virgin is an old
beggar-woman, the two Maries are fish-wives, in
" maudlin sorrow," and St. Peter, and St. John,
a couple of bravoes, burying a murdered traveller :
dipinse ferocemente sempre perche feroce era il suo
carrattere, says his biographer ; an observation by
the way in support of my hypothesis.
Rubens, with all his transcendent genius, had
a coarse imagination : he bore the character of an
honest, liberal, but not very refined man. Rubens
painted Virgins would he had let them alone!
fat, comfortable farmer's wives, nursing their
chubby children. Then follows Vandyke in the
opposite extreme. Vandyke was celebrated in
his day, for his personal accomplishments: he
was, say his biographers, a complete scholar,
courtier and gentleman. His beautiful Madonnas
are accordingly, what we might expect rather
too intellectual and lady-like : they all look as if
they had been polished by education.
The grand austere genius of Michel Angelo
was little calculated to portray the dove-like meek-
346 FLORENCE.
ness of the Vergine dolce e pia, or the playfulness
of infantine beauty. In his Mater Amabilis, sweet-
ness and beauty are sacrificed to expression ; and
dignity is exaggerated into masculine energy. In
the Mater Dolorosa, suffering is tormented into
agony : the anguish is too human : it is not suffi-
ciently softened by resignation ; and makes us turn
away with a too painful sympathy. Such is the
admirable head in the Palazzo Litti at Milan;
such his sublime Pietd in the Vatican but the
last, being in marble, is not quite a case in point.
I will mention but two more painters of whose
lives and characters I know nothing yet, and may
therefore fairly make their works a test of both,
and judge of them in their Madonnas, and after-
wards measure my own penetration and the truth
of my hypothesis, by a reference to the biogra-
phical writers.
In the few pictures I have seen of Carlo
Cignani, I have been struck by the predominance
of mind and feeling over mere external form :
there is a picture of his in the Rospigliosi Palace
or rather to give an example which is nearer at
.hand, and fresh in my memory, there is in the
gallery here, his Madonna del Rosario. It repre-
sents a beautiful young woman, evidently of ple-
beian race : the form of the face is round, the
features have nothing of the beau-idal, and the
FLORENCE. 34<7
whole head wants dignity; yet has the painter
contrived to throw into this lovely picture an
inimitable expression which depends on nothing
external what in the living prototype we should
term countenance ; as if a chastened consciousness
of her high destiny and exalted character shone
through the natural rusticity of her features,
and touched them with a certain grace and dig-
nity, emanating from the mind alone, which only
mind could give, and mind perceive. I have seen
within the last few days, three copies of this
picture, in all of them the charming simplicity and
rusticity, but in none the exquisite expression of
the original : even the hands are expressive,
without any particular delicacy or beauty of form.
An artist who was copying the picture to-day
while I looked at it, remarked this; and con-
fessed he had made several unsuccessful attempts
to render the fond pressure of the fingers as she
clasps the child to her bosom.
Were I to judge of Carlo Cignani by his
works, I should pronounce him a man of elevated
character, noble by instinct, if not by descent, but
simple in his habits, and a despiser of outward show
and ostentation.
The other painter I alluded to, is Sasso
Ferrato, a great and admired manufacturer of
Virgins, but a mere copyist, without pathos,
power, or originality : sometimes he resem-
348 FLORENCE.
bles Guido, sometimes Carlo Dolce ; but the
graceful harmonious delicacy of the former, be-
comes coldness and flatness in his hands, and
the refinement and sweetness of the latter, sink
into feebleness and insipidity. Were I to judge
of his character by his Madonnas, I should sup-
pose that Sasso Ferrato had neither origina*
genius nor powerful intellect, nor warmth of heart,
nor vivacity of temper ; that he was in short a
mere mild, inoffensive, good sort of man, studious
and industrious in his art, not without a feeling
for the excellence he wanted power to attain.*
I might pursue this subject further, but my
memory fails, my head aches, and my pen is tired
for to-night.
*****
Both here and at Rome, I have found consider-
able amusement in looking over the artists who are
usually employed in copying or studying from the
celebrated pictures in the different galleries ; but
I have been taught discretion on such occasions by
a ridiculous incident which occurred the other day,
as absurdly comic as it was unlucky and vexatious.
A friend of mine observing an artist at work in the
Pitti Palace, whom by his total silence and inatten-
tion to all around, she supposed to be a native
* Forsyth complains of some celebrated Madonnas being unim-
passioned : with submission to Forsyth's taste and acumen ought
they to be impassioned 1 Author's note.
FLORENCE. 349
Italian who did not understand a word of English,
went up to him, and peeping over his shoulder,
exclaimed with more truth than discretion. " Ah !
what a hideous attempt! that will never be like,
I'm sure !" " I am very sorry you think so, ma'am !"
replied the painter, coolly looking up in her face.
He must have read in that beautiful face an ex-
pression which deeply avenged the cause of his af-
fronted picture,
We have been twice to the opera since we ar-
rived here. At the Pergola, Bassi, though a
woman, is the Primo Uomo ; the rare quality of
her voice, which is a kind of rich deep counter-
tenor, unfitting her for female parts. Her voice
and science are so admirable, that it would be de-
licious to hear her blindfold ; but her large clumsy
figure disguised, or rather exposed in masculine
attire is quite revolting.
At the Cocomero we had the " Italiana in Al-
gieri:" the Prima Donna who is an admired
singer, gave the comic airs with great power and
effect, but her bold execution and her ungraceful
unliquid voice, disgusted me, and I came away
fatigued, and dissatisfied. The dancing is exe-
crable at both theatres.
From one end of Italy to the other, nothing is
listened to in the way of music but Rossini and his
imitators. The man must have a transcendent
350 FLORENCE.
genius, who can lead and pervert the taste of his
age as Rossini has done ; but unfortunately those
who have not his talent, who cannot reach his
beauties nor emulate his airy brilliance of imagina-
tion, think to imitate his ornamented style by
merely crowding note upon note, semi-quavers,
demi-semi-quavers, and semi-demi-semi-quavers in
most perplexed succession ; and thus all Italy, and
thence all Europe, is deluged with this busy, fussy,
hurry-skurry music, which means nothing, and
leaves no trace behind it either on the fancy or the
memory. Must it be ever thus ? are Paesiello
and Pergolesi and Cimarosa and those divine
German masters, who formed themselves on the
Italian school and surpassed it Winter and Mo-
zart* and Gluck are they eternally banished?
must sense and feeling be for ever sacrificed to
mere sound, the human organ degraded into a
mere instrument,! and the ear tickled with novelty
* Dr Holland once told me that when travelling in Iceland, he
had heard one of Mozart's melodies played and sung by an Ice-
landic girl, and that some months afterwards he heard the very
same air sung to the guitar by a Greek lady at Salonica. Yet the
son of that immortal genius who has dispensed delight from one
extremity of Europe to the other, and from his urn still rules the
entranced senses of millions Charles Mozart is a poor music
master at Milan ! this should not be.
t What Beccaria said in his day is most true of ours, " on paie
les musiciens pour 6mouvoir, on paie les danseurs de corde pour
LUCCA. 351
and meretricious ornament, till the taste is utterly
diseased ?
There was a period in the history of Italian
literature, when the great classical writers were
decried and neglected, and the genius of one man
depraved the taste of the age in which he lived.
Marini introduced, or at least rendered general
and fashionable, that far-fetched wit, that tinsel
and glittering style, that luxurious pomp of words,
which was easily imitated by talents of a lower
order : yet in the Adonis there are many redeem-
ing passages, some touches of real pathos, and
some stanzas of natural and beautiful description :
and thus it is with Rossini ; his best operas con-
tain some melodies among the finest ever com-
posed, and even in his worst, the ear is every now
and then roused and enchanted by a few bars of
graceful and beautiful melody, to be in the next
moment again bewildered in the maze of unmean-
ing notes, and the clash of overpowering accom-
paniments.
Lucca, April 23.
Lucca disappoints me in every respect : it was
once, when a republic, one of the most flourish-
ing, rich, and populous cities in Italy ; it is now
consigned over to the Ex-queen of Etruria ; audits
fate will be perhaps the same as that of Venice,
etonner, et la plus grande partie des musiciens veulent faire les
danseurs de corde/'
352
LUCCA.
Pisa and Sienna, which, when they lost their inde-
pendence, lost also their public spirit, their public
virtue, and their prosperity.
It is impossible to conceive any thing more rich
and beautiful, than the country between Florence
and Lucca, though it can boast little of the ele-
vated picturesque, and is destitute of poetical as-
sociations. The road lay through vallies, with the
Appenines (which are here softened down into gentle
sunny hills,) on each side. Every spot of ground
is in the highest state of cultivation ; the bounda-
ries between the small fields of wheat or lupins^
were rows of olives or mulberries, with an inter-
minable treillage of vines flung from tree to tree.
In England we should be obliged to cut them all
down for fear of depriving the crops of heat and
sunshine, but here they have no such fears. The
style of husbandry is exquisitely neat, and in
general performed by manual labour. The only
plough I saw would have excited the amusement
and amazement of an English farmer: I should
think it was exactly similar to the ploughs of Virgil's
time : it was drawn by an ox and an ass yoked
together, and guided by a woman. The whole
country looked as if it had been laid out by skilful
gardeners, and the hills in many parts were cut into
terraces, that not one available inch of soil might
be lost. The products of this luxuriant country
PISA. 353
are corn, silk, wine, and principally oil : potteries
abound, the making of jars and flasks, being
an immense and necessary branch of trade.
The city of Lucca has an appearance in itself
of stately solemn dullness, and bears no trace of
the smiling prosperity of the adjacent country :
the shops are poor and empty, there are no signs
of business, and the streets swarm with beggars.
The interior of the Duomo is a fine specimen of
Gothic : the exterior is Greek, Gothic, and Sara-
cenic jumbled together in vile taste : it contains
nothing very interesting. The palace is like
other palaces, very fine and so forth ; and only
remarkable for not containing one good picture,
or one valuable work of art.
Pisa, April 25.
Pisa has a look of elegant tranquillity, which
is not exactly dullness, and pleases me particu-
larly : if the thought of its past independence, the
memory of its once proud name in arts, arms, and
literature, come across the mind, it is not accom-
panied by any painful regret caused by the sight
of present misery and degradation, but by that
philosophic melancholy with which we are used
to contemplate the mutability of earthly greatness.
The Duomo, the Baptistry, the Leaning Tower,
and the Campo Santo, stand all together in a fine
open elevated part of the city. The Duomo is a
magnificent edifice in bad taste. The interior
354 PISA.
with its noble columns of oriental granite, is grand,
sombre, and very striking. As to the style of ar-
chitecture, it would be difficult to determine what
name to give it : it is not Greek, nor Gothic, nor
Saxon, and exhibits a strange mixture of Pagan
and Christian ornaments, not very unfrequent in
Italian churches. The Leaning Tower should be
contemplated from the portico of the church to
heighten its effect: when the perpendicular
column cuts it to the eye like a plumb line, the
obliquity appears really terrific.
The Campo Santo is an extraordinary place :
it affects the mind like the cloisters of one of our
Gothic cathedrals which it resembles in effect.
Means have lately been taken to preserve the sin-
gular frescos on the walls, which for five hundred
years have been exposed to the open air.
I remarked the tomb of that elegant fabulist
Pignotti; the last personage of celebrity buried
in the Campo Santo.
The University of Pisa is no longer what it
was when France and Venice had nearly gone to
war about one of its law professors, and its col-
leges ranked next to those of Padua : it has de-
clined in fame, in riches, and in discipline. The
Botanic Garden was a few years ago the finest in
all Europe and is still maintained with great cost
and care : it contains a lofty magnolia, the stem of
which is as bulky as a good sized tree : the gar-
LEGHORN. 355
clener told us rather poetically, that when in blos-
som it perfumed the whole city of Pisa.
Leghorn, April 26.
So different from any thing we have yet seen
in Italy ! busy streets gay shops various cos-
tumes Greeks, Turks, Jews, and Christians,
mingled on terms of friendly equality a crowded
port, and all the activity of prosperous commerce.
Leghorn is in every sense a. free port : all kinds
of merchandise enter exempt from duty, all reli-
gions are equally tolerated, and all nations trade
on an equal footing.
The Jews who are in every other city a shun-
ned and degraded race, are among the most opu-
lent and respectable inhabitants of Leghorn : their
quarter is the richest, and I may add the dirtiest
in the city : their synagogue here is reckoned the
finest in Europe, and I was induced to visit it
yesterday at the hour of worship. I confess I was
much disappointed ; and notwithstanding my in-
clination to respect always what is respectable in
the eyes of others, I never felt so strong a dispo-
sition to smile. An old Rabbi with a beard of
venerable length, a pointed bonnet and a long
white veil, got up into a superb marble pulpit and
chaunted in strange nasal tones, something which
was repeated after him in various and discordant
356 LEGHORN.
voices by the rest of the assembly. The congre-
gation consisted of an uncouth set of men and
boys, many of them from different parts of the
Levant, in the dresses of their respective countries :
there was no appearance of devotion, no so-
lemnity; all wore their hats, some were poring
over ragged books, some were talking, some sleep-
ing, or lounging, or smoking. While I stood look-
ing about me, without exciting the smallest atten-
tion, I heard at every pause a prodigious chatter-
ing and whispering which seemed to come from
the regions above, and looking up I saw a row of
latticed and skreened galleries where the women
were caged up like the monkies at a menagerie,
and seemed as noisy, as restless, and as impatient
of confinement : the door-keeper offered to intro-
duce me among them, but I was already tired and
glad to depart.
We have visited the pretty English burial
ground, and the tomb of Smollet, which in the
true English style is cut and scratched all over
with the names of fools, who think thus to link
their own insignificance to his immortality. We
have also seen whatever else is to be seen, and
what all travellers describe: to-morrow we leave
Leghorn for myself without regret : it is a place
with which I have no sympathies, and the hot,
LUCCA. 357
languid, damp atmosphere which depresses the
spirits and relaxes the nerves, has made me suffer
ever since we arrived.
Lucca,
Had I never visited Italy I think I should"!
never have understood the word picturesque. In
England we apply it generally to rural objects or
natural scenery, for nothing else in England can de-
serve the epithet. Civilization, cleanliness, and
comfort, are excellent things, but they are sworn
enemies to the picturesque : they have banished
it gradually from our towns, and habitations, into
remote countries, and little nooks and corners,
where we are obliged to hunt after it to find it ;
but in Italy the picturesque is every where, in
every variety of form ; it meets us at every turn,
in town and in country, at all times and seasons ;
the commonest object of every-day life here be-
come picturesque and assumes from a thousand
causes a certain character of poetical interest it
cannot have elsewhere. In England, when tra-
velling in some distant county, we see perhaps a
craggy hill, a thatched cottage, a mill on a wind-
ing stream, a rosy milkmaid, or a smock-frocked
labourer whistling after his plough, and we ex-
claim " how picturesque !" Travelling in Italy we
see a piny mountain, a little dilapidated village on
358 LUCCA.
its declivity, the ruined temple of Jupiter or Apollo
on its summit ; a peasant with a bunch of roses
hanging from his hat, and singing to his guitar, or
a contadina in her white veil and scarlet petticoat,
and we exclaim " how picturesque !" but how dif-
ferent ! Again \a tidy drill or a hay cart, with a
team of fine horses, is a very useful, valuable, ci-
vilized machine ; but a grape-waggon reeling un-
der its load of purple clusters, and drawn by a
pair of oxen in their clumsy, ill-contrived harness,
and bowing their patient heads to the earth, is
much more picturesque. A spinning wheel is very
convenient it must be allowed, but the distaff
and spindle are much more picturesque. A snug
English villa with its shaven lawn, its neat shrub-
bery, and its park, is a delightful thing an Italian
villa is probably far less comfortable, but with its
vineyards, its gardens, its fountains, and statues, is
far more picturesque. A laundry maid at her
wash-tub, immersed in soap-suds, is a vulgar idea,
though our clothes may be the better for it. I
shall never forget the group of women I saw at
Terracina washing their linen in a bubbling brook
as clear as crystal, which rushed from the moun-
tains to the sea there were twenty of them at
least grouped with the" most graceful effect, some
standing up to the mid-leg in the stream, others
spreading the linen on the sunny bank, some fling-
LUCCA. 359
ing back their long hair stood shading their brows
with their hands and gazing on us as we passed :
it was a scene for a poet, or a painter, or a melo-
drama. An English garden, adorned at every
turn with statues of the heathen deities (although
they were all but personifications of the various
attributes of nature,) would be ridiculous. Setting
aside the injury they must sustain from our damp
variable climate, they would be out of keeping with
all around : here it is altogether different ; the
very air of Italy is embued with the spirit of an-
cient mythology ; and though " the fair humani-
ties of old religion," the Nymphs, the Fauns, the
Dryads, be banished from their haunts and live
no longer in the faith of reason, yet still, whither-
soever we turn, some statue, some temple in ruins,
some fragment of an altar, some inscription half
effaced, some name half barbarized, recalls to the
fancy those forms of light, of beauty, of majesty,
which poetry created to people scenes for which
mere humanity was not in itself half pure enough,
fair enough, bright enough.
What can be more grand than a noble forest
of English oak ? or more beautiful than a grove
of beeches and elms clothed in their rich autum-
nal tints? or more delicious than the apple or-
chard in full bloom ? but it is true notwithstand-
ing, that the olive, and cypress, and cedar, the
360 LUCCA.
orange, and the citron, the fig and the pomegra-
nate, the myrtle and the vine, convey a different,
and more luxuriant feeling to the mind ; and are
associated with ideas which give to the landscape
they adorn a character more delightfully, more
poetically, picturesque.
When at Lord Grosvenor's or Lord Stafford's
I have been seated opposite to some beautiful Ita-
lian landscape, a Claude or a Poussin, with a hill
crowned with olives, a ruined temple, a group of
peasants seated on a fallen column, or dancing to
the pipe and the guitar, and over all the crimson
glow of evening, or the violet tints of morning,
I have exclaimed with others " How lovely ! how
picturesque, how very poetical!" No one thought
of saying * How natural .'' because it is a style of na-
ture with which we are totally unacquainted : and if
some amateurs of real taste and feeling prefer a rural
cattle scene of Paul Potter or Cuyp, to all the
grand or lovely creations of Salvator, or Claude,
or Poussin, it is perhaps, because the former are
associated in their minds with reality and familiar
nature, while the latter appear in comparison mere
inventions of the painter's fertile fancy, mere
visionary representations of what may or might
exist, but which do not come home to the memory
or the mind with the force of truth or delighted
GENOA. 861
recollection. So when I have been travelling in
Italy how often I have exclaimed, " How like a
picture !" and I remember once while contemplating
a most glorious sunset from the banks of the Arno,
I caught myself saying " this is truly one of
Claude's sunsets !" Now should I live to see again
one of my favourite Grosvenor Claudes, I shall
probably exclaim " How natural ! how like what
I have seen so often on the Arno, or from the
Monte Pincio !"
And, in conclusion, let it be remembered by
those who are inclined to smile (as I have often
done) when travellers fresh from Italy rave almost
in blank verse, and think it all as unmeaning as
" Lutes, laurels, seas of milk, and ships of amber !"
let them recollect that it is not alone the visible
picturesque of Italy which thus intoxicates ; it is
not only her fervid skies, her sunsets, which en-
velope one half of heaven from the horizon to the
zenith, in living blaze ; nor her soaring pine-clad
mountains ; nor her azure seas : nor her fields
" ploughed by the sun-beams;" nor her gorgeous,
cities spread out with all their domes and towers-
unobscured by cloud or vapours ; but it is some-
thing more than these, something beyond, and
over all
The gleam,
The light that never was on sea or land
The consecration, and the poet's dream !
362 GENOA.
Genoa, 30.
We arrived here late, and I should not write
now, weary, weak, sick, and down-spirited as I
am, did I not know how the impressions of one day
efface those of the former ; and as I cannot sleep,
it is better to scribble than to think.
As to describing all I have seen, thought, and
felt in three days, that were indeed impossible : I
think I have exhausted all my prose eloquence,
and all allowable raptures ; so that unless I ramble
into absolute poetry, I dare not say a word of the
scenery, around Sarzana and Lerici. After spend-
ing one evening at Sarzana, in lingering through
green lanes and watching the millions of fire-flies,
sparkling in the dark shade of the trees, and lost
again in the brilliant moonlight we left it the
next morning about sunrise, to embark in a felucca
at Lerici, as the, road between Spezia and Sestri
is not yet completed. The groves and vineyards
on each side of the road were filled with nightin-
gales, singing in concert loud enough to over-
power the sound of our carriage wheels, and the
whole scene as the sun rose over it, and the pur-
ple shadows drew off and disclosed it gradually to
the eye, was so enchanting that positively I will
say nothing about it.
Lerici is a small fishing town on the Gulf of
GENOA. 36,3
Spezia. Here I met with an adventure which with
a little exaggeration and embellishment such as
no real story-teller ever spares, would make an
admirable morceau for a quarto tourist; but, in
simple truth was briefly thus.
While some of our party were at breakfast
and the servants and sailors were embarking the
carriages and baggage, I sat down to sketch the
old grey fort on the cliff above the town ; but
every time I looked up, the scene was so inex-
pressibly gay' and lovely, it was with difficulty and
reluctance I could turn my eyes down to my paper
again ; and soon I gave up the attempt, and threw
away both paper and pencil. It struck me that
the view from the castle itself must be a thousand
times finer than the view of the castle from below,
and without loss of time I proceeded to explore
the path leading to it. With some fatigue and
difficulty, and after losing myself once or twice, I
reached the top of the rock, and there a wicket
opened into a walled passage cut into steps to ease
the ascent. I knocked at the wicket with three
strokes, that being the orthodox style of demand-
ing entrance into the court of an enchanted castle,
using my parasol instead of a dagger,* and no one
appearing, I entered, and in a few moments
* With dagger's hilt upon the gate,
\Vho knocks so loud and knocks so late 1 SCOTT.
364' GENOA.
reached a small paved terrace in front of the for.
tress, defended towards the sea by a low parapet
wall. The massy portal was closed, and instead
of a bugle horn hanging at the gate I found only
the handle and fragments of an old birch-broom,
which base utensil I presently applied to the pur-
pose of a horn, viz. sounding an alarm, and
knocked and knocked but no hoary-headed sen-
eschal nor armed warder appeared at my sum-
mons. After a moment's hesitation, I gave the
door a push with all my strength : it yielded,
creaking on its hinges, and I stepped over the
raised threshold. I found myself in a low dark
vaulted hall which appeared at first to have no
communication with any other chamber : but on
advancing cautiously to the end I found a low door
in the side, which had once been defended by a
strong iron grating of which some part remained :
it led to a flight of stone stairs which I began to
ascend slowly, stopping every moment to listen ;
but all was still as the grave. On each side of this
winding staircase I peeped into several chambers,
all solitary and ruinous : more and more surprised,
I continued to ascend till I put my head unex-
pectedly through a trap door, and found myself
on the roof of the tower: it was spacious, defended
by battlements, and contained the only signs of
warlike preparation I had met with ; videlicet, two
GENOA. 365
cannons or culverins as they are called, and a
pyramidal heap of balls, rusted by the sea air.
I sat down on one of the cannon, and leaning on
the battlements, surveyed the scene around, be-
low me with a feeling of rapture, not a little en-
hanced by the novelty and romance of my situa-
tion. I was alone I had no reason to think there
was a single human being within hearing. I was
at such a vast height above the town and the
shore, that not a sound reached me, except an
indistinct murmur now and then, borne upwards
by the breeze, and the scream of the sea-fowl as
they wheeled round and round my head. I looked
down giddily upon the blue sea, all glowing and
trembling in the sun-shine : and the scenery around
me was such, as the dullest eye the coldest, the
most unimaginative soul, could not have contem-
plated without emotion. I sat, I know not how
long, abandoned to reveries, sweet and bitter till
I was startled by footsteps close to me, and turn-
ing round, I beheld a figure so strange and fan-
tastic, and considering the time, place, and cir-
cumstance, so incomprehensible and extraordi-
nary, that I was dumb with surprise. It was a
little spare old man, with a face and form which
resembled the anatomy of a baboon, dressed in an
ample night-gown of flowered silk, which hung
upon him, as if it had been made for a giant, and
366 GENOA.
trailed on the ground, a yard and a half behind
him. He had no stockings, but on his feet a pair
of red slippers, turned up in front like those the
Turks wear. His beard was grizzled, and on his
head he wore one of the long many-coloured
woollen caps usually worn in this country, with
two tassels depending from it, which nearly
reached his knees. I had full time to examine
the appearance and costume of this strange ap-
parition as he stood before me, bowing profoundly,
and looking as if fright and wonder had deprived
him of speech. As soon as I had recovered from
my first amazement, I replied to every low bow,
by as low a courtesy, and waited till it should
please him to begin the parley.
At length he ventured to ask, in bad provincial
Italian, what I did there ?
I replied that I was only admiring the fine
prospect.
He begged to know, " come diavolo," I had
got there ?
I assured him I had not got there by any dia-
bolical aid, but had merely walked through the
door.
Santi ^postoli ! did not my excellency know,
that according to the laws and regulations of war,
no one could enter the fort, without permission
first obtained of the governor ?
GENOA. 367
I apologized politely : and where, said I, is the
Governor ?
II Governatore son io per servirla ! he replied,
with a low bow.
You ! O che bel ceffo \ thought I and what,
Signor Governor, is the use of your fort ?
To defend the bay and town of Lerici from
enemies and pirates.
But, said I, I see no soldiers ; where is the
garrison to defend the fort ?
The little old man stepped back two steps
" Eccomi !" he replied, spreading his hand on his
breast, and bowing with dignity.
It was impossible to make any reply: I there-
fore wished the Governor and garrison good
morning ; and disappearing through my trap door,
I soon made my way down to the shore, where I
arrived out of breath, and just in time to step into
our felucca.
368
GENOA.
THE LAMENT OF NINA.
IN vain the sun shineth,
While the heart pineth,
For hope waxeth faint, and the spirit declineth,
Affection is over !
And who will discover
Some spell of enchantment to win back a lover?
Ah ! once when I pressed him,
And fondly caressed him,
With smiles of deep transport, he told how I blessed
him !
\
But pleasure is over !
And who will discover,
Some magical spell to recall a lost lover !
O! moments of feeling,
Such raptures revealing !
But break my proud heart, shame and sorrow con-
cealing
And farewell the rover !
He ne'er shall discover
What anguish I bear, for a cold hearted lover !
Monday.
GENOA.
If there be a time when we most wish for
those of whom we always think, when we most
love those who are always dearest, it must be on
such a delicious night as that we passed at Sar-
zana, or on such a morning as that we spent at
Lerici ; and if there be a time when we least love
those we always love least wish for them, least
think of them, it must be in such a moment as the
noontide of yesterday when the dead calm over-
took us, halfway between Lerici and Sestri, and I
sat in the stern of our felucca, looking with a sort
of despairing languor over the smooth purple sea,
which scarcely heaved around us, while the flapping
sails drooped useless round the masts, and the
rowers indolently leaning on their oars, sung in a
low and plaintive chorus. I sat hour after hour,
still and silent, sickening in the sunshine, dazzled
by its reflection on the water, and overcome with
deadly nausea : I believe nothing on earth could
have roused me at that moment. But evening so
impatiently invoked, came at last : the sun set, the
last gleam of his " golden path of rays" faded
from the waters, the sea assumed the hue of ink ;
the breeze sprung up, and our little vessel, with
all its white sails spread, glanced like a wild swan
over the waves, leaving behind " a moon illumined
wake." Two hours after dark we reached Sestri,
R 5
370 GENOA.
where we found miserable accommodations ; and
after foraging in vain for something to eat, after
our day's fast, we crept to bed, all sick, sleepy,
hungry, and tired.
We leave Genoa to-morrow : I can say but
little of it, for I have been ill, as usual, almost ever
since we arrived ; and though my little Diary has
become to me a species of hobby, I have lately
found it fatiguing, even to write ; and the pleasure
and interest it used to afford me, diminish daily.
Genoa, though fallen, is still " Genoa the
proud." She is like a noble matron, blooming in
years, and dignified in decay; while her rival
Venice always used to remind me of a beautiful
courtezan repenting in sack-cloth and ashes, and
mingling the ragged remnants of her former splen-
dor, with the emblems of present misery, degra-
dation, and mourning. Pursue the train of simili-
tude, Florence may be likened to a blooming bride
dressed out to meet her lover ; Naples to Tasso's
Armida, with all the allurements of the Syren, and
all the terrors of the Sorceress; Rome sits
crowned upon the grave of her power, widowed
indeed, and desolate, but still, like the queenly
Constance, she maintains the majesty of sorrow
" This is my throne, let kings come bow to it !"
GENOA. 371
The coup-d'ceil of Genoa, splendid as it is, is not
equal to that of Naples, even setting poetical asso-
ciations aside : it is built like a crescent round the
harbour, rising abruptly from the margin of the
water, which makes the view from the sea so
beautiful : to the north the hills enclose it round
like an amphitheatre. The adjacent country is
covered with villas, gardens, vineyards, woods,
and olive-groves, forming a scene most enchanting
to the eye and mind, though of a character very
different from the savage luxuriance of the south
of Italy.
The view of the city from any of the heights
around, more particularly from that part of the
shore called the Ponente, where we were to-day,
is grand beyond description: on every side the
church of Carignano is a beautiful and striking
object.
There is but one street, properly so called, in
Genoa the Strada Nuova ; the others are little
paved alleys, most of them impassable to carriages,
both from their narrowness and the irregularity of
the ground on which the city is built.
The Strada Nuova is formed of a double line
of magnificent palaces, among which the Doria
Palace is conspicuous. The architecture is in
general fine ; and when not good is at least pleas-
ing : the fronts of the houses are in general gaily
372 GENOA.
painted and stuccoed. The best apartments are
usually at the top ; and the roofs often laid out in
terraces, or paved with marble and adorned with
flowers and shrubs.
I have seen few good pictures here : the best
collections are those in the Brignolet and Durazzo
palaces. In the latter are some striking pictures
by Spagnoletto (or Ribera, as he is called here).
In the Brignolet, the Roman Daughter, by Guido,
struck me most. I was also pleased by some
fine pictures of the Genoese painter Piola, who is
little known beyond Genoa.
The church of the Carignano, which is a minia-
ture model of St. Peter's, contains Paget's admi-
rable statue of St. Sebastian, which Napoleon in-
tended to have conveyed to Paris.
******
Beauty is no rarity at Genoa : I think I never
saw so many fine women in one place, though I
have seen finer faces at Rome and Naples than
any I see here. The mezzaro, a veil or shawl
thrown over the head and round the shoulders, is
universal, and is certainly the most natural and be-
coming dress which can be worn by our sex : the
materials differ in fineness, from the most exquisite
lace and the most expensive embroidery, to a piece
of chintz or linen, but the effect is the same.
This costume, which prevails more or less through
GENOA. 373
all Italy, but here is general, gives something of
beauty to the plainest face, and something of ele-
gance to the most vulgar figure : it can make de-
formity itself look passable ; and when worn by a
really graceful and beautiful female, the effect is
peculiarly picturesque and bewitching.
It was a Festa to-day; and we drove slowly
along the Ponente after dinner. Nothing could
be more gay than the streets and public walks,
crowded with holiday people : the women were in
proportion as six to one ; and looked like groups
dressed to figure in a melodrame or ballet.
When once we have left Genoa behind us,
and have taken our last look of the blue Medi-
terranean, I shall indeed feel that we have quitted
Italy. Piedmont is not Italy. Cities which are
only famous for their sieges and fortifications,
plains only celebrated as fields of battle and
scenes of blood, have neither charms nor interest
for me.
On Monday we set off for Turin : how I dread
travelling! and the motion of the carriage, which
has now become so painful ! Yet a little, a very
little longer, and it will all be over.
374 GENOA.
FAREWELL TO ITALY.
MIRA IL CIEL COM'E BELLO, E MIRA IL SOLE CH*A
SE PAR CHE N'lNVITI, E NE CONSOLE.
Farewell to the Land of the South!
Farewell to the lovely clime,
Where the sunny vallies smile in light,
And the piny mountains climb !
Farewell to her bright blue seas !
Farewell to her fervid skies !
many and deep are the thoughts which crowd
On the sinking heart, while it sighs,
" Farewell to the Land of the South !"
As the look of a face beloved,
Was that bright land to me !
It enchanted my sense, it sunk on my heart
Like music's witchery !
In every kindling pulse
1 felt the genial air,
For life is life in that sunny clime,
Tis death of life elsewhere :
Farewell to the Land of the South !
GENOA. 375
The poet's splendid dreams,
Have hallow' d each grove and hill,
And the beautiful forms of ancient Faith
Are lingering round us still.
And the spirits of other days,
Invok'd by fancy's spell,
Are rolled before the kindling thought,
While we breathe our last farewell
To the glorious Land of the South !
A long a last adieu,
Romantic Italy !
Thou land of beauty, and love, and song,
As once of the brave and free !
Alas ! for thy golden fields !
Alas ! for thy classic shore !
Alas ! for thy orange and myrtle bowers !
I shall never behold them more
Farewell to the Land of the South !
376 TURIN.
Turin, May 10.
We arrived here yesterday, after a journey to
me most trying and painful : I thought at Novi
and afterwards at Asti, that I should have been
obliged to give up and confess my inability to
proceed ; but we know not what we can bear till
we prove ourselves; I can live and suffer still.
I agree with who has just left me, that
nothing can be more animating and improving
than the conversation of intelligent and clever
men, and that lady-society is in general very fade
and tiresome : and yet I truly believe that no
woman can devote herself exclusively to the society
of men without losing some of the best and sweetest
characteristics of her sex. The conversation of
men of the world and men of gallantry, gives in-
sensibly a taint to the mind ; the unceasing lan-
guage of adulation and admiration intoxicates the
head and perverts the heart ; the habit of t&te-a-
tetes, the habit of being always either the sole or
principal object of attention, of mingling in no
conversation which is not personal, narrows the
disposition, weakens the mind, and renders it
incapable of rising to general views or principles;
while it so excites the senses and the imagination,
that every thing else becomes in comparison stale,
flat and unprofitable. The life of a coquette is
, LYONS. 377
very like that of a drunkard or an opium eater,
and its end is the same the utter extinction of
intellect, of cheerfulness, of generous feeling and
of self respect.
*****
St. Michel, Monday. I know not why I open
my book, or why I should keep accounts of times
and places. I saw nothing of Turin but what I
beheld from my window : and as soon as I could
travel we set off, crossed Mount Cenis in a storm,
slept at Lans-le-bourg, and reached this place
yesterday, where I am again ill, and worse worse
than ever.
Is it not strange that while life is thus rapidly
wasting, I should still be so strong to suffer ? the
pang, the agony is not less acute at this moment,
than when, fifteen months ago, the poignard was
driven to my heart. The cup though I have
nearly drained it to the last, is not less bitter now
than when first presented to my lips. But this
is not well ; why indeed should I repine ? mine was
but a common fate like a true woman, I did but
stake my all of happiness upon one cast and
lost !
Lyons, 19.
Good God! for what purpose do we feel;
why within our limited sphere of action, our short
378 LYONS.
and imperfect existence have we such boundless
capacity for enjoying and suffering? no doubt for
some good purpose. But I cannot think as I used
to think : my ideas are perplexed : it is all pain of
heart and confusion of mind ; a sense of bitterness,
and wrong and sorrow, which I cannot express,
nor yet quite suppress. If the cloud would but
clear away that I might feel and see to do what
is right! but all is dark and heavy, and vacant :
my mind is dull, and my eyes are dim, and I am
scarce conscious of any thing around me.
A few days passed here in quiet, and kind Dr.
P** have revived me a little.
All the way from Turin I have slept almost
constantly ; if that can be called sleep, which was
rather the stupor of exhaustion, and left me still
sensible of what was passing round me. I heard
voices, though I knew not what they said ; and I
felt myself moved from place to place, though I
neither knew nor cared whither.
******
All that I have seen and heard, all that I have
felt and suffered, since I left Italy, recalls to my
mind that delightful country. I should regret
what I have left behind, had I not outlived all re-
grets but owe for there, though
I vainly sought from outward forms to win
The passion and the life whose fountains are within,
LYONS. 379
all feeling was not yet worn out of my heart : I
was not then blinded nor stupified by sorrow and
weakness as I have been since.
There are some places we remember with
pleasure, because we have been happy there ;
others, because endeared to us as the residence of
friends. We love our country because it is our
country ; our home because it is home : London
or Paris we may prefer, as comprehending in
themselves, all the intellectual pleasures, and
luxuries of life : but, dear Italy ! we love it,
simply for its own sake : not as in general we are
attached to places and things, but as we love a
friend, and the face of a friend; there it was
" luxury to be" there I would willingly have died,
if so it might have pleased God.
Till this evening we have not seen a gleam of
sunshine, nor a glimpse of the blue sky, since we
crossed Mount Cenis. We entered Lyons during
a small drizzling rain. The dirty streets, the
black gloomy-looking houses, the smoking manu-
factories, and busy looks of the people made me
think of Florence and Genoa, and their " fair
white walls" and princely domes ; and when in the
evening I heard the whining organ which some
wretched Savoyard was grinding near us, I re-
membered even with emotion the delightful voices
I heard singing " Di placer mi balza il cor," under
380 CONCLUSION.
my balcony at Turin my last recollection of
Italy : and to-night, when they opened the window-
to give me air, I felt, on recovering, the cold chill
of the night hreeze ; and as I shivered, and
shrunk away from it, I remembered the delicious
and genial softness of our Italian evenings.
* * # % * *
22. No letters from England.
Now that it is past, I may confess, that till
now, a faint a very faint hope did cling to my
heart. I thought it might have been just pos-
sible ; but it is over now all is over !
We leave Lyons on Tuesday, and travel by
short easy stages ; and they think I may sail reach
Paris. I will hold up if possible.
Yet if they would but lay me down on the
road-side, and leave me to die in quietness ! to rest
is all I ask.
24. St. Albin. We arrived here yesterday.
The few sentences which follow, are not legible.
Four days after the date of the last paragraph, the writer died
at Autun in her 26th year, and was buried in the garden of
the Capuchin Monastery, near that city. EDITOR.
THE END.
Thomas White, Printer, 11, Crane Court.
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J6D5 Diary of an ennuyee
1826 New ed.
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