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VOL. U. 

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Honlroii : 



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-Paintings-* Fresoos — Raphael's Sibyls and Isaiah — 
rAogostines — Benedictines — Frescos of Domenichlno and 
F-Giudo-^Angel's sapper with St. Ghregory — A. meeting wit^ 
[l^ Pope — %hiido's Archangel — ^The Capuchins— Trinity de' 
I Monti — ^Ruined Frescos — Tomb and Habitation of Clande 
' Iioaraine 



of Ara Coeli — Steps ascended on the knees by Julius 
Cffisar, and the Modem Italians — Theatrical Prsesepio— 
General of the Frandacaos — ^Miraculous Bambino— Sacred 
Island — iElscnlapius and St. Bartholomew— Indulgences — 
Trastevere and Trasteverini — Assassination — Games — Con- 
vents — Tasso's Tomb— View of Rome from Mount Jani- 
culum — Comparison between Fhgan Temples and Christian 



The Fountains of Rome 

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The Vatican Library 3a 


The Sistine Chapel — ^Tlic Last Jndgment — ^Michael Angclo — ^The 

Paolina Chapel — Sala Borgia 39 

The Camerc of Raphael 46 

The Loggic of Raphael — The Paintings in the Vatican . . 56 

Museum of the Capitol I' • 62 


The Paintings and the Palazzo de* Consenratori in the Capitol — 

Academy of St. Luke— Raphael's St. Luke— Raphael's Skull 84 

Roman Palaces — ^Palazzo Dona 91 

Palazzo Colonna , . 100 

Palazzi Barberini and Sciarra 106 

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The F&lazzi Massimi and Spada — Pompey's Statue — ^Palazzo 

Costagati — P&Iazzo Mattel 113 


Fasqnin — ^Palazzo Brasclii— Palazzo Giustiniaiii — ^Pantheon bj 

Moonlight — Palazzo Borghese ...... 120 

PyasEzo Lndano ••••••••• 180 

Palazzo NuoYO di Torlonia—- Oanuiocim — OaTaUini's CoUection . .198 

Cornni Palace — ^Farnesina and the Faiuese • • • • 137 


Qairinal Palace — ^Palazzo Albani — Palazzo Poniatowski — Gems — 
Staircase of the Palazzo Rnspoli — ^The Nozze Aldobrandini 
— Colussal Finger at Palazzo Altieri — Palazzo Stoppani — 
RaphaeFs House — Guido's and Guercino's Aurora — Villa 
Ludovisi and Palazzo Rospigliosi 14A 


Roman Villas — ^Raphael's Casino and Frescos — Borghese Gardens 
— ^Italian and English Gardening — Villas Altieri, Giraud* 
Pftmfili, Doria, and Lanti — ^French Academy — Utility of an 
English Academy — ^Visit to Monte Mario — ^Villa Madama, 

Pastor FidO'— Raphael's Frescos Ig6 

a 8 

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YiUaAlbani ]65 

The Pope 173 

Trooeesaaa to the Mmerva— rPalm SandAy • • . . 176 


The Holy Week— The Miflerere— Holy Thunday— ProoeMioii»— ^ 
The Xnterment of Christ — Sepulchral lUummationB of the 
Ftolina Chapel— The Washing of Feet— The Serving at 
Tbble — ^The Penitenza Maggiore— The Cross of I^^re— The 
Adoration by the Pope and Cardinals— The Relics — Hln- 
minated Sepfolchre of Christ at S. Antonio de' Portoghed— 
Conoert of Sacred Music 182 

Good Friday— The Tre Ore— The Pilgrims » . . . 191 


Saturday — Baptism of the Jews — ^An Ordination — ^The Resorrec- 

tion — ^BI»3sing the Horses — Confession and Communion 198 

Sunday— The Benediction 203 

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Bfaimiiuition of St. Peier*s, and Fireworks from the Castle San 

Angelo .208 

CcniTents— Taking the YeU • . 212 

Mizades 226 

Blessingof the Horses — ^Festas — Italian Manners • . 233 

The Carnival 252 

Mnfflc and ihe Drama 260 

ImprovTisatori — ^Accademie 272 

, Literature and Science 279 

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ChildlnTtli — ^Marriages and Funerals — ^Daneing^— Qame»-*OoiiUMn 

Stain — ^Food of the Common People, &c 287 


Italian Sculptors — Canora — ^Thorwaldsen — Schadow — Mosaics and 
Cameos— Models — Works in the Ftedous Metals, etc. 

Egina Marbles 313 

Hadrian's Villa 318 


Tivoli Cascades — Qrotto of Neptune — Siren's Cave — ^Temple of the 
Sibyl, and other remains of Antiquity — ^Tour of the Hill — 
Villa of Meceenas — Lucien Bonaparte's Manufactories — ^Ruined 
Villas of the Ancient Romans — Excursion to Horace's Sabine 
Farm — ^Mtyestic Ruins of the Aqueducts .... 328 


Frascati— "^nilas of the Modem Romans — Cato — ^Porcian Meadows 
Lake Regillus — Rums of Tusculum — Site of Cicero's ViDa — 
New Excavations — ^Tusculum and Pompeii — Lucien Bona- 
parte's Villa — Tomb and Villa of Lucullus — ^Monuments to 
Cardinal York and the Pretender 34D 

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Grotto Ferrata — Cicero's Tilla — ^Domenichino's Frescos 



Antiquities of Albano — ^The Emissaiimn of the Alban Lake^ 
Ruins of Domitiaxi's Villa — ^Tomb of Ascaniiu — ^Tomb of 
Pompey — ^Alba Longa — ^Antediluvian Vases . . . 355 


Ascent of the Alban Mount — Camp of Hannibal — ^Triumphal Way 
— Convent of Friars — ^Volcanos — ^Lake of Kemi — ^Arida — 
Civita Lavinia— Cora — ^Temple of Hercules — Cyclopean Walls 302 

Frascati— -Banditti 373 

Banditti 377 

Ostia 3S5 


Sunset on the Bilatinc — ^The Colosseum and the Forum by Moon- 
light 38t> 

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TiMPLE OF Pallas .... Fronti»pieee. 

Vintage Feast at a Villa of Trastevers . . 22 

Raphael's Cartoons: Paul Preaching at Athens . 46 
Apartment in a Roman Palace . . .91 

BoRGHESE Palace ...... 124 

Villa Madama ...... 164 

A procession of Penitents . . . . 176 

Energetic Preaching ..... 196 

Carnival; the Corso ..... 256 


Temple of the Sibyl ..... 330 

Cicero's Villa ....... 350 

Castel Gandolfo ...... 354 

Gensano, on the Lake of Nemi .... 368 

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Chitbghes — PAiirraros — Frescos — Baphaxl's Sibtls 
AiTD Isaiah — Attottstikes — BEmfiDicrninBS — Fbeboos 
or DoMEiacHiKO akd Guido— Angel's Sttppeb with 
St. Q-begobt — ^A Meeting with the Pope — Gutdo's 
Abohanoel — The Capuchiks — TbikitI de' Monti— 


Ik my last, I believe, I enumerated the few cliurclies in 
Borne that possess anj sculpture worth notice. Those that 
are adorned with fine paintings — or paintings that were 
once fine — are far more numerous ; but these have generally 
suffered so much &om time, neglect, dirt, damp, and smoky 
tapers, that their beauties, their colouring, and even, in 
many instances, their yeiy design, are no longer discernible ; 
80 that you may go fiur to look at altar-pieces which boast 
the names of the greatest masters, and, after all, see nothing. 
The obscurity of the lateral chapels of the gloomy dd 
churches in which they are hidden, no doubt, is one cause 
of this ; and many of them might yet be restored, if brought 
out to light, and properly cleaned. If the Pope were to do 
this, and substitute copies in their place, I cannot conceiye 
that he would be thought to have committed any great 
crime, eyen by the most orthodox of his subjects. At all 
events, the Irench, who were restrained by no scruples 
with regard to violating church property, or committing 

TOL. n. B 

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2 BOXX. 

sacrilege^ and of whose Ioto for the arte we hear so mucliy 
and see so little proof^ miffht surely have taken them out of 
the churches, and arranged them in a gallerj^ at Borne. 

But, unless it weie to ornament Fans, they took no 
thought for the preserration of the fragile works of genius. 
They have heen the rohbers, but I cannot discover how they 
have proved themselves the protectors, of the arts. They 
plundered Italv of its. most valuable portable paintingB, but 
they left all the untransportable ones to pensh. I dlude 
more particularly to the frescos, which, to the disgrace of 
the past and present government, are mouldering away on 
the mildewed walls of old churches, without a smgle pre- 
caution being used to check the rapid progress of tneir 

Neglect and iU-usafi;e are fast obliterating the touches of 
departed genius; and those beautiM creations will soon 
pass away, whose perfection can never be equalled, and 
whose loss can never be repaired. 

At the Church of Santa Maria della Face, above the 
arches of the nave, are the four Sibyls of Baphael. They 
have suffered much &om time, and more, it is said, jfrom 
restoration ; yet the forms of Baphael, in all their loveliness, 
all their sweetness, are still before us ; they breathe all the 
soul, the sentiment, the chaste expression, and purity oi 
design, that characterize the works of that immortal genius. 
The dictating Angels hover over the head of the gifted 
Maids, one of whom writes with rapid pen the irreversible 
decrees of Fate. The countenances and musing attitudes of 
her sister Sibyls express those feelings of habitual thought* 
fulness and pensive sadness, natural to those who are cursed 
with the knowledge of futurity, and all its coming evils — of 
crimes which they cannot prevent, and calamities they can- 
not avert. 

In the same church is the Presentation to the Temple, 
by Balthasar Peruzzi — ^a fine fresco; but it is extremely 
difficult to turn our eyes &om the works of Baphael to those 
of Peruzzi. 

In the church of the Augustines, is Baphael's inimitable 
fresco of Isaiah — ^a work sufficient of itself to have crowned 
his name with immortality. The fire and fervour of the 


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mcfphei beam fircmi that intpired and holy eoniiteiiftDee. 
Even in force and sublimitr it will bear a comjpariaon with 
the Fro^ets and Bibjls which Michael Angelo has left in 
the Sistine Chapel; and which, in mj humble opinion, are 
bj £ur the best of hia worka^ — at least, of the few that now 
exist. It is in fi;eBco that the chief strength and gloiy. of 
both these ^^eat masters lie ; and those who hare omy seen 
Baphael's oil paintings, (even the Transfiguration itself^) 
can form but a very inadequate idea of his transcendent 

• In the convent adjoining the Church of St. Augustine^ 
there is an excellent library, containing upwards of one 
hundred thousand volumes, open to the public ; I mean, of 
course, the male part of it. 

* This convent, hke every other, lost its rich possessions at 
the arrival of the French, and will never regain them. But 
the Augustine monks, to whom it belongs, stiU possess some 
little property. They make a great deal more by begging, 
by saying masses, and by the contributions of penitents; 
besides which, the Pope allows to forty of them forty-five 
paoH a-month (about thirteen guineas af-jeta) each. There 
are above fifty monks in all, aod the majority of them are 
young men. What can be expected from a government 
that plunders the industrious to nay a pack of idle sturdy 
beggars ! I mention those particulars, not that there is any- 
thmg extraordinary in the Pope's pensioning these monks 
more than others, out because I was led to inquire into the 
affidrs of these Augustines by a circumstance which acd* 
dentally came to my knowledge the other day ; which, scan- 
dalous as it is, I shall relate to you, because I think hypo* 
crisy ought to be unmasked. 

Ihere Hved, and Hves, in a neighbouring street called the 
Tia della Scro&, an honest cobbler, whose wife is youz^, 
and, as one of these good fiithers thought, handsome. To 
^am her against the snares and wickedness of the worid, he 
took pleasure in giving her his ehosthr counsel; and she 
became, in consequence, so sensible of her sins, as to come 
d^uently to him for confession and absolution. One 
morning, last week, the cobbler rose, as usual, at the peep 
of day, and went away to hia woric; but, in an evil houTi he 

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4 noioB. 

happened to return Bome time afterwards, and foiind the 
Augufltine in the place he had quitted, by the side dT his 
wife. The neighbourhood was alarmed with the horrible 
screams that issued &om the habitation ; but the cause was 
made evident when the holy father appeared, pursued bj 
the cobbler, who cudgelled him all the way to his convent. 

A priest told me the friar would be sent to rusticate for a 
time ; that is, banished into the country ; which is the usual 
punishment in these cases — when they are discovered. 

In the Church of San Luigi de' Francesi, there is a chapel 
(the second on the right on entering) adorned with admir- 
able paintings in fresco, by Domenidiino, of the holy deeds 
and sufferings of St. Cecilia. The finest of them all is, I 
think, the An^el presenting crowns to St. CeciHa and St. 
Valerian, (her husband.) Nothing can surpass the exquisiiie 
beauty of the kneeling saints. The next in merit is the 
death of St. Cecilia. Beclioing on a couch, in the centre of 
the picture, her hand pressed on her bosom, her dying eyes 
raised to heaven, the saint is breathing her last; while 
female forms, of exquisite beauty and innocence, are kneel- 
ing around, or bending over her. The noble figure of an 
old man, whose clasped hands and bent brow seem to 
bespeak a father's affliction, appears on one side ; and lovely 
children, in all the playful graces of unconscious infancy, as 
usual in Domenichino's paintings, by contrast heighten yet 
relieve the deep pathos of the scene. From above, an angel 
— ^such an angel as Domenichino alone knew how to paint, 
a cherub form of light and loveliness, is descending on rapid 
wing, bearing to the expiring saint the crown and palm of 

The other paintings in this chapel are the apotheosis of 
St. Cecilia, extremely fine ; St. Cecilia expressing her con- 
tempt of the idols, which is on a small scale ; and St. Cecilia 
distributing clothes to the poor. These frescos are indeed 
works of &st rate excellence, and, fortunately, though in- 
jured, are still very visible ; but, as an old Italian said to 
me, looking ruefully at the most beautiful of them, " Ventt 
anni fa fu hella, hella asscd, ma adesso si vanisce giomaiU 

If these are spoiling^ tiie frescos, with which the rival 

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pencils of Domenichino and Gruido adorned the Chapel of 
St. Andrew, are spoiled. They are at the Convent of St. 
Qregoiy, on the CcBliaa Hill, which we visited the other 

We stopped upon the steps of the entrance, to contem- 
plate the dark masses of rum heaped on the Palatine ; the 
melancholy beauty of the cypress, with which they wero 
blended, the majestic arches of the Aqueduct crossmg the 
Via Triumphalis, and the grandeur of the mighty Colosseum. 
The deserted site of ancient Eome lay oefore us ; the 
gigantic monuments of her fallen magnificence were sprea 
aromid us ; wild weeds waved over the palaces of her em- 
perors, and the imbroken solitude that reigned through her 
once busy scenes, stole over the fancy, with feelings of 
deeper interest than the picturesque combinations of the 
prospect alone could have awakened. 

Whilst we were admiring it, the white robe of a Benedic- 
tine monk was swept over our faces by the wind, as he 
passed us. He apologized, and accompanied us into the 
outer court of the convent, where he found our lacquey 
pulling at the bell with all his might, and greviously com- 
plaining that he puUed in vain. The monk was courteously 
shocked to find we had been waiting, would not hear of our 
going away without seeing the frescos; and promising to 
send the porter immediately, he let himself m, while the 
lacquey continued his exercise without ; but, though he made 
a peal which seemed rather intended to summon the dead 
than the living, nobody came. The brotherhood seemed to 
be plunged into an everlasting sleep. "We heard the good 
father storming about at intervals, above us, and making a 
most tremendous clamour, while occasionally he put out his 
head, which, to our inexpressible diversion, was, by this time, 
enveloped in a night-cap, and exhorted the servant to ring 
louder and louder still — his rubicund face turning at last quite 
purple with rage, as he continued to vociferate " Corpo dt 
BaccoJ Gaspettol Che vergogna T^ At last a lay brother 
came 'drowsily forth, looking like Sloth, and the enragfed 
monk, having severely reprimanded him, shut the window 
of his ceU, and consigned himself to bed and to his siesta. 

Our yawning conductor unlocked for us the doors of three 

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6 9oia. 

little dingy chapeb near the dmich; and on the damp walla 
of one of them we saw the vestiges of the matchless frescos 
of Domenichino and Gkiido — ^the spectres of paintings, ** the 
ghosts of what they were." 

Their decaying colours and fleeting fbrms, which the 
absorbing moisture renders every dav more indistinct, leave 
little room now to judge of their lormer perfection; but 
while the faintest outline remains, the indestructible beauty 
of their desi^ and composition must be visible. 

Domenichmo's fresco represents the flagellation of St« 
Andrew, which the Emperor at a distance is seated to wit* 
ness. The suffering patience of the feeble saint is well con* 
trasted with the brawny strength and unrelentiag cruelty of 
the executioner — (a figure, by the way, which is an admirable 
studv for a painter) — ^while the varying passions expressed 
by the bystanders are beautifrdly told. 

G-uido has chosen the moment in which the aged saint, led 
to execution, &lls on his knees to adore the cross. His 
fresco, beine^ on the dampest and darkest side of the chapel, 
has suffered even more than the other ; and, from the defl* 
ciency of light, it is still more difBicult to trace it : but, by 
frequent and patient examination in the brightest part of 
the day, much of the beauty of both may still be maae out. 
But it would be the height of presumption now to attempt 
to decide the question of their respective merits, on which 
the first artists were divided in opinion, at the time ther 
were originally painted. Annibal Uaracci declared himself 
tmable to decide the point, but he let an old woman de- 
cide it for him ; for he saw her so violently affected by the 
flagellation, that he was ever afterwards convinced that 
Domenichino's must be the finest. 

That untutored nature is, after all, the most unerring 
judge of excellence, even in many of those arts that seem 
the last result of refinement and cultivation, I am far from 
iutending to dispute; and in most cases, like Annibal 
Caracd or Moli^re, I should be apt to take an old woman's 
opinion before a connoisseur's ; but, in this instance, flagel- 
lation is so immediately addressed to the senses and nerves, 
that perhaps it was the nature of the subject, rather thaa 
the superiozity of the work, that afidctea the old wCHnaa 

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BITAI^ nKB90018. 7 

witli Bach Tiolent agitation. Slie would sbrink with natanl 
honor at the sight of the huhes that laoerated the bleeding 
shoulders of the saint of Domenichino ; but could she enter 
so folly into the holy rapture of devotion — ^the sublime act 
of ad<»Btion, that burst &om the saint of Ghuido, and sus- 
tained his soul in that last and dreadful moment of an im« 
pending death of torture and ignominy, that human nature 
shudders to contemplate P* 

St. GhfegoiT used to feed twelve poor men every day here, 
and once, to his great surprise, he found there were thu'fceen ; 
but the interloper proved to be an angel^ who went away 
after eating his dinner, for which purpose indeed he seemed 
to have come, for he spoke not, and did nothing but eat. 
Of the fact there can be no doubt, because we saw the very 
table at which he sat. — "Eccola!" exclaimed the man, 
triumphantly, strikinff it with his hand, when somebody, 
laughmg, asked if he believed the tale. A fresco of Ghuido's 
which represented this dinner of the an^l and the beggars, 
is all but totally obliterated. Not so his choir of angek, in 
another of the chapels ; but unfortunately, though beautiful, 
iikev are by no means the best of his works. 

Among them there was one brown angel, — for angels, like 
women, are best distinguished by "black, brown, or fkir;" 
there was one angel — ^brown as an Ethiopian, but with eyes 
so bright and piercing, and shining with such liquid lus&e, 
that they shot through the heart of poor , and pos- 

sessed such fascination for him, that he actually returned 
tliree times to look at them. 

There is a statue of St. Gregory sitting in his pontifical 
robes, and very stately he Iooks. It is said to have been 
begun by Micliael Angelo, who could never persuade himself 
to finish it; and I cannot wonder at it; for Popes, even 
when they happen to be saints, are but hopeless subjects for 

I was, however, pleased to see the likeness of this eztn^ 
ordinary pontiff, who was favoured with the sight of an 
archangel on the top of the Castle St. Angelo, — ^with the 
company of an angel at dinner, — ^with the attendance of the 

^ Thera are veiy fine eoplea of these admirable compoflitlons in the 
MasBO Tenadf at Bolognik - 

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8 BOHE. 

Holy Ghost, in the form of a doye, at Ua ear, and witb tlie 
lore of the ladies. Certainly, a personage so blessed with 
the favours of angels and women, desenred to be sainted 
among men. 

The old walls of his house lie scattered about, and are 
preserved with great care. 

We had scarcely come away from seeing this Pope in 
marble, before we met another m reality. 

We were proceeding along the ancient Via Triwnphalis^ 
that leads from the Church of St. Gregory to the Colosseum, 
when the coachman, observing to us, " Viene il Fapa^^ drew 
up close by the side of the road, and stopped. His Holiness 
was preceded by a detachment of the '^ Ouarda Nohile" who, 
as soon as they came up with our open caleche, commanded 
us, in no very gentle voice, to get out of the carriage. 

But , whose spirit did not at all relish this mandate, 

nor the tone in which it was uttered, manifested no inten- 
tion to comply, and our servant, with true Italian readiness 
at a lie, declared we were Ibrestieri who did not understand 
Italian. The officers resolved to make us understand some- 
thing else, repeated the order, and began to flourish their 

swords about our ears. But sat with more inflexible 

resolution than ever, and all that was John BuU in his com- 
position now refused to move. Eor my part, I make it a rule 
never to oppose these pointed arguments, and therefore 
jumped out of the carnage, and purposely contrived to get 
myself involved among the horses and drawn swords of tne 

cavalry, knowing that I was in no real danger, and that 

would forget his dignity, and come to my assistance, which 
he accordmgly did; but otherwise nothmg, I believe, but 
main force, would have got him out of the carriage. We 
saw the papal procession advance up the Triumpmd Way, 
along which the victorious cars of so many Eoman heroes 
and conquerors had roUed in their day of triumph. His 
Holiness seemed, however, content with the honours of an 
ovation, for he was walking on foot, and instead of a myrtle 
crown, his brows were crowned with a large broad-brimmed 
scarlet velvet hat, bound with gold lace. This hat he very 
courteously took off as he passed us, and afterwards madb 
another bow, in return for our courtesies. Our lacquey wa0. 

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on Ills knees in the dust, and all the Italians we saw, awaited 
his approacli in the same attitude, then prostrated themselves 
before him to kiss his toe, or rather the gold cross, em- 
broidered in the front of his scarlet shoes. His robes, 
which descended to his feet, were scarlet ; on state occasions 
he wears no colour but white. He was attended by two 
cardinals, in their ordinary dress of block, edged with scarlet, 
followed by a train of servants, and by his coach, drawn by 
six black horses, the very model of the gilt, scarlet, wooden- 
looking equipages you may have seen in children's baby- 
houses. It looked exactly like a large toy. 

The Pope himself is a very fine venerable old man, with a 
countenance expressive of benignity and pious resignation. 
His is the very head you woi3d draw for a Pope. I have 
sinee frequently met him walking in this manner, on the 
roads, for exercise, after his early dinner. 

The old King and Queen of Spain, and that iniquitous 
wretch the Prince of Peace, may be seen every day, at the 
same hour, about twenty-two or ^^^^y-three o'clock, or an 
hour before sunset,* ta&g their accustomed drive, in two 
large coaches and six. There is a most amusing collection 
of ex-royalty, of all sorts and kinds, — ^remnants of old 
dynasties, and scions of new, — heirs of extinct kingdoms, 
and kings of ignoble families, — ^legitimate and illegitimate, 
flU jumbled together just now at Eome. Besides the old 
King and Queen of Spain, there are the Ex-Queen and the 
yoimg King of Etruna — ^the abdicated King of Sardinia, 
turned Jesuit — Louis Buonaparte, the dq)osed King of 
Holland, living like a hermit — Lucien Buonaparte, the 
uncrowned, living like a prince--and certain princesses 
living like— like — ^but comparisons are odious, and some- 
times they may prove scandalous. In this pious pilgrimage 
of churches, we must think only of the lives of nims and 

Let us go to the Capuchins. Their church, in the Piazza 
Barberini, possesses Gf^uido's painting of the Archangel 

* Time is always reckoned in the soath of Italy from the setting of 
the sun, which is the venti-quaUro ore, — twenty-four o'clock. If yon 
ordered your carrriage at one o'clock, your coadunan would bring it an 
hour afker dark. 

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lO BOXl. 

Micluiel trampling upon Satan. It is a daring attempt 
for a mortal hand to pourtraj the forms of heaven, to make 
palpable to human vision those unreal, undefined images 
of exalted sublimity and unearthly beauty that float before 
the poet's fimcy, and are dimly revealed even in the dreams 
of gifted genius. Perhaps it is impossible to satisfy the 
mind with any representation of the Angel of Light, which, 
in its loftiest aspuration it essays not to picture ; but Guide 
has made the nearest approach of any painter to realize the 
presence of a celestial spuit, and if the being he has pou^ 
trayed were to appear before us, we should worship him 
unquestioned, as a delegate and a power of Heaven. 

]aadiant with divini^, and clad in celestial beauty, that 
light and ethereal form tramples into the bottomless abyss, 
and chains in torture the gigantic and herculean fiend, that 
howls and gnashes his teeth with unpotent rage. There 
is no exertion or effort of strength on the part of the angel 
—it .is the act of volition alone ; there is no struggle or 
attempt at resistance on the side of the subjugated demon 
-—for resistance is vain. We feel that the united powers 
of earth and hell could not cope for an instant with the 
might of that slender arm, which wields the omnipotent 
sword of Heaven. 

It is said that Ghiido, having a pique a^;ainst the Pope,* 
** damned him to everlasting fame, by painting his portoiit 
in the likeness of Satan, and so strong was the resemblance, 
that it was impossible not to recognize it. 

I imagine &uido did not exactly meet the same return 
for this as Ghezzi, who caricatured Benedict XIY. and all 
the college of cardinals ; but that good-humoured Pope was 
so delighted that he made him a handsome present. 

Domenichino's Ecstacy of St. Francis, which, in a fit of 
piety, he gratuitously painted for this church, is not, per- 
haps, one of the best specimens of his powerM pencil. It 
is a good painting, but a bad Domenichiuo. The only 
fresco of Giotto in Borne adorns this church. It represent 
St. Peter walking on the waves; and, considering the 
in&ncy (^ art in which it was painted^ it is, indeed, a 
most wonderful and masterly performance. It is executed 
• Urban VIII, 

y Google 

ukosvaaxsT tobw. U 

in moflaie at St. Peter's; so also is Gtddo*s Archimgel; 
'toad Domenichino's St. fVancis is at this moment bSng 
eo]^d at the mosaic mamifactory. 

There is in this convent a sort of museum of lxme% 
formed from the skeletons of the deceased Capuchins, to 
which the inexorable friars refused us kdies admittaaoe. 

The Church of the S. S. Trinity de' Monti once boasted 
what Nicolas Poassin pronounced to be ^ the third picture 
in the world '* — ^Daniel da Yolterra's Deposition from the 
Cross. It ranked, in his estimation, after the Transfigu* 
ration, and the Communion of St. Jerome. But it was 
totally destroyed by the French, in their clumsy attempt 
to remove it, at the time thej^ plundered Italy of her works 
<^' art ; and this masterpiece is now irreparably lost to the 
world. St. Helena's Discoveij of the Cross, another cele- 
brated work by the same artist, on which he spent seven 
years of labour, was also ruined, and the church now con* 
tains nothing worthy of a visit, except the tomb of Claude 
Lorraine. His house, built upon his own design, with a 
simple Doric p(»rtico, which he loved to introduce into his 
paintings, stands dose beside it, and commands one of the 
most enchanting prospects that the eye ever beheld ;* al- 
though it is modem Eome only,— -the multiplied domes of 
her (murehes, and the towers of her convents, rising beneath 
the pine-covered heights of Monte Montorio and Monte 
Mano, that meet the view. Ancient Bome is not visible; 
one proud obelisk, that rises before the church, alone tells 
of its ruined grandeur. But the scene has a charm so 
inexpressible, a beauty so peculiar to itself, that its study 
alone might well have formed the genius of a Claude ; and 
those who have gased upon its morning brightness, and its 
evening sunsets, — or watched the harmonious tints of golden 
splendour fade in the soft floating purple clouds that man- 
tle the west, must have beheld r^ilized the pictures of 
Claude Lorraine. On the opposite side of the way, ad- 
j<Hning tiie church, is the house of Nicolas Poussin ; and 

« li was the residence of the anfhoren dnriiii; the diief part of her 
stay in Borne, 

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12 BOHX. 

dose by it, a house once inliabited by Salvator Boss. The 
Trinita de' Monti is still the favourite residence of men of 
genius. It is thronged with the etudii and the dwellings of 

The Church of Santa Maria YallicelK re-erected by that 
renowned samt, Filippo Neri, and therefore called the 
OUesa NuoYO, is built after the desims, and adorned with 
the frescos of Fietro da Cortona. On the ceiling of the 
Sacristy, the Archangel bearing the symbols of our 
Saviour's Passion to Heaven, is one of the best of his 
works I have ever seen; the colouring is thought parti- 
cularly good, and the effect of the cross, which, though 
painted on a horizontal ground, appears perfectly perpen- 
dicular, has been much admired. But even when called 
upon to approve and commend them, the paintings of Fietro 
da Cortona do not touch our hearts with admiration ; they 
want the vivifying powers of true genius. Equally remote 
from its seducing errors and its redeeming beauties, they 
keep on in the dull beaten path of mediocrity. We see 
nothing to offend, and nothing to charm us; and even 
without &ults they please less than many more imperfect 

This church was adorned with the altar-pieces of Bubens, 
Guercino, and Caravaggio, all of which are utterly ruined. 
In the Oratorio, into which the room where Saint Filippo 
died has been converted, we were shown his portrait, by 
Gnido. The fathers of the order of I Fadri delV Oratorio^ 
instituted by himself, are now only twelve in number, and 
inhabit a convent large enough, I think, to contain some 
hundreds. It is built in the form of a square, enclosing an 
internal court, with open corridors, three stories high, and 
every part of it is aiiy, clean, and commodious, — ^which we 
ascertained; for as the good monks were, as usual, &st 
asleep when we arrived, we took the liberty of walking all 
over it. 

Indeed, the lives of the whole race of monks and friars, 
black, white, brown, and grey, in every country where I 
have had the happiness of seeing them, may be aptly des- 
cribed by some lines of Prior's : — 

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nasooiB ov DOUKicHnro. 18 

** ney aoondly deep the night am j. 
They just do nothing all ^e day ; 
They eat, and drink, and sleep— What thent 
Why then— they eat and aleep again. 
If human things went ill or well — 
If changing empires rose or fell 
The morning went—the erening eame— 
And found mese Jriarsjnst the same/' 

In the Church of Santa Maria dell' Anima, the Nativity, 
by GiuHo Bomano, though it has suffered from injury and 
restoration, is the best of his paintings I have seen in 

The Church of San Andrea della Valle, is built upon the 
spot where the Curia of Pompey once stood, in which Ctesar 
fell. You may imagine the interest with which we visited 
it, although not a stone remains, nor an object appears to 
recall the memory of the deed that altered the destinies of 
the world. Yet did that memorable moment not the less 
strongly recur to us, when the blood of Cffisar was poured 
forth on the ground on which we trod — ^when Brutiis, mis- 
taking the excess of crime for virtue, stifled the soft plead* 
ings of nature, the natural beatings of his own heart, and 
plunged his treacherous dagger into the bosom of the friend 
to whom he owed his life. 

Paintings of the martyrdom of saints, and monuments 
of the fanaticism of sinners, now met our view; yet was not 
tbat memorable scene which our imagination recalled, much 
tbe same P Was not Brutus a fanatic, and Caesar a mar- 

The one was a moral, or, if you wOl, a political fanatic 
— ^the other, the martyr of ambition, — ^but it was the ambi- 
tion of " heroes, not of gods." 

But we came here, not to moralize over the death of 
Csesar, but to admire the frescos of Domenichino. He 
painted the Flagellation and the Gloriflcation of St. Andrew, 
near the altar, and the Pour Evangelists on the angle of 
the dome. Among the latter, the beauty of St. John caught 
my attention. The colouring is pecunarly fine, the con- 
ception grand, the design correct and perfect, the com- 
position pure, and the expression true and forcible. * They 
are works of real genius, and succeeding generations h^ve 

Digitized by 


li BOU. 

done them the jiutioe which theit CDntemporaries denied. 
Hetro da Cortona, and all his crowd of scholars and imita- 
tors, were envenomed in their animosity against Domeni- 
chino ; and when these frescos were exposed to view, thej 
raised so violent an outcry against them, that the prejudioe 
was universal. Domenicnino, who heard them abused on 
all sides, took it very patiently, and eveiy morning, as he 
went past to his labours, he used to stop to look at these 
much reviled productions ; and regularly, after attentively 
gazing at them, he shrugged his shoulders, and ezdaimed— 
" WeU, after all, they don t seem to me to be so very bad— 
JVbn mi pare d'efser tanto cattwo,^* 

His '* Cardinal Virtues," in the Church of San Carlo a* 
Gatinari, could be surpassed only by himself. Yet, beau* 
tiM as they are, I did not admire them, on the whole, quite 
so much as these ; and his four frescos, in the Church of 
S. Silvestro on Monte Cavallo, representing David dancing 
before the Ark, — Judith with the head of Holofemes,— * 
^Esther before Ahasuerus, — and Solomon and the Q^een of 
Bheba, I tiiought inferior to both. Whether thev really 
were so, or that I was then as tired with churches and 
paintings as you must be at this moment, I won't pretend 
to say. His Assumption, a small fresco on the roof of 
Santa Maria in Trastevere, is well worth visiting. 

In pity to you and myself, I will, for the present, con* 
dude this pilgrimage of the churches; but do not flatter 
yourself that you have done with thenu Good night. 

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Chuboh 07 Ajla. Cosli — Steps AsonrDiB ok thb xvus 


Thbatbioal Pb£sspio — Qbnbbaii 07 THB Ebahoib- 


ComTBHTS — Tabso'b Tomb — Vibw o7 Bomb 7bom 
Mount Jajsiqxtljju — Compabisok bbtwbbk Faoak 
Templbb abb Chbibtiak Chvbohbs. 

Thb ugly old Churcli of Santa Maria in Ara CobH, which 
crowns the highest summit of the Capitoline HiU, and is 
Bup^osed to occupy the site of the splendid Temple of 
Jupiter Optimus Mazimus, is adorned m the inside with 
twenty-two ancient columns, and on the outside with a 
flight of one hundred and twenty-four steps of Gkrecian 
marble, said to hare formed the ascent to the Temple of 
Bomulus Quirinus. Up these Pagan steps I have frequently 
seen good Christians painfully mounting on their knees, — 
a method of locomotion they seem to think more to the 
taste of the Yirgin at the top of them, than the rulgar 
mode of walking ; and it is either practised in order to repay 
her for some benefit already Teceired, or to obtain some 
desired spratification. One woman told me she had gone up 
on her knees, because she had made a tow to do it, if the 
Madonna would cure her of a bad sore throat ; in this case 
it might be termed a debt of honour. Another performed 
this exploit, in order to prevail upon the Madonna to give 
her a prize in the lotteiy, and really, in this instance, it 
could, 1 think, be considered no better than a bribe ; but as 
the tidLet came up a blauk^ it is plain the Yirgin wm not to 
be eoxmpted. 

Digitized by 


16 Bom. 

Nineteen centuries ago, JnliuB Cesar, at Us first trinmpliy 
ascended on his knees* the steps of this rery temple, (that 
of Jupiter Capitolinus). Strange! after the hipse of ages, 
to see, on the same spot, the same superstitions infecnng 
opposite faiths, and eniuaying equally the greatest and the 
weakest minds ! 

The List time I yisited this church, it was crowded almost 
to suffocation, by peasants from remote mountain villages, 
arrayed in their grotesque and yarious holidaj costumes, 
who had performed this festive pilgrimage in order to see 
the Bambmo, the new-bom Jesus, and pay their respects to 
the Virgin, who, at this season, sits in state to receive com- 
pan;^. This exhibition is called the Frces^no, and, after 
Christmas, is to be seen in almost every church, and in 
most of the private houses in Bome ; but it appears in its 
full glory in Ara CobH, and there we went to see it. 

The upper part of the church, around the ^reat altar, was 
adorned with painted scenes, and converted mto a stage, in 
the front of which sat the figure of the Virgin, tomb of 
wood, with her best blue satin gown and topaz necklace on, 
and her petticoats so stuck out, that unless she wore a 
hoop, which the friars, who were in the secret, positively 
demed, it was impossible to believe that her accouchement 
had yet taken place. There, however, lav, in proof of the 
contrary, the new-bom Bambino, the little Jesus, rolled in 
rich swaddling-clothes, and decked with a gilt crown ; beside 
him stood St. Joseph and the two Marys ; and at a little 
distance, were seen two martial figures, who, we were given 
to imderstand, were Eoman centurions, made of pasteboard, 
and mounted on white horses. Near them, projected from a 
side-scene, the head of a cow. And all these figures, divine, 
human, and bestial, were as large as life. But off the stage, 
there was a figure even larger than life. He was the General 
of the Franciscan order, who resides in this convent. The 
rope that girded his waist could not, I think, have been less 
than two yards in length. He might have represented 
Ealstaff without stuffing ; and certainly I never saw, even 
on the stage, a caricature of a fat fnar, approaching the 
circumference of this portly fiEither. It is said there cannot 
• Dion. 1. xliU. c. 21. 

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be too mucli of a good thixig, but certunly, I think, there 
was rather a superabundance of this good capuchin. 

I have heard many of the Italians, even of the middling 
and lower classes, cut much the same jokes upon the friars, 
and laugh as much at their fondness for eating and drinking, 
and all sorts of sensual indulgences, as the English do. Yet, 
by a strange apparent contradiction, they are almost inyari- 
ablj the confessors, the preachers, the spuitual monitors and 
counsellors, selected by all ranks, in preference to the secular 

here are oTih a hundred capuchins now in this convent, 
but, before the Erench turned them all out, there were nearly 
four hundred. 

I forgot to tell you, that the aforesaid Bambino which we 
had been to see, was originally brought down from heaven 
one night by an aiigel, and is endowed with most miraculous 
powers, and held in wonderful repute. I suppose no physi- 
cian in Eome has such practice, or such fees. AVhen people 
are in extremity of sickness, it is sent for, and comes to visit 
them in a coach, attended by one of the friars. One of our 
Italian servants assured me it had cured her of a fever, when 
all the doctors had given her up ; and I firmly believe it ; 
for, upon inquiry, I found that the doctors, resigning her to 
the care of the Bambino, discontinued their visits and medi- 
cines. The «a? blisters they had put on were allowed to be 
taken off; she got neither wme nor broth, and drank nothing 
but pure water to relieve her thirst. After hearing this 
account, I was no longer surprised at the Bambino^ % well- 
earned reputation for curing diseases. 

This church takes its name of ''Ara CcbH*' from the 
vulgar tradition of the Sibyl's prophecy to Augustus, of the 
birth of the Bedeemer, and his consequent consecration of 
an altar on this spot, *'to the first-bom of Gh)d" — a 
monkish imposition, wholly unsupported by historical tes- 

Leaving the Capitol, we crossed the Bonte QuaUro Oapi, 
anciently the Eabiician Bridge, to the island of the Tiber, 
whose date, if history may be credited, is more modem than 
that of Eome itself, and whose creation is not the work of 
nature, but of chance, and of man. 

VOL. n. 

Digitized by 


18 Ttoio. 

It is lekted Ij lawj,^ that at the expuLrion of the 
Taiquiiui, a large field belonging to them which was oon- 
aecrated to Man and afterwaraa called the Gampua Maitinay 
was ooYored with ripe com. It became the propeiiy of the 
Boman people ; but, dind«rning to eat l^e bread of their 
tjrant, they threw the shearea into the river, which, as is 
nsual at that time of the year, was low ; tiie com stuck in 
the muddy bottom, and receiving continued aggregations of 
slime, soil, and other substances, deposited by the stream : 
it gradually formed a solid island, which was afterwards 
strengthened, and the margin built round with walls. 

When the ten ambassadors, sent from Bome during the 
plague, returned from their solemn embassy to the Temple 
of Esculapius in Epidauros, the sacred serpent, which had 
voliintarily embarked itself with them, left tne ship, swam to 
the island, and was never more seen by man.t l^iat it was 
the ^od who had assumed this shape, and that he had choseii 
the island for his habitation, comd not be doubted. The 
pestilence ceased — ^the island was formed into the shape of a 
ship, in commemoration of the sacred vessel which brought 
him, and, near its extremity, the great Temple of JBscukpius 
was built. An hospital was attached to it for the cure of 
the sick; but the Boman slaves were almost invariably 
exposed before the portico, to be cured, if such was the wiJl 
of the god, or if not, to perish. To check this inhuman 
practice, the Emperor Claudius ordained, that those whe 
recovOTed should never more return to their former ser- Even after the arrival of Esculapius, the island- 
was denominated the Sacred Island; and the temples of 
Jupiter, of Paunus, and perhaps of other deities, were built 
upon it. 

The site of the Temple of Esculapius is now occupied hj 
the Church of Bt. Bartholomew; and in the garden of the 
convent, where the statue of the god, now at Naples, was 
found, there is still to be seen the sacred serpent, sculptured 
upon the prow of the vessel, into which the extremity of the 
island was formed. But, as the good fathers would by no. 
means incur the guilt of letting a female look at it, we were 

^ Vide lib. ii. cap. 5. Also, vide Flinj, Hist lib. ii in pHneipio. 
t Utj, lib. ii. cap. 18, 14. t Soetoniia, Claadiiu^ 25. 

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tiiVSAXt HTDVitOxirci. IS* 

eoDBtniixiedtofarego thaterimi^ gnitificati<m, nd ^p^tieMj 
to await the letum of the piivile^d tex of our ptttyy who 
went to aee it. 

In this diimsh they offer plenarjr indulgeooes : nostmms 
for the cure of the soul have Bupphed the nostnmiB for the 
cure of the hody, that used to be administered here. Cor- 
poreal is changed into spiritual quackery, Pagan into Cv 
tholic superstition, and Eaculapius into St. Bartholomew. 

I soon grew tired of looking at some had frescos hy 
Antonio Carraoci; and ohserving the inscription of '' JkM* 
genseia Plenaria^^* I asked one of the j|roung nriars, whj, sinoe 
they had the power of giving ^' unlimited indulgence " to all, 
he would not grant us the restricted indulgence of walking 
through the garden ? He crossed himself in admiration of 
my extravagance, and ejaculated, " Jesu Maria 1" I then 
urged him to explain to me what plenary indulgence meant. 
He said it was ^ a mystery ; a thinff incomprehensihle to 
us; a spiritual good; a hlessing of all the saints.*' But aQ 
these, and all t£it followed, were separate and reluctant res* 
ponses to my varied interrogations. 

Did plenary indulgence give permission to perpetrate 
murder r I inquired, ''No! no!—'' Could muraer, when 
committed, he expiated hy it?'* That was again a mystery. 
Murder mili he exniated. The " ^SbnA) fmlrv " (the Pope), 
who had received nom the Prince of Apostles the keys of 
heaven^ and the power to forffive sms, eoidd pardon that, or 
any crime*— hut kow^ he might not say; all that he would 
say to a heretic like me, after all my cross^uestioning, was 
"that for hell, he helieved, no inaulgence was to to ob> 
tained, hut from ^uneatory there was plenary indulgence 
accorded to the fiuthml, through the Madonna, St. Peter, 
and the Pope.'* 

Our theological controversy was here broken ofi^ much 
to TOUT satisfi»tion, I should suppose, as well as tiie fiiar's 
and mine, by the return of our friends. We left the 
church, and crossing the Ponte San Barfcolomeo, formeriy 
called the Pon» Cestiuty from its founder^ though who he 
was nobody knows or cares,*— entered Trastevere, that part 
of Bome which lies beyond the Tiber, and dong the foot of 
Mount Jameuium, 


Digitized by 


20 iiom. 

In Trasterere there are no remains of antiquitj, but 
abundance of moniunents of superstition— churches full of 
the shrines of saints, and convents full of imprisoned sinners 
— ^plenty of houses, but few inhabitants. These inhabitants, 
however, boast of being descended from the ancient Bomans, 
and look on the upstut race on the other side of the river 
with sovereign contempt. Thej will not intermarry with 
them, nor associate with them. 

They call themselves Mninenti, and support their claims 
to superiority by the ferocity of their manners. Bloody 
quarrels and vindictive passions, rage, jealousy, and revenge, 
seem to reign among them with untameable violence. They, 
among all the people of Some, are the most addicted to 
carrying the prohibited knife, which, in the paroxysm of 
irrepressible fury, they so often plunge into each other's 

I think we are quite mistaken in our estimate of the 
Italian character, in one respect. Murder is generally com- 
mitted in the sudden impulse of ungovernable passion, not 
with the slow premeditation of deliberate revenge. That it 
is too common a termination of Italian quarrels, it would be 
vain to deny ; and it is equally true, that however English- 
men may Ml out, or however angry they may be— drunk or 
sober — they have no notion of stabbing, but are usually con- 
tent with beating each other. But in England murders are 
generally committed in cold blood, and for the sake of plun- 
der. In Italy, they are more frequently perpetrated in the 
moment of exasperation, and for the gratification of the 
passions. An Italian will pilfer or steid, cheat or defraud 
you, in any way he can. He would rob you if he had 
.courage ; but he seldom murders for the sake of gain. In 
proof of this, almost all the murders in Italy are commit- 
ted amongst the lower orders. One man murders another 
who is as much a beggar as himself. Whereas, our coun- 
trymen walk about the unlighted streets of Eome or Naples 
at all hours, in perfect safe^. I never heard of one having 
been attacked, although the riches of Milor* Inkiest are 

Eroverbial. Ainongst the immense number of English who 
ave lately travelled through Italy, though all have been 
cheated, a few travellers only have been robbed; and of 

Digitized by 


THE T1U.8TBTE]inn. 21 

thesie not one has either been mnrdered or bnrt.* I am 
far, however, from thinking that murders are more firequent 
in England than in Italy. In England thej are held in fkt 
more abhorrence; they are punished, not only with the 
terrors of the law, but the execrations of the people. Bveiy 
murder resounds through the land — ^it is canyassed in eveir 
dub, and told by every village fire-side ; and inquests, and 
trials, and newspapers, proclaim the lengthened tale to the 
world. But in Italv, it is unpublished, unnamed, and un* 
heeded. The murderer sometimes escapes wholly unpu-» 
nished — sometimes he compounds for it Dy paying money, 
it he has any — and sometin^es he is condemned to the galleys, 
— but he is rarely executed. 

The Trastevermi are passionately fond of the game of 
Morra. It is played by two men, and merely consists in 
holding up,* in rapid succession, any number of fingers they 
please, calling out at the same time the number their anta- 
gonist shows. Nothing, seemingly, can be more simple or 
less interesting. Yet, to see them play, so violent are their 
gestures, that you would imagine mem possessed by some 
diabolical passion. The eagerness and rapiditr with which 
they carry it on render it very liable to mistake and alter- 
cation — ^then firenzy fires them, and too often furious dis- 
putes arise at this trivial play, that end in murder. Morra 
seems to differ in no respect from the ISxca/re DiffUis of the 
ancient Bomans.f 

There is another pastime among them called La Buaziea, 
or La Bottiola, which seems to me to bear a close resem- 
blance to an ancient Boman sport — ^that of throwing the 

The Trastevere game consists in coiling a long string' 
round a piece of wood, of the shape of a Gloucester cheese, 
as tight as possible — ^then rapidly untwisting the string, 
when the wood flies off with immense velocity, and the 

* Not in 1818, when this work was written ; but subsequently, an^ 
English gentleman was killed, in consequence of his determined resist- 
ance to b«ing plundered. The authoress and her brother, when travel- 
ling, were stopped and robbed by a party of banditti near YeUetri, bni 
not personally maltreated. 

t Cic. DivhL 11, 41. Off. cxi. 28. 

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22 som. 

length of its coone is the criterion of rictory. This diyer- 
sion was prohibited, for it sometimes happem^i that the legs 
of unwfiiy passengers were broken, by coming in contact 
with these bowling machines ; but it is still practised, though 
nb longer in the stridets or public roads. 

The resemblance of the lorm of the ruzadea to that of the 
discus, and the attitude of the TrasteTcrini as th^ throw it, 
so strongty recalled to my mind the Discobolus, tmt I could 
not help thinking it muist haye taken its origin frcnn that 

They are the only people in Borne at all fond of dancing, 
and on the afltemoons of Sundays, and other festa» espedally 
during the Camiyal and about Eastw, most amusing exhi* 
Intions may be seen, of youi^ handsome couples, in their 
picturesque holiday costume, dandng with an in&uj^ of 
attitude and expression, in the courts and gardetis of Traa- 

Trasteyereis saidto haye been the ancient quarter of the 
. Jews, and its inhabitants now, as Ibnaerly, hear no yeiy 
high character.^ 

The men struck me as a strong and yigorous taee ; yet 
Trasteyere is said to be yery unhealthy, and it is certainly 
yeiy depopulated. Its palaces are deserted^ and its streets 
untrodoen. The scourge of thd malaria infests it in the 
summer ; and it is apparently for this reason that'they haye 
established so many conyents here, thinking, I suppose, it ia 
no matter how many niins dier^^and, indeed, as mr as the 
enjoyment of this world goes, it woidd, perhaps, have been 
better for many of th^n that they had neyer been bom. 

In Italy, a ** monagterio^* means a nunnery — and a '^cofi- 
venio** a monkery or fiiairy, which is exactly the reyerse of 
lihe application of these names in France and England. 
l*his part of Eome seems to haye been considered insalu« 
Mous eyen m ancient timesi Pliny, in one of Ins inyec- 
tiyes against Begulus, says, ^ He [Begnlus] staid at his 
yi]l% on the other shore of the Tiber, in order to haye the 
malicious gratification of making people yisit it at Ihat un.* 
wholesome season ;'*t an accusation mdch, by the way, is no 
proof of the pbilosopher's discernment, since Begulua must 
• Martial, 1. 1. Ep. 119. f Tide Ep.iLUb.iy. 

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haire done &r more injury to his own health by a contmued 
residence, than, his tiiends oonld hsYO received by their oo* 
casional yisits — ^but it is a proof that the air here waa erea 
then reputed imhealthy at certain aeaaons. 

Tacitus, too, somewhere abusea the Vatican, which ia a 
post of Trastevere, for its bad air.* As a proof of the dia* 
oemment of the Popes, or the desire they have to send the 
aick poor to a better world, they have set down the great 
hospital of the Bor^o San Spirito in the very worst air of 
this insalubrious region. 

The Church of Santa Maria in Trastevere, like all the 
other old churches of Borne, is adorned with ancient oolumna, 
all of which are of Oriental ^pranite ; but their varying pro* 
portions and capitals proclaim them to be the spods of 
different Boman edifices. There are seven of the Ionic 
cafMtab of these columns mentioned by Winkehnan, which« 
instead of the rose, have Lilliputian figures of the little god 
Harpocrates, with his finger on hia mouth. On the left of 
the fdtar are two ancient moaaica, one of which representa 
a aearport; and the roof ia adorned with a amall AaaumptioB 
in firesco, by Domenichino. 

If we may believe the priests, this was a pnblio Christiaii 
church as earlv as the beginning of the third centuiy. It 
might be so ; for after the death of Septimius Sevenui (a..d. 
211), the Christians, during a period of nearly forty years, 
not only enjoyed toleration, ana obtained the privilege of 
cypenly having places of worship,, but were even hij^ in 
fiftvour at the Lnperial court. It is even aaserted, that 
Alexander Severus, in the early part of his reign, '^imbibed 
the maxims of Christ," and entertained serioua tiioughts of 
erecting a temple to him as one <^ the gods.t 

In these times, it is related, a miraculous fountain of 
aacred oil sprung up in this church, and the spot ia still 
Biarked with the inscription of JSbnt OUi, 

As we had already visited the Convent of Saint Cecilia 

* The Boldien of Yitelliui's annj, while qnaiiered there, fell victims 
to the Mune &tal fever whieh stUl depopulates its piecincta. Ta4sitiu^ 
Hist lib. ii. cap. 98. 

t Vide Gibbon, (Decline and Fall* VoL li. p. 869,) who qnotes the 
Av^oetan History, p. 180* 

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24' BOHE. 

once, we did not return to it, but toiled on foot up b, long 
and steep ascent to the Church of Sant' Onofrio, where the 
remains of Tasso repose. 

A paltry inscription on the wall alone marks the spot ; 
for, neglected in death as well as life, his ungrateful country 
has denied a tomb to the poet whose memory is at once her 
glory and her shame. She has not even 

" To buried genius raised the tardy bust." 

Italy was miworthy of having Tasso for a son. But hia 
name is worshipped m every land, — ^his moment is erected 
in every heart ; and though the laurel crown, which neveu 
encircled his living brows, is not suspended over his grave^ 
no traveller from the remotest regions of the earth will 
leave "the Eternal City,*' without shedding a tear over the 
stone that covers the genius and the sorrows of Torquato 

In this gloomy convent was passed the close of a life 
made wretched by oppression, by contumely, by poverty, 
and by chains; — ^maddened by sensibility, and cursed by 
genius. It was by his last request that he was buried here. 
•—"Buried here!*- I involuntarily exclaimed, as we gazed 
on the dark flag-stone, trodden by every vulgar foot that 
records the tale. — ^And is the gemus that awakened those 
straius of divine poesy, which will resoimd through the 
earth while it rolls in its orbit, really biffied here ? — Is the 
fency whose heaven-taught powers erected such glowing 
visions of beauty and of bliss, sunk in this narrow spot ? 
Is the heart whose blighted feelings wept immortal tears 
through long years of neglected solituae, and burst its 
prison bars, entombed beneath this lowly stone ? — How can 
we believe, that the powers which embraced the universe, 
and seemed intended for eternal duration, are thus shrunk 
to nought ; and that in this speck of earth is all that remains 
of Tasso P 

From the tomb of Tasso we mi^ht have turned to the 
frescos of Domenichino in the portico, which have for their 
subject the miracles of Saint Jerome; but one glance at 
their worn and washed-out appearance suf&ced ; and with 
some feeling of iadignation against the land where the 

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fiioaticism and the miracles of saints are honoured and com- 
memorated, while taste and genius are oppressed and for- 
gotten — ^we gave one glance to the poet's grave, and left the 
convent of Sant* Onomo.* 

We again climbed the steep sides of Mount Janiculom to 
S. Pietro in Montorio, and from the terrace in front of it^ 
which seems to overhang Borne, we enjoyed the finest view 
of the Ancient and Mocfem City I had yet beheld. 

Beneath us were spread its massive ruins, overshadowed 
with the dark pine and cypress; its deserted mounts, its 
fallen temples, its splendid basilicas, its gorgeous palaces, 
and its cloistered convents; even the proud dome of St. 
Peter's lay at our feet — the magnitude of the Vatican was 
shrunk to nothing. Far over its glowing gardens and depth 
deptes of cypress shade, the eye wandered delighted, to the 
majesty of Monte Cavo, the storied Alban Mount, hung 
with ancient woods ; to the purple hues that painted the 
Sabine Bills, on whose sheltered sides reposed Tivoli, Fras- 
cati, and Palestrina, as if inviting our approach; and to 
*^^U AJpestri dossi d^JpenninOy*' whose snowy summits ter- 
minated the view. 

But I am forgetting, in the delight of retrospection, how 
insufferable is description, and how wholly inadequate to 
give the faintest idea of the beauty of any prospect. 

I turned from this enchanting scene, slowly and reluc- 
tantly, to enter the ugly old church of San Pietro in Mon- 
torio, for which the finest picture in the world, the Trans- 
figuration, was originally painted— but fortunately, both for 
its preservation and the just display of its unapproached 
perfrction, it is no longer here. 

* These nearly obliterated frescos of Domenichino, of which, on snb- 
seqnent careful examination, I found the outline still visible, represent 
the Baptism of St. Jerome,— St. Jerome Tempted by the Devil, who is 
rolling on the ground, and scratching his head in despairing perplexity 
what next to essay against the virtue of the saint,— and St. Jerome 
Scouiged by an Angel, an event which is gravely asserted to have hap- 
pened, though why the saint was chastised in this extraordinary way I 
could not learn. I afterwards saw, in a house adjoining the church, a 
Madonna, by Leonardo da Yinci, unquestionably original ; to which, 
being unprovided at our first visit with a Cardinal's pass of entrance to 
convents, we, Udies, were refused admittance. 

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26 BQMX. 

The Flagellstion of Christ, designed with all the ener;|r 
and GorrectnesB of Buonarotti, and painted with all the Tivtd 
colouring of Sebastian del Fiombo, still adorns one of these 
obscure chapels. 

I believe Mr. Angerstein's Besurrection of Lazarus,* 
which was also designed and painted by the united powem 
of the same great masters of design and colouring, was taken 
from this church. 

In the cloister of the conyent, there is a small modem 
eircular Doric temple, erected by Bramante, at the com- 
mand and expense of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, on 
the spot whicn tradition points out as the scene of the mais 
tyrdom of the prince of the apostles. 

SmaU and simple as this little building is, Bramante has 
contrived to make it a proof that the best of Italian archi- 
tects (and he was the best) would have succeeded as ill in 
temples as they have done in churches. 

If, however, there is a complete contrast in architecturai 
beauty — ^it is curious to see m how many particulars, small 
and great, modem Boman Catholic churches correspond to 
ancient Pagan temples. It is not only in the pictures and 
statues, in the plan and the decorations, in which we might 
be glad to trace even a closer resemblance — but it is in the 
plumii^ of gods, in the worship of images, in the holy 
places, m the real presence, in tne altars and votive ofiEer* 
mgs, in the holy water, in the multiplied ceremonies, in 
the pompous processions, in the refuge of sanctuaries, — in 
all that we see, hear, and do, — ^that we might almost as well 
be in a Pagan as in a Christian temple. Even the glory 
that surrounds the heads of saints formeriy encircled the 
statues of gods. Images of Apollo and Diana, of Fortune 
and Pallas, had this nvmbus, or halo of light, round their 
heads — and it seems afterwards to have become oommon.t 
The Virgin is often represented with the crescent, as the 
symbol of chastity — exactlv like Diana of old. 

It is curious, too, that the doorways of ancront temples, 
]i&e those of all the Italian churches, were closed with a 

• Kow in the BHtiah National Galleiy. 
t Winkdman, Hist dsrAft, Uh. vi eap. 2. fM. 

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cuBioiTS oonrcfiDEircES. 27 

IieaYj curiam.* But we should neyer be done, if we 
were to go through the parallel between them in all its 

And here I gladly finish this hastj^ and perhaps imperfect 
Bwpvej of the churches of Eome, with the fullest conviction 
that you will not complain of its brevity, however you ma^ 
suffer imder its tediousness — ^that what is dull in investi- 
^tion, cannot possibly be amusing in description ; and that 
it is unreasonable to expect vou to listen with pleasure to 
tiie description of what I coidd not see with patience. 

« Wiiikehiiaii,fiirrAieli.i64. 

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Eboh St. Hetro in Montorio, where we finished our 
weary visitation of Eoman churches, and, I believe, ahnost 
made a vow never to enter another as long as we lived, from 
motives of curiosity; we walked to the Fontana Paolina. 
Long before we came in sight of it, the rushing of its 
mighty waters stole gradually upon our ear ; but the sound 
did not sufficiently prepare us for the sight, and we stood 
transfixed with astonishment to behold three noble cascades, 
falling in foam into an immense basin, whose surfEice was 
agitated like the waves of a lake by their concussion. 

The beautifrd solitude of its situation, surrounded by a 
deep evergreen shade, and yet commanding one of the most 
enchanting prospects over the whole of Bome and the plain 
of the Campagna, bounded onlv by the romantic heights of 
the distant Apennines, is one of its greatest charms. 

The Fontana Paolina, by a whimsical coincidence, com- 
bines the names of its architect and maker, Fontana, and 
Paolo V. I never could forgive that good-for-nothing old 
Pope, for despoiling the Forum of Nerva of its precious 
remains, to ornament the tasteless fabric which the joint 
skill of himself and his builder has raised. Two dragons' 
heads, fixed on each side of them, and which, instead of fire, 
spout out insignificant streams of water, contribute to spoil 
the fine effect of these beautiful cascades, which have no 
parallel even in Bome. Nothing, indeed, strikes a stranger 
with more just admiration on ms arrivsd in this capital of 
the world, than the immense numbers of fountains, which 
pour forth their unceasiag flow of waters on every side. It 
IS a luxury, the full value of which cannot be felt but in such 
a climate as this; and those only who have known that 
delicious moment, when the blaze of the summer-day fades 

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at last in tlie ^Iden clouds of eveninfi^, can understand the 
Toluptuous delights with which, in its hushed hour of still- 
ness and repose, you listen to the music of their dashing 
murmur, ana rest beside their freshness. 

The beautiful ibuntains that play before the erand front 
of St. Peter's, alone of all those of Borne, satisij mj ima- 
gination, and delight my taste. I know not how to des- 
cribe to you their beauty; but visit them in the repose of 
eyening, when that moon, which here shines like a brighter 
planet, walks in her glory through the heavens ; when the 
stars awake their mysterious fires, and the soft moon-beam 
&I1b upon the lines of the Grecian columns, on the swelling 
grandeur of the majestic dome, the tall height of the ancient 
obelise, and the sweep of the circling colonnades; when 
it brings every beauty into view, throws every defect into 
shade — ^when the freshness of the new-bom breeze fans the 
cheek with its voluptuous breath, and the voice of the 
falling waters soothes the soul to rest; — ^visit them then, 
and you will feel their enchantment. 

To describe, or to listen to the description of all the 
principal fountains of Bome, would indeed be a terrific 
task. They are, generally speaking, all deficient in that 
greatest of beauties, which, though it would seem the easiest 
to be found, is always the last attained — ^the beauty of sim- 
plicity; and which is to the fine arts what action is to the 
orator, — ^the first, the second, and the third requisite. 

The fountain of Trevi has been renownedt through the 
world, and so highly extolled, that my expectations were 
raised to the highest stretch ; and great was my disappoint- 
ment when I was taken into a little, dirty, confined, miser- 
able piazza, nearly filled up' with one large palace, beneath 
which spouted out a variety^ of tortuous streamlets, that are 
made to gurgle over artificial rocks, and to bathe the bodies 
of various sea-horses, tritons, and other marble monsters, 
which are sprawling about in it. After some cogitation, 
you discover they are trying to draw Neptune on, who, 
though stuck up in a niche of the palace wall, as if meant 
to be stationary, is standing at the same time with his feet 
on a sort of car, as if intended to be riding over the 

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Now, all this seemi to me to be in reey bad taste. I 
have no objection to the moiuurch or the nymphs of the sea^ 
to tritons, or rhrer-gods, or any other descnption of these 
creatures, either in painting or sculpture, where all is equally 
fictitious, and consequently all in unison ; but it strikes me 
as an outraee upon probability and taste, to have real water 
and artificiid monstcvs, and to see sea-horses and men carved 
of stone, sitting immoveable in the pure liring stream. In- 
deed, the copious quantity and pellucid deamess of the 
water, is the only beauty that I could see in the Fontana 
di Treri. It would, I think, be difficult to dispose of so 
much water to less advantage than the contrivers of this 
fountain have produced; and they have done their utmost, 
by the enormous palace they have built above it^ and the 
colosml statues they have stuck up in it, to diminish as 
much as possible the effect of the immensity and the gran« 
deur of such a body of water. 

This water is the delicious Acqua Yeigine, the same that 
flowed into Some in the age of Augustus, and was brought 
by M. Agrippa for the use of his baths. Modem Bome is 
chiefly supphed with it; although the Fontami Felice, on 
the QttirinaL Hill, is said by some to be of still finer quality. 

That Fountain is called '' Felice," because Sixtus Y ., who 
built it, was called JB'ra i^lix in the cloister ; an auspicious 
name, which augured well the fortunes of him who was 
raised from the station of a shepherd boy to a throne,* and 
not only to the rank of a prince, but to be a ruler of princes. 
It is also called BowiatM di Shrmmi, from its vicinity to the 
ThermsB of Diocletian. 

It represents Moses striking the rock,-— or rather Moses 
does not strike the rock, nor is there a rock to strike ; but 
it is supposed he does ; and he stands in one niche with a 
rod in his hand, and Aaron and Gideon, or some such supers 
fluous persons, are sturtioned in others, amidst bas-reliefs. 

"What have four lions, either ancient or modem, to do 
with spouting out water? and what business have they 
here P Two of these lions, formed of basalt, are of Egyptian 

* He was the son of a poor peasant in the March of Ancona, tad 
tended his father^s fiockSi 

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extraetion, and are supposed to hare been biouglit captiyetr 
to Bome, when Augustus returned after the battle of 
Actium. The poor animals were taken from the portico 
of the Pantheon, to perform this unnatural employment. 
Bams' heads, lions, masks, all kinds of mouths, were used 
for this purpose hj the ancients as well as the modems. 
We seem to have kept all their absurdities in addition to 
our own. 

The front of the Fontana di Termini is built of large 
masses of Trayertine, adorned with little columns of mar* 
ble, and surmounted with a long inscription ; the whole is 
weighed down ynth a cumbrous attic, and is much admired. 

In the Piazza Navona are three fountains; the centre 
one supports the obelise brought from the Circus of Can* 
calla. It consists of a great mass of artificial rock, to which 
are chained four river gods — a truly Bernini idea ! He has 
not placed them at rest, in the recumbent, meditative, clas- 
sical posture of river-gods, but fastened them in the most 
uneasy attitudes, and unnatural contortions; and in order 
to show proper contempt for the architecture of Borromini, 
who built tne front of St. Agnes's church, the two watelf 
deities on the side next it are made to throw up their eyes 
to it in the shrinking attitude of terror, as if expecting it to 
&U upon them. But the Church of St. Agnes stands where 
it did, and has no appearance of moving ; so that the alarm 
of these huge (creatures seems only ludicrous and cowardly. 
If they had held up their hands and eyes at its ugliness, I 
should have had some sympathy with them ; but of its sta- 
bility there is, unfortunately, no reason to doubt. Prom 
each of these colossal river gods, springs his own dribbUna 
stream. You see at once the source of the Nile, whicn 
some stupid people imagined had never yet been traced — • 
and the Danube spouts out his mighty waters, in force 
sufficient to M a moderate-sized bucket. After a short 
course down the sides of the artificial rock, the four great 
rivers of the different quarters of the world are lost in the 
basin of the fountain, which represents the Ocean. 

I forgot to mention that there is, besides, a cavern in the 
rock, in which a lion and a horse reside in the most amicably 
manner possible ; though what they do there in the middle 

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82 BOios. 

of tlie sea, I do not exactly compreliend. This fountain is 
(Contrived so as to overflow annuallj ; and during the burn- 
ing heats of sununer, for a few evenings in the month ot 
August, it is the deUght of the people of Borne to drive 
about among its waters, which fill the Piazza Navona. It 
yras suggested by an ingenious Mend of mine, that this 
custom was probably the remains of the sports of the Nau- 
machia, exhibited at the annual games in honour of the 
gods, at this very period of the year, and in this very spot, 
which was the ancient Circus Agonalis. 

There is a much-admired fountain in the Piazza Barbe- 
rini, from a design of Bernini's, in which a stone Triton sits 
upon four dolphins, and throws up the water &om a large 
shell. But the prettiest of these minor fountains, in my 
opinion, is that of the Tartantchey in the Piazza Mattei, in 
vnuch four bronze figures, in singularly graceful attitudes, 
support a vase, fix)m which the water flows. It derives its 
name from the four tortoises that adorn it. 

On the whole, I admire, with fond admiration, the foun- 
taias of Eome; not that as fountains I think them beau- 
tiful; but that falling water, in ample quantity, must be 
beautiful in a climate like this, where its sound, even in 
winter, is so sweet to the senses. I love to repose ^ly fancy 
upon the three noble cascades that are poured forth at the 
Fontana Paolina ; the copious streams which burst from the 
rocks of the Fountain oi Trevi ; and those silver fountains 
that throw high in air their glittering showers within the 
grand colonnades of St. Peter's. These are beautiful; but 
toT all the ugly statues of monsters and men, — sea-horses 
and dragons, — prophets and lions, — and fishes and gods,— 
I hold them in utter abhorrence, as well as the clumsy and 
hideous buildings erected above them. 

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Yatiojls Lebeaby. 

The Vatican Library is called the largest in tlie world ; 
not that it contaiiis the most books, but the most space ; 
for although it has been formed ever since the days of 
Hilary, pope and saint, and been augmented by the accu- 
mulation of several subsequent popes and saints; and has 
received the entire libraries of various kings and cardinals, 
(amonjzst others, that of Queen Christina of Sweden,) and 
part of the library of the Eoman Emperor of Constantinople 
— yet, after all, I am assured, on what I believe to be good 
authority, that it scarcely possesses forty thousand volumes, 
although the amoimt is generally stated at double that 

The collection of manuscripts is, however, extremely rare 
and valuable, and amounts to upwards of thirty thousand. 
Some of these are very curious. The famous Virgil, with 
its costume paintings of the Trojans and Latins, supposed 
to have been executed about the age of Constantine ; the 
Terence, with its paintings of masks, of nearly as ancient 
date ; the manuscript of Phny, with its pictured Noah's ark 
of aniTTiRla ; HcuTy VIII.'s letters to Anne Boleyn ; and 
his Treatise on the Seven Sacraments, which he presented 
to Leo X., and in return received the title of Defender of 
that Faith which he was so soon to overthrow; the Tasso 
and Dante, and an infinity of others, — ^interesting as they 
are, have been already so o&en described, that I sh^ abstain 
from any observation upon them. The Abate Maio dis- 
covered, amongst these MSS., about the year 1824, a part 
of the lost books of Cicero I)e Bepvhlica, over which, how- 
ever, some of the treatises of St. Augustin had been written, 
but the original MS., although much defisu^ed, is said to be 
still legible. 


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34 BOici. 

The only access to the Vatican Library is from the 
Museum. The great door, which is of bronze, and rery 
magnificent, seems intended for ornament rather than use, 
for it is never opened. The usual entrance is by a small door, 
which opens into the office of the seven clerks, or writers of 
the principal Euronean languages, who are attached to the 
library. A cardinal is always the nominal librarian, and this 
room is hung with the portraits of these Oardmali Bibluh 
tecarjy amongst which there is one by Domeniclnno. 

Passing on through an ante-room, you enter a hall two 
hundred feet by fifty, entirely painted in fresco, with colours 
so glanng, and contrasts so violent, that it reminded me of 
an immense China bowl. This capacious apartm^it con- 
tains no visible sign of books, and indeed you may walk 
through the whole Vatican Library without seeing one : for 
they are shut up in wooden presses, which may conceal 
either great wealth or great poverty. 

In this hall there is a column of most beautiful Oriental 
alabaster, spirally fluted, brought from the Baths of the 
Emperor Gbrdian, near the Trophies of Marius, and erected 
upon a pedestal of verde antico. The capital is unfortu- 
nately lost. 

Here also are two small Etruscan cinerary urns, of terra- 
cotta; with the common sepulchral bas-reHef of the fratricidal 
combat of Eteocles and Polynices. 

On either side of them appear their guardian spirits, who, 
the Etruscans supposed, never left man from the cradle to 
the tomb. Or rather, perhaps, they here represent the 
Euries, who urged on the royal brothers to this sanguinary 
combat, and who stand exulting over their victims, flapping 
their long wings. But the Etruscan deities are generally 
winged. Minerva is represented on an Etruscan monument 
like Mercury, with wings both on her heels and shoulders ; 
and Venus, Diana, and several others, have the same attri- 

"We were shown the remnant of a piece of cloth of As- 
bestos, found in a sarcophagus on the Appian "Way, which, 
the man who exhibited it assured us was quite indestruc- 
tible by ^e; at the same time that he very consistently 
lamented that it was reduced aJmost to nothmg, by having 

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been so often Imint. The fact is, that to a oertain degree 
it resists the action of fire, and it was therefore used by the 
Bomans to collect the ashes of the wealthy dead. 

Haying conceiyed this halL to be the whole library, great 
was my surprise to behold at its extremity, on either hand, 
a long gaUery open upon me in almost mterminable per- 
spective.* I actually stood mute with astonishment — a 
rare effect on the female mind ; and like the ass between 
two bundles of hay, I scarcely knew which gallery to 

The one is terminated by the Sacred, the other by the 
Profime Cabinet, as they are pleased to call them; the 
first being a collection of Chnstiaii, the last of Pagan 

On our way to the former, we encountered the statue 
of St. Hippolytus, with a modem head, but a body of un- 
doubted authenticity, and unquestionably the most ancient 
statue of a Christian extant. It is a work of the age of 
Alexander Severus, and was dug out of the catacombs. 
Opposite to him sits AriBtides,'not the ancient philosopher, 
but a rhetorician of degenerate days; whose statue bears 
no more comparison to that Aristides we had so much 
admired at Naples,t than does his fame to that of the 
Grecian sage; and we passed him without one tribute of 
respect or admiration. 

The Sacred Cabinet consists of curiosities taken £rom the 
catacombs — ^laborious carvings of Madonnas in ivory — ^little 
pictures of saints on ^ grounds— bas-reliefs of the bar- 
barous ages, representrag martyrdoms — ^instruments used 
in martyrising the early Christians, and a long et cetera 
of all sorts of heterogeneous articles. There are a number 
of red velvet jewel cases — empty; the French having carried 
off all the precious stones they could find, without any 
regard to their sanctity; so that the ear-rings and brooches 
of the saints and martyrs, in all probability, are now adorn- 
ing the belles and elegantes of Paris. 

The adjoining chamber of the Papyri is the most beau- 

* We affcerwards learned tliat it is 1200 English feet in length. 
t Ponnd in Herculaneum. One of the finest statues in the world. . 

J> 2 

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86 soius. 

tiful little hijau I ever beheld. Its architecture and deco- 
rations are by Sapbael Mengs, who was employed by 
Clement XIY. to miULe it, and to paint the roof in fresco. 
He has represented History writing on the wings of Time, 
and Fame hoyering in the air, and sounding forth to the 
world the deeds she records. The composition is not, per- 
haps, yery learned, but the figure of Tune is fine, and the 
cofouiing, when compared with the horrible daubing of the 
present Erench and Italian schools, deseryes the greatest 

Mengs, like nuuiy other artists, was too much cried up in 
his lifetime, and cned down since his death. 

The payement of this superb little apartment is of the 
richest marbles; the walls are encrusted with pallo and 
verde antico, with porphyry and pilasters 6f Oriental granite 
of the highest polish ; and the whole decoration is as much 
distinguished by taste as magnificence. 

The Papyrus manuscripts, which consist of ancient 
yolumes unrolled, are enclosed in the walls in long columns 
under glass. They are of the fourth, fifth, and sixth cen- 
turies, in Ghreek and in Latin ; but in matter are of little 
interest. When closely examined, the papyrus has the 
appearance of waxed cloth. 

The library, at this extremity, has been extended by the 
present Pope, who has added some rooms, in which the 
t)ooks can actually be seen, and eyen got at. He has also 
formed a narrow httle gallery, the walls of which are entirely 
composed of inscriptions in terrarcotta, that otherwise inight 
haye been entirely lost. I am sorry I can giye you no 
account of them, my attention havmg been entirely en- 
grossed by some Etruscan, or, more properly, Grecian 
yases, of singular beauty. An immense number of yases 
are ranged on the top of the book-cases, along the whole 
extent of the gallery; but these are by far the largest and 
finest, and, indeed, surpass any I haye seen, except the un- 
riyalled collection at [Naples. 

This library possesses a yery fine cabinet of medals, which 
was carried off^ and has been restored, by the French ; but 
it is still in such complete confusion, tliat it cannot be in- 

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There is, too, attached to the libnuy, a whole chamber 
filled with a fine collection of prints, to which it is neoes- 
eaiy to have a particular order for admittance, and in an- 
other chamber, are the secret archiyes of the Vatican, to 
which there is no admittance at all. 

We traversed the whole extent of this immense galleiy 
to the Profane Cabinet, at the other extremity, whidi con- 
tains a most entertaining collection of antiques. Some of 
the bronzes, especially, are extremely curious and rare. 
Two bronze heads, fiwm their singular beauty, first catch 
the eye; and also, but from an opposite cause, a bronze 
Etruscan figure with the buUa, or amulet, about his neck, 
bearing an Etruscan inscription, a part of which has been 
deciphered, signifying that it was a votive statue. It is very 
mucn in what we should call Chinese taste ; the form and 
features, as well as the style, bear a near approach to it. 
There are numbers of Penates ; of those long-legged, spindly, 
little bronze figures, with enormous casques, exactly like 
cocked hats, on their heads, which abound m every museum. 
Among these I saw the Egyptian Sethas, dressed in a tunic, 
and armed with a shield and a long sword, which, I think, 
precisely answers to the description of the Seeutor,* I 
observed some types for stamping — so close an approach to 
types for printing, that I cannot but marvel how the an- 
cients missed that invaluable invention. 

There are several lead water-pipes, marked with the 

f lumbers' names ; but I might write a Httle volume, were 
to particularise one half of the curiosities I observed. I 
will, therefore, pass over the most complete collection of 
antique kitchen and household utensils I have ever seen, 
and many exquisite .Httle pieces of art in gems, bronze, 

Perhaps the most singular thing in the whole, of its kind, 
is the long hair of a Eoman lady, found in a tomb on the 
Appian Way, and in perfect preservation. It is strange 

* The Secutores were one of the kinda of gladiatore. They fought 
with the Retiarii, who endeavoured to entangle them by throwing 
their net over their head, while the Secutores pursued them to prevent 
their puzpose, and slay them. — Tide laidor. zviii. 55. 

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88 Bim. 

bow it alone Bbould have escaped the oommon doom, and be, 
I may 8ar» tbe sole pbysical remnant of bundreds of geneia- 
tions. Tbeir bones, tbeir asbes, tbeir every vestige of mor- 
tality, bave all vanisbed; not even tbe paring of a nail, 
as far as I know, is left of all tbat lived and died in tbe 
long ages of Boman glory or degeneracy — except tbese 
tresses; wbicb still remain brown and unchanged, as 
wben tbeir beauty first pleased tbe eye of ber wbom tbey 

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The Sisthtb Chapel— The Last Judgmbitt — Michael 
Angblo — ^Thb Paolina Chapel — Sala Bobgla. 

Ths TVench, in permaxiently placing the most celebrated 
portable productions of art at Paris, would have committed 
an irreparable iujury to sculpture and painting ; for, by remov- 
ing the apparent strongest temptations to artists to travel 
through Italv, they would have excluded the majority of 
them £rom the true schools of art, which are the n*e8COS of 
ancient masters, and the inumerable and unremovable works 
of Ghrecian sculpture, — especially bassi rilievi, — ^to the study 
of which paintmg itself owes much that is great and beau- 
tiful in its design, conception, and execution. 

There is no part of Italy that does not present a field of 
study. Bologna, Florence, Y enice, Naples,* and even Gfenoa 
and Milan, abound in instruction and delight. But Eome 
surpasses all. Here, at every step, the artist wOl drink in 
instruction, that years of study could not give him in our 
Grothic countries. If he has taste or genius, here it must 
develope itself^ and find in every surrounding object aliment 
hr its growing powers. 

The inexhaustible treasures of the Vatican, the Capitol, 
and the Villa Albani, with iimumerable statues, bas-r^efs, 
and fragments of exquisite sculpture, that meet the eye at 
every turn ; the frescos of Michael Angelo, Baphael, Annibale 
Caracd, Ghuido, Domenichino, and Guercino--all these, and 
far more, does Bome contain. Until you know these frescos, 

* Naples for the ecalptor, Bologna and Venice for the painter, and 
Florence for both, are inestimable schools. But let it be remembered, 
that tiiough the sculptor may be excused the study of painting, the 
painter can never sufficiently study sculpture. 

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40 SOME. 

you cannot know what painting is. .From these alone can 
you understand the true principles, powers, and perfection of 
the art. Experience only can make this be felt. Thousands 
who behold the Transfiraration never dream that they see 
the least part of Eaphael. Hence the student, satisfied with 
the collection of the Louvre, would rarely have explored 
Europe to visit the forgotten Ireasures of Italy. 

The French only lopped a few branches of the tree of 
art — ^they could not remove its root and stem. 

But, independent of the inconceivable mine of instruction 
contained in those models, which must be fixtures here, the 
artist will here find a finer nature. Forms, whose contour 
and symmetry far surpass in perfection those of our ungenial 
climates; whose attitudes and expression, untaught grace, 
and classical beauty, I have often thought even approach the 
ideal, — continually meet his sight; and their study must 
give to his imagination new combinations of aU that can 
constitute perfection. 

To return to the frescos, the value of which cannot be 
justly estimated at the first glance, — I imagiue no one can 
now see the Last Judgment of Michael Angelo without a 
feeling of extreme disappointment. It is, indeed, somewhat 
difficmt to see it at all. The architect of the Sistme Chapel 
has so ingeniously contrived to exclude the light, that, unless 
when the sun shines unclouded, high in the meridian, the 
attempt is vain ; and even then, blackened with the smoke of 
innumerable tapers, during three centuries, it may be sup- 
posed that many of its beauties are now obscured. Besides 
this, a huge, high, red velvet canopy, hfts its awkward back 
from the altar into the very centre of the picture, breaking 
up the subject, and spoiling the effect of the whole. 

We had interest enough with some of the red-legged race 
to get this machine removed, for our especial benefit, during 
two or three days ; but until a Pope of taste shall wear the 
tiara, there is no chance of its being carried off alto- 

The common engraving—bad as at is, for a good one is 
still a desideratum, — ^will give you a far clearer idea of this 
celebrated fresco than the most laboured description ; there- 
fore I shall content myself with observing, that it covers the 

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whole of the wa31 of the upper end of the chapel, from the 
ceiling to the floor. High in the centre, is Cniist jadgine 
the world, in the yery act of denouncing to the wicked 
beneath, on his left hand, that awful sentence — "Depart, 
je cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his 
angels." While ^lorj ineffikble surrounds his head, and saints 
and beautified spirits hover around him, the heavenly minis- 
ters of divine vengeance are hurling the condemned down- 
wards to the bottomless abyss. Their last uplifted looks to 
that heaven which is shut against them forever, — the ghastly 
fear depicted on their countenances, — and their desperate 
struggles of resistance, are horrible beyond conception. 

At this comer of the picture, at the bottom, is repre- 
sented Charon, fenying them in his boat over the dark 
waters of Styx, and driving the reluctant spirits out with 
his oar, exactly as Dante describes him — 

" Batte col remo qnalunque B*adagia." 

The depths of hell open on its brink, and yelling demons, 
with diabolical gestures, and girt with hissing snakes and 
scorpions, such as even Dante's imagination could scarcely 
have conjured up, stretch forth their fiery arms to seize 
the trembling victims. 

On the other hand, around the throne of glory, angels are 
sounding the golden trumpet, at which the dead arise. 
Their lifeless re-animating forms, half lifted from the grave, 
are so finely designed, that, unnatural as is the subject, they 
seem to come to life before your eyes. Others, disencum- 
bered of their mortal clay, are ascending into heaven, and 
angels, stooping from the clouds, are assisting them to rise 
into light and glory. 

Tke grand and prominent figure of the Judge and £e- 
deemer of the world, instantly strikes the eye, serves as the 
dividing point of the picture, and gives to the composition 
fdeamess, grandeur, and efiect. Above his head, the fleet- 
ing forms of angels are seen bearing the symbols of his 
passion. St. Bartholomew, below, olers up his skin, the 
symbol of his martyrdom ; and the figures of some other 
paints are done with a force and grandeur of design truly 
wondeifril. But I have a particular objection to some of 

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42 soiOB. 

the female samts. St. Catherine of Siena, in a green sown, 
and somebody elae in a blue one, are aupremelr hideous. 
It seems that one of the popes — ^I believe Paul lY. — in an 
unfortunate fit of prudery, was seized with the resolution of 
whitewashing over the wnole of the Last Judgment, in order 
to cover the scandal of a few naked female figures, in the 
grandest painting in the world ! With difficulty his Holiness 
was at last prevented fix>m utterly destroying this unrivalled 
composition, but he could not he dissuaded from ordering 
these poor women to be cbthed in these unbecoming pet- 
ticoats. Daniel da Yolterra, whom he employed in this 
office, received, in consequence, tiie name of "II Braghet- 

On the whole, I think the Last Judgment is now more 
valuable as a school of design, than as a fine painting, and 
that it will be more sought for the study of the artist, than 
the delight of the amateur. BeautiM it is not — ^but it is 
sublime; — sublime in conception, and astonishing in exe- 
cution. Still, I believe, there are few who do not feel that 
it is a labour rather than a pleasure to look at it. Its 
blackened sur&ce— its dark and dingy sameness of coburinff 
—-the obscuriiy which hangs over it— the confusion and 
multitude of nifiked figures which compose it, (to say no- 
thing of the grossness of such a display)-— their unnatoraL 
position, suspended in the air, and the sameness of form, 
attitude, and oolouriuff, confound and bewilder the senses. 
These were, perhaps, defects inseparable fix>m the subject, 
although it was one admirably calculated to call forth the 
powers of Michael Angelo. He has, indeed, here shown 
himself master of the grand and the terrible ; and the learn- 
ing, the science, the perfection of desi^ the vigour of 
genius, and the grandeur of thought, this sublime compo- 
sition evinces, must be admired by all who are capable of 
estimating them. 

To merit in colouring it has confessedly no pretensioiu^ 
and I may venture to say, that I think it also deficient in 
expression — ^that in the conflicting passions, hopes, fears, 
remorse, despair, and transport, that must agitate the breasts 
of so many thousands in that awM moment, there was room 
for powerful expressioui which we see not here. But it is 

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&ded and defiaoed; the touclieB of immoital genius aie lost 
for ever; and from what it is, we can form but a &int idea 
of what it was. Its defects daQj become more gburing— 4t8 
beauties vanish; and, could the spirit of its ^eat author 
behold the mighty work upon which he spent the unre- 
mitting labour of seyen years, with what gnef and mortifi- 
cation would he ^e upon it now ! 

It may be fanciful, but it seems to me that in this, and in 
every other of Michael Angelo's works, you may see that 
the ideas, beauties, and peculiar excellencies of statuary, 
were ever present to his mind ; that they are the concep- 
tions of a sculptor embodied in painting. 

Michael Angelo, indeed, deserres our highest veneraticm 
for the just principles which he rescued mm oblivion, for 
the emancipation nrom GK)thic barbarism, and for the total 
and happy reformation he effected in art, by introducing the 
study of the antique, of ideal beauty, and of nature, m all 
their truth, simpncity, and grace. He was the reviver of 
true taste, and jdaj be called the author of all the excellence 
we have since enjoyed — ^the master of successive genera- 
tions ; but, perhaps, at least as far as painting goes, he is 
rather to be admired for the excellence he has caused in 
others, than for his own. 

In &ct, he always painted unwillinglv, and few of his 
works remain. The Sistine Chapel may be said to contain 
them all. The frescos of the roof were painted before the 
lidst Judgment, aiid, though less £Eimed, are, in my poor 
opinion, &r superior, more especially the noble figures of 
the Sibyls and Prophets, round the frieze, which have a 
grandeur and subhinity that painting has rarely equalled. 
These are in fSEir better preservation than the last Judgment ; 
so also are the nine Jdmonic pictures, which adorn the roof 
— ^representing the figure of uie Etenaal Father, calling the 
world out of chaos — ^the Creation of man, and of woman — 
their bliss in Paradise — and, above all, the last beautiful 
picture of their expulsion from those blessed seats. But it 
would be vain, by description, to attempt to give you any 
idea of the perfection of these great master-pieces of paint- 
ing. I will therefore refrain, even from the expression of 
admizatiany and the dear delight of criticism. 

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These, then, are all that lemain of the painter — ^Michael 

" quel ch'^ per Bculpe e colors 

Michel, pitL che mortal, Angel divino !"* 

for we are told that he never painted more than one piece 
in oils,t which is in the gallery at Florence. But many of 
his designs, some of wmch may be classed amongst the 
grandest compositions in the world, were executed by Sebas- 
tian del Piombo, Marcello Venusti,J and others. 

In the Paolina Chapel, indeed, there are — or rather were 
— some of his frescos ; but they are so thoroughly blackened 
with the smoke of the thousand tapers that bum before the 
Sepulchre of our Saviour in Passion "Week, that they are all 
but totally obliterated. 

Besides, the dungeon darkness that reigns in this chapel, 
even on the brightest summer's day, renders it absolutely 
impossible to see them. As well as I could guess at them, 
under such circumstances, they must have been grand com- 
positions. The subjects are the Conversion of St. Paul, and 
the Crucifixion of St. Peter — ^both admirably suited to his 

It is cruel to see works such as these, the sole remains of 
the Father of Painting, which might serve for the instruc- 
tion and admiration of future generations, not only aban- 
doned to neglect and decay, but mercilessly, and one would 
think, sedulously destroyed. But it is no use to be 

e Sala Borgia, the ante-hall to the Sistrna and Paolina 

♦ Arioflto, Canto 83. t Vide Vaaari. 

X Marcello Yenusti, of whose works I have seen little in England, 
wajs a native of Mantua> and, when a boy, only a colour-grinder to 
Perrin del Vaga, but his genius forced its way, in spite of all his 
master's efibrts to depress it. He found a protector in Michael Angelo, 
and, by copying his designs, and receiving his instructions, caught so 
much of his spirit, as well as that of Baphael'^ whose works he inces- 
santly studied, that he is thought, by many critics, to have united much 
of the peculiar excellencies of both masters. Perrin del Yaga, the 
envious master of Marcello Yenusti, was by far the most successful of 
Saphaers pupils in copying and imitating his works, although decidedly 
deficient to Giulio Bomano in original genius. 

y Google 


Chapels, is painted with frescos, more remarkahle for their 
subject than execution. They represent the Massacre of 
St. Bartholomew's Day, thus commemorated on papal wfdls, 
and by papal command, as a meritorious action ! Times are 
changed. JN'o Pope, I imagine, would venture now to give 
openly a sanction of approval to such a deed ; nor, in feet, 
could any human being, I should hope, be found capable 
of planning or of .perpetrating it. These are the days of 
pohtical rather than of religious fenaticism.* ^ 

* Such was the case in 1820, when these letters were first pnhlished. 
But a lamentable change has sioise taken place — a retrograde movement 
in society, which may be dated from the " Emancipation ** of the 
Boman Catholics. The mask has been at length thrown off; the spirit 
of bigotry and insolence has now manifested itself, and avowedly wants 
but the power to renew persecution in its most unrelenting form. See 
the recent charges, manifestoes, letters, &c., of the soi-diaaiU Boman 
Catholic Primate of Ireland, and other heads of that church. 

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46 SOICB. 

The Cahsbb ot "Raphato. 

Ttbisk there is a character in Eaphael which Buonarotti 
wants — a truth of expression, a soul-touching beauty, a 
sentiment, a majesty, wliich none but Baj)hael ever so emi- 
nently possessed, but which Buonarotti strikes me as being 
peculiarly deficient in. — We turn firom his works with our 
understanding satisfied and inslsructed, but our soul un- 
moved. They only address themselves to the head, but Ba- 
Ehael's touch the heart. The folrmer will only be admired 
y the learned, the latter will be felt by all. 
It ought not to be forgotten, in estimating the perform- 
ances of these two great men, that Michael Angelo lived 
more than two lifetimes of Eaphael. "What Eaphael would 
have been, had he not been cut off in the very day-spring 
of his genius, we may with sorrow estimate, from the works 
which even at sii-and-thrrty he left to the world* He might 
be inferior to Buonarotti in learning — ^he might owe to hia 
more advanced studies much of Ms grandeur of style — ^but 
he drew his perfection from himself. In the noble air of 
his heads, and the grand flow of his draperies, he is con- 
fessedly unrivalled — and in that touching beauty of expres- 
sion — ^m that power which speaks from his works to the 
understanding and the heart — ^neither Buonarotti nor any 
human being ever approached him. 

It is years since I saw the Cartoons, and still they are 
present to me. Even while I write, the image of Paul 
preaching at Athens, and that sublime head of Saint John 
m the death of Ananias, return upon my remembrance. 
"What sentiment! — What soul! — "What holiness! — ^What 
beauty ! What must have been the mind of him who con- 
ceived, it ; and what an ineffaceable impression does it leave 
upon the heart I 

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bafhail'b camebe. 47 

To how few has been given that wondrons faculty of 
breathing into their works more than human beauty, sub- 
limity, and grace — ^the power of surpassing nature, without 
departing from her laws, and creatmg by the conceptions 
of their own exalted minds, forms of nnunagined thvnkmg 

On Baphael, and on the unknown author of the Apollo, 
this precious g^ was bestowed ; and the admiration of suo- 
cessiye generations, the fruitless imitation of artists of every 
age and country, have made us feel '* we shall never look 
upon their like agaiu !" 

One can never sufficiently regret that Eaphael was tied 
dovm so continually to the sameness and senseless repe- 
tition of Madonnas and Holy Faniilies. He knew, indeed, 
how to vary them — ^to give them that unparalleled grace, 
that tenderness of expression, and that soul-affecting beauty 
and divinity, which make us gaze upon them for ever with 
unsatiated delight. Still, if there be any feebleness of 
design in his works, it is in such as these, feut it is in his 
great historical compositions, in the sublimity of the Trans- 
figuration, the matcnless Cartoons, and, more than all, the 
immortal frescos of the Camere, that we feel in all their 
force his transcendaut powers ; and these imperishable me- 
morials will for ever consecrate his name. 
. Imperishable, did I sav? Alas ! while we gaze upon the 
mouldering frescos of the Camere, how do we mourn over 
the decay of works such as the world can see no more ! 

All that brutal injury, culpable neglect, and still more 
culpable restoration, could do to accelerate their destruction, 
has been added to the slow attacks of time. Scarcely ten 
years after they were painted, when Eome was taken by 
assault;* the hcentious soldiers lived in these chambers, 
lighted their fires, in default of chimneys, on the stone 
floors, blackening the paintings with smoke, (which is far 
more destructive to frescos than to oil paiatiags,) and even 
wantonly iojured and defaced many of the finest heads. 
These, Sebastian del Piombo was employed to restore; 
though a capital colourist, his powers were by no means 
equal to the task, and he executed it so ill, that Titian, 
* A.D. 1628. 

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48 Boia. 

who afterwards visited these chambers with him, pur- 
posely asked him, if he knew who was the presmnptuous 
and Ignorant blockhead that had daubed over these noble 

But the injuries that would have wholly mined any other 
paintings, have scarcely^ thrown a doud over these; and 
while the faintest outbne remains, they must retain their 
pre-eminent superiority. But that superiority, in their 
present state, is by no means striking at the nrat fflance. 
After all your nigh-raised expectations, you will walk 
through a set of cdld, square, gloomy, un^irnished rooms, 
with some old, obscure, faded figures painted on the walls ; 
and these are the Camere of JSaphael ? You will inquire, 
UH est Baphael? Your disappointment will have no 
bounds. But have patience — suspend your judgment — 
learn to look on them — and every fresh exammation will 
reward you with the perception of new beauties, and a 
hi^er sense of their exoellence.f 

Every inch of the walls, from the ceiling to the floor, and 
the whole of the roofs, are covered with paintings. They^ 
are not, however, all done by his own hand — ^many of them, 
either entirely or in part, were executed by his principal 
pupils, under his eye, and from his designs. Such a niunber 
and variety, it may be supposed, are marked by varying 
de^ee of excellence; but Jbtaphaers success seems to me 
tol)e always in exact proportion to the grandeur, the inte- 
rest, and the difficulty of the subject. 

By far the finest of these pieces, in my humble opinion, 
are the Burning of the Borgo San Spirito, the Liberation 
of St. Peter from Prison, and the School of Athens. In 
the first, which covers the whole side of a room, is repre- 
sented the conflagration of a part of Bome, adjoining the 
Vatican, which happened in the pontificate of Leo IV. 

The <Hstraction of the mothers, and the poor little naked 

* " Che fofise quel presantuoeo ed ignorante, che aveva embrattati 
que' volti V*— Lanzi, Storia Pittorica. 

t Such is the gloominefls of these chambers, and the obscurity of the 
paintings, that they never ought to be visited except early on a bright 
clear day. £yen before tiro o'clock in winter, the light is lost for 

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clifldten clingmg to them ; the red raging of the flames on 
the one hand, the terrified groups on the other— among 
which, the people, like true Italians, instead of taking 
measures to extmguish the fire, are falling on their knees 
to implore the meduktion of the Pope, who appears, sur- 
rcmnded with priests, far in the distance, at a window in 
the palace, making the sign of the cross, bj which the flames 
miraculouslj disappeared : — ^the woman with the bucket of 
water — the men escaping naked over the wall — ^all are ad- 

The most strildng group is a family escaping from the 
fire ; under which fiaphaei has introduced ibbieas, bearing 
Ancfaises on his shoulders, and leading Ascanius in his 
hand, while Creusa follows at a little oistance-^for ''the 
pious iEneas^* — ^both in the poet's and the painter's repre- 
Bentation of that event, whilst he took good care of himself, 
his ^Either, and son, left his wife to shifb for herself. 

The powerless hanging Hmbs, and the helpless feebleness 
of the old man, are beautifuUy represented. 

Every subordinate part is as perfect as the whole of 
this great composition, without attracting attention imduly. 
The very pavement of the street is inimitable. 

This was the last, and perhaps the best of the frescos 
painted by Baphael himself. The ceiling of this room is 
painted by Pietro Ferugino, whose works, from respect to 
ais master, Baphael refused to efl'ace. 
• In another painting in the same room — ^the Coronation 
of Charlemagne by Leo III., chieflv executed by B4iphaers 
pupils, I was much struck with the beauty of the little 
page. There is a contrast, too, between the youth and 
smiling innocence of the boy, and the weight of cares and 
woes one attaches to the idea of the crown he bears, that 
perhaps adds to its effect. The head of one of the bishops 
too — ^but we should never finish, were I to enumerate the 
hundredth part of the beauties that delight me in these 

The head of Charlemagne is the portrait of Francis I. of 
France, and that of Leo III. of Leo X. 

The Justification and Purgation by oath of Charlemagne 
before Pope Leo and his Cardinals, over the window in this 

TOL. n. X 

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M Boia. 

duuuber, and the Deecent of the Sanoens upon Ostifl, 
aire alao painted from Baphael'a deaignsy by his p\ipila. Not 
BO tiie School of Athena, which waa evioeotly the work of 
hia own handa. I cannot find worda aofficient to apeak m j 
adnuration of thia wonderful nerformance, which ia, perhaps, 
the fineat picture in the world, and one of the greateat and 
moat pcxrfect productiona of mind. The akill of the com- 
poaition— the art with which fifly-two figorea, all nearly of 
equal importance, all philoaophera, all in the aame atyle of 
dreaa, are arranged in one piece, without monotony, crowd- 
ing, or confuaion — ^the character preaerved in each, the inte- 
reat giyen to a cold achokatic diacuaaion— no praiae can do 
it juatice, and without aeeing it you never can conceiye its 

On the atepa of a Ghrecian portico, atand Ariatotle and 
Plato engaged in argoment, and each holding a yolume in 
hia hand. Their diiMn^plea are ranged around, attentiyely 
liatoiine to them. Beneath ia IHogeneB«-an inimitable 
figure— ^iatleadj extended on the atepa. On the left, at the 
top, ia Socratea, eameatly talking to young Alcibiadea, who 
listena in a lingering aort of' attitude, aa if half aubdued by 
the wiadom of the aae^e— half willing to tum away from it ; 
acknowledging inwardly the truth of hia doctrinea— yet still 
reaolyed to giye the reins tQ pleasure, and run the career 
of gay enjoyment. I know not, howeyer, why the young 
Grecian waa not made more handaome. The old man 
beside him, with a cap on, listemng to Socratea, ia inimi- 
table. Another looking oyer the ahoulder of I^hagoraa, 
who ia wiitiug hia works, ia, if poaaible, atill finer. The 
figure, in deep abatracted thought, leaning on his elbow, 
with a pen on hia hand; Zoroaster holding a globe ; Archi- 
medes (which, it is said, ia the portrait of Baphaera undo, 
Bramante, the architect,) stooping to trace a geometrical 
figure, with compasaea, on a alate on the ground, and the 
mole group that surrounda him, are beyond all praise. In 
the comer on the right, the figure with a black cap ia the 
portrait of Baphael mmself, and that beside him, of Pietro 
Perugino. Seyeral other figures are aaid to be likeneaaes 
of hia contemporariea. But whateyer were the featurea ho 
copied, he has giyen them that rhnntiber and -^ 

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wbich' exacdy snited his subject, togeUier with tbe Terj 
truth of nature itself. 

With siief do I say, that this inestimable work has suf- 
fered still more than the rest, and I even fimcy that since 
I first saw it, now nearly two years, some of the heads are 
more defaced. 

Opposite is the Dispute upon the Sacrament, the first 
of these frescos which Baphael painted. Surrounding the 
altar appear the four Doctors of the Soman Church, 
attended by the Apostles and Blessed Saints, in hiffh dis* 
pute^ and above their heads are seen in air the Patheri 
the Son, and Holy Ghost, — with the Yirgin Mary, and John 
the Baptist. 

Above the window in this room, is painted, by Baphael 
himself, Apollo, on mount Parnassus, encircled by the 
Muses, and playing on the violin — ^I could have wished it 
had been the lyre, especially since we were to see, not to 
hear it. The whole group is beautiful, and the figure of 
Sappho, reclining, below, peculiarlv so. Homer, Virgil, 
Horace, Ovid, Dante, and many other great poets, appear 
in t'he sacred choir. I had repeatedly passed many hours 
in gazing at the walls in this room, before I thought of 
looking at the ceiling, which is painted by Baphael hunself. 
The figures of Philosophy, Poetry, Theolocy, and Justice; 
and the pictures of Adam and Eve, of the Judgment of 
Solomon, and of Marsyas and Apollo, amply repay the 
fiktigue of contemplating them, which, j&om tneir position 
and obscurity, is not small. 

The ceiling in the next chamber is painted in chiaro 
oscuro by Baphael, and aU the four paintings on the walls 
are executed by himself. Th^ consist, first, of the Miracle 
of Bolsena — in which the Beal Presence appears in the 
eucharist, for the conversion of the unbelieving priest, who 
is administering the sacrament, and who looks sufficiently 
scared at this literal manifestation of the truth of tran* 
substantiation. The next painting represents a miracle of 
somewhat more importance, and doubtless of equal authen- 
ticity. It is the meeting of Attik and his victorious army 
on their progress to Borne, by St. Leo L, attended by his 
train of priests on the earth, and by the Apostles St. Peter 

a 2 

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and St. Paul in the sky,— «n apparition which immediately 
frightened all the Huns back again. The figure of Attihi 
is Teiy fine. Pope Leo I. is the portrait of Leo X., who 
was rope when tuis fresco was painted. 

The liberation of St. Peter from prison is one of the 
finest paintings genius ever produced; but such is its 
wretched situation, immediately above the great gothic 
window which cuts into it, that its effect is, in a great 
deme, lost, both from the bad light and the uncouth 
awkwardness of its form. 

This wall has been the bed of Procrustes, on which the pro- 
ductions of genius have been stretched out or compressed. 
As it is, this may perhaps be considered three paintings, 
rather than one. In the centre, through the grated window 
of the dungeon, is seen St. Peter in chains, and the angel 
appearing to him, and commanding him to rise. The tran- 
scendent glory that surrounds the head of the celestial 
visitor, forms the sole light of the piece. Again, on the 
right, at the prison doors, the angel appears leading forth 
the apostle. Their figures, in both repetitions, are won- 
derfully fine. On the left, (at the other side of the win- 
dow,) are two soldiers, hasl^y descending; the steps leading 
from the dungeon, in consternation and alann ; the moon 
shining bright on their glittering armour, and shielding" 
their eyes from the sudden blinding glare of the torch held 
by their comrade at the foot of the stair, which falls full 
on the face of 'another soldier, awakening from sleep — ad- 
mirably expressed ! But vain is all description — ^vain would 
be all- imitation. The veiy mechanism of this wonderful 
picture — ^the variety of lights, the moonlight shining on the 
distant coimtry, and on tne soldiers' arms ; the torch gleam- 
ing on their mces ; and the two celestial lights emanating 
from the presence of the angel, — are alone, in their manage- 
ment and effect, a prodigy of skill and sdence. 

We now turn to the last of the four paintii^ in this 
chamber, the Expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple by 
Angels. The history is related in Maccabees. When 
attempting to seize " the money laid up here for the hther- 
less and widows, an apparition appeared — a horse with a 
terrible rider, adorned with a very mir covering, and he ran 

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fiercelj and smote Heliodoms, and two jounj^ men, notable 
in strength, excellent in beauty, and comelj in apparel, who 
flcourged him continually." * 

Nothing can exceed the rushing of the attack — ^the rapi- 
dity of the onset — ^the magic that makes the action seem 
to go on before your eyes. 

The superhuman force and actiyity of the Tengeful mes- 
sengers, strike you with awe ; but there is no exaggeration, 
no violence, no overstraining. Pope Julius II. insisted 
upon being brought into this scene, though it happened 
at least eighteen hundred years before he was bom. So 
Baphael was obliged to introduce him, and he appears at 
the comer, borne in on his chair of state. Baphael nas ceiv 
tainly done this group, (which, of itself, is a masterpiece of 
painting,) the honour of painting^ it with his own hand, but 
I doubt the executive part of the whole of the rest of the 
picture being his, though it is generally reputed so. 

In the fourth and kst chamiber, none of the paintings 
are executed b^ Baphael, excepting the figures of Justice 
and Mercy, painted in oils by himself; and, according to 
Bome accounts, the last works of his hand. That grand 
painting, the battle between Constantino and Maxentius, at 
the Fonte MoUe, near Bome, designed by Baphael, and 
painted after his death by Giulio Bomano, is worthy alike 
of the master and the scholar. The colouring, indeed, has 
the faults of his ^reat pupil,^-too much of that red hue, 
that opaque brickmess, that general diffusion of lights, and 
want of chiaro oscuro, that we see in his works; but it 
is given with all his characteristic spirit and energy. 

In this grand composition, Bapnael has successfullv tri- 
mnphed over all tha confessed oifficulties of the subject. 
It has all the action and hurry and movement of a battle, 
without the smallest confusion. At one glance you see the 
whole. The figure of Constantine, riding over the field on 
his milk-white charger, at once catches your eye. Victory 
sits on his crowned and lofby front, while the defeated 
usurper, sinking in the stream, grappling, in his last con- 
vulsive agonies, with instinctive desperation, the bridle of 
* II. Msocabees, chap. iii. 

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64 ROMl. 

his spent and panting steed, forces you, shuddering, to gaze 
upon its horrors. 

In this room, and painted also by Giulio Bomano, is the 
apparition of the Fiery Cross in the Heavens, which Con- 
stuitine witnessed previous to the battle. Though excel- 
lent in itself^ it is inferior to the battle. The rest of the 
paintings in this room are executed bj other pupils of 
Baphael, from his designs ; none, excepting the comer ngures 
of the eight Popes, being by Qiulio Eomano. The roof of 
iMa chamber was painted by an inferior artist many yeara 
afterwards, and not from the designs of Baphael. 

It may possibly interest you to know the order in which 
Baphael painted his frescos. It was as foUows : — 

1. The Dispute upon the Sacrament, intended to exemplify 

2. Jurisprudence, — exemplified on one side by the Em- 
peror Justmian, who receives the Code of Laws from Tre- 
Donian; and the other by Gregory IX., who delivers the 
Decretals to a member of the Consistory, — painted above 
the windows of the same Camera. 

8. Mount Parnassus, with Apollo and the Muses, repre- 

4. The School of Athens, representing Philosophy. After 
finishing this great work, Baphael painted the Prophet 
Isaiah, in the Augustine Church, and the Sibyls in SK 
Maria della Pace. He then painted, 

5. The Miracle at Bolsena, of the Beal Presence in the 

6. Heliodorus expelled from the Temple by the Angels. 
After this, he painted the Cartoons for the Flemish Tapestry; 
seven of which we have in England. Then returning to 
the Yatican, he successively executed, 

7. The Liberation of St. Peter fiK)m prison by the Angels. 

8. Attila arrested in his progress to Bome by St. Leo, 
with the apparition of St. Peter and St. Paul in the sky. 

9. The Burning of the Borgo San Spirito. 

I have passed over almost without notice, many of the 
frescos, which I have spent hours, and I might add davs, in 
studying and admixing, from the wish not to swell this 

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SAPHAEJi's nxsooxfl. U 

letter with vain and tedious descriptions. It is not for me 
to attempt to praise the last and best works of this greatest 
of painters. Little as, perhaps, I am able to estimate all 
their merit and science, I have felt their perfection, and 
drawn from their study a delie;ht which words can never 
describe. It is impossible, indeed, to see works such as 
these, without feeling the mind enlarged, and conscious of 
higher ideas of beauty, of perfection, of moral dignitjr and 

gower. That I have seen them — ^that their imsj^e is inde- 
bly ez^graved upon my mind — ^will be, through life, a source 
of unalienable pleasure to me ; nor would I part with their 
veiy remembrance, for much that this world could bestow. 

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86 Bom. 


The LoGana ov "Rapttaeti — The FAnrrnros nr the 

I HATE but a few words to say on the Loggie of Bapliael ; 
for, besides that enough has already been said and written 
upon them — ^that they are decidedly inferior to the inimi- 
table frescos of the Camere, painted at a much earlier 
period, and for the most part executed from his designs by 
his pupils — ^to enter into them at all, would require a 
minuteness of detail that would be perfectly intolerable. 

The first story consists merely oi ornamental paintings of 
treillage, shells, flowers, Ac., wmch merit little notice. The 
second comprises that series of pictures, from the creation 
of the world to the crucifixion of our Sayiour, which has 
sometimes been called Eaphaers Bible. These paintings 
are on a very small scale. Each arcade, or hggiay or space 
between two piUars, contains four, on the four sides of its 
corered roof. 

The first of these, which represents Gk)d the Father, in 
the void of chaos, calling forth the world and the deep, is 
unquestionably the woi^ of EaphaeFs own hand, and is 
prodigiously extolled by connoisseurs. Michael Angelo 
himself must have been struck with its sublimity, for he 
exclaimed, that Baphael could never have painted it had he 
not seen his own figure of the Eternal Eather on the roof of 
the Sistine Chapel, from which, at his desire, Baphael had 
been jealously excluded. No one, however, butliis rival, 
will charge Blaphael with this petty pilfering. The work is 
his own, whatever be its ments or defects. Eor my own 
part, I confess, that I do not see in this, or in any of the 
paintings of the Loggie^ that greatness of style, that eleva- 
tion of thought, and wondrous beauty of expression, that 
characterise ma later and better works ; nay, more, that this 

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%iire of the Supreme Being, sprawling about, with his anns 
and legs extended in evei^ opposite direction, so &r from 
striking me with its sublimity, was so inexpressibly shocking 
to me, that I turned from it with disgust. 

The quadruple image of the Almighty fills the four com- 
partments of this first Loggia, In one of these, painted by 
&iulio Somano, he is represented with the sun iu one hand 
and the moon in the other, kicking the earth to its place 
with his feet. 

Not even Baphaers pencil can reconcile me to any repre- 
sentation of the Deity. Numa forbade the Bomans to re- 
present the Divinity under a human form. It would have 
Deen well had Christians obserred the same respect. 

The Baptism of Christ, which is, I believe, almost the 
only other picture of the Loggie executed by the hand of 
Baphael himself, I admired the most of any. But the 
examination of them is so peculiarly fatiguing, from their 
number, and from ttie position into which it throws the 
head, that I have not studied them with the attention they 
deserve. On the whole, however, good engravings will give 
give you a far better idea of the Loggie, than of most paint- 
mgs, for their chief merit consists m their design and com- 
position; the colouring is now much iujured by time and 
exposure to the atmosphere. 

The gidleiT of oil paintinc^s in the Vatican, in the Bor- 
ghese Chambers, contains the two finest pictures in the 
world — The Transfiguration of Baphael, and the Conmiu- 
nion of St. Jerome of Domenichino. It is the fashion, I 
believe, in consequence of Madame de StaeFs conunendation, 
to give the preference to the latter. The fact is, that 
Baphael is the first, and Domenichino the second, painter 
in the world — and these are their master-pieces. But we 
must not estimate the merits of the masters from these 
works. The Conmiunion of St. Jerome equals, if not sur- 
passes, any of Domenichino's frescos : — the Transfiguration 
does not approach to those of BaphaeL The Transfigu- 
ration, too, has suffered more from tmie, injuiy, and, above 
all, restoration, and it is only to the eye that has the true 
feeling for the highest species of perfection, that its supe- 
riority will be manifest. The beauties of the. Communion, 

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68 Bon. 

whicli is in far finer preservation, are mncli more palpable^— 
the action is one, simple and clear — and it is consequently as 
much admired at the first si^ht as the last. But the Trans- 
figuration will be far more admired the hundredth time than 
the first. It is, besides, infinitely more difficult. Many 
painters might have made a fine Communion of St. Jerome, 
but who but Baphael could have painted the Transfigu- 

The glorified — ^the super-human figure of our Saviour 
transfigured in the clouds, is an attempt the most difficult, 
I had almost said presumptuous, that was ever made in 
painting — and, at the same time, perhaps the most suc- 
cessful. It is, indeed, the triumph of gemus. I have neva* 
seen it without the vain wish that it could be divested of 
Moses and Elisha, on each side; but the truth of gospel 
histoiy condemned Baphael to this. Look at the Trans- 
figuration of our Saviour alone, without these accompanyiag 
prophets, and you will better judge of its wondeiiul per- 

It is somewhat strange to see the whole picture of the 
Transfiguration — including the three apostles, prostrate on 
the mount, shading their dazzled senses from the insuffer- 
able brightness — occupying only a small part of the top of 
the canvas — and the principal field filled with a totallv dis- 
tinct, and certainly imequalled, picture — ^that of the demo- 
niac boy, whom our Saviour cured on coming down from 
the moimt, after his transfiguration. This was done in 
compliance with the orders of the monks of St. Pietro in 
Montorio, for whose church it was painted. It was the 
universal custom of the age — ^the yet unbanished taste of 
Gbthic days — ^to have two pictures, a celestial and a ter- 
restrial one, wholly unconnected with each other; accord- 
ingly we see few, even of the finest paintings, in which there 
is not a heavenly subject above and an eartmy one below — ^for 
the great masters of that day, like our ovni Shakspeare, 
were compelled to suit their works to the taste of^their 

Bomenichino lived in an age which had shaken off many 
barbarisms — ^his angels are connected with the picture, and 
look down upon the dying saint, whose &iling, trembling 

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limbs are Bupported, kneeling, in life's last moments, to 
receiye the cup of Christ — ^with looks of sndi holy loye and 
rapture, that we could not wish them away. I do not think 
the Communion of St. Jerome equal to tne Transfiguration 
— it is a work of less science, less difficulty, less complica- 
tion, and less power; but I do think it the second painting 
in the world, and perhaps the Murder of Peter the Martyr 
is the third.* 

Certainly, the unriTalled superiority of the great masters 
of art cannot with justice be ascribed to the patronage they 
met with. Domenichino received fiftjf Boman crowns-— 
about twelve ^[uineas — for his Commumon of St. Jerome ! 

The cokmrmg of that great masterpiece, the Madonna 
del Eoligno, in this collection, is the finest, perhaps because 
the least imured, of Baphaers works. It may vie with 
Titian. It has suffered in some deeree from Erench resto- 
ration, but nothing compared with the Transfiguration. 

Guide's Fortune, one of his beautiAil poetical thoughts, 
is enchanting. You long to detain her, but it is vain. She 
eludes your grasp, and poor little Cupid, who is pursuing 
her through the ambient air, you see will be left in the 
lurch. A sentimentalist might say, that Love seldom lays 
hold of Fortune. But what shall we say to Love pursuing 
Fortune so eagerly ? That it is in life as in the picture ! 
I have seen some duplicates, and many copies of this beau- 
tiful work, in various parts of the world, but this is by far 
the finest. 

Andrea Sacchi's Dream of St. Bruno, is his masterpiece. 

This saint, the founder of the Carthusian Order, had, it 
seems, a dream, in which he saw a number of monks, in 
long white fiannel gowns, eo up the steeps of the Apen- 
nines ; in consequence of which the order was founded, and 
Certo9a convents built all over Italy; and as painters in 
those days had no choice as to their subjects, and were 
obliged to paint what piety rather than taste, dictated— 
Andbr^^ was ordered to paint this dream. There could not 
well be a more unpromising subject; and it is wonderful, 
that with all its disadvantages, — ^the want of action or 

• The masterpiece of Titian, at Yeaioe. 

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80 BOKIt. 

interest, the unifonn wHte figures, db^ssed in garments of 
the same hue and form, and ranged in a long row, — he could 
produce such a capital picture as this. 

Ghiercino's Santa Fetronilla* is a work of mat power 
and science, and is justly considered one of the first master- 
pieces of this great artist. His Incredulity of St. Thomas 
IS very fine, and has all the breadth and force of effect, 
without exaggeration, for which his works are so conspi* 
cuous. His models are said to have been the heads of 
peasants ; but, at least, there is nothing low or ignoble in 
them. In Caravaggio we see both. We may turn to his 
Deposition from the Cross, fine as it is, in proof of it. He 
never painted anything without vulgarity — ^nor yet anything 
without forcing us to admire it. 

Titian's Martyrdom of St. Sebastian has been quite as 
much commended as it deserves. The colouring; of the 
saint, indeed, is beyond all praise. It lives and breathes. 
But this very animation disunites it from the rest. It 
seems a real figure amon? painted ones. It attracts the 
eye entirely to itself, and by no means pleases it ; for it is 
m drawn — absolutely mis-shapen. His model has been 
bad, and he has copied it as closely in the form as in the 
colouring. The expression of St. Catherine is fine ; but, on 
the whote, the composition is but poor. 

Barocci's Annunciation is esteemed his capo d'opera. In 
my humble opinion, he never produced any capo d'opera 
at aU. I have never been able to admire sufficiently the 
peach-blossom colouring of this most affected and maniere 
painter; but the generality of connoisseurs call it very 

I have passed over the most part of the paintings at the 
Vatican. Though not very numerous, they are all very 
fine, with not more than one or two exceptions. But 1 
know how tiresome all descriptions of paintings are, and 
how often these have been described; and, therefore, I 
abstain even from mentioning them. 

I could wish they were in better lighted rooms, and 

* After these Letters were written, this admirable painting was i^ 
moved to the Mufleum of the Capitol, and placed in a much better 
light and situation. 

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Bhonld not be sony tliat they had frames; but chiefly, I 
wish that the whole tribe of copyists, with all their lumber, 
was kicked out. Both here, ana in the Camere of Baphael, 
their huge pictures and sca^olds block up one's view of the 
originals. Copying is an unfailing trade at Bome. Num- 
bers Hve upon Saphael alone ; and it is amazing how well 
these gentlemen often seem to be satisfied with their own 
works. ^*^ Non e eattivay** (which, in Italian acceptation, 
means very good indeed,) observed one, after comparing his 
own daub with the Transfiguration. Another subscribed 
to the compliment of a judicious friend, that his copy from 
one of the frescos was tale quale with the original. And 
3ret it was* an artist of rather more fame, who, in former 
times, after repeated attempts to copy one head from the 
School of Athens, threw away his pencil in despair, declar- 
ing it was impossible. 

I am now, once more, at the very entrance of the noble 
galleries and halls, which form the Vatican Museum of 
Sculpture — ^and yet I must not enter it. *Tis true, I have 
^ven you only a hasty and imperfect sketch of my first 
visit to the pmce where I have spent so many dehghtful 
hours, or rather days ; but to describe it at all, 1 must write 
volumes, and I therdbre forbear. Nor will I say anything 
of our visit to it by torchlight, except that the masterpieces 
of sculpture, in general, certainly appeared to far greater 
advantage, and the inferior ones to less. You cannot be 
said to see the Torso at all, if you only.view it by day-light. 
Much depends upon the manner in which the torch is held. 
In some lights even the Laocoon looked ill, though, in the 
proper situation, it was beyond expression fine. The Apollo 
requires to have the torch held behind it. 

Nobody ever goes to see the Museum of the Capitol by 
torch-light, though everybody makes a point of visiting the 
Vatican; and yet, I daresay, the Dymg Gladiator would 
have as fine an effect, tried by this test of sculpture, as the 
Apollo and the Laocoon. But I believe I have never given 
you any account of the noble Museum of the Capitol at all. 
I will, therefore, do it in my next letter. Pew cities can 
boast even of one fine museum of sculpture; but Bome 
has three— the Vatican, the Capitol, and the Villa Albani. 

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MirsEUH OP THE Capitol. 

A siTGOEssioK of profound criticB, among whom is the 
celebrated Winkelman, have written most Toluminously on 
the Museum of the Capitol. But this very redundancy of 
description annuls itself Pew will explore nine or ten ioHo 
volumes, but all must wish for some account of one of the 
finest collections of ancient sculpture in the world. There 
is, however, no medium between a little dry two-pennj 
catalogue, and these ponderous tomes; and, thou^ far 
be from me the presumptuous thought of supplyiag the 
deficiency, I will, as I hastily lead you through the noble 
halls and galleries of the Capitol, point out, on the way, 
a few of the most remarkable of its varied works of ancient 
art and genius. 

You enter the court, and discover, in the opposite recess, 
the figure of Ocean, reclining, not upon his own vast plaina 
of water, but upon a little Dubblin£^ fountain. This oriny 
god was the ancient respondent of Fasquin, and, if report 
says true, infused much attic salt into his pleasant replies. 
According to some authorities, he is the Ehme ; but be this 
as it may, this hoaiy &.ther of the flood is universally called 
MarforiOf from havrng been found in the Via Marforio, the 
name of which has obviously been corrupted from the an- 
cient Forum of Mars. Near it are two satyrs, as Carya- 
tides; three consular fasces (on the left wall), and two 
Pagan sarcophagi, found in the catacombs (that receptacle 
only of Christian martyrs), on one of which is inscribed the 
portrait and name of the Pagan Boman whose remains it 
contained. The Genius of Plenty, with the horn at its 
feet ; marine monsters ; the chase of the wild boar and the 
stag ; and such heathen devices, adorn these urns. 

On the centre of the portico of the court, two long, lank, 

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mrsxinc or vbm oatttol. 68 

cdossal, and truly Egyptian figures of Icob, staro you in the 
face. One of basalt has the modkim on its hea^ which is 
coTered with hieroglyphics, as well as its shapeless back* 
The other, which is of^red mmite, has the lotus flower on 
its brow, and three figures of the Ibis, the sacied.bird of the 
Nile, on its back. 

The best statue I saw in this portico, was Diana looking 
after the arrow she had just thrown. The spirit and atti- 
tude of the figure are very fine. It expresses all the life 
and freedom of the huntress of the woods. The diapery, 
blown by the wind, displays to great adrantage the beau- 
tiful buskined leg. Diana's petticoats, I must beg to ob- 
serve, are always tucked up ; so that, you see, the Scotch 
&8hion of the women kilting, is quite dassicaL 

At the eztremily of this little portico is a pedestal, on 
whicb is sculptured, in reHevo, the bound and captiTe per- 
sonification of the proTince of Dacia, known by the axe she 
bears. Beside it stands a fine firagment in pawmaaeHo 
marble, of one of the statues of the captive Dacian kings, 
that once adorned Trajan's Arch of Triumph. It was re- 
moYcd by Constantine to his own arch, and from thence, by 
one of the Popes, here. The full trousers of those captive 
kings are exactly the Turkish dress of the present day-HSO 
long do modes continue. There is also a still finer frag- 
ment — ^the le^ of a Hercules trampling upon the Hydra. 
The rude sculpture of the Wolf and the Twins, found at 
Albano, seems to prove its antiquity, although we can 
scarcely admit its claims to have adorned Alba Longa. 
Adrian, as Pontife;x Maximus, is sacrificing, with the h^ 
uncovered — ^which, therefore, must have been to Saturn, for 
to every other deity the priest was veiled. 

The restorers have made fine work here. Ton wiU see 
Polyphemus, notwithstanding his eye over his nose, trans- 
formed into Pan — Muses and G-eniuses, which have be- 
come celestial since their mutilation— one figure, by the 
beh) of a cornucopia, transformed into Plenty, and another 
dubbed an Immortality. 

A warrior in complete armour and a long beard, usually 
called Mars, is also called Pyrrhus, who, as well, as all the 
Greeks of his day, it is well known, used to shave himselfl 

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64 BOMS. 

'Winkelman, liaving assigned this reason why it cannot be 
Pyrrhus, very sagaciously conjectures that it is either 
Jupiter or Agamemnon.* Now, though it is certain that 
the Greeks did not begin to shave till the age of Pericles, 
and that Jupiter never was known to shave at all, the as- 
sumption that it is either the king of the gods, or the 
" king of men," is purely gratuitous. It may just as well 
represent an ancient Boman, as a Greek hero, n)r thej also 
wore beards.t It is gravely related in history, that m the 
year of Borne 454, barbers first came from Sicily to Borne, 
and first began to shave the Eomans.^ Caligula used to 
wear a aolden heard fixed to his chin.§ Hadrian, on account 
of a blemish, allowed his beard to grow, and afterwards 
beards grew common. This colossal statue is, however, at 
all events, extremely interesting, from the minute details of 
the martial accoutrements it bears. The weight of the 
lorica, compressing the thick folds of the tunic, looks as if 
the man encased m it could never have moved, much less 
fou^t. It reminds one of the heavy coat of mail described 
by Virgil, that two servants could scarcely hold, though, 
under it, the swift Grecian did such execution — 

'* LeYibuB hole hamis conflertoin auroqae trilioem, 

• • • • • 

Yix illam tunvli, Phegeos, Sagarisqne, ferebant 
Multiplicem, connixi humeriB : indutus at olim 
BemoleoB cursu palantes Troas agebat." 

^n. V. 268 

A whole room is filled with Egyptian sculpture, brought 
from the Egyptian Temple, or Canopus, of Adrian's Vma. 

•^Hiat. de TArt, Mr. vil. chap. 4 § 19. 

t*Iii Beaaons of deep affliction, the BomaxiB at all periodB frequently 
nBed to allow their bcArds to grow. Thus bearded statues may repre- 
sent a Boman in any age, mourning the loss of friends or the reverBes 
of fortune. A bearded head of Augustus on a fine cameo, noticed by 
Winkelman, lib. ▼!. cap 6. $ 7. is supposed to represent him in grief 
for the defeat of Yams and the three legions. 

X Plutarch's Life of Camillus. 

§ Suet. Calig. 52. 

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CanoptiB bimself, the Egyptian Neptune,* has the lotos 
flower on his little head — and is of black basalt. 

In this room, all the sculptures in basalt are ancient 
Egyptian. The rest, in nero amtieo marble, which look, 
from their beauty and dazzling polish, as if fresh from the 
artist's hand, are of the age of Hadrian. Of the latter class, 
are the beautiful conjoined heads of the Sun and Moon, or 
Osiris under the form of Apis and Isis ; and both are ex* 
quisitely finished. The hawk-headed divioity, the tutelar 
or guardian god we see so constantly on the hieroglyphical 
monuments of the Egyptians, whether in painting or sculp- 
ture — on tbeir mummies or their statues — ^is also supposed 
to be Osirist represented with a hawk*s head, from the sup- 
|)08ed power of the hawk's eye to fix its gaze upon the sun ; 
m consequence of which, even among the Ghreeks, the hawk 
was sacred to Fhoebus.t Serapis, whose image is also here, 
was undoubtedly the true Serapis, the Egyptian Pluto. 
This statue was first imported into Egypt from Sinope, in 
Pontus, in consequence of a vision of one of the Ptolomies.§ 
His worship was not received in Eome till the reign en 
Antoninus Pius. He bears the modius on his head, as an 
emblem of fecundity. Here is an Isis, with a wis of pea- 
cock's feathers, which also bears the modius on its head. 
Anubis, the Egyptian Mercury, with his canine head, is the 
only deity in white marble. He bears both the cistrum 
aad the caducous, and is also of Hadrian's age. Certainly 
these works are greatly relieved from the straight, stretchecU 
out, perpendiculsor rigidity, of the true Egyptian sculpture. 

* CanopuB, which was the name of one of the mouths of the Nile, was, 
in fact, nothing but the vase, in which its waters, at the annual inunda* 
tion, were carried in the religious rites. But from the propensity of 
the Egyptians to deify everything, it was worshipped as a god of great 
importance, and had a beautiful little human &ce, which surmounted 
the vase. It does not appear to have been of very high antiquity ; for^ 
if we may believe history, this mouth of the Nile itself received its 
name from Can opus, a Spartan pilot, who was buried on the spot at the 
time when Menelaus was driven on the coast, and in memory of whom 
a city was built.— Tacitus, Ann. lib. IL cap. 60. 

t Kircher, tom. iii. 601. % Odyss. v. 626. 

§ Vide Tacitus, Hist. lib. iv. cap. 83, 84. Civ. Div. 2. 69.— Pau. 
tanias, iib. i. cap. 18. lib. ii. cap. 84. 

VOL. II. " ' ' t ■■ 

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60 BQia. 

ThiMi people- BOMEad to. hma much resembknoe ta tbe^ 
CbineBe in their worb^.a^ much of their stationary and^ 
unprogresfiiTe charficter. Tb&j made no advaocea in »rt; 
and, indeed, where anatomi^ was a subject o£ religious mj»^^ 
t&jj, aod an incision made into a dead bodj accounted worse, 
than murder— excellence in the representatio);i of the human, 
form was manifestlj unattainable.* It. always seemed to, 
be their aim, to make men as. much as- possiple like mui»-. 
niies. Their images:— for I cannot call them Bt9^esr--*^had. 
never any: princijue of life; far less. did. they bear any-ap* 
proach to freedom, or grae% or eispression, . <»: momenta^, 
action. Their stiff, upxight figuresy their long baboon anns^ 
hanging close to their aides ; their liu^e flat feet, tbeir mut^ 
insensible faces, their unformed limbs> destitute of all. acti'^ 
oulation of joints and musdes, remixed op^ rather of tlve 
first rude attempts at sculpture tban^of its &usbed state. . 

The Sgyptians might give the art. of sculpture to tbe^ 
Greeks, but theirs was oi^y the lifeless figure of : day. . 11? 
was the Greeks who staruck the promethean spark, that.gavo 
it life. 

During the enlightened reigns of the Ptoleipies, however, 
Alexandna livaUed Athens, and the artists even of Greece^ 
received in their courts that asylum and. paitronage, whid^ 
their own exhausted and oppressed country could no.long^ 

Beyond the !E!gyptian room, is a damber filled with in<^ 
aoripmonS) f^oiibracing tiie whole period of the Boman empire^ 
firom Augustus to Theodosius* Here stands the Columni^ 
MiUiarium, an ancient Boman marble mile-stone, with two 
inscriptions, one in Latin, the other in Greek. A pedestal, 
of the finest style of Greek sculpture, represents the labours 
of Hercules' ; and, on the sepulchral cippus, and also cm a 
column, I observed all the ancient instruments used in 
architecture, and in,mensuratiou— the trowel, the hammer, 

* Vide Winkelman, Histoire de TArt, liv. ii. cap. i. § 9, who quotes 
Diod. Siculus, 1. L § 91. The embalming of the dead among the 
Egyptians was intrusted to one family, and transmitted from father to 
to son. It is related, that these operators, after having finished their 
work, were generally obliged to ran away, from the childish rage of the 
relations at the necessaiy incisions that had been made for this pnipose 
in the corpoQ of the deceased. 

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HiXL 01* nrSOBIFTIOVB. 07 

fbe compasses^ i^& plummet, and tlie qnadraDi,' Sbo: exms&j ' 
such as we use at the present day. 

The hist room contaiiisi the greats marble Bsrcopha^asj in 
wMch was found the Barbeirini— or the Poridand Va«e*,- as j 
it was called from its possessor, the Duke of Portland. The > 
subject represented on that eicjuisitely beautiful vase^ which: 
has excited so much speculatLon^ is. supposed, by, the 'best) 
critics, to be the story of- Peleus and Thetis^. who metaanoiv. 
i^iosed herself into a: serpent. to escf^ the;puxamt of ber 

The sarcophagus itsdf,from two figures, of badlaonlpture,, 
at the top, has been called the twnbof Alenoinder QeyenMy , 
and Mammea, his mother. But Winkelman obserres,. that, 
ae the -man r^resented. here is at least fifty, and Alexander > 
Sevenis was murdered before . he was thirty, l^s is i impos- • 
sible. It is more reasonably supposed to be the tomo of] 
the parents of Alexander Severus. The bassi rilievi, .on^he . 
four sides, are of yaxying degrees of excellence. . The fronts 
which is very fine^ represents the contest betwe^i Achilles r 
and Agamemnon at i the departure of Ohryseis for Briseis;^. 
The trembling maid,. the assembled Greeks, the noble figures,, 
the contending passious expressed by their action, . and,. 
thove all, ths.traoiqmrt of Adiilles, whose uplifted am is; 
withheld by Mineira, are admirably sculptured. 

On the side next I the window, the fair caplive is leaying' 
i^ tent withtlie.heraM& The scul|)to7 has aimed at giving 
erven a stronger interest to this partmg scene; than the poet) 
who describes her, 

" Oft looking: buck, slow moving o'er the strand,' 

by the ^qyression of longing regret which she. throws upon- 
her departing lover, whose horse is held by. his : attendants.. 

The third side, which repreeentib the Gf^reeks supplicating 
Achillesto revenge the death of Patroclus, is of very inferiooR 
sculpture; and the fourth — ^the principal actions of Achillea 
-—is iqpparently the work of a barbarous ^ageu. 

]jx this apartment there is a. vexy^ cunous insciiptioniis: 

* It WM. placed in the British Hueeum, where it was wantonly 
destroyed by a visitor, who dashed it to pieces, some years after this 
work was first published. 

p 2 

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68 BOHX. 

the PalmyTeaii langaage, the only one I ever met witli^ 
m^y of tne letters are tmknown. 

While my companions were admiring an ancient mosaic, 
representing Love conquering Force, or little Loves mounted 
on the subdued Lion, I was much amused with a curious 
basso relievo of one of the Qalli, Cjbele's vagabond priests, 
(supposed to be the Archigallus,) in full costume, and sur- 
rounded with all the symbols of her worship. 

"While examining them, I could not refrain from specu- 
lating upon what had become of the sacred simulacrum of 
Cybele, which the Somans having obtained by humble sup- 
r£cation, transported by solemn embassy from Phiygia to 
Kome. Li the early ages of Greece, not only Cybele, but 
all its deities — Bacchus, Venus,* Cupid, and even the 
G-races themselves, were represented and worshipped under 
the forms of shapeless masses of stone. The combined 
figure in the Zodiac, which still designates Castor and 
Pollux, shows that they were ancientlv adored under the 
form of two parallel sticks connected together.t What 
strikes me with admiration in this is, that in the very 
iiifancy of society, while the arts were unequal even to the 
rudest imitation of the human form, such abstract and 

Soetic ideas as those of Beautv, of Love, of Grace, of that, 
evoted affection which could make an immortal ^resign 
immortaUW, or share it with the being he loved J — of " the 
Common Mother," of man, and of creation, — should ever 
have been conceived at all — ^much less generallv adopted 
and worshipped. The origin of the Grecian mythology, its/ 
high antiquity, and the complicated and refined ideas it 
involves, considered in a philosophical light, would form a 
very interesting subject of inquiry. But to proceed on our 
way through the Museum of the Capitol. 

On the staircase, are the twen^-six fragments of the 
ancient plan of Bome, which formed the pavement of the 
Temple of Eomulus and Bemus, or the Church of S. S.. 
Cosmo and Damiano. BLalf way up, is one of those nume- 
zous statues, generally called Modesly — ^the head veiled, and 

* See the description in Tacitus of the Paphian Venus, 
t Winkelman, Hist, de I'Art, liv. i. t PoUux, 

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t^e %ure enyeloped, but not concealed, in the thin, trans- 
parent, clinging oraperj. They used to go by the name of 
■yestals, and are now supposed, like all veiled statues, to be 
sepulchral figures. 

In the gafiery, you will stop to admire the striking, but 
.disgusting figure of an old, drunken, screaming Bacchante, 
grasping with both hands a skin of wine ; the deep despair 
of the abandoned Psyche ; one of the finest of the oiaughters 
of Niobe ; the torso of a Discobolus, restored as a SiUing 
'Gladiator; the head of Jupiter Ammon ; the sarcophagus, 
with the bas relief of the Eape of Proserpine ; but more 
particularly, the in&nt Hercules stranglmg, without an 
effort, the serpents — ^which has always seemed to me a 
beauti^ allegory of Innocence destroying Evil. 

Here we have the bust of Scipio Africanus — of whom I 
have seen at least six heads, dinering from each other in 
everything but ugliness ; for evefj bust marked with a scar 
is invariably called the bust of Scipio ; but as this is inscribed 
vrith his name, and resembles the bust of green basalt of 
the Palazzo Eospigliosi, which was found in the ruins of 
Lintemum, we may contemplate it with the hope, at least, 
that we really behold the portrait of that truly great 

Here, too, we have a bust of Brutus — ^though he who had 
dared to preserve the head of the assassin of C»8ar, would 
probably not long have retained his own on his shoulders ; 
another of Pompey may be genuine, though his nose is 
somewhat apocryphal;* a third is called Cato the Censor, 
though we have not even tradition to help us to his phy- 
siognomy — ^and many more of the famous heroes of the 
Bepublic, which nothing could prevent us from contem- 
•platiQg with the deepest interest, except the conviction that 
they are all impostors.t But the fine colossal bust of 
Mflurcus Agrippa is both beautiful and authentic. Here, 

* I mean compared with the medal, the impression of which may be 
seen in Mafiei Bac. di Stat. tav. 127. Neither does it bear the smallest 
resemblance to the statue at the Palazzo Spada. 

+ Once for all, I must notice the mortifying truth, that, with scarce 
an exception, there is no authority for any head of Republican date, 
Pompey,— and even he is dubious.— as &r as I remember, is the sole. 

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70 BOMS. 

too, is a bust you wotdd, perhaps/bardlj expect to see, 
that of Cecrope, King of Athens ! 

I' observed a sarcophagus, the sides of which are sculp- 
tured with the education of Bacchus, and his &rst adoration, 
after having planted the vine ; and in the centre, a most 
curious representation of a sport celebrated in his honour, 
in which a party of men are jumping upon a skin, swelled 
out with wine,>and well oiled ; while old Silenus is laughing 
at aa unlucky wight who is sprawling on the ground. 

On a votive altar, of vile sculpture, which now serves fete 

- a pedestial to a statue of Jove, you see the Vestal Claudia, 

• drawing after her the vessel containing the simulacrum of 

Two rooms on the right of the galleiy, contain a laosb 
enterfcaining variety of inscriptions, marbles, bronzes, vases, 
&c. Ac. Of these I shall mention very few ; but I cannot 
altogether pass over aibeautiM bronze vase, found in the 
sea at Antium, which, as the inscription upon it proves, was 
given by Mithridates, King of Pontus, to the CJollege of 
Grymnasiarchs. There is also a noble G^reek marble vase, 
which gives to the room its title of Stanza del Vaso, en- 
circled with its sculptured foliage. of vines, which was found 
among the ruined tombs of the Via Appia — ^as if the spirits 
of the ancient Eomans had been quaffing nectar from its 
brim. It is placed upon a marble pedestal, sculptured with 
the twelve great goos — a work which Winkelman enume- 
rates among' the very few undoubted monuments of Etruscan 

.art. He remarks, that Vulcan, who appears young, and 
without a beard, is armed with a hatchet, with which he ia 
preparing to. cleave Jupiter's skull, in order to help Minerva 
out; exactly as the birth of Minerva is Tepresented on the 
Etruscan pateras. But in those Jupiter is always sitting; 
here he is standing : nor eould I trace -any design of break- 
ing his head on the part of Vulcan : not to mention that it 
seems wholly unnecessary, as Minerva is already out, and 

'appears on ner legs in this procession of deities. This 
curious piece of ancient sculpture has apparently served as 
the mouth of a well, for the marks, worn l)y the cords, are 

. still distinctly visible. Thus, the ancients, with true refine- 
ment 4aid taste, carried the embellishment of the Pine Arts 

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'eren'to^the bomblert eonreniencai of '^domestic Ufe. The 

• meanest utensil was elegant in its form — ^the poorest ear- 
ment graceful in its fol£ and drapery — and the prodigiJity 
of painting and sculpture, with which not only tneir»streets 

• and public buildings, but their private habitationB were 
adorned, may well raise our wonder and our shame. Nor 
were they ^nfined to patrician wealth. The humble dwel- 
lings of an obscure little country sea-port, such as Hercu- 
laneum or Pompeii, were adorned with jpaintings of ex- 
quisite beauty, and filled with statues which must be for 
ever- the admiration of every countiy and every age; while, 
in London itself^ the modem metropolis of t^e world, over- 
flowing with wealth and luxuiy, scarcely one of the private 
houses of its wealthy citizens can boast a single piece of 
scolptttre. However opulent, however prodigal, nowever 
kourious, it is rarely on works of art that Englishmen 
lavi^rh their wealth. Nor is it their cost that renders them 
now unattainable ; for, strange as the het may seem, aneieiit 
sculpture ^etually bore a higher price among the ancients 
themselves, th^ai it does even in the present day.* Yet, 
notwithstanding the extravagant price of statues m ancient 
times, we hear of one hundred and sixty different statues of 
bronze being ereeted in one year to one man f at Athens. 

^But to return from Athens, whither this long digression 
hasr carried us, to the Museum of the Capitol— I must not 
pass unnoticed the &mous Iliac table. A jovial priest, 
who was out huntiDg, found it on the Ap|>ian ^ay, at *a 
pkce * called Mle m-aUoehie^X where, it is believed, the 
Smperor Ckudius had a villa, and this remarkable^ bas relief 
a»ifiupposed>to be a work of his reign.§ It is only a small 
s^^dare slab Of marble, though it has made so much noise in 
t^e world ; 'and upon it are sculptured the principal aetiona 
of 4!he Biajd, with an explanatory inscription inGrreek, which 
■)x»A been so often translated and commented upon, that it is 

• Hist. deTArt, liv. iv. 7,§ 61. 
t Ddmeiritia^f Phalerias. Vide Riny, L ocxxiv. cap. 6. 
X Fonnerjy Bovillae, where the murder of Clodius by Milo is sap- 
'j^osed to hate happened. 

% Winkelman, Hist, de TArt. liv. iv. chap. 2. The. engraving and 
full ezplanaUonirillbe foimd in^FogS:im'Mas. Capit'L iv. tav. 68. 

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72 BOMX. 

•not necessajry for me to say anything about it; a dicom- 
Btance that is peculiarly fortunate, as I do not understand it. 

Diana Tr^ormtM is a small bronze sculpture, as light and 
portable-looking as a child's plaything; the three figures 
joined together, back to back, iu the form of a small tnimgle. 
This goddess certainly forms the Pagan trinity. She is three 
in one — here she appears in hell, on earth, and in heaven, 
at once : — ^as Proserpine, crowned with the six rays of the 
planets, a serpent in one hand — as Hecate, her brows bound 
with laurel, holding a key — as Diana Ludfera, a lotus flower 
on her forehead, and bearing a torch. In aJl these varied 
characters — ^in the chaste huntress, and in the motionless 
Ephesian idol incased like a mummy in mystic symbols, who 
can recognize the same goddess P 

Here is a bronze foot of the colossal statue of Gaius 
Cestius ; a bronze inscription of Sep. Sererus and CaracaUa, 
(the name of Geta erased,) a triumph of Bacchus, columns, 
busts, bassi-reKevi, cinerary urns, minute images in bronze 
and alabaster of gods and goddesses ; ancient tripods and 
candelabras ; besides a hun(&ed little other interesting an- 
tiques which will catch your eye. 

I noticed a statera, with its weight, exactly like our steel- 
yard, which I had no notion was so classical a thing. 

In the wall of this room is the famous JEkirietH mosaic, 
found by the Cardinal of that name at Hadrian's Villa, 
representing four doves, perched on the brim of a large vase 
or basin, filkd with water, one of which is drinking from it. 
Simple as the subject is, the taste of the design is most 
beautiful. It answers so exactly to Pliny's description of 
the &mouB Mosaic of Sosus, in the temple of Per^amus, 
that if not the original, which I confess I do not beheve, it 
must at least be considered a copy. Winkelman* denies its 
originality, from the diflBculty of transportation, a reason we 
can scarcely hold valid ; but his commentator observes very 
justly, that as Hadrian was remarkable for his careful pre- 
servation of ancient works of art, encouraged their imitation, 
and emulated their perfection, but never carried them off 
from their proper possessors and situations, (unlike oyr 

* Winkelman, Hist, de 1' Art, Uv. vi. chap. 7. 

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BT78T9 07 TflX EMFEB0B8. 73 

i&odera patrons of the arts,) it is mucli more probable 
that he caused the beautiful mosaic of Sosus to be copied 
hj the best artists of his own time, than that he tore it 
up from the Temple of Fergamus, to embellish his own 

There is a sarcophagus in this room, adorned with a has 
relief of wretched sculpture, perhaps of the fourth or fifth 
century, but the subject of which is very curious. It repre- 
sents the whole Promethean creation of man. First, we see 
Prometheus moulding the figure out of clay, while Minerr a 
is iofusing into the lifeless mass, the spirit, in the form of 
a butterfly. Cupid and Psyche embracing each other, also 
represent the union of the body and soiu. The four ele- 
ments necessary to the life of man, surround them, and are 
personified by jEoIus blowing his airy horn — Ocean, with 
the monsters of his watery reign — ^Vulcan at his fiery forge, 
and the "Common Mother," raising her breast above the 
ground, with a cornucopia in her hand. Man then appears 
endowed with life; and the three implacable Fates, who 
attend him fi*om the cradle to the tomb, start up by his 
side. He is laid low iq death. The G-enius of life, weeping 
over his corpse, extinguishes his torch. The soul, bursting 
upwards on its butterfly wings, is conducted to heaven by 
Mercury. Lastly, we behold Prometheus sufiering the 
gnawing anguish of remorse, or the vulture preying on his 
vitals. It is destroyed by Hercules. Will it be deemed 
pro&ne to find ia tms a type of our Saviour's conquest over 
the penalty of sin ? 

There is a whole room fiUed with the busts of the em- 
perors and their families, nearly complete. Even Com- 
modus, an admirable bust, notwithstanding the decree to 
destroy every image of him, is here ; and the unfortunate 
Geta, in spite of the labours of his brother and murderer 
to erase even his name from the earth, still stands by his 
side, as if haunting him in death. The busts of G-erman- 
icus, of Nero, and of Poppsea, are exquisitely beautiful. 
The contrasts of the countenance between Nero young, and 
Nero in more advanced life, will strike you forcibly ; the 
beauty of the innocent fiice of Annius V erus will charm 
you; and the hideous head of Julian the Apostate will 

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74 BOIDB. 

puzzle yon to detenniiiie wliethflr the secd^ture or Ae 
subject is the woTSt. The hend of Otho, which is here, is 
extremely rare. THbe fine bust of l^erra, which has been 
erroneously reported to be modem, is a genuine antiqtie. 
So is the head of Yitellius — ^though most of the busts of 
that emperor are modem. 

You will never be satiated witii admiring the noble seated 
statue of Agrippina, the wife of G^ermanicus. Yet the 
Agrippina of Naples is perhaps superior even to this. It 
realizes our highest conceptions of the august dignity of an 
ancient Boman matron. 

The bassi relievi on the walls, of Perseus liberating 
Andromeda, and Endymion sleeping, are full of grace and 

The bassi relievi in the next room, (the Stanaa de* M- 
losofi,) from their subjects, rather than their execution^ 
afforded me great entertainment. Among them are, 'a 
woman teachu^ a eat to dance, while she plays upon the 
lyre to it; poor Grimalkin trying aU the time vaialy to 
reach two birds suspended over its head — Calliope teaching 
Orpheus to play upon the lyre, before the image of a man^ 
whom the strains seem to animate with life— Esculapius 
and Hygeia laying their heads together ; and, in the next, 
the consequences not uncommon of such consultations, — a 
funeral procession. There are many more ; but I was paas 
ticularly struck with the tragedy of the death of Meleager. 
The uncles, pierced with their death-wounds, — ^his inftiriated 
mother burning the fetal brand, to which the life of her 
son is attached, — ^his faintin? form felling on the couch, 
and his beloved Atalanta vainly weeding over him,— alto- 
gether form a subject of the highest interest, but which is, 
perhaps, better adapted to painting than to sculpture; 
though no modem painter could do it justice. 

In the middle of the room is placed an exquisitely bean* 
trful little bronze statue of a youth, seated in a meditative 
posture, — a model of juvenile beauty. It is supposed to 
represent one of the twelve Oamilli,^ 

As to the philosophers, some of the 'most iiiteresting, mich 

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88 Yirgjl, and Cicero,* and Seneca, are purely sapposititioQB. 
There is not a head of any poet or f^osopher of ike 
Augartan age, that \9e kaaw to be geniime. The authen- 
ticity of some of the Greeks is ascertained, either from 
faayijBg been fbund with the ancient inscriptions of their 
xuimes upon them, or from being prototypes of others to 
authenticated. The Homers, for there are seyeral, are the 
very heads your fimcy would pourtray for the old blind 
baid, the father of poetry. I understand they were iden- 
tified with the apotheosis of Homer, formerly in the Colonna 
palace ; and if (which is probable) no bust was really taken 
of him in life, this seems, at least, to have been the head 
cuirent among the ancients as Homer ; just as the post- 
humous, picture of Shakespeare passes among us. Aristides 
is known from the incomparable statue at Naples. Socrates 
cau nerer be mistaken. Metradorus, Epicurus, PLndar, 
Aiiacreon,'aiid some others, are also ascertained. The little 
bronze and bearded bust of Demosthenes, found in Hercu- 
laneum, has identified the great orator. Sappho had a 
good right to be here; but how Cleopatra t got among 
these Grecian sages, we cannot guess. Her neighbour, 
Aspasia, was too much in their company, when alive, to be 
turned out of it now. The Flatos are all recognized to be 
the heads of barbarians, notwithstanding their philosophic 
name inscribed below. The last of these busts, that of 
^aerao, an architect of Cremona, is one of the (now) rare 
works of Michael Angelo. I dare not tell you, that I think 
I hare seen finer busts, by less celebrated hands, and there- 
fore I will say nothing of it. 

In the great hall, one is struck with the modesty of 
Clement XII., in haying taken two Victories, from the 
Triumphal Arch of Marcos Aurelius, to support his coat 
of arms! It must, indeed, be acknowledged that the Popes 
want no tnnnpeter. Every little thing they make or mend, 
be it a wooden door, or a leaden cistern, or a few etone 

* ItlareUted that a mddal was fomid of Cicero; but all the busts 
tnd-iUktiiM which bear the name of that great orator are now acknow- 
ledged to be impositions. 

1 1 need scarcely obserre, there is no anthoriiy for the name this 
host snd many of the others bear. 

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76 BOKB 

steps, or a little bit of brick wall, is marked with their 
mun^enza I These multiplied mtmifieenzd's of every Pope, 
as far as large gilt letters can prove it, stare you in the face 
in Eome, on all sides, wherever you go. 

By their mtmificenza — two columns of giallo antico, from 
the neighbourhood of the tomb of Cecilia Metella, support 
the principal niche. But the sculptures in the middle of 
the room first attract the eye. Jupiter, iq nero antico 
marble, is, after all, but poor ; and, indeed, I have never 
anywhere seen a fine statue of the great thunderer. Escu- 
lapius is no better. The young Hercules (veiled) inpietra 
paragoncy* found on the Aventine, looks fat and puflfr, rather 
than strong ; but the famous Furietti Centaurs 1 admire 
extremely; indeed more, I suppose, than I ought; for 
Winkelman (and, of course, all the critics echo hun) gives 
them small praise, though he does not mention in which 
way they displease him, and only observes, that the^ have 
have anciently borne children on their ba<^s, which is evi- 
dent from the holes. The oldest, who bears the pedum in 
his hand, is thought to be Chiron carrying Achilles on his 
back, to instruct him in horsemanship and the chase. He 
looks back at the infant hero with a joyous and triumphant 
air. The other is dejected, and apparently vanquished ; his 
hands are bound behind his back. I was much charmed 
with the life and spirit, the action, the freedom, and the 
grace, of these two beautiful Centaurs. They are of dark 
grey marble, were found in Hadrian's villa, and are inscribed 
witn the names of two G-reek artists, supposed to be of his 
own time. 

A fine, but imknown consular statue, is foolishly called 
Marius, though, from his countenance, his air, and his 
action, it is obvious that he is an orator and a philosopher ; 
and the rude, imlettered soldier was neither. Some critics 
call it a sepulchral figure. 

The Amazons are fine. One of the heads is modem; 
both, as usual, represent wounded Amazons. Indeed, so 
dose is the resemblance between all these statues, that we 
cannot but suppose they have been all taken from one or 

* Commonly called touch-stone. 

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mrssuM OT ths oapitol. 77 

two celebrated ancient models, as well as most of the Fauns, 
Dianas, Yenuses, Cupids, Baccbuses, &c., which, without 
variation of attitude or conception, crowd every museum. 
There were three rival statues of Amazons, — ^the productions 
of Ctesilaiis, Polycletes, and Phidias, — the fame of which 
has come down to our times. 

The drapery of the fine Grrecian statue of Isis, in this hall, 
knotted on the breast, and falling in graceful folds to the 
feet, is singularly beautiful. She wears the fringed peplvm^ 
or mantle, to denote her eastern extraction — the Grecians 
wore it plain. AU the statues of this goddess, in white 
marble, are of the time of the Empire, after her worship 
was adopted in Some, and are, for the most part, the work 
of Greek artists ; but this is by far the finest. 

The ancient bronze (and once gilded) Hercules, found in 
or near the Eorum Boariimi, with his head too small for his 
body, looks rather awkward and ungainly. 

The old shrivelled crying crone — whether she be a Frte^ 
fica* a Hecuba, or any other of the innumerable descrip- 
tions of ugly old women, it is possible she may be — is cer- 
tainly good of the kind, that is, well executed, though a 
disagreeable subject. I must pass by Antoninus Pius, with 
the civic crown he deserved so well ; the Altar of Fortune,, 
on which that goddess, who is now as ever the object of 
men's worship, is represented, seated on her throne, crowned 
with her diadem, holding in her left hand the cornucopia,, 
and in her right the rudder with which she turns the 
world. I must pass by the pedestal on which the birth 
and concealment of Jove — the stupidity of old Saturn, in 
swallowing a stone instead of his son — the din raised by 
the Gorybantes to stifle his cries — ^the care taken to suckle 
him by his four-footed nurse Amalthea — and, finally, his 
exaltation to the throne of heaven, are all very minutely 
represented. I must pass by many things — ^but I must 
stop for one moment at the finest stsitue in this room, and 
one that has never received its due share of encomium. 
It is the fine figure of a man speaking, with drapery round 
the lower part of the body only, in an easy graceful attitude^ 

* This is not probable, because these hired mourners had their haif 
^^Btreaming to the troubled air," andthis old woman has hers boimd up* 

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78 xoiCEv 

one foot resting on a nosed stoistt or step,- and: liifl finger^ 
held up as if to enforce attention. It is called a professor: 
of the ^nmastic art, or the master of an academy, of gla^/ 
diatorS) instructing his disciples. It is an admirable statue^ 
and unique; but Haxpocrates, that little mysterious god^, 
with his brimming cornucopia in his hand, his brow adorned • 
with the lotus flower, and his expressive flnger pressed upon 
his lip, enjoins me silence. Plainer than words. can speak,, 
his gesture tells me how fat and flourishing he has grown: 
hj holding his tongue. I dare say you. wish I would foUow ? 
his example; but few. of my sex ever did, and I shall go- 
on to talk of the room where the jocund Faun, (in rosso, 
antico,) eyeing the tempting bunch, of grapes, which he- 
holds suspended in his hand, and surrounded with his goat,, 
his pedum, and his basket, looks the happiest of created 
beings; But notwithstanding the symmetry of his finely* 
formed limbs, you will soon turn from him to one of the. 
finest statues m the world — Cupid bending his bow. Its 
unrivalled grace, its faultless perfection, and its truly celes- 
tial beauty of form, are indeed a. triumph of art.. The. 
Apollo Belvidere, and a few other great statues excepted^ 
I am disposed to think this one of the finest exempHficationa 
of the beau-ideal in existence. It is an ancient copy from 
the famous masterpiece of Praxiteles, of Cupid benoing his 
bow, which was destroyed in the age of Titus. I have.seen 
one copy in England, and there is another in the YiUa 
Albani ; but this is incomparably the finest. It is one of 
the few statues that I can return to ^e at, day after day, 
with still increasing delight and admiration. I am no con- 
noisseur,^ — ^but few, very lew, I believe, receive more pleasure 
fit)m works of art, whether in painting or sculpture, when. of 
first-rate excellence. 

I was delighted with the beauty and pkyfrd sweetness, of 
a smiling girl with a dove, — ^a personification of Innocence; 
a child playing with a mask ; and, more especially, an: urchin 
struggling with a swan, which Winkelman instancesjas. a 
peculiarly beautiful sculpture of infancy; 

One of the finest hassi reldevi in the world — ^the;battIe,of 
the Amazons — ^is on a sarcophagus. in this room. Critics 
all. agree,, that the generality oi sarcophagi,, (aud^, indeed. 

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of bav-rdiefs^ wUch for the most part haxe , been cut out of 
the sides of sajrcophagi,) a^^ works of the declining periods, 
of art.; but this. beautiM piece of sculoture is an exception. 
Opposite to it stands, aaother saccopnagus, well worthy of 
Dotioe, though of very inferior sculpture.. It represents, 
the noctunm visits of Diana to the sleeping Endjmion. 
The goddess descends . from her car, led oj the Lgyes, a: 
winged Genius restrains the fiery steeds. At the other 
end, bj a liberty common to basso relievo, she mounts it, 
again to depart, casting ba^ck her looks of love on the un- 
conscious shepherd, over, whose drooping form moth-winged; 
dumber still hovers, ^e Earths—personified in a female 
form, whose bust is raised above the ground, beneath the. 
wheels of Diana's car— and a man tiding Endymion's flock^ 
complete the composition. 

Hheare is a very amusing bas-relief here of the Triumph 
of Gtipid over the Gods. It. seems to have formed a part of 
a fiieee, and is left imperfect. We see, first, a car drawn 
hyramS) in. which this roguish god is carrying off the spoils 
of Mercury; then follow, in a car drawn by stags, those of 
the chaste. Diana herself; in a car drawn by tigers, those of 
Baochus; and in another drawn by hippognfis, those of 

I must, not quit this room, without mentioning a more 
recondite, though less amusing, paece of antiquity^— the 
table, of bronze, on which is inscribed the " royal law," 
found near St, John Lateran's,. in which the Boman Senate 
decrees to Vespasian supreme power. 

You now enter the last room, in which you will, for a long 
time, see nothing but the Dying Gladiator. It is, of its 
kind, the finest statue in the world. The learned connois- 
seur, and the untaught peasants, whom you may see as- 
sembled round it on Sundays, are equally struck with its 
&idtless perfection. It is one of the finest of forms, as far 
as mere corporeal formation can go ; but," unlike most of the 
celebiated works of ancient art, there is no ideal beauty, 
no expression of those high qualities and attributes, that 
spring from the soul. It is nature, pure nature, that 
arrests so forcibly our deepest sympathy. It is not a god 
nor a hero, but a man — and a man of servile condition and 
unelevated mind — ^that we behold. The coaraeness. of the 

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80 boms; 

features and the whole expression of the head and figure 
prove it. The hands and the soles of the feet are hard and 
homy with labour, and a rope is knotted round the neck. 
He seems endeavouring to suppress the expression of agjony; 
not a sigh, not a ^an escapes him ; unsubdued in spirit, it 
is his body, not his mind, that yields ; but the hand of death 
is upon him ; his life-blood trickles slowly and feebly from 
the wound in his side ; he sinks in that last dreadful faint- 
ness of ebbing life, which all must sooner or later feel. He 
still supports himself with difficulty upon his fisdling arm, 
but his Junbs have lost their force ; his bristling hair and 
agonized face, express the dreadful workings of present 
suffering, and the inward conviction of approaching death. 
He is lying upon a shield ; a short sword or dagger beside 
him, and a broken horn. 

The critics say that this statue cannot represent a gla- 
diator, because, at the period when this great work of 
Grecian art must have been produced, Greece had no gla- 
diators, neither were the snield and short sword that 
lie by his side, the proper arms for gladiators ; and yet we- 
know that the Secutores, in their combats with the BetiarUy 
fought with swords, — whether long or short seems un- 
certain, — and with shields, — ^and why may they not have 
been such as these?* The Dimachoeri also fought with 
two swords. The cord round the neck, and the horn, sadly 
perplex the critics; but it appears from an ancient Greek 
mscription, that the heralds of the Olympic Games had 
a cord tied round their necks, and gave the signal for 
their commencement by blowing a horn ; nay, this very in- 
scription was affixed upon the statue of a herald, who was 
also a victor in these games ;t so that the statue we now see 

* Pliny says, the porticos of the temples erected to the Claudian and 
Domitian families, were adorned with statues, the work of a freedman 
of Nero, representing the most celebrated gladiators of those days. 
The Apollo Belvidere is now believed to be a work of the age of Nero; 
and if so, the same age may have produced this statue, and it may re- 
present a barbarian gladiator,— for barbarians were trained to tiieee 
cruel sports. Nero's visit to Greece seems to render this supposition 
more probable ; so also does the circumstance of its having been found 
in the same spot with the Apollo Belvidere and the Fighting Gladiator, 
at Antium, on the site of Nero's favourite villa. 

t Winkelmsn, liv. vi. chap. -2, § 24. 

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may also combine both characters, and represent a herald 
and a wounded combatant. The mustachios, also, puzzle 
the antiquaries ; for thej maintain that the Greeks, even in 
the ancient times, when they wore beards, never wore mus- 
tachios; and that, therefore, this is not a G^reek, but a 
barbarian ; — nay, some late critics have maintained, that it 
is a barbarian chief, — ^but the cord round the throat is of 
itself a sufficient re^tation of such an idea. 

Winkelman conjectures that it may represent Gopreas, 
the herald of Eurysthenes, '^ the most uimous herald of 
Grrecian mythology," who was massacred by the Athenians 
while attempting to force away the descendants of Hercules 
from the altar of Mercy; and for whose murder a solemn 
feast of expiation continued annually to be held at Athens, 
even in the days of Hadrian. But as Copreas was a Greek, 
he could not have had whiskers, and therefore this statue 
camiot represent him. 

Indeed, these unfortunate whiskers come in the way in 
every possible supposition, excepting one. There was a 
statue, celebrated even in the brightest period of ancient 
sculpture, the work of Ctesilaiis,* " the statue of a wounded 
and dying man." The description t exactly answers to this 
statue. This is " a wounded and dyiug man;" — ^Why may 
not this be the statue ? It is not probable that there should 
be two great masterpieces of ancient art, representing two 
"wounded or dying men;" or, if so, that Plmy would have 
noticed one only. !Nor is it probable that a sculpture of 
such pre-emiuent excellence as this, should be passed over 
unnoticed by Pliny, Pausanias, and aU the ancient writers 
who have described works of art; and there is no other 
description iu any author that can apply to it, excepting of 
this masterpiece of Ctesilaiis. The style, too, answers to 
that date. 

I am therefore iadined to think it probable, that this 
statue is either the original or a fine ancient copy of the 
famous " wounded and dyiug man" of Ctesilaiis. J 

• A celebrated Grecian sculptor, who is supposed to have lived about 
the 62nd Olympiad, 
t Pliny, Hist. Nat. lib. xxxiv. cap. 19, 4. 

X Winkelman's objection to this supposition is worth stating^ from 

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82 BOHE. 

But be it what it may, " the Dying GladiatDr" will'alwya 
be accounted one of the finest nieces of sculpture that time 
haa spared. Statuary has, inoee^, bequeathed few of its 
.ancient treasures to us, and we are vainly left to regret tlxat 
only a few scattered fragments of that heavenly art 

" Float down the tide bf yesrt, 
As, baoyant on tiie stonny main, , 

A parted wreck appeals."* 

I must not trust myself to describe the exquisitely beau- 
tiful group of Cupid and Psyche, which stands in this room, 
nor even to mention the far inferior, but extremely fine 
statues with which it is fiUed : the Flora, which 'Winkelman 
supposes not to be that goddess, but the portrait of some 
beautiful womou, under the image of Spring, — ^the Venus, 
the finest in Home, — ^the Juno, — ^the beautifiil Antinoiis, in 
the heroic style, — ^the Antinoiis as an Egyptian priest, or 
rather deity, as worshipped at Antinoe, so much extolled 
by the critics, — ^and the admirable ancient copy of the cele- 
brated Faun of Praxiteles. The head of Alexander the 
Great has been set on awry with great care by the restorers, 
in order to prove it to be his ; notwithstanding which, it is 
the fashion now to doubt it. For my part, I fully beKeve 
it, because it bears a strong resemblance to the ancient 
gems of undoubted authenticity, and because his is a head 
that, once seen, can never be mistaken. "We are told, that 

Its absurdity: — " Je craia que eette figure [that of the celebrated statue 
of CtesilaUs] reprSaentoit un hdros, parceque je mCimagine que I'artisie 
n'auroit ^pas voala degcendre ^ traiter des sujets d'un ordre infSrieur, 
atiendaqae:8on grand mSrite consistoit, suivant Pllne^ ft donner encore 
plus de noblesse aux caract^res nobles/' — Vide Winkeucan, 1. vi. chap* 
2. — Which, in plain English, is as much as to say, " Pliny, indeed* 
'fays it 'was the statue of a wounded and dying man; but he is wrong 
— he does not mean what he says. It must have been the at&tne 
of a-'wounded and dying hero ; because asCtesilaUs was remarkable for 
giving great nobleness to noble figures, he never wx^uld condescend to 
make the statue of a mere man. It was not noble enough for him." 

If it had been the statue of a wounded and dying hero, Pliny would 
have said it was the statue of a wounded and dying hero ; nay, he would 
probably have said of what hero. But as he says it was the statue of a 
** wounded and dying man," I shall believe it. 
* Sir Walter Scott. 

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Apelles onlj had tlie right of painting it, Lyrippns of catt- 
ing it in bronze, Pyrgotelus of engraving it in gems ; but 
bistorj is silent as to the name of its priyileged scolptor in 

In lookiag back on the contents of this museum, I should 
say that the finest works it contains are the Osiris and Isis, 
the Furietti Centaurs, the Professor of the G^ymnastic Art, 
the seated statue of Agrippiua, and of the Camillus, the 
Child playing with a Swan, the Cupid bending his bow, the 
Cupid and Psyche, and above all the Dying Gladiator ;t 
together with the noble marble vase, and its pedestal; the 
mosaic of the Eour Doves, the beauly of which was com- 
memorated by Pliny; and the bas-reliefs of the dispute 
between Agamemnon and Achilles, the Nine Muses, and 
the Battle of the Amazons, which are instanced by Win- 
kelman as three out of the six most beautiful bas-ieliefs in 
the world. 

* 'Winkelman, Hist, de TArt, liv. vi. chap. 3, who quotes Pliny in 
Bnpport of the' feet. 

t^I forgot tomention that this statue was admirably restored by 
Hiehael Angelo. A part of one foot and arm, one hand, and some 
other minuter morsels, are replaced in the true spirit of the original, 
It is said to have been found at Nettuno, or Antium, in the same spot 
where the Apollo was discovered; and, like it, probably adorned Nero's 
&vourite viUa. There, also, was found the Boighese, or Fighting 

G 2 

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-81 BOMl. 


The Paiktikgs ajstd the Palazzo de' Coksebvatoei 
IN THE Capitol — ^Academy or St. LrKB — ^Raphael's 
St. Luke — Eaphael's Skttll. 

Peom the Museum of Sculpture, at the Capitol, we must 
now proceed to that of Paiiitmg, which is, however, of very 
inferior interest. It is contained in the opposite Palazzo 
de' Conservatori,* in which are also some remarkable anti- 
quities. Crossing the Piazza by the Equestrian Statue of 
Marcus AureHus, we enter the court. All here reminds us 
of the grandeur of ancient Eome. Opposite to us sits 
Eome triumphant. At her feet weeps a captive province. 
By her side stand two prisoner barbarian kings : their muti- 
lated limbs bear dreadful proof of her own barbarism ; for 
it is evident, on inspection, that they represent captives 
whose hands have been cut off.f 

* The Conservatori are officers appointed to keep the streets, roads, 
publip buildings, &c., in proper repair and order. They seem, in some 
degree, to fulfil the office of the ancient ^diles. They sometimes give 
great public feasts at the Capitol, to the cardinals and nobility, as if in 
imitation of those which were formerly offered up here to Jupiter and 
the gods, but really eaten by the priests and the senators. 

f One of them has been cut off above the elbow, the other at the 
wrist. They are smooth and polished, and the drapery touches them so 
closely, that it is evident they were originally formed so. According 
to Winkelman, (lib. vi. cap. 5), they represent Thracian kings, of a 
people called Scordtsci, and in the note it is asserted, on the authority 
of Florus, that the Bomans cut off the hands of all their Thracian pri- 
soners, and sent them back into their own country, to strike its inha- 
bitants with terror. It is also recorded, that Quintus Fabius Mazimus 
cut off the hands of all the Roman deserters in Sicily.— VcU. Max. lib. 
ii. cap. 7. 

We shudder at such horrors; and while we see that the most 
civilized of Pagan states far surpassed in cruelty the most barbarous of 
Christian nations, we bless the divine spirit of that religion which has 
worked the change. 

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BOBTSAii coLviar. 86 

^e court is strewed with fragments of colossal figures of 
gods and emperors, of the most enormous size. CfBsar and 
Augustus stand entire. At the bottom of the staircase is 
placed the modem imitation of that ancient Bostral Column 
of Gains Duilins in the Eorum, that commemorated the 
first naval triumph Some ever obtained. A portion of the 
ancient inscription, which was found in making an excava- 
tion, is fixed m it. The whole was done under the direction 
of Michael Angelo. While this reminds us of the early- 
days of EepubHcan glory, and the reHevo of Curtius plung- 
ing into the gulf recalls the great sacrifices of Soman 
patriotism, — the beautiful sculptures from the Triumphal 
Arch of Marcus Aurelius commemorate one of the proudest 
periods of her empire, and of those wide-extended conquests 
that subdued the world. 

We observed two Egyptian idols, similar to those in the 
opposite court, and a remarkably fine animal group, of 

' ^ ' ful 

Trecian sculpture — a lion springing on the back of a horse ; 
its fangs closed in the back of the animal. Though now 
defective, it is said to have been restored by Michael Angelo, 
who admired it particularly. 

An ugly and headless image of a monk^ in basalt in this 
court, bears an impudent inscription in dreek, that " Phi- 
dias, and Ammomcus, the son of Phidias, made it" — and 
Winkelman, though he acknowledges the inscription has 
every mark of being a forgery, and that the sculpture of the 
monkey itself is " meprisable,^^ yet, having got an idea into 
his- h^kd, that a colony of Greeks once established them- 
selves in a part of Africa, so infested by monkeys that they 
took the name of " Orecs Fiihecusins,^^ he next supposes 
tiiat they took to worshipping monkeys ; and, finally, arrives 
at the preposterous conclusion, that this frightful object 
was made by Phidias, for an object of adora^on to these 
same " Qrecs Fitheeusim,''* However, it appears that 
liiere never were a^iy such Greeks ; and that Diodorus Sicu- 
lus only says, such a name would have suited the barbarous 
inhabitants of that monkey-infested and monkey-worship- 

* *' Je sais done port^ll eroire que le singe dn Capitole a 6i4 an objet 
de la v6n6nktion des Grecs Pithecnsms.— JETm^. -de VArt, lib. iv. cap. 6. 
§ 68. • . 

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$6 noMEi 

ping country,* not that they actually assumed it, much teas 
that they were Grreeks. The colossal head and hand, of 
hronze in this court, are erroneously, reputed to he fmg* 
ments of a statue of Gommodus.. 

After ascending the staircase, we pasa tlirou^h two iX)ojns^ 
and in the third, which is adorned wit^ a fine meze, painted 
by Daniel di Yolterra, representing the Triumph of Marius^ 
we find the bronze statue of the W olf and T^inns, supposed 
to h& i^e same which Cicero states to have been, struck/!^, 
lightning, ou: the Capitol^ previous to the murderi of Jidiu» 
Cs^sar. This Wolf, nowever, (for the Twins are modem,) 
was found at the Church of St. Theodore, in the Forum: 
below. It has a fracture in the inside of the hind leg, but 
it seems to me almost impossible that the lightning Siould 
have struck it in such a part, and in no other.. TSs WoJf 
is one of th^ few genuine productions of Etruscan art which 
remain to our days. It may be of very, high antiquily:,. fos 
even &om the beginning, Kome waa adorned with statues 
of bronze: a fact curious, not merel^^.asi proving the eodyi 
period at. which the fine arts had atttoned: to this; degree o£ 
perfection in Italv, but the refinement o£ tiie people>.w4^Qy 
in the in£Emcy of society, sou^t. those embelashmeinW. of 
sculpture which are usually the latest appendages* of drili'-^ 
zation and ^lished lile< The statue of xUanulus, .(^rown^d 
by Victory, in. a triumphal car. drawn; by four. h<waes:;t «nd 
the statues iOf the successive Kings of Jbome in the: Capitol ;. 
the statue of Horatius Cocl^s^ in the Eorum^. woii th^ 
^Equestrian statue of Clelia§. in the* Via> Sacra,. 'were i can?* 
tempararyr with the persons, in whose, honour- they weres 
erected^ and several of them were still standing) and atiU- 
admiredt in the: ages of Augustus Ij; and of FlixQf«.% They^ 
were aIl.of bronze, and undoubtedly, all executed by Etruscan; 
artii^.. The bronze colossal statue, of ApoUo^ made finm- 
the helmets and cuirasses, of tiie conqu^sed Samnites,^waa. 
even l^ought worthy ta adorn the^ lifarm7&(tf;the,tea^iofi 

* Tide Note 2d, to § 64. cap. 6. 1: it. Htet dh TArt 
t Dionys. Halic 1. u».iy..U^«. it^Xdon^.U.iv, I). 22iU, 

§ Id^m, 1» V. p. 28i. ii. Soa. CfifusplAU adMacciain* 

K Plin. Ub. 84. •♦ Plin. Ub. 84, cap. 6. 

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The beantSfbl' lAroQze statue of Mfenrtnu the Bhispbeidboj' 
pulling^ the thorn oulrof his fbot, and ike. figure of one of 
die Camillij are admirable, but thej are tiie.only sculptures 
in the room worth- notice, unless. 70U wisk to aee the pre- 
tended hustf of the elder Brutus^ the liberator of Bome, 
Btonding by that of Julius CaMsrv its enaliirer« 

The next room isalmoet entirely: occupied with the Pasti. 
Qensulares — the suooeseion of consuls, fi>und near the three 
oolUmns of the Comitium, in the Eonun. 

In the fifth chamber you aie shown two ancient broncee, 
said to be of the Sacred Geese, whose, clamour awakooied 
ManliuET, and preserved Borne from the Gaula; which re- 
nunded us that Borne, on the same spot,* was betrayed < by> 
ft woman, and saved by a goose; but these geese on more, 
aoemnte inerpeotion turn out to be ducks. 

The Medusa's Head, by Bevnini, a. piece of sculpture: 
generally much admired^ is here. The portrait of Michael 
Anselo, by himself, is extremely interesting, although soma 
doubt has l&tely been thrown on its authenticity. There is 
a> Holy Family, by Giulio Bomano, said to be very fine ; but: 
the light is so had^ I have neiner yet been able to. see it.. 
There is (one of the many absurdities of Boman Museums)/ 
a' bust; said to be of Appius ClaudiuB (the blind,) in rosso 
anl^oa-^ material whoUy^ unknown to: the. Bomansin his: 
simple republican age. 

The fneze of the sixth chamber is painted in firesoo, by 
Anmbale Caraed, wilh the achievements of Scipio ; and the 
last chamber is painted' in ftesco by Fietro Pernio, and 
adorned' with two unknown statues, christened Cicero, and 

In the little chapel beyond, a fresco of the Btemal Father, 
in' the ceilings by Annibale Caraoci, and the Altar^dece byj 
Avanzino Nemi, are worth notice. 

These paintings in this palace, which fiU three rooms, 
have been the most ill-used collection, that ever was made ; 
and though really the works of some of the. best maatera, 
Ihey present the most black, battered, and forhinL i^peaxy 
ance,, that can w^ be; imaged. A little, cleaning, and 

*'Th» Tarpeian rook, widoU. xeoeiTediUriianie. froiB.ib«{treaohe)7 of 

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88 SOME. 

Tarmsli* midit do somethmg for them ; but many of them 
are irreparably injured. There are some, iadeeiy the de* 
fltruction of whicn excites little regret. Amongst these 
maj, perhaps, be reckoned the large and laboured produc- 
tions of Pietro da Cortona, which abound here ; though hia 
Triumph of Bacchus is a pretty composition, rich, yarious, 
and classical. His Eape of the Sabines, Death of Darius, 
&c. have also considersible merit. It is the fashion to czy 
him down so immercifully, that nobody will even look at his. 
works ; and I must own I never had any great pleasure in 
them mpelf, nor have I the smallest desire to vindicate 
him from the opprobrium he labours under so justly, of 
being; the first corrupter of painting, the beginner of that 
rapid descent we have since made down the hill of taste. 
Still I think he is too outrageously viMed ; and I am sure 
that, however inferior he may be to the great masters who 
preceded him, Italy can produce no artist now to compare 
with him. 

His productions have certainly some learning, but little 
taste or genius. We can point out no glaring £siults in 
design or composition, but we feel the absence of that which 
constitutes perfection. He draws good figures, but they 
want ejroression. He breathes no interest, no soul, no 
oharm ot nature, or ideal beauty into them. His colouring 
wants truth, and his lights effect. 

Let us turn from them to Foussin's Triumph of Flora, 
which, faded and injured as it is, is still a most beautiful 
composition. His Orpheus playing on the Lyre, surrounded 
by Nymphs and Loves, is extremely fine, yet has some faults 
of execution which seldom occur in so careful a master. 

Domenichino's Sibyl is a masterpiece of pamting. Its 
rival, the Sibyl of Guercino, has not the same nigh character 
of inspiration in the beaming eye and the half-sundered lip. 
She is at rest, unmoved by those stormy passions, and that 
shuddering sense of coming evils, which are the curse of 
the prophetic spirit. But there is in her eye that settled 
sadness natural to one who can penetrate the darkness of 

* Since the publication of the first editions of this work, the author 
has been informed, that the paintings in this galleiy have been recently 
cleaned and re-arranged. 

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futurity, and see all its crimes and sottowb. Like most of 
the others, this beautiful painting has been much injured. 

Guidons Bacchus and Ariadne is unfinished, and it would, 
perhaps, have been quite as weU for his fame if it had never 
been begun. The drawing is bad, and the colouring worse. 
We must suppose it one of the manj paintings which he 
dashed off to paj his gambling debts. His ''Beatified 
Spirit," is far superior, vet still it seems to want something 
of celestial and glorified beauty, that, in his happier mo- 
ments, he could have given it. His St. Sebastian, though 
extremely fine, is inferior to that at the Colonna Fala^. 
A clever gipsy, telling a siQy youth his fortune, at the same 
time she is cheating him out of it, is one of Caravaggio's 
admirable productions. It is much injured, and not quite 
so good as a duplicate I have somewhere seen of it. He 
ought never to have painted any but such subjects as these. 

A beautiful Holy Family, by Benvenuto Garofalo; an- 
other, very smaU, by Albano— the Sick Man waiting by the 
Pool for the moving of the Waters, a beautiful little com- 
position by Domemchino — ^a Landscape by the same — ^the 
Kape of Europa, by Paul Veronese, nearly invisible fix)m 
dirt and injury, but reminding me, through it aU, of his 
splendid Europa in the Doge's palace at Venice — ^Agostino 
Caracd's Communion of St. Jerome, diminished fix>m his 
great painting at Bologna; these, and several more, by 
Q-uercino, A. Caracci, fVancesco Mola, Ac. are well worth 
your attention; but I wiQ spare you any further enume- 
ration of them. 

I must, however, when here, carry you down iuto the 
Porum to the Academy of St. Luke. This society of sculp- 
tors, painters, architects, and engravers — of all, in short, 
who practise the arts of design, male and female, — ^possess 
for their Academy two mean, unimposing-looking apart- 
ments, behind the church of their patron saint. One of 
them is filled with models, desi£;ns, &c. some of which are 
by Michael Angelo ; the other by a collection of painters, 
chiefly composed of the works of the modem Boman artists, 
and therefore not pre-eminent in their merit. The speci- 
mens of the great masters, which chiefly consist of a few 
little Claudes, Salvator Eosas, Foussins, &c. &c, Slc,, are by 
no means first-rate. 

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90 BOICE. 

The famous picture in this Acsdem^r is, however, Raphael's 
St. Luke painting the Yirffin's Portrait.* In this- adnurable 
work, Eaphael has realiised his own conceptions of an artist. 
St. Luke has all the fire, the. riow, the< inspiration^ of com- 
manding genius. It struck me with the most extraordinary 
admiration the first thne I beheld it. I was then fiesh ftom 
iESngland, where, excepting the Cartoons, I had seen nothing 
worthy of the name of Uaphael — ^none of the tareasures of 
his genius which Kome contains, and I actually dreamt of 
this figure. 

The skull of Baphael is pres^^ed here, under a- glass 
case! I suppose tms musi^ be a transporting sight tb 
Sdiessrs, Gail and Spurzheim, and all their disciples, but to 
me it was rather a. shocking one. I had no pleasure in 
viewing the eyeless sockets, the grinning mouth, the moul* 
deriug vacant bones, that once beamed with intelligence and 
beaaily — and hearing that this was BaphaeL 

* Originally the altar-pieoe in thfi Ghiirch;of St. Luke; 

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PAitAOSB, to an lEbgUsh ear, conv«j an idea of all that the. 
imaginatkni' caa figure- (xf elegance and splendour. But, 
after a certain resid^ice in Ituy, eren this obstinate earij 
associatioii is conquered, and the word immediatdy brings to 
our mind images of dirt, neglect, and decay. The palaces 
of Borne are innumerable; but then erery gentleman's house* 
is a paiaoe, — ^I shbidd'say, every nobleman's, for there are 
no gentleman in Italy except noblemen ;• society being, as of 
old, dxrided into two classes, the^ patricians and the plebeians: 
but though eveiy gentleman is a nobleman, I am sorry to 
say, every nobleman^ i$ not a gentleman; neither would 
many- of their palaces be considered' by any means fit resi- 

. Thele • • 

dences for genllemen< in our cotintry. The legitimate appli- 
cation: of the wordj which^ with i^s, is confined to a buildmg 
forming a quadrangle, and enclosing a court within itself, is 
by no means adhered to here. Every house that, has & parte 
wekere^ and many that have not, are called palaces ; and, in 
short, under that high-sounding appellation, are compre- 
hended places whose wretchedness w surpasses the utmost 
stretch of an English imagination to conceive. 

Borne, howevOT, contams real: paiftces, whose magnitude 
and magnificence^ are astonisking to trancidpine eyes ; but 
their taateless architecture is idore astonishing stiU. 

Though they have the ^at names of Michael Angelo, 
Bramante, Yerospi, Bemimj Sito* &Q. among their architects; 
though they are built of ixavertine stone, which, whether 
viewed with the deepened hues of age in the Cok^seum, or 
iiie^briffhtnesB of recent finish in St. Peter'^, is, I think, by 
&ir the finest material for building' in the -■ world; andthoug^, 
from i^e grandeur of their scale, and the prodigidity (A their 
decoration, tbey. admitted of grand Gond)ination8) and strik-^* 

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92 BOHS. 

ing effect, jet tbey are lamentably destitute of architectural 
beauty in the exterior ; and in the interior, though they are 
filled with vast ranges of spacious apartments, though the 
polished marbles and precious spoils of antiquity have not 
oeen spared to embellish them, tnough the genius of paint- 
ing has made them '^er modem temples, and sculpture 
adorned them with the choicest remains of ancient art, yet 
they are, generally speaking, about the most incommodious, 
unenviable, uncomfortable dwellings, you can imagine. 

I know it may be said, that comrort in England and in 
Italy is not the same thing ; but it never can consist in 
dulness, dirt, and dilapidation, any where. Italian comfort 
may not require thick carpets, warm fires, or close rooms ; 
but it can be no worse of clean floors, commodious furniture, 
and a house in good repair. 

In habitations of sucn immense size and costly decorations 
as these, you look for libraries, baths, music-rooms, and every 
appendage of refinement and luxury; but these things are 
rarely to be found in Italian palaces. If they were arranged 
and kept up, indeed, with any thing of English propriety,, 
consistency, order, or cleanliness, many of them would oe 
noble habitations ; but, in the best of them, you see a bar- 
renness, a neglect, an all-prevailing look of misery — defi- 
ciencies every where — and contemptu>le meannesses adhering 
to grasping magnificence. But nothing is so offensive as 
the dirt. Among all the palaces, there is no such thing as a. 
palace of cleanliness. You see (and that is not the worst) you 
smell abominable dunghills, heaped up against the walls of 
splendid palaces, and foul heaps of ordure and rubbish defil- 
ing their columned courts ; you ascend noble marble stair- 
cases, whose costly materials are invisible beneath the accu- 
mulated filth that covers them; and you are sickened with 
the noxious odours that assail you at everj turn. You pass 
through long suites of ghastly rooms, with a few crazy old 
tables and chairs, thinly scattered through them, and behold 
around you nothing but gloom and discomfort. 

The custom of abandoning the ground-floor to menial pur- 
poses, except when used for shops, which is almost universal 
throughout Italy, and covering its windows, both for security 
and economy, with a strong iron grate without any glass > 

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behind it, contributes to give the bouses and palaces a 
wretched and dungeon-like appearance. 

It is no uncommon thing K)r an Italian nobleman to go 
up into the attics of his own palace himself, and to let the 
principal rooms to lodgers. !nx)ud as he is, he thinks this 
no degradation ; though he would spurn the idea of allowing 
his sons to follow any profession save that of arms or of the 
church. He would sooner see them dependants, flatterers, 
eaves-droppers, spies, gamblers, cavalieri servenHy polite 
rogues of anj kind, or even beggars, than honest merchants^ 
lawyers, or physicians. 

Gfhe Fiano ralace has its lower story let out into shops, 
and its superior ones occupied by about twenl^ different 
funilies; among which the duke and duchess live, in a comer 
of their own palace. 

It is the same case with more than half the nobles of 
Eome and Naples. But the Doria, the Borghese, and the 
Colonna, possess enough of their ancient wealth to support 
their hereditary dignity, and their immense palaces are filled 
only with their own fiamilies and dependants. Not but that, 
though lodgings are not let at the Doria Palace, butter is 
regularly sold there every week, which, inEngland, would seem 
rather an extraordinary trade for one of the first noblemen 
in the land to carry on in his own house. Yet this very 
butter-selling prince looks down with a species of contempt 
upon a great British merchant. 

Commerce seems to be no longer respected in Italy — ^not 
even in Florence, where its reigning princes were merchants. 
■Yet the proudest Florentine noblemen sell wine by the 
flask, at their own palaces. I wonder the profits of this 
little huckstering trade never induced them to think of 
entering into larger concerns, that they might have larger 
returns. I wonder it never led them to remember, that 
commerce was the source of the modem prosperity of Italy. 
But commerce cannot exist without jfreedom ; a truth that 
princes and people have yet to learn here. 

The palaces of all the ancient Eoman nobiHty have, in 
the entrance hall, a crimson canopy of state, beneath which 
the prince sits on a raised throne to receive his vassals, 
hear their complaints, redress their grievances, and admi- 

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94 • BOHB. 

nister jufitilse. Perhaps I ought to spc^k in the pa«t, rather 
than the present tense; but thej still exercise a sort of 
.feudal jurisdiction over their numerous tenantiy, among 
whom'their willfis k^. 

Above the door of eyery palace, upon the escutcheon of 
the family arms, we seldom £ul to see^-^^u if in mockery-^ 
the S. P. Q. R;— " The Senate and Boman People,*' serving 
only to swell the state of a poor Italian Oonde or Marchese. 

The galleiy of the Horia Palace is reputed to be one of 
the best collections of paintings in Italy. It is more certain 
that it is one of the largest. For, along with some very- 
good paintings, there are a great many very bad ; so bad, 
that while the revered names of the greatest masters are 
sounding in your ears, you involuntarily turn away with 
indifference or disgust. 

The whole of one very lar^ room is filled with very large 
paintings by Ghaspar Poussm. I mention their size first, 
because I really think it is their chief merit. They are 
among the earliest and least excellent of that profound and 
learned master. They seem to have been executed with 
lightning rapidity, with the impatient haste of a man that 
is conscious of powers not yet fully developed, and hurrieb 
through an irksome task that he may be at leisure to 
mature them by study. 

Graspar was a servant in the Doria family. He was not a 
TVenchman, as is generally supposed, but a Roman of low 
condition and 'untutored mind. His real name was Dughet, 
but he afterwards assumed the name of his brother-in-law, 
Nicolas Poussin, who, it is weU known, came in youth to 
Rome, and finished his life there. 

Beside this room-full, there are two landscapes by Gaspaar 
and one by Nicolas Poussin, said to be very fine, but in 
lights so bad, that I never yet could succeed in seeing 

Of the five Claudes— the "Molino" and the "Tempio 
d'ApoUo,'* are exquisitely beautiftd, and indisputably the 
finest Italy now possesses, though they are surpassed by 
several in England, whither the talisman of wealth has 
transported the master-pieces which its sullen skies forbid 
it to create. 

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The '* Holino '' is the most admired jby comioisaeurs ; but 
I am not a comibisBeur^ oiid I am afiraid the composition jci 
the Temple, on "theiwhole, pleased me the most. 

Bomenichino's thise landscapes are original and adnmv 
able. This artist, Titian, and Eubens, have proved to ns, in 
their works, that they could have been great masters in 
landscape, if they had not chosen to be greater in historical 

How strikingly do the beauty of the landscapes, in the 
Communion of St. Jerome, and the Murder of Peter the 
JMartyr,* add to the effect of the painting ! 

The '* Belisarius *' of Salvator Bosa, though the subject 
seems well adapted to his wild and gloomy genius, is yet 
by no means the happiest of his productions. His charac- 
teristic faults, especially of colourmg, are more than usually 
apparent, and it possesses fe^er of his redeeming beauties. 
It is too black, too heavy, dull, and exaggerated — Nature is 
not faithfully copied, nor pleasingly heightened; nor, after 
all these sacrifices to obtain it, is there true sublimii?|r. The 
attempt to combine historical with landscape paintmg, has 
not been successM here; their defects, rather than their 
beauties, are mingled; the interest is too much divided 
between the hero and the scene, and we have neither a 
landscape nor a historical piece. 

AnnJJbale Oaracci has, I think, succeeded better in the 
same perilous undertaking. His is a small but beautifully 
composed landscape, in the foreground of which, a Magdalen 
is extended, at the root of an aged tree, in all the aban- 
donment of solitude and despair. Her uplifted eyes and 
clasped hands any painter could have designed; but who 
could have made the paleness of the cheek, the quivering 
Kp, and the tears that tremble in the glistening eye, speak 
so forcibly to the heart? Annibale Caracci seldom ad- 
dresses himself so directly to the feelings. He commands 
our approbation, he satisfies our judgment, he improves our 
understanding ; but the strong expression of the passions, 
the agony of grief; terror, pitjr, supplication, and pathos, he 
has left to those who formea themselves upon his instruc- 
tions — to Guide, Domenichino, and Guercino. 

* At the Church of St. John and Si Paul, at Venice. 

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96 BOHX. 

His La Fiethy or the Virgin and the Dead Christ, will 
be £ur more praised and valued than this little Magdalen in 
the Deserts. It is safer from criticism, it has far fewer 
fiiults, and beauties of a higher stamp. But is it not cold 
and dead? Is there no want of interest, no absence of 
feeling and expression, in that piece of correct design and 
pure composition ? 

La Fieta is a subject which artists seem inyariablj to 
treat with established insensibility ; yet, surely, in a mother 
embracing the lifeless corpse of a son torn irom her by a 
premature and ignominious death, there should be more of 
grief, of tenderness, of melting pity, and maternal love, than 
we ever see in those placid, inanimated, and undisturbed 
Madonnas ; not to mention the feelings of her who was the 
mother of the crucified Saviour of the world. But I must 
get on faster through this long gallery, or you will tire by 
the way. 

Q-uerdno's Magdalen, Caravaggio's Magdalen, Cignani's 
Magdalen, Murillo's Magdalen, and Titian's Magdalen, all 
differ widely from each other, and are all fine paintings in 
their way, though Guercino's only has the character of a 
Magdalen. As for Titian, though an excellent painter » of 
youth and beauty, he had no notion of penitence or pathos ; 
and this Magdalen, like all his others, is a fine, fat, comely 
young creature, who differs in no respect from the picture of 
his unrepentant mistress, that hangs up here. His Sacrifice 
of Isaac is his chief work in this gallery ; but it is not one 
of his great masterpieces. Tou wQl admire his portrait of 
the great Andrew Dona, for the sake of the man as well as 
the painter, and you will be delighted with that exquisite 

fainting, said to be Luther and Calvin, and St. Catherine, 
t is a copy from G-iorgione, from whom Titian learnt much, 
and whose paintings live and breathe on the glowing canvas, 
irhey have a charm about them that fascinates you, and 
makes you stand and gaze upon them with unwearied 

The very antipodes to the works of Qiorgione or Titian, 
are the productions of Sasso Ferrato, the Eoman Carlo 
Dolce. His Holy Family here is the best (excepting one at 
the Church of Santa Sabina,) I have ever seen of his works. 

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The St. Joseph, espedaJlj, is admirable. But in g^ieral, 
at Eome, nothing is to be seen of his but a mere multipli* 
cation of Madonnas, which bear, indeed, a curious coinci* 
dence with his name, for thej always look like figures of 

Prom Sasso Ferrato turn to B^hael, and see all that 
Sasso Perrato wanted. Here is a Holy Family, in his early 
style, before he had unlearned the instructions of Fietro 
Perugino; and also a duplicate of one I weU remember 
seeing in the Stafford gallery, in his best and latest stjrle. 
It is small ; the figures are full-length, the Virgin is benmng 
over the children, while the in&nt Jesus leans against her 
knees. The graceful flow of outline, the beautiml compo* 
sition, the ha^onized splendour of colouring, the tender- 
ness of expression, and, above all, the chastened purity and 
holLness in. the divine face and form of the virgin, are 
Baphael's, and Baphael's alone. It is thought by many 
connoisseurs to be a copy, perhaps by one of his pupils ; to 
me it seems to be oriepnal ; at aU events it is beautiful. 

Leonardo da Yind s portrait of Queen Joan of Arragon, 
is also of disputed authenticity. I think it bears intrinsic 
evidence of being done by Leonardo's own hand; and if 
this be the copy, where is the original ? It has the violet 
tint, and the magical ivory smoothness of his finish, the 
oval contour of face, — all nis peculiarities ; and, above all, 
hispeculiar excellence. 

Here are two of these little trumpery crucifixions, falsely 
attributed to Michael An^elo Buonarotti, of which we see 
so many in Italian galleries. His contemporary, Vasari, 
tells us ne only painted one oil picture ; but it has been my 
lot, in this city alone, to see some dozens of his reputed 
works. If his great spirit could arise, and behola the 
wretched paintings shown under his name, he would 
assuredly annihilate with a firown the utterers of such a 

IS'icolas Poussin's copy of the Nozze Alddbrandim is 
admirable. It was a suDJect well suited to that classical 
artist, whose enthusiastic admiration, and unwearied study 
of ancient painting and sculpture, made him at last enter 

TOI*. II. H 

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99 BOMS. 

into the true spirit of the luicients bo completely, that his 
style, his figures, and decorations, even to the minutest 

Srts, are strictly antique. His very fency became Grecian, 
e thought as the^r would have thought, and designed ad 
they would have designed. But, with all his poetic^ ima- 
gination, his classic taste, his purity of composition, his 
original thoughts, and tho correctness and science of his 
designs, Foussin never will be a popular painter, from his 
neglect of colouring. 

The Eour Misers, an admirable piece of comic painting, 
Worthy of Albert Durer, is by Quintin Matsys of Antwerp, 
whom love made a painter. He was a farrier, and feU in 
love with the daughter of an artist, who rejected him with 
scorn, declaring that "none but a painter was worthy of 
the daughter of a painter." The lover immediately laid 
down the hammer and took up the palette; and some of 
his productions having obtained the highest praise from the 
prejudiced father, who little suspected they were his, he at 
length obtained the fair object of his affections. 

Among a great many of Caravaggio's paintings which 
^om this collection, I noticed a St. Eoque and his dog in 
prison ; for it is a picture which compels you to look at it, 
and to allow that it is the work of a great and original 
genius. But the saint is a vagabond, a coarse peasant 
from the lowest class of men, unennobled by his sacred 
mission. How weU Caravaggio loved to debase the lofti- 
ness of grand conceptions, annihilate sublimity, and, with 
his energetic touch, force us to dwell upon lowness and 
vulgarity ! 

Gnercino's Prodigal Son is the best of his works I saw 
here. The Visitation of Saint Elizabeth is the finest of 
Benvenuto Garofalo's two paiatings, both of which will 
catch your eye by their brilliant and beautiful colouring. 
You must see the Casta Snsauna, and six little landscapes 
and figures, quite miniatures, by Annibale Caracci; Fan 
teaching Apollo to play upon the pipes, by Ludovico Caracci, 
coarse, but forcible, and designed by a 'master's hand and 
mind; Santa Veronica, with the admirable head of Christ, 
by Andrea Mautegna; Queen Semiramis, by Paolo Vero- 
nese I the Madonna adoring the Sleeping Jesus, by Guido 

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— ^ihe porfcnut of Bubens's Gonfessor, bj himself-— Pope 
PamfiK Doha, by Velaaquer — ^Machiayelli, hy Bronzino — 
and Bartolo and Baldo, hj Baphael — all these 70a must see ; 
but they form a rerj smiill T)art of the collection, although 
70U will probablj think the nst alieady too long. 

H 2 

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The Colonna has by &r the finest galleiy, and about the 
worst collection of pictures, of any in Eome. The immense 
length and beautiful proportions of this building, the noble 
Corinthian columns and pilasters of giallo-antico marble 
that support it, the splendour of its painted roof, and the 
lustre of its marble pavement, delight the eye with the rare 
imion of magnificence and taste, and weU accord with the 
ancient greatness of the " Gloriosa Colonna." So indis- 
solubly associated is that name in my mind with the 
remembrance of Petrarch, and of those days of brightness in 
which poetry shed her revived light over the classic regions 
of Italy, that although the ancient palace in which he 
sojourned has long since been razed to the s^und, his very 
name gave to this modem building a (marm which no 
palace, however splendid, could ever have possessed of 

Among the statues that adorn this gallery, there are none 
worth notice except an ancient Diana, and a small female 
figure reclining on her arm, an exquisite piece of Grecian 
sculpture, apparently very ancient. None of the people 
here could give it a name ; but I remember a similar figure 
in the Townley collection at the British Museum, of very 
inferior sculpture, which is there called a Nymph of Diana 

The Apotheosis of Homer, which Addison describes, the 
servants assured me was no longer in the palace. It pro- 
bably was sold at the same time the finest paintings were 
disposed of, which was done, we were informed, to satisfy 
the rapacity of the !Prench, who levied repeated contribu- 
tions upon the noble families of Bome, to an immense 

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amount. One of tlie present Colonna faxmij assigned tliis 
to me as tbe cause why two sides of this noble gallery, which 
are standing unfinished, have not been completed. 

There are several fine paLutin^ scattered through this 
immense pahice ; but so many bad ones, that the good are 
almost lost in the evil company among which they hare 

There are three Poussins, and in the gallery there is a 
Claude, which must once have been very mie. It is called 
the Temple of Yenus, — and the beauty of the composition 
stOl charms the eye, through aU the injuries it has sus- 

There are a great many of Orizonti's Lmdscapes ; some 
of them much superior to any of his I ever saw before. But 
there is stiU all the difference between the worst of Claude 
Lorraine's paintings, and the best of Orizonti's, that can 
exist between the straios of a true poet, and the epic of a 
dull rhymester. For Claude Lorraine's paintings are the 
poetry of nature ; and he who ever e;azed upon ^em with- 
out feeling in his inmost heart their Deauty and their senti- 
ment, must have a soul that would be unmoved by those 
emotions, not bom of earth, that stir within us at the call of 
divine music, or diviner poesy. 

Descriptions of paintings are so insufferable, that I should 
never mention one picture, if I did not know that by notic- 
ing the good ones, I may save you in part the slavery of 
examining a whole gallery of bad paintings, to find the few 
worth admiring. But, in pity to you and to myself, I must 
pass over several worth notice, or we shall never have done. 

There is one, a Feasant e&tms his smoking hot dinner, 
gaping impatiently to take in a hug^e spoonfm of scalding 
beans, but deterred by the fear of burning his mouth,— 
admirably told, with infinite truth and comic effect, by 
Annibale CaraccL 

There is another in the same style, also said to be by him^ 
but painted with all the comic humour of Carava£;gio. It 
represents a knavish clown, with his dinner beiore him, 
grasping a flask of wine in one hand, and a glass in the 
other, and grinning so, that he absolutely makes Sie beholder 
grin too. 

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I obaerred a fine libdoxma, hy AimibaliBi Caraod — ^Albano's 
Bape of Earopa, and Christ betwa^i two Ajigels ; two fino 
Tintorettoa ; Christ deliyermg the souls of the Blessed in 
Limbo, designed by Buonarotti, and painted by Marcello 
Yenusti ; a Madonna and Child, by Itaphael, not, however, 
in his best style ; and two Portraits^ said to be of Luther 
and Calyin, by Titian. But the picture that riveted my 
attention was Ghiido's St. Sebastian ; in whtcb, joined to his 
usual chaste composition, and wonderful powers of expres* 
sion, he has dis{>Iayed a srandeur of conception, a force and 
freedom of pencil, a breadth, and a rare perfection of colour- 
ing, that 1 have seldom seen equaUed in any of his 

From this magnificent gallery we went to the garden, in 
which are to be seen the uffly and uninteresting remains of 
the Baths of Constantino, which I once before mentioned to 
you, and which certainly did not invite us either to explore 
or describe them again. 

The garden hangs on the steep side of the Quirinal Hill, 
on the summit of which, the broken but massive fragments 
of an immense pediment of Parian marble, covered with the 
finest sculpture, repose on the sofb green turf, overshadowed 
by an ancient pine-tree. 

It was Just a combinaticKn that a painter would have 
wished. It was more than picturesque. It was what hia 
fancy could never have formed, but his taste must at once 
have selected. These fragments toe called the remains of 
the magnificent Temple of the Sun, built by Aurelian, afber 
his triumphant return to Bome, with Zenobia, the captive 
Queen of Syria, in his train. It is very well a thing should 
have a name, but the sculpture is far too fine for Aur^ian's 
age ; and, in fact, it is merely talking at random, to say to 
wldch of the sploidid edifices that adorned the Quirinal Hill 
in Soman times, they belonged. 

I wish the '^ Glorious Colonna" had let this ruined 
Temple of the Sun, or whatever temple it was, stand where 
it did. But the indefatigable labours of Martin Y. and the 
succeedinff Colonna nrinces, transported the noble columns, 
and all the rich spous of antiquity found here, to embellish 
their palace ; and unmercifully hewed down the beautifiilly 

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HOtrSE 07 TBI BCIFI08. 108 

Bculptured marble remams of this superb building, for the 
payement of the galleiy, the balustraoes of the chapel, and 
the chimney-pieces of the sitting-roomB. 

This garden has the remembrance of the Scipioa attached 
to it. It is said, that the ancient site of their house, known 
eyen in Italian dajs bj the name of Gaga de* Comelj^ was 
within, or close to, that part of the garden which adjoins the 
Conyent of the S. S. Apostoli* But this, I think, I before 
alluded to. 

Upon jour return to the house, you will be taken through 
a suite of carpeted apartments, that look as if they might 
easily be made habitable, to see a little twisted column of 
rosso antico, about three feet high, which is called, impu- 
dently enough, the Cohmna Bellica, that stood before the 
Temple of Bellona, and from whence the arrow of war was 
thrown by the Consul, on the commencement of hostilities 
against any nation. To suppose that this bauble is that 
republican column is truly the height of absurdity. The 
material of which it is made was unknown till luxury 
brought her train of elegance and corruption, and twisted 
columns were imheard of till the decline of taste. The style 
of the triumph represented upon it in bas-relief, proyea 
it to be the work of a degenerate period. I shoula haye 
tjonjectured it to haye been of the low ages, and brought 
from the Baths of Constantino in the gardens ; but better 
judges pronounced it to be the sculpture of the Oinqtte 

I turned from this toy to the only painting in this suite 
of rooms that had power to interest me — Guide's Portrait 
of Beatrice Cenci. She was younff, beautiful, and noble — 
but a parricide. Yet, when you look upon her, it is scarcely 
possible to belieye it. Did that sweet and expressiye face, 
that gentle form, harbour a soul, that, with cool premedita- 
tion, could embrue her hands in the blood of her father ? 
But I know not how to giye the crimes of that father a 
name. They were such as to make humanity shudder — 
such as a fiend incarnate might haye rejoiced to haye per- 
petrated. The brutal insults, the wanton cruelties, the 

* Nardini, Sul Quiriiuae. 

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diabolical sufferings, of whicli He made Us innocent children 
the victims, were not the worst. He was a monster with- 
out shame, remorse, or pity ; and if he had had ten thou- 
sand lives, ho well deserved to lose them — hj any hand but 
hers. Yet it was his daughter, who, in the silent midnight, 
when even the iron hearts of the ruffians she had hired re- 
lented, seized the avenging dagger from their nerveless 
arm, and plunged it into the breast of a sleeping parent. 
But, how shall I find words to stigmatize that government 
which could afford no protection from trrsiwij the most 
atrocious, fi^m sufferings the most cruel, nom insults worse 
than death ; and which drove this young and ill-fated being 
to murder, for the very security of her innocence ! How 
shall I speak my horror at a government that condemned 
the whole of a yoimg and innocent family, even the little 
children, to the tortiu^, that the perpetrator of the murder 
might be discovered ! And what heart does not melt with 
pity when they hear, that though she had herself borne 
the rack with unshrinking firmness, yet, when her little 
brother was seized by the executioner to be placed upon 
it, and his plaintive voice cried, " O save me f save me ! " 
she burst forward, and screamed aloud, " I am the mur- 

The utmost efforts of the unhappy girl were directed to 
save her mother, who was implicated in the guilt. She 
asked no mercy for herself. But all was in vain, and the 
mother and daughter perished together, by a public and 
ignominious execution. 

I may be wrong, but the fate and misfortunes of this 
young and criminal being sunk deeper on my heart than 
the sufferings of many of pure and unsullied fame. For 
the deepest misery had driven her to the deepest guilt, and 
she passed on to death without the unutterable consolations 
of approving virtue. 

There is a settled sorrow, a wQdness, and a prophetic 
melancholy in her ^e, that is inexpressibly touching ; and 
weak though it be, I own that I have wept over the feeling, 
the speaking, the angelically lovely countenance of her who 
stabbed her father. 

Above, in a suite of very little rooms, full of very stupid 

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little pamtings, yon will see a Magdalen by Gnido, the 
speaking beauty and pathos of which I shall never forget. 
My feeble praise cannot do justice to its merits. 

You will also find there, and dispersed over the palace, 
a multiplicity of imitations of Salvator Bosa, by that parrot 
of landscape painters, Andrea Locatelli. Farewell. 

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106 ' BO¥a« 



The present representative of the Barbermi family, one of 
the most ancient, and once one of the most proud, wealthy, 
and powerful of the Italian nobility, now lives in one half of 
the attic story of his own palace. The other half is occu- 
pied by the Frince of Peace ; and the principal floor is in- 
habited by Charles YII., the late king of Spain, and his old 

Poverty, which drove the Prince Barberini to his garrets, 
has compelled him to dispose of that celebrated Museum of 
ancient sculpture, vases, gems, cameos, intaglios, medals, 
Ac, which was so long the wonder and admiration of Europe. 
Whither it is now dispersed, no one can say. When a mu- 
seum is once sold and scattered, I have often thought it as 
good as lost to the world. 

The famous Sleeping Eaunf is cased up in wood, ready to 
be sent off to Mumch, and only waits to cross the Bhsetian 
Alps, tin the JEgina Marbles, which the Prince of Bavaria 
has also purchased, are ready to bear it company. 

A noble ancient lion, in white marble, found in a tomb 
near Tivoli, adorns the staircase. I believe the sculptures, 

* A.D. 1820, when this work was first published, and many yean 

t This Faun was found in the ditch of the Castle of St. Angelo, and 
is supposed to have been one of the statues which Belisarius is accused 
of having hurled down upon the beBiegers.t (Vide Procopius. De 
Bello Qoth.) But a Faun, reclining in sleep, seemed a stnmge orna- 
ment for the exterior of a mausoleum; and other accounts render it 
dubious whether any other statue than that of Hadrian himself ever 
stood upon the Holes HadrianL 

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as well as the pamtings of this palace, were diyided with the 
Prince Sciarra, another branch of the fJEunilj. Of the Bar- 
berini half of the pictures, the finest have been sold, and 
those that remain are seen under all the disadvantages of 
bad lights, dirt, and utter neglect. 

But some among them trimnph over every disadvan- 

^icholas Foussin's death of Qermanicus, is one of the 
finest of his learned and masterly compositions. Its colour- 
ing, never, perhaps, very good, lias sunered much from time 
and injury ; but its other merits atone for this ffrc»t defect, 
and the more it is studied, the more it will be a£nired. The 
energy of spirit, struggling with the sinking weakness of ap- 
proaching dissolution, the heroic fortitude of the sufferer, 
and the grief of the inimitable ^oup that surrounded his 
death-bed, are finely pourtrayed. Poussin has, indeed, trans- 
fused into this painting the true spirit of the ancients. He 
has not copied them, but he has composed and created as 
th^ would hare done. 

His Miracle of St. Peter, who restores to life and strength 
a boy that had fallen from a vnndow, and shattered his limbs 
dreadfriUy on the pavement, is extremely fine, and in much 
better preservation than the Death of Gfermanicus. 

Baphael's Portrait of his Mistress, the Pomarina, is not 
in his best style. There is a hardness, a poorness, a con- 
straint, in the manner; no freedom of pencilling, or glow of 
colouring. She wears an armlet, vdth the name of Bafi&ello 
Sanzio & TJrbino, inscribed upon it. 

There is a small Holy Pamily, by Eaphael, so much in- 
jured that its beaut;^ is nearly effaced. A fallen Corinthian 
capital, introduced into it, adds to its picturesque effect; 
ana, perhaps, is intended typically to represent the over- 
throw of Paganism by the birth of the infant Christ, at 
whose feet it lies. A beautiful little Claude has also been 
most cruelly defaced. 

Tintoretto's Christ is fine. The Piet^ is designed by 
Buonarotti. It exactly resembles his group, in sculpture, 
of the Virgin and dead Christ, at the Cathedral of 

Guide's Portrait of St. Andrea Corsini, the original of 

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108 SOMB. 

tlie Mosaic in the Gorsini Chapel, at St. John Lateran, is 
in his best style. Chnst disputing with the Doctors, by 
Albert Durer, is excellent in its kind. I never yet saw 
any one whose risibility was proof against these Doctors' 

The other paintings best worth notice are, Farmegiano's 
Marriage of St. Catherine (much injured.) Caravaggio's 
Martyrdom of St. Catharine ; Ghuido's St. Agatha ; Andrea 
SaccM's Apostles ; Cignano's Joseph and Potiphar's Wife. 

Those worthy personages, the old King and Queen of 
Spain, and the Prince of Peace, go out to take an airing 
diumally, at the ventu-due e mezzo^* in two heavy coaches 
and six, with outriders to dear the way, &c. 

We understood that the paintings in the apartments of 
their ex-majesties could not be seen without their own royal 
permission; but as soon as this procession drove off to-day, 
we went to try, having no other passport or introductioii 
than & piastre. It is worthy of remark, that on oiur request 
of admittance, it was declared to be " impossible ;" but, on 
the production of this talisman, a pretended leave was 
askea of some invisible person, and, lo! the doors were 

Of the paintings, or other curiosities contained in tbese 
regal chambers, however, I can give you no account, (a 
loss I can suppose you capable of bearing with becoming 
fortitude ;) but my companions of this morning could atone 
for my deficiency, for they saw the whole collection, before 
I had found out half the beauties of two splendid Murillos, 
and hurried me away, without staying themselves to give 
one glance to the great hall, painted in fresco by Pietro da 

They carried me up the opposite staircase to the apart- 
ments of the Prince of Peace, whose paintings have a merit 
rare here, — ^that of being clean, and in gocS preservation. 
They are worth seeing. There are many gooa copies, and 
a few originals. 

The garden of the Barberini Palace is pointed out as the 
site where the ancient capitol of Numa Pompilius stood. X 

* Half'past twenty-two o'clock, or one hour and a-half before 

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AimSEA DEL 8ABT0. 109 

^ow of no creditable anthoiiiy to support the opinion that 
IN'uina, that priestly kin^, ever had a capitol on the then 
uninhabited Quirinal HiU, for Plutarch seems to speak of a 
house only. The minute and accurate livy would not haye 
omitted mentioning it, had it existed, or been known to 
exist ; and surely, m his day, he had more chance of dis- 
covering that such a thing had been, than we have now. 

FaiuIlzzo Soiabsa. 

The proud lords of the Sciarra, one of whom in ancient 
times struck a pope, whom he took prisoner, with his gaun1>- 
let, now share with other tenants tneir only palace on the 

The other division of the Barberini paintings are in their 
apartments; and as they are imimpau^d both in number 
and value, they are one of the most select collections of any 
in Eome. 

There is here a Holy Family, by Andrea del Sarto, which 
is extremely admired. Andrea was so successful a copyist 
of the works of Eaphael, that when that great master's 
fiimous portrait of Leo X., between the Cardinals Medici 
and Eossi, and his copy of it were placed side by side, Giulio 
Somano, who had himself painted the draperies in that very 
picture, after much attentive examination, pronounced An- 
drea del Sarto's copy to be the original. 

This poor man's real name was Andrea Yanucchi, but he 
was called Andrea del Sarto from his father's trade, and 
Amdrea senza errori from his own faultless works. They 
might have been more &ultless, if he could have prolonged 
his studies in Eome ; but it was his misfortune to be cursed 
with a wife who embroiled him with all his friends, bereaved 
him of his pupils, drew him from the patronage of Francis I., 
and involved him in debt and dishonour. In his last sick- 
ness he was abandoned by the ungrateM woman for whom 
he had sacrifled friends, K>rtune, lame, and integrity. He 
died at the age of foriy-two, in the extremity of poverty, 
misery, and even of famme.* 

There is another Holy Family, by another great master of 
the Florentine School, which I admired far more. It is by 

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110 BOMB. 

Tn* Baxtolomeo: tHe glow and fireslmess of colotcrmg in 
this admirable pamting, the softness of the skin, the beauty 
and sweetness of the expression, the look with which the 
mother's eyes are bent upon the baby she holds in her arms, 
and the innocent fondness with which the other child gazes 
up in her fece, are worthy of the painter whose works 
Eaphael delighted to study, and fipom which, in great mea- 
sure, he formed his principles of colouring. 

The cloister has produced many great logicians, theolo- 
gians, and politicians; many renowned diplomatists, in- 
triguers, and prime ministers ; indeed, more men versed in 
the knowledge of this world, than could be expected from a 
spot sancti&ed to the purposes of another ; but very few 
poets, painters, or men of genius. It did not produce, but 
rather Duried one, in Era' Bartolomeo della Porta; for he 
entered the cloister in consequence of a rash vow, and was 
persuaded, or obliged, from Mse scruples, to destroy all hk 
studies and paintins^ in nudities. Lif^, and Sebastian del 
Piombo, and several other great painters, however, emerged 
from the cloister ; but by far the greatest number of cele- 
brated painters have sprung from the lower classes. Giotto 
was a shepherd ; Andrea di Mantegna, a cattle-driver ; Gas- 
par Poussm, an errand-boy; Claude Lorraine, a pastry-cook; 
Marcello Venusti, a colour-grinder ; Tintoretto, as his name 
implies, the son of a dyer; Caravaggio, a plasterer; and 
Saivator Eosa, a lazzarone in the streets of Naples. 

Leonardo da.Yinci and Buonarotti were both of noble 
birth, and both Florentines.* Leonardo so far surpassed all 
his predecessors and contemporaries, that he seemed to be 
the only painter in the world, till his fame was eclipsed by 
Buonarotti, who was twenty-two years his junior. Perhaps 
Buonarotti' s contempt for colouring was, in some measure, 
derived from Leonardo's superiority in it. He chose to 
imdervalue that in which he did not excel. 

In their rival cartoons of the Battle of Pisa,t so decided 
was the superiority of Michael Angelo's in design and com- 
position, that the preference was unanimously given to it, 

* Leonardo was bom in the villag^e of Yind on the Amo, near 

t Lanzi, Storia Pittori<Ja, 

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Bnt both these ffreat works were spoken of as prodigies of 
art, and formed the study of succeeding artists, till they were 
unfortunately, or rather maliciously, destroyed. 

It is unfortunate for the fame of Leonardo, that both his 
greatest works have perished. This cartoon disappeared 
early; and his Last Supper, in the deserted refectory of the 
Dominican convent at IVlilan, nearly destroyed by the French 
soldiers who occupied this convent as a barrack, is scarcely 
the shadow of a shade; indeed, it has been so often re- 
touched and restored, that no trace of the original painting 
is now supposed to remain. 

Oonsid^mg these disasters, and the extreme slowness 
with which he painted, for it is recorded that he was em- 

? loved four years on the portrait of Qioconda alone ;♦ it is 
ttiink, wonderfiil that so many of his works still exist, for he 
was not only a painter, a sculptor, and architect, and an engi- 
neer, but one of the most accomplished men of his age. In 
poetry, music, dancing, fencing, and riding, he was unrivalled. 
He invented a new lyrical instrument, formed chiefly of 
silver, and he excelled as an improvisatore. He was the 
delight and ornament of society m the court of the Duke 
Sforza at Milan ; nor was his time entirely devoted to the 
fine arts. His predilection for science, and his studious 
habits, are proved by the voluminous manuscripts still 
extant in his handwriting, in the Ambrosian Library at 
Milan .t 

His residence at Eome was short. The ill-judged and 
iOib^ral sarcasms of Leo X. disgusted him, and the fiiend- 
ship of Francis I. drew him to the French capital, where, 
during a lingering and hopeless illness, he was cheered by 
the unremittmg kmdness, and is even said to have expired 
in the arms, of that amiable and noble-minded monarch. 

The portrait of Leonardo, in the Gallery of Florence, by 

♦ That it mght be four years before it was finished, I can believe; 
but that he was employed four yeare solely upon painting one portrait, 
is not credible, nor consistent with the activity of his mind and his 
unwearied application. 

t Nine volumes of these manuscripts have been retained in Paris, 
whither the whole work was transported at the time the French plun- 
dered Italy. 

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112 BOMS. 

bis own hand, is one of tho finest lieads, and the most 
exquisite painting, I have ever seen. One of his best works 
is in this palace, — ^Modesty and Vanity, which is, I think, 
inferior only to his Herod's Daughter, in the IMbune at 

Here is a masterpiece of Caravageio's ; a sharper playing 
at cards with a youth of fisunily and fortune, whom his con- 
federate, while pretending to be looking on, is assisting to 
cheat. The subject will remind you of. the Flemish school ; 
but this painting bears no resemblance to it. Here is no 
faxce, no caricature. It is true to nature ; and the expres- 
sion, though admirably given, is not in the least overcharged. 
Character was never more strongly marked, nor a tale more 
inimitably told. It is life itself, and you almost forget it is 
a picture, and expect to see the game go on. The colouring 
is oeyond all praise. 

Eaphael's Portrait of a Musician, a Mend of his own, ia 
supremely beautiful. 

There are two Magdalens, by Guide, almost duplicates, 
and yet one is incomparably superior to the other. She is 
reclining on a rock, and her tearful and uplifted eyes, the 
whole of her countenance and attitude, speak the oyer^ 
whelming sorrow that penetrates her soul. Her face might 
charm the heart of a stoic ; and the contrast of her youth 
and enchanting lovelines, with the abandonment of grief, the 
resignation of all earthly hope, and the entire devotion of 
herself to penitence and to heaven, is so affecting, that it 
has drawn tears from many an eye. Every picture in tho 
last apartment is a masterpiece. 

There are some fine Samts by Ghiercino ; a Portrait of a 
Lady, by Bronzino; a capital Housemaid by Leonetta 
Spada ; an exquisite painting by Giorgione ; and many more 
that ought to be seen, and must be aSmired — ^but they can- 
not be described ; for palaces appear before me in long array, 
and before we have got through them, I shall have exhausted 
both your patience and my own. 

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Thb Palazzi Mabsiki Ain> Spaba— Pomvit's Status— 
Palazzo Cobtaoitti — ^Palazzo Mattel 

Thx Palazzo MwwiTni, though one of the smalleflt and 
worst Bituated of the Soman Palaces, is, I think, the 
prettiest building of them alL The simplidtj of its Doric 
portico and court particularly pleased me, and does great 
credit to the taste of Balthazar Peruzzi, who was its archi- 
tect. In those dajs eyerj painter was an architect ; yet I 
cannot think the two arts well adapted to be united in the 
same profession. 

We visited this palace to see the &mouB Discobolus,* 
which is the finest in the world. — at least, aboTe ground. 
It is, indeed, an admirable piece of Grecian sculptiue, and 
well worth seeing. It differs in nothing, except its supe- 
riority of execution, from every other Discobolus. All of 
them are ancient copies from one orimnal — ^the celebrated 
Discobolus of bronze, the masterpiece of Myro. 

Judas returning the thirty pieces of silver to the Chief 
Priest, by Caravaggio, is tbe only painting here worth 
looking at. 

We were shown a chapel, formerly a bedroom, in which 
that notable saint, Pilippo Neri, raised from the dead a son 
of this noble house, on the 16th of March, 1583, in con- 
sequence of which grand miracle S. Eilippo Neri was 
canonized, the plsfce was consecrated, and a solemn service 
is still annually performed in it upon the anniversary of the 

We Protestants, being, in the opinion of the Boman 
Catholics, of the number of those "who will not believe, 
though one came from the dead to tell us it is so," went 

* Found in the grounds of the Villa Palombari, on the Esqnilino 


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awaj in tHe persuasion that the Humane Sodety worked 
such miracles every day, though nobody made saints of them 
ki consequence. 

In the stables of the neighbouring Palazzo Pio, it is said 
some of the remains of the walls of Pompey's Theatre may 
be seen. I did not go to look for them. 

Palazzo Sfada. 

We afterwards visited the Palazzo Spada, to see the cele- 
brated Statue of Pomt>e^, at the foot of which Cesar fell. 
Every one knows that it wus found below the foundation* 
wall of two houses, in a lane near the site of the Curia of 
Pompey — ^that the proprietors, unable to settle to which of 
them it belonged, tne nead being under one house and the 
feet under the other, imitated the judgment of Solomon, and 
resolved to cut it in two — and that a cuuning Cardinal^ 
heariug of this, persuaded the Pope to buy it,, and to make 
him a present of it. 

The statue is larger than life, and in the heroic styles-- 
that is, with no other drapery than the chlarnvs, which 
covers one shoulder. The style is certainly not of first-rate 
excellence, but tlus statue has an interest beyond all that 
statuary can give ; and we ^azed upon it till the long-past 
scene seemed again realized — till CsDsar, defending hmself 
against the conspirators, saw at length the dagger of his 
most trusted Mend ; and, willing to leave a world in which 
faith and Mendship were empty names, exclaimed — " Et tu. 
Brute!" as he folded his head in his robe, and sank in 

But there is no recollection or belief that the fimcy loves 
to cling to, that these vile antiquaries do not come with 
their "doubts," to disturb. They "doubt whether this be 
the statue of Pompey — Possibly an emperor, because he 
carries the ^obe in his hand." An emperor! — ^But what 
emperor P — They are all, except the last dregs of the empe- 
rca», pretty well known. They took care to multiply their 
persons, and what with statues, busts, medals, and coins, one 
sees them so continually, that there is no mistaking their 
physiognomy. I feel as intimately acquainted with the 

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twelve Csesars as if I iiad known them all mj life ; and the 
countenance of the mild and martial Marcus AureLus, and 
his coxcombid^il colleague, the whiakered Lucius Yerus ; the 
plain features of Hadrian, and that dark ruffian Caracalla^s 
unbending &own, are as familiar to me as my own &oe. 

The statue of Fompej bears no resemblance to any known 
emperor. Erom the style of sculpture, it cannot represent 
any of the latter ones — ^it answers to the state of the arts 
at the close of the EepubHc ; — it was found on the spot 
where the Statue of Pompey stood; it bears a strong 
resemblance to the head on nis medal, (published in the 
Museo Eomano ;) and as to the objection of his bearing the 
globe, was there any thing extraordinary in the adulation 
of marking the extent of his conquests, by putting that 
symbol into the hand of a victorious generid, whose triumphs 
liad extended over the then known world, through Europe, 
A&ica, and Asia ; and who^ tiU his gloiy was eclipsed Dy 
the brighter star of Cessar, was the idol of the Eoman 
people, and virtually the master of the world P No ! the 
conviction is irresistible ; and in spite of all the antiquaries, 
I will believe it to be the Statue of Pompey, that very 
individual statue, at the foot of which ''great Cssar fell." 

Eustace says, tiiat the arm of the statue was sawn off 
by the French, in order that they might transport it with 
more focilit^ to the Colosseum, where they acted before it 
Voltaire's foolish tra^dy of the Death of Brutus. That 
may be, but the arm is known to be a modem restoration ; 
and, therefore, as the Erench only cut off what had before 
been put on, they did no great harm. ELad the arm been 
Ancient, the question as to the identity of the statue would 
have been decided at once, for, if tliat of an emperor, it 
would have borne the sceptre. 

Winkelman says, that " if it be the statue of Pompey, it 
is the only statue of a Eolnan citizen of republican times in 
the heroic siyle." But it is the only statue of a Boman 
citizen of republican times, in any slyle, that has come down 
to our day; and how» therefore, can we be so very sure 
that they were never so represented? All the statues of 
CiesaTy the contemporary of Pompey, are in the heroic 

I 2 

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116 son. 

style ; wlij, therefore, maj not thia P IndeeMi, the times of 
Pompej and Cesar were no longer republican, except in 
name. Wealth and Inxury had introduced as total a change 
in manners as in politics. Ghreeoe had become the great 
standard of perfection — ^the model of imitation; and, as we 
kiow that Ix>mpe7, more particularly, affected to adopt the 
arts and modes of the Greeks in eyerything, can we wonder 
that his statue should be in the same stjle as all the statues 
of their great men P 

There are several pieces of ancient statuary here : th^ 
little Qod of Slumber reposes in the sweet sleep of infiant 
innocence, his poppies luring in his ungrasped hand. 

But the finest by far is the Statue of an old Philosopher, 
sitting in a chair ; supposed to be intended for Antisthenes 
listenmg to Socrates, an admirable piece of Grecian sculp^ 

There are two fine antique bas-relie&, which were brought 
j&om the staircase of the Church of St. Aaaeajtiori le mtira, 
representing Perseus liberating Andromeda, and Endymion 
sleeping. They are duplicates of those in the Museum of 
the Capitol. 

There cannot be imagined a more deserted, dreary, de- 
cayed, and deplorably dniy place, than this poverty-struck 

Above stairs, there is a collection of pictures, some of 
which are, or rather have been, good ; for they are cracked, 
spoiled, defaced, and destroyed with damp and darkness, 
dirt and neglect. 

The best I observed among them were, St. Anne teaching 
the Virgin to sew, admirable for its nature and truth, by 
Caravag^o, in the style in which he excelled ; Christ led to 
Crucifixion, by Andrea Mantegna; St. Jerome, by Albert 
Purer; Lucretia^ and also a fine Portrait of a Cardinal, 
(a Spada) by Guido. 

There is a little practical perspective in the court, formed 
by a dimiuishiTig colonnade, which ^ves the efiect of great 
length, though really very short. It was made by Borro- 
mini, whose genius 1 could wish had been confined to such 
nice little works as these. 

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Palazzo Gobtaoitti. 

The Palazzo Costaguti is a most dismal, dirty, miserable 
place. Words cannot give you an idea of its utter wretcHed- 
ness, and I could scarcely believe these forlorn, filthy cham- 
bers were the residence of the.Marchesa I had seen blazing 
in diamonds at the ♦♦**♦ ambassador's ball, the night 
before. We visited it to see the ceilings, painted in fresco^ 
with which it was adorned in its earlier and more prospe* 
rous days. 

The first is by Albani. It represents the Centaur car- 
mng off Dejanira, and Hercules slaying him with the arrow, 
what it may have been, it would now be unfair to judge, 
for the colouring is faded, and very little of the grace and 
beauty of Albani remains. 

The ceiling of the second room has fallen in; the de- 
stroyed fresco was Polyphemus and Galatea, by Lanfranco. 
I cannot be sony that the works of a man, whose envious 
malignity pursuea the amiable Domenichino through life, 
literally persecuted him to death, and defaced the matchless 
frescos that he could not equal, should, by a sort of poetical 
justice, be in turn destroyed. 

In the third chamber Apollo appears in his car, drawn by 
four horses, white, red, grey, and black — ^I suppose to re- 
present the different tunes of the day ; but such horses ! 
they may be like heavenly steeds, but I am sure they bear 
no resemblance to earthly ones. In a comer of the room is 
old Time, seizing hold of a frightened woman called Truth* 
I gazed with astonishment and disappointment on this 
ceiling, for they say it is by Domenichmo. I can only say, 
I hope not ; and that, I am sure, if Domenichino did paint 
it, he never painted any thing else so bad. Amongst the 
immense variety of frescos with which he has adorned £ome, 
this is the only one unworthy of his genius. 

Einaldo and Armida, borne through the air in the car of 
the Enchantress, drawn by dragons, is by far the finest 
fresco in this palace. It is by Guercino, and designed with 
all his force and energy, heightened by all the splendour of 

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118 BOM^. 

his chiar'oscuro. The figure of Einaldo is^very fine; but 
Armida is not what the poet's fancj would have painted. 

Justice and Peace, by Laofiranco, so far as the extreme 
darkness of the room would allow us to judge, is a very fine 
painting ; but, perhaps, the uncertain light gave it an ima- 
ginary beauty, as I have sometimes seen an ordinary womaa 
look almost divinely lovely in the soft beam of feding twi- 
light, or shaded moonlight ; and witnessed, for the first time, 
scenes at that ma^c hour, which seemed beyond descrmtioa 
beautiful, but which, when viewed in the garish eye of day, 
were stripped of every charm. 

Next — ^I saw 

-Arion on a dolphin's back. 

Uttering such pleasing and harmonioos breath, 
That the rade sea grev civil at his song. 
And certain stars &ot madly from their spheresy 
To hear the minstrel's music." 

Poetry apart, however, Arion on the Dolphin's back is a 
beautiful paiating, by Bomanelli. Upon another ceiling, are 
some Gods and Goddesses, and Peacocks, by the Cavaliere 
d' Arpino ; and plenty of bad paintings, with high-sounding 
titles, on the walls. 

Palazzo Mattel 

We have been several times' at the Palazzo Mattei, if pos- 
sible a still more deplorable place than the Palazzo Costa- 
guti, in order to see Eachael and Jacob, a fresco by Dome- 
nichino, which, by a kind of fatality, we have never yet seen. 
Our attempts have been all fruitless ; either we thundered 
for half an hour at the door and got no answer, or, if we ob- 
tained admittance, the Cardinal Mattei was in bed or at 
dinner ; or else he had gone out with the key in his pocket, 
even when a time had been fixed ; so that we have given it 
up in despair. By means of oxa frequent visitations, we saw 
some very fine ancient bas-reliefs in the court and on the 
staircase, and one fine painting in the house — ^a Holy family, 
painted by Parmegianp, with all that grace and captivating 
sweetness to which he always aspired ; and without any of 
that unfortunate affectation which too often marred his 

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works. Yet the best of them prove that he was a man- 
nerist, and a close, though a successful imitator of Correggio. 
But an imitator, in any of the fine arts, can never be great : 
or, rather, a truly ^at genius wiU never be an imitator; 
for the very act of imitation is a confession of inferiority. 
Still, so beautiM are many of his paintings, that we cannot 
but regret that this infatuated man should have wasted his 
time, ms talents, his fortune, and his life, upon the wild and 
visionary pursuit of alchemy, in which he blasted all his 
hopes, and sacrificed even his integrity. 

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120 BOMB. 


Pasqttik — Palazzo Beabchi — Palazzo QiUBTisiAm. — 
Paittheok by Mooklioht — Palazzo BoBanxsE. 

The mutilated statue of Pasquin* stands at tHe comer of 
the Palazzo Braschi, where he has cut his caustic jokes for 
many an age, and levelled, with impunity, his sarcasms 
against priest^ and princes, popes and cardinals, church and 

The statue of Marforio, in the court of the Museum of 
the Capitol, was his ancient respondent: but their witty- 
dialogues and smart repartees are now at an end. 

There is another mutilated figure in a street in Bome, 
which is known by the name of Madam Lucretia,t but, un- 
like the loquacity of her sex, she has always maintained a 
strict silence. 

Pasquinades, however, are still occasionally current in 
Eome, though, perhaps, no longer affixed to Pasquin. 
Amongst many smart epigrams and squibs of satire, some 
of which would not be intelligible out of Eome, the follow- 
ing seems to me one of the best, and it has, at least, as much 
truth as point to recommend it. 

" Yenditur hie ChriBtus, vendnntnr dogmata Petri, 
Besoendam infemum ne quoque vendar ego." 

Pasquin did not spare the French during tbeir stay here. 
Among the many squibs against them he said, 
" I Fiancesi son' tutti ladri."— 

*' Kon tutti — ^ma Buona parte,** 
was the anticipated reply. 

* It received its name from Pasquino, a sarcastic tailor, vho used to 
work at his shop hard by. Though excessively mutilated, it has evi- 
dently been a fine piece of sculpture. 

t This figure is usually supposed to have been an Lds. 

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PABQtrnr Aim haxfobto.. 121 

On a tremendous storm, which took pkoe after the de- 
crees of Buonaparte were put in force at Bome, the fdlow- 
ing somewhat pro&ne pasquinade appeared: — 

^L'AltWmo in sii, d manda la tempests, 
L'Altiflrimo qua giil, toglia quel che rests* 
E fra le dne Altissimi, 
Stiamo noi MalianmL** 

Canova finished the figure of Itslj (a draped statue,) for 
the tomb of Alfieri, about the time the French overran the 
country. Soon afterwards the following appeared : — 

" Quests volta Ganova Ilia sbagliato^ 
Ha ritalia yestita, ed e spogUata." 

One of the best things of the kind, I think, was made on 
the colonnade in front of Carlton House,t hj an Italian, a 
man of some taste, who, being accustomed to see columns 
supporting something, or of some use, stood amazed at the 
si^t of tms sinecure row, and questioned them as to their 
employment, thus — 

"Care Colonne ! che &te qflkT 

" Non sapplamo in yeiitH," 

was their innocent reply. 

But to return to the Palazzo Braschi. As you ascend the 
staLrcase, you will be struck ¥dth its noble architecture, 
which is in the most chaste and classical taste. The stairs 
are led up between a colonnade formed of columns of red 
Oriental granite, the high polish of which accords well with 
the lustre of the yariegated marbles, of which the stairs and 
ballustrades are composed, and with the graceful symme- 
try and just design of the whole. The coup^'oeil, as we 
mounted it the other night, when brilliantly lighted up for 
a grand fete giyen by the Austrian ambassador, was more 
striking than any thing of the kind I eyer saw. 

* On the yisit of the Emperor Francis to Borne in 1819, a pasquinade 
appeared free from this &iQt : — 

"Gandinm Urbia. Fletns Proyincianun. Risos Mmidi." 

f Formed by a long range of remarkably beantifhl, but unmeaning, 
useless columns. The Colonnade and Palace of oouise disappeared 

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123 BOia. 

Like most of tlie noble &inilie8 of Borne, the Duca di 
Braschi no longer inhabits his patem^palace. His was the 
crime of being the nephew of Pius Vl., and consequently 
of opposing the surrender of Borne to Erench despotism. 
It was atoned for by the confiscation of his pro^rfy; and 
amidst the wreck of his fortune, and the dispersion of his 
&mil7, the Palazzo Braschi was left in unfinished magni- 

In the gallery of the palace, the bare unnlastered walls 
of which torm a striking contrast to its noble proportions, 
stands the beautiful Colossal Statue of Antinous, which was 
dug up on the site of the ancient Ghabii, bj the late Oavin. 
H^mlton. Its colossal size was probably the cause why it 
was not removed to Paris ; for the late conquerors of Italy 
could have had no scruples of conscience in appropriating 
this statue, if they could conveniently have carried it ofi^ 
after seizing upon every other piece of sculpture belonging 
to that unfortunate fiunily that was worth taldn£;. 

I do not recollect anj thing more in this gfdlery worthy 
of notice ; but my eyes were so entirely engrossed by the 
matchless beauty of Antinous, that I could hx)k at nothing 
else ; and scarcely, as I gazed upon it, could I wonder that 
Hadrian believed that form to be inhabited by a god. 

This admirable piece of sculpture is secluded from the 

Sublic eye hj the present inhabitant of this palace, the 
Lustrian minister. As we we were acquainted with him 
and his amiable fiunily, we had no difficulty in seeing it ; 
but I cannot admire this system of exclusion. 

Pix^zo GiusTiNiAiirr. 

The ancient and wealthy Giustiniani fiunily are now 
beggars, and their palace is inhabited by strangers. All its 
fine paintings are gone. We inquired m vain for Poussin's 
Massacre of the Innocents, Domenichino^s St. John the 
Evangelist, Annibale Carracci's Chiist and the Cananean, or 
Caravaggio's Incredulity of St. Thomas. It would be easier 
to make a list of what this palace has lost, than what it pos- 
sesses. There is not a single good painting left. We were 

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Tisw or THX -pAjsnaois. 128 

eihown a great ntunber of frightM daubs, each of whicH was 
dignified witli the name of some great artist. I once asked 
the man if he was certain one he called a Domenichino was 
an original, — ^to' which he replied, " Ori^finalissimo, Signora!" 

This snperlatively original painting was so superlatively- 
bad, that it was weU the spirit of Domenichino, wno, during 
his life, was accustomed to eveiy insult, could not know this 
greater opprobium cast upon him after his death. 

This palace is built upon the ruins of Nero's Baths, and 
a prodigious quantity of statuary, of all kinds, was found 
in them, which once adorned its magnificent ealleries and 
spacious halls ; but the finest of the statues, like the pic- 
tures, have disappeared. 

An immense number are still standing, in utter confusion, 
in a set of miserable, unfurnished, dusty, and desolate apart- 
ments ; and though the most part of the busts and statues 
are mutilated, and aU of them are discoloured and abomin- 
ably dirty, there are many among them of very fine sculp- 
ture. Among these I will only mention the Statue of Mar- 
cellus, in the hall, and a youthM male figure, the Torso of 
which is very fine ; but it is badly restored, which, indeed, 
is the case with many of them. 

The Etruscan Vestal is not allowed to be Etruscan, and 
seldom acknowledged to be a Yestal ; but she is unquestion- 
ably very ancient* — too ancient to be perfect. There is an 
admirable goat dose beside her, which I liked much better ; 
and there is the statue of the little Harpocrates, holding up 
his finger and looking wise— a sod I always admire, though 
I cannot be reckoned among his disciples. Pray, can you tell 
me why the ancients gave the Qod of Silence a cornucopia? 

The best view of the Pantheon is from the windows of 
this palace. I saw it by moonlight, when the softened light 
gleamed beautifully in silver lines upon the tail columns of 
tho portico, more distinctly marked by the dark shade of 
the intercolumniations, while the serenity of the s^, and 
the stillness that reigned over eveiy thing, made its Deauty 
more deeply felt. 

* Winkelman " dar^ not maintain that it is the work of any 
Etmacan artist;' but thinks it is " perhaps, the most ancient statue in 

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124 XOKX. 

You will wonder wliat took me to the GKiuitiziiani VtiBcih' 
at night, but we hjippened to be diniog^ with Count Funchali^ 
the rortaguese ambaMador, wbo lives tbeie ; and, as it waflf 
moonlight, I took the opnortunitj of looking oat at i3a» 
Pantheon; ever since whicn time, his excellency has entiof^. 
tained a rooted conviction that I am slightly deranged ; aiid> 
never sees me without asking, if, when the moon is at the 
full, I will not return to h^ house to see the Pantheon^ 
** Well, that is what I don't understand," said an. Italian' 
Principessa, when he told her of this extraordinaty fancj of 
mine — " for, certainlj, one can see plainer in the daj-time 
than the night." • 

Palazzo BosaHSSE. 

The Palazzo Bor^hese, one of the largest and handsomest 
palaces in Eome, is now inhabited omj hj Pauline, the 
sister of Buonaparte, and the wife of the Pirince Borghese, 
who himself lives constantly at Florence. This bunding, 
which would seem large enough to contain some hundreds of 
people, is, apparently, too small for a single lady ; for there 
is another, *' JJ Palazzo deUa Bamiglia Borghese,^^ to which 
my unlucl^ stars once conducted me ; and its filth and foul 
oaours have left an uneffaceable impression upon the re- 
membrance. The famiglia^ in modem as in ancient Soman 
davs, means the servants; and not the domestic servants 
only, but the tradespeople, all of whom are included in this 
comprehensive term ; and this horrible hole, of which I have 
been speaking, is inhabited by the artisans who are, as well 
as by many who are not, employed in the service of the 
B orgh ese. 

When a Eoman prmce has, or hady a grand entertainment, 
(for such a thing rarely occurs now,) all the tailors, shoe- 
makers, joiners, carpenters, upholsterers, smiths, and arti- 
sans, whom he employed, were dressed out in state liveries, 
kept for this purpose finom generation to generation ; and, 
for the time being, were turned into footmen. Therefore it 

* Kon lo capiflco— <U certo, si pud vedere piU chlaro da giomo che 

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ITAUAir HBBTAim . 125 

was no uncommon thing on the day of a ftte to see half a 
hundred liyeiy eer^ants ; but if jou returned when it was 
over, JOU would not find half a dozen. 

It 18 a literal fact that, happening to return to the PAhMse 
of a Eoman nobleman rather earlj on the morning aoter a 
ball, in order to inquire after a croBS of jewels I had lost, I 
found, in the gre^fc hall, piles of liyerj-coats, and the Frinci- 
pessa herself teUing them oyer. 

It was not, howeyer, the Prindpessa Borghese, who is a 
Terr different personage. 

Some years ago Oanoya scuptured a statue of this lady, as 
Yenus, and it is esteemed by himself one of the yery best of 
his works. No one else can have an opportunity or judging 
of it, for the prince, who certainly is not jealous of his wife's 
person, is so jealous of her statue, that he keeps it locked up 
in a room of the Bor^ese Palace at Bome, of which he 
keeps the key, and not a human being, not eyen Ganoya 
himself, can get access to it. 

The fine Museum of Sculpture which the prince gave to 
Buonaparte in exchange for the bubble of the Yiceroyalty 
of Turm, is irreparably gone ; but the principal part of the 
paintings are now restored, and form by far me best collec- 
tion of any in Bome. They appear to eyery disadyantage, 
for they are arranged in a suite of yery ill-lighted apartments 
on the ground-floor; the only ground-floor I ever remember 
to haye seen inhabited in Bome. 

The Domenichinos, the Titians, and the Albanos, are cer- 
tainly the finest in Bome. Domenicluno's Sibyl^ and his 
Aborts of Diana and her Nymphs, are works that no praise 
of mine can do justice to. 1 haye returned to them again 
and again with undiminished delight, and found them as 
new, and quite as beautiM, the twentieth time as the 
first. They are by far the finest of this fine collection of 

Titian's Graces are yery fat, not yery young, and dressed 
in yery old-fashioned gowns; but they are exquisitely painted. 
They are employed in binding Oupid. But, out of Venice, 
I haye seen nothing of Titifoi's to compare to his Sacred 
and Profane Loye, which is here. It represents two figures, 
one, a heayenly and youthful form, unclothed, except with a 

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126 Bon. 

light drapery; tho other^ a lovely female, dressed in the most 
splendid attire ; both are sitting on the brink of a well, into 
which a little winged Love is groping, apparently to find his 
lost dart. 

Description can give you no idea of the oonsummate beauty 
of this beautiful composition. It has all Titian's matchless 
warmth of colouring, with a correctness of design no other 
painter of the Venetian School ever attained. It is nature, 
but not individual nature ; it is ideal beauty in all its per- 
fection, and breathing life in all its truth, that we belK>ld. 
And, if the character of Profane Love has too much in it of 
Sacred, such is the charm of the expression, tliat what we 
criticise as a fault, we yet admire as a beauty. For this 

Eowerful genius has not only called down Divine Love from 
eaven, but ^ven to Earthly Love that character of senti- 
ment and feeling that allies it to divinity. 

There are several other Titians, and some yeTj fine ones. 
His Prodigal Son is a splendid painting. The Woman 
kneeling in Supplication before Christ, wants the greatness 
of manner his better works display. 

Here are Y onuses in abundance ; but the true painter 
of Venus, in my opinion, was Albani. It was he who in- 
vested her with those captivating graces and charms tiiat 
seem to spring from the magic cestus, and proclaim her the 
Queen of Love. It may be a £i>ult, the continual repetition, 
of the same &ce in all his paintiQe;s, however lovely and 
engaging ; but when we remember that it was the counte- 
nance of his wife he loved to draw, we willingly pardon it. 

He has represented Venus in four different pictures; 
1st, borne on her triumphant car, and surrounded by her 
laughing Loves ; 2ndly, equippii^ herself at her toilette ; 
3r<uy, busy at Vulcan's furnace, rorging arrows for Cupid; 
and, lastly, gazing enamoured upon Adonis, which is the 
masterpiece of the whole. 

David with Gbliath's Head is a masterly work of Cara- 
vaggio's. It has all his strong lights and nervous energy; 
but it wants what he always wanted, elevation ; though the 
ghastly expression of the head, the livid lips, and the d^ndlj 
paleness of David himself, gave it all the norrible effect he 
could have desired. 

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St. Anthony Preaching to the Fishes, bj Fbul YeronaBe, 
is one of the oddest paintings I ever saw. The saint is on a 
rock, and hi9 %are, especiaUy his right leg, is much admired 
hj the cognoscenti. The groups that surround him, in 
various listening attitudes, are admirable; but they occupy 
only one small corner of the picture ; the rest is one waste 
of Dright dauby green — sea and sky, douda and ether, all 
the same shade of grass-green. I concluded that the blues 
had turned green, never oonceiring that any body would 
thiok of painting a green sky; but was assured by a con* 
noisseur ihat it was quite correct, and done on purpose; that 
the painting would otherwise have been worth nothing, and 
that it was extremely fine. If so, it is certainly the most 
simple receipt for fine painting I ever heard of. 

BEffmegiano's St. Catharine, his favourite subject, has great 
grace and sweetness in the face, great elegance and flow of 
outline, and none of his usual affectation. 

I cannot give the same praise to Leda, by Leonardo da 
Vinci, which is distorted, even to Rightfulness, with excess 
of affectation. 

Elizabeth Sirani's painting, on touch-stone, of Judith in 
the act of prayer, before she muiders the sleeping Holo- 
femes, is by mr the best of her productions I have ever 
seen. A mere imitator can never be great, and she was cer- 
tainly a mere imitator of Guido ; but in this little work she 
seems to have felt the true spirit of her master. 

A landscape, by Annibale Carracci, is a beautiful compo- 
sition, and the head of St. Erancis is extremely fine. Oigon's 
St. !EVancis, a full-length, is an excellent painting. The 
divine expression of the uplifted eyes, and the hands clasped 
in transport, the force of the design, and the glow of 
colouring, are admirably thrown out by the cold dai^ back- 

Christ tied to the Column, designed by Michael Angelo 
Buonarotti, and painted by Sebastian del riombo, is a very 
fpnmd work. The Saviour is not too much hinnanized; even 
m the lowest state of ignominy and degradation, he is 
undebased. The Divini^ speaks in each gesture and 
lineament; and while we execrate the impious hand that 
could lift the scourge against that suffering spirit, we 

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128 Mm. 

shudder ta tUiik bqcIi wretches were of the same nature 
with ouiselyes. 

Baphael's Deposition from the Cross, is said to be one of 
his earliest paintings ; but it is not in the stiff stretched-ont 
style of Retro Femgino ; and though it leas unquestionabty 
done before he had staid long enough at Florence to hare 
studied the works of the Morentine School,* it is, even in 
design, a nmsterlj performance. The body is being borne 
to the Sepulchre, and the bearers, and the whole croup that 
surround it, with all their varying expressions and passions, 
are extremely fine. We behold grief under every varying 
form. St. Peter, old, sober, and sorrowful; his srej ludrs, 
and sUent, composed, vet deep-seated affliction, finely con- 
trasting with the passionate sorrow of Mary Magdalen, at 
his side ; but the "Virgin, and the unutterable heart-breaking 
agony of spirit expressed in her fiunting form, touches the 
heart the most powerfully. It was a beautiful thought, for 
painting could never have expressed overwh|elming griei^ 
such as hers, but by insensibili^. The distinction bei^een 
her figure and that of the dead Christ, is finely and strongly 
marked. Though both are pale and lifeless, m her you see 
it is the suspension of hfe, in him a total extinction ; that 
she will revive to all the bitterness of affliction; but that the 
soul which animated his diviue form is fled for ever. 

The coldness, the rigidity, the insensibility of death, are 
strikingly portra3red ; but those touching features, and that 
paUid corpse, while they tell of mortal sorrows and suffer- 
ings, still bear the hope and the sublimity that are triumph- 
ant over the grave ; and we gaze upon them till we almost 
exclaim, — ^** How beautiful is death ! ' 

Baphael's admirable Forfcrait of that monster CsBsar 
Borgia, his fine Fortrait of a Cardinal, Benvenuto Garo- 
ffilo's Deposition from the Cross, Gior£;ione's Saul and Go- 
liath's Read (exquisite colouring), a lovely Yenus in the 
Bath, by GiuHo Bomano, Venus and Adonis, by Luca Cam- 
biasi, Lanfranco's Oreo seizing Lucilla (from Ariosto), and 
Leonello Spada's exquisite Concert of six men and a boy, 
are amongst the pictures I remember best. But this cata- 

* Lanzi, Storia Plttoiica. 

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lo^ne, unooiiflcionable as you may tbink it, does not com- 
pnse one half of those worth notice in this oollection, which 
contains the greatest number of fine ones, and the fewest 
bad^ of any in Borne. 

TOL. n. 

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180 soxi« 

"Palazzo Lttciaito. 

LxroiEN BtroNAPABTE, the prince of Oanino, has purchased 
a large palace in the Via de' Condotti, for his winter re- 
sidence. A very small part of it is inhabited hj himself; 
the rest is let to a variety of lodgers. This seems somewhat 
extraordinary, since he is said to be immensely rich. 

I cannot applaud his liberality in refusing all strangers, 
excepting those personally acquainted with Mm, permissioa 
to view the admirable paintings his fine taste has coUected. 
We, indeed, were not sufferers by this illiberal, and I fear, 
more peculiarly our English system, being among the pri- 
vilegea few ; but- the more we admired them, the more we 
regretted the general exclusion of our countrymen horn the 
PsQazzo Luciano. 

This collection is small, but entirely composed of masteiv 
pieces, and kept in beautiful preservation ; a very unusual 
circumstance in £ome. Many of the famous pictures of the 
Giustiniani Gallery have found their way here. 

The Massacre of the Lmocents, a most masterly, but 
horror-striking pamting, by Nicholas Poussin, makes us 
shudder while we gaze, yet rivets us before it. It is a com- 
plete tragedy. The agony of the mother is given, even to 
the extremity of nature itself, and her screams seem to reud 
the very heart. 

Christ before Pilate, the masterpiece of Gherardo delle 
Kotti, is extremely fine ; and he must be wedded to system 
indeed, who would refuse his admiration to such a work, be- 
cause, forsooth, * he does not approve of candle-lights.' No 
lights wiU enlighten such critics as these — critics who think 
and feel by rule, and never know what it is to yield to the 
Ijipontaneous judgment of nature and truth. 

But, among aU the various and inviting attractions of this 
collection, the masterpieces of the Caracei drew my unsa- 

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tiated admirstioii. I can find no words to opeak my praue 
of ' Cbrist ^ving sight to the Blind,' hj Ludovico Cancel ; 
'Christ and Marr Magdalen,' hj Annibale Caracd; or 
' Baising the Widow's Child from the dead,' hj Aeostino 
Caracd. I may be wrong, but to me, these works of these 
three great masters surpass eren the celebrated ones at 
Bologna. Thej are, indeed, works of such surpassing per- 
fection that I may not trust myself to speak my sense of 
their beauty, for I feel that I could not restrain myself; and 
that, like Dr. Johnson, I can better practise abstinence than 
temperance. For the same reason I lorbear to describe (nor 
eould I) the exquisitely beautiful Holy Family of Baphael ; 
(Za Madonna de* Oandelahri;) Christ and the Woman of 
Samaria, by Qiulio Bomano; Titian's Diana suiprised by 
Acts^n ; Domenichino's Saint John and other Samts, ador- 
ing the Virgin; GKddo's St. Cecilia, (a divine head, in a 
turban, playing on the violin ;) Christ expiring on the Cross, 
designea by Michael Angelo Buonarotti; and many other 
first-rate paintings. Here are some noble portraits. One 
of the Dukes d'Urbino, (I could not leam which ; and could 
only hope it was that of the good and great Federijgo,) by 
Baphael; Bubens, by Vandyke; one of Bubens's Wives, by 
himself; Francis I., by Holbein ; and several others, 
e Our artists complain that portrait-painting cramps their 
genius, and ruins their fame. But these are portraits that, 
of themselyes, would confer immortality on the hfmd that 
painted them. !Neyer, then, let it be said, that this branch 
of the art affords no field for eminence. If Baphael, and 
O^tian, and Gioi^one, and Bubens, and Bembrandt and 
Vandyke, and Velasquez, had neyer painted any thing else, 
their works would have been invaluable, and their names 

Here is an admirable painting by Van Molle, Diogenes 
idth a lantern looking out for an Honest Man; an Old 
Woman vdth a Do^, by Francesco Mola (capii^); and 
Modesty and Vanity, oy Leonardo da Vinci, a duplicate, (per- 
haps the original,) of that in the Sciarra Palace. But this is 
only rehearsmg a list of names — ^names that call up to me 
all the unspeaJcable beauty of the originals, but which, to 
you, must be a dull, dry, unmeaning catalogue. 

K 2 

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182 tOKM. 


Palazzo Nuovo m Toblowia.— Paiazzo FAixioirasEi— * 
CAMUoonn aitd his Colleotiok. 

NoBiLiTT ifl more oertamlj the fruit of wealth in Itafy 
than in England. Here, where a title and estate are sold 
together, a man who can buy the one secures the other. 
Prom the station of a lacquey, an Italian who can amads 
riches, may rise to that of a duke. Thus Torlonia, the 
Boman banker, purchased the title and the estate of the 
Duca di Bracdano, fitted up the JPalazzo Nuovo di 2hrlonia 
with all the ma^;nificence that wealth commands; and a 
marble gallery, with its polished walls, lofty columns, inlaid 
floors, Inodem statues, painted ceilings, and ^ded furnitur^, 
far outshines the faded splendour of the halls of the old 
Boman nobility. 

The new gdlery is adorned with Canova's colossal group 
of Hercules and Lychas, which is by no means one of his 
finest works. Like Guide, the forte sMe is not suited to his 
beautiful genius ; and the sculptor of Venus, with all her 
smiling ti^in of Loves and G-races, could not do justice to 
the frantic giant, maddened with the pain of the poisoned 
immtle, and hurling its wretched bearer into the gulf— a hor- 
rible subject, which would have suited Michael Angelo, if it 
had suited statuary at alL 

The fresco of the Marriage of Cupid and Psyche, by 
Camucdni, — incomparably the first modem historical painter 
of Italy, — ^unhappify reminds one of BaphaeVs beautiful 
&ble in the Eamesina. But the composition is good with« 
out plagiarism, and it is admirably designed. In design, 
indeed, Camuccini excels ; and it is no light praise. I can- 
not say so much for the colouring ; and on this account, the 
'Original sketch, which we saw at his own studio, is fiur supe- 
rior to the finished painting. 

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Palazzo FM.coinxsi. 

' The Palazzo Palconieri, when this work was first published, 
was occupied bj Cardinal Fesch, the uncle of Bonaparte, 
and contained a large and valuable collection of the Italian, 
Plemish, and Erench schools. It is now dispersed in con- 
sequence of his death, and consequently would have been 
passed over unnoticed but for one remarkable work, the 
^lutation of Elizabeth, origuially painted in fresco on the 
wall of the Church of Santa Maria deUa Pace, in which are 
the Sybils of Baphael, and taken off on canvas (that hazardous 
operation) in which the Prench destroyed, as was supposed 
irremediablj, the great masterpiece of Daniel da Yolterra, 
although it was subsequently almost miraculously restored 
by a secret process invented bj Camuccioi. But this admi- 
rable paintmg (the Salutation of Elizabeth) designed by 
Michel Angelo, and painted by Sebastian del Piombo, to 
whose merits no description of mine can do justice, was suc- 
cessfully transfered from fresco to canvas, and was, as I have 
stated, m the possession of Cardinal Fesch up to his death. 
Where it is now and who is the fortunate possessor of this 
treasure, I know not. 

The whole of Cardinal Eesch's noble gallery of pictures 
was offered by him, in the last years of his life, for sale to the 
English government, for an annuity of £4iOOO per anntmi ! 
I do not hesitate to say that this single picture was worth the 
price to the British nation. The works of the great masters 
are too few and too inaccessible in our country to those who 
most require their study — ^young artists, whose early promise 
is often entirely bhghted by the want of this inestimable 
advantage. This large and varied collection would have formed 
the nucleus of a grand national museum of paintings, not 
then even projected, nor until long afterwards. But this 
great opportunity, by the parsimony of our government, in 
all that relates to the Pine Arts, was lost for ever. 

Another of the treasures of this collection was the Ascen- 
sion, by Guide, one of the most splendid of his works. The 
grandeur of conception, the glowing; colouring, and the divine 
expression of the Virgin's face^ radiant like that of a celestial 

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184 soicKi 

beioj; or beatified spirity ''with less of earth in it than hea- 
Ten, can never be forgottoi. It aeems, literaQj, one blaze 
of glory. 

This reminds me of another admirable picture of Ghiido's 
— the two Mary's weeping at the foot of the Cross. Dark* 
ness covers the earth. The pale and cold form of the cruci- 
fied Eedeemer — ^the divine expression of his face, even in 
death — ^and the agony of the soul that darkens the counten* 
anees of the two Mary's — ^find their way to the heart. 

This picture, with many others of rare merit, was in the 
private collection of Gamuccini, who ranked highest among 
the modem painters of Borne when this work was first pub- 
lished; and though probably this most choice collection has 
been dispersed by his death, I cannot forbear enumerating a 
few of them, particularly Q-uido's Madonna adoring the 
!bifant Chnst. The infimt was perfectly enchanting; the 
glossy smoothness and purity of the skin — ^the sweetness 
and innocence of the slumber — ^the health of the cheek — and 
the nature *and grace of the attitude, could not be su]T)assed. 

This is a proof that Guido knew how to suit his colouring 
to his subject. The rosy hues of infSancv, in his sleeping 
children, and the dazzling brightness of his Ascension, are 
not less adapted to their peculiar expressions, than those 
pale silveinr tones, that give such pathos to the countenances 
of his suffering martyrs, his supplicating Magdalens, or his 
sainted Madonnas. What I have heard called the faults of 
Guido's colouring, I have often felt are beauties. They 
accord so touchingly with the expression, that the want of 
glow and life is more than compensated by their sweetness 
and perfect harmony. 

But perhaps the gem of this choice collection was a beau- 
tiful little original sketch, by Baphael, in sepia; a mere 
scratch on a bit of parchment ; which, more than the ** circle 
drawn at a stroke,' marks the masterly genius of that incom- 
parable painter. Although not lar^r thm my hand, yet what 
IS there that the most finished pamting should have, that is 
wanting to this hasty sketch ? The astonishing genius of 
the composition, the chasteness of the desi^, and the pow- 
erful expression, I can never sufficiently admire. The subject 
is the I>epo8ition of Christ, in the moment in which his 

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Bttnted form is to be deposited within its Iftst eartbk home, 
hj his cUflciples. The grouping of such a number or figures 
in 80 small a space, the yanous expressions of the same paa* 
skm — ^but, aboTe all, the Virgin in an agony of affliction, em* 
bracing the feet of Jesus, — ^her long nair falling over her 
head, and her figure, her action, her hidden countenance, 
more deeply expressive of the abandonment and desolation 
of srief, than all that the most laboured effects of the pencil 
oomd otherwise have done — ^are txt beyond my feeble praise. 

Esther before Ahasuerus, from the Barberini Collection, 
one of Ghiercino's finest works, and in his best style, was 
also here. 

The portrait of Scaliger, bjr Annibale Caracci; and that of 
Sebastian del Piombo, exquisitely painted by himself, are 
truly admirable ; also the portrait of Lavinia, Marchesa di 
Pescara, by birth one of the princesses of the Golonna family, 
said to be designed by M. A. Buonarotti, and painted by 
Harcello VenustL This distinguished woman waa the Mend 
of Michael Angelo, and of every contemporary man of genius, 
and was hersen a being of most extraordinary endowments. 
She was a celebrated improvisatrice, and gemus, sensibility, 
and intelligence beam on her beautiful &ce. She has chosen 
to be drawn with no symbols of science — a pretty little dog 
is sitting on her arm. 

The Sketch of a Head, by Leonardo da Yinci; and an 
Ecce Homo, by GadLo Dolce, are extremely fine. So also, is 
a beautiful little group of Cupid borne along by the Loves, 
who are sporting around him, by Quido. 

There was a Claude, a duplibate of one in the Louvre — a 
Sea-port, Boats, Ships, and figures on the Beach, illumined 
by those golden beams of sunset that Claude alone could 

The Gods and Goddesses, travestied, holding a sort of 
burlesque masquerade, is a veiy curious and valuable painting, 
by Gian Bellini, the master of Titian, and father of the 
V enetian School The landscape, which is painted by Titian, 
is, like all Titian's landscapes, truly beautind. Gian Bellini 
was &r superior to his brother, Gentile Bellini, whose fame, 
however, must have spread even to the utmost depths of the 
Ottoman seraglio, for Mahomet 11. invited him to Constan- 

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186 BOMS. 

tinople, Bat to him for his picture, loaded him with presents, 
and treated the painter of Venice with all the pomp and 
splendour of Asiatic magnificence. But it unluckily hap- 
pened that Gentile painted a Decollation of St. John the 
Baptist; and Mahomet, who, no doubt, had firequentlj 
studied the subject in nature, descried a defect in the man- 
ner in which the blood spouted out in the picture, and, after 
making his criticism, very cooUy turned round, and ordered 
the head of a slave who happened to stand near him to be 
instantly struck off before their eyes, by way of illustration, 
in order that Gentile might see his error. The unfortunate 
paini^r was so terrified at this sight, that he scarcely felt 
certain that his own head was upon his shoulders, and neither 
could sleep by night nor rest by day, till he obtained Maho- 
met's permission to return to Venice, where heads were not 
chopped off by way of experiment. 

Camuccini possessed some exquisite firescos of Domeni- 
chino, which, for want of room, were locked up in a sort of 
coach-house, along with some marbles, of the most beauti^ 
sculpture, brought from the Forum of Trajan ; those in alto- 
relievo were amongst the finest I ever saw. 

What may have become of these invaluable treasures of 
art now, I Imow not. 

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7ALA8E0 coRsnrt. 187 


The Pasitesika, Ths Cobbiki, ajstd Easitsbi Palaces. 

Yoir may generaDy form a tolerably correct conjecture of 
what a gallery will contain, as to subject, before you 
enter it. 

A certain quantity of Landscapes, a great many Holy 
Pamilies, a few CrucifixionB, two or three Pietiis, a reason- 
able proportion of St. Jeromes, a mixture of other Saints 
and Martyrdoms, and a large assortment of Madonnas and 
Magdalens, make up the principal part of all the collections 
in Kome ; which are generally composed of quite as many bad 
as good paintings, like this at the Corsini Palace. 

How much more pleasure there would be in seeing them, 
if the good were placed apart for your inspection, and you 
were not sickened and disgusted with the quantity of rubbish 
you must sift, to find those really worth looking at ! 

I have been persecuted all this morning with a connois- 
seur, fiill of the cant of connoisseurship witnout one particle 
of real feeling for the beauties of the art — a man who walks 
about the world, seeing, and thinking, and feeling, with 
other peoples' eyes, and understanding, and taste— who 
does not say what he thinks, but thinks what he shidl say — 
who is, in short a determined dilettanti by rule. But, per- 
haps, what he is to me I am to you, for, though no connois- 
seur, I may be sufficiently^ wearisome; and as one's own 
Bufferings cuspose one to pity those of others, I will endea- 
Tour to mitigate yours, and give you a Teiy short account of 
a very large gallery of pictures. 

The first we saw was the * Ecce Homo* of Gnercino, a 
painting which, notwithstanding the painful nature of the 
subject, and all its hackneyed representations, is full of such 
deep and powerful expression, is so elevated in its concep- 
tion, and so faultless m its execution, that it awakens our 

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196 BOKB. 

Ugheet admiration, and leayea an indelible impression on 
the mind. 

There are two fine portraitB, Paul III. when Cardinal 
Pamese, and Julius II., by Eaphael. If the last be an 
original, it is a triplicate at least, for I have seen one at 
Florence, another at Naples, and another subsequently at 
Dresden. There is, besiaes, an admirable Portrait by Gior- 
gione, and a Babbit, and a Cardinal by Albert Durer ; two 
Cardmals by Domenichino, and a Pope by Velasquez — ^aU 
good, though Velasquez does not, in this effort, reach his 
usual excellence in portrait-painting ; and Scipione di daeta 
has left a portrait here which would certainly not entitle 
him to the name of * the Vandyke of the Boman School.' 

Tintoretto's portrait of a Doge, I could not be brought to 
admire. That most rapid of painters was also the most un* 
equal, and his inequality was unpardonable, because wilfuL 
With more avidity for money than fame, he would paint 
pictures to any price, and proportion their merit to their 
cost ; and he, who could finish historical pieces faster than 
others could conceive them,* would throw portraits off his 
hands that would have disgraced his meanest apprentice. 
One of the Albania in this collection, in which Cupid is 
supplicating Venus to restore his arrows which she has 
tasen from him, is full of c;race and beauty. 

Murillo's Virgin and Child is a splendid piece of colour- 
ing, and nature itself; but there is nothing^ elevated or ideal 
in it. Let us fancy it a mother and baby m the lower walks 
of life, and it will have no fault. 

To Caravaggio's Holy Familjr the same remark applies. 
There is nothmg holy in it ; but it is a beautifulpaanting in 
its way, and true to nature. Fra Bartolomeo's Holy Family 
is of a much higher class, and is one of the best of hia 
works in Borne. Many other good, though not first-rate 
paintings, are dispersed about the rooms; amongst these, 
a spirited Tiger Hunt, by Bubens, in his best style, caught 
our attention. There are two beautiful little landscapes by 

* He completed his grand oompoeition in the Scuola di Sant' Bocoo, 
before the other artists employed to paint the rest of the hall had half 
done their sketches. Nobody can judge of Tintoretto oat of Venice^ 
any more than of Baphael out of Borne. 

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Sahrator Eosa, without bis umial manneriflm and bluckneas. 
But the real treasures of the collection are the landsci^B of 
Ghispar Foussin ; one, in particular, which they call Binaldo 
and Armida, cerfcainlj has something of the witchery of the 
enchantress about it, for it charmed me so much, that I 
returned to the palace again and again to look at it. A 
Judith with the head of Holofemes, which I saw this mor^ 
ning, reminded me a little of that exquisite painting Jbr Bron- 
zino,* of the same subject, in the Palazzo Htti at Florence. 
The extreme calmness and placidity which Judith usually 
wears after perpetrating a deed of such blood and horror, 
is surely unnatural and disgusting. Perhaps there is no- 
thing so revolting as the semblance of cruelty in woman. 
Painters would do well to remember Aristotle s precept to 
the sex, — "that women should never leave theur natural 
character, nor appear invested with cruelty or boldness." 

This palace was the habitation of Christina of Sweden, 
who certainly did not follow that excellent precept. The 
room in which she died is distinguished by two columns of 
yellow-painted wood. This collection of paintings has been 
formed since her death. So also has the library, which is a 
very fine one, and possesses a most valuable collection of 
prints ; but I will spare you the description. Do not, how-* 
ever, forget to see it. 

"With that liberality characteristic of the Italians in every 
thing relating to liteniture and the arts, this library is open 
to the public. 

The gardens are quite in the Italian style, very stiff and 
formal, divided with nigh evergreen hedges, decorated with 
bad statues, and furnished vdth multifarious aiuoehi d* oc- 
gua. The war is carried on most successfiilhr against na- 
ture and taste; and the grounds are more mghtful than 
you would a priori have thought it possible to have made 
them, beneath such a sky as this. 

They extend to the summit of Mount Janiculum ; and the 
view from the Casino at the top is said to be very beauti^, 
though inferior to that from 8. Pietro in Montorio. I will 
not speak of what I have not seen — ^accidental circumstances 

* HU proper name was Cristofiino AUori, detto il Bronzino,—- a title 
sometimes allso given to his brothers, who were painters. 

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140 BOMl. 

haTepreTenied me from visiting it, but I haye no doubt tbe 
prospect would amply recompense the toil of tbe ascent. 

Thx PABiTBsnrA. 

The Corsini is one of the many uninhabited palaces in 
the deserted region of Trastevere. Exactly opposite to it, 
in the long, wide, aud grass-grown street of the Lungara, 
stands the Eamesina, a melancholy Casino, which was origi- 
nally built for the scene of a grand entertainment, given by 
a rich Soman banker to Leo X. But it now, imforhmately, 
belongs to the Boyal EamiLy of Naples ; and on its damp 
walls the frescos oi Eaphael are shut up, and left to moulder 
in decay. 

The first hall was painted by his pupils, but the designs 
are Baphaers. 

These represent the story of Cupid and Psyche ; and the 
whole of that beauti^ fable from first to last — ^from the 
dawn of passion, through the wrath and machinations of 
Venus, — ^uie consent at last accorded by Jupiter to the sup- 
plications of the enamoured god for tne union, the return 
of Psyche, conducted by Mercury, from her banishment in 
hell, to the highest heaven, and her presentation with the 
cup of immortality — till the nuptials are crowned with the 
banquet of the Gbds, and followed by the triumphs of the 
Loves, — all is told here. It is a complete poem ; and I 
do not hesitate to say, that the beauty, the fmcy, the 
poetic spirit of this wonderful composition, have never been 
eq[uallea. The red tints of Giulio Bomano prevail in the 
colouring, and prove that he had the chief share in the exe- 
cution. Baphael himself retouched most parts of it ; and 
the figure of one of the Graces, whose beautifrd shoulders 
and back are turned to us, bears evident marks of his pen- 
cil; and it is said, he finished it with great care, ana es- 
teemed it one of his happiest paintings. 

It is said that Carlo Maratti 4id not retouch these figures, 
when he threw behind them the deep blue ground, which 
certainly injures their fine effect. However this may be, 

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THS VAKlrSBIirA. i4ti 

the Galatea in tHe next room remains exactly as it was left 
hj the hand of Eaphael. He not only designed, but exe- 
cuted it ; and faded as is its colouring, that mind must be 
dead to the highest beauties of paintmg, that can contem- 
plate it mthout admiration. The spirit and beautjr of the 
composition, the pure and perfect design, the flowmg out- 
line, the soft and gracefdl contours, and the sentiment and 
sweetness of the expression, all remain imchanged ; for time, 
till it totaUy obliterates, has no power to injure them. 

The Groddess, standing on her shell, is borne through the 
waves hj two dolphins. Her form, her attitude, and ex- 
pression, surpass all that your fancy can paint. The figures 
of the attendant Nereid, and of the triumphant Triton who 
embraces her, are beautiful beyond description. 

The first of ancient sculptors would have seized the beau- 
tiful design and expression of tbese figures, and transmitted 
them in their works, for the admiration of all succeeding 

IBHilly to understand the perfection of the desi^, you 
should conceive what a beautiful bas-relief or gem it would 

You are shown a gigantic black bead on the wall, whicb, 
it is said, Michael £igelo drew one day while he was wait- 
ing bere for Daniel da Yolterra, in derision of the littleness 
of Haphael's design. This is extremely possible, for he 
had not the power to portray, nor perhaps to feel, the charm 
of grace and beauty, or the tenderness of expression. He 
could not move the gentler feelings of the soul. The bold, 
the colossal, the terrible, and the sublime, were his ; but 
feminine softness and sentiment, and gentleness and ele- 
sance, were unknown to him. These Eaphael possessed ; 
but not to these was he confined; for he had elevation, 
grandeur, dignity, and true sublimity. 

Tl^ere are frescos by Daniel da Volterra, and by Balthazar 
PeruJzzi, in this room ; but I dare not give any account of 
them, for, to confess the truth, though I have returned 
to the Eamesina times without number, and always with 
a sincere intention to examine them, I have never yet been 
able to bestow my attention, except for a transient glance, 
'upon anything but the Galatea of Baphael. ' 

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141 soia. 

Thx Fasitesx FaXiAOe. 

One little inan, the Neapolitaii ambassador, inliabits the 
whole immensitjr of the Famese Palace. It would have 
been impossible to have admired a building, however beau- 
tiful, formed out of the overthrown grandeur of the Coloa- 
seum; and luckily, although the architecture of Michael 
Angelo, there is nothing to admire. Indeed, it is some 
gratification to see that it is quite as uglj as could be 
desired. ^ 

Its proprietors, the kings of Staples, have carried to their 
kingdom all the ancient sculpture which formerlv adorned 
it ; but there is the sarcophagus of Cecilia Metella in the 
court, and some fine marble statues in an outhouse; and 
there is what they could not take away, the fistr-famed gallery, 
painted in fresco by Annibale Garacd, and for which, after 
eight years of imremitted labour, that great artist was re- 
wardea by the munificence of Cardinal Pamese, with five 
hundred crowns ! 

No one can form a just idea of the powers of Annibale 
Garacci, without seeing these astonishing frescos ; which are 
in themselves a school of painting. 

The first time I ever saw this gallery, was at a ball given 
by the ambassador, soon after I came to Eome. The g^ery 
was brilliantly lighted up, and my attention was frequently 
drawn from the beauty of the mortals below to the oeauiy 
of the immortals above. Nor were the quadrilles we were 
dancing on the floor at all to compare to the sj^irit of the 
gracefm measures the Bacchantes were performing on the 

It is adorned with the Triumph of Bacchus and Ariadne, 
drawn in their golden cars by tigers, and surrounded by a 
train of Satyrs, Fauns, and Bacchantes, led on by old 
Silenus. Classic fable forms the subject of every picture; 
and their numbers, variety, and beauty, are astonishing. 
The Triumph of Galatea, and Aiux>ra carrying off her beloved 
Cephalus in her car, are by Agostino Caracci, whose culti- 

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Tated mind, and poetic imagination, are said to have mate- 
liallj assisted his Drother in the composition of the whole. 

It is, I believe, a mistake, that their master, Ludoyico 
Caracci, had any share in it, for he never was at Borne, 
excepting for a few weeks, during the whole time it was 
painting. The Persons and An^omeda, and the Njmph 
and Umcom, are said to be painted hj Domenichino ftom 
Annibale Caracci's designs. 

I will spare yon all further description of these admirable 
frescos; but I cannot recal them to my memory without 
delight. I have spent hours in this gallery, and never left 
it without increased admiration for them. 

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144 • BOMS. 

QuiBiKAL Faulce — Palazzo AuiAm — ^Palazzo Pohia- 


— The Nozze AiiBOBBAiTDnin — Colossal ForaEB at 
Palazzo Altibea — Palazzo Stoppani — Eaphabl's 
House — Gurpo's Airo Gueboiko's Auboba — Villa 
LuDOYisi, ADD Palazzo Eospioliosi. 

That palace-building, ruin-destroying Pope, Paul III., 
besan to erect the enormous palace on the Quirinal Kill ; 
and the prolongation of his labours, by a long series of suc- 
cessive pontiffs, has made it one of tne largest and ugliest 
buildings extant. a 

The French, during whose reign it was of course the 
Palazzo Impenale, new-furnished a part of it ; and another 
part of it, m the expectation of the threatened yisit of the 
Emperor of Austria, was fitted up for that great personage's 
reception, under the special direction of Cardinal Gk)nsaLvo 

I cannot describe silk hangings and rich carpets, neither 
shall I stop to criticise the Secretary of State's taste as an 
upholsterer. Our object was to see the paintings; but I 
was edified to observe in one of the rooms, the consideration 
of the minister, in providing for his Imperial Majesty's re- 
creation, several suitable diversions. There was a solitaire 
board, and a little table to play at '* fox and geese." 

As for the paintings, luckily for you there are not many 

food ones, and of these I shall mention few. Guercino's 
aul and David — or the Madness of Saul, as I believe it is 
called — ^is designed with great force and truth ; the colour- 
ing beautiful, and the expression powerM. It is one of bis 
finest works. 

Caravag^o's Christ disputing with the Doctors, merits 
similar praise. 

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The sketch of the Transfiguration is very fine. But the 
striking inferiority in the figure of our Saviour, leads me 
to doubt that it is, as is said, the original sketch by Baphael 
himself. I should rather thmk it a dimmished copy by one 
of his pupils. 

Domenichino's Ecce Homo is painfully fine. One of the 
persecuting Israelites is mocking the suffering Christ, whose 
brows, crowned with thorns, eyes filled with tears, cheeks 
stained with drops of blood, and hands bound with cords, 
are sorrowful to behold. 

St. Peter and St. Paul, by Fra' Bartolomeo, are ccmceived 
in true grandeur of style. St. Jerome, by Spagnoletto, a 
subject repeated so often that the sight and sound become 
at last disgusting, is one of the very best of the few good 
ones I have seen. 

There are some paintings by Carlo Maratti, which I was 
told to admire ; but I could not. The same thing happened 
when I went to see a painting in the church of S. Carlo al 
Corso, which is reputed to be his masterpiece. In aU his 
works there is, to me, wondrous insipidity. I never yet 
saw one that I had any wish to see a^ain. 

In a small chapel the altar-piece of the Annunciation, by 
Guide, is full of beautiful expression, but the drawing is 
incorrect ; and the Virgin's blue mantle breaks all harmony, 
a charm one rarely misses in his paintings. In the fresco 
there are some beautiM little cherubs; and the angels in 
the dome, faded though they be, are still divine; particu- 
larly one angel, who is playing on some kind of heavenly 
instrument, her face raised to heaven, with that beautiful 
look of more than earthly expression that G-uido alone could 
give, and a beam of light illumining her countenance. 

This chapel is, or rather was, entirely painted by Guide, — 
for it is about time to speak of these aeparted frescos in the 
past tense, as they are little better than ghosts now — and 
there are also some green saints on gold ^unds, by Albani, 
of the merit of widen I say nothing ; for if an angel were to 
come down from heaven to paint green figures on gold 
grounds, I am certain I could not admire the performance. 

In one of the rooms, there is the plaster of the beautiful 
ftieze in baa-reUef, of the Triumph of Alexander the Great, 

TOL. u. I* 

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146 BOHX. 

modelled for Napoleon^ bj Thorwaldsen, the first sculptor in 
relievOy of modem times/ It will never now be executed in 
marble for the Quirinal Falaoe ; but it is to be hoped that 
the patronage of some other protector of the arts will enable 
the artist to perpetuate this grand work. 

The gardens oiP the Quirinal Palace are adorned with par- 
terres, planted, not with flowers, but with the Pope's armB 
and initials, and other pretty devices, formed of httle white 
shells or stones; besides which, there are trees cut into 
divers shapes; melancholy Casinos, and absurd giuochi 

Palazzo Albajsti. 

In one of the deserted rooms of the Palazzo Albani, 
near the Quattro Fontane, there is an ancient painting 
of Jupiter and Ghmymede, in a very uncommon style, — 
uniting considerable grandeur of conception, great force and 
decision, and a deep tone of colouring, which produce great 
efiect. It is said to be Grecian. 

Among the paintings, most of which are worth nothing, 
there are two Bacchanalian Feasts, by Qiulio Eomano, 
sketched with great spirit; and a wild coarse landscape of 
Salvator Eosa's ; a Holy Pamily by Albani ; aiiother repe- 
tition of EaphaeFs Holy Pamily at Lord StaJSbrd's and the 
Doria Palace, purporting also to be an original, but pro- 
bably a copy by one of his pupils; and two paintings by 
Pietro Perugino, one of which, a very fine specimen of his 
works, is composed of four parts, the Nativity in the middle, 
the Annimdation on each side, and the Crucifixion at the 

In the court there are some Pagan altars and inscrip- 
tions; a fine old mask, and an unknown statue in consular 

In the Palazzo Poniatowski, in the Via della Croce, there 
are some good paintings, chiefly of the Memish School. But 
the charm of tnis pamce was, to me, the finest cabinet of 
gems I had ever aeei^ which, on the first day of our acquain- 

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anee with him, Frinee PoniAtowski had the politeness spoil- 
taaeoiisly to offer to show to us, though thej are rerj rarely 
exhibited to stmngers. 

In the Palazzo EospoH, on the Corso, the ground-floor of 
which has been turned into an immense cai6, there is a much 
admired staircase. 

On the staircase of the Palazzo Altieri, there is an ancient 
marble colossal fifger^ of such extraordinary size, that it is 
really worth a visit. In the Palazzo Verospi, I hear there is 
a fresco by Albani, which I haye not yet seen; and the 
Palazzo Stoppani, the Palazzo Gaffiffelli, and the stables of 
the Palazzo Ghhigi, are of the architecture of Sophael, and 
therefore interesting. Still more so is Baphaers house, 
built by himself, xou pass it on the right-hand side, in 
going to St. Peter's, very near the Piazza Yaticano, in the 
widest of the two streets that lead from the castle St. Angelo. 
It may easily be known, by being the only house in that 
neighbourhood with a stone front, or with anything like 
architectural ornament about it. 

Before building it, he lived in the Via de' Coronari, in a 
house, No. 124, which is marked by a washed-out painting 
on the outside, intended for the portrait of Saphael, and 
painted by Carlo Maratti. 


On the roof of the summer-house of the Palazzo Bospig- 
liosi, is painted the celebrated fresco of Ghiido's Aurora. 
Its colouring is clear, harmonious, airy, brilliant — ^un&ded 
by time; and the enthusiastic admirer of Guide's genius 
may be permitted to hope, that this, his noblest work, will 
be immortal as his fame. 

Morghen's fine en^vinff may give you some idea of the 
design and composition of this l]^utiM painting; but it 
cannot convey the soft harmony of the tints, the living 
touches, the brilliant forms, i^e realized dream of the imagi- 
nation, that bursts, with all its magic, upon your enraptured 
flight in the matchtess originaL It is enuKKhed poetry. The 

L 2 

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148 BOHX. 

Hours, that hand-in-hand encircle the car of FhoBbus, ad- 
Tance with rapid pace. The paler, milder forms of those 
gentle sisters who rule over declining day, and the glowing 
glance of those who bask in the meridian blaze, resplendent 
in the hues of heaven, — are of no mortal grace and beauty ; 
but they are eclipsed by Aurora herself, who sails on the 
golden clouds before them, shedding ' showers of shadowing 
roses ' on the rejoicing earth ; her celestial presence diffiising 
gladness, and Hght, and beauty around. Above the heads of 
the heavenly coursers, hovers the morning star, in the form 
of a youthful cherub, bearing his flaming torch. Nothing is 
more admirable in this beautiful composition, than the monon 
given to the whole. The smooth and rapid step of the cir- 
cling Hours as they tread on the fleecy clouds ; the fiery- 
steeds ; the whirling wheels of the car ; the torch of Lucifer, 
blown back by the velocity of his advance ; and the form of 
Aurora, borne through the ambient air, till you almost fear 
she should float from your sight; aU realize the illusion. 
You seem admitted into the world of fancy, and revel in its 
brightest creations. 

In the midst of such youth and loveliness, the dusky figure 
of Phoebus appears to great disadvantage. It is not happily 
conceived, xet his air is noble and godlike, and his tree 
commandiQg action, and conscious ease, as he carelessly 
guides, with one hand, the fiery steeds that are harnessed 
to his flaming car, may, perhaps, compensate in some degree, 
for his want of beauty ; for he certainly is not handsome ; 
and I looked in vain for the youthful majesty of the god of 
day, and thought on the Apollo Belvedere. Had &uido 
thought of it too, he never could have made this head, which 
is, I think, the great and only defect of this exquisite paint- 
ing ; and what makes it of more importance, is, that Apollo, 
not Aurora, is the principal figure — ^the first that catches the 
eye, and which, in spite of our dissatisfaction, we are to the 
last obliged to contemplate. The defects of his Apollo are 
a new proof of what I have verv frequently observed, that 
Ouido succeeded far better in feminme than in masculine 
beauty. His female forms, in their loveliness, their delicacy, 
their grace and sweetness, are flsiultless ; and the beauty and 
innocence of his infimts have seldom been equalled ; but he 

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nrel J gave to manly beauty and Tigonr, a charaetor that 
was noble.* 

From the Aurora of Guido, we nrnat turn to the rival 
Aurora of Guercino, in the Yilk Ludoyifli. In spite of 
Guido's bad head of Apollo, and in spite of Guercino's magio 
chiar' oscuro, I confess myself disposed to giye the preference 
to Guido. In the first place, there is not the same unity of 
composition in Guercino's. It is yeiy fine in all its parts ; 
but still it if in parts. It is not so fine a tehole, nor is it so 
nerfect a composition, nor has it the same charm aa Ghiido's. 
Neither is tbere the same ideal beauty in tbe Aurora. Guer- 
dno's is a mortal — Guide's a truly ethereal being. Guercino's 
Aurora is in her car, drawn by two heayenly steeds, and the 
shades of night seem to dissipate at her approach. Old Ti- 
tbonus, whom she has left behmd her, seems lialf awake ; and 
the morning star, under tbe figure of a wineed genius bearing 
his kindled torch, follows her course. £l a separate com- 
partment, Nigbt, in the form of a woman, is Bitting musing, or 
slumbering oyer a book. She has much of the character of a 
sibyl. Her dark cave is broken open, and the blue sky and 
the coming light break beautifull]^^ m upon ber and her com- 
panions, the sullen owl and flapping bat, which shrink from 
its unwelcome ray. The Hours are represented imder the 
figure of children, fluttering about before the goddess, and ez- 
tiuguiahing the stars of night — a beautiful idea; but one, 
perhaps, better adapted to poelay than painting. The Hours 
of Guercino are, howeyer, mfinitely less poetic and less beau- 
tiful than the bright female forms which encircle the car of 
day, in Guide's Aurora. Yet it is a masterpiece of painting; 
and but for the Aurora of Guido, we could haye conceiyed no- 
thing beyond the Aurora of Guercino. 

In another room, in the same Casino, I was struck witb 

* Domenichino, however, was, in my opinion, the painter that mort 
trnly and beantifully represented the graces of childhood. There is a 
chann of nature, of playful, happy, unconscious innocence ahout them, 
that gives dreadful effect to the horrors of his Martyrdoms. In his St. 
Agnes, and the Mysteries of the Bosaries, at Bologna, (which, after the 
Communion of St Jerome, are his great masterpieces of oil painting,) 
and in his frescos of S. Andrea and S. Sebastiano, at Rome, I was parti- 
cularly struck with this. The Sleeping Babes of Guido are quite a 
different description of beauty, but exquisite in their kind. 

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150 BOXB. 

admiratkni bja pamtm| I had nerer heard of, "Ftaoe blowing 
her Trumpet, by Guercino. 

The celebrated pieces of aacient statuary, at the Yilla Lu* 
doYisi, which are inyaluable because the^aie unique — (no 
other copies of them existing) — are all distinguished by names 
that have as usual been proved with great learning and at 
great length, not to belong to them ; and the names that do 
belong to them hare not yet been discovered. You must, 
therelore, excuse my calling them by their usurped titles. 
The first is Mars in repose, a beautiful figure. He is sitting 
. with his foot resting on his helmet, his hand grasping a swor^ 
and a shield by his side. A little Love is seat^ at his feet. 
The figure is scarcely robust, fiery, or fierce enough for the 
boisterous ^od of war, nor does the expression accord with it. 
It is more like a youthful and a humaa warrrior. It has been 
called Quirinus ; and it seems to accord better with the son 
of Mars, the godlike foimder of Bome, snatched from earth 
without tasting of death, than with Mars himself. But be it 
what it may, it is a statue of first-rate excellence. It has 
been restored by Bernini. 

The ^up called Pfetus and Arria, is excuisitely beautiful. 
She is sinking in death ; the last breath of me seems to tremble 
on her lips, and a faint smile still illumines them. Her form, 
the perfection of female beauty and erace, is in the most in- 
teresting attitude it could be taken; half-cliuCTig in death to 
him who has just plunced the dagger into his own breast: 
the blood springs fiom tne wound, and the powerful contrast 
between the athletic strength of his form^ — ^that strength 
which we know the death that he has inflicted must so speemly 
annihilate, — and the expiring figure of the lovely being he 
supports, is very striking and impressive. Taking the figures 
separately, they are perhaps fiaultless ; but, considered as a 
group, it has one fault. In the point of view for the female, 
vou lose the male figure altogether, and the reverse. It is, 
however, a noble piece of sculpture, whatever it be. It cer- 
tainly is not Arria and Psetus, because the female figure has 
a frinsed robe, a certain proof that she was of a foreign nation; 
and because the man has mustachios, which, at t£ftt period, 
were not worn by the Bomans; besides, ^e critics have 
lately discovered that they are 2Jkeb(m mititaekiot I But ii^ 

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dependent of mustachios, tiie man is too inforiated for PntnSy 
who, so £ur from driving the sword into himself in this yenge- 
ful maimer, was too cowardly to kill himself at all, and was 
actuallj executed. It is evident, too, from the ei^ression of 
the work, that he has stabbed idie woman, — ^and mdeed, the 
wound is in her right shoulder ; so that if she had committed 
suicide, it must have been in a most awkward manner, with 
her left hand. 

The £Eite of Fsstus and Arria was no subject for statuary; 
hut if it had been, the sculptor would have chosen the 
moment, when, loolung up to him with expiring love, she 
presented the dagger, and murmured, " It is not painful, my 

She was the heroine of that beautiful story ; but the man 
is the hero of this group, — ^the female figure is secondary — 
therefore, for all those multifarious reasons, it is not Ajtxia 
and FaBtus. 

The Thebon mustachios have given rise to the supposition 
that this group represents BiBmon and Antigone, a favourite 
subject of Greek tn^edy, and often seen upon gems ; but 
HsBmon killed himselfupon her tomb, therefore he could not 
be represented thus, as dying with her. 

Wmkelman iooAgines that it represents the obscure story 
of Canace, and that the man is the soldier sent to her by her 
father, .^lus, on the discovery of her gmlt, with the poniard, 
and the command to kill herself. But this is surely a still 
more unfortunate idea — ^for what right have we to suppose 
that the soldier was foolish enough to kiU himself ?* 

The group called Fapirius and his Mother has been, and 
will be, the subject of continual dispute amongst the connois- 
seurs. Some of them see, in the boy*8 face, the roffuish 
mirthful expression of his witty imposition. Winkeunan, 
who at first maintained it to be Ph»dra and Hippolytus, read 
in this same mirthful countenance, the excess oi horror with 
which he heard the avowal of her incestuous passion. After- 

* Winkehnan's giatuitoiis supposition of this unreasonable snioide is 
tmuang enoiigfa. — " Comme aucun teriyain ne fiut mention au garde, 
nous pouvons nautjiffurer, par rinspecHon de Vouvrage, que ce Mddat, 
n'syant pas 6t6 ins^t de Tobjet de sa mission, remit d'un air triste 
1ft &tale 6p6e H Canac6, ei qu*%l itn eat perei U seitif apris avoir vu gue 
luPrinoem^itmiiMiUr AlUMljstMjl 

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152 BOMB. 

\rard8, he finds it out to be Electra and Orestes; and &ea 
the expression of this same *mirthftil,' and *horror-stricken 
face,' is changed to extreme affliction ; and according to him, 
''On Yoit les jeux d'Oreste inond^s de larmes, et ses pau- 

Si^res gonfl^s, a force d'ayoir pleiir6. II en est de mdme 
'Electra," &c. It may be so, but I saw none of these ex- 
pressions in the poor boy's fiace ; and certainly, they cannot 
all be there. 

The female is a ^at deal the taller and older of the two, 
and the difference m their age seems irreconcileable with that 
of brother and sister, though Electra was older than Orestes. 
But she has the air of a matron — ^he of a boy ; and her look 
and caressing manner would seem to indicate a mother's 
feeling. But then, say the critics, " her hair is cut, which 
was esteemed infamous among the Bomans ; and, therefore, 
she cannot be the mother of Papirius." Besides, had the boy 
been Papirius FrcstextatuSy he would haye been represented 
with the pratexta ; for, it was on the occasion of being in- 
vested with that juvenile robe, that he was taken by his fiithep 
to the senate ; and, on his return, he eluded the interroga- 
tories of his mother as to what had passed there, with the tde, 
that they had been deliberating whether the men should have 
two wives, or the women two husbands — ^which sent her, with 
all her female Mends and acquaintance, in a body, next day, 
to the senate, to implore that the law should be for the 
women to have two husbands — ^to the iuexpressible amuse- 
ment of the conscript fathers. 

There is another reason why this group cannot represent 
Papirius and his mother, nor the other, Psetus and Arria, 
because the ancient sculptors never chose a subject from 
Boman history.* But it is much easier to prove what it is 
not, than what it is: we may be content to confess that we 
know nothing about it; and to call it, for want of a better 
name, Electra recognizing Orestes. 

It is, however, certain that it is a group of singular beauty, 
and the work of Menelaus, a Gfxecian sculptor, whose name 
is inscribed upon it. 

We saw the statues and paintings of the ViQa Ludovisi 
only once, and in haste ; and we were indebted to the kind- 
* Vide Winkelman, Hist de I'Art, liv. vi., chap. 6, § 28. 

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nefls of Canora, ytho conducted ns there, for seeing them at 
all. But this privilege is now denied even to him ; and the 
most respectful re<]|ue8ts of the most distinguished foTeigners, 
for permission to view them, are treated by Prince Piombino 
with contemptuous neglect, or answered with haughty refusal. 
It is not that strangers can intrude upon him, for he resides 
constantly at Bome. Yet such is his dread lest they should 
obtain admittance by bribery to see them, that he has been 
known, on a wet day, to walk under an umbrella, through 
miry lanes, and watch within sight of the gate — a spy upon 
his own servaats. What would this Ir^rrant have been upon 
a throne ! The only excuse that can be alleged for hitn is, 
that he is supposed to be mad ; but it is tmiortunate when 
Buch a madman, instead of being locked up himself, has it in 
his power to lock up such works of art. 

The Villa Ladovisi stands in one of the most beautiful 
situations in the neighbourhood of Bome, for, though enclosed 
within the walls of the city, it is completely in the country. 
The view from the top of the Belvedere Casino is one of the 
most varied beauty. The blue mountains rising behind the 
dark shade of the pines and cypress, which form the fore- 
ground ^but I forget that I must not describe. I see you 

yawn already. 

These pines and cypress are ever green and ever beau- 
tiful ; — ^but in all directions of right lines and angles, ex- 
tend tall hedges of ilex and laurel, clipped into green walls, 
impenetrably thick, and inconceivably dull. With two miles 
of pleasure-ground, close to a capital city, on such a soil, 
and beneath such a sky, what would an English viUa and 
its gardens have been ? But gardening, which iq our coun- 
try is the art of creating lanctcape, is, in Italy, the art of 
marring it. 

In my enthusiasm for the Aurora of Guido, I forgot to 
mention the paintings of the Bospigliosi Palace. 

Tou are taken, reluctantly, from the contemplation of 
the Aurora, iato an adjoining room in the same Casino, 
to see Domenichino's Adam and Eve in Paradise — a very 
poor production indeed. The whole of an immense piece 
of canvas is crowded with a heterogeneous assemblage of 
qH the birds of the air and beasts of the field, and reptiles 

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154 BOHX. 

thafc ever crawled upon the earth; and in the middle of 
them stand our first parents, in a most unenyiable situa- 
tion. 1% 

Some bad bronze heads, and other wretched scraps of 
sculpture, and a Diana and Minerva, more frightful than 
any thing you can conceive, are stuck round the room. 
Thej were found in the baths of Constantine, upon a part 
of which this palace was built. Here is a pretty httle 
bronze horse, also found in them — ^the work, probably, of 
a better age. The beautiful bas-reliefs which adorn the 
exterior of the Casino, and are unmercifully exposed to 
all the injuries of the weather, are of the age oi Trajan ; 
and the larger ones are said to have been brought nrom 
his Eonim. They are placed at such a hight from l^e 
ground, that the beauty of the sculpture is lost. 

Two magnificent colunms of rosso-antico, the only ones 
of this size in the world, are judicioushf wedged into the 
wall of the Casino, and so totally hidden in it, that they 
would pass unobserved were they not pointed out. If ther 
were made of painted stucco, they woiud look quite as wel!!^ 
in such a situation, as this precious marble — for the beauty 
of the material is totally lost. 

The palace itself contains a scanty collection of paint- 
ings-^generally {passed over in haste, — ^for what stranger 
can view them with patience, before he sees the Aurora 8 
and after it, how can he admire them ? Among them, how« 
ever, are some paintings of considerable merit. 

Guide's Andromeda is one of these. It is seldom Guido 
erred from want of expression, but she is surely too cahn» 
and too placid for such a situation. Neither Perseus wing* 
ing his flight to her rescue, nor the sea-monster raising its 
jaws to devour her, seems to have the power to agitate her 
with hope or fear. But she is beauty's self; and it is a 
painting that irresistibly forces admiration, 

Domenichinos Triumph of David, is not, on the whole, 
one of his finest compositions. The figures are larger thfui 
nature. One of the daughters of Israel, who welcomes him 
with the harp and the timbrel, has all the living brightness^ 
and beautiful expression, of his pencil. 

Sa2QS(ni pulling down the temple on the Fhili$tineS| bj 

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Aironm nuEBOOs. 155 

Ludoyico Garacci, is eztremelj admired ; but tbe subject is, 
I think, a peculiarly unfortunate one for painting. The 
gigantic columns, and tumbling roofs, yielding to tne force 
of a single man of human size, has somethio^ in it of re- 
Toltrufi; impossibility and disproportion. 

Eighteen ancient firescos, found in the baths of Gonstan* 
tine, once adorned this palace. They belonged to the 
Prince Pallavicini, the owner of the second story of this 
palace. But the servants here say, that the Frmee Bos- 
pigliosi carried them off with him to Florence, where he 
now resides ; and his servants there maintained they were 
at Borne. They are not now to be seen or beard oi any- 

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160 ^ BOMS. 


BoHjjT Villas — Bafhael's Casino, aitd Fbesgos — 
BoBGHESE Qaedens — ^Italiabt aitd Enolish Gakden- 
TSQ — ^Villas ALDOBHANDiifi, Altiebi, Gieaud, Pam- 


OF AN English one — Visit to Monte Mabio — ^Villa. 
Madama — Pastob Fldo — Baphael*s Ebesgos. 

Singe I baye been in Eome, many are the visits I have 
paid to the Casino of Eaphael, which was the chosen scene 
of his retirement, and adorned by his genius, It is about 
half a mile from the Porta del Popolo. The first wooden 
gate in the lane, on the right of the entrance into the 
grounds of the Villa Borghese, leads you into a vineyard, 
which you cross to the Casino di Eaffaello ; for it still bears 
his name. It is unftimished, except with casks of wine, 
and uniohabited, except by a contctdina, who shows it to 

"We passed through two rooms, painted by his scholars ; 
the third, which was his bedroom, is entirely adorned with 
the work of his own hands. It is a smalL pleasant apart- 
ment, looking out on a little green lawn, fenced in with 
trees irregularly planted. The walls are covered with ara- 
besques, in various whimsical and beautiful designs, — such 
as ike sports of children; Loves bakncing themselves on 
poles, or mounted on horseback, full of glee and mirth; 
Eauns and Satyrs ; Mercury and Minerva ; flowers and 
curling tendrils, and every beautiful comnosition that could 
suggest itself to a mind of taste, or a classic imagination, 
in its most sportive mood. It is impossible to describe to 
you the spirit of these designs. The cornice is supported 
by painted Caryatides. The coved roof is adorned with 
four medallions, containing portraits of his mistress, the 

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Fomarma — ^it seemed as if lie took pleasure in multiply- 
ing that beloved object, so that wheiever his ejes tumedy 
her image might meet them. There are three other paint- 
ings, one representing a Terminus with a target before it, 
and a troop of men shooting at it with bows and arrows, 
which they have stolen from unsuspecting Cupid, who is 
lying asleep on the ground, his quiver empty beside him. 
One or two roguish-looking Loves are creeping about on the 
ground, one of them beanng a lighted torch. The marks- 
men are all bending forward, and some are quite horizontal, 
with their feet in air. 

The second picture represents a figure, apparently a God, 
seated at the foot ot a couch, with an altar oefore him, in a 
temple or rotunda ; and from gardens which appear in per- 
spective through its open intercolumniations, are seen ad- 
vancing a troop of gay young nymphs, with something of 
the air of Bacchantes, bearing on their heads vases lull 
of fresh-gathered roses. I could not make out the image to 
he a female, or else I should have supposed it to be the feast 
of Mora ; therefore, for want of a better explanation, I con- 
cluded it meant for the feast of the God of the Gardens. 

The last, and best of these paintings, represents the nup- 
tials of Alexander the Great and Eoxana. I never saw a 
fig^ure of more ex<juisite loveliness, — more touching modesty 
and grace. She is seated at the foot of a couch ; a little 
Love beside her is drawing off a veil which yet half conceals 
her beauty. Hymen, with his safiron robes and torch, leads 
in Alexander, (usarmed, but wearing his helmet. A crowd 
of attendant Loves are employed in their service; some 
are carrying off his sword, &c. ; and one, a comical little 
Love, has put on his heavy coat-of-mail, which is ridiculous- 
ly large for it, and having tumbled down, is unable to get 
up again. 

I have perhaps described with too much minuteness the 
Casino of Eaphael ; but in general he painted for others, — 
here he painted for himself, — ^and it is interesting to see 
those sports of his mind, and to trace the fond delight with 
which he amused his leisure hours in decorating his home, 
the scene of his pleasures. 

Julius Cffisar bequeathed his gardens, at his death, to the 

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168 BOia. 

Bomaat people ; the Bortthese prinoefl do more,— tbey giTO 
tbem in their lives; and the only difference I can see ia 
their title to them, and that of every d^iizen of Bome^ 
is, that the former have the en>enae of keeping them up, 
and the latter the enjovment oi them. The citizen enters 
when he pleases, — on KK>t, on horsehack, or in a carriage ; 
and he is, to all intents and purposes, their uncontrolled 

A park would be a more appropriate term in English, 
than gardens, for grounds that occupy nearly three miles 
in circuit. They are situated on the broad summit of 
the FinciBn Hill, immediately without the walls of Borne, 
which endose a part only of its wide and broken extent. 
The Borghese Gardens are professedly laid out in the Eng- 
lish s^le ; and though they certainly are not English, they 
are — ^from being devoid of trees cupped into shapes, and 
lone straight avenues enclosed between evergreen walk-* 
by far the most beautiful pleasure-grounds ia Bome. I was 
too much rejoiced to see once more the unmutilated, un- 
tortured shades of nature, though ungrouped and unem* 
bellished by the hand of taste, to quarrel with the melan* 
choly monotony of the scene, — ^with the formality of the 
sta^poant pond, in which is erected the Temple of JSscu- 
lapius, — the woe-begone Nereids, that are obliged to "sit 
on rocks, and muse o'er flood and fell," — ^the modem ruins 
that are tumbling about like bad actors, vainly trying to be 
tragical,— or the mock aqueducts that have been built up 
only that they might be pulled down. 

There is one of the fine arts which is truly of BritisK 
growth, and in which, by the unanimous voice of Europe, we 
excel all other nations — ^the art of gardening. We have 
attained our perfection in it by the only means m which per- 
fection in any of the fine arts is attainable, — following simpli- 
city, and obeying nature. This is the golden rule of taste. 
These are the omy guides to beauty. But those who have 
sought it in distorting the lovely features of nature, and 
substituting the paltry conceits of affectation for beautiful 
simplicity, nave wandered far from their aim. Such have 
been the means of o\ir success ; its remoter causes I cannot 
but attribute to that fondness for domestic enjoyment which 

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leads us to embellish evetytWng that sunxmnds our home, or 
that can add to its pleasives. Our oountry-houses, as well 
as gardens, are confessedlj uuriyalled ; they are the admira- 
tion of all enhghtened foreigners, and their superioiily arises 
from being contrived, not liJce those of other nations, for the 
wonder of visitors, but for the happiness of their inmates, — 
not for show, but for enjoyment. Xong, oh, long may it be 
the boast of England, that while other Lands can show more 
splendid palaces, hers are filled with happier homes ! 

It is indeed striking to a native of our winlay island, on 
coming to a climate inmere unbidden beauty springs around, 
and scarcely asks the hand of cultivation, to see, instead of 
smiling shnibberies, varying walks, scented flowers, budding 
blossoms, and all the beautSul combinations of English taste, 
— ^nothing but clipt evergreens, formal hedgerows, doleful 
fish-ponds, spirting fountains, and frightful statues. With 
the sun and the soil of Italy, what a paradise could be created 
by English gardening I 

It does not appear to me that the ancient £omans had a 
much better taste in gardening than the modem Italians. 
Pliny, in his laboured description of his Tusculan villa, tells 
us its gardens were adorned with "figures of various animals, 
cut in box; evergreens shaped into a thousand difierent 
forms; sometimes into letters expressing different names; 
walls and hedges of clipped box ; and trees cut into a variety 
of shapes ;" so what we abuse as Dutch, is really classical. 
IS'othing, however, can make it otherwise than hideous ; and, 
be it the praise of our own nation to have introduced true 
taste, and invented the art of landscape-gardening. 

The drive through the grounds of the Villa Sorghese is 
Tery pleasant ; the road winds alon£ through deep evergreen 
groves of the ilex, the laurel, and the cypress, whose taU 
spiral form rises far above every other tree, and contrasts 
beautifrdl^ with the pale and drooping weeping-willows that 
bathe their flexile branches in the dear waters. But the 
columnar cypress itself scarcely overtops the majestic pine,* 
which bears on high its broad horizontal head, and throws 
around its deep and spreading shade. This beautiful tree, 
which 'grows to such perfection in the climates of the souths 
* Th« Fmw pinea of Liiui»ii8. 

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160 BOifS. 

gives to the scenery about Borne its peculiar charm. It has 
a character that no other possesses ; and nothing can be more 
in harmony with the melancholy grandeur of the ruingf it 
loves to accompany, than its dark and motionless beauty, and 
its luxuriant depth of shade. It is the same which enters so 
beautifully into the composition of Claude Lorraiue's land- 
scapes. Such scenery as the Borghese Q-ardens should never 
be visited except when the sun sbines forth unclouded ; then 
the contrast between the brightness of its rays, the deep blue 
of the heavens, and the thick shade of the groves, is seen in 
all its beauty. 

The Casino, at the extremity of the drive, is well worth 
seeiag ; not for anything it contains, for its famous treasures 
of art are all gone, but lor its own magnificence. The splen- 
dour of its marbles, and the beauty of its halls, are unim- 
pabed. Instead of its masterpieces of G^recian sculpture, we 
, see now a Curtius on horseback, throwing himself into the 
gulf; and two groups of Bernini, a scowling David with his 
sling, and Apollo ana Daphne, who is in the act of undergo- 
ing the process of her transformation into a laurel. Amongst 
some pamtings of Luca Giordano and Orizonte, I remarked 
two beautiful winter landscapes by a painter not known to 
flame, and whose name I have imluckily forgotten. 

There are a great many villas in the immediate neighbour- 
hood of Eome, and even within its walls ; but I cannot con- 
ceive that a particular description of them all could be 
amusing to you. Every villa has one Casino, and often 
more, in its grounds. Wt, perhaps, you may not have a 
very clear idea of what a Casmo is. It is a building, gene- 
rally two stories high, and containing a suite of entertaming 
rooms, for company and recreation, but no sleeping-rooms ; 
and they are usually fitted up with aU the luxuiy of p£tinting 
and sculpture. 

The V ilia Aldobrandini is now in the possession of GFeneral 
MioUis. The gardens are gay and pleasant, and kept in ex- 
cellent order. A considerable number of ancient statues and 
inscriptions are arranged in one part of them. There seemed 
to be a great multiplication of Bacchuses, Dianas, Mercuries, 
Venuses, and the common herd of statues ; but nothing 
remarkable, either for rarity or beauty. However, I must 


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confess that I only gare them a hasty gkuce, for my whole 
soul was in the flower-beds. It was sillj enough, to be sure ; 
but there was such a delightful profusion of roses and lilies, 
and jonquils and hyacdnths, that when Flora herself with all 
her fresn-bom beauties, appeared before me, I could not 
think of musty old representations of the rest of the gods 
and goddesses ; and I was still regaling my senses with their 
sweets, when the rest of the ^ar^ returned from the house, * 
where there is a large collection of paintings, and, assuring 
me there was not one picture worth seeing, cbagged me away 
with them. 

In the weed-covered grounds of the Villa Altieri, which 
are unconscious of flowers, there are some remains of ancient 
buildings, that have occasioned much dispute amon^ the an- 
tiquaries, who have never been able to settle whether they 
belonged to the Ludus MatiUimu, or place of exercise for 
the soldiers — or to public baths that were contiguous to it — 
or to the Baths of St. Helena, which might have extended 
here — or to fifty other things. 

In an excavation that was made here about the end of 
the seventeenth century, a chamber was discovered, adorned 
with arabesques and landscapes ; and a very large 
was saved, which was in the collection of Cardinal ] 
and, I believe, was purchased by the late Lord Bristol. 

Th& deserted and ruinous Casiao contains nothing except- 
ing one very small ancient painting of a man and horse, — 
a common sepulchral device. The design is good, but the 
colouring feded. Gi^he servants say — ^and they are right- 
that it was brought from the Tomb of Ovia ; but Yenuti 
asserts that it was found in the ruin in the garden.* 

On the deserted field of the Esquiline is the Villa Palom- 
bara, where the famous Discobolus of the Palazzo Massimi, 
and the more famous Meleager, are said to have been dis- 
covered. It once belonged to Queen Christina of Sweden, 
who has left upon the little doorway, exactly opposite to the 
ruin called the Trophies of Marius, a curious record of her 
credulity. It consists of a collection of unintelligible words, 
signs, and triangles, given her by some alchymist, as the rule 
to make gold, and wMch, no doubt, he had found successful, 
• Yenuti, parte L cap. 7. 

YOX. n. M 

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baying obtained from her, and probably manjr other votaaeni^ 
abundance of thai pcedoaa metal in exchange for it. But 
as she could msake nothing of it, she caused it to be insmbed 
here, in case any pasaen^, wiser than herself, should ba 
able to de^elope the mystic signs of this gcdden secret. 

All these Tilias, and their grounds, are within the walls of 
Borne ; so also is the Villa Mattei, on the Coelian Hill, now 
*in the possession of the Prince of Peace ;, whose name^ bo 
fiunous, or rather so in&mous in history, has fallen into sneh 
insignificance, that his Tezr existence would be foigotten, 
but for the diurnal rattle of his coach-and-six. One of tho 
pleafiures which diversify his retired and monotonous Hfe, 
seems to be adorning this villa, which he visits every day. 
His improvements, and the possession of an f^^piian 
obelise, and the famous head d Seneca, certainly render it 
worthy of & visit. 

The Villa Giraud in Trastev^re, has (O rare invention !) 
a Gasino, built in the shape of a ship of war, which stands 
most appropriately and pacifically on ory land! 

The Villa Pamnli, on Mount Janiculum, commands from 
its summit a most beautiftil prospect ; and has in its gardens 
a theatre of fountains, each of which, when set a-going, 
performs its part, by spirting out driblets of water ; not to 
mention the glory oi tb^ whde, a statue of a Faun, standing 
iu a summer-house, with a barrel-organ bid behind it, and 
set in motion by water, which grinds music that you are in 
duty bound to suppose proceeds fix)m the said marble Faun, 
though he is neither smging nor pla3ring, and the flute in 
his hand is at arm's4ength from his nu)uth. * 

The Villa Lanti, also on Janiculum, is rather better worth 
seeing than these:; and it has the rare recommendation of 
being clean. It was built by Giulio Eomano, and it con- 
tains four rooms, the ceiUngs of which a^e painted, partly by^ 
himself, and partly by his pupils, in fresco, with some very 
pretty arabesques, portraits oi Dante, Petrarch, Tasso, Boc- 
caccio, and the Fomarina ; and with two fine compositions 
of Clelia swimming over the Tiber, and the discovery of the 
Sibyl' 8 books on Mount Janiculum. 

The magnificent Villa Medici, almost the only modem 
villa on the Pincian Hill, the OaUig. H&rtuUyrum — has been. 

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fB£NC]i ACADEHT. 163 

QQ&T€^d into, tba IV^ick Acadeo&y, whevei nfc^ the ohsrge of 
^eir own Qovemment, a certain number of young Fi^bg^ 
furtists of promise enjojc the inestimable advantages, of a &w 
jreara' stuay at Borne. I think this, institution aa hoQOUi>> 
able to that nation, as. the want of it is disgraceful to our own. 
The iBiberality, and th^ pitiful penunous spirit our govern- 
ment has alwsf a manifested in everything ifelatjve to the 
fine arts, form a remarkable contrast to its lavish ex^penditure 
in all other respects. The utility of such an academy is toot 
obvious to require comment. Taste and ^nius are confined 
to no rank.; and^ in general, in all countries) men who have 
attained eminence in the arts, have risen from the middle: 
and lower classes of society. To such me^^ iiberefere, in oui! 
remote island, poverty will, in most instances, be an insuper- 
able bar to the prosecuticm of their studies in Italy, without 
which^ I do not hesitate to say,^ it is not to be expected thali 
they should ever become great artists. Thus^ those who th^ 
most require such advantages are entirely cut oW iVom th<^n. 
But this is an imgrateful subject, and I will npt enlarge 
upon it. 

To return to the Eoman villas— 'none of which, I thinks 
remain to mention, excepting those upon Monte Mario.* 

It was a beautiful day in February, when spring already 
"purpled all the earth with verdant flowers^" and the blos- 
soms of the peach and the nectarine, by the road-side, shed 
their -fragrance through the air, that we ascended Mont© 
Mario, which Hes about a mile and a half to the north-west of 
Home. The ascent is too steep for a carriage, and we dis- 
mounted and walked to the top. It is from this hill that th& 
inajestjr of the Yatican is seen to most advantage ; and from 
hence, if I were a painter, I would draw it. The summit of 
Monte Mario is enclosed in the grounds of an old villa, but 
is fortunately left unmolested in its native carpet of soft green 
turf, which is canopied by ancient evergreens ; and beneath 
their dark shade, the proud dome of St. Peter's at its base ; 
the windings of the Tiber ; Eome, with the distant mountains 
that bound the Campagna, and the soft purple light which 

* Monte Mario, a high hill, about a mile and a half to the north of 
Itome, is little noticed by classic writers. It is belioTed to have been 
auciently the Clivua Cmncc.— Vide Nardini, Roma Antica. 

M 2 

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164 BOHE. 

the skies of Italy shed over the scene, form a most striking 
and beautiful picture. 

On the other side of the hill, about half-way up, stands the 
Villa Madama, which, like every possession or the royal house 
of Famese, is in a state of decay that presents a dreary con- 
trast to the grandeur of the scale on which it is constructed. 
The frescos, deiSiffned by Eaphael and executed by Giulio 
Bomano, are momderrng on the mildewed walls of its porticos 
an4 saloons ; but these designs are still most beautiful, though 
their cotouring is faded, and their spirit gone. 

They consist of a series of beautiful little pictures, »Bpre- 
senting the sports of Satyrs and Loves ; Juno, attend^ by 
her peacocks ; Jupiter and Ghnymede ; and various sulaects 
of mythology and fable. The paintings in the portico Jiave 
been of first-rate exceUerice ; and I cannot but regret^ that 
designs so beautiful should not be engraved before their last 
traces disappear for ever. A deep frieze on one of the 
deserted chambers, representing angels, flowers, Caryatides, 
&c. by G-iuiio Eomano ; and also a mie fresco on a ceiling, by 
Giovanni d' tJdine, of Phoebus driving his heavenly steeds, 
are in somewhat better preservation. 

It was in the ^oves that surrounded the YiQa Madama, 
that the Pastor Mdo of Guarini was represented for the first 
time, before a brilliant circle of princes and nobles, such as 
these scenes will see no more, and Italy itself could not now 
produce. Even to the lofty height of Monte Mario, and to 
the villas which crown the ancient hiUs of Eome, most part 
of which are contained within the walls, the gradually in- 
creasing scourge of the Malaria has now spread its baLefril 
influence, and broods over their summer beauty, like a lurking 
demon of destruction. 

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I — 

1 J' 


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vnxA ALBAiri. 165 

Villa Albaihc. 

The magnificent galleries and porticos of the Villa Albani 
are filled with the most precious collection of ancient 
sculpture that any private cabinet ever contained ; and even 
those great public museums which have been accumulated 
by the labour of nations and of ages, can scarcely boast any- 
more rare and valuable than this still is ; thoughit has been 
robbed of many of its choicest treasures. 

Its beauty and rarity so strongly excited the cupidity of 
the French, that, although private property, they had carried 
off upwards of two hundred pieces of sculpture, and had 
packed up many more ready for embarkation, when the un- 
expected reverses of their Emperor drove the plunderers 
beyond the Alps. 

The diminisaed fortune of their present proprietor, the 
Prince Albani, rendered him unable to incur the heavy ex- 
pense of their re-transportation ; and the inimitable ruievo 
of Antinous is the only one that has been brought back. 

Impoverished as this museum is, so inexhaustible are its 
treasures, that I have spent whole mornings in its beautiM 
cabinets, and reluctantly left them only with the last light 
of day, without feeling that I have yet sufficiently seen it. 
Many collections, indeed, are more numerous ; but none are 
80 choice. In general, with much that is beautiful, there is 
more that is bad ; even the magnificent halls of the Vatican 
contain a good deal of very mediocre sculpture ; so also does 
the Capitol, the Galleiy of Morence, and that still finer col- 
lection, the Studii of Naples. But here there is scarcely a 
single piece that is not remarkable either for its rarity or 
beauty, and their intrinsic value is only exceeded bv the 
taste and elegance with which they are arranged. Volumes 
might and have been written upon this museum. It was 

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166 3K}KI* 

the school of the celebrated Winkelman, and he has left so 
complete and critical an account of its sculptures,* that it 
would be the height of presumption in me to paiticularize 
them ; indeed, I almost feel afraid to speak of them at all^ 
lest I should be led to dwell too long upon what is so inte- 
resting in inspection, and so dull in description. 

The viQa, or casino, in which they are placed, by far the 
most beautiful building of the kind I have seen at Borne, 
possesses a light polished elegance, and a decorated beauty, 
which is truly Italian, and accords with the scene, the CU- 
Inate, and the statitary. 

In the principal portico, which is sustained by forty-four 
ftnagnificent columns of various marbles, stands a Ime of 
Emperors; rare bassi-relievi are encased in the walls; 
'Egyptian Spihinxes rest on the marble pavement, and at the 
far extremity appears Juno Lucina, descending from Olympug 
to Erebus, bearing her torch ; her drapery blown back by 
the wind — her feet in air — (the whole figure being advanced 
in front of the lofty pedestal,) and her easy rapid gliding 
motion through mid-aiT, are reptesented with so much art, 
that the statue actually seems to move. It seems, indeed, to 
realize the description of the ancient poets, who compare the 
progress of Juno to that velocity with which thought can 
traverse distant regions. 

The unique statue of Domitian, the only one which has 
escaped destruction, was found broken, and buried under- 
ground, the limbs, head, and body sundered, and hacked all 
over with the furious blows of axes, (the marks of which are 
still visible,) proofs of the violence that had been used to 
destroy every image of the monster whose crimes had dis- 
graced humanity. 

Attached to the lower part of the building, are two gal- 
leries, chiefly filled with Termine, or Herme8,t of Grecian 

• Chiefly in his * Monumenti Inediti,' and also in the * Storia dell* 
Arte. ' The reader will find a more than complete eatalogue of them in 
the ' Indicazione Antiquaria/ which contains those taken away. 

+ It(jan scarcely be necessary to observe, that all the figures of this 
description bore originally the bead of Merculy, from which they 
derived their generic name. They were very eommoa among the 
ancients, and 8ome have supposed that they were even used as posts for 
gates and fences, about their pleasarergvounds. To their :mult|pliei1iy 

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tASoBOp|her8 or meka; maay of wbicH are unknown, and 
many of very doubtful authenticity. The most interesting I 
flaw, were the fine genuine head of Epicurus, the Mercury 
wtt^ the douhle inscription, and the very ancient and curious 
g^tue of the Priestess of Iws, bearing a sistrum of bronze 
and marble pwefericulum ; its fine draroery, of the kind called 
Btmscan, is more properly of the early &recian school, and 
the head bears a close resemblance to those of the Egina 

By far the finest statues in the lower part of the building, 
are the two exquisitely beautiful Caryatides, representing 
Ghrecian Oanephorae, or basket-bearers, carrying tneir offer- 
ings to the temple of Venus or Pallas. They were found 
on the Appian Way, near the tomb of Cecilia MeteUa, and 
must have once adorned some Eoman villa or sepulchre. 
According to the inscriptions upon them, they are tne work 
of Criton and Nicolaus, Grecian sculptors, who are supposed 
to have come to Eome before the death of Julius Caesar. 

I must pass over the beautiful ancient copies of the Cupid 
bending his bow, and the Faun of Praxiteles; the Irwo 
Ptolemies of Egypt, — ^the unique Nemesis, — ^the figure of 
Marsyas suspended to a tree, the living victim of the ven- 
geance of ApoUo, — the relievo, in rosso antico marble, of 
IMogenes in his tub talking to Alexander the Great, — 
Dseoalus forming the wings of of Icarus, — and a thousand 
other admirable works, — and conduct you to the grand 

we owe muny heads <^ the ancients, which would otherwise have been 
iiTCCoverably lost. These Termine are nearly of the human height, with 
heads only; the rest of the marble unformed, and sloping gradually 
down to the base, as if the man had been immured in a marble case up 
lo the shoulders. In fact, horrible - incredibly horrible as the tale 
may i^eem, this fate was once endured by a human being. An unfortu- 
nate, but guilty woman, was walled up alive in this manner by her own 
«on, her head only being left at liberty ; and fed with bread and water 
for the space of about thirteen months, when she died. The fact is 
mentioned in Gingu6ne s * Hist. Littfiraire de I'ltalie;* although I can- 
not remember in what part of it. But in many monasteries abroad, and 
even in England — for instance, in the crypt of Gloucester Cathedral, 
which anciently belonged to the monatsteries - cavities are still shown, 
fashioned in the wall, apparently intended to immure a human body, 
tLe chest and head only l)eing above the walL Tradition tells of many 
victims having Buffered this horrible fate. 

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168 BOME. 

liliero of Borne TriumpHaat, guarding the prin<^al 

The pretended statue of Bratus, but more probably of a 
Boman actor, and several others here, will not detain you 
lon^; but the colossal masks, the ancient paintings, the 
curious mosaics, and the rare bassi-rilievi, which decorate 
the walls, wiU greatly impede your progress up the stair- 

In the oval vestibule at the top, between the two no- 
ble columns of giallo antico, appears the celebrated and 
beautiful little statue of the Faun. The grand rilievo 
represents the Sacrifice of Mithra, an exquisite piece of 
sculpture ; and the ancient marble Meze all the minutisB 
of the circus races. 

A little room is furnished with singularly beautifol ta- 
pestry, executed from designs of the Memish School, at 
Kome, by one of Cardinal Albani's own servants, who dis- 
covered an uncommon talent for the art, and, encouraged 
by his master, established a manufactory of it, which has 
long since perished. 

£1 the most beautiful little apartment (or cabinet, as 
it is called) that was ever beheld, are contained some of 
the choicest treasures of art. The beauty of the little 
bronze statue of the Famese Hercules, the Pallas, the 
Diana, the Canopus, the exquisite little Faun with the 
Thyrsus, the Diogenes, the Expiation of Hercules, the ala- 
baster busts and inimitable bassi-rilievi, are aU surpassed 
by the famous Apollo Sawroctonos, which, in the judg- 
ment of Winkelman, is the original of Praxiteles, de- 
scribed by PHny, and the most beautiful bronze statue 
now left in the world.* It was found in a perfect state 
upon Mount Aventine, but the trunk of the tree and the 
lizard are wanting. These are preserved in an ancient 
copy, said to be very inferior, which was in the Borghese 

There is a curious little sculpture in emerald plasm, 
(plasma di smeraldo,) a sort of green crystallization, (not, 

• Winkelman, Hist, de TArt, \iv. vi. chap. 2. v. 47—60. 
+ The Borghese Collection was given up by Prince Boi^hese to the 
French. The whole, or the greatest part of it, is now in the Louvre. 

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however, according to mineraloffistB, bearing any real af- 
finity to the emerald,) said to be the only known speci- 
men ia sculpture of thjuB subatanoe. 

It is impossible for me to describe to you the richneaa, 
delicacy, beauty, and taste, either of this costly cabinet 
itself, of the next that follows it, or of the great hall. I 
might tell of ceiling painted by Mengs, of floors payed 
with pictured mosaics, of walls inlaid with precious ala- 
basters of columns and pilasters of polished porphyry and 
ancient marbles, of mirrors, of gilding, of mches, and of 
gems, without end ; but I could neyer convey to you the 
effect to the eye of such magnificence, united with such 
taste — of materials so rich, and architecture so beautiful. 

In one of the alcoves of this noble hall, stands by far 
the finest statue of Jupiter I have ever seen; and the 
Other is filled by the finest statue of Minerva in the world, 
which is pronounced by Winkelman to be the only monu- 
ment now existing at Home, of the sublime style of art 
that lasted from the age of Phidias to that of Praxite- 
les.* It is in perfect peservation, — afresh as when it 
first issued from the sculptor's hands. Nothing can ex- 
ceed the majesty of the figure, nor the exquisite grace 
of the drapery. There is a peculiarily in the JEgis and 
helmet, which has given rise to much learned and tedi- 
ous discussion. 

I must pass over, unnoticed, the four beautiful bassi 
rilievi in this magnificent hall, of Marcus Aurelius, the 
Choice of Hercules, Icarus and Dsedalus, and Bellerophon 
holding Pegasus — ^though hours may well be spent in ex- 
amining them — and conduct you into a Httle sitting-room, 
in the marble chimney-piece of which is fixed the far-famed 
rilievo of Antinous, crowned with lotus flowers. If the 
Minerva be a monument of the * style sublime,' this is 
incontestably a specimen of the * beau style' of art, which 
began with Praxiteles, and lasted imtil the decline of taste 
once more introduced imitation of the Egyptian. The 
characteristic of the * beau style' was grace, — -but " Grace," 

* Hist, de TArt, liv. iv. chap. 6. § 28. Besides this Mineira. 
Niobe and her Children are the only other sculptures Winkelman 
classes as works of this epoch " du style sublime" 

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170 BOXX. 

811^8 WinkdnnB, '' aa revered bj iihe «BGieDt% was of two 
kinds, — 'the one of celestial, the other of human birth,'* — 
one, " the companion of the god«» the divine oH^ring of 
heaven, addresses itself to the mind rather than the eye, 
conceals itself in the inmost recesses of the soul, and re- 
veals itself onlf to gifted genius. It wa« this grace which 
inspired Phidias."* The second grace, the humble and 
earth-bom companion of the other, gives to beauty its 
charm, and alone ddgns to. visit the modem masters of 
art. But the great masters of the ^ beau stjle' associated 
the first grace with the second; — and there can 8urel7 
be no better instance of their union, (the Apollo Belve- 
dere excepted,) than in this exquisite fragment of sculp- 
ture, which, it is no exaggeration to say, we can return 
to gaze at for ever with unwearying admiration. It is 
supposed to have formed a part oi the Apotheosis of An- 
tinous ; the hand, in which the restorer nas now placed 
a garland of flowers, seems, frdm its position, to have held 
the reins, and the figure to have been placed in a car of 
triumph, in which manner the ancients represented the 
elevation of their heroes to gods, as commonly as borne 
on the wings of the eagle. " As fresh, and as highly- 
finished, as if it had just left the studio of the scidptw, 
this work, after the Apollo and the Laocoon, is, perhaps, 
the most beautiful monument of antiquity which time has 
transmitted to U8."t I could not but feel as if it had 
been treated with degradation, in being stuck ioto a com- 
mon chimney-piece. 

I shall conclude by mentioning the famous Thetis, so long 
an ornament of this museum, which was carried off by the 
French to adorn the Louvre. It was originally discovered 
by Cardinal Albani, in making an excavation at the Villa of 
Antoninus Pius, at Lanuvium, " but it is assuredly a work of 
a date far anterior to that age, and undeniably one of the 
most beautiful figures of antiquity." J 

From the attitude — an oar in the left hand, resting on a 
Triton, and one of the legs a little raised, as if riding on the 
prow of a vessel — ^it is conjectured to represent Thetis, though 

* Hiflt. de r Art, liv. iv. chap. 6. § 80, 87, Ac. 
t Ibid., Uv. ri. chap. 7. § 28. t Ibid. $ 89. 

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it flivf bie l^e Cmdiftn Wniu, sumaiB&cL the Yentus bf profii- 
JMsroufi ftavigatioti. Winkeltnan goes into ecstasies about itw 
'* In no feliaid^ statoe," fae exclmms, " scaiKely even in the 
Ventis de' Medids, do we see, as in this, /«a fraicheur et 
rinnocenoe de la pita tendre jeunesse,^^ &c, and yet this 
Bttftne, with all the ** bloom of tender youth,*' had no head! 
But he supplies the want with a head like a rose-bud. — 
" Upon this beautiM body," he adds, " Vimagmation aime h 
placer une tite semblahle a un houton de rose qui commence a 
s'epcmouir^'* &c. The bead which the restorer has placed 
upon it, is not in the least like a rose-bud; but when a 
fine ancient statue has but an indifferent modem head, 
which often happens, the best way is to look at it as if it had 
none. The raptures, however, into which Winkelman is 
thrown by this head, which he sees only in imagination, are 
nothing to the transports excited by the body which he 
actually beholds; and he hopes "he may be forgiven for 
believing, that the poets of Greece alluded to this very 
statue, when they spoke of the limbs of Thetis, as the model 
of beauty. "The man of genius,'* he proceeds, "at the sight 
of this beautiful Nereid, transported beyond the time of 
Homer, sees Thetis rising from the bosom of the ocean — 
before she was sensible to the love of any mortal — before her 
union with Peleus was thought of — before her youthful 
charms had kindled the passion of the three gods — before 
even the first ship had cut the waves of the ^gean sea ; for 
the prow on which she rests her foot, is only an attribute to 
make her known."* 

He goes on in this way through several pages. What 
he did not do well, I cannot hope to do better. Perfection 
in art, is, indeed, indescribable. All we can learn from 
the most ingenious description by the man of taste and 
genius, or the critic of judgment and discernment, is, that 
the thing described must be something very pretty. Such 
the Thetis certainly is, as all who have seen the original, now 
at Paris, or the cast at Eome, must allow. 

If I were to enumerate aU the sculptures in the smaller 
casinos, porticos, billiard-rooms, caf6, &c., which, however, 
are in general inferior to those of the great building, I 
• Hist, de r Art, liv.' vii. chap. 7. § 40. 

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172 B0M1C. 

fihould but vainly try to give you an idea of the treasures of 
this museum, — of the beautiful statues I have left wholly 
unmentioned, of the curious mosaics, the ancient paintings, 
the bronzes, the inscriptions, the marble columns, the vases 
the sarcophagi, and the innumerable and inestimable bassi- 
rilievi, which adorn this wonderful temple of art. The hours 
of pleasure I have spent within it are over. This very day 
I have visited it for the last time, and its remembrance is ah 
that is left me.* 

* I ought to have mentioned, what Winkehnan pronounces to be 
one of the six finest bas-reliefs in the world, — ^the Marriage of Peleus 
and Thetis; but I grieve to say that, by some nnfortnnate chance, in all 
my visits to the Villa Albani, I never saw this remarkable piece of 
sculpture, if indeed it still remains there. 

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The Pope.— Pitts VH. 

To-DATwe were presented to the Pope in a summer-house 
of the Vatican gardens, where he went to receive ns ; for his 
Holiness may not admit a female within the sanctuary of his 
palace. 'Now, to my thinking, his stealing in this private 
mamier into the garden to meet ladies, according to a pre- 
vious assignation, wears a much more equivocal appearance, 
and might, indeed, give rise to much scandal. 

Five o'clock was the hour fixed for the interview ; and we 
had just arrived at the indicated summer-house, which con- 
tains two good carpeted drawing-rooms, when, " punctual as 
lovers to the moment sworn," the Pope entered, took off his 
large round red hat, and, severally bowing to each of us, 
passed on into the inner room, whither we were conducted 
bj Cardinal • • • and presented. But, alas ! here the 
similitude failed — ^the natural order of things was reversed — 
for instead of the Pope, like an impassioned lover, dropping 
down on his knees to us, it was our business to kneel to 

This, however, his holiness, being apprised of our being 
^^LutTieramj^ would bv no means allow. Jjistead of his toe, we 
kissed his hand, which ceremony being performed, he seated 
us beside him, and chatted with us very pleasantly for above 
half an hour — ^told us about old times and old stories, and all 
he used to do when he was a raaazzo, ^' Like all other old 
people," he said, laughrDg good-numouredly, " he thought all 
thiDgs were changed for the worse. The very seasons were 
chained, opinions were changed, times were changed." — 
" TuUo e mutato : jmrna le teste, epoi gU tempi : sopra ttUto 
son nrntato io,^* contiuued he, laughing ; and he drew a very 
droll picture of what he was when a mischievous little urchin 

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174 BQICK 

He was polite enougli to choose to think *' it was scarcelj 
possible we could be English, though he had heard so — we 
spoke Italian so well ; and could hardly believe we had only 
been a few months in Italy. He said .he particularly dis- 
liked speaking French — he supposed because he spoke it 
particularly ill ; but, indeed, he had little reason to like any- 
thing French." Seizing upon this opening, we made some 
remarks on the occupation of Italy by the French, which 
drew from him a most energetic picture of the miseries which 
they had brought upon this unhappy land — of the wrongs 
th^ had committed, and the curse they had entailed upon it. 
" xou see it now,'* he added, '' a chaoiged country, exha^ted 
and bleeding un<W the wounds of its enemies. Their rapa- 
city, not content with despoiling it of its ornaments, has 
robbed it of its prosperity, and of that spirit of iateroal 
peace and conci^rd, which no time can restore." 

He spoke of Venice, his native state, of its flourishing con- 
dition before they seized it-^— of the rapid destruction to which 
it has ever since been haafeaning. 

I happened to observe, how fortunaJse it was that they had 
been compelled to restore all they had plundered from Bome 
(meaning works of art). "All!" he exclaimed — "What I 
have they restored the blood they have spilt — ^the wealth they 
have squandered — ^the morals they have corrupted? Have 
they restored the noble families they reduced to beggary — 
the sons to the mothers they rendered childless— the hmt- 
band to the widow ?'* 

When venerable age is roused to the energy and emotioA 
we expect only from youth — ^when the quenched eye lightens, 
and the hoary locks are shook with the bitter sense of wrongs 
and regrets, there is something sacred in its feelings, which 
commands our respect and awe. 

This burst of feeling over, he spoke of the French with 
that mildness of spirit, which is the governing principle of his 
truly christian character. " In sorrow more iaian anger** he 
seemed to look on the past ; and throughout, that inde- 
scribable something far stronger than Words — in the tone, 
eye, mind, and gesture, made us feel that it was abhorrence 
of injustice, vidence, oppression, and impiety, and not the 
sense of pei^onal injury and insult, thail moved the virtuji^us 

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indignation of this venerable old man; whose meekness, 
patience, and humility, have through life been his most cha- 
racteristic qualities. 

We retired with his blessing, and an invitation to return 
again, which we are told is, as well as the length of our in- 
terview, very rare. Accordingly, we were much flattered. 
The honour of having him afl to ourselves — ^for even the 
Cardinal retired — ^was, however, I believe, purely accidental. 
In general he holds a female levee, and receives all at once. 
Everybody is desired to be dressed up to the throat, and to 
wear a veil, which is however, almost always thrown back. 
Some of our very scrupulous countrywomen have declined 
presentation to the Pope, because it goes against their con^ 
sciences to call him 'vostra Santita.' There are certainly 
some people who strain at a gnat and swallow a camel. 

I forgot to answer one of your queries. You tell me that 
you hear the Pope is a bigot. I can only tell you, in proof 
of hi^ liberality, that he permits the English to have regular 
public worship, according to the rites and service of our 
own heretical church; and that during three successive 
winters, we have, had a set of rooms openly hired for the 
express purpose. I cannot exactly say that he gave hi» 
consent ; for when it was asked, he rather signified that. it. 
might be as well to do without it. 

If the spirit of Martin Luther could look down, he would 
surely rejoice to see his own tenets and doctrines openly 
preached in the very city which would have burnt him for 
holding tbem. 

This toleration of Lutheranism is, however, an unpre- 
cedented circumstance; and some of the cardinals are ex- 
tremely scandalized with this unhallowed license, and even 
pretend ignorance of it. To those to whom I know it is 
peculiarly obnoxious, I have a mischievous pleasure in intro- the subject, as if by chance ; for instance, at the con- 
versazione on Sunday evenings, complaining of the rooms 
haxing been too much crowded in the morning during the 
English service, or lamenting that we were likely soon to 
lose one of our best clergymen, &c., &c., — or remarking, as 
if in compliment, the liberal policy of the court of Borne, in 
now. permitting the exercise of our religion, almost as freely 
as we allow of theirs. 

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176 SOME. 


Peooessiok to the Minebva — Palm SnrDAT.' "/ 

■ Eome ifl foil of pilgrims, who, ^th their stares, liie^ 
scrips, their cockle-shells, their oil-skin tippets, aaid' iStiiAe 
large slouched hats, remind one more of days of joa:« jgf^ 
tales of romance, than anything one could have expe<sbed^ip 
have seen realized in the nineteenth century. 

It is also crowded with much less picturesque objedas^^-^ 
carriages full of bewildered forestieri, driving iabout; a^ 
se^dng for a' place wherein to lay their heads, vi i^Bdki. 
Every hotel and lodging is full, even to overflowing. ii?|Sfh 
curious heretics; every church is crowded with i&^i^ 
Eomans; and every pulpit resounds with the stentoGtei 
voice of some fiiar, denouncing, with all the vehemeaicii of 
Italian energy and gesticulation, the horrors of hell, and 
demonstrating that his congregation are in the fair way 
to tumble into that fiery abyss. A preacher has not the 
smallest chance of popularity here, who does not fing^ten 
his auditors out of their senses. Even iu the open piazzas, 
these zealous friars raise their crucifix, and hold forth to the 
gaping multitude. 

- Frequent processions of penitents, covered with long dark 
robes, which pass over the head, and have holes cut for the 
eyes, girded round the waist with ropes, preceded by a large 
black cross, and bearing skulls, and bones, and begging- 
boxes- for the souls in purgatory, are to be seen passmg in 
silence along the streets, or gHdmg through the solitude of 
the Colosseum, or beneath the Triumphal Arches and ruins 
of ancient Eome. A party of these mysterious-looking 
figures that I saw yesterday emerging mym the Arch of 
Titus, and entering the Colosseum, where they knelt in 
silence and in deep prayer upon its once blood-stained, area 
before the altars of the Yia Cruds, had a very striking 

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effect. AH these are foreruimers of the Holy Week, to 
which munense multitudes still flock £rom all parts ; though 
now, I believe, more from curiosity than pie^, and &r 
amusement than penitence. A real penance, however, it 
has proved to me ; and if I were to hve in Bome for fiftj 
years, I would never ^o through it again; though I am 
glad that I have seen it once — ^now that it is over. Before 
the Holy Week our sufferings began ; we were disturbed 
the very morning after our return from Na^es, with the 
information that it was a grand festa — ^the Pesta of the 
Annunciation, and that a grand fimzione waa to take place 
at the church of Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, preceded by 
a still more superb procession — ^and that we must get up 
to see it, which we accordingly did; and drove tmx)ugQ 
streets Imed with expecting crowds, and windows hung 
with crimson and yellow «& draperies, and occupied by 
females in their most gorgeous atibire, till we made a stop 
near the church, before which the Fope*s horse-guards, in 
their splendid Ml-dress uniforms, -were stationed to keep 
the ground ; all of whom, both officers and men, wore in 
their caps a spri^ of myrtle, aa a sign of rejoicing. After 
waiting a short time, the procession appeared, headed by 
another detachment of the guards, mounted on prancing 
black chargers, who rode forward to dear the way, accom- 
panied by such a flourish of trumpets and kettle-drums, that 
it looked like an^hing but a peaceable or religious proceed- 
ing. This marnal array was followed by a bare-headed 
pnest, on a white mule, bearing the Host in a gold cup, at 
the sight of which everybody, — ^not excepting our coach- 
man, who dropped down on the box, — fell upon their 
knees, and we were left alone, heretically sitting in the 
open barouche. 

The Pope, I understand, used formerly to ride upon the 
white mule himself; whether in memory of our Saviour's 
entrance into Jerusalem on an ass or no, 1 cannot say ; and 
aU the cardinals used to follow him in their magniflcent 
robes of state, mounted either on mules or horses ; and as 
the Emmentissvm* are, for the most part, not very eminent 

* Mminentissimo is the title by wliich a Cardinal is addressed ia 


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178 noia. 

horsemen, they -^te generallj tied cm, lert they shoiild 
tumble off. This eavtaleade must have been a very enter- 
taining sight. I understand that Pius VI., who was a very 
handsome man, kept up this custom, but the present Pope, 
Pius VII., is far too infirm for such an enterprise ; so he 
followed the man on the white mule in his state coach ; at 
the very sight of which we seemed to have made a jump 
back of t^o hundred years at least. It was a huge machine, 
composed almost entirely of plate-glass, fixed in a ponderous 
Carved and gilded irame, 'through which was distinctly visible 
the person of the venerable old Pope, dressed in robes of 
white and silver, and incessantly givmg his benediction to 
the people, by a twirl of three fingers — ^which is typical of 
the Trinity. 

On the gilded back of this vehicle, the only part I think 
that was n^ made of glass, was a picture of tne Pope in 
his chair of state, and the Virgin Mary at Ms feet This 
fextraordinary machine was drawn by six black horses, with 
Buperb httmess of crimson velvet and gold ; the coachmen, 
or rather postilions, were dressed in coats of silver tissue, 
with crimson velvet breeches, and full-bottom wigs well 
powdered, without hats. 

Three coaches, scarcely less antiquely superb, follotred 
with the assistant cardinals, and the rest of the train. In 
the inside of the church, the usual tiresome ceremonies 
went on which take place when the Pope is present. He is 
seated on a throne, or chair of state ; the cardinals, in suc- 
cession, approach and kiss his hand, retire one step, and 
make three bows or nods, one to him in front, one on 
the right hand, -and another on the left; which, I am told, 
are intended for him, (as the personification of the Father,) 
and for the Son, and for the Holy Ghost, on either side of 
him ; and all the Cardinals havmg gone through these 
motions, and the inferior priests having kissed his toe — ^thjit 
is, 'the Cross embroidered on his shoe — high mass begins. 
The Pope kneels during the elevation of the Host, prays in 
"silence 1)efore the high altar, gets up and sits down, reads 
something out of a great booK which they bring to him 
with a lighted taper held beside it (which must be eminently 
useful in broad daylight) ; and, having gone through many 

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itiof««!xch ceremoiries, finally^ esrids as he^begam, with giving 
his %e]iedietaB& with three fingers, ail the way as he goes 

!Dfirmg aH the time of this high mass, the Tope's military 
bund, stationed on the platform in front of the church, 
plsy^ so many clamorons murtial airs, that it would hare 
'dffeetually put to Bight any ideas of religious solemnity — ^if 
•anythere had been. 

The Pope, on this day, gives to a certain number of 
young women a marriage-portion of fifky crowns, or some- 
times more. Such of them as choose to become the spouse 
of heaven, carry it 'to a convent, in which case it is always 
a IfErger sum. We expected to have seen them walk in 
the procession, but it seems the practice has fallen into 
Misuse, and they did not appear ; probably because the Pope 
used formerly to portion from one to two hundred young 
girls ; but now that his finances are reduced, the number 
is necessarily more limited. We heard contradictory ac- 
counts of the numbers portioned to-day ; the highest state- 
ment was between. seventy and eighty. 

This exhibition over, we had lu(My no more procesmons 
to see tiU Palm Sunday came, which, at half-past eight 
o'clock, beheld us seated in the Sistine Chapel, where we 
waited a fiill hour before the Pope made his appearance. 
At last he entered, attired in a robe of scarlet and gold, 
which he wore over his ordinary dress, and took his throne. 
The Cardinals, who were at first dressed in under-robes of 
a violet-colour, (the mourning for Cafrdinals,) with their 
rich antique lace, scarlet trains, and mantles of ermine, 
suddenly got quit of these accoutrements, and arrayed 
themselves in most splendid vestments, which had the 
appearance of being made of carved gold. The tedious 
ceremony of each separately kissing the Pope's hand, and 
mt^dng their three little bows, being gone through, and 
some little chanting and fidgeting s^ut the altar being 
got over, two palm branches, of beven or eight feet in 
length, were brought to the Pope, who, after raising over 
them a cloud of incense, bestowed his benediction upon 
them. Then a great number of smaller palms were brought, 
and a Cardinal, who acted as the Pope's aide-de-camp on 

N 2 

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180 BOHE. 

this occasion, presented one of these to eyeiy Cardinal as 
he ascended the steps of the throne, who agaii^ kissed the 
Pope's hand and the palm, and retired. iSien came the 
Archbishops, who kissed both the Pope's hand and toe, 
followed by the inferior orders of clergy, in regular grada- 
tions, who only kissed the toe, as they carried off their palms. 

The higher dignitaries being at last provided with palms, 
the Deacons, Canons, Choristers, Cardinals' train-bearers, 
&c., had each to receive branches of olive, to which, as well 
as to the palms, a small cross was suspended. At last, all 
were ready to act their parts, and the procession was drawn 
up in readiness to move. It began with the lowest in 
clerical rank, who moved off two by two, rising gradually, 
till they came to Prelates, Bishops, Archbishops, and Car- 
dinals, and terminated by the Pope, borne in his chair of 
state (sedia gestatoria) on men's shoulders, with a crimson 
canopy over ms head. By far the most striking figures in 
the procession were the Bishops and Patriarchs of the 
Armenian church. One of the latter wore a white crown, and 
another a crimson crown glittering with jewels. The mitres 
of the Armenian Bishops were also set with precious stones ; 
and their splendid dresses, and long wavy beards of silver 
whiteness, gave them a most veneraMe and imposing appear- 

The procession issued forth into the Sala Borgia (the 
hall behind the Sistine Chapel,) and marched round it, 
forming nearly a circle ; for, by the time the Pope had got 
out, the leaders of the procession had nearly got back again ; 
but they found the gates of the chapel closed against them, 
and on admittance bein^ demanded, a voice was heard from 
within, in deej) recitative, seemingly inquiring into their 
business, or claims for entrance there. This was answered 
by the choristers from the procession in the hall ; and after 
a chanted parley of a few minutes, the gates were again 
opened, and the Pope, Cardinals, and Pnests returned to 
their seats. Then the Passion was chanted; and then a 
most tiresome long service commenced, in which the usual 
genuflections, and tinkling of little beUs, and dressings, and 
undressings, and walking up and coming down the steps 
of the altar, and bustling about, went on; and which at 

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last terminated in the Cardinals aU embracing and kissing 
eacK other, which is, I am told, the kiss of peace. 

You must be nearly as tired with this account of this long 
jwmone as I was of seeing it, and it is quite impossible you 
can be more so. 

The procession would really have been worth seeing, if 
it had teken place in St. Peter's church instead of this con- 
fined little chapel and hall, in which, from the crowdinff and 
squeezing, the fine dresses and palin branches, and aU the 
pomp of the pageant, lost their effect. 

The palms are artificial, formed of straw or the leaves of 
dried reeds, plaited so as to resemble the real branches of 
the palm-tree, which are used in this manner for this cere- 
monv, in Boman Catholic colonies in tropical climates. These 
artificial palms, however, are topped with some of the real 
leaves of the palm-tree, brought fiom the shores of the Gulf 
of Genoa. 

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182. BOMK. 


Thb Holt Week — The Misebsbe — Holt THimsDAX — 
Fbogebsioks — The Interment of Chbist — S^epiil- 
CHBAL Illuminations op the Faolina Chapel — Thbt 
Washino op Feet — The Sebvino at Table — ^Tbb 
Penitenza Maooiobe — The Cboss op Fibe — The 
Adobation bt the Fope and Cardinals — Th^ Belics 
— Illuminated Sepulchbb of Chbist at San Anto- 
nio de' Fobtoghesi — CoNCEBT OP Sagbed Music. 

We enjoyed three days' relaxation from the toils of the 
Holy "Week ; foi^ we did not go to see the body of St. Joseph 
of Arimathea at St. Feter's on Tuesday, wJbich we might 
have done ; but on "Wednesday evening, in our impatience 
to secure places for the first Miserere in the Sistine Chapel, 
we went at three o'clock, and sat waiting nearly an hour and 
and a half, before the service commenced. Even at that 
hour, however, the gentlemen had difficulty enough in find- 
ing standing room, so great was the pressure in the confined 
space allotted to them. Many were unable to get in for 
want of room ; and many were turned back, for- presenting 
themselves in boots or trowsers, instead of silk stockings; 
for no man may attend this service of religion and penitence 
imless he be dressed as if going to a ball ; and if he has and 
description of military uniform, it is highly expedient fcr 
him to wear it. 

The seats for the ladies ,are at the lower end of the chapel, 
where we are caged up behind a gilded grate, like so mapy 
wild beasts ; being accounted almost as mischievous among 
Fopes and Cardinals. "We were all dressed, according to his 
Holiness*8 taste, in black, and with veils ; and I am told we 
looked like a sisterhood of nuns through the gnCte. 

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' An' el0yat^d place, called the Tribune^, appropriated foi^ 
kings, anji the princes; of. rp^al bloody was occupied by the^ 
old. e£-Kiog and Queen of Spain, Brince Ilenrj of Prusaia^ 
the Queen and young- King of Etruria, the Puke and] 
Puchesa of G:enoa, the Prince Carignano, the young heir o£ 
Turin, and several other sprigs of fesh budding, or blighted; 
iioyalty. Behind them sat the foreign ambas^^adors dl ini 

When at last the service, which the Italians call thq 
Mcdtutino deUe Thtebre, did commence, nothing could exceed 
Qiy disappointment. It was in no degree superior to thet 
most ordinary chant of a Catholic church ; and finding no-, 
thing .in it to occupy me, I amused myself with watching 
the ill-concealed drowsiness of many of the Cardinalsi, who, 
having just risen from dinner, seemed to have the greatest- 
difficulty in refraining from taking their customary siesta. 
Though broad day-light, there was a row of caudles of 
ijjourning wax (of a &rk brown,, or purple colour) ranged 
upon the top of our grate, the -utility of which was uot veryj 
apparent, as they were extinguished before it grew dark. 
There were also fifteen similar mourning candles, erected on 
high beside the altar, which, I wag given to understand,, 
represented the Apostles and the three Marys, rising gra- 
dually in height to the central one, which was the Virgin* 
As the service proceeded, they were put out one by one, to. 
typify the falling oflf of the Apostles in the hour of insl ; so 
that at last they were all extinguished, except the Virgin 
Maiy, who was set under the altar. 

The shadows of evening had now closed in, and we should; 
have been lefc almost in total darkness, but for the dull redi 
glare which proceeded from the hidden lights, of the unseen 
choristers, and which, mingling with the aeepening twilight,, 
produced a most melancholy gloom. 

After a deep and most impressive pause of siJeiiQe, the 
solemn Miserere commenced ; and never by mortal ear wa» 
heard a strain of such powerful, suqh heart-moving pathos. 
The accordant tpneg qf a hundred human voices — and one- 
which seemed. i?iose thp.n human— ascended together tOi 
heaven for mercy to mankind — ^for pardon to a guilty ani 
sinning world, it hft4 Qothii:^ pf this, earth— wthing 

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184 BOME. 

that breathed the ordinary feelings of our nature. It seemed 
as if every sense and power had been concentred into that 
plaintiye expression of lamentation, of deep suffering and 
supplication, which possessed the soul. It was the straia 
that disembodied spirits might have used who had Just 
passed the boundanes of death, and sought release ^om 
the mysterious weight of woe and the tremblings- of mortal 
agony that they had suffered in the passage of the grave. 
It was the music of another state of bemg. 

It lasted till the shadows of evening leU deeper, and the 
red dusky glare, as it issued stronger from the concealed 
recess wnence the singing proceeded, shed a partial but 
strong light upon the figures near it. 

It ceased — a priest with a light moved across the chapel, 
and carried a book to the officiating Cardinal, who read a 
few words in an awful and impressive tone. 

Then, again, the light disappeared, and the last, the most 
entrancing harmony arose, in a strain that might have moved 
heaven itself — a deeper, more pathetic sound of lamentation, 
than mortal voices ever breathed. 

Its effects upon the minds of those who heard it, was 
almost too powerful to be borne, and neveiv-never can be 
forgotten. One gentleman fainted, and was carried out; 
and many of the ladies near me were in agitation even more 
distressing, which they vainly struggled to suppress. 

It was the music of Allegri ; but the composition, however 
fine, is nothing without the voices who penorm it here. It 
is only the singers of the Papal chapel who can execute the 
Miserere. It has been tried by the best singers in Ghsr- 
many, and totally failed of effect. 

There is never any accompaniment, though at times the i 
solemn swell of the softfened organ seemed to blend with 
the voices. 

This music is more wonderful, and its effect more power- 
ful, than any thing I could have conceived. 

At its termination, some loud strokes, that reverberated 
through the chapel, and are intended, I was told, to repre- 
sent the veil of the Temple being rent in twaiu, closed the 

With Holy Thursday our miseries began. . 

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On tliis disastrous day we went before nine to the Sistine 
Chapel — after sitting an hour, saw the Pope enter — ^wit- 
nessed the Cardinals' kissiog of hands, and priests' kissing 
of toes, as usual — ^underwent the same tiresome repetition 
of mass — and beheld a procession, led by the inferior orders 
of clergy, followed up Dy the Cardinals in superb dresses, 
bearing ion^ wax-tapers in their hands, and ending with the 
Pope himsdf, who walked beneath a crimson canopy, with 
his head uncovered, bearing the Host in a box; and this 
being, as you know, the reiu flesh and blood of Christ, was 
carried from the Sistine Chapel, through the intermediate 
hall, to the Paolina Chapel, where it was deposited in the 
sepulchre prepared to receive it, beneath the altar. The 
ceremony of the deposition we did not witness; for the 
moment the Pope entered, the doors of the chapel were 

I never yet could learn, why Christ was to be buried 
before he was dead; for, as the <3ruciflxion did not take 
place till Good Friday, it seems odd to inter him on Thurs- 
day. His body, however, is laid in the sepulchre, in all the 
churches of Eome in which this rite is practised, on Thurs- 
day forenoon ; and it remains there till Saturday at mid-day, 
when, for some reason best known to themselves, he is sup- 
posed to rise from the grave, amidst the firing of cannon, 
and blowing, of trumpets, and jingling of beUs — which have 
been carefiSly tied up since the dawn of Holy Thursday, 
lest the devil should get into them. But I am anticipating. 
The moment the Pope left the Paolina Chapel, the gates 
were thrown open. Nothing could exceed the brilliancy of 
its illumination, which lasted as long as the body lay in the 
tomb. During these two days and nights, hundreds, clad in 
deep mourning, were continually kneeling, in silence the 
most' profound, and in devotion the most fervent, aroimd 
the illuminated sepulchre of their crucified Eedeemer, over 
which they wept in anguish of spirit. I have entered it on 
tiptoe again and again, amidst the most awful silence, and 
heard no sound but the sigh of penitence. 

It was a cruel sight to see these thousands of sepulchral 
tapers blackening the frescos of Michael Angelo ; and yet I 

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JS6 BOHl. 

don't know liow the^ can reasonably be objected to,, aince he 
himself planned their arrangement. 

We did. not wait for the re-opening of the chapel at pie^ 
sent, nor for the benediction the Pope waa a^rwards to^ 
give from the balcony of St. Peter's, knowing it would be^ 
repeated on Sunday; but hurried away to endeavour td 
get places in ihe Sala della Lavatura^ to see the washing; 
of feet. 

It was not, however, till after great exertions on the paiii 
of the gentlemen of our party, and afcer being nearly pressed" 
to death in the most terrible squeeze I ever encountered^, 
that we found ourselves in the hall, which was already} 
crowded almost to suffocation ; and, completely exhau3teaj. 
and scarcely half alive, we were placed upon the raised stepa^ 
reserved tor ladies,, exactly opposite to the pilgrims, or ratheir 
priests, whose feet the Pope was to wash. 

The ceremony is instituted in commemoration of our 
Saviour's washing the feet of the apostles ; but here therQ 
were thirteen instead of twelve. The odd one is the repre*. 
sentative of the angel that once came to the table of twelve 
that St. Gregory was serving ; and though it is not asserted 
that the said angel had his feet washed^ or indeed did 
anything but eat, yet as the Pope can hardly do less foi? 
him than the rest^ he shares in tne ablution as well as th& 

The twelve were old priests, but the one who representect 
the angel was very young. They were aU drassed in loose 
white gowns, with white caps on .their heads, and clean 
woollen stockings, and were seated in a row along the waJl^ 
nnder a canopy. When the Pope entered and took his seat 
at the top of the room, the whole company of them knelt in 
their places, turning towards' him ; and on his hand being 
extended in benediction, they all rose again and reseated 

The splendid garments of the Pope were then takea 
off; and, clad in a. white linen robe which, he had on un- 
der the others, and wearinff the bishop's mitre instead of 
the tiara^ he approached the pilgrims, topfc from an. at- 
tendant Cardinal. % silyec bucki^ of water«. knelt befco^ 

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titfr firat of iheiB^. inrnteified one foot, in ikie wa^r, pui 
water over it with his hand, and touched it with a squarO) 
firinged cloth -^ kissed the leg, and gave the cloth, and a 
sort of white flower, or feather, to the. man ; then went; 
on to the next. The whole ceremony was orer,. I think, 
in less than two minutes, so rapidly was this aot of hu-< 
miUty gone through. From tnence the Pope returned 
to his throne,, put on his robes of white and silver again, 
and proceeded to the Sala della Tavola, whither we fol- 
lowed, not without extreme difficulty, so immense waa 
the crowd. The thirteen priests were now seated in a 
tow at the table, which was spread with a variety of dishes,, 
and adorned with a profusion of flowers. The Pope gave( 
the blessing, and, walking along the side of the tables 
apposite to them, handed eaoh of them bread, then plates, 
and, lastly, cups of wine. They regularly all rose up ta 
receive what ne presented; and the Pope having gone 
through the fbrms of service, and given them hia parting 
benediction, left them to finish their dinner in peace. 
They carry away what they cannot eat, and receive ai 
small present in money besides. 

The ceremonies of this morning, which we were nearly 
pressed to death to obtain a sight of, in my humble- 
opinion, are not in the least worth seeing. Those, on 
the contrary, which we witnessed in the evening,, were, 
attended with no difficulty, and were, in all respects,, 
highly interesting. I chiefly allude to the divine Miserere 
ia the Sistine Chapel, which was, if possible, finer than 
that of the preceding day. Before we went up to bean 
it, (about four o'clock,) we stopped at St. Peter-s. to see; 
the Penitenza Maggiore, a Carainal, who is armed with 
powers to give absolution for crimes which no other priest 
can absolve, and who sits on the evenings of Holy Thurs- 
day, and Good Friday, in the great Confessional of St. 

A man was on hisr knees, at confession when we were 
there, whose face, of course, we could not see. The Car- 
dinal had unceasing employment in touching ^ith his long 
white wand, the heads of those who knelt before him for 
this purpose, and who thereby receive great spiritual be- 

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188 BOMB. 

nefit. Yesterday he sat at the same hour in the Churct 
of Santa Maria Maggiore. 

The effect of the blazing cross of fire suspended from 
the dome above the Confession, or tomb of St. Peter's, 
was strikingly brilliant at night, when, at the conclusion 
of the Miserere, we descended iato the church, whose inoi^ 
mense e^manse was thoroughly illuminated with its res- 
plendent Brightness. The Cross is covered with innumer- 
able lamps, which have the effect of one blaze of fire. 
Though eighteen feet in length, its proportion to the im- 
mensity of St. Peter's is so small that it looked like a 
minute ornamental cross, such as a lady might wear round 
her neck ; and its dimiuutiveness disappointed us all. The 
whole church was thronged with a vast multitude, of all 
classes and countries, from royalty to the meanest beggar, 
all gazing upon this one object. 

m a few minutes, the Pope and all the Cardinals descended 
into St. Peter's, and room being kept for them by the Swiss 
Ghiards, the aged Pontiff, whose silver hairs shaded his pale 
and resigned head, prostrated himself in silent adoration 
before the cross of fire. A long train of Cardinals knelt 
behind him, whose splendid robes and attendant train-bearers 
formed a striking contrast to the humility of their attitude. 
Three abdicated monarchs knelt beside them, — ^the aged 
King of Spain, the poor blind King of Sardinia, in the 
simple garb of a Jesuit, and the King of Holland, (Louis 
Buonaparte), in the dress of the plainest citizen ; the young 
King of Etruria, and his mother Queen,* and many reigning 
Princes of Germany and Italy, bent before the cross. SSence 
the most profound reigned, while those whom all were bound 
to worship upon earth, knelt before the throne of Heaven. 
This striking scene has been so beautifrdly described by 
Madame de Stael, that I will not attempt to give you any 
account of it. She justly observes, that as soon as the act of 
adoration is finished, St. Peter's resembles an immense cafe, 
in which the people perambulate, apparently thinking of any- 
thing but religion. The effect oi the fiery cross is much 
diminished by the distracting lights in a little raised gallery 

* Created Archduchess of the once happy Republic of Lucca. 

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on one side of the dome, in wMch tlie exposition of the relics 
is made. These chiefly consist, I thinx, of a piece of the 
true cross on which Christ was crucified, incased in gold ; a 
bit of the spear which pierced the side ; a morsel of the 
sponge ; and the volto santo, as the Italians call it, or ' the 
toie unage' of the face of our Saviour on Santa Veronica's 
handkerchief, whose statue, flourishing a marble pocket hand- 
kerchief, stands immediately below. Each of these precious 
relics were brought out successively by a priest, who carried 
it iu his hands, and, followed by two others who carried 
nothing, walked continually to and fro in the little gaUery — 
much as I have seen a lion exercise himself in his aen. 
Then stopping full in face of the people, he presented it to 
their view, and at last went out with it at a door which 
opened upon the gallery, from behind the scenes, and re- 
turned with another. 

Leaving St. Peter's we drove to S. Antonio de' Portoghesi, 
to see the sepulchre of Christ. The open portal of this 
small but beautiful church poured forth one flood of light. 
The walls, columns, shriues, and lateral chapels, which are 
entirely formed of the most beautiful polished marbles, re- 
flected like a mirror the blaze of the innumerable tapers 
with which it was illuminated. The sepulchre, which was in 
the great altar, was overpoweringly resplendent. The 
churdi, though crowded with people, was as silent as the 
grave ; not a whisper — ^not a footstep was to be heard. AU, 
except ourselves, were prostrate on the ground in silent 
prayer; and, with light K>otsteps, we left it as soon and as 
silently as we could 

This evening we attended a grand Accadomia of sacred 
music, in the house of an Italian lady. Voices, which almost 
seemed more than human, sane, iu the alternation of recitative, 
solo, duet, trio, and grand cnorus, a succession of the most 
original, the most solemn, the most astonishing compositions 
that mortal genius surely ever framed, or mortal ear ever 
heard. It was music which resembled, in its wonderful 
pathos and power over the soul, nothing that I could have 
conceived this world to have produced. Never shall I forget 
the divine Miserere with which it concluded. It surpassed 
that which we heard at the Sistine Chapel, not only m the 

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199 BOMB. 

BUperioriiy of the con^position, but in havinff full tmS ex- 
tremely hne Accompauiments ; whereas, at the latter, H^he 
fDTisic is iurariably purely YoeaH, Out of Borne no sucfa 
music is to he heard ; but it is in sacred mufioe, and especiaUy 
in this branch of it, that the Eomans excel, or rather the^ 
possess it exclusively. 

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Good FBrDAT— Thb Tbb Gee— The Pilobims. 

Os the morning of Good Fridajr, we resumed our weari- 
«ome labours by going to the Sistine Chapel. About ten 
o'clock the Pope appeared; and after a long service, the 
crucifix over the altar, which had been covered up all the 
week with a violet or purple-coloured cloth, (the mourning 
of crosses and cardinals here), was uncovered. This is 
called the Discovery of thp Cross ; and then, after a great 
deal of fuss and mummery, it is laid on a napkin on a stand 
before the altar, and after some chanting, and much loss of 
time, the Pope comes to it, kneels to it, prays, or seems to 
pray, over it, and goes away, and all the Cardinals come one 
by one, and do the same. And this is called the Adoration of 
tne Cross. Then they all set off upon the usual procession 
to the Paolina Chapel ; the only difference being, that the 
Pope walks without any canopy over him, and uncovered. 
The doors of the Paolina Chapel were closed upon them, and 
what they did there I don't know; only I understand their 
business was to take up the Host which they had deposited 
in the sepulchre yesterday. Certain it is, they came back 
just as they went, except that the Pope wore his mitre. As 
soon as this was over, without waitmg for the long mass 
which was to follow, I went to the service of the Tre Ore, 
* the three hours of agony' of Christ upon the cross, which 
lasts from twelve to three. 

It is a complete drama, and is performed in seyeral 
churches. I attended it in S. Andrea delle Fratte, which, 
before I arrived, was crowded almost to suffocation; but a 
chair, in a commodious situation, and a soldier to guard it, 
had been kept for me by the attention of the priests, who 
had been apprised of my coming. 

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182 Boia. 

The upper part of tHe cliurcli was arranged like a theatre, 
with painted trees, and pasteboard rocks and thickets, 
representing Mount Calvaij. A little way down, two 
Boman centurions, large as life, dressed in xniutaiy uniforms, 
and mounted on pasteboard horses, were flourishing their 
pasteboard swords. Higher up on the mount, on three 
cruciflxes, were nailed the figiures of Christ and the two 
thieves ; so correctly imitating life, or rather death, that I 
took it for wax-work. 

The Eoman Catholics saj that Christ spoke seven times 
upon the cross,* and that at every saving a dagger entered 
the heart of the Virgin, who is tieretOTe painted with seven 
daggers sticking in her breast, and adcHred as 'Nostra Signora 
de* sette dolori — Our Lady of the seven sorrows. - 

The service of the H'e Ore, is, therefore, divided into 
seven acts, between each of which there is a hvmn. In everv 
act, one of the seven set dissertations, unon the sette parole 
of Christ, is read — or begun to be reaa — ^by a priest, who 

foes on until his lecture is interrupted by the preacher, who 
reaks in upon it at whatever part he pleases with a sermon 
(as they call it) or rather a tirade, of nis own, which seems 
to be extempore, but I am told is previously learnt by rote. 

A fat Dominican filled the pulpit on tms occasion. He 
opened his seven sermons by a preparatory exhortation, 
iaviting us to come to listen to the last accents of Christ, to 
witness his dying agonies, &c. — ^in these words : 

^^Venite ai ascoltar gli uUimi accenti di Ghsu. Quanto 
sia giusta cosa e davuta, che i Christiani aceompaanino U hr* 
Bedentore in queste ore tenerissme delV agonia, ' &c. 

Then he said it was our ingratitude which caused him 
these tremendous agonies. 

* The seven sayings of Christ are as follows : — 
Ist. — " Father I forgive them, for they know not what th^ do !" 
2nd.~(To the go^ thief.) "To-day thon shalt be with me in 
3rd.— (To the Virgin Mary,) ) " Woman ! behold thy son ! 
(and to the Apostle John,) f " Son 1 behold thy mother ! " 
4th.—" My God 1 my God ! why hast thon forsaken me ! " 
5th.—" I thirst." 

6th.—" It is finished \" {Coruummatum est !) 
7th.—" Father 1 into thy hands I commend my spirit 1 " 

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" Ghtardatelb hene, O Jnime! (a term of great abuse) e la 
vostra ingratitudvne che gli camona quelle tremende aganie di 
morte. Quardelo bene su quetla eroce; tutto da capo a piedi 
fatto una piaga, le spalle e tutto U corpo lacerati dai Jlagelli, 
U petto snervato daUe percosse, il cc^ trapasstUo orrihil- 
mente dalle spines i eapelU strappati, la harba schimtata, U 
volto ferito dalle gtumciate, le vene vuote di sangue, la hocca 
inaridata dalla sete, la lingua amareggiata dal fiele e dalV 
aceto, le mani e piedi trivellaU e trafitti da fieri chiodi, e 
questi squard inaspriti anehe piu dal peso del sua medesimo 
oorpo,'^* &c. Ac. &c. 

Then he burst forth into a string of apostrophes to Christ 
on the cross, being an incessant r^etition of interjections 
and vocatives, interlarded with a few metaphors, most of 
which I hold to be perfectly untranskteable. The following, 
which I took down verbatim from his mouth, were utter^ 
without the smallest interruption or pause : — " O mio Q^su / 
O Ghsu amorosigsvmo ! O Fratello Qesu! Fratelh amoro- 
sissimo ! O Oesu del mio cuore ! O amaratissimo mio Q-esu I 
O &e9u affiitto ! O Q-esu coronato da spine ! O Oesu caro ! 
O Oesu mio ! O Oesu dohissimo ! O Oesu dohrosissimo ! 
O Oesu henignissimo ! O amcmtissimo nostro O^su! U cm 
incendio amoroso non poterono estinguere le acque di tanti 
crudelta e trihulazione / That is to say, " my Jesus ! O 
most beloved Jesus! brother Jesus! Most beloved 
brother ! O Jesus of my heart ! O most suffering Jesus ! 
O Jesus afflicted ! O Jesus crowned with thorns ! O dear 
Jesus! O my Jesus! O most sweet Jesus! O most 
sorrowful Jesus! most benign Jesus! O our most 
beloved Jesus ! whose burning love the waters of so much 
cruelty and tribulation could not extinguish !" 

Then he reviled us all, under every sort of vituperative 
epithet, in which Mtmdani ! Anime ! Feecatori insensihili! 

* " Look at him upon that cross — ^from head to foot one entire wound 
— his shoulders, and aU his body lacerated with soouiigeB, Ms breast 
braised with blows, his head torn cruelly with thorns, Ms hair pulled 
away by the roots, his beard savagely plucked out, his £Ace battered 
with blows, his veins devoid of blood, his mouth dried up with thirst, 
his ton^e embittered with gall and vinegar, his feet and hands 
wrenched round and transfixed with strong nails, and the torture of his 
broken legs aggravated by the weight of his body," &;c. &;c. 


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194 BOMX. 

jPeceatari viP e gparohiuimi! were the best tHat fell to our 
share, and reproached ub bitterly because we did not die 
with grief at the sight of the suffermgs of our Bedeemer, as 
the MdrHriy ConfeMori, and PemtetiH of old had done — ^Who 
"morirono per impuUo d*un fervido voHro amore, J^tm 
amore inespUcabUe mori Mana vostre Madrey d^tm amore 
vivissmo mori la cara vosira Maddalena e la vottra Sposa 

Caterina, Mmam* dtmque, Anime! Mmam* d^amoreT'* 
Howeyer, we did not die, and he reviled us worse than ever. 
*^ La vostra amma rascolta, e si rimane insensibile, eieca, 
sorda, e mtUa, Vede morire il suo IHo, e non sotpira, non 
piofwe I Fercke non muore quando muore egli /" f <Sx^* ^* 

J^fay, he once called us stones, (pietrij and he not only 
abused men, but aaseh — ^not only €»rth, but heayen — ^which, 
under the name of ^^Ingrato Vielo!" he reproached with 
being unworthy of him, and adjured to pnze him as it 

When he reviled us for disobedience to the Ordinances of 
Holy Church, through the gates of which, he said, were the 
only ^ths to salvation, and depicted to us the flames of hell, 
in wmch, he informed us, we should be consumed, if we did 
not implicitly follow her icommands; and more than all — 
when I heara him abuse us for not sufficiently mortifying 
the flesh, and looked on his own surprising fatness — I own I 
could not restrain a snule. 

^ During his last discourse, which, in vehement emphasis, 
ejaculation, and gesticulation, far exceeded the six preceding 
ones, he continually importuned Christ for one sign, one 
look — "Da mi tmo sguardoT^ &c.; at last he said he had 
given him one look full of mercy — " wno sguardo pieno di 
carita!^* — ^and he asked for another — "«wo sgua/rdo aneoray 
wC altro sguardo — O Gesu mioP* &c. &c. At length the 
discourse was drawn out to the right instant of time — ^the 
three hours were expiring — "JScco il momenta T* he cried, 

* " YTho died through the impulse of a fervid love for you, (Christ,) 
of an inexplicable lore died Maiy, your mother ; of a most Uvely love 
died your dear Magdalen ; and your wife Catherine (of Siena). Let us 
die then, wretches as we are f Let us die of love." 

f ** Your souls remain insensible, bUnd, deaf, and dumb. Yon see 
your God die, and do not sigh nor weep. Why do you not die when he 
diesl" &C. 

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and everybody sunk prostrate on the ground in tears ; — ^and 
iaobs, and groans, and cries, and one loud burst of agony 
Med the church — " Uceo il momento ! Qia spira Oesu Cris" 
to! — Qia muore il nostro Bedentore! — Qihjinisce di vivere 
il nostro Fadre ! " • 

I believe mine was almost the onlv dry eye in the church, 
excepting the priest's. The sobs oi the soldier, who leaned 
on his firelock behind my chair, made me look round, and I 
saw the big tears rolling down his rugged cheeks. 

From this time I took no more notes, and therefore will 
not pretend to give you any more quotations from the good 
father's discourse, which he continued to pour forth with 
still increasing vehemence, both of words and action, in a 
strain of eloquence certainly of a kind well calculated to pro- 
duce the effect he intended^ that of moving the passions of 
his hearers. 

At length the preacher cried, " Here they come — ^the holy 
men — ^to bear the body of our Bedeemer to the sepulchre; 
and from the side of the scene issued forth a bana of friars, 
clad in black, with white scarfs tied across them, and gradu- 
ally climbing Mount Calvary by a winding path amongst the 
rocks and bushes, exactly like a scene upon the stage, rea^^hed 
the foot of the cross, unmolested by the paper centurions. 
But when they began to unnail the body, it is utterly im- 
possible to describe the shrieks, and cries, and clamours of 
grief, that burst from the people. At the unloosening of 
every nail, they were renewed with fresh vehemence, and the 
Sobs and tears of the men were almost as copious as those of 
the women. 

Five prayers, separately addressed to the five wounds of 
Chriflt — ^first, the woimd on the left foot, then that of the 
right foot, and so of the two hands, and, lastly, of the side, 
were next repeated. They were nearly the same, and all 
began, " Vi adoro piaga santiasimaJ'^ — (" I adore you, most 
hofy wound.") 

The body of Christ being laid on a bier, decked with 

artificial flowers, and covered with a transparent veil, was 

I brought down Mount Calvary by the holy men, — as the 

I * " The moment is come ! Now Jesus Christ expires ! Now our 

Bedeemer dies I Now our Father ceases to live ! " 

o 2 

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196 BOU. 

preacher called them, — who deposited it on the fix>iit of ' tlie 
stage, where all the people thronged to kiss the toe through 
the veil, and weep oyer it. I was conducted round to it, alomg 
with some Italian ladies of m^ acquamtance, through :..« 
private passage, bj one of the civil priests, and so e^^oftd 
the crowd. Upon dose inspection, I found that the bo4^ 
was made of pasteboard, extremely wdl painted for effect; 
it had real hair on the head, and it was so well executecL, 
that even when closely viewed, it was marked with the agony 
of nature, and seemed to have recently expired. 

The congregation consisted of all ranks, irom the prince 
to the beggar, but there was a preponderance of the nigher 
classes. Some ladies of the first rank in Borne were besi^ 
me, and they were in agitation the most excessive. 

You may depend upon the accuracy of the quotations I 
have given you from the good friar's harangues ; and they 
may enable you to form some idea of the strain of pulpit 
oratory here. I took them down from the preacher*s mou&, 
while apparently I was occupied with my prayer-book, aad 
I believe my employment was undi8C0v^*ea, except by tifee 
soldier at my back. 

After the last Miserere of the week at the Sistine Chapel 
this evening, which I thought scarcely equal to that of 
yesterday, we stopped in St. Peter's only to give a last 
glance to the cross of fire; and without waitmg for its 
second adoration by the Pope and Cardinab, we drove to 
the Hospital of the OMmta de JPellegrini, where poor pil- 
grims of all nations are gratuitously lodged and fed for three 
days, during the Holy Week. This immense building has 
sufficient accommodation for five thousand pilgrims, and is 
frequently fuU. On the evening of Holy Thursday and 
Good Pnday, many of the Cardinals, and Koman nobilitv of 
both sexes, may be seen here, washing the pilgrims' &et, 
and afterwards waiting upon them at supper like servants. 
In the female apartments above stairs, we saw some of the 
loveliest of the IU)man prmci^esse on their knees, washioj?, 
with their own fair hands, the dirty feet of the female pu- 
grims — ^while the old Cardinals below were performing the 
same menial offices to the men. They do not, like the Pope, 
ii^jsi^lj go through the form of it, but really and truly wash 

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tbeir dirhr feet — as we can testify ; — ^for although females 
are not allowed to enter the wards of the male pflgrims, jet 
being curious to see how the old Cardinals looked, we ob- 
tained permission to peep in, and found them scrubbing 
away in good earnest, cleansing, I suppose, at once, the 
pilgrims' feet, and their own soms. It was easy to see how 
proud they were of this act of humility. 

A Mend of ours tins evening attended a pious exercise of 
a different sort, at a small church or oratorio, the name of 
which I have forgotten, but belonging, I think, to the PP. 
Caravita. Almost aU. present were clad as penitents, their 
whole figures — even their heads and faces, — completely co- 
vered with coarse dark cloth, and holes cut for their eyes. 
The doors of the church were shut, and after a suitable 
exhortation firom a &iar, scourges were distributed, the lights 
were extinguished, and in total darkness the flagellation 
began, which continued for twenty minutes, — while a dismal 
sort of chanted music, like the wailings of suffering souls, 
was sung. The candles were then relighted, and all de- 
parted in peace. 

The shops of all the pizzicaruoli, — ^the cheesemongers, 
sausage-defers, &c. — are to-night most brilliantly illumi- 
nated. It is the general custom they say, but I cannot 
learn the reason. 

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198 BOMS. 



Tkb Bestjbbectiok — ^BLSBsnra the Houses — GomfES- 


We were sillj enougli to get up this morning before six 
o'clock, to see some Jews baptized at St. John's Lateran. 
A couple of these unfortunate Israelites, and sometimes 
more, are always procured on this day, every year, for this 
purpose. Turks are preferred when they are to be had, 
but they are rare. The Jews, I understand, are at present 
very dear ; no less weighty arguments than eighlr Itoman 
crowns each, I heard, were necessary to convince these new 
proselytes of the Isruth of Christianity. Besides these 
golden reasons, I am assured that no sooner does a Jew 
see the error of his ways than his debts towards his brother 
Jews are cancelled ; so that, as soon as he becomes a Chris- 
tian, he is at liberty to be a rogue ; and if the wife of a 
converted Jew refuses to embrace Christianity, he is held 
to be divorced from her, and may marry another. Con- 
siderinff this, it really says a great deal for them, that there 
are so few converts. It is even hinted, that there are fewer 
converts than baptisms; and that the baptismal rite is 
sometimes performed upon the same neophytes. 

The two devoted Israelites prepared iot this occasion, 
attired in dirty yeUow silk gowns, were seated on a bench 
within the marble font of the Baptistry, which resembles a 
large bath, both in form and shape, and, in iauct, was used 
as such in primitive times, when baptism was performed by 
complete submersion. The font itself was empty, but the 
ancient vase at the bottom of it, in which, according to an 
absurd legend, Constantino was healed of his leprosy by 
St. Sylvester, stood before them filled with water, and its 

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margin adorned with flowers. The unhappy Israelites, with 
most rueM countenances, were conning tneir prayers out 
of a book, while, close to their sides, stuck their destined 
godfathers, — ^two black-robed Doctors of divinity, — ^as if to 
guard and secure their spiritual captives. 

The Cardinal Bishop, who had been employed ever since 
81X o'clock in the benediction of Are, water, oil, wax, and 
flowers, now appeared, followed by a long procession of 
priests and crudnxes. He descended into the font, repeated 
a great many prayers in Latin over the water, occasionally 
dipping his hand into it. Then a huge flaming wax taper, 
about six feet hi?h, and of proportionate thickness, painted 
with images of the Yirgin and Christ, which had previously 
been blessed, was set upright in the vase; more Latin 
prayers were mumbled, one of the Jews was brought, the 
Bishop cut the sign of the cross in the hair at the crown 
of his head, then, with a silver ladle, poured some of the 
water upon the part, baptizing him in the usual forms, both 
the god£skthers and he having agreed to all that was required 
of them. The second Jew was brought, upon whom the 
same ceremonies were performed; this poor little fellow 
wore a wig, and when the cold water was poured on his 
bare skull, he winced exceedingly, and made many wry 
faces. They were then conveyed to the altar of the neigh- 
bouring chapel, where they were confirmed, and repeated 
the Creed. The Bishop then made the sign of the cross 
upon their foreheads with holy oil, over which white fillets 
-were immediately tied to secure it. Then the Bishop ad- 
dressed a long exhortation to them, in the course of which 
he told them, that having now aWured their * ridicola super- 
stizione,' and embraced the true mith, unless they continued 
in their hearts good Christians without wavering, they 
would bring upon themselves greater damnation, and be 
thrown into the lowest pit of neU-fire; nay, if they ever 
entertained a single Jewisn thought, or felt the least hank- 
ering after their abominable idolatries, (there, I think, the 
Jews might have retorted the charge,) nothing could save 
them from this doom. He frightened them so, that the 
little Jew with a wig began to cry most bitterly, and could 
not be comforted. This being over, the Jews were con- 

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200 aoxB. 

ducted with great oeremonj from the Baptistry to the door 
of the churcl^ where they stopped, and it was not till after 

much chanting by the JBishop that it seemed settled they 
should pass the threshold. Accordingly this was effected, 
and they were seated within the yery pale of the altar, 
where they had to witness such a tedious succession of 
foolish ceremonies, that I marvel much they did not repent 
them of their conversion. It was an ordiimtion of pnests 
of all kinds and degrees, which lasted nearly fiye nours; 
and though we had nothing to do with it, deluded by the 
fallacious promise of some fine music, which never came, 
we were foolish enough to stay till the end. The Bishop, 
disrobed, and in his Hnen tunic, his golden mitre ex- 
changed for one set with precious stones, threw himself 
pros^te on the steps of the altar, with his face and arms 
extended on the ground, and all the priests who were to 
be ordained fell na,t on the floor behmd him in the same 
posture. In about a minute the Bishop got up, said a few 
unintelligible words, and threw himself down again. Then 
up they all got, and after much fidgetting up and down, and 
moving about, and chanting in their usual drawl, the Bishop 
took a pair of scissors, invested several little boys with the 
tonsure, by cutting a round piece of hair out of the crowns 
of their heads, and then, after much ado, he put the little 
white shirts over their heads, and made priestlings of them. 
Poor little things, some of them did not seem to be more 
than ten years old. I was glad to hear they might, after 
this, leave the priesthood if they chose it. Then a batch 
of deacons (irrevocable priests) were ordained; but these 
cannot yet perform high mass, nor give extreme unction 
nor absolution, nor perform any of those higher functions 
of the church. It was a terrible time before their dressing 
was completed. Then a number of deacons were created 
priests, and their fore-finger and thumb were anointed with 
holy oil, that they might elevate the Host ; and between 
every time of using this holy oil, the Bishop always rubbed 
his hands with lemon. But mortal patience would fail 
under the recital of the endless little wearisome ceremonies 
that were gone through — the dressings and undressings, 
the pulling off and the putting on of mitres and robes, uie 

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.gettings up and sittings down, tKe bowings and scraping, 
the hair-cuttings, the anointings, the chantings, and the 
mummery of all kinds, that filled up these five mis-spent 

At twelve o'clock we left the church aJong with the Car- 
dinal Bishop, who ended the ordination by carrying out the 
cup, followed by all the new-made priests and priestUngs. 
At the same moment the resurrection was announced by 
much ' tintionabular uproar,' as a witty friend of ours called 
it ; and certainly the larum was astoimding. The bells of 
every church in Eome, (and there are upwards of three 
hundred,) began to jingle at once, the cannon from the 
Castle of St. Angelo to fire, and at the Church of Santa 
Maria Egyzziaca, the blowing of horns and trumpets, the 
clang of kettle-drums, and every species of tumult, pro- 
claimed the sacred event to the world. 

During the days in which the bells are tied up — ^from 
Holy Thursday to Saturday at noon, — the hours on which 
they are usually rung for prayers, viz., six in the morning, 
three in the afternoon, and the Ave Maria, which is imme- 
diately after sunset, are announced by a little wooden 
machme, called tric-trac, making a sound similar to its 
name, but very noisy, with which some of the inferior clergy 
run about the churches at the proper times. Though the 
resurrection takes place on Saturday at noon, the fast is 
not over till midnight, at which time most good Catholics 
eat areisso, — ^that is, an enormous supper of fish, flesh, and 
fowl. A total abstinence from food during the two previous 
days is still practised by many, but the feasting is now more 
universal than the fasting. 

The priests are very actively emplojred at Easter in run- 
ning in and out of every house, blessing it with holy water. 
I could not think what one of them was about whom I 
encountered on the stairs, dabbling away with a little brush; 
when explained, I found the rest of the house had been 
sprinkled, but that the Conte, our noble landlord, had not 
ventured to introduce the holy water into our appartamento^ 
thinldng such an ablution would not be at all to our here- 
tical taste; but I begged the good father to return and 
besprinkle our rooms to his full satisfaction, assuring him 

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202 xom. 

I Bhonld be sony to depriye them of sach an advantage^ 
at which, and the sight of a piece of monej, he kughed most 

Every Italian must at this time confess, and receive the 
oommunion ; it is compulsory. A Mend of ours, who has 
lived a great deal in foreign countries, and there imbibed 
very heterodox notions, and who has never to us made 
any secret of his confirmed unbelief of Boman-catholic 
doctrines, went to-day to confession with the strongest 

" What can I do?" he said. " K I neglect it, I am re- 
primanded by the parish priest ; if I dela^ it, my name is 
posted up in the parish church ; if I persist in my contu- 
macy, the arm of tne church will overtake me, and my rank 
and fortune only serve to make me more obnoxious to its 
power. If I chose to make myself a martyr to infidelity, 
as the saints of old did to religion, and to suffer the extre- 
mity of punishment in the loss of property and personal 
lights, what is to become of my wife and family P The 
same ruin would overtake them, though they are Eoman 
Catholics; for I am obliged not only to conceal my true 
belief, and profess what I depise, but I must bring up my 
children in their abominable idolatries and superstition ; or, 
if I teach them the truth, make them either hypocrites or 
beggars." I shall not enter into the soundness of my friend's 
arguments, or defend the rectitude of his conduct, but cer- 
tainly the alternative is a hard one; and I believe there are 
thousands whose virtue would not be proof against it ; for 
this reason, he would not live a day in Italy if he could live 
out of it, which is not in his power. 

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Easteb SinrDAT— The BsinsBiOTioifr. 

The grandest Eoman-catholic festival of the year is 
Saster Sunday, which was doubly welcome to us, because 
the last of the holy shows of this exhausting season. On 
this day the church puts forth all her pomp and splendour. 
The Pope assists at nigh mass, or, as the priests have it, — »7 
tommo FotUefice canta Messa solen/nemente in 8, Fietro^— 
and there is a procession, which, as it is seen to the highest 
advantage in that noble church, is as grand as any such pro- 
cession can be. A pen was Erected for us ladies in the left 
of the high altar, for wherever the Pope comes we are always 
cooped up, for fear of accidents. Luckily, however, it was 
unprovided with a grate, so that we could see to perfection. 
It was, in all respects, a happy liberation from the gloomy 
imprisonment we had been sustaining day after day, in the 
Sistine Chapel. The sable robes of the past week were uni- 
versally thrown aside, and the gayer — ^the more catholically 
orthodox — ^were we. 

The church was lined with the Guarda Nobile in their 
splendid uniforms of gold and scarlet, and nodding plumes of 
white ostrich feathers; and the Swiss guards, with their 
polished cuirasses and steel helmets. The great centre aisle 
was kept clear by a double wall of aimed men, for the grand 
procession, the approach of which, after much expectation, 
was proclaimed by the sound of a trumpet from the farther 
end of the church. A long band of priests advanced, loaded 
with still augmenting magnificence, as they ascended to the 
higher orders. Cloth-of-gold, and embroidery of gold and 
silver, and crimson velvet, and mantles of spotted ermine, 
and flowing trains, and attendant train-bearers, and mitres 
and crueifixeB glittering with jewels, and priests and patri- 

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20li soiis. 

archs, and bishops and cardinals, dazzled our astonished eyes, 
and filled the long len^h of St. Peter's. Lastly, came the 
Pope, in his crimson chair of state (sedia gestatoria), borne 
on the shoulders of twenty palfiremeri. He was arrayed in 
robes of white, and wore the tiara, or triple crown of the oon- 
ioined Trinity, with a canopy of cloth of silver floating over 
his head, and was preceded by two men carrying enormous 
fans composed of large plumes of ostrich feathers, mounted 
on long gilded wands, lie stopped to pay his adorations to 
the miraculous Madonna in her chapel, about half-way up ; 
and this duty, which he never omits, being performed, he was 
slowly borne past the high altar, liberally giving his benedic- 
tion with the twirl of the three fingers as he passed. 

They set him down upon a magnificent stool, in front of 
the altar, on which he knelt, and his crown being taken off, 
and the cardinals taking off their little red skull-caps, and all 
kneeling in a row, he was supposed to pray. Having re- 
mained a few minutes in this attitude, they took him to the 
chair prepared for him on the right of the throne. There he 
read, or seemed to read, something out of a book, for I know, 
from having seen him read in private, that it was impossible, 
without his spectacles he could really make it out ; and then 
he was again taken to the altar, on wliich his tiara was placed ; 
and, bare-headed, he repeated — or, as by courtesy, they call 
it, sang — a small part of the service, threw up clouds of in- 
cense, and was removed to the crimson canopied throne ; and 
high mass was celebrated by a Cardinal and two Bishops, at 
which he assisted, that is, he got up and sat down in par- 
ticular parts. 

During the whole service I could not help observing, that 
the only part of the congregation who were in the least 
attentive, were the small body of English, whom curiosity, 
and perhaps sense of decorum, rendered so. All the Italians 
seemed to consider it quite as much of a pageant as our- 
selves, but neither a new nor an interesting one ; and they 
were walking about, and talking, and inrerchanging pinches 
of snuff with each other, exactly as if it had been a place of 
amusement, — ^till the tinkling of a little bell, which an- 
nounced the elevation of the Host, changed the- scene. 
Every knee was now bent to the earth, every voice was 

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THI pops'b BBKEDICTIOK. 205 

Iiiislied, the reyersed arms of the mflitary rang with an 
instantaneous dang on the marble pavement as thej sunk 
on the ground, and all was still as death. This did not last 
above two minutes. The Host was swallowed, and so began 
aud ended the only thing that bore even the smallest out- 
ward aspect of religion. 

They brought the Pope, however, again to the footstool to 
pray. Two Cardinals alwajs support him, some priestly 
attendants bear up his tram, and others busy themselves 
about his drapery, while two or three others put on and off 
his tiara and mitre ; and so conduct him to and fro, between 
the altar and throne, where he sits at the top of this magni- 
ficent temple, exactiy like an idol dressed up to be wor- 
shipped. The long silver robes, the pale, dead, inanimate 
countenance, and helpless appearance of the good old man, 
tend still more to give him the air of a thing without any 
will of its own, but which is carried about, and set in motion, 
and managed by the priests, and taught by them to make 
certain movements. 

At last they put him again into the chair of state, set the 
crown iipon his head, and, preceded by the great ostrich- 
feather fans, he was borne out of the church. 

We made ail possible expedition up to the Loggia, — a 
temporary sort of gallery erected on the top of the colon- 
nade, opposite to that occupied by the royal families, — and 
secured places in the front row. An expecting crowd had 
long covered the broad expanded steps and platform of the 
church, and spread itself over the piazza. 

The military now poured out of St. Peter's, and formed an 
immense ring before its spacious front, behind which the 
horse-guards were drawn up, and an immense number of 
carriages, filled with splendidly-dressed women, and thou- 
sands of people on foot were assembled. But the multi- 
tude almost shrank into insignificance in the vast area 
of the piazza; and neither piety, curiosity, nor even that 
all-universal gregarious passion that makes people crowd 
to a crowd, had collected together sufficient numbers to 
fill it. 

The tops of the colonnades all round were, however, 
thronged with spectators ; and it was a curious sight to see 

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2106 &OHE. 

Bucli a mixture of all ranks and nations, — ^from the coroneted 
head of kings, to the poor cripple who crawled along the 
pavement, — assemhled together to await the hlessing of an 
old man, their fellow-mortal, now tottering on the hrink of 
the grave. 

Kot the least picturesque figures amon^ the throng, were 
the cantadini, who, in every variety of cunous costume, had 
flocked in from their distant mountain villages, to receive 
the hlessing of the Holy !Father, and whose hright and eager 
countenances, shaded by their long dark hair, were turned 
to the balcony where the Pope was to appear. At length 
the two white ostrich-feather fans, the forerunners of his 
approach, were seen; and he was borne forward on his 
throne, above the shoulders of the Cardinals and Bishops, 
who filled the balcony. After an audible prayer he arose, 
and elevating his hands to heaven, invoked a solemn bene- 
diction upon the assembled multitude, and the people com- 
mitted to his charge. Every head was uncovered, the sol- 
diers, and manif of the spectators, sunk on their knees on the 
pavement to receive the blessing. That blessing was given 
with impressive solemnity, but with little of gesture or 
parade. Immediately the thundering of cannon from the 
Castle of St. Angelo, and the peal of bells from St. Peter's, 

Eroclaimed the joyful tidings to the skies. The Pope was 
orne out, and the people rose from their knees. !But at 
least one half of them had never knelt at all, which greatly 
diminished the impressive effect of the whole. There is 
something in the sunultaneous expression of one imiversal 
feeling among a multitude, especiaUy if that feeling par- 
take of rejoicing, enthusiasm, devotion, or any generous 
passion, that is affecting and sublime in the highest de- 
gree; but if it be only partially diflftised, its effect is ut- 
terly lost. I forgot to say, that, after the benediction, 
several papers were thrown down by one of the Cardinals, 
which contained, I tmderstand, the mdulgences granted to 
the different churches, and a most pious scuffle ensued 
among the people to catch them. 

The Pope's benediction this day, the Italians say, ex- 
tends all over the world, but on Thursday it only goes to 
the gates of Eome. 

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THE pops' s: BSKEDIGTIOir. S07 

On Thursday, too, previous to the benediction, one of 
the Cardinals curses all Jews, Turks, and heretics, * by bell, 
book, and candle.' The little bell is rung, the curse is sung 
from the book, and the lighted taper thrown down amongst 
the people. The Pope's benediction immediately follows 
upon all true believers. 

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206 soxx. 



THE Castle San Anqelo. 

Ws have just witnessed one of the most brilliant specta- 
cles in the world — ^the illumination of St. Peter's ; and the 
girandola, or fireworks, from the Castle San Angelo. In 
general they are only given at the anniversary of the Festival 
of St. Peter, which falls in the middle of summer, when Borne 
is deserted by every stranger, and by all the inhabitants who 
can escape ; but tms year, the old custom of exhibiting them 
on the evening of Easter Sunday, has been revived, in com- 
pliment to the Prince Eoyal of Bavaria,* who has been here 
several months ; and it is only one of the many pleasures hia 
residence at Some has yielded so those who have enjoyed the 
advantage of his acquaintance. 

At Ave-Maria we drove to the Piazza of St. Peter's. The 
lighting of the lamtemoni^ or large paper lanterns, each of 
which looks like a globe of ethereal nre, had been going on 
for an hour, and by the time we arrived there was nearly 
completed. As we passed the Ponte San Angelo, the appear- 
ance of this immense magnificent church, glowing in its own 
brightness — ^the millions of lights reflected in the calm waters 
of the Tiber, and mingling with the iJast golden glow of even- 
ing, so as to make the whole building seem covered with bur- 
nished gold, had a most striking and magical effect. 

Our progress was slow, being much impeded by the long 
line of carriages before us ; but at len^h we arrived at the 
piazza of St. Peter's, and took our station on the right of its 
rarther extreminity, so as to lose the deformity of the dark 
dingy Vatican Palace. The gathering shades of night ren- 
dered the illumination every moment more brilliant. The 

* Now King. 

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iLLVMiHATioir 01* iT. fstib's. 200 

whole of this immense chmrcli — its columns, capitals, corni- 
088, and pediments — the heautiful swell of the lofty dome, 
towering mto heaven, the ribs converging into one point at 
top, surmonnted bj the lantern of the church, and crowned 
by the cross, — aQ were designed in lines of fire ; and the vast 
sweep of the circling colonnades, in eveij rib, line, mould, 
cornice, and column, were resplendent with the same beau- 
tiful li^ht. 

While we were gazing upon it, a bell chimed. On the 
cross of fire at the top, waved a brilliant light, as if wielded 
by some celestial hano, and instantly ten thousand globes and 
stars of vivid fire seemed to roll spontaneouslv along the 
building, as if by magic ; and self-iindled, it blazed in a 
moment into one dazzfing flood of glor^. Fancy herself, in 
her most sportive mood, could scarcely have conceived so 
wonderM a spectacle as the instantaneous illimiination of 
this magnificent fabric. The agents by whom it was efiected 
were unseen, and it seemed the work of enchantment. 

In the first instance, the illuminations had appeared to be 
complete, and one could not dream that thousands and tens 
of thousands of lamps were stiQ to be illumined. Their 
vivid blaze harmonized beauti^illy with the softer milder 
li^ht of the Icmtemom. The brilliant glow of the whole 
illumination shed a ros^ light upon the fountains, whose 
silver &I1, and ever-playmg showers, accorded well with the 
magic of the scene. 

V iewed from the Trinita de' Monti, its effect was unspeak- 
ably beautiful. It seemed to be an enchanted palace nung 
in air, and called up by the wand of some invisible spirit. 
We did not, however, drive to the Trinity de' Monti, till 
after the exhibition of the girandola, or great fireworks from 
the Castle of St. Angelo, which commenced by a tremendous 
explosion, that represented the raging eruption of a volcano. 
'Red sheets of fire seemed to blaze upwards into the glowing 
heavens, and then to pour down their liquid streams upon 
the earth. This was followed by an incessant and compli- 
cated display of every varied device that imagination could 
figure, one changing mto another, and the beauty of the first 
efifaced by that of the last. Hundreds of immense wheels 
turned round with a velocity that almost seemed as if demons 


Digitized by 


210 BOHI. 

were whirling th^n, letting fall thousands of hissing draeous 
and scorpions and fiery snakes, whose long oonyolutions dart- 
ing forward as fiir as the eye could reach in every direction, 
at length vanished into air. Fountains and jets of fire threw 
up their bhuring cascades into the skies. The whole vault of 
heaven shone with the vivid fires, and seemed to receive into 
itself innumerable stars and suns, which, shooting up into it 
in brightness almost insufferable, vanished — ^like earth-born 

The reflection in the depth of the calm clear waters of the 
Tiber was scarcely less beautiful than the spectacle itself; 
and the whole ended in a tremendous burst of fire, that, 
while it lasted, almost seemed to threaten conflagration to the 

But this great agent of destruction was here wholly inno* 
cuous. Mui, who walks the earth, ruling not only the whole 
order of beings, but the very elements themselves,' has turned 
that seemingly uncontrollable power, which might annihilate 
the very globe itself, into a plaything for his amusement, and 
compelled it to assume every whimsical and fantastic form 
that his fancy dictates. It sdone, of all things in existence — > 
reversing the order of nature, — arises from earth towards the 
skies ; vet even this he has bowed to his will. Wonderful as 
these fireworks were, — and let not that name lead you to 
imagine they bore any resemblance to those puny exhibitionB 
of squibs and crackers which we denominate fireworks in 
England, for nothing could be more different, — wonderM as 
they were, the illumination of St. Peter's far surpassed them. 
It is a spectacle which, unlike other mere sights that are seen 
and forgotten, leaves an indelible impression on the mind. 

The expense of the illumination of St. Peter's, and of the 
girandola, when repeated two successive evenings, as thej 
mvariably are at the festival of St. Peter, is 1000 crowns ; 
when exhibited only one night, they cost 700. Eighly men 
were employed in the instantaneous illumination of the lamps, 
which to us seemed the work of enchantment. They were so 
posted as to be imseen. 

I have now been in Bome during a second Holy "Week, 
and have enjoyed the immunity I dearly earned Last year 
from all its show and &tigues. 

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The tliree Misereres in the Sistme Chapel — ^the exhibition 
of the cross of fire in St. Peter's, and the rope's benediction 
fi-om the balcony of the church, are all that 1 have attended, 
and all that I should attend, if I were to live fifty years in 
Eome. The procession into St. Peter's, and the high mass 
either on Easter Sunday, or on Christmas-day — ^for they are 
exactly the same — are, however, very well worth seeing otce, 
but once will suffice. 

Excepting this, none of the ceremonies at Christmas in 
tiie Church of Eome are worth seeiug at all, and indeed 
there are very few to see. On Christmas-eve, a mass is said 
in the Sistine Chapel, if the Pope be at the Vatican Palace ; 
or at the Quirinal Chapel, if he be at the Quirinal Palace, 
which lasts till midnight. But there are no ceremonies what- 
ever to see — ^no music whatever to hear ; the Pope himself 
never attends it, and the Cardinals who do, like the rest of 
the congregation, are more than half asleep. 

Yet most strangers go to it, and all repent of so doing. 
Prom thence the^ generaUy proceed to some church where 
there is music, wnich is rarely worth hearing ; and at four in 
the morning they adjourn to Santa Maria Maggiore, where 
the grand vigO of Christmas-eve is held ; and after sitting 
out a most wearisome mass, they are at last rewarded with 
the sight of the new-bom Christ, carried about dressed in 
magnificent swaddliag-dothes, for the devotion and delight 
of the people. 

I once went through this ceremony in a Portuguese cathe- 
dral, and never repented any other act of foUy so much ; in- 
deed, it is whoUy without an object, for the same doU which 
represents the in&nt Saviour of the world, may be seen at 
any hour you please, either before or after the time of its 
birth, and I cannot understand the advantage of looking at it 
just when one should be in bed. 

This vigil of Christmas-eve was formerly really held on the 
eve ; it began before midnight, and lasted till three or four in 
the morning ; but such scenes of indecorous gaiety and in- 
trigue went on, on this occasion, in the church itself, that Ihe 
hours were altered. 


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CoirrEKTs— TAmro the Veil. 

The re-institation of tlie Inquisition, of the Jesuits, and of 
Monastic orders in the nineteenth oentuiy, is a retrograde 
step in the progress of sociel^. 

The French suppressed all conyents of men, without ex- 
ception. Thej seized upon their revenues, took possession 
of their ancient habitations, invested as manj of their ton- 
sured heads with the military cap and feather as could be 
made to submit to them, and shipped off those who refused 
to renounce their vows, to imprisonment in Corsica and 
Sardinia. That the poor and the old, who had passed their 
Hves within the peacefid cloister, and given to their convent 
the little stipena that was to secure support to their latter 
years, must have suffered severely when thus deprived of 
all, there can be no doubt. But these excepted, I own that 
lor the whole race of monks and j&iars, " blacl^ white, and 
grey, with all their trumpery," I feel little compassion. In 
tbe same summary manner, all the nunneries in Eome, 
excepting two, were suppressed; but, however wise mifi^ht 
have been their gradual abolition, the propriety of tummg 
out at once so many secluded, and, in many cases, destitute 
and harmless females, may be doubted. Of the consequence 
of this step, judging of them, as I must do, from hearsay 
only, I wHl not venture to speak. But since they had been 
suppressed, and all those evil consequences once incurred, I 
cannot but lament that they should have been again restored 
— especially in such numbers ; and, above all, that convents of 
men, which I look upon to be nests of vice, hypocrisy, 
ignorance, and abomination, and which, for the most part, 
are filled with young sturdy beggars, should have been 
reestablished at all. The exact number of convents, and sidll 

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ooirYEirrs .utd xokastbbibb. 218 

more of their inmates, it is difficult to ascertain ; but all 
allow that the friars oonsiderablj' oat-number the nunis^ 
With the assistance of one or two aboH, I counted upwards 
of fifty convents for men, and five-and-thirtj for women, in 
Itome and the immediate yicinity, and probably we left many 

I have visited many of the nunneries, and one or two of 
the convents in Bome ; for a con/venio always means here a 
monastic community of men, and a monasterio^ of women ; 
—although the reverse is the case in general parlance in 
England; — ^but as the interior of one much resembles an* 
other, and as there is nothing particularly interesting about 
any of them, I shall only give you a short account of my 
visit to that of S. Svlvestro ifi Capite, originally founded for 
the noble sisters of the house of Colonna^ wno dedicated 
themselves to Gfod.* None but the daughters of noble 
families are admitted here; and yet in this living grave, 
where rank, riches, youth, beauty, and genius, are aU buried 
in equal nothingness, and where nearly all but the mere 
animal powers are extinguished — ^what can it signify with 
what titles they were once adorned ? 

The Convent of S. Sylvestro stands in the Campo Marzo, 
in one of the best situations of modem Bome. It is an 
immense building, three stories high, in the form of a quad- 
rangle, enclosing a small garden in the centre, which, from 
being so enclosed, is neither blessed with much light nor 
air. Here, however, alone the nuns can enjoy " these com- 
mon gifts of Heaven;** for, unlike the monks and friars, 
who may roam about the town and country, they may never 
cross the threshold of their prison-house. Yet these nuns 
are of the Franciscan order, the mildest of all. They are 
allowed to see all their near relations at the grate, and even 
occasionally to receive the females in the parlour of the 
convent. They are not obliged to rise to nocturnal prayer, 
nor to practice fasts and penances of peculiar austerity. 
The privilege of speech is not denied them ; nor is the use 
of linen forbidden, in order that the dirt of the body may 
serve for the purification of the soul. 

♦ In the year 1818. — Vide Gibbon's Decline and Fall, vol. xii., chap. 
70, p. 814. 

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214 BOKX. 

About forty nuiui, with about half the number of Isy 
nsters, or BerrantB, oecupy this spacious monastery, which 
would contain more than a hundred; indeed, during the 
whole time the Fr^ich were in Borne, it also receired a 
community of expelled nuns of the Capuchin order, who 
voluntarily continued to practise all its austerities, though 
living with the Franciscans of San Svlvestro. None of 
either sisterhood left their order, though all, at that time, 
were at perfect liberty to do so. 

The Superior, a fine-looking woman, conducted us throujgh 
the convent, and seemed much gratified and amused with 
our visit. She is now near fifty, and had herself taken the 
vows at the age of twenty, not only voluntarily, but in oppo- 
sition to the wishes of her parents, and assured us she had 
never repented it. When aisked why she had chosen at that 
age to leave her family, and renounce the world, she replied, 
" Because Gt)d called me !" — (Ferche Dio mi chiamb.) 

The convent contains nothing remarkable. There is a 
large, wild-looking, cold, cheerless hall, or refectory, in which 
the^ all assemble to dinner and supper, but no sitting-room. 
Their own apartments, in which they usually sit as well as 
sleep, are tolerably lai^, and decently clean, but have no 
fire-place, and consequently lose that important ventilation. 
This deficiency of a chimney, however, is common in all true 
Italian houses, and a brazier Ml of ignited charcoal is the 
usual and unwholesome substitute for the cheerM and salu- 
tanr blaze of a fire. 

Six or seven of the nuns were sitting at work together," in 
one of their bed-rooms ; for they have nothing in the world 
to do, except to pray and make their clothes. They do, 
indeed, take in children to educate, though how they educate 
them is more than I can conceive ; for though I was in every 

Eart of the convent I could neither see nor hear of an^ 
ook, except their prayer-books. When I asked them if 
they had not a Bible, they were shocked at such a pro&ne 

Luckily, aa we thought, for the poor children, they had 
then only three pupils; but, in general, they have a con- 
siderable number. They showed us a little theatre in the 
convent, where their scholars, assisted by some of the nuns. 

Digitized by 



occasionally act sacred dramas during the CamiTal, to a 
select audience of their female rektires.* 

The nuns' apartments in erery story open upon a gallery 
-vrhich runs round the quadrangle that forms their convent, 
and from the top of all they have a halcony, from which, 
6b, height of happiness ! they can catch a distant glimpse of 
the Corso. They eagerly showed it to us, and this peep 
of the world they had left^ seemed their highest enjoyment. 

Their eager curiosity ahout us — our persons, names, situa- 
tions, ages, reasons for coming to Italy, and to their convent 
— but, above all, about every article of our dress, its make, 
texture, &shion, and value, was quite insatiable; and the 
questions they asked perfectly unanswerable. 

They have a large apothecary's shop in the convent, where 
-medicines are compounded by two ot the nuns, which must, 
I should think, be the death of many of them. The doctor, 
however, is the only man ever admitted into the convent, 
except the confessor and the Pope, — ^who once paid them 
a visit— an event never to be forgotten. 

I ought, too, to have excepted the Cardinal Vicario, who 
has the charge of all the convents (I mean mmneries), and 
must have enough upon his hands, I should think. 

We saw two cofwerH, girls destined to be nuns, but who 
had not yet taken the noviciate veil. They were, however, 
called sposme, the affianced spouses of Christ. Both were 
Toung, and one was very pretty and lively. She was a 
liucchese of a noble &mily, and had lived here two years, — 
and yet was resolved to be a nun, a thing which is to me 
quite incomprehensible. Two days, I should think, would 
cure any body. She was only waiting for her portion, which, 
in this convent, is unusually nigh, bemg 1500 crowns, beside 
a small annual stipend ; the exact amount of which I have 

A novice, after taking the white veil, may leave the con- 
vent ; and instances of it have occurred, but they are rare. 
Extreme ill health, an incurable disease, or the death of 

* These sacred dramas would, however, be considered of rather a 
profane nature in our countiy. Our Saviour, the Virgin Maiy, Maiy 
Magdalen, the whole host of heaven — ^and even the Deity himself— are 
among the dramatis personn. 

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216 Boici. 

Im)t1ieni and nusters, widcli makes it neeeflsaiy for ike fncHm 
to be recalled to support the name or fortune of the fEuniljy 
are almost without exception, the reason of such erents, 
when thej do occur. Bepentanoe, disinclination, however 
often they may happen, are oonccMaled or avowed in yain. 
A woman who should persist in returning to the world, 
would be welcomed, not only with its dread laugh, but its 
severest reprehension. Her fan^y would consider them- 
selves dishonoured, and, in all proDabiHty, would refuse to 
receive her. Her friends and acquaintance would scarcely 
associate with her. No man would ever look upon her for 
his wife. She would be an object for the finger of scorn to 
point at. Under such circumstances she must take the 
vows or die. 

It is only a few days since I saw a young lady, of noble 

fisunily, — ^the Contessa M , witmn these very walls, 

take tiiose vows, which must therefore be considered irre- 
vocable. She was young and handsome, and it was said that 
she entered the cloister by her own choice, uninfluenced by 
her parents. Still, it was a sufficiently melancholy sig^ht, 
and I could not help thinking how often, in the long tedium 
of the living death to which she had doomed herself, she 
might look back to this moment with vain repentance, — not 
the less bitter because she could only blame herself: nor 
when I saw the crowds that filled the church — ^the pathway 
and altar strewed with flowers — ^the public applause — ^the 
gaze of strangers — the chorus of nuns — ^the blessings of 
Cardinals — the flattery of priests, and the tears of friends — 
could I help asking myself, if the secret vanity of being the 
heroine of such a scene, might not have had its influence in 
her determination ? 

By particular favour, we had been furnished with billets 
for the best seats, and after waiting about half an hour, two 
footmen, in rich liveries, made way for the young countess, 
who entered the crowded church m full dress, her dark hair 
blazing with diamonds. Supported by her mother, she ad- 
vanced to the altar. The ceremony you must often have 
heard described, and I need not fatigue you with a minute 
repetition of its details. The officiating priest was the Car- 
dinal Yicario, a fine-looking old man ; the discourse from the 

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TAEIIf0 THE TXn. 217 

mipit WHB pronounced by a Domimcan monk, who addressed 
ner as the affianced spouse of Christ, — a saint on earth ; — 
one who had renounced the vanities of the world, for a fore- 
taste of the joys of heayen. There was much of eulogium, 
and little of admonition — ^much rhapsody, and little sober 
reason or religion in it — ^very much that was calculated to 
inflame the inexperienced imagination, but little that could 
direct the erring judgment. 

The sermon ended — ^the lovely victim herself, kneeling 
before the altar at the feet of the Cardinal, solemnly abjured 
that world whose pleasures and affections she seemed so well 
calculated to enjoy, and pronounced those irrevocable vows 
which severed her firom them for ever. 

As her voice, in soft recitative, chanted these fatal words, 
I believe there was scarcely an eye, in the whole of that vast 
church, unmoistened by tears. 

The diamonds that sparkled in her dark hair were taken 
off; and her long and beautiful tresses fell luxuriantly down 
her shoulders. One lock of it was cut off by the Cardinal. 

The grate that was to entomb her was opened. The 
Abbess and her black train of nuns appeared. Their choral 
voices chanted a strain of welcome. It said, or seemed to 


" Sister spirit, come away ! " 

She renounced her name and title — adopted a new appella- 
tion — received the solemn benediction of the Cardinal, and 
the last embraces of her weeping Mends — and passed that 
bourn through which she was never to return. 

A pannel behind the high altar now opened, and she 
appeared at the grate again. Here she was despoiled of her 
splendid ornaments, her beautiful hair was mercilessly severed 
from her head by the fatal shears of the sisters, and holding 
up a temporary curtain, they hastened behind it, to take off 
her own rich dress, and invest her with the sober robes of 
the nun — the white coif and the novidate veil. This veil, it 
may be necessary to explain, is a piece of cloth fixed on the 
top or back part of the head, and falling down behind, or on 
each side, in the same manner as on a veiled statue. It is 
not intended to conceal the face, nor can it answer that pur- 
pose ; 80 that all you read in foolish romances about blush- 

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i218 BOMS. 

ing nnsB or novices pulling down their yeOs, to sare them 
from the gaze of some admiring youth, is sheer nonsense. 
Indeed, they are in no danger of iJeing incommoded with it, 
as they can never more be seen by man. Their ordinary- 
devotions are practised in a private chapel within the con- 
vent, and when they attend mass, they sit high up in a lofty- 
church, completely screened from view by a gflded grating, 
so dose, that it is impervious to the external gaze, thougli 
the nuns can see through it. 

The dress of the Franciscan order, and, indeed, of every 
other I have ever seen, is plain and coarse, and far from 
beautiful. The gown is a black stuff, but made so awkwardly, 
that it is a complete disguise to the figure. The graces of 
the "Venus de' Medicis herself, if she were attired in such 
habiliments, would be lost. But the quantity of white linen 
that surrounded the head and face, was rather becoming to 
the bright eyes and lovely countenance of the young novice, 
and when the curtain was removed, we all agreed that she 
looked prettier than before. 

Throughout the whole ceremony she showed great calm- 
ness and firmness, and it was not till all was over that her 
eyes were moistened with the tears of natural emotion. 
She afterwards appeared at the little postern-gate of the 
convent, to receive the sympathy, and praise, and congra- 
tulations of all her friends and acquaintance ; nay, even of 
strangers, all of whom are expected to pay their compliments 
to the new spouse of heaven. 

The history of one of the former nuns of this convent, 
as related to me by one of the sisters, is quite a romance, 
and in its most common-place style. Her name was Sasso 
Ferrato; she was left an orphan and an heiress from in- 
fency, and placed by her undo, her sole guardian, here, 
with the intention of inducing her to take the veil, that her 
fortune might descend to him and to his family. It hap- 
pened, however, that at one of the ^rand processions of tne 
Virgin, which the nuns were assembled to behold, the young 
Sasso Eerrato saw, and was seen by the captain of the 
guards, stationed at the convent, a yoimger son of the 
Giustioiani £eunily, and a brother of one of her youthful 
companions in the convent. His visits to his sister became 

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vwy frequent, aixd Sasso Ferrato ^nerally contrired to ac- 
componj her friend on those occasions. They became despe- 
rately in love ; but the cruel unde refrised his consent, and 
by arts which intimidated the young and inexperienced 
mind of Sasso Ferrato, by powerful interest, wmch ren- 
dered the complaints of her lover vain, and by his autho- 
rity as the representative of her parents, he succeeded in 
obliging her to take the veil. She only lived two years 

Ker lover became a maniac, and after being confined for 
some time, continued, during the remauung years of his 
life, to roam about the neighbourhood of the city, his 
hair and beard growing wild, his dress neglected, and his 
manners gloomy and ferocious, though harmless in his 

A stiU more horrible catastrophe ensued at a convent in 
the north of Italy. An unfortunate girl, whose father was 
resolved to compel her to take the veil contrary to her 
inclination, persisted for a long time in her refusal, but was 
treated with such dreadful brutalify at home, that at length 
she consented; but no sooner had she pronounced her 
vows, than she requested a private interview with her 
father at the grate of the convent; and when left alone 
with him, killed herself before his eyes, cursing him with 
her latest breath. 

This story, horrible and improbable as it may seem, is 
quite true. I know the family, but refrain, from obvious 
reasons, from mentioning their name. It is not, however, 
true that girls are often forced to take the veil ; but to say 
they never are, is equally false. I am informed that young 
nuns often faU in love with young friars, but the attacnment 
is perfectly platonic. Indeed, so strict are now the rules 
of female monastic life, that I believe it must necessarily 
be so. But love, it is well known, will break through bolts 
and bars, and grates and convent walls; and love once 
inspired a nun with the project of getting out of her con- 
vent through a common sewer, which, however imsavoury 
a path, she frequently practised after night had covered 
the world with her sable curtain, and wrapped the peaceftd 
sisterhood in the arms of Morpheus. Her nun's dress was 

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'220 BOMS. 

deposited in her chamber, and the exterior dirfy garment, 
with which she paAsed through the sewer, was exchanged 
for one her lover wrapped her in at its mouth. She n^ed 
to walk with him sometmies for hours, but always returned 
to her convent before the dawn. One evening, however, 
on returning from her romantic ramble bj moonlight, what 
was her horror to find the sewer — ^the weU-known passage 
— completely choked up with water, and all entrance im- 

Eracticable ! Discovery would bring certain destruction on 
erself and her lover. Their lives would be the forfeit, or 
a solitary dungeon their mildest doom. Concealment was 
impracticable; for who would harbour them? — ^flight im- 
possible ; for without passports, the gates of the city would 
De closed against them ; and could they scale the walls, no 
other refuge would be open to them. In this situation 
the courage and presence of mind of the nun saved them 
both. She went, dressed in her lover's clothes, to the 
house of the Cardinal Vicario, who was an old friend of 
her father's, disturbed the family, had the Cardinal roused 
out of bed on the plea of the most urgent and important 
business, obtained a private audience, tlu*ew herself at his 
feet, and confessed all. So earnestly did she implore him 
to save her and her family from the public disgrace of an 
exposure, that, melted by her tears, ne followed the plan 
she suggested, ordered his carriage, took her and one con- 
fidential chaplain on whose fidelity he could rely, drove to 
the convent, rang up the portress, and pretending he had 
received information of a man having entered and being 
concealed in it, demanded instant admittance to search it, 
which, in virtue of his office, could not be refused at any 
hour. He ordered the terrified sisters to remain in their 
rooms, and having dropped the disguised nim in hers, pro- 
ceeded in his mock examination iSjl she had disrobed her- 
self, and his attendant had conveyed away the bundle of 
her clothes ; then professing himself perfectly satisfied that 
the information he had received was fisdse, he left the con- 
vent, — taking care, however, next day, to have the sewer 
so closed that it could never serve for anything but a pas- 
sage for dirty water a^n. 
The most severe of the female monastic orders is that of 

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THB 8EP0LT0 TITO. 221 

Santa Theresa^ in which its unfortunate yotaries are doomed 
to unceasing midnight vigils and daily &8ts, to penance, 
austerity, and mort^cation, in every possible form; while 
all intercourse with their friends, all indulgence of the 
Bweet affections of nature, are as sedulously mterdicted as 
if these were crimes of the blackest dye. It is the great 
merit of their lives that death is to be continually before 
their eyes, continually present to their thoughts, — ^like a 
man that should stand rooted before a dock, with his eyes 
fixed on the hour to which it was tending, and lose, in its 
<3ontemplation, the intervening moments. But to all intents 
and purposes, to all the duties, pleasures, and hopes of life, 
they are as completely dead as if the grave had already 
closed over them. And what is it but a living death, a 
more lingering mode of being buried ahve ? That punish- 
ment which the fanaticism of Pagans inflicted on guilty 
vestal virgins, the fanaticism of £[)man Catholics inflicts 
upon the mnocent — and they call this religion and virtue ! 
W as man, then, bom voluntarily to seek to suffer, or was 
life given to him only to contemplate its close ? Was he, 
whom the very voice of Nature calls to partake of the 
common blessings Heaven has diffused upon the earth, con- 
demned by the voice of Heaven itself, to exclude himself 
from the social duties, the natural enjoyments, and the 
sweet and innocent pleasures of our nature ? Is he acting 
his allotted part, when, like a flend on earth, he increases 
the quantity of human misery, and cuts off the sources of 
natural happiness ? But I must restrain my indignation, 
as vain as it is just; for when did it avail to exclaim 
against any of the follies, the infatuation, or the crimes of 

There is in Eome a convent called, and justly called, the 
Sepolto Ywo^ in which are buried alive contumacious or 
fanatic nuns, from all convents ; females condemned by the 
Inquisition for too little or too much religion — and wives 
and daughters, whose husbands and fathers have the means 
to prove they deserve, or the interest to procure the order 

* It is near the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore; and there 
were about forty unfortunate females immured in it when I was in 

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222 HOME. 

for such a dreadful ptmishment. Instances have occnrred, 
where mere resistance to the will of a parent, or causeless 
jealousy conceived by a husband, have been followed by 
this horrible vengeance. What may pass within its walla 
can never be known; none but its victims may enter, and 
none of them may quit it. They see no human beings 
excepting once a-year, when, in the presence of the abbess, 
they may have an interview with their father or mother; 
but they must not tell the secrets of their prison-house. 
They hear no tidings of the world that surrounds them, nor 
even know when the friends dearest to them are removed 
by death. 

I have been much interested in the fate of a poor nun, 
who, in the exaltation of a heated imagination, lately fancied 
herself inspired by heaven, and destined to convert sinners 
to repentance. The tribunal of the Inquisition has decided 
that ner claims to inspiration are unfounded, and though it 
appears that she was a fanatic, not an impostor, they hare 
thrown her into this horrible tomb, whither, if it be the fit 
punishment for all holy cheats, I think its members might 
aU go themselves. 

By far the least exceptionable species of nunnery here, is 
that of the Tor' d^ SpeccM, where a company of respectable 
women, chiefly widows of small fortune, live together, and 
lead a rational, regular, and religious Hfe, without binding 
themselves by any vows, but obey certain rules, and are 
under the direction of a Superior, who is elected by them- 
selves, and only holds her office for a limited period. They 
wear a uniform dress, have the power to go out, with cer- 
tain restrictions, and are much more free and independent, 
in all respects, than any other similar community. They 
may leave it if they choose. Such an institution as this in 
our country would be a respectable and comfortable asylum 
for unprotected unmarried women, and widows of smaH 
fortune. These ladies also educate children. There are 
likewise several meritorious communities of females, who, 
under the name of Maestre Fie, devote themselves to the 
education of children of the poor. 

I forgot to mention, that m the month of May, there are 
few convents in which the nuns do not enjoy the privilege of 

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ffomg out in a body in coaches into tlie country, where they 
aine and spend the day at the house, aud with the female 
friends of the Superior or some of the sisters. Some con- 
vents have both a whole and a half holiday ; others only the 
latter. I often met them last spring in their annual festi* 
vals ; and it was delightful to see their countenances of 
ahnost anxious joy, and the wild astonished eagerness with 
which they gazed on the houses, the passengers, the carriages, 
the fields, the trees, the fair face of nature, and the inter- 
dicted figure of man. 

It is very common in the higher orders among the laity 
of both sexes in Bome, to retire into a convent for a few 
days or a week, (generally Passion week,) of every year, 
to practice prayer and penance, during which period they 
strictly conform to the rules of the community, and not 
unfrequently increase the austerity of their proscribed fasts 
aud vigils : not to mention hearing four sermons a-day. 

Por this purpose of secular penitence, there is one convent 
appointed for men, and another for women, which are amongst 
the most rigorous in their discipline. That destined for the 
poor females, is in reality a dreary abode ; but the Convent 
of St. John and St. Paul, which is the place of penitence for 
the male sex, appeared to me rather a desirable retreat. Its 
long corridors and spacious apartments, are clean, light, and 
cheerful, and it contains an extensive library. 

There is nothing worth notice in the church of this con- 
vent, excepting that you are shovni the very spot of the 
martyrdom of St. Jolm and St. Paul, — ^not the apostles — 
only two Saints of that name. Lorenzo de' Medici v^rote a 
pious drama, or mystery, commemorating their fate, which 
was acted at Morence with all the magnificence of his reign. 
These saints, who were brothers, were treated with distin- 
guished favour b^ Santa Constantia for being Christians, and 
beheaded by Juhan the Apostate for the same reason. Their 
death was avenged by a certain St. Mercury, — apparently 
the old pagan god, enlisted as saint, — who got out of his grave 
on purpose to kill that emperor in a battle. These murders 
are the only incidents of the piece ; which ends, like Tom 
Thumb, in the slaughter of the whole dramatis personsB. 

The monks had never heard of this drama, but seemed 

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224 soKB. 

pleased when I mentioned it, though they did by no means 
agree to my proposal of hayins it enactea in honour of their 
patron saints, on the .spot of their maitjrdom. 

The gardens of this convent, which hang on the summit of 
the Codian Hill, amidst a durk grove of cypress, command 
one of the most striking prospects which even Borne can 
boast,-— of the mighty Colosseum in the plain beknr,*— the 
Triumphal Arches, — and the mouldering pahice of the Cffisars, 
which crown the dark summit of the Palatine. 

An aged palm-tree, which is supposed to have flourished 
here from time immemorial, and may almost be reckoned a 
natural antiquity, still throws its tropical shade in the court 
of the convent. I once descended m)m these gardens into 
the vineyard beneath them, to examine the ancient walls of 
imknown Eoman ruins, which here surround and support 
the precipitous banks of the Coelian HiU. Their date, and 
author, and purpose, are alike unknown. The deep cavities 
and recesses into which they are formed, are not easily refer- 
rible to any known species of building. 

Facing the Colosseum, there is an isolated fragment of 
ruin, to which tradition has assigned the name of the Eos- 
trum of Cicero, and from which, it is said, he harangued the 
Eoman people. I scrambled up its broken walls, and stood 
on the green platform at its simimit, merely because the 
name of Cicero had attached to it a charm ; for there is no 
probability that his voice ever poured forth its persuasive 
eloquence here. 

The Superior of this convent, with four hundred other 
priests and friars, was sent to Corsica, and was imprisoned, 
(as he said) during two years and a half, in a dungeon, upon 
bread and water, tor refusing to take the oath of allegiance 
to Bonaparte. 

At the expiration of that period, he was liberated with his 
companions from prison, but kept under strict surveillance ; 
and only regaLned his liberty when the Pope returned, and 
the French were expelled. 

The conduct of these ecclesiastics will be censured or ap- 
plauded, according to the views of those by whom they are 
judged. This, however, I wiU observe, that their fidelity to 
their banished and degraded master, through exile, poverty, 

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and imprisonment, when, no hope of the re-establishment of 
his power could actuate them, has something in it of sincerity 
and disinterestedness, that would seem to place the reality 
of these qualities above suspicion, — even although their 
possessors are &iars. 


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The age of miracles I thouglit had passed, but I Have dis- 
covered my mistake. "Within this little month three great 
miracles have happened lq Some. The last took place yes- 
terday, when all Itome crowded to the Capitol to see an 
image of the Virgin opening her eyes. Unluckily, we were 
in the country, and did not return m time to witness it ; for 
as this miracle was thought a very improper one by the 
higher powers, who would rather she had wmked at certain 
practices which it is thought she had not only opened her 
own eyes upon, but those of other people — she was carried 
away, and certain priests, who are supposed to have been in 
her confidence on this occasion, have been shut up in prison. 
Two officers of the Q-uarda Mobile are also in custody in the 
state-prison at the Castle San Angelo, for expressions which 
implied no extraordinary admiration of the present state of 
thmgs. It is so nearly impossible to get at the bottom of 
anything in Bome, that both these disgraced military and 
clergy may have given much more reason for their enthral- 
ment than we hear of; but this very concealment of their 
offences makes one rejoice in UviDg under a government, in 
which the truth must be made known, and in which no man 
can be shut up in a dungeon at the pleasure either of priests 
or princes, without being tried and condemned by his feUow- 
citizens. In this respect, things are neither better nor 
worse here now, than m the time of the French, who shut 
people up with quite as little ceremony, and still less lenity. 

iSie last miracle was of a much more orthodox description. 
The miraculous Madonna, in this case, opened her mouth 
iostead of her eyes, and spoke to an old washerwoman, to 
whom she imparted her discontent at being so much neg- 

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lected, and her chapel left in sueh a dirty and rainous con- 
dition ; while so many other Madonnas, no better than she, 
had theirs made as mie as hands could make them. The 
Madonna spoke no more, but the old washerwoman proved a 
very loquacious reporter of her wijshes and sentimentB. The 
news of the miracle spread like wildfire ; thousands (I am 
not exaggerating) may be seen every day CTowding to this 
little old chapel, near St. John Lateran, about four in the 
afternoon, the hour at which the Virgin addressed the washer- 
woman ; it being supposed that this is her favourite time for 
conversation ; but I have not heard that sho has made any 
new observations. Not only the lower orders, but crowds of 
well-dressed people, and handsome equipages of all sorts, 
daily throng the door ; and the long green avenue that leads 
under the walls to the Porta San Giovanni, instead of an 
unbroken sohtude, now wears the appearance of a fair. 

At the comer of every street, you stumble over a chair set 
out with a white cloth, a little picture of the Madonna, and 
a plate f<Hr collections to beautify her chapel. You are 
assailed on all sides with Httle begging-boxes for the Ma- 
donna's beautification ; and even the interests of the holy 
Bouls in purgatory are forgotten, in the pious zeial to make 
. her fine enough. 

To see the luck of some Madonnas ! — Thus this Madonna, 
who opened her mouth to one old washerwoman, has come to 
great nonours and credit ; while the other, who opened her 
eyes to hundreds, has fallen into great disgrace. One 
Madonna is bom, I suppose, according to the proverb, with 
a silver spoon in her mouth, and another with a pewter one. 
But this IS by no means the whole of our miracles ; for, as if 
one Madonna scorned to be outdone by another, there is an 
old dirty cobwebby Virgin in the Pantheon, which has lately 
begun to work miracles, and has drawn such crowds to her 
shnne, that an unhappy stranger can scarcely get in to see 
the building itself. It is probably by no means the only 
miracle which its walls have witnessed. Italy seems always 
to have been the land of superstition; and the Pagan miracles 
that are upon record, at least equal the Eoman Catholic, both 
in number and absurdly. Every page of Livy and Plutarch 
abounds with them. JNot a year ever passed without two 


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228 BOHS. 

or three oxen speaking, though we never hear any of their 
sayings. Now, even a Madonna but rarely makes use of 
her ton^e, and oxen have entirely given up talking. How- 
ever, it 18 a different thing hearing nonsense that was cre- 
dited ages ago, and seeing it before one's eyes : and when 
I behold crowds flocking to kneel before these taUdng and 
winking Madonnas, I cannot help asking myself if this is 
really the nineteenth century ? One would have thought 
there had been miracles enough of late in Eome to have 
satisfied any reasonable people ; but the Pope and a detach- 
ment of Cardinals are going about every day after dinner 
in quest of more. They visit all the Madonnas in town, in 
regular succession. They began with Santa Maria Maggiore, 
who takes precedence of all the rest here, and they mil not 
leave one imapplied to tiU they get what they want, — ^which 
is rain; for the country, with the unexampled cold and 
drought of the spring, is dried up, vegetation is pined and 
withering; and tnere is but too much reason to oread that 
the miseries which the poor have suffered during the last 
dreadful year of scarcily, will be increased tenfold in the 
next. Pestilence is already added to famine; the lower 
orders are perishing by hundreds, of a low contagious fever, 
brought on by want, and numbers have literaBy died of 
hunger by the way-sides. This dreadful mortality at present 
extends all over Italy, and the sufferings of the livmg are 
still more cruel and neart-rending than the number of the 
dead. You daily see human beings crawling on the dung- 
hills, and feeding on the most loathsome garbage, to satisty 
the cravings of nature. That this may occasionally be done 
to call forth charity, is unquestionable ; but it is also done 
when no eye is visibly near : and the extremity of misery, — 
the ghastly famine that is written in the looks, cannot be 
feigned. The fiedlure of those teeming harvests that usually 
cover the earth, spreads among the improvident and over- 
flowing population of this country", horrors of famine of which 
you can nave no conception, llie dying and the dead sur- 
round us on all sides ; the very streets are crowded with 
sick, and the contagion of the fever is thought so virulent, 
that a cordon of troops is drawn around the great hospital 
of the Borgo San Spirito, to prevep^t co^^nunication with its 

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infected inmates. The medical treatment in this fever is 
universally condemned by all the English physicians here ; 
and the general management of the hospitals cannot be suffi- 
ciently reprobated. W ant of medical skill, and want of care, 
perhaps equally conduce to the remarkable mortality which 
reigns in them ; but from the returns, it appears that forty- 
six per cent, die at the Hospital of San Spirito at Eome ; 
whereas at Paris the average is only seven per cent., and in 
!Ekigland it seldom exceeds four ! 

With some few exceptions, I have observed throughout 
Italy a want of cleanliness, and especially of ventilation, in 
the hospitals, which is more unpardonable, because they are 
built upon an immense scale; and yet the patients are 
crowded together, while spacious wards are left unoccupied, 
to save the paltiy expense of a few additional attendants. 
Such at least was the reason repeatedly assigned to us for 
this gross mismanagement. The bad effects of such heat and 
confinement to the sick must be doubly prejudicial in this 

It was oriffmally a trulv Italian idea, to erect a ereat 
hospital for the recovery of health, in the very spot which, 
£roni the days of the ancient Bomans to the present time, 
has been the most noted for its unhealthiness. The Hospital 
of the Spirito Santo stands in the worst region of the ma- 
laria ; so that if the object had been to kill instead of cure 
the patients, this should have been the place chosen for the 
purpose. K the Hospital of the Incurables, which stands in 
a very healthy situation, had been placed here, there might 
have been some excuse for it, since it could scarcely be 
regretted that the lives of those destined to hopeless suffer- 
ings should be shortened. But even abandoned infants are 
received and nurtured in sickness, at the Hospital of San 
Spirito ; and its benefits, such as they are, are open to all 
ages, sexes, and nations. 

I remember at Morence, in driving about the town, being 
struck with the extraordinary appearance of an hospital, 
entirely open to the street, at one end, from top to bottom, 
and divided from it only by iron bars, so that the passengers 
had a fiiU view of all the patients ia their becfe ; and of 
every operation, of whatever nature, which went on during 

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280 fiOHE. 

eickness ; while the poor invalids must have been distracted 
with the incessant rattle of the wheels. Some of the patients 
who were up, were talking to their acquaintance without the 
grate ; so that diseases neyer could hare a finer opportunity 
of spreading. The want of decency, as well as common sense 
and humani^, in this arrangement, is too obvious to require 
comment. I have, however, only been as yet one day of my 
life in Florence, and consequently know nothing of the 
reasons for this strange system, — ^if reasons there be. 

But to return to tne miracles, from which I have wan- 
dered so far. I understand that not one happened during 
the whole reign of the French, and that it was not until the 
Streets were purified with lustrations of holy water, on the 
return of the rontiff, that they began to operate again. 

Private miracles, indeed, affecting individuals, go on quite 
commonly every day, without exciting the smallest attention. 
These generally consist in procuring prises in the lotteiy, 
curing diseases, and casting out devils. 

The mode of effecting this last description of miracle was 
communicated to me the other day by an Abate here ; and, 
as I think it extremely curious, I shall relate it to you. 

It seems that a certain friar had preached a sermon during 
Lent, upon the state of the man mentioned in Scripture 
possessed with seven devils, with so much eloquence and 
imction, that a simple countryman who heard him, went 
home, and became conviaced that these seven devils had got 
possession of him. The idea haunted his mind, and sub- 
jected him to the most dreadful terrws, till, unable to bear 
his sufferings, he unbosomed himself to his ghostly father, 
and asked his counsel. The fisither, who had some smattering 
of science, bethought himself at last of a way to rid the 
honest man of his devils. He told him it would be neces- 
sary to combat with the devils singly ; aad on a day ap- 
pointed, when the poor man came with a sum of money to 
serve as a bait for the devil — without which the good father 
had forewarned him no devil could ever be dislodged — he 
bound, a chain connected with an electrical machine in an 
adjoining chamber, round his body — ^lest, m he said, the 
devil should fly away with him — ^and having warned him 
that the shock would be terrible when the de^ went out of 

y Google 


him, lie left him praying devoutly before an image of the 
Madonna, and after some time, gave him a pretty smart 
shock, at which the poor wretch fell insensible on the floor 
firom terror. As soon as he recovered, however, he protested 
that he had seen the devil fly away out of his mouth, breath- 
ing blue flames and sulphur, and that he felt himself greatly 
relieved. Seven electrical shocks, at due intervals, having 
extracted seven sums of money from him together with the 
seven devils, the man was cured, and a great miracle per- 

To us this transaction seemed a notable piece of credulous 
superstition on the one hand, and fraudulent knavery on the 
other ; but to our friend the Abate, it only seemed an iQge- 
nious device to cure of his fears a simpleton, over whose 
mind reason could have no power; as the physician cured 
the ladv who fancied she had a nest of live earwigs in her 
stomach, not by arguing with her on the absurdity of such 
a notion, but by showing her that an earwig was killed with 
a single drop of oil, and making her swallow a quantity of 
it. But with respect to the man and his devils, I would ask, 
why inspire superstitious terrors to conquer them by deceit, 
and why make him pay so much money? 

Yet this is nothing to other thiQgs that daily happen. 
Woidd you believe that there has actuallv been in E-ome a 
trial for witchcraft ? — a grave formal trial for witchcraft, in 
the nineteenth century ! I began to think I must be mis- 
taken, and that the world had been pushed back about three 
hundred years. But it is even so. 

There is certainly more superstition in the south of Italy 
than the north, because there is more ignorance. In Milan, 
and in most of the cities of Lombardy, it is rapidly disap- . 
pearing with the diffusion of knowledge and science. Yet 
Florence, enlightened as she is, has a reasonable share ; and 
miracles, and miraculous Madonnas, abound nearly as much 
in Tuscany as in the States of the Church, as I have good 
reason to know. Even the liquefaction of St. Januarius's 
blood, — ^which is generally quoted as the comhle of supersti- 
tion, is not without its parallel. At Mantua, a bottle of the 
blood of Christ is Uquefied every year, to the great edifi- 
cation of the compatriots of Virgil, The bottle contaioing 

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232 BOi^OB. 

this real blood of Christ was dug up at Mantua in a box, 
about two centuries a^o, with a written assurance that it bad 
been deposited there by a St. Longinus, a Boman centurion, 
who witnessed the crucifixion, and became conyerted, and 
ran awaj &om Judaea to Mantua with this bottle of blood ; 
and after lying sixteen centuries in the ground, the box, the 
writing, the bottle and the blood, were as fresh as if placed 
there only the day before ! 

But I might write a book of miracles, were I to relate 
the hundredth part of all that take place erery year — nay, 
every day, in Italy. So I have done. 

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Elessiitg of the Hobses — Festas — ^Itaiiak 


"We were present to-day at one of the most ridiculous 
tscenes I ever witnessed, even in this country. It was St. 
Anthony's blessing of the Horses, which began on that 
saint's day, and lasts for a week ; but as this was Vkfestone^ 
I rather unagine we saw it in its full glory. "We orme to 
the church of the saint, near Santa Maria Maggiore, and 
could scarcely make our way through the streets, from the 
multitudes of horses, mules, asses, oxen, cows, sheep, soats, 
and dogs, which were journeying along to the place of Dene- 
diction ; their heads, tails, and necks, decorated with bits of 
coloured riband and other finery, on this their unconscious 
gala-day. The saint's benediction, though nominally con- 
fined to horses, is equally efficacious, and equally bestowed 
upon all quadrupeds ; and I believe there is scarcely a brute 
in Eome, or the neighbourhood, that has not participated 
in it. 

An immense crowd were assembled in the wide open 
space in front of the church, and from the number of beasts 
and men, it looked exactly liko a cattle-fair. At the door 
stood the blessing priest, dressed in his robes, and wielding 
a brush in his hand, which he continually dipped into a 
huge bucket of holy water that stood near him, and spirted 
at the animals as they came up, in unremitting succession, 
taking off his little skuU-cap, and muttering every time,— 
'* IPer mtercessionem heaii Antonii Abatis, h(BC ammalia libe^ 
rcmtur a malts, in nomine Fatris et Mlii et Spiritus Sancti. — 

The poor priest had such hard work in blessing, that he 

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234 noHB. 

was quite exhausted and panting, and his round face looked 
fieiy red with his exertions. The rider, or driver of the 
creature, always gave some piece of money, larger or smaller, 
in proportion to his means or generosily, and received an 
engravms of the saint and a little metallic cross ; however, 
all animcds might be blessed gratis. 

Several weU-dressed people, in very handsome equipages, 
attended with outriders in splendid liveries, drove up while 
we were there, and sat uncovered till the benediction was 
given. Then, having paid what they thought fit, they drove 
oSy and made way for others. 

One adventure happened, which afforded us some amuse- 
ment. A countryman having got a Messing on his beast, 
putting his whole trust in its power, set off from the church- 
door at a grand gallop), and had scarcelv cleared a hundred 
yards, before the ungainly animal tumbled down with him, 
and over its head he rolled into the dirt. He soon got up, 
however, and shook himself^ and so did the horse, without 
either seeming to be much the worse. The priest seemed 
not a whit out of countenance at this ; and some of the 
standers-by exclaimed, with laudable stead&stness of faith, 
'^ that but for the blessing, they might have broken their 

San Antonio must get very rich with this traffic. I can- 
not omit mentioniag, however, that the priest, who very 
civilly presented us with some of the prints and crosses of 
San Antonio, could not be prevailed on to accept of any 

There is a peculiar and more solemn sort of blessing, 
given to two lambs, on the 21st of January, at the Church of 
Sta. Agnese ftiori le mwra, from the sainted fleeces of which 
are manufiactured, I believe bv the hands of nuns, two holy 
mantles, called palli; which the Pope presents to the 
Archbishops, as his principal shepherds. It is incredible 
the sums of money that used to be given in former days 
for the least scrap of these precious garments, — ^but times 
are sadly changed, as an old priest pathetically observed 
to me. 

They still, however, carry a remnant of the Virgin Mary's 
own nuptial veil annually in solemn procession to the 

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Cliiipch of Santa Maria del Popolo, where it is still adored ; 
and the marriage of Christ and St. Catherine is still cele- 
brated with great pomp, on the anniyersary of their wed- 
ding-day, the 29th of January, at the Church of Santa 
Maria sopra Minerra, and held as a grand Festa. But the 
^esta which pleased me the most was that of the children. 
On the eve of Twelfth-Day, the Oratwre (the children), with 
trembling mingled with hope, anticipate a midnight visit 
from a mghtfdi old woman, called the Befcma (an obvious 
corruption of H^fania, the Epiphany), for whom they 
always take care to leave some portion of their supper, 
lest she should eat them up ; and when they go to bed, 
they suspend upon the back of a chair a stocking, to receive 
her expected gifts. This receptacle is always found in the 
morning to contain some sweet things, or other welcome 
presents, — ^which, I need scarcely say, are provided by the 
mother or the nurse. 

There is here a dressed up wooden figure of La Befana, 
sufficiently hideous, — ^the bugbear of all naughty girls and 

On the eve of the Epiphany, the lighted up Piazza di 
Sant' Eustachio (the firuit-market) is a very pretty sight, — 
but the happiness of the cratwre the next morning is a still 
more delightful one. 

Nothing can exceed the strictness with which the obser- 
vance of the Eestas is enforced in Eome. I have seen a 
printed proclamation which was circulated on the Pope's 
return, inculcating, in the strongest terms, this duty so 
long comparatively neglected, of doing nothing on holiclays ; 
and denouncing heavy penalties against the disobedient. 
Idleness, this paramount obligation, thus enjoined by the 
religion and laws, is, besides, too consonant to the dispo- 
sition of the people to be disobeyed; and, accordingly, there 
are upwards oi seventy Festas in the year, besides the 
hebdomadal one of Sunday, in which the sin of being guilty 
of any useful employment, or, indeed, any employment at 
all, is cautiously avoided by the Romans, The manner in 
which these Festas are spent is, indeed, highly characteristic 
of the people. 

After mass the lower orders throng the streets in a state 

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236 BOHi. 

of complete apathetic yacuity of mind and bodilj inertion. 
You see the strange spectacle of a crowd at rest, content 
with the delight of listless indolence, and seeming to £eel 
that exertion is positive evil — ^they neither talk, walk, act, 
think, sing, dance, smoke, nor play. With a loose coat or 
cloak folded round them, they stand lounging about, bask- 
ing in the sun, or He doggishly on the ground — solitary, 
though in a crowd, — and grave, though without thought. 

I have seen the Tuscan peasants dance merrily to the 
bagpipe, and the Neapolitan lazzaroni sing at evening to 
'^ the light guitar," or dance in rags on the pavement of the 
Chiaja. I have heard that child of pleasure, the happy 
Venetian, forgetful of all his wrongs and sorrows, carol 
through the soft summer night the melodies that endear to 
him his amphibious countiy; but I have rarely seen the 
Boman populace do anything. 

Dancmg publicly on Sundays is not, indeed, allowed at 
Bome, any more tnan plays or operas ; but there are many 
Festas when they might dance, and do not ; nor do they 
resort to music, or any sort of amusement or occupation for 

The only active diversion of the common people here, is 
one I scarcely know how to " name to oars pohte." It is 
a sort of chase — a hunting of heads — ^not for ideas, but for 
things much more tangible and abundant. You see them 
eagerly engaged in this pursuit on a Sunday, or Festa, 
sitting at their doors or windows, or in the open streets ; 
often three, one above another, the middle one at once 
hunting and being hunted. I remember the Portuguese, 
even those of the higher orders, used to follow the same 

The middle classes dawdle about the streets, or the pro- 
menade on the Trinita de' Monti, in a dull, torpified sort 
of state, not seeming to snail along with any sensation or 
hope of enjoyment, but because they cannot tell what else 
to do with themselves. 

The women of this shopkeeper class are sometimes dressed 
most ludicrously fine : satin gowns of all colours, and often 
white, trailing about the dM^ streets, and thin pink or 
yellow slippers, sticking fast m the mud ; their necks, and 

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often tlieir heads bare. The ladies of Eome, and indeed 
throiigliout Italy (by ladies, I mean exclusively the nobil- 
ity), never walk, never ride on horseback, and never move 
but in a carriage. Indeed, the men rarely walk, and still 
more rarely ride. The only time I ever remember seeing a 
Eoman nobleman on horseback, he tumbled off. 

The country around Borne, perhaps abounds more in 
game than any other part of the civilized world, yet no 
Iloman is ever seen to engage in any description of field- 
sports. Many of the English gentlemen have gone from 
hence to the mountains, to chase the wild boar ; but the 
Eomans never hunt now. The days when even the distant 
echoes of the lake of Bolsena rang with the horns of Leo X. 
and his jovial Cardinals, are indeed gone by ; and though 
such diversions may not be very becoming in a Pope, they 
are very proper for a prince. 

But the Eoman nobility hunt not, shoot not, read not, 
write not, think not. — What then do they do ? — ^Why — 

-through the dull nnyaried round of life, 

They keep the joyless tenor of their way.** 

Sunk in indolence, they perhaps dawdle through the fore- 
noon with their damayhke duteous cavalieri serventi; and 
in the afternoon, daily do these unfortunates meander up 
and down the Corso in their carriages, for two mortal hours, 
just before dark, when the evening is setting in cold and 
gloomy. There is some sense in this in summer, but none, 
that 1 can discover, in the dead of winter. I have often 
seen young Italian noblemen performing this dowager-like 
airing, shut up alone in a coach. On Festas, not only all 
the nobles who have carriages, but all the bourgeois who 
can hire them for the occasion, drive up and down the Corso, 
at this fashionable hour, dressed, of course, as fine as they 
can make themselves; for the sole diversion must consist 
in seeing and in being seen, — in furtherance of which 
laudable end they generally appear in open carriages, in 
defiance of the cold winter tramontana* and wear their 
heads and necks uncovered. Often when I have been 

* The north-west wind, which blows, as its name implies, from the 
Alps. It is the mitigated hue of Switzerland. 

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238 BOHX. 

BUvering in mj furs, I have seen the Boman beSles at 
night-fall sitting motionless in open carriages, exposed to 
the cutting bhut, in this open drawing-room costume. A 
drawing-room costume, however, here it is not ; for, in the 
evening conversazione, a large bonnet is the usual head- 
dress, and it often appears with an exposed neck. In 
general, indeed, it is only in the grand accctdemie of muaic 
or dancing, which are equivalent to our private balls and 
concerts, that the sWle of evening dress to which we are 
habitually used in TJnglaud is seen. But these grand en* 
tertaiiunents are rare, and even the humbler conversazione 
is far &om common ; so that in a town where there is no 
theatre, or place of public amusement, except during the 
Carnival, and where dmner and supper parties are unknown, 
nothing can be conceived more unsocial, or more ghomik^ 
domestic, than the habits of the nobility of Bome. 

It is more certain, that before the spoliations and heavy 
contributions arbitrarily levied upon them by the Erendi, 
by which numbers of ancient families were reduced to com- 
plete beggary, and almost aU to comparative indigence, 
their lives were much gayer, and their intercourse, both 
with each other and with strangers, much more frequent 
and unconstrained. To this, not only the Eomans them- 
selves, but many of our English friends who have been at 
!Bome at different periods (from fourteen to thirty years 
back), and are now revisiting it, bear witness. It certainly 
seems strange, that even poverty should put an end to 
society that costs nothing ; for in the few Iloman conver- 
versazioni that still remain (the wrecks of happier days), 
no refreshment whatever, not even a glass of eau sucree^ is 
ever offered. But the pomp of long trains of liveried 
menials; without which the proud Eoman will not open hia 
house, few can boast, and many have no houses to open. 
Their palaces are let to strangers, conveii^d into shops 
or cafes, half shut up, or wholly abandoned. In general, 
the poor duke, count, or marquis, — ^the poorest denizen of 
his own palace, — inhabits some mean apartment in the 
attics, among obscurity, dirt, pride, penury, and wretched- 

Even among those noble families whose once princely 

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revenues, however dnainished, are still considerable, not 
even the outward semblance of cordiaHtj, or the hoUowness 
of the courtesies of polished life, seems to exist ; but cold 
repulsive distrust and dislike are openly manifested. 

Ancient feuds and jealousies seem to have abated nothing 
of their bitterness ; and in the recent changes and revolu* 
tions, new ones have been engendered. £eal or imaginary 
wrongs, political differences, private pique and quarrels, 
envy, jealousy, and suspicion, have combined to alienate 
these few &om each other. 

Almost the only Boman house now which is regularly 

XI for a conversazione in the old style, and to wmch all 
have been introduced have a general invitation, is that 
of the Duchess di Fiano, a woman of considerable spirit and 
talent, who is wise enough not to forego the pleasures of 
society, because she has lost those of opulence. She re- 
ceives company on the evenings of the two ordinary weekly 
Festas, Sunday and Thursday. Thursday, being before 
these two days of mortification (Friday and Saturday), is 
considered a fsatma ; but Sunday, being after them, is a 
grand Eesta. 

This lady contrives to make her parties tolerably pleasant, 
without music, dancing, cards, books, prints, amusements, 
or refreshments of any sort. It is liteiaUy a cotweraazione ; 
for there is nothing else to be had, and not always even 
that. Whether it is from the perversitv of human nature, 
that people are always less inclined to what thiy are obliged 
to do, or not, I cannot say, but sometimes the conversation 
languishes, and I have serious apprehensions that we shall 
aU begin to yawn in each other's fsices. One advantage is, 
that one need never stay above ten minutes, if it should 
wear this dull aspect, but drive off in search of something 
better. Pew Eomans are to be seen at these parties, but 
all the ambassadors and distinguished foreigners of all coun- 
tries. Of late there has been a great intermixture of 

Thepensieri ttretH are certainly the ruling principle of 
Italian society. The set bows and unmeaning compliments, 
the form and parade, the restraint, the finesse, the total 
want of confidence, and of the fiow of nature and feeling, 

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240 BOHE. 

take from society its true charm, and render it a scene 
where you perceive at once that everybody is acting a 

The want of hospitality is also to an Englishman a strik- 
ing picture of Italian character. However intimate you 
may he with an Italian, however warm the regard he pro- 
fesses for you, however often — ^if he haa been a traveller — 
he may have been entertained at your table in England, he 
never dreams of asking you to his. It is common to hear 
people say, that *' Engl^hmen always think there can be no 
society without eating and drinking." But it is not the 
mere want of a dinner that we miss ; it is the absence of 
those social feelings, of that hospitable spirit, of all those 
kindly overflowings of our nature, that lead us to open oup 
tables, our houses, and our hearts, to the Mends we love ; 
and that makes the intercourse with Italians inupid and 
distasteful to an Englishman. 

Excepting the English, the foreign ambassadors are the 
only people in Eome who have dinner-parties, and they give 
very good entertainments, 

Torlonia — ^now Duke Torlonia — ^the banker, has a weekly 
party, something like an English rout ; and music and gamb- 
ling are there the amusements. 

Twice a-week, the feshionable world lounge through the 
rooms of the French ambassador. Count Blacas. There is 
a gaming-table for those who like to play, and ices for those 
who like to eiffc, and scandal for those who like to talk. But 
the best parties in Borne are given by a lady whose learn- 
ing and talents would place her in the first class in any 
country, and who perhaps, in habits and character, is more 
Italian than British. I mean the Duchess of Devonshire. 

The mass of English visitors give chiefly to the English 
such parties at Eome as they would give in London, only 
on a smaller, duller, meaner scale. At these there are few 
foreigners, excepting a certain Cardinal, who goes every- 
where, and is a great flirt of the English ladies, and per- 
haps some half dozen of different nations besides. 

Occasionally, the Austrian, Neapolitan, Portuguese, and 
French ambassadors, open their houses for a grand ricevi- 
mentOf or accademia of music, or dancing, and these are at- 

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tended by many of the Eoman nobles and Cardinals. But 
at the first sound of the dance, the red-logged race must 
yanish, like evil spirits at the crowing of the cock. One 
great cause of the stagnation of society in Borne, is evidently 
the want of the lead and impulse of its head. A court 
which has its fetes in the church, instead of the drawing- 
room, can be no promoter of gaiety ; and the princely priests, 
who form its members, can now give no entertainments, 
because they can now receive no ladies. Besides, where 
ladies do not reign, the spirit of society is wanting. 

I have, however, spent many delightful hours in the se- 
lect circles of those who neither derive their consideration 
firom rank nor fortune ; and where I have rarely seen any 
English &^ except my own. I speak of Eoman fomiUes, 
as well as foreigners. 

Lucien Buonaparte receives, in the evening, in his own 
family circle, without form, a select few, who have been pai> 
ticularly presented to him ; and those who have once felt 
the charm of that chosen society, will not easily relinquish 
it. His sister, the Princess Pauline, sees only her particu- 
lar friends; and perhaps more gentlemen than laaies are 
included among them. 

Eome, from its peculiar attractions, must always be the 
chosen resort of the most enlightened strangers, as it is the 
permanent residence of many men of the first genius of the 
age. It therefore possesses, to a certain degree, some of 
the best elements of society ; and yet it must be owned, 
that neither Borne, nor any part of Italy, can boast the 
splendour or brilliancy of the first circles of London, or 
even of Paris. The tone of Fashion, fortune, high-bred ease, 
and polished gaiety, is wanting. The framing of the pic- 
ture IS not good. 

A traveller always exposes himself to suspicion, who cen- 
sures the society of the country which he visits. Even by 
his own countiymen he is thought an illiberal and preju- 
diced — or, at best, an incompetent judge. Whereas, he who 
praises, obtains at an easy rate, a reputation for candour, 
liberality, and discernment. Fully sensible of this, and of 
the invidious nature of the office 1 am undertaking, I still 
must, if I am to speak at all, speak what I think. "We nar 


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242 ROME. 

turally, wherever we go, compare the state of society and 
maimers to those of our own country, and that oomparison, 
I must say, tends much to the disadyantage of Italy. 

From the false inferences and egregious misconceptions 
into which many enlightened foreigners have &llen in judg- 
ing of English manners, I feel considerable diffidence in 
censuring those of other countries; but prolonged expe- 
rience, and, I think, impartial observation, have only shown 
me, in more glaring colours, the general corruption of 
manners, and contempt of moral duties, which reign in this 
country. I have endeavoured to divest myself of my 
EngHsh prejudices, but there are some no l&glishwonaan 
can wish to get rid of. Accustomed, from our earliest 
infancy, to all the refinements of social life, to delicacy of 
sentiment, propriety of conduct, and a high sense of moral 
rectitude, their violation shocks our habits, our principles, 
and even our taste. It seems to me that the low standard 
of morals here degrades manners alsp. 

In the manners and habits, in the very air of the Italian 
ladies, there is a want of elegance and delicacy. A certain 
grossness and vulgarity of mind seem to adhere to them in 
all they do and say. They encourage liberties of speech 
which would offend and disgust our countrywomen ; and the 
strain of imiform gallantry, hyperbolical flattery, and un- 
adulterated nonsense of the worst description, in which the 
men usually address them, and which they seem to like and 
expect, is a very decisive proof of the difference between the 
female character here and in England. Until a very decided 
change take place in that of the Italian women, there can be 
no improvement in the society at large ; and I look upon 
the system of cavaUeri serventi to be destructive of the 
morals, the usefulness, and the respectability of the female 

It is true, that it is considered necessary here, if a lady 
visit at all, that she should be attended by her eavaliere 
gervente; and if her husband should escort her, she would 
inevitably be laughed at, — ^but who are the imposers of this 
necessity, and who the raisers of the Lmgn? It is the 
ladies themselves. The cause of this vile system may be 
easily found in tiie s^ more odious one of marriages 1>eing 

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made an afiaar of mere conyenience, — a bargain transacted 
by the parents or guardians ; the inclinations of the parties 
thus disposed of, rarely, if ever, beiBg consulted. It some- 
times happens that' they are betrothed in infancy; and 
sometimes the whole treaty is concluded without their even 
meeting. I know an instance in which the sposa was intro- 
duced to her future lord and master, for the first time, the 
day before the nuptial ceremony took place. Nor is it only 
young people dependent upon the will of their parents, who 
are thus tied together for life. A yoimg nobleman of my 
acquaintance, completely his own master, and possessed of a 
reasonable share of sense, and abundance of self-will about 
other things, lately passively took a woman whom his Mends 
singled out for mm as a suitable match, nerer dreaming of 
choosing for himself. 

A man ma^ fall in love and marry, in Italy, but it is a 
rare occurrence. Both sexes genially marry without love, 
and love without manying. With sucn unions, it is evident 
there cannot be much domestic happiness. The lady, sooner 
or later, looks out for a cavaUere servente. This privilege, 
indeed, is not, as has been pretended, stipulated in the 
marriage-contract, for that would be cjuite unnecessary, — ^no 
husband ever dreams of opposing this just right ; and if he 
did, he would be exposed to univCTsal derision. In general, 
he seems quite reconciled to it, and the lady, the cavaliere, 
and the husband, harmoniously form what a witty friend of 
mine once called an eqmlatero tnangolo. The only thing 
that surprises me in Italy is, that there ever should be such 
a thing as a husband at all. Such things are, however, and 
the poor man often consoles himself by choosing a lady to 
his own taste, and becoming the ca/oaUere servente of some 
other man's wife ; or, dislilong the shackles of this servitude, 
he amuses himself with more general gallantry, or more 
varied intrigues. Indeed, if the husband's lot be hard, that 
of the cavaliere servente is harder siill. How the Italian 
ladies get any man to submit to it, is to me incompre- 
hensible. I am certain no Englishman could be made into 
one for a single week, by any art or contrivance. These 
unfortunate creatures must submit to all their mistress's 
humours, and obey all h^ commands, — ^run up and down 

B 2 

Digitized by 


244 lioxn, 

wherever she directs them, tie her shoe, cany her kp-dog or 
pocket-handkerchief, flirt her fen, and flatter her vanity ; be 
constant in their attendance on her morning toilet, her 
evening airing, and her nightly opera. He must retire 
before dinner, — ^for she and her caro sposo dine tete-a-tete, 
and he must return after. Sometimes one lady has two or 
three of these poor animals, whom she distinguishes by 
different degrees of favour, but in general one is the stated 
allowance; and constancy to her cavaliere is considered 
highly praiseworthy, though attachment to her husband is 
only laughed at ; I am serious in asserting that it is laughed 
at, — I mean, that a woman who has no cavaliere servente at 
all, and makes her husband her companion and protector, is 
despised and ridiculed by aU her female acquaintance. The 
instances are indeed rare. 

I am, however, &r from intending to insinuate that th(^ 
connexion between a lady and her. cavaliere servente is 
always, or even generally, of a criminal nature. But I will 
say, that nobody can prove that it is innocent. "We may 
charitably believe that she is virtuous ; but we cannot feel 
the same certainty of the puriijr of her character as we do 
of that of an Englishwoman, who has no such connexion. 
The Mr Italian admits him at all hours, constantly asso- 
ciates with him, exacts unremitting attention from hun, and 
lays herself under daily, and often pecuniary, obligations to 
him. She may be innocent ; but we also feel it is possible 
she may not. Yet, granting the connexion, to be purely 
platonic, is it likely to be conducive to domestic happiness, 
or female respectability, that a woman should allow her 
time, thoughts, and affections, to be more devoted to her 
lover than her husband ; that she should take more pains to 
please him, and live more in his society ? or, grantmg him 
not to be her lover, but only her friend, is it desirable 
that she should have a better and dearer friend than her 
husband ? I will not say that the system of cavalieri ser^ 
venti is universal. There is no rule without exceptions. 
But after a two years' residence in Italy, and a very general 
acquaintance among the Italians, I have known very few 
without them; except brides, who as yet have not chosen 
them, or aged ladies, who have lost them. In the past, 

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present, or future tense, awalieri serventi are common to 
them all. 

But whatever may he our opinion of the nature of this 
connexion, and of the virtue of the fair Italians, that of 
their own countrymen, as well as of aU the foreigners of all 
nations whom I have heard speak of them, is undeviating 
as to their general frailty. Indeed, to do them justice, the 
very pretence of virtue is often wanting. Such is the 
general toleration of vice, that no extremes of licentiousness, 
however open, — ^no amours, however numerous or notorious, 
— ever, in this country, exclude a woman from the society in 
which her rank entitles her to move. 

In the other sex it is the same. The most dishonourahlo 
and contemptihle conduct a man can he guilty of, will not 
banish him from his place in society. The countenance 
thus given to unhlushmg |)roflieacy, and the indifference, 
perhaps the sneers, with which virtue is received, is one of 
the most painfully convincing proofs of the depraved state 
of morals. 

The Italian noblemen, for the most part, are ill-educated, 
ignorant, and illiterate. I could give some curious proofs 
of this, but J will content myself with mentioning one, 
which I witnessed the other night at the Opera, when half a 
dozen dukes, marquesses, and counts, from different parts of 
Italy, who were in the box with us, began disputing whether 
Peru, which happened to be the scene of the piece, was in 
the East Indies, in Africa, or, as one of them, for a wonder, 
was inclined to think — ^in America ! 

It is not, however, so much their want of knowledge, as 
their want of principle, that renders them despicable. No 
ennobling pursuit, no honourable end of existence, gives its 
useful stimulus to their lives, or energy, dignity, and con- 
sistency, to their characters. In little things as well as 
great, their conduct is mean. At a select ball given by the 
King of Naples in the 'Rojsl Palace, I remember seeing 
nunmers of the pincipal Neapolitan nobihtv who made it 
their sole occupation to stand beside the tables of refresh- 
ments, and pocket the cakes and sweetmeats by large 
handfiils, as fast as the servants brought them. Their 
dresses, for it was a fancy-dress ball, seemed to be com- 

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246 BOUE. 

posed of large sacks, from the quaatdty which they con- 

In Sicilj, at the British mess-table, some Mends of ours 
were eje-witnesses to the fact of the silver spoons being 
pocketed by two Sicilian noblemen, who dined there by 
myitation, and this circumstance happened more than 

I might easily multiply instao^es, but I will only add, 
that, in two cases which came under my own knowledge 
at Naples, two noblemen of the first consideration there, 
cheated two English Mends of ours, to whom they had let 
a part of their houses, ia the most dishonourable manner. 
One of them, afber letting his rooms, by a written agree- 
ment, on the same terms as those on which the preening 
occupier had rented them, pledged his solemn word of 
honour that he had received firom him a much higher price 
than, on investigation, it was proved to be ; and the other, 
with whom the agreement was verbal, repeatedly sent back 
the proffered monthly payments, expressing a wish to receive 
it aU when our friend quitted his house ; at which time he 
demanded double the stipulated sum, and confirmed his 
assertion on oath. Anything may be proved at Naples, 
for witnesses regularly attend the courts to be hired to 
swear to any fact; and our Mend was obliged to pay this 
iniquitous demand. 

Another Italian nobleman swindled one of our country- 
men out of a large sum of money, in a still more dishonour- 
able way; and though, notwithstanding the frequent in- 
stances I have seen of them, I would stiQ hope that such 
instances and such characters are not common, yet the hct 
of these men, and such as these, being received into society, 
is a proof of that extreme laxity of morals, that want of high 
feelings of honour, and that lamentable toleration of vice, 
which I have already noticed. In England, afber such con- 
duct, would men be received into society at all ; or, indeed, 
could England produce men of birth and family capable of 
such conduct ? 

I know, however, some Italian noblemen incapable of a 
dishonourable action, and perfect gentlemen, botn in man- 
ners and mind ; but I know very few who are not Mvolous 

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and dissipated^ to the neglect of private duties and moral 

One great defect in the constitution of society on the 
continent, is the want of the order of commons, that middle 
rank which links together by insensible gradations the high 
and the low, and di&ses propriety, cultivation, and honour* 
able ambition through all. From the want of this, the 
privilege of nobility is tenaciously preserved, and injudi- 
ciously extended. Every son of a count is also a count, and 
all his son's sons are counts also. These nobles follow no 
plebeian profession; the church and the army alone are 
open to them; there is no navy; commerce, the source of 
the wealth and greatness of Italy, is extinct ; or, at least, 
v^chat remains, is generally carried on by foreigners, never 
by native nobles. Bankers sometimes become noblemen, 
but noblemen seldom become bankers. 

Medicine is not considered the profession of a gentleman, 
and is most injudiciously despised : for common sense would 
surely dictate, that those to whom we entrust our life and 
health, should have every advantage of education, character, 
and respectability; and that such an office should not be 
filled by men of low birth, limited means, and dubious repu- 
tation. In small towns, the physician is chosen by the cor- 
poration, firom whom he receives a small salary, and his 
patients pay him nothing ; though it is customary to send 
him a smaU annual present- If discontented with their own, 
they are at Ml liberty to have the physician of any neigh- 
bouring town, whom then they must remunerate; and as 
there is a hope of such employments, and of being chosen to 
fill a more lucrative situation, or condotta, as it is called, the 
spur of interest is not wanting. In capitals, of course, 
every practitioner sets up for himself, and all have a train of 
young pupils, who, like G-il Bias and Doctor Sangrado, are 
taught to kill according to their master's recipe; and in 
due season these tyros are generally elected physicians to 
country places, — or go in condotta, as they call it — unless 
they choose to remain in the metropolis, i do not mean to 
say that there are not men of great medical skill and science 
in Italy, but — ^I speak fix)m the information of better judges 
than myself-— the general standard is far below tlmt of 

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248 BOMB. 

England ; nor is the profession at all pursued by the first 

Law is much more respected, and consequently more 
respectable than medicine. Eveij small town always elects 
it&podestay who is changed trienniaUy, lest he should imbibe 

Thus debarred by custom, &om useful and respectable 
professions, the younger sons, and the whole numerous race 
of poor nobles in Italy, have often recourse for subsistence 
to a state of the most humiliating servility and dependence, 
to fawning, flattery, and cavaHen^ervenH-abiip, — and to arts 
and employments, I am afraid, even worse than these. 

There is a lamentable want of true dignity and of proper 
pride among the Italian nobles. They "will not practise 
useful employments; but too often stoop to base actions. 
Counts, in fall dress, often come to you a-begging; and 
Marcheses, with lace veils and splendid necklaces, will 
thankfully accept half-a-crown. A woman dressed very ex- 
pensively begged of us the other day in the streets, and we 
nave had several visits &om men of rank, soliciting charity. 
It may be said of them, that " they cannot dig, but to beg 
they are not ashamed.** 

Generally speaking, the fair Italians are certainly not 
women of cultivated minds, or fine accomplishments. They 
are occupied with pursuits of the most puerile vanity ; they 
carry their passion for dress to the most ruinous extrava- 
gance, and are victims of languor, indolence, and ennui. 
The Neapolitan ladies are more addicted to gambling than 
the Eomans ; though there are some here entirely given up 
to it, and on whose countenances I read, at the nightly faro 
table, the deadly passion of their souls. 

The Italian ladies scarcehr ever nurse their children, or 
attend to their education. The boys are instructed at home 
by some domestic chaplain, or placed in public seminaries. 
The girls are either brought up at home, where they have 
no proper governess — and their mothers are seldom qua- 
lified, and still more rarely disposed to ftdfil the office ; or 
else they are educated in convents by nuns, who are too 
often ignorant, prejudiced, and bigoted, and perhaps less 
'^^ed for the important task of forming the female charao- 

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ter than any other class of women : they escape from this 

fjloomy prison to the world, without having formed a taste 
or any rational pursuits or domestic pleasures ; are married 
to some man chosen for them by their parents, and to whom 
they must consequently be indifferent; — and what better 
can be expected from them ? 

The exclusion of young unmarried women from society 
in this couniry, deprives it of one of its greatest charms. 
I am ready, indeed, to own, that too many young ladies, 
just come out, weigh at times somewhat heavily on a party 
in our own country; but conceive what a blank the ab- 
sence of the whole would make, and you will better un- 
derstand the variety, and interest, and animation they give 
to it! - 

Though the fair sex in this coimtry are generally ex- 
tremely ignorant, there are certainly many very learned 
women in Italy; so learned, that here, where there is no 
literary Salic law, the chairs in the university have often, 
both in past and present times, been filled by female pro- 
fessors. Signora Tambroni, late professor of Greek in the 
university of Bologna, only died within these few months, 
though she retired from her situation a few years ago ; nor 
was she less remarkable for her piety and excellence than 
for her uncommon attainments. 

"With a few bright exceptions, however, it unfortunately 
happens, that the class of literary women in Italy are too 
violently Mteraij. The blues are too deep a blue. They 
are either wholly unlearned, or overpoweringly learned. 
A taste for hterature is not generally diffused and inter- 
mingled with other pursuits and pleasures, as in England ; 
it is confined to a few, and reigns m them without control. 
Neither does the love of letters exclude the love of adula- 
tion. Their vanity is of a different cast, but not less in- 
satiable than that of the other fair Italians. They entertain 
you too much with talking of their works, or repeating their 
ovm compositions ; and their houses are generally infested 
by a herd of male scribblers, who make mrge demands on 
the patience and applause of their auditors, by reading or 
recitmg their various works in verse or prose ; and bepraise 
each other, that they may be praised themselves. 

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250 BO^IE. 

I liaye spoken, somewhat too mncli at length, perliaps, on 
the character of the higher classes ; and I am sony I eannot 
say much for the morab of the middle and lower ranks, 
among whom truth, honesty, and indizstry, are rare and 
little prized. They will cheat if they can, and they some- 
times take more pains to accomplish this than would have 
enabled them to gain far more by fair-dealing. When 
detected in falsehood and imposition, they show a wonderful 
degree of coolness and carelessness^ I have met with 
honest and excellent Italians in all ranks ; but I must say, 
knavery, meanness, and profligacy, are far more common. 

The venality of the people of Bome is, however, pro- 
verbial, even in Italy. It is a common saying, that a 
Eoman * venderehbe il sole per cinque 'paoli^ * would sell the 
sun itself for two-pence.' 

Their indolence, however, is, to an Englishman, the most 
extraordinary feature of their character. I have frequently, 
in asking for goods at a shop in Eome, been answered with 
a drawlnig *^non c'e,' even when I saw them before my 
eyes; and once was actually told they were too high to 
reach ! Nay, a shoemaker, after getting through the laboup 
of taking my measure, resigned my future custom, rather 
than take the shoes home at the distance of two streets. 
Another, three months ago, agreed to make me two pairs, 
and still continues to promise them ' next week.' 

The women of these classes are indolent, useless, and 
vaiQ. They never seem employed about domestic cares ; in 
fact, the small matter of cleaning, which is bestowed upon a 
house, is generally done by men. It id they who make the 
beds and dust the rooms. They cook; they clean; and 
sometimes even make gowns. I never shaJl forget my 
astonishment at Naples, in sending for a dress-maker, when 
a man appeared ; but he professed his capacity for the un- 
dertaking. I was in haste, and he stitched me up a very 
superb ball-dress before night. 

In Eome, however, I think the dressmakers, and all the 
washerwomen, are of the female gender. But the Boman 
females are really generally a useless indolent set ; slovenly 
and dirty in their persons and dress at home, and tawdrily 
fine when they go abroad. Their virtue, I fear, cannot be 

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zmmobjllity or hiddls classes. 251 

much boasted of, and, like their superiors, few of them are 
without their lorers and their intrigues. I know the hand- 
some wife of a substantial shop-keeper, who, with the 
consent of her husband, has been the mistress of three 
successive noblemen, Italian and foreign, and lived with 
them. The last sent her back in disgrace, on discovering, 
that even in his house, she had contrived to receive her own 
favoured lover. The husband took her back, and thej are 
now living together. 

Another tradesman makes over his wife at this moment 
to a nobleman, for a certain annual compensation, and yet 
these men do not seem to be despised for it. These facts I 
know to be true, beyond the possibiiity of doubt ; and, in 
spite of their grossness, I mention them, because you cannot 
otherwise conceive the state of morals in this country. 

The celibacy of the clergy is another cause of the want of 
virtue among the women; for, by the perverse and un- 
nxitural institutions of the church, those who ought to be 
guardians, are too ofben in secret the corrupters of morals. 
They thus strike at the root and bond of all morahty ; for 
the virtue of a community will always be found to be in 
proportion to the chastity of the women. 

But I began about the Blessing of the Horses, and I 
have been led, I know not how, into a long disquisition on 
the morals and manners of the Italians. 

Much more might be said upon them, but the subject is 
not particularly pleasant, where we find so much to censure, 
and so little to approve. In fine, the censure of Juvenal 
may still be passed upon the Eomans — 

Paupertate omnes.' 

- hie yivimus ambitiofl& 

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252 BOiOE. 


The Caxstiyjll. 

Ths Bomans, in throwing off the shackles of moral 
restraint, do not seem to have gained much gaietj or plea- 
sure hy their release. Nothmg is more striking to a 
stranger, than the sombre air which marks every counten- 
ance, from the lowest to the highest in £ome. The faces 
even of the young are rarely lighted up with smiles ; a 
laugh is seldom heard, and a merry countenance strikes us 
with amazement, from its novelty. £ome looks like a city 
whose inhabitants have passed through the cave of Tropho- 
nius. Tet, will it be believed, that this serious, this unsmil- 
ing people, rush into the sports of the Carnival with a 
passionate eagerness far surpassing all the rest of the 
Italiaas? Thev are madly fond of the Boman Catholic 
Saturnalia ; and, by a strange annual metamorphosis, from 
the most grave and solemn, suddenly become the most wild 
and extravagant people in the creation. It seems as if some 
sudden delirium had seized them. AU ranks, classes, ages, 
and sexes, — ^under the same intoxication of high spirits, 
parade the streets. The poor starve, work, pawn, beg, bor- 
row, steal, — do anything to procure a mask and a dress ; and 
when the beU of the Capitol, after mid-day, gives licence to 
the reign of folly to commence, the most ridiculous figures 
issue forth, — ^wild for their favourite diversion. Characters 
they can scarcely be called, since there is no attempt at sup- 
porting, or even looking them, — either in the Corso in the 
morning, or the Festino (the masked ball) in the evening. 
Their only aim is to dress themselves, and " to fool it to the 
top of their bent," and they do both to admiration. They 
assume rich, picturesque, grotesque, or buffoon costumes, 
according as it is their object to excite admiration, 
laughter, or love. They may assume any disguise but what 

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THE CAEKlViX. 253 

is connected with religion or government. They are neither 
permitted to be cardinals, priests, nuns, pilgrims, hermits, 
friars, magistrates, or ministers. In general, the motley 
multitude is made up of indescribable monsters. But 
Punch and Harlequin abound. Pantaloon is a prime 
favourite. The Doctor of Bologna is a great man; and 
Pa^liataccio, a sort of clown or fool, dressed all in white, 
even to the mask, is the most popular of all. Turks, Jews, 
bakers, cooks, and camerieri, are common. The female 
costumes of the Italian peasantry, especially of the vicinity, 
imitated in gay spangled materials, are the favourite dress of 
the young women. Some, however, go as Jewesses, because 
then they may accost whom they please, without any breach 
of decorum. Many of both sexes are dressed entirely in 
white, even to the masks, with shepherds' hats; many in 
black dominos, their heads covered with a black silk hood, 
which is a complete disguise; and many, — ^perhaps the 
majority, — ^wear no mask at all, but appear in gay dresses. 
The proportion of masks here, however, is far greater than 
at Naples. When a carriage contains masks, the servants, 
and sometimes the horses, are often masked also, and the 
coachman generally appears in the shape of an old woman. 

The Carnival is just terminated, and we find it as amusing 
here as it was stupid last year at Naples and Florence. 
Even Venice, I hear, has lost her ancient pre-eminence in 
its diversions; nor is it wonderM that, pining as she is 
Tmder a mortal atrophy, she should want the spirit for 
gaiety now. Eome is the place in which it is now seen to 
the greatest perfection ; and for a day or two it is really an 
amusing scene. 

The Carnival, properly speaking, begins after Christmas- 
day, and ends with the commencement of Lent, and during 
that period the opera and theatres are licensed; but it is 
only during the last eight days, — allowing for the inter- 
Tening Fri&ys and Sun£iy, — ^that masking is allowed in the 
streets. The Corso is the scene of this curious revelry : the 
windows and balconies are hung with rich draperies and 
filled with gaily dressed spectators. The Httle raised troUoirs 
by the side, are set out with chairs, which are let, and occu- 
pied by rows of masks. The street is, besides, crowded with 

Digitized by 


254 BOics. 

pedestrians, masked and unmasked; and two rows of carri- 
ages, close behind each other, make a continual promenade. 
Notwithstanding the crowd, the narrowness of the slTeet, 
and the multitude of foot-passengers intermixed with the 
carriages, no accident ever happens ; and though a few of 
the horse-guards are stationed at intervals to preserve order, 
and prevent the carriages from leaving then* line, I never 
saw any occasion for their interference. 

Both the masked and unmasked carry on the war. by 
pelting each other with large handfiils of what ought to l)e 
comfits ; but these being too costly to be used in such pro- 
fusion, they are actually nothing more than pozzolana covered 
with plaster of Paris, and manufactured for the purpose, 
under the name of confetti de gesso (plaster comfits). TMb 
coating flies off into hme-dust, and completely whitens the 
figures of the combatants ; but its pungency sometimes does 
serious mischief to the eyes. 

Strangers seldom attack you, but those who know you, as 
seldom let you escape ; and we, being unmasked, and in an 
open carriage, were generally most unmercifully pelted by 
masked antagonists. We took care to return the comph- 
ment with interest, — ^abxmdance of this material, which may 
be called the wit of the masquerade, being on sale, so that 
you can never be at loss for a repartee. 

Sometimes, indeed, we were assailed by an unexpected 
volley from some passing pedestrian mask, on whom we 
could at the time, inflict no retaliation ; but we never fiuled 
to mark him as a subject for future retribution, when the 
course of the promenade brought him again within our 

It often happens, in the many steps of the carriages, that 
two in the opposite lines begin the assault, and quantities of 
ammunition being poured in, a furious pitched battle is car- 
ried on, until the cavalcade being put in motion again, 
separates the combatants. We sometimes received a dis- 
charge of real comfits ; but they came " like angels' visits, 
few, and far between." 

Half a dozen masks were often hanging together on the 
back of our carriage, chattering to us iniSl languages ; and 
in many of them we recognised our English or foreign 

Digitized by 



acquaintance. But tlie ItaHans seem to commtmicate with 
each other less by words than signs. It is wonderM with 
■what rabidity and facility they can cany on this interconrse, 
at any visible distance ; and wey thus conyerse through the 
medium of the eye, not the ear. Whether this custom 
originated in that ancient jealousy which secluded Italian 
women so rigorously from society ; or in that inquisitorial 

fovemment which still renders freedom of sjjeech dangerous, 
shall not inquire ; but it is certain that it is a language as 
"w^eU understood by aU Italians as their mother tongue. The 
signs they use are chiefly made by touching certain features, 
or parts of the face with the fingers, or the whole hand, in a 
particular manner ; and they thus express love, flattery, sup- 
plication, admiration, jealousy, disdain, aversion, assent, dis- 
sent, &c. These signs are used by all classes, and at all 
time — even at church. At the church of the SS. Apostoli, 
for example, which, on Sundays, at the last maes, is the 
fashionable resort of the fine women and intriguing belles of 
!Bome, a great deal of this mute conversation may be seen 
going forward. The demeanour of the ladies, mdeed, i» 
there generally distinguished by no small appearance of 
coquet^ and flirtation, while that of the gentlemen is 
marked by strong signs of devotion and adoration — ^which 
are expressed in the Einguage of the eyes, and in this stiU 
more explicit language of signs, which is to conversation 
exactly what short-hand is to writing. This species of 
telegraphic communication between the sexes is so rapid, so 
immeaning in appearance, and yet so expressive, that it is 
scarcely possible for the most watchful jealousy to prevent, 
or even to detect it, if any care be taken to conceal it. It 
struck me that more of it goes on during the Carnival than 
at any other period. 

Every day of the masquerade the Corso becomes more 
crowded and more animated, tiU, on the last, the number 
and spirit of the masks, the skirmishes of sweetmeats and 
Jime-dust, and the shouts and ecstacies of all, siu*pass des- 

The whole ends by exti/nguislimg the Carnival. Just 
before dark, all the masks apjjear with a lighted taper, 
labouring to blow out their neighbour's candle and keep 

Digitized by 


*. -^Tir 3. -lar TEiiZst zt a : but, 
— -r: - -ae^sz* -^ -x. ^vpt ]anCT«i ovi- 

-s-^TL ^RTtlt. -£ii^ ~7^g" :?^S^ "i£^»50 

T*" rr: vTr-rjss-sis. I lai told 

^ -=ri :a. aat^i. -jy 3^^ » more 

-: — t:jl r i i-w^ — oat CKH^ni 

^* • '■^r^ ^*-T;;n "Trr«!^ssirQ5: and 

^ --Ti ?*•— ^-^v 3sfc*-aECe^. ««^ to 

^ a* ~ ■-> zj--r*-u;. rns rair, one 
■ ~ " ■ -^-'V^. :i. Ir i;^ eeprered 

azEMss. or 

^OD the 

'"-^ y'_ — '^^^^ lasdkssly 

^7^ ^ t^aL^TntHaaaJl 

- .. ^ ^^^"^^^^^^siia^i V tke farce 

Digitized by 


256 EOME. 

ill tlieii^ own. I can, easily believe thajb you cannot cohceiTe 
the fun of this, unlesa you were in thye midst of it ; but, 
ridiculous as it in9>y appear, I assure you we laughed our- 
eelves merry .at this absilrd scene, ana that great philoso-* 
pher, Mr. . ■ , nearly went into convulsions. I am told 
the masking during the Carnival used to be far more 
splendid in former times than it is now — ^that eastern 
monarchs, followed by their Ethiopian slaves ; cars of vio- 
tory, with laurel-crowned heroes; Koma^ processions.; and 
the triumph of Bacchus, surrounded by Silenus and all his 
crew of drunken- Fauns and possessed Bacchantes, used to 
parade the Corso. But nothing so classically magnificent 
18 now to be seen. Gn the last day, indeed, this year, one 
large car - attracted everybody's attention. It was covered 
with tapestry, and adorned with immense branches .of laur^, 
amongst wmch were seated eight or ten black dominos, or 
demons, who, sheltered by their own . evergreens firoxn Ae 
pelting of the pitiless storm, dealt their fury mercilessly 
round in showers of rattling hml. We afterwards found 
this car contained Prince Leopold of Naples, with some 

Every day of the masquerade, there is a race run by small 
spirited horses, without riders. Their impetuosity in the 
race, however, is not so much owing to their natural spirit, 
as to the agony of the goads, or balls covered with snarp 
spikes of metal, suspended from their backs, which at every 
motion, fall heavily upon the same spot, making large raw 
gory circles over then* bodies, horriole to behold. Some- 
times six or eight ofthiese goads are beating their bleeding 
sides at once, and as if this-w^^ not torment enough, fire 
is likewise appHed to them, so that the poor animals, furious 
under these tortures, often cannot be restrained by the force 
of eight or ten men, from leaping the cords which confine 
them at the entrance of the Corso. At the discharge of a 
cannon, this barrier is withdrawn, and the whole competi- 
tors fly off at fuH speed. The course, which is along the 
CorsOy and consequently paved, is about a mile in length, 
and the horses are stopped by a piece of cloth which is 
suspended across the street, near the Yenetian Palace, at 
the Eipresa de^ Barberi, so called from Barbary horses 
being the original racers. 

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A little spirited English horse, never meant, however, 
for a racer, won almost all the prizes, or palU, this year. 
They consist of a rich piece of velvet, furnished at the cost 
of the Jews, who were formerly compelled to run foot-races 
themselves — ^which afforded much christian diversion to the 
populace. It often happens that some of the horses run 
aside down other streets; and one day the people waited 
for the race in vain, the whole of the steeds having gone 
off together towards St. Peter's. I was not one of the 
disappointed ; having previously witnessed the races twice, 
I was ever afterwards glad to get out of the way. To see 
these poor animals thus wantonly tortured and infuriated 
by pain, is anything but a pleasing or humane spectacle, 
and one I most certainly never wish to see again. 

Priests are forbidden to join in these revels ; but who 
may be present under the mask, I suppose would puzzle 
even the Pope's infallibility to find out. Occasionally, how- 
ever, some curious discoveries have been made by chance. 
In a late Carnival, the horses in a hack carriage, containing 
two masks, becoming restive, ran off at full speed, threw 
the coachman from his box, and never stopped till they 
overturned the vehicle, near the Ponte Sant' Angelo. Both 
the masks seemed to be severely hurt. The female, who 
loudly bewailed her sufferings, proved to be a noted lady 
of no very fair fame ; but her male companion, though the 
blood from his wounded head trickled down his dress, reso- 
lutely held on his mask, refused to speak, and though unable 
to walk, endeavoured to escape from the crowd that wanted 
to assist him. At length his mask was taken off by force ; 
and he proved to be a Cardinal, whose name I refram from 

There are only three Mstini, or public masked balls, al- 
lowed during the Carnival. They are held in the Teatro 
Alberto, a large handsome sala, now only used for this 
purpose. The stage and pit are open to the masks, and 
dancing of quadrilles, &c., goes on with much decorum; 
though I need hardly observe, that none above roturier 
rank ever participate in this part of the amusement. The 
price of admittance is about one shilling and sixpence 
!Einglish, and you may guess that the company is not very 

VOL. II. * 8 

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258 BOMS. 

select, when I tell 70U that our Italian servants were there. 
Yet nothing ever appears which could offend the most fasti- 
dious deUcacj. The higher orders have boxes, and are 
generallj unmasked ; but in the course of the night, thejr 
often walk about among the people, and mix with the 
motley crew, without ever meeting any impertinence or 
unpleasant adventure. 

There is no attempt whatever at supportiag; characters, 
and none indeed are assumed. They have no idea of those 
character masks, which we consider the very essence of a 
masquerade. The masks are dressed whimsically, grotesque- 
ly, laughably, and sometimes tastefully ; but they are mere 
orosses, and they speak in a false squeaking tone, to perplex 
each other, interchange compliments, or banters, and chatter 
abundance of nonsense, but not in character. No doubt, 
a great deal of intrigue may go on, but nothing of it is 
seen, nor is there much time for it, for the Eestino begins 
at eight, and at twelve everybody is turned out, and the 
lights extinguished. The omv attempt at characters was 
made by a few Englishmen, who supported their parts ad- 
mirably, in our style. One, in particular, a Grub-street 
poet, was excellent ; but his ballads, pinned about his hat, 
nis elegies, sonnets, and odes, offered to aU, his heroic re- 
citations, his own ecstacies at their beauty, and his tattered 
and beggarly attire, seriously persuaded some of the Ita- 
lians, to our infinite entertainment, that he was a poor mad 
Endishman, in good earnest ; and they expressed the most 
unteigned compassion for him. 

I must end my account of the. Carnival with what I 
ought to have commenced it, by telUng you that its amuse- 
ments are uniformly ushered in bjr a public execution. If 
any criminals are destined to condign punishment, they are 
reserved for this occasion ; and I suppose it never happened 
that some head was not laid on the block at this &stive 
period. GPhree were guillotined this year. It is done with 
a view to restrain the people, by the immediate terrors of 
the example, from the commission of crimes, to which the 
lic^ice of the season may be supposed to lead. A number, 
of penitents attended these unhappy criminals to the scaf- 
fol<^ 88 well as the pious brotherhood, who make this their 

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peculiar duty ; and both before and after the execution, they 
Degged alms to say masses for their souls, to which hun- 
dreds, even of the very poorest of the people, contributed 
their mite. These processions of penitents, even during 
the Carnival, make at times a pious, instead of a profane 
masquerade. Dressed in long robes of sackcloth, girt with 
ropes, their heads and feces covered with hoods, and their 
eyes alone appeanng through holes cut for them, they pa- 
rade the streets, and prostrate themselves before the altar 
in prayer that the sins committed during this lawless season 
may be forgiven. I am told, but cannot vouch for the fact, 
that some of the gayest and most licentious masks on the 
Corse make this preparation for the sins thev iutend to 
commit, and perform subsequent penance again during Lent, 
in expiation of the score they have run up. 

The Carnival, iu its licence, its mirth, and its levelling of 
rank, nay, even in its season, bears an obvious resembluice 
to the Eoman Saturnalia. But it perhaps approaches still 
more closely to the annual feast of Cybele,* when, according 
to Livy,t the richest draperies were hung from the windows, 
masquerading took place in the streets, and every one, dis- 
gruismg himself as he pleased, walked about the city in jest 
and biJdSbonery. This is premely a modem Carnival. 

* The Gallic or priests of this goddess, seem to have borne a cnrions 
resemblance to some of the Roman Catholic religious orders. They 
were mendicants, and under the obligation of perpetual celibacy ; in 
short, begging friars. There is a bas-relief in the Capitol which repre- 
sents one of these priests with a scourge in his hand ; so that it would 
seem flagellation was also practised amongst them as a religious virtue. 

f Livy, lib. zxix. cap. 14. It took place on the 27th March, when 
the simukcrum, or image of the goddess that fell from heaven, was 
nrashed in the Almo. 

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260 BOMl. 

Music aito the Dsama. 

I CAME to Italy expecting to find it the land of song, to 
hear music wafted in every gale, and every valley vocal with 
harmony. Grreat has been my disappointment. I have not 
only heard very little good music, but very little music at 
aU. During the whole course of the eighteen months that 
have now nearly elapsed since I first set foot in Italy, 
during all my travels through the country, and my residence 
in the towns, the sound of music has seldom met my ear 
unsought. I find it, indeed, as in all great cities — in public 
theatres, in crowded assemblies, and stately drawing-rooms ; 
but it is not the spontaneous " voice of the people." 

In their constantly recurring festas, when the streets are 
thronged day after day with a listless loitering crowd, the 
sound of music is seldom or never heard. It does not 
beguile these long days of idleness, nor, as among the 
Spaniards, the Portuguese, and the G-ermans, is it resorted 
to after the hours of labour, to charm away their evening 
cares. Even the artisan, plying his daily task, and "the 
spinners in the sun," as they sit at their doors, twirliag the 
slow thread on the distaff and spindle, are never heard 
singing at their work. 

The first music that saluted me at Eome, and that was 
after I had lived nearly a month in it, was the bagpipe- 

I was awakened one night from a feverish slumber by the 
well-known drone of that mellifluous instrument. I ima- 
gined, that being in a fever, I was also in a delirium ; but it 
was by no means an ecstatic delusion, and these real, or 
imaginary national tones, were so far from proving a treat 
to my ungratified ears, that when a second bagpipe set up 
its throat, and a third joined in the droning chorus, 1 
thought I should have gone distracted. 

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The next night the same horrible disturbance was re- 
peated ; and now convinced it was only too real, I found, 
upon making inquiry, that numbers of Zampoffnari, or Pi/%- 
Tori, as these bagpipers are called, aonuaUy come up from 
Campania before Christmas, to play hymns upon then: bag- 
ipes to the Virgin, who*, if she has any ear for music, must 
e nearly deafened with this piece of their courtesy. 

The serenades that had broken my rest, I found were 
addressed to a Madonna immediately below my bedroom 
-windows, and for many a night, or, as they call it, morning 
(about four o'clock), did these pious pipers continue to 
drone out their strains to this stony image, whose deafness 
and insensibility I was tempted to envy. 

The bagpipe, as my more travelled friends teU me, is a 
very classical instrument, and extends not only over Italy, 
but throughout Greece, and is supposed to be one of the 
most ancient musical (query, unmusical?) instruments in 
the world. I can only say, that if " Music, heavenly maid!*' 
played upon it 

" when she was young, 

And first in early Greece she sung," 

I cannot enter into the poet's regret at not having heard 
her ; but, on the contrary, am perfectly satisfied 
** With all that charms this laggard age ;" 

to wit — ^the strains she gives us now she has grown old. 

Some wandering harpers from the south of Italy, too, 
sometimes visit Home. Their music is simple, very peculiar, 
probably very ancient, and certainly very sweet. They are 
called Carciofolari, Excepting these itinerant musicians, 
and one old blind man, who is stationary, I have heard no 
street music in Eome, and very little in any town, village, 
or hamlet of Italy, in which it has been my lot to sojourn, 
excepting Naples and Venice. There the voice of music is 
contmuaBy heard at evening, over the calm waters of the 
Bay of ifaples and the canals of the Adriatic, — on the 
Chiaja and the Piazza di San' Marco. The favourite instru- 
ment in both places is the guitar, or viola, — an excellent 
accompaniment for the voice. When I was at Naples, 
' Bicciordello Antonio,' a beautiful playful little air, was the 

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262 BOMS. 

most popular among the lazzaroni ; and at Venice, ' Buona 
notte, Amato bene,' met me at every comer ; both sung with 
a spirit and gaiety that gave them an inexpressible charm. 

One thing, indeed, 1 must remark, that wherever one 
does hear music in Italy, it is really music (excepting the 
bagpipe) — something deserving of the name. 

One's ear is never tortured with the horrible tunes, 
executed in a still more horrible style, with which it is 
continually assailed in England. But the fact is, music 
with us is au exotic, and the plant has a sickly and artificial 
existence. In the great hotbed of London alone it comes 
to any perfection, and there, though fine, it is forced. 

K Italy bears away the pahn in vocal excellence, Ger- 
many far surpasses it in instrumental music, in the refined 
and universal taste, or rather passion, for music, diffused 
among all classes, and in the excellence both of the com- 
position and execution. There you may hear the compo- 
sitions of Mozart, and Haydn, and Beethoven, in the 
dwelling of every artisan ; but in Italy, her own imm rtal 
ancient masters are neglected and forgotten, or heard now 
only in other lands. 

The higher orders have not the same strong passion for 
music that I expected. It forms no part of the entertain- 
ment in their conversaziones, except when a rare accademia 
renders it the sole purpose of the meeting. Indeed- it 
seems less generally than with us, a source of domestic 
amusement ; but I am not sure that this is to be regretted : 
it may perhaps be doubted, whether the invaluable years of 
ever^ young English lady's lile that are devoted to the 
attainment of a certain degree of expertness in running over 
the keys of a pianoforte, might not, where there is no 
natural taste for it, be better employed. 

In Italy, though every lady of a certain rank is not a 
musician, there are many who sing and play with a taste 
and science worthy of first-rate professional performers. In 
the other sex there are stiU more examples of this, though it 
is said to be less common now than in lormer times. Italian 
noblemen may still be found fiddling all night for their own 
amusement in an orchestra ; but these things are, compara- 
tively speaking, rare. 

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I have frequently attended a weekly aeeademia of music 
given at Eome by a man who made a fortune hj selling 
fiddle-strings. Notwithstanding his ]^beian on^, his 
concerts are frequented by most of the^Boman nobility, by 
foreign ambassadors, and royal princes. The performers 
are, for the most part, amateurs, and some of them very 
good ; but who does not see, that though the company at 
large loudly applaud the performance, and cry, 'flow 
charming! how divine!' their whole souls ore intent upon 
the looks, dress, flirtations, and admirations of each other, — 
upon bowing, smiling, coquetting, manoeuvring, — upon any- 
thing, in short, but the music ; and that, though the osten- 
sible, it is not the real source of attraction P 

Eome has at present the worst opera in Italy, but the 
best sacred music in the world. In all the churches, the 
festas of the saints to whom they are dedicated are an- 
nually celebrated with a grand sacred concert of vocal and 
instrumental music, by a band of professional performers ; 
and, on these occasions — in the Jesuits' church at the close 
of the old, and commencement of the new year, — ^in the 
chapel of the choir at St. Peter's on Sundays, at vespers 
durmg Lent and Advent, — and more particularly in the 
three grand Misereres of the Holy Week, and the accade- 
mias given at that time in private houses, — ^the music is 
indeed of unrivalled excellence, and fraught with a lofty 
sublimity and pathos, to which nothing I ever heard else- 
where even approximates. Yet it is strange, that with such 
heavenly harmony at command, the ordinary church music 
should be absolutely bad; indeed, scarcely deserving the 

In the chapel of a convent on the Quirinal HiQ, called, 
I think, the Church, or Chapel of Santa Anna, the singing 
of the nuns, at vespers, is singularly touching. In this 
chaj)el there is the perpetual exposition of the Host ; and, 
in. consequence, it is perpetually illuminated, night and day, 
with wax tapers. I have never entered it without finding it 
filled with people, all on their knees on the marble floor, and 
a silence so profound reigning through it, that every half- 
stifled sigh of penitence that broke m)m them reached the 
ear. Every being there seemed as unconscious of the pre- 

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264 BOME. 

sence of those with whom he was in contact, as if in a 
desert. No doubt, the a^^l stillness that prevailed amidst 
this crowd of people, and the unnatural glare of the illumi- 
nation within, when all without was bright in day, had their 
influence in giving effect to the full harmoiiious voices of 
the invisible inmates of the cloister, whom men might see 
no more. But so powerful was the pathos of their choral 
strain, that it affected many, " albeit unused to the melting^ 
mood," even to tears. 

The romantic custom of serenades is still very generally 
practised among the middle and lower classes. On a 
moonlight evening, the lover conducts a little band of hired 
musicians below the windows of his mistress, and while they 
pour forth the melting strains of melody, he stands to watch 
her appearance, to breathe forth his sighs, or, by mute signs, 
implore her pity. Her name is echoed in the songs, which 
are sometimes really composed, and are always supposed to 
be so, by him. A fair Italian, who lives a few doors from 
us, has been serenaded almost every night this week, by her 
enamoured swain. 

Though the time of the Carnival, there is only one theatre 
(La Valle) open here ; and even this, like the Fiorentini at 
Naples, is a melange of the Opera and the Theatre. The 
dancing is wretched beyond description ; the music is bad, 
and the acting not many degrees better. Some of the farces 
and buffooneries, however, have been amusing. * Gli Ciar- 
latani,' a farce I saw the other night, had abundance of low 
humour, and was irresistibly laughable, and weU played. I 
have not yet seen any of the very few good comedies of 
Groldoni, but I have yawned through several representations 
of his tedious and trifling colloquies of five acts, without 
incident, interest, character, or vis comica. He really seems 
to think that the common occurrences of a domestic day, 
such as drinking a cup of chocolate, sitting down to dinner, 
scolding the servants, or spoiling the children, are sufiicient 
materials for a drama. One would wonder that any author 
could ever have written such trash, or that any audience 
could have listened to it ; still more, that any one who had 
ever written anything so good as a few of his well-known 
pieces, should have produced so much that is so very bad aa 

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xiine-tenths of his puerile trash, misnamed comedies. * II 
Burbero Benefico,' which is one of the best of them, was 
written at Paris, after a long and diligent study of the 
French comedy, which it resembles, without equalliag ; and 
though it may be a very curious circumstance that he wrote 
it originally in Erench, it cannot make it a better play. 
He has occasionally traits of coarse humour and of character, 
but never of genuine wit or genius ; and everything he ever 
wrote is tinctured with gross vulgarity, and betrays his 
extraordinary ignorance, as well as the limited scope of his 
ideas. Even in the best of his productions, there is a de- 
plorable want of life and interest, and plot and wit. The 
three wearisome plays upon Richardson's * Pamela,' though 
great favourites with the Italians, whose dramatic personi- 
fications give as false an idea of the English character, as 
ours of theirs, are a proof how rarely authors succeed in 
painting the manners and characters of any nation except 
tbeu* own. 

In seizing those of his own gay Venetians, Groldoni has 
been far more happy, and perhaps, upon the whole, some of 
the whole host of plays he wrote in that sweet patois, are 
superior to all those in what he is pleased to call the lingtia 
Toscana. My acquaintance with his four-and-forty volumes 
of comedies, however, is by no means universal, and has 
been a good deal impeded by an unlucky habit of falling 
asleep over them. 

GFoldoni wrote sixteen bad comedies in one year ; it would 
have been better if he had written one good one in sixteen 
years. He may more properly be called, a play-monger than 
a comic poet. I have never seen any of Alfieri's tragedies, 
nor indeed any tragedy at all, performed; nor is it likely 
I should, for Aliieri is much talked of, but little read, and 
scarcely ever acted. AH his plays, except four, were prohi- 
bited by the Erench, from political motives, nor is it likely 
that the interdict will be taken off by the present govern- 
ments. The loss is the less, because they are confessedly 
ill adapted to the stage ; they are unpopular in representa- 
tion, even among the Italians themselves ; and such being 
the case, they may be fine poems, but cannot be considered 
fine playfl. 

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266 BOKX. 

It is tme they bear a liigh name in Italy, because there 
thej stand alone. AMeri has no competitor, and wins the 
prize like a race-horse that walks over the course. They 
may be comparatively, without being positively good. It 
may, indeed, seem presumptuous to assert that Alfieri's 
plays are deficient in dramatic merit, but their total want of 
success on the stage is surely a decisive proof of it. As 
compositions they may be fine; but as dramas they are 
deficient in plot, character, action, interest, incident, and 
passion, and most of all, in nature. High-soundiug senti- 
ments are uttered, and high heroic deeds performed, but by 
imaginary beings. Alfien has cast men in moulds of hia 
own, and made them act as he pleases; he has not pene- 
trated into the deep recesses of the human heart, like 
Shakespeare, and pamted from what he traced there. His 
plays are addressed to the head rather than the heart, and 
consequently they never touch our hearts, nor move our 
feelings. Besides, in most of them, there is far too much 
said and too little done ; an unredeemable fault in dramatic 

Italy must yield to England, Prauce, and even to Spain, 
both iu tragedy and comedy. I do not speak of the G^rmaji 
theatre, because I cannot judge of it iu the original, there- 
fore not at aU. Italy was the first seat of modem dramatic 
performances. Long before any other of the nations of 
Europe had a stage, himdreds of tragedies and comedies 
were represented here. But what were these comedie 
arUiche? — ^Dry, lifeless imitations of the Grecian and Eoman 
dramatists, tolerated at first with difficulty; even by the. 
learned, never endured by the body of the people, and long 
since consigned to dust and utter oblivion. In fact, para- 
doxical as it may seem, the true legitimate drama of life and 
nature is not the natural growth of Italy. The Opera and 
the Pantomime, BCarlequin and Punchinello, Music and 
Buffo, are indigenous, and flourish in fuU perfection. But 
the Theatre is everywhere secondary to the Opera. While 
the veiy names and memories of the singers of Italy are re- 
echoed with rapture in every country, there are not, nor ever 
have been, any actors of great popular fame, — ^not at least in 
the regular drama ; for in the old native Commedie deV Arte^ 

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wbich Goldoni laboured so hard to banish, while his best 
works, afber all, are formed upon its model, they were excel- 
lent in their way. In these, nothing was written, — ^the 
action and dialogue were entirely left to the extempore wit 
of the performers, who had. only for a guide the dry bare 
skeleton, — ^the scenario, as they cisdled it, of the play ; which 
was previously planned, and stuck up behind the scenes; 
bnt they Med up the sketch al improwiso, with their own 
colouring ; their merry dialogue, their smart repartee, their 
practical jokes, their buffoonery and grimace. Thus they 
were at the same moment authors and actors. Their cha- 
racters, to be sure, were all established. There were Pan- 
taloi^ (Pantaloon) the old Venetian merchant, il Dottore 
(the T)octor of Bologna), the Neapolitan PollicineUo (Punch), 
the Bergamasque Arlecchino (Harlequin), a blundering ser- 
vant, the Calabrian Clown (Griangurgolo or CorieUo), the 
Ferrarese Eogue (BrigheUa), the Bull^ of Naples (Spa- 
viento), the Coxcomb of Eome (Ghelsomino), and the Srni- 
pleton of Milan, whose established name I have forgotten. 
^ All these wore masKS. Besides which, there were the 
Lovers (Gl* Innamorati), in eveiy play, who were senti- 
mental, and were not masked, and spoke in Un^^ua Toscana, 
It was observed to me, by an ingenious Italian, that the 
extempore nature of these pieces, — ^the acting in masks, and 
the whole style of the performance, includmg, I fear, its 
licentiousness, — seemed to prove the Oommedie deV Arte to 
be the legitimate descendant of the ancient Atellana. I 
confess I should be sorry to see anything so truly national, 
and so highly ingenious, banished Italy altogether; but it 
is certainly on the wane. The higher orders learn from 
foreigners to decry and discountenance it, and the lower 
orders have little voice here. 

The Italians show a good deal of the same talent in the 
management of the JEhntoccini or Burattini — the acting 
puppets, which are as much superior to the Marionettes of 
tVance, as a pantomime to a puppet-show. Thev are so ad- 
mirably managed, that one contmually forgets tliey are not 
real men and women ; and their dialogues have all the air 
of proceeding from their own mouths. I have certainly, 
hitherto, met with no actors here to compare to those 

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268 BOME. 

wooden ones, and I shall not soon forget the diversion I 
experienced the other night from their performance. They 
first represented a most kughable little comedy. This was 
followed by a melo-drama taken from Ariosto, and full of 
enchantments. The magic mirror, the flying horse, the 
brazen palace, the Oreo, Astolfo's journey to the moon, 
Bradamante's prowess, &c., &c., were formed into a con- 
nected plot of adventure and romance, terminating in Brad- 
amante's marriage with Euggiero. The last piece was still 
more classical ; it was the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, 
travestied. Orpheus himself, fiddling, in a huge bag-wig 
and an old-fashioned court-dress, ana aU his adventures in 
hell, and out of it, were inexpressibly laughable. By fer 
the best Fantoccini are at Eome ; the next in merit are at 

The ancient Miracles, or Mysteries, or Moralities, the 
earliest attempts at drama in every country in Europe, and 
the favourite amusements of the middle ages, still maintain 
their ground in Italy. Several of these pious plays were per- 
formed at Rome this year about Christmas-time. The subjects 
are taken from Holy Writ. Our Saviour, with the Twelve 
Apostles and the three Maries ; and Saints, and Angels, 
and Prophets, without end, hold long colloquies together ; 
and the devil seldom fails to perform a principal part. But 
will it be believed, that the Supreme Being is impiously 
represented in these wretched mummeries on the public 
stage, by a strolling actor, and that they blasphemously 
presume to put into His mouth their low doggrel rhvmes ? 

The time was, indeed, in England, when the parish clerks 
used " to put forth a play for the goodlie entertainment of 
the King, the Queen, and all the nobility ;" and the famous 
* Play of Coventry' * (in forty acts) was represented ; — ^the 
first act or pageant of which was opened by a set speech 
from the Deity himself, seated upon his throne. But that 
an exhibition, which can scarcely be traced in England, even 
in the fourteenth century, should be tolerated at Eome in 
the niueteenth — may well excite our unqualified amaze- 

• Ludus Coventriae, or Corpus Christi, a Mystery, — still extant 
(Vide Strutt's Sports of the People of England, book iiL chap, ii.) 

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The state of the regular theatre in Italy, both as to the 
drama and the performers, is, in all I have seen of it, at 
a very low ebb. At Naples, however, I was often well 
amused; at Some I have almost invariably been wearied 
or disgusted. 

The opera at Eome, I imderstand, is always bad, but this 
winter it is intolerable. The instrumental and vocal parts 
seem to contend in rivalry of wretchedness. Eossini's beau- 
tiful * Tancredi ' has been mercilessly murdered all winter ; 
still the boxes of the Argentina are as crowded with the 
beauty and fashion of Rome, as if the music were of the 
first description. Nor can it, as at Paris, be the dancing 
which forms the attraction ; for nothing can be so wretched 
as the ballet. 

The best operas are at Milan and Naples ; the greater 
population and consequence of these cities, as well as the 
splendour and magnitude of the Sala in both places, will 
probably long enable them to support this superiority. The 
world can produce no theatres to rival La Scala at Milan, 
and San Carlo at Naples. The latter is superior in fresh- 
ness of decoration, but perhaps the other is quite as noblo 
in architecture. The finest singers of Italy are to be found 
abroad, rather than at home. . The superior emoluments 
which London, and indeed every other capital offers, charms 
away her native syrens. The low prices oi entrance through- 
out Italy (the highest for the pit being, I think, about 
eighteen-pence of English money, and a whole box often 
hired for the night, even during the Carnival, for five 
shillings), render the salaries of the performers necessarily 
low. I have, however, sometimes heard, in very unpromis- 
ing places, a very delightful musical treat. Almost every 
little town has its opera during some part of the year, and 
this certainly is a strong proof of a imiversal passion for 
music among the people. It would be stiU stronger, how- 
ever, if they attended to the music; but I must say, I 
never was so much disturbed in the box of any woman of 
fashion at London, as in those of my Italian ^ends at 
Milan and Naples, which, with Venice, are reputed, and 
justly, to be the most musical places in Italy. In fact, 
the Italians go to the Opera for society, and the night is 

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270 BOHE. 

spent in paying yisits &om one box to another, and in 
incessant cliattering. The continual repetition of the same 
opera during the whole season, is perhaps one great caiuse 
01 this. I observed, on the only first representation I ever 
witnessed, that the utmost silence and attention preyailed 
till the piece was concluded. 

In fine, I must end as I have begun, by acknowledging^ 
myself disappointed in the music of Italy, disappointed in 
the quantity, disappointed in the quality, and disappointed 
in the execution. I expected from it (and who would not ?) 
pre-eminent excellence ; but I have heard much finer music, 
both vocal and instrumental, at the Opera, at the Philhar- 
monic Concerts, in London, and in most of the great, and 
many of the little towns in Germany, than I have ever 
heard in any part of Italy. I speak now of cultivated 
music, — of the music of courts, and operas and concerts. 
In the untutored music of the people, I am sure there is 
nothiug, among the whole cont<tdmi of Italy, to compare 
to the singing of the peasant girls of Unterseen, Brienz, 
and many parts of German Switzerland and Germany. 

The true Italian connoisseurs, indeed, say that music, 
and musical taste, have wofully degenerated in this country, 
and I cannot but believe them. Indeed, though such com- 
plaints seldom meet with much attention, and are always 
ascribed to a querulousness that is dissatisfied with the pre- 
sent, I am inclined to believe that they are generally- 
founded on truth. Nobody thitiks of saying t£it taste 
for the fine arts has declined among the Engnsh, or taste 
for politics among the French, or tastf for reformation 
among the Grermans, for these things have greatly and 
manifestly increased; and so many people would not say 
that musical taste had declined in Italy, nor should we 
see so many appearances of it, if it were not in some mea^ 
sure true. 

But even if this be the case, Italy is still the second 
musical country in the world ; it must at least rank after 
Germany. In England, as I before observed, music is an 
exotic ; we have it, indeed, in its highest perfection, as we 
have grapes in our hot-houses ; but the produce is, after all, 
forced and scanty, and entirely confined to the metropolis. 

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MTISIC. 271 

and even there, to the rich, who often taste, without en- 
joying it ; in fact we import, rather than grow it ; and unless 
we bestowed much labour aud expense • upon it, we should 
never have any at all. The English are not naturally a 
musical people. Nor yet are the French. Neither in 
France, nor even in French Switzerland — ^which aflfords a 
striking contrast to the German Cantons, where the people 
are highly musical — ^in Holland, nor in Belgium, in Great 
^Britain nor in Ireland, have I ever heard anything that 
deserves to be called music ; for the simple national melo- 
dies of Scotland, whose beauty and pathos I feel with all 
the soul of a native, are not that true superior scientific 
music, that men of cultivated taste, from every part of the 
world, will equally admire and relish. 

Perhaps such music is pretty much oonfmed to Germany 
and Italy; and perhaps the thing that is most remote 
from it, is that class of native productions in England 
and France, which those countries are pleased to denomi- 
nate music. 

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272 BOins. 



I HATE heard one of the most extraordinary Improvisatori 
that I suppose ever appeared, even in Italy. For four op 
five successive hours, he continues to pour forth a flood of 
unpremeditated verse, without the smallest hesitation, or 
apparent effort, and with far more ease than any of us 
could, after hard labour, recite a composition by rote. But 
this is not the wonder. This prodigy can compose entire 
extempore tragedies on any given subject, with all the plot, 
incident, and dramatis personsB, — ^repeat all the parts him- 
self, and bring the whole to a regular denouement, with 
as much ease as you and I would cany on a common con- 

I assure you that I do not exaggerate. No words can 
do justice to the perfect ease, the energy, and unhesitating 
flow of verse, in which he poured forth this long, and, in 
some respects, fine tragedy; for there were scenes and 
passages m it, that not only possessed real poetic beauty 
and the warm irresistible eloquence of passion, but might 
have done honour to a drama deliberately finished off in 
the closet. I, a poor unskilled foreigner, you may be sure, 
would not have the presumption to pronounce so decisively 
upon its positive merits, though I might be allowed to have 
an opinion of its comparative ones ; since I must be as well 
qualified to judge of one Italian play as another ; but the 
solemn critics who surrounded me — ^with brows bent to 
frown, and dispositions prepared to condemn — ^were them- 
selves carried away into tne same extravagant applause, 
admiration, and astonishment which possessed me. 

That it was really improwiso, not a shadow of doubt could 
exist, even in the minds of the most incredulous, of whom. 

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before I went, I believe I was one. A variety of subjects, 

Sroposed by different persons in company, were written 
own by a man on the sta^e, sealed, and thrown into a vase, 
which was shaken by vanous people among the audience, 
and the billet was drawn by a gentleman of our acquaint- 
ance. On' this occasion it proved to be * Medea ;' a subject 
so hackneyed, that when Signore Tomaso Sgricci — for that 
is the name of this extraordinary person — received it on 
his entrance, he expressed a wish tnat another lot might 
be drawn ; both from the difl&culty of avoiding an imitation 
of the great writers who had already treated it, and from 
having very lately, at Florence, dramatized on the same. 
The Sala, however, resounded with cries of * Medea ! 
Medea!' to the ioy of an Italian gentleman of my ac- 
quaintance, behind me, who had heard him on this veiy 
theme at Florence, and was curious to see if he would 
repeat it verbatim. Signore Sgricci bowed, paused a single 
minute, and then said, that to avoid repetition as much as 
possible, he would make a different cast of parts. He 
introduced, as my Florentine friend acknowledged, two 
new characters, opened the action in a different part of 
the story, and neither in a single scene, nor even speech, 
^proached to the tragedy he had composed at Florence. 
The character of Medea, throughout, was supported with 
wonderful force and effect; and her invocation to the 
hellish brood was horribly sublime. The second tragedy, 
which I heard on another occasion, was a much more novel 
subject ; it was the death of Lucretia, which gave far more 
scope to his powers ; and there were many parts in it which 
absolutely electrified the house, and drew forth loud and 
continued 'Evviva'sT of applause. I should observe, that 
these tragedies were both in verse sciolto, without rhyme ; 
but improvmso poems, on any given subject and measure, 
he pours forth with the same inconceivable rapidity. 

He is a native of Arezzo (the birth-place of retrarch), 
and the harsh Tuscan accent is very distinguishable in his 
enunciation. His language, however, is remarkably pure, 
and its flow and variety are most wonderful, 

Signore Sgricci is, as far as I know, the only improvi- . 
satore who ever attempted tragedy. Of the tribe who 
VOL. n. T 


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274 BOia. 

spout forth torrents of Terse on ererr possible theme, tb^e 
is no end. It is, however, &r from bemg mj intention to 
speak of them disparae^inglj ; on the contrary, I think it 
a wonderful talent, and one which, I believe, is exclusively 
Italian; for, though I have heard, in the evenings of 
summer, a knot of Portuguese peasants singing to their 
guitar, improwuto (which they call gloggare) ; — ^their little 
extempore songs can scarcely be styled poetry; aspiring 
to no elevation, fancy, or even regularity of metre, but 
merely stringing together the rhymes into which their 
euphonious language naturally runs. The genius of the 
Italian language affords considerable facility to the com- 
position of verse ; yet, when that composition is to be on 
any ^ven subject, without a moment's pause or hesitation, 
and m the fiice of an expecting audience, it is amazing that 
its diiEculties can be conquered at all. Few people in our 
country would find it easy to make a tolerable dissertation in 
prose, on any given theme, in such a situation ; how much 
more difficult would they find it, when encumbered with the 
fetters of rhyme and measure ! But the Italian improvisatoii 
could make no extempore oration in prose on a given theme; 
and this seems to prove that it is a sort of inspiration, or 
poetic fervour, that carries them on. They often compose 
with rime obligate, that is, the rhymes and measure, as well 
as subject, are assigned them. This, to my great astonish- 
ment, one of them assured me, he found even easier than 
unshackled composition, because the rhymes being chosen 
saved him the necessity of searching for them ; so that it 
is plain he adapted the sense to the sound, not the sound 
to the sense, it is very common, too, to have a verso 
(Migato, a distich taken from any popular poet, assi^ed 
them, which they must introduce at ttie end of every eight- 
Hue stanza. 

It is scarcely possible that verses so composed should 
ever be very ^q, and sometimes they are very bad; but 
they are occasionally wonderfiilly pretl^, and adorned with 
images and allusions which it is amazing they should have 
been able to conjure up in the moment. But the truth is, 
they have similes and thoughts ready prepared ; they are 
versed in all the common-place of poetry, have ail its 

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lifickneyed images at command, and bring in on all occa- 
sions, the gods and goddesses, and muses, as auxiliaries. 
StOl, when themes are given on which these useM per- 
sonages cannot be brought to their assistance, and on 
which, from their oddity, they could not be prepared, they 
sometimes hit off very happily-turned verses. I gave *a 
cat,' as a subject one night to a Eoman improvisatrice,* 
who instantly composed some very pretty lines upon it; 
and ' a pen/ upon another occasion, called forth a stul more 
ingenious poem from a gentleman. 

By far tne most interesting performance of the kind is, 
when two sing together, or rather against each other, in 
alternate stanzas; something like the contests in Virgil's 
Eclogues, or the trials of skiH between ancient bards. The 
improvisatori, fired by each other's strains, by rivalry, and 
emulation, pour out their strophe and antistrophe, with a 
degree of mcreasing fervour and animation, that carries 
away their audience, as well as themselves. 

Of the improvisatori of Eome itself, Signore Bionde is, 
in my opinion, by far the first, and I believe he is almost 
a Bontaiy example of the publishedpoems of an improvi- 
satore being received with 6clat. He, too, with the excep- 
tion of Signore Sgricci, is the most calm in his action, the 
most free from &ose violent contortions or distortions 
which, whether the effect of natural agitation or affected 
passion, are peculiarly unpleasant to witness. These, iur 
deed, I have invariably observed to be strongest in an 
inverse ratio to the goodness of the performer ; and Sgzicci, 
who confessedly stands at the head of the race, is wholly 
free from them. 

A young Neapolitan improvisatrice, Bosa Taddei^ has lately 
excited great interest at Eome ; she is only nineteen, not 
hands(Hne, but with a countenance fidl of expressipn, inteU 
ligence, and sensibility. That she is endowed with great 
natural genius, it would be vain to deny ; and though very 
unequal, her compositions are sometimeB lighted up with 
bursts of beauty, that seem really the effect of inspiration ; 

* A lady of remarkable talent, who, from diffidence, never would 
attempt to perform, except in a aniall circle of her own fiiendB. She is 
since dead. 


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276 E0MT5. 

but it is almost painful to see her, firom the agitation under 
which she labours, and the violent physical effort which 
every line seems to cost her. She is the daughter of a 
comedian, and has enjoyed no advantage of education ; yet 
her manners have that natural elegance which results from 
a mind of genius and sensibility. She is /now studying 
Latin, that universal and rational foundation for a good 
education here, and is making rapid advances in knowledge 
in history. With the Italian poets she is already con- 

I never pitied any one more than this poor girl, at two or 
three sittings of the ticcademie. These sapient institutions 
are confraternities of male and female poets, who elect and 
eulogize, and stun each other with their own lackadaisical 
sonnets, elegies, and pastorals. There are two grand aeca- 
demie in Eome, the Tiburina, which is quite of modem date, 
and the Arcadia, which is the ancient parent of the whole, 
and has planted its colonies in every ciijr of Italy: for the 
Arcadians, — ^these enraptured swains, who so unweariedly 
extol the pleasures of rural simplicity and pastoral innocence, 
win be sought in vain among peaceful plains or secluded 
hamlets,* or anywhere, except among the din of populous 
towns. Every member, on admission, becomes a shepherd, 
and takes some pastoral name, and receives a grant of some 
fanciful pastoral estate in the happy re^ons of Arcadia, 
where he is supposed to feed his narmless sheep. This 
pastoral brotherhood holds its meetings in a large hall, 
adorned with portraits of some of the most famous worthies 
among its deceased members ; among whom, Sir Isaac New- 
ton, and several other great philosophers of our country, had 
the Tumour to be included. Once a-month, — ^moved I pre- 
sume by the influence of the moon, — ^they assemble to 
disburden their minds, and rills of nonsense meander from 
every mouth. I was once seduced into one of these assem- 
blages, and sustained the infliction of the incessant recitation 
of the most wretched rhymes during three mortal hours. 
Nothing could be much more ridiculous than to hear an 
Arcadian, in the shape of a huge, clumsy, ungainly-looking 
man, in dirty boots, and a great coat, called upon by some 
such absurd name as ' XL Pastor Corydone,' and then to see 

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EOSi. TADDEI. 277 

him get up and begin to repeat some silly ditty about his 
sheep, or to bewail himself on the cruelty of his MUtde. 
The natural effect ensued, and one of these plaintive pastorals 
was interrupted by the loud snores of a fat Arcadian swain. 
They convened an extraordinary sitting the other night, in 
honour of Bosa Taddei, the fair improvisatrice, whom, of' 
course, they have made a shepherdess. She was handed into 
the crowded sala, which on this occasion presented not its 
usual beggarly account of empty benches, but boasted of 
cardinals, dukes, and duchesses, foreign ambassadors, — and 
Canova, who accompanied us. One after another they began 
addressing her, in long Latin and Italian pastorals, and other 
rigmaroles, in -which they made her out to be a star come 
down from heaven ; an amaranthine flower transplanted to 
earth ; the soul of a seraph, usually employed in singing in 
heaven, now come down to perform in this nether world: 
they said Gorilla was a dunce to her ; even Sappho herself 
was undone: she was a tenth Muse, and beat the other 
nine all to nothing, — had been nursed upon Olympus, and 
was Apollo's prime favourite, &c. &c. 

She is really modest, and without any affectation it was 
easy to see she was extremely discomposed with the absurd 
hyperboles that were mercilessly addressed to her. After 
this weary performance, her own began. The parting of 
Titus and Berenice, — ^the address of Moses te the IsraeHtes 
on the passage of the Eed Sea (some passages very fine), 
— ^the Fall of Man, — Adam and Eve expelled from Paradise, 
— ^the Death of Arria, — the Parting of Venus and Adonis 
(by far the best), — ^the Battle of Constantine and Maxentius 
(not suited to her, and ven^ poor), and Calliope at the Tomb 
of Homer, — a favourite Italian mode of verse-making, in 
which the supposed visiter, whether muse or man, pours 
forth an appropriate strain of lamentation; these were 
some of the principal subjects on which she sang, with 
various, but sometimes distinguished success. She is almost 
the only performer in whom I have ever seen much hesita- 
tion. She was fre<juently obliged to repeat the last line 
twice, and even thnce. I beheve I forgot te tell you that 
few improvisatori, except Sgricci, ever perform without 
muBic, and none ever accompany themselves. They choose 

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278 xoia. 

a simple, but marked measure, suited to the rhythm thej are 
going to compose in, which is ph&jed on the pianoforte bj 
another person ; and the cadence, and strong intonation in 
which the^ recite, is nearly singing. 

The utility of the music is not so much to conceal any 
irregularity m the metre, as to give a certain inspiration to 
the performer,— to kindle a certain feeling of enthusiasm, 
which it is vam to describe, but which all who are suscep- 
tible of the power of music or poesy must have felt. The 
improvisator! seem to have the power, by certain associations, 
of calling up at will those trains of feeling under which 
alone they can pour forth the unpremeditated strains of 
lyric song. Several of the Italian improvisatrice, in their 
raised and inspired moods, pouring forth their unpremedi- 
tated strains, — exactly as if possessed, — ^remind me of all I 
have heard of the Sibyls of old, who, I believe, were nothing 
more than improvisatrice, except that they spoke, and were 
heard, under the belief of their oracular divine mission. 

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BOiCAir fOETS. 279 



Theeb are few places in which the Latin classics are more 
generally studied, or underatood, than at Eome, nor are the 
ffreat Italian poets less duly appreciated. There is not a 
fine of Dante, or Tasso, or Petrarch, that is not diligently 
conned. Yet, in spite of all this studying of poets, there is 
no poetry. IHdes of verae are poured forth in an unceasmg 
flow, but nothing remains. They all pass into the quiet 
Btream of oblivion. 

Of all the innumerable living poets of Eome, there is not 
one whose works I ever yet could read to an end ; perhaps, 
therefore, I am not competent to give an opinion xfpon their 
merits ; and posterity, I suspect, will not have the means of 
deciding upon them. It certainly proves a disinterested love 
of the Muses, that there should be so many of their votaries 
in a country where a poet must be poor, and where indeed 
no author can easily make any money; but these capricious 
ladies do by no means seem to respond to the passion enter- 
tained for them, or bless with their favours theur importunate 
Eoman suitors. 

If I am not struck with the charms of their verse, I am 
scarcely more captivated mth their prose. Its tedious for- 
mality, its unvaried dulness, and its wearisome verbosity, are 
inconceivable, except to those who have laboured at it ; and 
these qualities, witn few exceptions, are characteristic alike 
of the old and new writers. At least, I can truly say that, 
during the two years that have elapsed since I jBrst came to 
Home, not a work has passed the press to which their own 
expressive * Seccatura!* does not apply. Why they always 
thmk it necessary to involve their meaning, wlien they have 

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280 -ROUT.. 

any, in such a cloud of words, is more tban I can pretend to 
explain. Neither do I understand how it hiwpens, that men 
who in conversation are so deyer and entertaining, should in 
their writings be so tedious and stupid. 

These observations, in some measure, applj not to IBome 
only, but to the whole of Italy. At the same time, wide is 
the difference at present between the south and the north of 
this country. Tbe scale of intellectual gradation may be 
said to rise regularly with the degrees of latitude, firom 
Naples to Milan. It is there you must look for literature 
and science. It is there, too, that the last poets of Italy 
flourished. Perhaps I ought to speak in the present tense, 
for Pindemonte is still alive, tmd it would be ungrateful to 
pass over one who sang the praise of the beauty, the virtue, 
and the mental charms and graces of my countrywomen, in 
strains that ought to live. Passerone*s poems, too, possess 
great merit ; but none, in my opinion, are equal to Tarini, 
the Pope of Italy, whose admirable Oiomati, in ♦ts witty 
strain of satire, may even court a comparison with the Eape 
of the Lock. 

Like Pope, too, he was deformed, and even from childhood 
a cripple; and like Bums, this elegant satirist, the idol 
and the scourge of drawing-rooms, and the bugbear of a 
court, raised himself from the station of a ploughman, and 
struggled with poverty and with hardship, cruelly aggra- 
vated by a long life of sickness and suffering. He wrote 
many admirable pieces, but La Qiomata is by far the best.* 

With this sohtary exception, — and we can scarcely call 
that a poem of the day, which has been read nearly half a 
century, — ^the most popular modem poems in Italy are, at 
present, translations' from the Enghsh ; and Ossian and The 
seasons are scarcely less admired m the vales of Italy than 
among their native Caledonian moimtains. Poetic genius, 
indeed, seems to have taken its flight to our favoured island, 
and while the names and the lays of Byron, Campbell, Scott, 
Moore, Crabbe, Wordsworth, &c. &c., resound beneath our 
gloomy skies, none have caught the ear of Fame, in the 

* It is divided into four parts/ * II Mattino, il Meriggio, il Vespro, e 
la Notte ;' and gives an exqaisite satirical picture of the life of an 
Italian fashionable. 

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country which would seem to be the native land, and to 
boast tne native language of song. 

The modem bards of England surpass those of Italy as 
much as the immortal poets of Italy's better days excel 
all other nations. I scarcely know how to name another 
modem Italian poet, — Ugo !Fosco1o*s prose is better than 
his verse, and neither are of pre-eminent merit. 

Casti is dead ; and his Animali Farlawti, though it had all 
the advantages of being prohibited, first by Bonaparte, and 
next by the existing government, is, in my humble opinion, 
more talked of than read, more praised than admired, and 
more admired than it deserves. The strain of bitter sar- 
casm which runs through it, shows quite as much malignity 
as wit ; and who can read with patience the colloquies of 
lions and other beasts, through three long volumes ? 

No work of modem dajs boasts any of the fire of fancy — 
the bright creations or mspired spirit of true poetry ; and, 
sickened with the dull, maudlin common-place that is thrust 
upon one in every circle, one is tempted to ask one's self if 
this is reaUy the coimtry that produced an Ariosto ? But 
it did produce Ariosto, and that is atonement sufficient. 
One delightful flight of his imagination is worth all that 
Italy has to boast in latter days. 

His inexhaustible beauties and magic creations, that 
master both the fancy and the heart, have to me a witchery 
beyond all that the strains, even of my native language, 
ever possessed. But it is not the present fashion among 
the critics, who judge from rule, and do not venture to trust 
to the true unbiassed voice of native taste and feeling, to 
extol Ariosto, — I mean as compared to Dante, and Petrarch, 
and Tasso, and aU these more regularly marchrug poets. 
How little must they have ever felt his enchantment I 

But it is excess of presumption* in me to oppose their 
decision on such a subject, and Ariosto alone can be my 

The Italian drama, I have already observed, is poor 
indeed, compared to ours. Poets out of nimiber have 
written plays, but none of them have risen to any name or 
reputation, either in or out of Italy, excepting Alfieri and 
Goldoni, of whose works you have perhaps already dis- 

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2R2 BOKi. 

covered that I am not so enthusiastic an admirer as many of 
my countrymen. 

Italian literature has one great desideratum, that of 
noyels. You will stare and tell me of Boccaccio, and all his 
tribe of imitators ; but, not to mention their licentiousness, 
their novelli are not what we call novels. This will be 
sufficiently evident without reading them (which I by no 
means counsel you to do), from their size. When a hundred 
and one tales go to the making up of an octavo volume, it is 
plain they must be of a different species. These are, perhaps, 
peculiar to Italy ; but Italy has nothing to put in competi- 
tion with the mcomparable Don Quixote and Gil Bias, of 
Spain and France; and with these exceptions, England 
stands unrivalled in this delightful species of composition, 
to which every passing year now adds new and imperishable 

The style and matter of the periodical publications, more 
especially of the critical journals of Italy, are, beyond all 
comparison, beneath those of England, and are as remark- 
able for their unwearied dulness and verbosity, as ours for 
their wit and ability. The restrictions on the freedom of 
the press, are doubtless, in a great measure, the cause of this. 
So curbed, English journals could scarcely have been much 

If literature is not in a very flourishing condition at 
Eome, science is still less prosperous. It has ever been the 
policy of the Papal government, &om the days of Gralileo to 
the present time, to discourage, as much as possible, the 
search after truth. A spirit of inquiry, or of philosc^hical 
investigation, is that which it most deprecates. Conse- 
quently, the few who have any glimmermgs of light upon 
such subjects, are glad to hide their talent in a napkin, as if 
it were a crime. It is, indeed, true that the study of anti- 

3uities is now unprohibited; that there is no longer any 
^aul II. to seize upon a whole academy of antiquaries, 
throw them chained into dungeons, and put them to the 
torture, as conspirators and heretics ; and that the name of 
academy may now be pronounced, either in jest or earnest, 
without being guilty of heresy.* Abundant use has been 
* PaoluB tftmeQ bmrttticQs eos pronuxiciavlt qui nomea Academisd, vel 

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made of this privilege : academies of all kinds and sorts have 
been formed; books without end have been written, and 
still accumulated discussions daily appear on the hundred- 
times-discussed brick walls and other unintelligible frag- 
ments of the antiquities of Eome. — ^But the antiquities of 
Nature are left unexplored. This term may be allowed me, 
for the lavas of the Campagna of Eome, which may be seen 
at the Capo di Bove (the tomb of Cecilia Metella), are con- 
sidered by geologists to be even of higher antiquity than 
those which are found below the foundations of the houses, 
and with which the streets are paved at Herculaneum and 
Pompeii, and which, therefore, must have been deposited 
many ages before the foundation of those cities ; and when 
we reflect, that from the earliest records of time, not even 
tradition had told of volcanic eruption here, we are startled 
at the visible trace of these subterranean fires, which we 
know have been extinguished at least during three thousand 
years, and are compelled to ascribe the devastating torrents 
we behold, to a penod almost coeval with the birth of time.* 

The marine shells (bivalves) which are found in immense 
number, imbedded in clay, on the summit of Monte Mario,t 
twenty miles from the coast, and also on the top of the 
Apennines, afford a curious proof that the ocean has had its 
changes as well as the land, and that Italy has been inun- 
dated vdth torrents of water as well as of fire. 

These shells, which are in perfect preservation, are, gene- 
rally at Bome, referred to the time of the deluge ; andnow- 
ever that may be, when we think of the thousands of years 

aerio Tel joco, deinceps commemorarent. — Vide ' Lives of the Popes,' by 
Platina (in Paulo II.), or P. L. Guing6ii6 (torn. iii. chap. 21), 'Histoire 
liitt^raire d'ltalie,' where I met with this curious statement : — The Pope 
had seized Pomponius Lsetus, and his whole Academy of antiquaries, — 
Platina himself among the rest, — and after confining them in dungeons 
and chains for nearly two years, and torturing them until one died in 
the rack, he was compelled virtually to acknowledge their innocence, 
by his inability to produce a single proof of their guilt, and at lengUi 
liberated them, enacting the above-mentioned sapient law. 

* The lavas of the Capo di Bove consist of eighteen different beds, 
or strata, forming the most complete and instructive series of volcanic 
substances known. They contain lencite, augite, zeolite, and nephelii^ 
besides a great variety of undescribed substances. 

f A steep hill two miles from Rome. 

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284 HOME. 

tbey have unquestionably lain there, they may, ae well as 
the lavaB, safely lay claim to the title I have given them of 
natural antiquities. 

But the wide field of research which is open to the 
naturalist in the vicinity of Rome, is little regarded, except 
by a few passing strangers. 

I am no botanist, but it is impossible for the eye of a 
florist, or of a lover of nature, not to be struck with the 
variety and prodigality of beauly which paint the hills, the 
woods, and the plains around Eome, when the breath of 
spring wakes tne vegetable creation into life. Fields 
covered over with patches of purple anemones ; others blue 
with hyacinths; others yellow with a pretty species of 
ranunculus ; others white with little bulbous-rooted plants, 
like crocuses. The cliffs and rocky hills abound in shrubs 
similar to the laburnum, but of a mfferent species, and with 
Daphnes, Passerinas, and Euphorbiums; the woods with 
Primulas, Yerbascums, and Cyclamens. The common daisy 
is generalljr found twice as large as in our cottage gardens, 
and its crimson tips are infinitely more brilliant. I am 
assured by one of our first English botanifets, that the 
botanical riches of this country, particularly in the month of 
March, and about Albano, La Eiccia, and Velletri, are 
scarcely to be equalled in Europe ; and that, excepting the 
plain of Grenada, there is no other equal to the Campagna 
of Eome; indeed, the fine luxuriant leaves of the plants 
that cover it, as well as the rich tints of the flowers, seem to 
afford the strongest proof of the excellent quality of the 

" I wish," said a botanist to me one day, carried away by 
his enthusiasm for his favourite pursuit, — " I wish I could 
give you any idea of the scenes presented every day to a 
botanical eye in Italy. Nothing can exceed tne pleasure 
and delight which they afford; and whatever may be the 
superior beauty of tropical climates, there is one charm 
attached to the Itahan plants, of which they can never be 
deprived — I mean that many of them are mentioned by 

So great is the variety of plants that have rooted them- 
selves upon the ancient walls of the Colosseum alone, that 

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Sebastiani, the professor of botany at Eome, published a 
work in quarto, entitled * Flora Colisea,' in which he describes 
260 different kinds that are found there. But I am in- 
formed this does not nearly include the whole, which, with 
the various sorts of mosses and lichens, amount to upwards 
of 300 species. Nearly one quarter of these are papilio- 
naceous ; and there are three sorts of hyacinths (one very 
beautiful) peculiar to the vicinity of Eome. The remainder 
of the plants of the Colosseum are chiefly such as are found 
on old walls in the south of Europe. 

At Eome, however, the botanical garden is scarcely worth 
a visit. The science seems fallen into total neglect, and the 
professorship is a sinecure. At Pisa and Padua the plants 
are arranged according to the system of Toumefort, not of 
LinnsBus. The gardens in both places are very well kept, 
and filled with a great variety of beautiful plants ; so also is 
the botanical garden at Naples. Many of the finest have 
been described, and beautifully portrayed by Dr. Tenore, in 
his superb work, the * Flora Neapolitana.' But with this 
exception, nothing can be more mert than the spirit of 
science at Naples, although one would suppose that the 
wonderful phenomena of Nature in its vicinity would rouse 
the observation and inquiry, even of the most obtuse minds. 
In the north of Italy, on the contrary, amidst its flat, un- 
varied, alluvial plains, science and philosophy have of late 
made rapid advances, and almost aU the scientific men that . 
Italy can boast, are to be found there, particularly at 
Bologna and Milan. Many other cities, no doubt, can boast 
men of science and erudition ; but Milan, upon the whole, 
struck me as being the metropolis of literary talent, as 
Borne is of art. Schools, on the Lancasterian plan, have 
lately been established there, under the direction of Count 
Gonfalonieri, — a decisive sign of the active spirit of improve- 
ment which distinguishes this enlightened city. 

But Milan is not my theme, nor Modena, — though I 
must stop to observe that the celebrated Amici, a native of 
that place, has brought the microscope to a wonderful degree 
of perfection, and has completely succeeded in conquering 
the difficulty of increasing the magnifying power, without 
^iminiwliing the light ; £rom which defect in the old micro- 

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286 SOME. 

scope, the more tlie object was magnified, the more confused 
it became, and it was impossible to obtain a perfect image. 
In the best of this kind, the light was only 0*0025, but in 
his it is as 100 ; and the magn%ing power, which in them 
never exceeded 150 times, in his may be increased to 1000 
times : while the object, instead of being, as formerly, con- 
fused and indistinct, is perfectly clear and defined. 

This is effected bv tne rays of light from a bright lamp 
being concentrated oy a concaye murror, placed laterally to 
the tube, and thrown on the object ; by means of another 
concave mirror, of an elliptical form, placed at the extremity 
of the tube, and by a small plane mirror at right angles 
between them, a magnified and distinct image of the object 
is formed in the focus, and is viewed througn a magnifying 
lens, of any degree of power. 

At Home, however, there are few who are scientific, or 
who have even any interest in science. Nor is there a 
single museum of natural history, public or private, worth 
looking at. 

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Games — Flats, akd Commoit States — Meat — 


Toxr ask me so many questions, inquire so much about 
births, marriages, burials, balls, houses, games, meat, cookeiy, 
Michael Angelo, wild boars, and singrug-birds, that I scarcely 
know how or where to begin. Some of these questions I 
belieye I hare abeady anticipated, and the rest I shall try to 
answer as laconically as possible. 

It is certainly true that women seem to suffer less in 
childbirth in Italy — and I believe in all warm climates, 
where the muscles are more relaxed — ^than in England, or 
any colder country ; but they hj no means look upon it as a 
mere joke, nor is there anything entertaining m it, — ^for 
they not unfrequently die. Women of fortune scarcely 
ever nurse their children, and babies of all degrees are 
most cruelly cased up in swaddling-clothes. As for mar- 
riages, you will be shocked to hear that there is a great 
proportion of the year in which people cannot marry at all. 
The forbidden seasons are from the beginning of Advent till 
the seventh day of the new year ; and from the beginning of 
Lent till the end of Easter. Besides these stated interreg- 
nums, the people voluntarily refrain from marrying on 
Friday, — a day which, on account of the Crucifixion, has 
been esteemed unlucky in all Christian countries. 

The marriage ceremony, I think, differs very little from 
that of the Church of England, except in a few signs of the 
cross and sprinklings of holy water ; and people are dressed 
very fine to look happy, and cry a great deal to look miser- 
able ; and make great dinners, wh^h nobody can eat, and 

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288 SOME. 

receive the congratulations of their friends, which nobody 
can like, — just as they do in England. 

Burials, however, are conducted after a very different 
fashion. In no part of Italy, or any other country, have I 
seen such long and lugubrious funeral processions as in 
Eome. This custom, however, is confined to the wealthy 
citizens, for the lower orders, of course, cannot afford it, 
and the nobility, possibly for the same reason, do not prac- 
tise it. But when a rich shopkeeper or any of his family 
dies, Eome is fiMed with the funeral train. The corpse, 
dressed out in gay and splendid' attire, exactly as if going 
to a ball, with the cheeks painted, is carried at the close of 
evening through the streets on an open bier, attended by 
every description of mourners that can be collected, and 
invariably followed by hired deputations of friars from at 
least three or four different convents, clad in the long peni- 
tential garb that covers even the head, with holes cut for 
the eyes, chanting the slow and solemn service for the dead. 
These dismal sounds, — the long funeral procession that 
Bometiiiies fills the Corso as far as the eye can reach, seen 
by the lurid glare of the immense wax tapers that are borne 
by the mourners, and, more than all, the shocking sight of 
the corpse itself, exposed to view, and dressed up, as if in 
mockery, with the unseemly decorations of life and vanity, 
have an effect upon most people's nerves that is far from 

In every respect, — in the open bier, the corpse clad in the 
garments of life,* the painted face, the flaming torches,t the 
chanted hymns, the hired mourners, J the long procession, — 

* Livy (lib. xxxiv.) says that the dead were clothed in the robes of 
their oflSce,— exactly as an officer of the Ouarda N chile is now carried 
in his bier, in his full-dress uniform, and a Cardinal laid out in his 
richest vestments. Juvenal (Sat. 3, 1. 171) observes, that great part of 
the people of Italy who never wore the toga when alive, were dressed 
in it when dead. 

t Persius, Sat. 3, 1. 103. ^n. lib. ii. v. 142, and Ub. ii. v. 144. 

• Lucet via longo 

Ordine flammarum." 

X The PragficcR, or hired mourners, who, however, were women, used 
to chant the funeral song. The Romans had also pUyexs and buffooas 

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pthsteeai. pbocbssions. 289 

in all the pomp and circumstance, — ^tliese modem funerals 
remind us of the funerals of the ancient Bomans ; — and it 
is curious to see a similitude in such minutiaB after the lapse 
of two thousand years, and a change of religion and manners 
so complete. 

The homrgeoia funeral processions are always on foot, for 
carriages at interments are a privilege confined to the no- 
bility, whose funerals are sometimes almost as indecent 
from the want of proper respect, as those of the plebeians 
from the superabundance of parade. In these noble funerals 
the body is enclosed, as it snould be, in a coffin ; but this 
coffin, instead of being carried in a hearse, or on a bier, is 
put into a coach, and being much too long for the vehicle, 
one end of it sticks out at one of the windows, while four 
piests, who occupy the four corners, chant the service as 
fast as ever they can ; the lighted tapers they bear in their 
hand, twinkling about and dropping as they go. A few 
livery servants, also bearing lights, precede the coach on 
foot; and this is all! No sorrowing friends or relations 
attend, to their last home, the remains of one whom they 
were bound to love and honour. At least in all the funerals 
I have seen, including those of members of some of the 
most ancient and opulent families of Italy, — ^the Doria, the 
Colonna, and the Piano, — ^they were conducted in this man- 
ner. The body, whether of prince or plebeian, always lies 
all night in the church in which it is to be interred, and is 
consigned to the vault the following morning. 

When any member of a noble Soman ramily dies, it is 
cufitomary to send round billets to all the nobility with 
whom he had the slightest acquaintance, to request them 
to pray for the soul of the deceased. 

we saw the fimeral of a Cardinal the other day. He 
was laid out on a sort of large state-bed, in a church, 
dressed in his richest robes of state, with diamond buckles 
in his shoes, and his face painted so yetj like life, that, 
during the whole ceremony, we could not help expecting 
to see him get up every moment. After a very long and 
peculiar bunal-service, — for Cardinals have one of their 

to perfonn their antics before the bier; iw plays were originally tatro* 
daced as religioiis ceremonies. Vide Letter XXYI. 

TOIi. II. U 

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290 liOMS. 

own, the Pope, who had ' assisted/ as they call it, that is, 
he had sat still and heard it, at last got up, and having 
prayed^ or seemed to pray, beside the bed, for the Oardinal's 
soul, he walked twice round it, sprinkling it with holy 
water,* throwing up clouds of incense, and so the ceremony 
ended. The Pope and the Cardinal were each put into 
their respective coaches. The Pope went to his present 
home to eat his dinner, the Cardinal to his long home, 
not to eat, but to be eaten. 

I since overheard^ to my great amazement, an old woman 
lament herself that her son, who was very iU, had not died 
that dqy. On enq^uiry, she told me that a Cardinal always 
carries up with him to heaven all those who die between 
the period of his death and burial. This accounts for an 
old painting I once saw on the mildewed wall of an Italian 
church, representing a Cardinal in the act of flying upwards, 
with a number of people hanging to his skirts — ^which must 
be a very convenient mode of bemg smuggled into heaven. 

Home, I think, is the only great city of Italy in which 
the abominable practice of burying exclusively in churches 
is persisted in. At Naples, and some other places, they do 
occasionally inter the great in them ; but stiU they have 
the Campo Santo for the mass of the people. At Florence, 
and most of the towns in Tuscany, there is a large burying- 
ground without the citv ; but of all cemeteries I have ever 
seen, that at Bologna pleased me the most. It was formerly 
a Certosa convent: the cloister contains the tombs of the 
rich ; the central enclosure, the graves of the poor. It is 
beautifully kept, a^d, without exception, the cleanest place 
in Italy. 

Prom burials to balls. What can I tell you of them? 
BftUs are much the same all the world over : People put on 
gay dresses and faces, and smiles and civility; outwardly 
everybody is alike, but inwardly, what different feelings 
agitate every heart ! It would be curious to analyse what 
degrees of pleasure, pride, anger, hatred, malice, envy, mor- 
tification, vanity, ana a thousand other opposing passions, 

* The iincient Romans besprinkled the monmeis at funerals with 
Instral or holj water three timea^ bat nol^ I believe, the dead body. — 
JEoL lib. Vii 

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go to the making up of every ball, what schemes are in 
people's heads, and what thoughts in their hearts ! But I 
presume you do not want the morale of it, only the out- 
ward show. AU the difference, then, that I can discoTer 
between a ball here, and a ball at home, is, that the Italian 
ladies have finer jewels, and the English ladies prettier 
faces ; that the Italian gentlemen are more easily attracted, 
and the English gentlemen better worth attracting; that 
here, people eat more ice, and no supper ; and dance more 
quadrilles, and no country dances.* They waltz, too, at all 
their balls, but not remarkably well. The Germans and 
Swedes surpass the rest of the world in the waltz. The 
Neapolitans, I thought, almost excelled the French them- 
selves in quadrille dancing. There was no exertion, no 
effort, no showing off. It was the most easy and natural, 
yet smooth and graceM motion in the world. 

I have never seen the Tarantella, that extraordinary dance 
that is supposed to be involuntarily caused by the bite of 
the tarantula, and to work its cure ; but it may be doubted 
whether this dance be really independent of volition or 
not ; for as the tarantula is found all over Italy, it is proba- 
ble that it sometimes bites people in other places ; yet it 
ia only at Naples that they are seized with this dance; 
and even there, it is not to be supposed that it always 
refrains from putting its fangs into the bodies of the higher 
•orders ; yet none of them are ever attacked with it. 

The lower class of Eomans, I think I told you, are no 
great dancers: except at the conclusion of the vintage, 
when they come into Eome like a set of Bacchanals, dan- 
cing, leapmg, bearing torches, and playing on musical instru- 
ments ; and at the Bacchanalian sports which ensue, at that 
period, on Monte Testaccio, little dancing goes forward. 

The Saltarello, as its name implies, is a dance of great 
action, and is, for the most part, confined to the Trasteve- 
rini. I have already mentioned the Morra, and the Buzzica, 
and some other games, chiefly practised amongst them, 
which seem to be of ancient Koman origin. There is also 
the JPallone, a game at ball, common, I believe, throughout 

* The old Bnglifih dance was not then (1820) exploded in 

r 2 

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292 KOioc. 

Italy, and played by two parties, who throw the paUone, 
or great leathern ball, from one to another, by means of the 
hracciale, a wooden instrument covered with knobs, in which 
they thrust their arms. It seems to be very similar to the 
game of ball, which the Eoman philosophers of old used to 
practise by way of exercise and amusement. There is also 
a game of foot-baU among the modem Italians, called Caldo, 
which I have never seen. 

The people here live in flats, and have a common stair, as 
in Edinburgh ; a plan by no means confined to that much 
vilified ciiy, or even to this — but common throughout 
France, Italy, Spain, and Portugal. Though by no means 
conducive to cleanliness or comfort, it is highly favourable 
to grandeur of appearance, and architectural effect : for by 
this means the houses are built upon so much larger a scale, 
that their exterior is susceptible of fine design and orna- 
ment ; and even when plain, or in bad taste, it is scarcely 
possible they should not have a more noble air than the 
mean, paltry, little rows of houses in England and Holland, 
where everybody must have one of his own. It is the office 
of a mason to build these rows of plain walls with holes for 
doors and windows in them, that constitute the houses in 
English towns ; but it is that of the architect to erect them 
on the Continent. 

There is one peculiarity of the flats of Eome, which 
(thank Heaven!) cannot be found in Edinburgh. As you go 
up a comipion stair here, you observe a square grating in 
every door. Knock at one of them — somebody comes, 
uncloses ths wooden shutter that covers it, and eyes you 
suspiciously through the bars before he ventures to open it 
—and this at noonday ! Wherever you live in Eome, you 
must be content to live on a common stair. If your abode 
be a palace, it will be the same thing. The most you can 
hope for is a prvmo or secondo piano to yourself. Lodgings 
for single gentlemen, or smsul families, abound; upon a 
larger scale, it is more diflicult to find accommodation. On 
the whole, however, th^ are tolerably commodious, and by 
no means exorbitant. Living is very good throughout Italy, 
in large towns ; miserably b^ in the country. Tor instance, 
you are sure to find plenty of milk and butter in a cit^, but 

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none amidst fields and fann-houses. Eome is well suppKed 
with good cow's milk and cream, and butter. Asses, too, 
are brought to your door morning and evening, to be milked 
if you choose it, — a great advantage to invaEds ; but cows 
do not perambulate the streets here, as at Naples, for that 
purpose, with bells to their necks.* Butcher-meat at Eome 
IS plentiful, but not cheap. The price is kept up by the 
absurd interference of GTovemment. Beef is good, but, by 
a curious prejudice, it is very little used at the tables of the 
higher orders, being considered a coarse, gross kind of food, 
only fit for the vulgar — ^and the English. Veal is accounted 
a delicagr ; it is dear, and what in England would be called 
bad. Mutton is not good here, nor in any part of Italy. 
Pork is thought very fine. Kid is much used, and is sweet 
and delicate, but as inferior to lamb, as goat's fiesh is to 
mutton. The fish is not remarkably good. Gtane is 
abundant, cheap, and excellent. Q-eese are not eaten at all. 
Pigeons are large, strong-fiavoured, and not unlike ducks. 
In fact, neither meat nor poultry are so good in any part of 
the Continent as in England. The Erench cooks certainly 
excel ours — perhaps because the meat is worse; just as 
Scotland produces the best gardeners, having the worst soil 
and climate. Italian cookery, however, in large towns, is 
reasonably good. In country inns, jou must expect to be 
poisoned with oil and garlic, in spite of all your precau- 
tionary prohibitions against olio and (wlio;'\ but this is of 
less consequence, because, in these places, there is seldom 
anything to cook. 

At Eome, strangers who live in private lodgings, generally 
have dinners sent home to them from a trattoria in the 
Piazza di Spagna. The dishes are all conveyed in a large 
basket, lined with tin, with a little stove or iron heater 
inside; so that they are quite hot, and very good — ^but 
certainly not cheap, for they are very scanty in quantity, and 

* When at Kaples, I was astonished to find that the milk, which was 
drawn from the cow at the door, was so thin and blue. At last it was 
discovered that the milkman had contrived to adulterate it with water, 
which he carried in a bladder mider his cloak, although constantly 
watched by our servant. 

t Oil and garlick. 

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294 BOMS. 

cost ten pauls, or about &ve shiUings, per Kead, without wine, 
bread, or dessert. 

Some English families, whose lodgiogs had the lare 
appendage of a kitchen, tried the plan of haying dinner 
dressed at home, but their cooks cheated them so umnerci- 
fullj, that they were nearly ruined ; they then made a con- 
tract with them, and were nearly starved. 

But English habits and acccoomodations must necessarily 
spread rapidly throughout Italy, with the unceasing torrent 
of English traveUers and English wealth which pours into it. 
The indux of strangers, indeed, into this countiy is astonish- 
ing, but they are aU fix)m the north of Europe. No 
Spaniards or Portuguese, and very few Erench, are to be 
seen. But Germans, Swedes, Foles^ Bussians, and more 
especially English, descend from the Alps in such numbers, 
that Borne seems in danger of another invasion of the 
Goths. Americans too — men from a world imknown to 
the Eomans — may be seen gazing at the ruined monuments 
of their power and grandeur. 

** Qu8B tarn seposita est, qnse gens tam barbani, Caesar, 
£z qua spectator non sit in arbe toA V * 

The lower orders certainly live upon very little in Italy. 
It is only at Naples that macaroni is the food of the people. 
At Rome, and in most parts of Italy, polenta, a sort of 
pudding made of Indian com, is the principal article of 
subsistence: probably the same as the polenta of the 
ancients.t This is varied with the luscious pods of the 
caruba tree ; J the ahnond-tasfced kernels in the cones of the 
spreading pine-tree ; different sorts of fruits, particularly 
roasted chesnuts, which, in the mountainous parts of the 
country, the people almost live upon; and various kinds of 
beans, lupins, and lentils. Of course, in all places they eat 
bread — ^when they can get it ; and cheese, sausages, Ac., are 
universally liked. Indeed, these, with salt-^Mi (haecaU^ 
and .soup (minestra), made chiefly of boiled meat or maca- 
roni and water, and mixed with a little grated cheese, are 

* Martial. 

t Pliny, Hist Nat. lib. xviiL cap. 7. 

t According to tradition, the tree upon which Judas hanged himself. 

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their luxuries. But the thin, sour, ordinary wine of the 
country, is indispensable to them ; and, truth to say, in the 
heat of summer, it is far from being an unpleasant beverage. 
It is considered at its perfection in a year — * Vino d' un' 
anno' is proverbially good. 

Sobriety is a national virtue here, as in most warm 
climates ; and indeed no quantity of such wine can intoxi- 
cate ; but the Italians, of all ranks, are fond of rosolio and 
other liqueurs, though they scarcely ever drink them to 
excess. The abstemious habits of the Italians render 
seasons of scarcity, when they do occur, peculiarly dreadful. 
In the consumption of a people who already hve upon as 
little as wiU support human nature, no reduction can be 
made. Hence scarcity is synonymous With famine. 

The common oaths in this coimtry have such a classical 
sound that they do not offend your ears. The people swear 
hy Bacchus, either *per Bacco!' — *Corpo di Bacco!' or 
* Cospetto !' (by the presence of Bacchus) : — or else they 
swear by Nero, who stands them instead of the devil; — 
althougn they by no means refrain, like other Christians, 
'from invoking, personally, that much-caUed-for personage. 

It is the umversal, and extremely disagreeable custom all 
over Italy, for the lower orders to kiss the hands of their 
superiors, — ^a custom, by the way, which seems to have come 
down frx)m the ancients, for there are frequent allusions to 
it in the classics.* 

^e infatuation of the lower Orders for the never-ceasing 
lotteries which go on here, is inconceivably pernicious to 
their industry and morals, and brings misery and ruin upon 
thousands. Too dften the last necessary of life, taken from 
a starving family, i& pawned at the Monte di Fieta to pur- 
chase a lottery-ticket. The scene at the drawing of the 
lotteries here, maiy be a study for the paiuter or the philo- 
sopher, but it is a painful sight for a man. 

These MbnU di Fieta, — ^these pawnbroking and banMnff 
concerns, which are instituted in every city of Italy, are said 
to carry on rather a lucrative traffic, though I understand 

* I hftve met with eevetal, but can only at this moment instance 
one : — Tacitns (Ann. lib. i. cap. 34) says the soldiers flocked round 
Oermanicus, eager to kiss his hands on Ms return to the cainp. 

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296 BOMS. 

their prooeedings are equitable, and their tendency chari- 
table. They lend money on pledges, or on proper security, 
on established conditions, tor a certain period, without 
interest ; but at the expiration of the stipulated term, the 
pledge or security, if unredeemed, is forfeited, unless a fixed 
rate of interest be paid upon the loan. 

Such an establishment, if conducted, by a respectable com- 
pany in England, might perhaps protect the property of the 
poor firom the rapaciousness of unprinciplea pawnbrokers, 
and the property of the rich from aepredation, by shutting 
up one great channel for the disposal of stolen goods. If 
conducted with the same secrecy and honour as in Italy, 
many an unfortunate being might receive, upon equitable 
terms, timely aid, whose honest pride cannot brook the igno- 
miny of an open application to a pawnbroker. 

But to return to your queries. Of Michael Angelo you 
have heard, by this tune, I am sure, more than enough. Of 
wild boars there are great abundance, but of singing-birds 
very few. The * songsters of the grove ' are generally eaten 
up ; not that the Itauans are quite so unmerciful to them as 
the French, who would make no scruple of baking " four- 
and-twenty nightingales aU in a pie, if they could get 
them ; but still they do occasionally make a classical dinner 
upon thrushes ; or, in defeult of better, string a dozen cock- 
robins on one little spit. 

The wild boars abound among the Sabine Hills and the 
wild country around them. The peasants shoot them, and 
bring them to market at Eome. Their flesh is firm, dark, 
high-flavoured, and delicious ; as different as possible from 
pork, both in appearance and taste. Vegetables are the 
greatest desideratum at an Italian table. In towns they are 
scarce and far fi^m good; in the country there are none. 
And this must arise from the indolence of the people ; for in 
such a climate and soil as this, with good management, they 
might have the finest vegetables of aU kinds, all the year 

The indolence of the Italian character, indeed, is the 
feature that, from first to last, forces itself most strongly on 
the stranger's notice. No doubt this is in a great measure 
to be ascribed to the climate ; but it also pardy arises from 

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the government, the institutions, and above all — ^the religion 
of the country. Wherever the Eoman Catholic religion is 
established, 1 have uniformly observed indolence, with its 
concomitants, dirt and beggary, to prevail; and the more 
Catholic is the place, the more do they abound. Spain and 
Portugal, and Italy and Ireland, might be quoted as examples; 
and in going &om the Protestant to the Eoman Catholic 
cantons of Switzerland, the change uniformly struck us. 

There is another and more powerful cause in Italy for the 
indolence of the people, — the constitution of socieiy. It is 
framed so as to hold every man in the situation in which he 
is bom. There are barriers he can never pass. "Wealth, 
even if he can get it, will not give him that for which it is 
most sought — ^respect and importance ; and I must say, that 
if a man does become rich m Italy (a rare occurrence!), 
it is generally by knavery, by iniquity, by the most nefa- 
rious practices ; not by honourable industry, integrity, and 
good conduct. That they might become rich by these 
means, I do not doubt ; on the contrary, I think, in thus 
continuaUy labouring to cheat others, they often cheat them- 
selves, and that they would find " honesty the best policy," 
if they could be persuaded to try it ; but it is certain that 
men in Italy do sometimes make large fortunes by practices 
that, in England, would lead them to the gaUows. 

In England everything is open to talent, merit, and 
enterprise : in Italy everything is closed. A man, by his 
own personal exertions, scarcely can expect to make himself 
other than he is. Thus the powerful stimulus of hope is 
taken off; and can we wonder at the paralysing effect ? 

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— Mosaics and Cambos — Models — Woeks ts the 
Pbsoious Mbtals, etc. 

EoME indisputably possesses both the first ancient and 
modem school of scnlptiire. The incomparable Museums 
of the Vatican, the Capitol, and the Tilla Albani, have 
drawn around them those great artists whose genius far 
surpasses aU that the world has seen since the days of 
Michael Angelo and John of Bologna, and, in the judg- 
ment of many, even soars above those celebrated masters. 

The first of these, both in fame and merit, is Canova. 
To him the renovation of modem taste, which had fallen 
into the most woeful corruption through the tortuous labours 
of Bernini and his wretched imitators, must be attributed. 
He restored the study of the fine forms of Nature and of 
the Antique ; and sought, in these true sources of beauty, 
for that purity of taste, and that chastened simplicity and 

S ace, which can alone make the works of the artist live, 
e first had the merit of striking into the long-neglected 
path, and even if others should outstrip him in it, they 
must own him for their guide. In one great branch » of the 
art, that of basso-rilievo, he is unquestionably surpassed by 
Thorwaldsen (of whose works I shall speak hereaJfter), but 
it is the brancn in which Canova is remarkably deficient. I 
should say his bassi-rilievi are positively bad. 

Canova was bom at Passagno, a small viUag^e in the 
Venetian territory, of parents whose poverty disabled them 
from giving to the genius his earliest youth displayed, the 
usual cultivation or encouragement. But he resolutely 
stmggled with every difficulty, and finally triumphed over 

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At the age of fotirteen, Having obtained the long-wished- 
for boon of a small piece of marble, he sculptured out of it 
two baskets of fruit, which are now on the staircaae of the 
Palazzo Farsetti, at Venice. 

The next year, when only fifteen, he executed Eurydice, 
his first statue, in a species of soft stone, caHled pietra dolee, 
found in the vicini^ of Vicenza; and, three years after, 
•Orpheus; both of which are in the Villa Falier, near Asolo, 
a town about fifteen miles from Treviso. 

His first group in marble, that of Bsedalus and Icarus, 
he finished at the age of twenty, and brought with him to 
.Borne, where he vainly solicited the patronage of the 
Venetian ambassador and many of the great; but when 
almost reduced to despair, without money or friends, he 
became known to Sir "William Hamilton, whose discern- 
ment immediately saw the genius of the young artist, and 
whose liberahty furnished him with the means of prose- 
cuting his studies, and of establishing himself as an artist 
in Home. To this, his firat patron, and to all his family, 
Canova has tiirough life manifested the wannest grati- 

Through Sir "William Hamilton his merits became known 
to others ; even the Venetian ambassador was shamed into 
some encouragement of his young countryman, and ordered 
the group of Theseus and the Minotaur. A few years after, 
Canova was einployed to execute the tomb of Pope Qtin- 
ganelli, in the Church of the SS. Apostoli at Eome. "With 
these exceptions, all his early patrons were Englishmen. 
Amongst these were Lord Cawdor, Mr. Latouche, and 
Sir Henry Blundell, for the latter of whom the Psyche, 
one of the earliest and most beautiful of his works, was 

In the bewitching grace and softness of feminine beauty, 
and the playful innocence of childhood, Canova excels a^ 
others — and even himself; for in the heroic style he cer- 
tainly does not soar so high. His heroes either border on 
effeminacy, like his Perseus ; or fly into extravaffance, like 
.his Hercules. Tet, with all their faults, his works in this 
style are conceptions of true genius. The idea is bold and 
grand; biit we feel that he has ovenihot his mark. He has. 

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300 ftOHXi 

got out of Nature, in attempting to rise above it ; an J tlie 
eye that has been accustomed to the chaste design and 
correct forms of ancient art, must be hurt with their glaring 

Indeed, it is luireasonable to suppose that any one 
artist, of whatever powers, should excel in departments so 
opposite. One might as well expect that Michael Angelo, 
whose genius, by the way, is the very antipodes of that of 
Canova, should have produced Ms smiling Hebes, volup^ 
tuous Venuses, and dancing Nymphs ; that Albani should 
have pourtrayed the gloomy anchorites and martyrdoms 
of Caravaggio and Spagnoletto ; Salvator Eosa painted the 
warm sunshines of Cuyp; or Pindar written the epic 
poems of Homer ; as that Canova, who can call forth at 
will the most bewitching forms of female beauty and grace, 
should excel in an Ajax or a Hercules. 

Canova' s sepulchral monuments, too, for the most part, 
seem to me to have a heaviness and want of interest. 
GHiere is one, indeed, erected to the Marchesa di Santa 
Croce, if I mistake not, of uncommon merit ; particularly 
the bent figure of the old man advancing to the tomb, 
contrasted with that of the child. But, with few excep- 
tions, we feel these monuments have been a labour to hia 
fancy, and they are rather a toil to us : — ^for whether Italy 
weeps over the tomb of Alfieri, — ^Eome writes on a tablet, 
' — Padua's castellated head meditates over nothing, — or 
Religion looks clumsy on the tomb of Eezzonico, — ^we turn 
wearied from their contemplation, and from the expression 
of the unmeaning lisp of admiration which habit or polite- 
ness draws forth, to the bright and immortal creations of 
his genius, — ^to his Hebe, his Yenus, his dancing Nymphs, 
his mfant Loves, and his laughing Q-races. 

Of these, his Hebe,* which he has four times repeated 
with variations, is, perhaps, the most universally admired. 
I camiot, however, approve of the gold necklace with which 
the last is adorned ; not even the sanction of antiquity can 
ever reconcile me to decorations so unsuited to sculpture. 
"We know the practice of some of the greatest masters of 

* Of all statues, Hebe is the rarest. I never saw it in ancient 
sculpture, and I believe it is only to be found upon one Grecian gem. 

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Greece may be adduced, not only for necklaces, and ear- 
Tings, and ornaments of all kinds in cold and precious 
stones, — ^but for painted cheeks; and that the honour of 
being rouged was more particularljr reserved for the statues 
of Jupiter.* Certainly the descriptions handed down to 
us of the famous colossal ivory-and-gold Jupiter Olympius 
with painted cheeks, and the equally celebrated ivory Pallas 
with gems set for eyes — do not seem to promise much 
beauty, even fh)m the hands of Phidias. I^ however, this 
painting of statues was introduced in the vain attempt to 
create a nearer approach to living nature, the objects of 
sculpture seem to have been stnmgely mistaken and de- 
based. Most certainly they do not consist in the close 
imitation of life ; for, m that case, a common raree-show of 
wax-work would exceed the finest sculpture of Phidiafl. 
Upon what principle this custom can be reconciled to true 
taste, I am at a loss to understand. To me it seems about 
as bad as the Gothic custom of investing painted heads with 
real crowns. 

The Venus coming out of the Bath,t in all its fourfold 
repetitions, varies, in some points, from the original ; and 
the last, destined for Lord Lansdowne, and perhaps the 
most beautiM of them all, is, in &ct, a new statue. 

But Canova's own favourite was the Venus Victorious, 
under which the beautified portrait of Napoleon's sister, 
the Princess Pauline, was represented ; and this, I think I 
before told you, is withheld from view by its possessor. 

. Perhaps the most beautiful of all his works, — the Venus 
and Adonis,^ — ^was finished at the age of six-and-thirty. 
This exquisite group, in my opinion, £ar surpasses the Mars 
and Venus, executed for the Prince Begent, and which was 
intended to represent Peace and "War — ^but it is not suffi- 
ciently chaste or severe for such a subject ; the expiression 
is too voluptuous, — a fault, by the way, with which the 

* Cicero, lib. viii. Ep. 20. Winkehnan, Hist de I'Art, lib. i, cap. 2, 
sect. 2. Pliny also mentions that the statue of Jupiter Capitolinus was 
rouged on festivals. 

t Originally done by GanoTa for the Galleiy of Florence, when it 
was robbed of the Yenns de Medicis, and now in the Palazzo PittL 

;( In the palace of the Harchfse Berio, at Naples. 

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works of this great artist are sometimes chargeable. "Yet 
it is a beautifiu group, and if considered merely as Yenus 
hanging on the enamoured God of War, the expression is • 
appropriate and fibultless. As jet, it has not adyaiiGed 
beyond the model, and there seems little prospect of its ■ 
bem^ soon finished. Three blocks of marble have already 
failed, after the labour was considerably advanced, owing 
to the blemishes in the heart of them, and the fourth is 
about to be tried.* 

The beautiM figure of the Beclining Nymph, half-raising 
herself to listen to the lyre of the sweet little Love at her 
feet, is on the point of being despatched to the Prince 
Ee^nt, to whom it was ceded by Lord Cawdor. 

The group of the Graces, the beauty of which is the 
object of universal admiration here, is also destined for our 
country, and will adorn Wobum Abbey. Beautiful as it 
is, I own it struck me as being rather maniere, esneciaUy 
in the attitude and face of the central figure, wnich is 
chargeable with somewhat of affectation, somewhat of. 
studied opera-house airs and put-on sweetness of counte- 
nance. But as Zeuxis said of one of his own paintings, 
'* It is easier to criticise than to imitate it ;" and it is with 
reluctance I see any faults in a work which has rarely been 
equalled in modem art, and the progress of which I have 
long watched with unspeakable interest and delight. It is 
only a few days since i saw the finishing strokes given to 
it by the hand of Canova. 

Perhaps you may have no very clear idea of the progress 
of a sculptor in his work ; at least, I find that many of my 
countrjnmen, whom I have introduced to Canova' s studio, 
had previously supposed that his custom was to fall upon 
a block of marble, and chisel away tDl he had made it into 
a statue. Forgive me for the improbable supposition that 
you should be in such an error ; but let me explain, that 
a sculptor begins upon much more ductile materials than 
marble. He forms his model in clay, and this is generally 
(iand ought to be always) entirely the work of his own 
hands ; but before he begins, the statue is perfectly ideato — 
the visionary figure is before him. 
♦ In 1818. 

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CANOVA. 303 

"When finislied, a cast is taken from it by his asBistants, 
which is dotted over with black points at regular intervals to 
guide the workmen. Erom this model they begin to work, 
and having reduced the block of marble into form, and made 
it a rough-hewn statue, the sculptor himself resumes his 
labours. The exterior surface, as it were, is his to form 
and perfect, and the last finishing touches he generally 
gives Dy candle-light. It is afterwards polished with pumice 

This is the invariable process. Many are the delightful 
hours I have spent with Canova, both when he has been 
employed in modelling and chiselling; and few are the 
companions whose society will be enjoyed with such interest 
or remembered with such regret. 

The warmth and kindness of his disposition, the noble 
principles and generous feelings of his mmd, and the unpre- 
tending simplicity of his manners, give the highest charm to 
his exalted genius. By the friends th^t know him best, he 
will be the most beloved. 

Canova has the avarice of fame, not of money. He 
devotes a great part of his fortune to the purposes of 
benevolence. "With the title of Marchese, the Pope con- 
ferred upon Canova three thousand piastres per annum, the 
whole 01 which he dedicates to the support and encourage- 
n^ent of poor and deserving artists. But I should never be 
done, were I to recount one-half of the noble actions, the 
generous exertions, and the extensive charities of his life, 
which are as secretly and unostentatiously performed, as 
judiciously applied. He is now building a church in his 
native village, and has aUenated the greater part of his own 
fortune for the support of charitable institutions. 

It is not, I beheve, generally known, that Canova is a 
painter as well as scidptor. He has pursued the sister art 
occasionally, for the amusement of his leisure hours, and 
xnaOT of his designs are truly beautiful. 

The Colossal Horse (a noble animal), originally intended 
for Napoleon's equestrian statue, is about to be mounted by 
the figure of old King Perdinand of Naples. 

It must be a gratifying circumstance to England to knoWj 
that even when living under the immediate dominion of the.. 

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804 BOME. 

French, be modelled, for bis own private pleasure, a tribute 
to the memory of Nelson. 

He is at present occupied in modelling a statue of Wash- 
ington for the United States. The hero is represented 
seated, but is not yet finished, so I must not speak of it ; 
especially as I am at present the only person who has been 
honoured with a sight of it. I may add, that it promises 
to be worthy of the subject and the sculptor. 

The seated statue of the Princess Esterhazy is full of 
grace and dignitjr, and worthy of ancient art. That of 
Maria Louisa, which, however, reminds us strongly of the 
seated Agrippina, is also very fine : I mean the copy, with 
an ideal head ; for her own features are wholly inamnissible 
in sculpture. She would have done wisely to have been 
taken in a moment of affliction, her fiice buned in her hand* 
kerchief, or mantle. 

The figure of the Penitent, or Magdalen, is most beautiM. 
It proves he could pouitray the touching image of youth 
in all the abandonment of settled sorrow, as beautimUy as 
youth in all the buoyancy of sportive mirth. 

But if I were to enumerate all Canova*s masterpieces, and 
all his merits, I might write a volume.* 

The rival of Canova is ThorwaJdsen, a Danish artist, 
whose genius has already borne him through every obstacle, 
and far beyond every other competitor (Canova excepted) 
to the head of his aft ; whose statues must be ranked next 
to those of Canova ; and whose bassi-rilievi surpass all that 
has been given to the world since the brightest era of 
Grecian art. 

His greatest work, the Triumph of Alexander the Grreat, 
was ordered by Napoleon, for a frieze to ornament a chamber 

* Since the publication of the earlier editions of this work, the 
world has been deprived of this celebrated and exemplary man, 
whose character presented a union of genius and of virtue, rarely 
equalled. All may be the judge of his works; but few can know, as I 
did, the noble qualities of his mind, the honour, the delicacy, the 
generosity of his spirit, and the warm oyerflowing afiections which 
endeared him to the hearts of his friends. Some more able biographer 
will do justice to his worth, but I cannot withhold this humble tribute 
of heartfelt respect to the memory of one whom I have known so well, 
and moomed so truly. 

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ALEXAin>£B's TBIT7MPH. 305 

of the Quirroal Palace (in wWcli the plaster east is now put 
Tip) ; but before it was sculptured, the career of the emperor 
was run; and the present government, with crippled re- 
sources, and an overpowering priesthood, could not afford to 
lavish monev on a work of taste ; so that Thorwaldsen was 
in despair of ever giving to his masterpiece the durability 
of marble ; when, only a few days ago, the liberaHty of a 
private iadividual, Count Sommariva (an Italian nobleman), 
gave him the long-wished-for order. 

I^othiDg can surpass many parts of this &ieze. I may 
iiistance Alexander m his car of triumph ; but, as a whole, it 
has, perhaps, been drawn into too great length; there is 
occasionally a paucily of subject, a want of variety, of action, 
and of figures of high interest, which give it an air of 
poverty. A flock of sheep, extended over a space of many 
feet, for example, is wearisome alike to the eye and to the 
mind. Modem artists, indeed, labour under an immeasur- 
able disadvantage in having all their fine models in art, not 
in nature. They cannot, fike the ancients, imitate the ob- 
jects, the modes, the costumes, that are for ever in their eye, 
in all their happy accidental combinations ; they must turn 
from life to inanimate marble, and coldly copy from it, in 
fisunt transcript, the ancient car, the classic pomp, the laurel 
crown, the heroic armour, the graceful flowing roTbes. What 
sort of figure would our coadies, our coats and neckcloths, 
our boots and spurs, or our military uniforms with cocked 
hat and feather, make in sculpture ? 

The constant exhibitions of the finest youthful forms, in 
the athletic games, and the Hberty of designing their great 
men in the nude or heroic style, were amongst the many 
great advantages the ancients possessed over the modems. 
Still, however, the female form, with its variable draperies, 
is almost as well adapted to statuary as ever ; for tnough 
^shion has rendered its habitual attire totally unfit lor 
sculpture, its flowing robes are so much more tractable than 
male costume, that they may be considered at the disposi-^ 
tion of the artist ; and accordingly we find that all the great 
artists of the present day have succeeded best in female 

.The busts of some of my fair countrywomen, with their 


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306 BOIOB. 

hair dressed, aocordmg to their own express desire, in the 
extreme of the present stiff and unnatural French fashion, 
sometimes draw a smile, as thej catch one's eye in the 
studU of Soman artists, heside the dassic models of a Vestal 
or an Agrippina. The female husts of certain periods of 
the empire, however, will, at least, match them in the extra- 
Ta^mce and u&;liness of their weU-wigged head-dresses. 
Independent of hair and fashion, however, the men of our 
country make far finer husts than the young ladies, whose 
small delicate features were never meant for marble. 

The finest bust I have seen in Bome is that of Lord 
Byron, by Thorwaldsen ; though perhaps it is to the subject 
rather than the execution thi^ it owes its superior excel- 
lence. Certainly, neither Thorwaldsen nor Canova, in this 
branch of art, surpasses our own Chantrey. 

Thorwaldsen' s exquisite and poetic rihevo of Night has 
rarely been equalled in any age. The Forging of Achilles' 
Armour has ori;en been taken by connoisseurs for one of the 
finest productions of ancient art, and many of his sepulchral 
bassi-nlievi are pre-eminently beautiful. One, in particular, 
to the memory of a Gbrmaa youth who fell in battle, struck 
me with peculiar admiration. His &.mily are hanging over 
him in every attitude of deep and speechless woe; his 
brother bears in his hand the crown won by his valour ; and 
the Genius of Life, bending over his inanimate form, seems 
to mourn the extinguished torch, whose brightness he has 
been compelled to quench. 

Of his statues — the Adonis is one of the first, and most 
beautiful of his works. The Mars, though wonderfully fine, 
is, perhaps, scarcely equal to it. The Shepherd Boy, seated 
on a rock, is supremely beautiM — ^fuU of grace and expres- 
sion. His Mercury, his Yenus^ and his Jason — ^the earliest 
of his works — are admirable; but I should never have 
finished were I to describe the one-half of the beautifiil 
sculptures which I have gazed upon a thousand times with 
unwearied delight in Thorwaldsen s studio. 

He is now employed in modelling a beautiful figure of 
,Hope, the idea of which waQ, perhaps, suggested by the 
smeul mutilated statue among the Egma Marbles, though I 
do not fear contradiction in asserting i^ this is infinitely 

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finer ; in passing iliroagli Hs inimd, lie lias given the idea a 
beau^ and orig&ality that stamp it all his own. 

Slie is represented, as in the original, bearing in her hand 
a budding pomegranate flower ; me seems to see in fancnr 
the time when its bloom shall fiilly expand, and its rich 
fruit be matured. I marvel that an image flo lovely and 
natural did not more frequently suggest itself to the poet's 
fancy. It is to Greece, after all, that we owe everything of 
taste and imagination. 

I feel that, in this imperfect sketch, I have done little 
justice to the merit of this truly great genius, who has come 
from the frozen shores of Icelgmd* to the land of arts, to 
astonish the natives of her brilliant cHme, with works that 
might have done honour to her earlier days. 

If those works were better known in our own country, 
they would not need my humble tribute of applause, to 
speak their excellence or dwell his fame. But that must 
rapidly increase, and ^^rill be immortal. More competent 
judges may appreciate more highly and more justly his 
merits ; but none can better know and estimate the sensitive 
modesty and sensibility, the warm genei^osity, and the rare 
and estimable virtues of his character. 

The sculptor who ranked third in eminence at Eome, 
when this woA was published, was Eodolph Schadow, a 
native of Pnissiai an artist of fine genius, whose career of 
high early promise has since been cut short by a premature 

By far the most beautifrd of his Works, among^ many 
extremely beautiful, -v^as the Mlaince, a female figui*e of 
singular delicacy and gi'ace, sitting and Winding a golden 
thread upon a spindle. The greatest artists of antiquity 
might have been proud 6f this adniirable production. 
Another of his woi*ks wag almost eqiially admired, the liljtle 
girl, just issuing from the bath, tying her sandal upoA 
her slender foot, whi6h recalled to mind the 'vt^ell-known 
statue in the Florentine gallery, in a similar attitude. 
Perha|is indeed in this, and in some ofiiers of hit^ wbrk's, 
he approached rather too closely to individiial models of 

* The fathw of Thorwaldsen was an Icelander, who settled at 

X 2 

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308 BOMS. 

Grecifln art — ^for the general spirit ean never be too eloselj 
preserved; but he was quite as close an imitator of the 
beauiy as the forms of ancient sculpture, and I know not 
how £gher praise can be ^ven to any modem artist. 

It is singular that Bodolph Schadow, and almost all the 
great modem sculptors, excelled in the female form ; whilst 
the reyerse of this remark applies to modem painters. 

These three great names, Ganova^ Thorwaldsen, and 
Schadow, stood pre-eminent in feune among the crowd of 
artists of Some, among whom many of our own countrymen 
■^G-ibson especnally — ^were of distinguished merit. Another 
highly interesting artist was the Signora Teresa Benin- 
campe, whose beautiful bust of GsBsina^ and many of her 
other works, were uniyersaUy admired. 

In busts, however, Chantrey, I think, equalled, nay, 
excelled, all foreign artists, and had he enjoyed their inesti- 
mable advantages of living among the masterpieces of 
ancient sculpture, and drinking in their beauties at every 
glance and at every moment, I have no doubt he would have 
rivalled them in the higher departments of sculpture— even 
in the ideal. But before his genius was fuUy matured, it 
unfortunately met in England with an excess of patronage — 
far more detrimental than its deficiency. An immense 
demand for the unripened fruits of £;emus tends to force 
the quantity of produce, before the plant, by slow growth, 
with time and care, has reached its vigour. Thus a manu- 
factory of busts and figures is produced, instead of the 
masterpieces of a sculptor. 

But sculpture demands those means and opportunities of 
study and cultivation which England cannot afford. This, 
indeed, is the true school of art. If there be any taste or 
talent, it must develop itself h^e. 

The painters were scarcely inferior in number to the 
sculptors of Bome, but infinitely fio in excellence. Gamuc- 
cini, who then ranked highest, and many others, are now 
dead; and amongst the whole tribe not one historical 
painter has risen U> fame; nor has one great or even good 
landscape painter ever appeared in Italy. 

It is wonderM, that, in a country where the soft lights, 
tiie harmonious tints, and the bright aerial hues of the sky, 

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slied enchantment over every object, and make every scene 
a picture, the artist can fail to excel, where he has only to 
copy nature. Yet through Italy, France, and the whole 
of the continent, we may search in vain for anything like 
excellence in landscape painting. To portrait painting, the 
same remark applies. There is not, in either branch of the 
art, an artist at present in the world to compare with our 

The engravers of Bome have made themselves so justly 
celebrated by their works, that they do not require my 
feeble tribute of praise. Yet some of our engravers at 
home would not suffer by a comparison with any here. But 
it is invidious to quarrel about degrees of excellence, where 
aU are so good. 

In this, as in most other branches of art, we see that 
Eome is the nurse, rather than the mother of genius. It 
is her adopted children who form her glory. 

There are many minor fine arts practised at Eome, which 
are whoUy unknown in England. The most remarkable of 
them is the Mosaic MaauKictory, upon which I believe I 
have touched before. It was about to be removed into a 
vacant Palazzo, which was, when I left Italy, preparing for 
its reception ; but was then carried on in the palace of the 
Holy Office at Eome, from which the Inquisition was ousted 
by the French, and into which it was destined to be 
reinstated by the Papal government. Indeed, the papers 
and archives belongmg to it were then conveyed back 
into some of the vacant chambers of this immense 

The Inquisition at Eome has always been remarkable for 
its mildness ; and, compared with the horrible and tyran- 
nical iniquity of the same tribunal at Venice and Madrid, it 
deserves the epithet of lenient. Nothing, however, can 
alter its nature, or make a court, whose proceedings are 
secret, whose decision is absolute, whose information is 
derived from insidious spies, whose accusers are concealed, 
and imconfronted with the accused, whose judges are not 
accountable, and who can inflict imprisonment and torture 
to any extent on the unconvicted ; nothing can make such 
an institution as this anything but an execrable and diar 

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810 BOHX. 

bolical engine of cnielty, injustice, ^d oppression, worthy 
of the invention of Lucifer himself. 

But I have got into a passion, and into the Inquisition, 
instead of the Mosaic Manufactory. It is carried on under 
the direction and at the cost of government ; and its fruits 
are theirs. The workmen are constantly employed in copy- 
ing paintings for the altar-pieces of churches. I grieved to 
see such as Camuccini*s, tnough one of his best, the In- 
creduhty of St. Thomas, copying at this immense expense, 
when the works of the first masters are fast mouldering 
away on the walls of forgotten churches. They wiU soon 
be lost for ever ; it is yet possible to render them imperish- 
able by means of mosaic copies ; and why is it not done ? 

The French, at Milan, set an example of this, by copying, 
in mosaic, the Last Supper of Leonardo da Vinci ; although 
they signalized their bad taste by copying a bad copy of it. 
But it was thieir pl^i^ to dp much for Milan, and nothing 
for Eome ; and the invaluable frescos of Michael Angelo, 
Baphael, Domenichino, and Guide, were, and are left to 
pensh here. It never has seemed any object to the Papal 
government to copy the paintiags that are perishing, and 
very many of those that have been executed in mosaic are 
in no danger of being destroyed, and not very well worth 

It requires about seven or eight years to finish a mosaic 
copy of a painting of the ordinary historical size, two men 
bemg constantly employed. It generally costs from eight 
to ten thousand crowns; but the time and expense are 
regulated, of course, by the intricacy of the subject and 
quantity of work. 

Baphael' s Transfiguration cost about 12,000 crowns, and 
the labour of nine years ; ten men constantly working at 
it. The late works seem to me of very inferior execution 
to the copies of Guido's Archangel, Guercino's Santa Petro- 
idlla, and many of that date. 

The slab upon which, the mosaic is made, is generally 
formed of Travertine stone, connected by iron cramps. 
Upon the surface of this a mastic, or cementing paste, is 
gradually spread as the progress of the work requires it, 
and forms the adhesive ground or bed on which the mosaic 

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is laid. This mastic is composed of lime burnt from marble, 
and finely powdered Travertine stone, mixed to the con- 
sistence of a strong paste, with linseed oil. Into this paste 
are stuck the smalts (smalti) of which the mosaic picture is 
formed. They are a species of opaque vitrified glass, par- 
taking of the mixed nature of stone and glass, and composed 
of a variety of minerals and materials, coloured, for the most 
part, with different metallic oxides. Of these, no less than 
seventeen hundred different shades are in use; they are 
manufactured in Borne in the form of long slender rods like 
wires, of different degrees of thickness, and are cut into 
pieces of the requisite sizes, from the smallest pin-point to 
an inch. "When the picture is completely finished, and the 
cement thoroughly dned, it is highly polished. 

This mosaic work, during the two years that I have 
known Home, proceeded in that creeping indolent manner 
in which all undertakings go on here, if they go on at all. 
Pew workmen were employed, and those work Httle. This 
manufactory now, in all the world, exists only in Eome ; for 
the establishment in Milan, founded by the French, has 
fallen with them, and its abolition was decreed by the 
Austrian government. 

Mosaic, though an ancient art, is not merely a revived, 
but an improved one ; for the Eomans chiefly used coloured 
marbles, or natural stones, in their mosaics ; and although 
they appear to have also had the knowledge of some sort of 
composition, it admitted of comparativelv little variety ; but 
the mvention of smalts has given it a mr wider range, and 
made the imitation of painting far closer. 

The Morence work is totally different from this, being 
merely inlaying pietre dtire, or natural precious stones, of 
every variety, in marble or porphyrv tables, by which beau- 
tiful and very costly imitations of shells, flowers, fibres, 
&€., are formed, but it bears no similitude to mosaic or 

Besides this government establishment at Eome, there 
are hundreds of artists, or rather artisans, who carry on the 
manufactory of mosaics on a small scale. Snuff-boxes, rings, 
necklaces, brooches, ear-rings, &c., are made in immense 
quantity ; and since the EngSsh flocked in such numbers to 

Digitized by 


812 BOMS« 

Borne, all the streets leading to the Piazza di Spagna aie 
lined with the shops of these MusaicigH. 

Oriental shells are made at Bome into beautiful cameos, 
by the white outer surface being cut away upon the deeper- 
coloured internal part, forming figures in minute bassi- 
rilievi. The subjects are chiefly taken from ancient gems, 
and sometimes from sculpture and painting. The sbeUa 
used for this purpose are chiefly brought from the Levant. 
The most celebrated artist in this curious branch of art, 
which was then peculiar to Eome, was Dies. These shell- 
cameos make beautiful ornaments. 

The modem gems of the Pichlers, Natali, &c., are so well 
known, and so nearly approach to the perfection of the best 
Gbedan ones, that I need say nothing in their praise. 
Though these celebrated artists are now dead, many of the 
living ones at Eome are little inferior to them, both in 
cameo and intaglio. Their subjects are sometimes taken 
from the paintings of great masters; but more frequently 
fi^m ancient or modem sculpture. 

Besides those, hundreds of artists find support at Bome, 
in making casts, sulphurs, &c., from ancient gems a<nd 
medals, and in fabricating antiques, a most important and 
lucrative trade. Marble and stone-cutting are also beauti- 
fully executed both at Bome and Florence. Hopmartin, a 
remarkably ingenious German, executes models in bronze 
of the triumphal arches, columns, ruins, ancient vases, &c. 
of Bome. He has executed a bronze model of Trajan's 
Pillar, with the whole of the bas-reliefs, accurately copied — 
an extraordinary work. 

If the fine arts prosper in Bome, the useful arts are in a 
woefully degenerate state. The mean, useless, unworkman- 
like style in which everything of common life, every handi- 
craft trade, is got through here, strikes one with much 
surprise. It is very bad, even compared to France, and 
what a contrast to England ! Even jewellery is miserably 
finished here. The taste in the arts which might have been 
expected to pervade every branch, from the models of beauty 
which meet the eye at every turn, seems totally wanting. 

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Egika ajsv Phigaxian Maebles. 

The Egina marbles have been so completely restored by 
Thorwaldsen, in the true spirit and force of the original, 
that, in contemplating them, the eye feels nothing to de- 

The discovery of seventeen perfect specimens of a cele- 
brated school, unique in its character, which flourished six 
hundred years before the Christian era, which was kuown 
to us only by the report of writers of antiquity (for not 
a single monument of it was extant), was beyond all hope, 
and is, perhaps, the most important accession to art that 
has taken place for ages. 

A blank in its gradation is hereby filled up. The Egina 
School stands between the Etruscan and the Grecian, and 
verges upon both in some respects, though distinct from 
either in more important characteristics. 

The best judges, indeed, have felt and acknowledged the 
difficulty of drawing a clear distinction between the Etrus- 
can and the early Grecian; but, comparing the Egina 
marbles with undoubted Etruscan sculptures, it seems to 
bear a near resemblance to them in the well-known style 
of the drapery, and in the arrangement of the hair; in 
which two formal rows of the stifiest little curls are ranged 
round the unmeaning face. "With diffidence, too, I would 
say, that the form of the helmets in the Egina marbles 
bears a striking similitude to those in that common sepul- 
chral subject of the Etruscan xims, — the combat of Echeties; 
but I speak of the latter from remembrance. However 
this may be, the Egina sculpture ,has lost much of the 
monotony and the stiff erect rigidity of attitude that 
adheres in some degree to all the Etruscan statues, m 

Digitized by 


314 BOHX. 

which the Egyptian, softened down and thawed into life, 
still appears. The Egyptian figures, indeed, always remind 
me of their mummies. One sees, too, that the artist, 
conscious of his weakness, timorously confined himself to 
that which was most easy of execution, making man as 
much as possible an erect piUar, — a sort of regular mathe- 
matical figure ; and that ne durst not venture upon any 
approach to the grace or freedom of nature, much less 
to momentary action, for which the Egina statues are 

Above all other sculpture, indeed, they are distinguished 
for their varied display of the human figure, for the strong 
muscular delineation, the wonderful anatomical precision, 
and the nice imitation of life which charms the eye. Still 
more striking are their bold and original attitudes, and their 
powerful expression and force of action. 

What is the most singular, however, and the least ad- 
mirable about them, is, that all the faces are prototypes af 
each other; and so far inferior to the figures, that it is 
obvious the style of an earlier age has been retained in 
them. This can only be accounted for from motives of 
religious veneration towards some particular model. It 
has been thought, on this account, that they represented 
the Uacida, the deified heroes of Egina; but no actions 
are recorded of these worthies that can explain the subject 
of this sculpture ; besides, Minerva and the men are pre- 
cisely similar, and it could not be necessary that she should 
bear the faniily resemblance ; and all are equally devoid of 
expression, even to a degree of vacant idiotism. The coun- 
tenances of the prostrate heroes^ pierced with the death- 
wound, wear the same senseless smile as the rest. 

All of them are on a scale considerably below that of 
nature, which obviously arose from the necessity of con- 
forming their height to that of the pediments of the temple 
they adorned. They were found, I may say, by mere acci- 
dent, in the island of Egina, in the year 1811, by Mr. 
CockereU and Mr. Foster, Baron Haller and Mr. Linkh, 
in making an excavation, which had for its object the 
determination of some disputed points in Grecian archi- 
tecture. From two of these gentlemen I had the parti- 

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culars of this interesting discovery, and to their valuable 
observations I have been indebted for much of the pleasure 
I received from the examination of the sculpture.* 

On the western pediment of the temple, eleven of the 
statues were found nearly entire. On the eastern, five only 
were recovered, and these much shattered. All the rest 
on this side were wholly destroyed, and their scattered 
fragments have been collected in vain. This is the more 
to be lamented, because these statues are far superior to 
the others, and have been pronounced to be the work of a 
greater master. Their subject and arrangement seem to 
have been much the same, and will be best understood by 
attending to those which were found entire on the western 

In viewing them, no one statue can, or ought to be, con- 
sidered apart. They are parts of one great group, and we 
must attend, not so much to their individual appearance as 
their general effect. "We see that the action of each has 
reference to the others, like the figures in a picture ; and, 
indeed, never — except in these grand historical statvumf 
pictures^ which adorned the pediments of the Parthenon, of 
this Temple of Egina, and of most of the temples of ancient 
Greece — were th^ beauties aad effects of sculpture and 
painting intimately combined ; for to sculpture, besides its 
own peculiar advantages, is here given the grouping, com- 
position, and relative action of painting. It is obvious that 
the combat here represented, is for the body of the dying 
hero ^by &x the most beautiful of them all), which one 
party is trying to seize, and the other to defend ; and among 
911 the varied explanations which have been given of the 
subject, that of the combat for the body of Patroclus seems 
to me by far the most satisfactory. In the midst appears 
Minerva, as described by Homer, animating the Grecians. 
Her statue and drapery are peculiarly fine. There is a 
peculiarity in her iEgis, which is destitute of the snakes. 

The figure of the ^cher in the Phrygian cap, and the 

♦ The accurate designs of their original position, drawn by Mr. 
Cockerel], from notes taken on the spot, give a very satisfactory idea 
of their conneuon iritU each otiier. — ^See Quarterly Jouiual, Nos. 12 
and li. 

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^16 BOHE. 

close elastic dress, which covers, without concealing, his 
body, is very anguW. He is supposed to be one of the 

Perfect common nature is represented in these statues, 
with admirable skill and science ; but there is little of the 
ideal in any of them, except in the faultless figure of the 
dying hero, which is a masterpiece of sculpture. 

They are obviously the works of an age when art had 
shaken off the shackles of earlier times, and made great 
advances to that perfection at which it afterwards arrived ; 
but they are far removed from the ^andeur of those works 
with which Phidias enriched the Parthenon; or the still 
brighter period, when the Laocoon, the Torso, the Dying 
Gladiator, and the Apollo, were designed, for the wonder 
and admiration of future ages. 

The temple in which they were found is believed, I know 
not upon what authority, to have been that of Jupiter 
Panhellenius ; yet, though there is abundant proof that 
there was such a temple in Eguia, there is none whatever 
that there was no other ; and as the statue of Minerva was 
found surmounting both pediments, it would seem more 
reasonable to ascribe the temple to her, especially as no 
vestige whatever of Jupiter has been discovered. This 
point is, however, extremely immaterial ; further than that 
if this be not that famous Temple of Jupiter, and if its 
site could be elsewhere traced, the discovery of more hidden 
treasures might reward the industry of future excavators. 
The earthquake that buried these, may have involved other 
temples and other sculpture in its ruins. 

It is a strange paradx)x, that it is to the destructive con- 
vulsions of nature we owe the preservation of some of the 
most valuable remains of art. Herculaneum and Pompeii, 
the bas-reliefs of the Arcadian Temple of Apollo* on Mount 
Cotylion near Phigalia, and the Egina Marbles, are by no 
means the only instances. 

It is well known that the two English discoverers of the 
Egina Marbles took infinite pains to have them secured to 
our country, but in vain. At their sale, in the island of 

' "^ The Phigalian MarbleB, now in the Britkh Musenm ; the work of 
the same era as ti^oae of the Parthenon, but of yeiy inferior sculptore.. 

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Zante, the Fnnce IRojal of Bavaria, not the Prince Be^ent 
of England, was their purchaser: they therefore adorn 
Munich, and not London. This is another instance of the 
miserahle parsimony of the British Groyemment in all 
matters relative to the Fine Arts. 

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818 BOicx. 

TTADEiAy's Villa. 

We left Borne this morning for Tivoli, by the Porta San 
Lorenzo. Three miles from it we crossed tne Ponte Mam- 
molo, over the Anio, or Teverone, whose sleepy course is 
here destitute of beauty ; and proceeded through the dreary 
waste of the Campagna, for ten long miles ftirther, without 
meeting any passengers (excepting two or three beggars), 
or seeing a single sign of human habitation or of life ; 
though ipementos of death in abundance stared us in the 
face; for, besides the ruined tombs, black crosses by the 
wayside marked the frequent spots where murder had been 
committed. Artij&cial caves, hoUowed out in the soft poz- 
zuolana rock that bounded the road, were pointed out to 
us as the frequent lurking-place of assassms. So poor, 
however, and so few, seem to be the passengers between 
Some and Tivoli, that I should suppose these murderers 
would get nothing but blood for theur pains — and but little 
of that. 

Longing for some object to break the tedium of the way, 
we looked out with great earnestness for 'the Lake of 
Tartarus,' which we were to pass ; but it was not from our 
eyes that we had the first intimation of our approach to 
it; for we scented it from afar in such offensive ejfluvia, 
that every foul and fetid odour seemed congregated in one 
potent stench, which increased every moment tiU we passed 
the spot. Lake, there is none. Excepting one muddy 
pool, the thick viscid waters are dried up, or encrusted 
with a hard uneven substance, of an aricl yellow colour, 
on which patches of stunted bushes were growing. The 
wide extent of this hideous crust marked the ancient sur- 
face of ' the Tartarean Lake.' Eeeds, roots of plants, all 

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things of vegetable kind that grow near it, are rapidly 
changed, by its petrifying qualify, into stone. The masaeS 
of rock all round it are of this curious fibrous teiture. 
Near this dismal lake stands a ruined Gothi(i fortress, called 
Castello Archione. 

As we proceeded on our way, the fumes still continued 
to increase, till, at the distance of about two miles, we 
reached the artificial bed of another foul blue fluid, for 
I cannot call it water, — ^which flowed across the road, con- 
ducted from the celebrated 'Sulphureous Lake,' about a 
mile distant, to drain which it has been cut. In part it 
has succeeded, and, besides, it is the nature of such waters 
to diminish, so that the ancient size of this lake is now 
greatly reduced. We left the carriage to walk to it, and 
on onr way we picked up a bare-legged cicerone, a poor 
goat-herd, who told us ail he knew about it, — ^and more. 
Arrived on the brink of the filthy flood, he embarked him- 
self upon it on a little floating island of about two feet 
diameter, which was near the shore, and by the help of a 
long stick navigated himself about in this new species of 
vessel. Several of these floating islands, some of much 
larger dimensions, were dispersed over the pond ; they are 
produced by the plants cohering together, and formed into 
a solid mass by the thi^k deposit from the sulphureous 
water,^ which possesses the same petrifying property as the 
Tartarean: LaJke. Several rustics had, by this time, col- 
lected round, us, all of whom assured us that the lake is 
bottomless. That, however, is not the case, though it is* 
very deep, and in one place measures upwards of thirty 
fiEithoms. They threw in stones, and made us observe how 
it 'boiled,' as they called it. It certainly bubbled for 
several minutes afterwards with great activity, which arose, 
I presume, from the sulphuretted gas being rapidly dis- 
engaged from the bottom by the percussion of the stone, 
and rising through the water. In the morning at sunrise, 
they assured ia» it spontaneously throws up these bubbles, 
and is quite covered with mist and steam. The water, 
though rather . higher than the ordinary temperature, is cold 
to the touch. The peasants told us that the quarries of 
Tiburtine* stone were near the lake, and assured us that 

Digitized by 


ct some 

■ - * "* ** ■■ * ^^^^>i£^i2r^i. ~'r aieciia^ pur- 
f r_- \ .-=:.:* — ^.-r?- -r- pa^-« jf Queen 

— ^-^-' ^ jrT ^' -^js^ 3L lie nei^h- 

*-• -"^ "*■ — -«r— r~ izstT'zii* aae would 

■•-^- -=- ^^ i=::jL -h :ii:» pitiemo- 

"• "^-cc-* i: -rjr -Tsjcr^i G?twip and 

— -- . I zr- ^-^ '1 :ne 71LTIS iieas 

^ - ^ ? ,=:j— JL 3-iS ^»^ Taaiedrarher 
■=■ -- :=i=r^ Ji nis >3sc:ent 

. ■* ^ r- ' , 1J-r^»*j: -iTr-r^ "37 ^Ze tOWer 

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- -^ .-. -i-^ : ^ ^Ji-Jr T:arrmy. fx bears 

i«te^ . ' 5«^ ^ -ii , .T^Trrap cccimns, 

-ifc. 5^ ^ i XT :*i-l '^sLiT-if. jdI in not 

_^*. — irfs. j: iBSb riilr 3l :^ dip of 

-.»* rr i^c—.-r^-ir x xjs mjcaEBnent, 

Digitized by 





y Google 

820 BOME. 

some ruins on its margin — apparently tlie remains of some 
of the baths which were much frequented for medical pur- 
poses in the days of the Eomans — ^were the palace of Queen 
Zenobia. But though that royal captive, after gracing 
Aurelian's triumph, did take up her abode in the neigh- 
bourhood of Tibur, one would scarcely imagine she would 
choose to plant herself on the brink of this pandemo- 

Here are now no vestiges of the Saicred Ghrove and 
Temple of the Faun, who, in the days of the pious .tineas 
and his father-in-law, was the oracle of the whole country. 
I do think the old Latin monarch must have passed rather 
an uncomfortable night on the margin of this pestilent 
basin, in spite of his bed of a hundred sheep-skins, when 
he went to dream of the expediency of the future nuptials 
of Tumus and Lavinia.* 

Soon after leaving the lake, we reached the Ponte Lucano, 
a spot so well known in painting, that I need scarcely 
describe it. It owes all its picturesque effect to the tower 
close by the bridge ; for the Anio here, though shaded by 
trees, is nothing in itself. This tower, as the inscriptions 
upon it prove, is the tomb of M. Plautius and his femily. 
It nearly resembles that of Cecilia MeteUa; like that, it 
is built of Tiburtine stone, and in ^similar manner, it bears 
on its summit the walls and fortifications raised in the days 
of feudal warfare. It differs, however, in having had a 
front towards the road, composed of six Corinthian columns, 
some broken remains of which are still visible, and in not 
having had a sculptured frieze. It was built in the days of 

It is curious that the inscription on this monument, 

* At rex, Bollicitus monstris (Layinia's hair taking fire, &c} 
oracula Fauni, 
Fatidici genitoris, adit, lucosque sub alta 
Consnlit Albunea : nemorum quee maTima sacro 
Fonte sonat, sseyamque ezhalat opaca mephitim. 
Hinc Itallae gentes, omnisque (Enotria telliis, 
In dubiia responsa petunt : hue dona sacerdos 
Quum tulit, et caeaarum ovium suf> nocte silenti 
Pellibus incubuit stratis, somnosqne petivit. 

Ms, lib. ylL 

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hadeian's vilia. 321 

wMcli records the dignities M. Flautius enjoyed and the 
victories he gained, ends with vmT ajsts, Ia. Though it 
is impossible that a consul and a general could have died 
at nine years of age, there is no appearance of any figure 
having been obliterated. Could it mean that he was consul 
during nine years ? 

The ancients were right in making a circle the symbol of 
eternity, not only from its having no commencement or 
termination, but because of its durabiliiy. Excepting the 
Pyramids, almost all the ancient buildings that remain 
entire, are circular. Not to mention the Colosseum, and 
the Amphitheatre of Verona, and the Sepulchre of Augustus,, 
which, Dy great exertions, have been in part destroyed^ 
the Pantheon, the Tombs of Hadrian, of Cecilia MeteUa, 
and of Munatius Plancus at Molo di Gueta, are the mosi 
perfect remains of antiquity which our times can boast. 

To the left of the route Lucano, are some unknown 
ruins, apparently of Eoman villas, and near them an ancient 
consiilar road may still be traced. "We soon after passed,^ 
on the right of the road, the remains of two Eoman tombs,, 
on one of which, — ^probably the tomb of a knight, — ^is the- 
common sepulchral rilievo of a man holding his horse by 
the bridle. Some people have called these the lodges to 
Hadrian*s magnificent villa, — ^a truly English idea; but 
a little attentive observation wiU make their sepulchral' 
destination sufficiently obvious. 

Soon afterwards, we turned off to the right, and a short 
mile of bad rocW road brought us to the present entrance 
to the ruins of Hadrian's wonderful villa. It is situated 
on the plain at the foot of the hiU of Tivoli, and,, accord- 
ing to the writers of antiquity, covered an extent of three 
miles with its multiplied structures, its gardens, and its 
appurtenances. It rather resembled a city in itseK than a 
single mansion. We know that Hadrian imitated her© 
everything which had struck his fancy during his travels, 
and that the buildings and institutions of Egypt, Syria> 
and Gbeece, were assembled within its walls * 

These proud imperial ruins are now lost among thiek 

* Vide Spartianus. 
TOL. n. T 

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322 Bosns. 

olive groves; their floors, instead of being paved with 
pictured mosaics, are overgrown with grass; their broken 
reticulated walls are overhung with wild creeping plants; 
and their once magnificent hiuls are filled with thickets of 
aged ilex, and overshadowed by mournful cypresses and 
pme-trees ; yet enough still remains to attest their former 
extent and splendour. 

The house of the custode, on the left in entering, which 
is dignified by the title of a Casino, is built on some of the 
ancient walls. Close by it is a building with some niches 
for statues, and an arched recess for a fountain, the walls 
of which are covered with petrifactions. There is also a 
room, the roof of which is adorned with beautiful indented 
stucco, in patterns resembling arabesque, and in wonder&l 
preservation. On the right is a theatre : the eye can still 
trace the semicircular ranges of seats, the porticos below 
them, the proscenium, and the orchesi^ in the middle of 
which a colossal torso of a marble statue, supposed to have 
been of Hadrian, was Iving on the ground. "We trod the 
grass-grown stage, and oisin^bed £rom their ancient haunts, 
— ^not the Tragic nor the Comic Muse, nor yet the ranting 
Mask with his cothurnus, that had so often *' &etted his 
little hour upon this stage," — ^but a company of black 
hooded crows, whose hoarse complaining clamour now alone 
resounds here, iostead of the dialogues of Plautus or Ter- 
ence. Near it is the Sipj^odromus, a large open oblong 
space, for equestrian exercises, &c., now an olive grove; 
yet still, in its broken walls, the niches for the statues that 
once ornamented it, may be traced. 

We proceeded down a long green avenue of tall cypress- 
trees, to the Foecile, a double portico, built in imitation of 
the PoBcile of Athens, so called from the varietv of the 
paintings with which it was adorned.* All that now 
remains of it consists of the lofty reticulated wall, nearly 
six hundred feet in length, on either side of which was a 
portico, supported by marble columns. Thus the poets and 
philosophers, who took their daily jjromenade here, and 
with whom Hadrian often used to mingle, could choose at 
pleasure its sunny or shady side. 

* Pausanias, lib. i, cap. 15; and Pliny, lib. joxy, cap. 9. 

Digitized by 


-RviNB or hadbiak's tilla. 823 

The south side commands a view of a large open space, 
supposed to have been a sort of parade for the troops to 
exercise in: and in the centre are remains of a sort of 
loggia, said to have been the station of the Emperor when 
be reviewed them. 

A ruined semicircle to the left of the Poecile is called 
the Temple of the seven "Wise Men of Grreece, because of 
its having seven niches for statues; although it bears no 
very decided appearance of ever having been a temple at all, 
and looks quite as like the upper end of a large hall. Then 
follows an immense rotunoa, or circular building, which, 
because some marine monsters were observed amons; the 
paintings on the walls, is called a Marine Theatre. £i the 
centre are some vestiges of a small building. In one part 
of the circle there is a recess, and opposite, about half-way 
up, are some traces of a roof, as if a corridor had run round 
it, which perhaps served also as a ^Hery. 

Not far off is a vaulted grotto, with sn niches in it, which 
our cicerone called a fountain, and maintained had supplied 
this maritime theatre, — just as effectually, certainly, as a 
pump would fill the sea. 

Near the Eotunda are the remains of what are supposed 
to have been the libraries, one Greek, and the other Latin. 
They have been two stories in height, and old people say 
they remember a ruined staircase which led to the upper 
one, but there is now no trace of it left. Both here, and in 
some small adjacent apartments, we observed some vestiges 
of ancient paintings, almost obliterated ; a vase, with flames 
rising firam it, was all I could make out. 

Beyond these we passed through what they call the 
Hospital, with divisions, as if for beds ; and at its extremity 
we came upon a loggia, or elevated seat, from which we 
looked down on the artificial Vale of Tempe. Deserted and 
neglected as it is, the deep verdure of the carpet of turf that 
covers it, the taU cypress-trees that shade it, and the aged 
ilex that wreathe round the ruins which hang over it, deep 
rooted in their massy walls — ^in their wildness and luxuriancy 
of vegetation, have a beauty and a melwicholy charm which 
accord with the ruined grandeur of this magnificent palace 
of the proud master of the ancient world. 

T 2 

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324 BOMS. 

Near here there seems to have been a stadium for foot- 
races. Two semicircular buildings, apparently baths, bave 
been christened the Temples of Venus and Diana, although 
the four alcoves for statues within are of equal size and 
importance; consequently it is very improbable they have 
ever been dedicated to any one deity. Many are the 
scattered and unknown ruins to which not even antiquarian 
ingenuity has been able to aflBx a name. From these let us 
proceed to what has obviously formed a part of the palace 
itself: it consists of a great number of apartments of various 
dimensions — some very large and noble. It has evidently 
been two stories high ; but how the lower story was lighted 
is certainly rather puzzling, for there is no appearance of 
windows. Possibly this range of rooms was only frequented 
at night, and therefore was only lighted by lamps ; but there 
may have been another cause tor it. The walls are in many 
places double, with a vacant space between them. This 
cannot have been intended as a precaution against damp in 
a climate such as this ; and it is more reasonably sup- 
posed to have been a defence against the scorching blasts 
of the sirocco ; and possibly the whole of this lower story 
was built without windows for the same reason, to serve 
as a cool retreat during the long continuance of this 
sultry wind in summer. The upper story was probably 
lighted from the roof. We observed a corridor which has 
evidently been so, for the square apertures at the top still 

The most interesting part of the ruins of the dwelling- 
house is the Cavaedium, or open court, forming a fine oblong 
square, round which runs a corridor, supported by a noble 
colonnade; and in the centre, where a fountain formerly 
flowed, a lofty pine-tree has sprung up, throwing around its 
broad canopy of shade. "We still traced here some faint 
vestiges oi ancient painting and mosaic pavement. Not 
far from hence are some magnificent ruins, called the 
Quarters of the Praetorian Guar^ which form an immense 
oblong square, and consist of arches four stories high. 
Some of the apartments seem to have been very small ; four 
large rooms at the end are remarkably elegant. The stucco 
ornaments of the vaulted roofs are, in many parts, in high 

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preseiration, and beautiAilly executed — almost with the 
effect of rilievo. 

Can this be the Frytanewm which we know was built at 
Hadrian's Villa, in imitation of that of Athens, and was not 
merely a court of justice, but surrounded with the habita- 
tions of the judges and officers ? 

One of the most curious remains of Hadrian's Villa are 
the Canopus and Naumachia, supposed to be an imitation 
of the famous Egyptian Temple near Alexandria. The 
Naumachia is an oblong square, nearly six hundred feet in 
length, which has evidently, from the marks on the walls, 
been filled to a certain height with water. At the upper 
end of it is the Canopus, or temple of that deilrr. It is in 
the form of a semicircle, with an alcove like a fountain at 
the top, forming the seat of Canopus, the IWptian Neptune, 
from which the water rushed down the rapid descent into the 
Naumachia. In the sides are niches for statues, and here 
all the Egyptian sculpture now at the Capitol was found. 
Behind the Temple of Canopus are covered channels for water; 
smaU secret chambers, supposed to have been intended for 
the convenience of the priests, and a very remarkable semi- 
circular gallery, with conduits in the walls, for water, 
lighted irom above. The ceiling is painted, but the designs 
can scarcely be traced. Prom the remains of buildings on 
one side of the Naumachia, and some corresponding vestiges 
on the other, it would seem that an elevated ^dlery or 
corridor, has surrounded it, for spectators to view the naval 
games, mock-fights, and races of this grand Aquatic Theatre. 

When Hadrian celebrated the Enccsnia in this villa, it is 
said some Christian martyrs formed a part of the great 
samfice he offered up to Hercules. 

The cicerone, alias vine-dresser, of this villa, next con- 
ducted us to the Schools and the Habitations of the Philo- 
sophers, which he seemed to be as well acquainted with as 
if ne had lived among them ; and then to what he denomi- 
nated the Baths of the Women (the Baths of the Men had 
been abeady shown to us in a differentpart of the grounds), 
which are really elegant building. Thejr chiefly consist of 
small apartments, two stories mgh, which are called the 
baths, and in the front of them are a hall and rotunda. Not 

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826 BOME. 

far from hence are the Oento OamereUe. They consist of 
about one hundred and fifty small arched apartments, or 
Bubstructions made to support the hill, in some places of 
two, in others of three stories, according to the varying 
height of the ground. They are all arched, and plastered at 
the top, to resemble hewn stone, though built of reticulated 
work ; they have no light or air but m>m the entrance, and 
no communication with each other, and are all the same size, 
excepting one large circular room, at the angle of the hill, 
probably for the commanding officer ; for they are supposed, 
and probably with reason, to have served as barracks for 

At the Eocca Brune, there is a dark circular building, 
not worth describing, called the Temple of Minerva. Near 
it are 'the Elysian Fields,' which present a most melan- 
choly aspect. Some narrow stagnant canals, like ditches, 
may have been meant for Cocytus, &c., and are certainly 
Stygian in hue ; but images of the infernal gods, and Izion 
on his whirling wheel, were found here, which serves to 
identify the place. 

The Temple of Apollo, at a distance, on high ground, 
rising from the woods which embosom it, had a very striking 
and picturesque effect as we approached it, the golden sky 
of evening shining through the yawning chasms in its walls. 
It is said the statues of Apollo and the Muses, now in the 
Vatican, were found here. 

The resurrection of the statues which once adorned this 
imperial villa, has filled the museums of Europe with some 
of their choicest treasures. It is, indeed, wonderful that so 
much of ancient sculpture should have come down to our 
times ; for such was the ardour of the Christians, after the 
establishment of their religion, for demolishing the beautifid 
statues of the gods, — ^the fidse idols of Paganism, — ^that in 
order to preserve these prodigies of art, it was found neces- 
sary to appoint an Inspector of Statues; and a nightly 
guard patrolled the streets, to preserve them firom muti- 
lation or destruction.* 

The age of Hadrian was the last great era of art, after 
which it rapidly declined, to rise no more. The sculptures 
* Hist, de TArt, Uv. vi, c. 8. 

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of tliat period are distinguished by peculiar grace and 
beauty; and by that elegant contour, delicacy, and high 
fini:sh, that denotes the poKsh of the last stage of refinement. 
It is scarcely necessary to observe, that they were entirely 
the work of Grecian artists. The Eomans never attained to 
any celebrity in the arts, and to the last were obliged to 
bow to the genius of the people they had enslaved. It is 
iudeed remarkable that the Grreeks should have maintained 
their perfection in the arts so long after the degradation of 
their fiterature ; for even in the reign of Commodus, their 
very language was so corrupted that they were unable to 
read their own poets.* 

The destruction of the Villa Adriana, though not yet 
consummated, was early commenced. Caracalla began to 
despoil it of its exquisite sculptures, and from that time 
forward, it seems to have been abandoned to decay ; and its 
wonders of art, its glories of antiquity, have perished along 
with it. Even the most portable of these, the masterpieces 
of statuary, have been buried in its ruins ; and after serving 
as a quany of the fine arts for ages, it probably still contains 
treasures destined to astonish future generations. 

To attempt to form a regular plan of the roofless and 
broken walls of this once magnificent imperial palace, seems 
now to be the extreme of absurdity; yet many have been 
executed by Ligorio, Kircher, E6, and others, which may be 
had at Eome. 

"We left it at last with regret, after having spent many 
hours in wandering among its ruins and its groves. 

* Hist, de I'Art, liv. vi, c. 7, sect. 60. 

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TivoLi — Cascades — Qbotto or !N"EPTim»— Sibbn's Cati 
— Temple or the Sibtl, ajstd otheb Bemaiks of As- 


LuciEN Bonapabte's Maktfactobieb — BuzinBD Villas 
OF THE Ancient Eomanb — ^Excubsion to Hobace's 
Sabote Fabm — Majestic Buins of the Aqueducts. 

The beauty of Tiyoli consists in its rocks and waterfails. 
It is to the Anio,— still the " prseceps Airio,"— that it owes 
it ail. And jet this is sufficient to consktute the most 
enchanting scenes. Amidst the drearj wilds of the Ciun- 
parna you would never dream that « spot so romantic was 
at hand. For twenty tedious miles you cross its bare, and 
houseless track, you ascend the hill of Tivoli amidst the^ sad 
sameness of the pale olive ; you enter its narrow street and 
behold nothing but nieanness and misery ; you walk- but a 
few steps, and what a prospect of unspeakable beauiy buists 
UDon your view ! . Tremendous precipices of rock, down 
which roars a headlong torrent, — ^treefs and bushy plants 
shading its foaming course, — cliffs crowned with tte most 
picturesque ruins, and painted in tints whose b^iuly art 
can never imitate, — ^hilb, and woods, and hanging vijae- 
yards ; and Tivoli itself, which, peeping out amidst the dark 
cypresses at the top of these sunny banks, looks like an 

I deaf little in description, — ^for words are inadequate to 
convey an idea of the beauties and varieties of nature. The 
pencil only can describe Tivoli; and though unlike other 
scenes, the beauty of which is g^ierally exaggerated in 
picture, no representation has done justice to it, it is yet 
impossible that some part of its peculiar charms should not 
be transferred upon the canvas. It almost seems as if 

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T : V O L! , F p. O Fv' ! L S A MO COG ] ¥. A": O. 

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nature had herself turned painter when she formed this 
beautiful and perfect composition. 

Having viewed the fall from above, we descended the long 
steep precipice hj a zigzag path to the Grotto of Neptune, 
Bi cave at the bottom, hollowed out in the worn and petrified 
rock hj the boiling flood which for ages has beat against it. 
and on the brink of the tremendous gulf which receives it. 
The contrast between the white silvery foam of the water 
in the fall, and their Stygian blackness as soon as they reach 
this atill and deep abyss, is most striking. It is like the 
torrent of life swallowed up in the gulf of death : — and like 
the promise of immortality, as we gazed upon it, a bright 
and beautiful rainbow suddenly sprung up, shooting across 
the spray, and connecting earth with heaven in a radiant 
arch of glory. Upon this painted arch, it is fabled that the 
messengers of the gods and the angels of light have de- 
scended from the skies ; and may it not to us, in fancy, open 
the passage to brighter realms r It ia the arch of promise, 
the oridge between distant worlds; and it seems set in 
heaven to re-assure guiltv man, that to the height from 
which he has fallen by sin he may reascend by faith. 

But I must turn from the Ml of man to the foil of water 
— or rather the falls — ^for here there are two : one formed 
by a small branch of the river, the other by its main body. 
Their united streams rush onward, and precipitate them- 
selves into a tremendous abyss beneath a natural bridge of 
rock, called the Ponte del Lupo. This wonderful view can 
only be seen from the Siren's Cave, to which we descended 
on the opposite side of the river, by a path continually wet 
with the dew of the spray, and so steep and slippery that, 
to save ourselves from falling, we had to cling to the Dushes 
which fringe the sides of the precipice. At length we 
reached the Siren's Cave. But what a prospect is here! 
!Prom these hollow dripping rocks, on the very brink of the 
impetuous torrent, which mmost laves our feet as it foams 
along, we look up to the thundering cataracts above us, 
almost deafened with their ceaseless roar — and look down 
into the shuddering unseen depths of that dark abyss, which 
yawns beneath to swallow up tne foaming waters. 

Never shall I forget the view from the Siren's Cave. The 

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880 BOMB. 

tremendous catarlMH^B above — tie fearful gulf below — ttie 
depth of which our shuddering sight vainly seeks to fathom ; 
the roar, the rage, the strife of the maddening waters, im- 
pelled onward as if by an irresistible destiny to their terrific 
doom ; the narrow step that separates us from their sweep- 
ing fury, hovering as we stand on the brink of perdition. 
No : words can never speak its sublimity ! 

To me a mighty cataraet has always seemed the most 
sublime of all the terrors of nature. There is something in 
its continuity and its Tinabating rage, which strikes bur soul 
with awe and wonder. All things else ia nature change mi 
perish, — and all that are the most fraught with force ^i 
power, are the most evanescent, excepting this. The tempe»fe 
of the ocean pass away, — the thunder-storm endures biit^r 
an hour, — ^the dread hurricane is soon at rest— the Y(Acsb^4 
red streams of liquid fire grow cold, and are extinguiishefct 
and the earthquake itself, that shakes the foundations ^^Slo 
earth, and swallows up whole nations in its yawiiung wbii^^ 
is but fche convulsion (Mf a day. But we behold the ceaseless 
fall of that torrent, which has held on its raging course ft?^ 
the beginning of time, and will continue till its latest ok^ 
— ^which knows no rest, no stop, no change, — ^by night ifxi 
by day, iu storm and in sunshine, the same In etiry 
moment of the past and the future — ^yesterday, to-day, i^ 
forever! • * •' 

Few can stand on that giddy brink, without horror a&d 
trepidation I Such is the roar of the waters, that the voiei^ 
of my companions were unheard; and- such the extrebae 
cold produced by the rapid evaporation- of the thick fihowers 
of spray, that on a day of intenise heat, our te^h chattered 
in ourhead^. 

; The river emerging below from this.dfeep abyss, rushes 
foaming down the rociy windiag dell, forming in its course 
other fells, and receivuig those of a third branch of flie 
Anio, which separates above the town, flows round it, and 
foams down the precipice at the Villa of Mecffiuas; i^ many 
a glittering cascade, to join its parent stream. 

Tivoli itself is lost froni below. We might be amidst the 
remotest solitudes of Nature ; but the airy temple of the 
fiibyl on the cliff above, overhanging the flood, reoals the 

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TEMPlt or THF SIBYL, iK^^'rP^^S'^ 

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works of man in all their ancient greatness, and the times 
when he himself was great. 

This heautiful temple, which stands on the very spot 
where the eye of taste would have placed it, and on which 
it ever reposes with delight, is one of the most attractive 
features of the scene, and perhaps gives to Tivoli its greatest 
charm. One cannot but marvel at the inconceivable bar- 
barism of that Gk)th who, after gazing upon it in a spot like 
this, would have packed it up and camea it away, to bury it 
in an obscure pans: in England.* 

Independent of the situation, it may serve as a model of 
architecture ; so perfect and so exquisitely beautiful are its 
design, its symmetry, and proportions. It is believed to be 
of the Augustan age. The small circular cella is surrounded 
with a portico, which has formerly consisted of eighteen 
Corinthian columns, of which ten only are now standing. 
Portunately they are left on the side most essential to the 
beauty of the view; and those which are fallen, perhaps 
tend to give it the interest and picturesque character of a 
ruin, without destroying its beauties as a building. The 
foliage of the capitals is of the olive, the frieze is sculptured 
with rams' heads and festoons of flowers ; and it is remark- 
able that the columns, which are of TLburtine stone, have no 

It is the fashion now, merely because it is circular, to call 
it the Temple of Vesta. But this was one of the most 
common forms of ancient temples, and by no means exclu- 
sively appropriated to that goadess. Why, therefore, may 
not the famous Temple of the Sibyl have been circular also ? 
Does it not exactly answer to the situation ? Is it not still 
" Albunea alta ?" the "Domus AlbunesB resonantis?"t 

• The late Lord Bristol — ^that man of taste — formed this project, and 
actually bought it of the innkeeper in whose yard it stands, and was 
proceeding to have it packed up to send to England (every stone 
numbered, so as to re-erect it), when luckily the government interposed, 
declared Roman ruins to be public property, and as such prohibited its 

t I need scarcely observe, that Albunea, the Tiburtine Sibyl, was one 
of the ten gifted maids whose books of prophecy were preserved in the 
t«mple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, and received as the Oracles of 

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882 BOMS. 

Not far from it axe tbe remams of another ancient temple, 
of an oblong form, now metamorphosed into the Churcn of 
S. Giorgio, with a portico of four Ionic columns in front. 
A sepulchral figure of a man on a tomb, which was found 
here, and also the Anio reclining on his urn, were each in 
turn christened the Sybil, and uds building is now, by all 
the erudite, called the Temple of the SibjL It may as 
probably have been any one of the many temples that 
adorned ancient Tibur. 

We are told to look for the site of the Temple of Hercules 
where the Cathedral now stands, and we may fimcy it where 
we please. As early as the days of Constantine it is said to 
have been converted into a christian church, and dedicated 
to S. Lorenzo. Augustus, who generally spent the sanuner 
here, used to sit in its portico to administer justice.* I 
believe it was here too he sometimes appeared as a mendi- 
cant ; for he used to beg one day in every year, holding out 
his hand to receive alms, — a penance he suDJected himself to 
in order to propitiate the wrath of Neme8is,t whose sup- 
posed delight it wab to humble the proud and the pros- 

Tibur was the town sacred to Hercules ;X so indeed was 
almost every neighbouring place and scene, not excepting 
early Borne itself But the antiquity of Tibur goes as fiar 
back as the light of historv. It can be traced more than 
five hundred years before Kome had a name, and its origin 
is lost in the obscurity of &ble. According to Yirgil, it was 
founded by some youths, who must have come from Argos,§ 
while the world was vet young, for that purpose. Stxabo, 
as well as the poet8,|| ascribes its origin to a Greek colonj. 
Still, in the town arms, it calls itself * Superbum Tibur,'^!" 
though a more wretched place can hardly be conceived. 
But enough of antiquities. 

* Snetoning, Angpist. f Suet, in Yit. Calig. 

t " UrlM HercuU sacra." $ iEn. lib. yiL 

II " Tibor Aigeo poatum Colono." 

Horace, lib. 11, ode vi. 

" jam mtenia Tibnris udi, 

" Stabani, Aigolictt qua poanere manus." 

Ovro, F«8ti» It. 71. 
% VirgU, Mu. Ub. vii, y. 627. 

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Mounted on asses we made tKe tour of the bill. We first 
cross the Anio by a wooden bridge, in face of a cascade, 
which at any other place would be loudly extolled, but at 
Tivoli is never even named, — ^then wind along the steep side 
of the lull, — ^its oHve-crowned banks rising steep above, and 
the river roaring in its rocky bed below. In the whole of 
this delightful little tour of about two miles, we see almost 
at every step a new and beautiful picture. The cascades at 
the Grotto of Neptune, the temples, the caves, the rocks, 
the woods, and the ruins, appear in continually varying 
combinations of beauty. The spring was out in all its joy 
and freshness. The flush of nature, the young green of 
the tender foliage, the banks 'tufted with violets, the trees 
glowing with blossom, the song of the birds, the sweet smell 
of the flower of the vines, and the brightness and luxu- 
riance of vegetation, made one*s heart bound with joy. 

We descended the precipitous bank nearly to the bed of 
the river, to see the yron' cascatelle, as our rustic ciceroni 
called the beautiful broken fall, or falls, which the river 
makes below. The effect of the dtist of the water (polvere 
dell' acqua), as they called the spray, in the brilliancy of the 
noon-day sun, was peculiarly fine. They assured us this fall 
is a hundred and eighty feet in height ; be this as it may, it 
forms one of the most enchanting and picturesque scenes in 
the world. I cannot say quite so much for the long small 
straggling cascatelle wmch come tottering and tumbling 
down the face of the rock at the Villa of MecsBuas, like long 
silver hairs, "streaming like a meteor to the troubled air," 
though they too are beautiful ; and seen, as we first beheld 
them, gleaming through the trees, with the long arcades of 
the ruined villa above, they had a very striking effect. We 
crossed the river by the Pontecelli, and reascended its 
opposite bank to the town, by the Via Valeria,* an ancient 
consular road. Part of its original construction, huge, flat, 
irregular blocks of stone, fitted closely into each other, like 
the Appian Way, still remain. 

We stopped to examine il Ihr^no della Ihsse^f as the 

* Yicovaro is supposed to be the ancient Valeria, 
t Temple of the Cough. Great antiquaries have doubted that there 
could be so absurd a deity: I cannot see why there might not as well 

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834 BOMS. 

people of Tivoli call a picturesque ruin of hexagonal form, 
overhung with wild shrubs and eyergreens, with four arched 
entrances, windows, and niches for statues within and with- 
out. Bearing a considerable resemblance to the Temple of 
Minerva Medica, it has equallj puzzled the antiquaries, 
Home of whom call it a bath, some a temple, and some a 

Two other vestiges of ruins, siipposed to have been sepul- 
chres, near here, are, from their form, called the buttresses 
(gli pilastri) of Tivoli. 

On the other side of the road, close to the town, we 
entered the Villa of Mecaenas. It is quite certain that 
MecsBuas had a villa here, and wholly impossible to prove 
either that this was or was not it. But since tradition 
has affixed to it, perhaps rightly, the name, why should it 
not be retained ? Why should we not indulge the belief, 
whilst standing beneath its ruined arches and corridors, and 
g&zms upon the classical scenes it commands, that this was 
mdeed the far-famed Villa of MecsBnas ? Whatever it was, 
however, the remains are very extensive, and the situation 
singularly fine. It stands on the highest ridge of the 
height, overlooking, on one side, the far-extended plains of 
the Campagna, with Eome in the distance, bounded by 
purple mountains, and on the other the deep romantic deU 
of the rushing river, with its waterfalls, its woods, its rocks, 
its ruins, and its caves. 

On the side of Eome you still see the arches under which 
passed the public road, and the Doric porticos, looking to 
the Anio, are in high preservation. The style of buil<un?, 
which consists of small stones fitted curiously together, is 
very remarkable. These arcades and porticos, the large 
open court or cavaedium, the atrium, the chambers opening 
upon it, the second story to which we can stiH ascend, the 
10%- subterranean hall beneath, the massive arches of stone, 

be a temple to Cough on the Anio, as to Fever on the Palatine; nor 
why it was not as reasonable to deify diseases as vices, — ^which were 
common objects of worship among the Romans. Besides, as the air of 
Tibar was noted for its salubrity, it was probably famous for its cure of 
cough ; and so a temple for sacrifices, prayers, propitiation, and thanks- 
giving to it, would naturally arise here. 

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and all the iimumerable and interesting restiges we see, 
impress us with a high idea of the extent and magnificence 
of this ancient villa. 

I grieye to say that it is deformed hj the greasy opera- 
tions of a filthy oil-mill, and the grimy apparatus of a gun- 
powder manufactory, together with the hideous wreck of an 
iron-foundiy, which luckily failed. The project was aban- 
doned, but the dirt remains. All the black Elba iron-stone, 
and the dross and the cinders, and the abomination belong- 
ing to it, are still blackening every place, reflecting no great 
credit on the taste of the present proprietor — Prince Lucien 

Many were the ruins, or rather substructions, of Boman 
villas, which we had passed in our tour of the hill, and our 
rustic cicerone did not fail to attach to each of them the 
name of some celebrated Boman who had once possessed a 
retreat here. We did not, however, see the villa which 
Julius C»sar sold to de&ay the expenses of his ^dileship, 
nor that in which his own murder was planned by Brutus 
and Cassius ;t but we saw the Villa of Horace at the church 
of S. Antonio — ^though I see little reason to imagine he ever 
had a villa at Tibur ; for he was poor, and his Sabine farm 
was only twelve miles off; and when he resided amidst the 
beauties of Tibur, it was probably at the country-houses of 
Mecffinas and his other fiiends. We saw, too, the Villa of 
Quintilius Varus, still called Qamtiliolo; and of Catullus, 
which bears the name of Truglia, supposed to be derived 
from Catullii; though, for the life of me, I cannot see any 
very great resemblance between these names. To these 

* I beliere this smelting bosinesB was only a pretext to enable 
Lucien Bonaparte, unsuspected, to send vessels to the island of Elba 
from whence he imported the iron-ore, and thus to hold constant com- 
munication with his brother. It ceased with Kapoleon's flight from the 

t Vide Suetonius. Life of Julius Caesar. I was amused by the 
experience I had of the method of christening ruins here. On my first 
viidt, I asked one of our ciceroni, ironically, if he could not show mc 
this Villa of Cassius, but he had no place for it : on my return in 
autumn, he accompanied us again, but having forgotten me, he pointed 
to a heap of stones, saying, " Ecco gli avanzi creduti della Villa di 

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88U BOUE. 

two, howerer, we maj attacb some credit ; but we also saw 
the villas of Lepidus, of the poet Archias, of Piso, of Pro- 
pertius, of Yopiscus,* and of numj others, which I think 
was enough in all reason. 

We saw one which was more than enough, — a modem 
villa, a princely villa, and a most hideous vuLa, — ^the Villa 
d'Este. It was erected by the Cardinal Hippolito d'Este, 
the nephew of the patron of Ariosto, and A is really of a 
piece with the taste which his worthy uncle showed in 
that famous speech he made to the poet, on returning the 
Orlando : — " Dove, Messer LudovicOy a/oete pigliato tv/tte queste 

One cannot but wonder who couW have turned from the 
beautiful waterfells of Tivoli to invent these foolish waters 
works. Who could have beheld these luxuriant shades and 
groves, and projected these vile clipt hedges and tormented 
trees? Who, amidst all these enchanting beauties of 
nature, could have collected together aH these deformities 
of art P What strange depravity of taste! And yet, 
stranger still, these wretched gardens are admired and 
imitated by the Italians ! They were, it seems, the first of 
the kind — ^the fruitful parent of all trees clipped into animals 
and cyphers, and all water converted into bushes and mu»cal 
men ; on which account I bear them a peculiar grudge, for I 
hold in utter abhorrence the whole of their monstrous and 
unnatural progenv. 

Not under this deiSnition, certainlv, come the water- 
fSeillfl of Tivoli itself, though you will be surprised to hear 
they are artificial. Sixtus v. made the cascade at the 
Grotto of Neptune, as it now stands. That most active 
of popes, not satisfied with his indefatigable labours in art, 
set to work to alter nature herself. However, he seems 
to have borne in mind, better than the Cardinal, the poet's 

L'Arte che tutta tsi, nuBa si 8copre/':|: 

• From the minute deacription of the villa of Vopiacus by Statins, U 
seems to have been exactly in the situation of some ruins near tli« 
Temple of the Sibyl. 

t " Where, Ludovico, did yon pick up all this nonsense 1" 
t Tasso. 

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for the eye detects nothing of it, — nature seems un- 

I forgot to mention, that, on the wajr down to the Grotto 
of Neptune, there is a distinct impression of the segment of 
a modem cart-wheel in the solid rock. It is difficult to 
understand how such an immense body of stone should have 
been formed above it since the very earliest period such a 
wheel could have been left here; and still more difficult 
otherwise to account for the phenomenon. "We were told, 
too, that an ancient iron instrument had been extracted 
from the heart of a block of stone, some years ago. It cer- 
tainly seems as if these precipices of rock had oeen depo- 
sited by the Anio, because it rapidly petrifies every sub- 
stance left in its waters, and encrusts it with a deposit 
which, both to the eye, and when subjected to chemical 
analysis, is precisely similar to the stone of which they are 
composed, — the Tiburtine, or Travertine stone. This cart- 
wheel impression has made a great impression upon the 
"Wemerians. They think it puts a spoke in the wheel of 
the Huttonian h3rpothesis. Far be it m)m me to enter upon 
the perilous field of geological controversy, and I scarcely 
venture to hint even to you, that I cannot but believe that 
both the elements of ftre and water, so powerM in decom- 
position, had a considerable, and neither of them an exclusive 
share, in the composition of the globe. That there should 
be parties at all in matters of science, is at once ridiculous 
and lamentable; but I must leave the subject, and close 
my letter, which already so greatly exceeds all reasonable 
bounds, that I have no room to give you much account of 
the excursion to Horace's Sabine Farm. It is about twelve 
miles from Tivoli; the place is now called Licenza, corrupted, 
we may fency, from Digentia. Little of the poet's mansion 
remains, excepting some mosaic pavement, but the natural 
features of the scene are unchanged ; and it well repays the 
labour of the journey, to drink of the spring which he has 

* The flame remark applies also to the famous Fall of Tend,— the 
Caduto del Marmore, which is likewise made by art. It is curious, too, 
that the waters of the Yelino, as well as the Amo, have a powerfully 
petrifying quality. 


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888 BOHX. 

described, to gaze upon the scenerj whicli formed tlie daaly 
objects of his contemplation, and to fancy we discoyered ful 
that had in turn been the theme of his song, 

" He qnoties reficit gelidns Digentia liTus, 
Quern Mandela bibit," &c. 

Hob. lib. i, Ep. 18. 

Even if you have not sufficient leisure or patience to under- 
take this distant and fatiguing expedition upon donkeys (the 
only steeds which Tivoli affords) 1 would recommend you, by 
all means, to visit the aqueducts, which are little more than 
a mile from the Porta San Q-iovanni. Here, the noble arches 
of the Aqueduct of Claudius, thrown over the river and the 
road, built of immense blocks of Tiburtine stone, overgrown 
with ivy and wild brushwood, strike the eye with their 
grandeur ; immediately behind them appears a lower line of 
ancient arches, on the top of which stands a ruined Gt)thic 
tower, the remains of bloody feudal wars ; the river rushing 
beneath, amid rocks, and crossed by a rustic bridge, forms a 
most picturesque contrast to the stupendous arch of the 
great aqueduct, which also spans its bed ; beneath another 
of its arches, the rural road we were traversing, passes. The 
effect of this scene — ^the dark ivy, ^e ruined tower, the 
distant hiOs, the rocks, the woods, lighted up by the brilliant 
tints of the evening sky of Italy — ^with the group of our- 
selves, our asses, and our peasant guides — formed altogether 
one of the most picturesque combinations I ever beheld. 

Beyond this, the aqueducts accompanied us a long way, 
now entering the hills, through which the water was carried 
in conduits, and again emerging ; appearing and disappear- 
ing in this manner, sometimes three or four times m the 
space of half a mile ; but the scenery becomes comparatively 
tame and uninteresting, and there is nothing worth seeing. 

We left Tivoli at last with great regret. It is not merely 
its natural beauty, great as that is, that forms its strong 
attraction to every mind of taste and feeling. There is not 
a mouldering heap of stone, that once formed the villa of a 
Eoman, that does not recal those great names and that 
bright age of antiquity so dear to remembrance ; nor a spot 
that is not immortalized in the most classic strains of poesy. 

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On scenes of beauty, sucli as these, we must ever gaze with 
admiration ; but we view them with redoubled interest; when 
we think that the great in every age have also gazed upon 
them ; and we feel that they possess a more powerful charm 
from having been the chosen retreat of those whose memory 
is consecrated among men. 

The voices of its bards still seem to whisper in its winds 
and murmur in its fountains ; the muses still linger in its 
consecrated groves ; and the spirits of its great philosophers 
still seem to hover round tne mouldering walls of their 
ancient homes, and the forgotten sepulchres where their 
remains repose. 


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840 BOMI. 


PsASCATi — Villas or the Modesn^ Eoman-s — Cato — 
PoBCLAir Meadows — ^Lake Eegillus — ^Euins of Tus- 
cxTLiTM — Site or Cicero's Villa — ^New Excayations 


Villa — Tomb and Villa op Litcullus — ^Mokumebtts 
TO Cabdikal Yob£ aitd the Pbetekdeb. 

Ip Tivoli was the favourite retreat of the ancient Eomans, 
it is not so of the modems. They leave its rocks, its caves, 
its woods, its waterfalls, and its ruins, to be gazed upon hj 
peasant eyes — ^for none but rustics inhabit it ; and for the 
most part, they fix their large, dull, formal, comfortless, 
country-seats, in a cluster at Frascati ; which may be a very 
pleasant place, but wants that living stream that gives 
Tivoli its charm, and all those classic ruins and remem- 
brances, that invest it with a still higher interest. Frascati 
does not occupy the site of the ancient Tusculum, which 
was on the top of the hill, while it is built on the side, a 
mile at least from it ; nor is there a single vestige of anti- 
quity, or spot fiamed in classic lavs, near its proud villas. 
But it is only half the distance u*om Eome, and that is, 
perhaps, the greatest beauty to a people who consider rural 
life as banishment. 

Frascati is said to have derived its name from the frmche^ 
or leafy boughs of trees, with which the unfortunate inha- 
bitants of Tusculum constructed their huts, when their city- 
was razed to the ground by the barbarous (barbarized) 
Eomans, in the twelfth century.* In frasche^ it may be 
said, they still live; for beautiful woods of arbutus. Hex, 

• In the year 1187. A few years previous to this the Tusculans had 
defended dieir city bravely from the attacks of the Romans, whom they 
had defeated, when led on by Frederick Barbaroesa, with immense loss. 

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cypTess, and the stone-pine, shade the stately villas which 
surround, and indeed ahnost compose, Erascati. 

We went through a most tiresome succession of these 
villas. They are aU like large palaces, carried from the city 
into the country. Booms of state, not of domestic habita- 
tion ; and decorations, not conveniences, seem to prove that 
all is meant for show, not use, and made to look at rather 
than to live in. 

Out of doors, their little circumscribed, artificial grounds ; 
their clipped tress, formal theatres, bad statues, vile giuoehi 
d^acqua, tricks, and puppet-shows, are a wretched substitute 
for gardens and pleasure-grounds and extended parks, in all 
the bloom and luxuriance of '' Nature to advantage dressed." 
At the Vill^ Ludovisi (now Conti) we saw long waterfalls 
tumbling down stone steps, in a most leisurely manner, and 
divers y»tM>cAi cTaeaua of different species. But at the Villa 
Aldobrandini, or Belvedere, we were introduced to the most 
multifarious collection of monsters I hope ever to behold. 
Giants, centaurs, &runs, cyclops, wild beasts, and gods, blew, 
bellowed, and squeaked, without mercy or intermission ; and 
horns, pan's-pipes, organs, and trumpets, set up their com- 
bined notes in such a dissonant chorus, that we were fain to 
fly before them ; when the strains that suddenly burst forth 
m>m ApoUo and the nine Muses, who were in a place apart, 
compelled us to stop our ears, and &ce about again in the 
opposite direction. 

When this horrible din was over (and it was put an end 
to at our earnest supplication), we were carried back to 
admire the now silent Apollo and Muses, — a set of painted 
wooden dolls, seated on a little mossy Parnassus, in a 
summer-house, — a plaything we should have been almost 
ashamed to have made even for the amusement of children. 
All these creatures, in the meantime, were spouting out 
water. The lions and tigers, however contrary to their 
usual habits, did nothing else ; and the *" great globe itself," 
which Atlas was bearing on his shoalders, instead of *^ the 
solid earth," proved a mere aqueous ball, and was over- 
whelmed in a second deluge. I was sitting patiently on one 
of the steps at the door, waiting the pleasure of my com- 
panions to depart, when, to their inexpressible amusement, 

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842 BOMB. 

water suddenly began to spirt up beneath me, and all round 
about me, drenching me with a shower fi*om the earth 
instead of the skies. 

The view from this villa is beautiful ; aud there are some 
frescos in the rooms, said to be veiy fine ; but whether my 
admiration was chiUed by my cold bath, or whether they 
really are not very admirable, I did not think them so. 

The Yilla Mondragone has more windows than days in 
the year ; I ought rather to speak in the past tense ; for, about 
eighteen years ago, it was despoiled by Neapolitan brigands, 
and has now scarcely any wmdows at all. I saw nothing 
but the colossal bust of the younger Faustina, lying neg- 
lected on the ground among rubbish ; the head severea from 
the neck. The famous bust of Antinous (the finest Antinoiis 
iu the world), which also belonged to this villa, was carried 
off by the French as a part of the Borghese Collection, and 
stiQ remains in the Louvre. 

The ride to Mondragone, through magnificent avenues of 
ilex, is truly beautiful. From the grounds near it rises the 
beautiful height of Monte Algido,* once the seat of the 
ancient city of Algidum, now covered with woods, the haunt 
of notorious robbers. Monte Porcio, on the west, the re- 

Euted birth-place of Cato, and the hereditary property of 
is family, is a highly interesting object. It was here that 
Curius bentatus, the triumphaiit conqueror of Pyrrhus, 
fixed his humble abode, and was found boiling his turnips 
when the Samnite ambassadors came to proffer him their 
gold. Below Monte Porcio the country people pointed out 
to us the Porcian Meadows, the Frati Forciiy as they still 
call them. They also showed us Colonna, near which, and 
at the base of Monte Falcone, is the Lake Eegillus, — ^now 
little better than a puddle, — so famed for the victory gained 
over the sons of Tarquin, when Castor and Pollux, after 
fighting in the ranks oi the Eoman army, brought the news 
of the victory with preternatural speed to Eome, and dis- 
appeared with their foaming steeds in the waters of the 
Li^e Jutuma. 

At Frascati we mounted our asses and ascended the hill 
to visit the site of Tusculum, having, with some difficulty, 
* Horace, lib. i, Od. 21, calls it " OeUdo Algido." 

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got the mob of ragged ciceroni who flocked around us, — 
ambitious, not of the honour but the profit of attending us, 
reduced to one-half. Emerging from the woods which cover 
its lower part, we passed the Capuchin convent, and soon 
began to remark the stones and weed-covered heaps that 
form the scattered remains of the city whose name is famed 
throughout the civilized world. 

The laurel flourishes at the Buffinella, formerly the 
country-house of the Jesuits, now Lucien Bonaparte's, and, 
in the opinion of many, once the site of Cicero*s Tusculan 
Villa, it is situated high on the hill, near the ruins of 
Tusculum, and therefore it perhaps would seem a more 
probable situation for it than &rotta Ferrata, two miles off, 
in the valley. Some bricks that were picked up here, in- 
scribed with the name of Cicero, seem to give support to 
this opinion ; for if his villa had been at Grotta Ferrata, it 
seems improbable that such heavy articles would have been 
brought from thence up this mountain to add to the useless 
heaps that were before lying here from the wreck and ruin 
of the city. We may therefore, perhaps, venture to indulge 
the belief that we really stand upon the site of the Villa of 
Cicero, and that the beautiful mosaic pavement found here, 
of a Minerva's head surrounded with masks, now in the 
Vatican, once belonged to it. 

Some people again have imagined that he had one villa 
here, near the top of the hill, and another at the bottom, at 
Grotta Ferrata. It certainly seems improbable that he 
should have had two villas within two nules of each or the, 
— ^though the Borghese family have now three within a 
circuit of the same extent. Cicero, however, always speaks 
of one Tusculan villa only, and he ought to know best. 
But the hypothesis of the two villas was that which pleased 
our guides ; and they pointed out to us some ruins above 
the Kuffinella, consistmg of a sort of portico with two 
ranges of arches, and assured us these were the real iden- 
tical ruins of Cicero's upper villa, and that a subterranean 
way, of which they showed us the mouth, leads from hence 
to Grotta Ferrata, his lower villa: though why Cicero 
should have made the road to his house underground rather 
than above is somewhat difficult to understand. One of 

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844 BOHX. 

these men declared he had advanced akn^ it more tiian a 
mile with a Eussiao, who would explore it, but that thej 
were then obliged to turn back, being nearly suffocated — ^a 
misfortune that might probably hare happened to Cicero 
himself, if he had ever eone that road. 

My learned donkey-ariYer and cicerone — ^for so he styled 
himself-— next pointed out some remains of buildings, which 
he called ^ La seuola di Oicerane' (the school of Cicero), 
and he straightway began to explain to us who Cicero was, 
conceiying him to be a personage whom we neyer could 
haye heard of; and he certainly eaye us much new informa- 
tion concerning him, for he tola us that he waa ' u» grofiC 
maestro,^ not of philosophy or rhetoric, but ' of languages ;' 
and that he taught a great many ragazTsini (little boys) 
twenty-four different tongues — ^not to mention reading, 
writing, and arithmetic ! 

It would haye been impossible to haye conyinced him that 
Cicero was not a schoolmaster.* To this ayocation, he 
assured us, Oicerone added that of showing all the eose rare 
of the place to strangers (like himself), on which account 
he, our cicerone, was called after him ! 

Among the shapeless heaps of ruin which coyer the hiH, 
the aradus of an ancient amphitheatre are yery discernible, 
the lower parts of which are entirely oyergrown with bushes 
and brambles. Our guide called it a Colcieo ; for this, from 
an indiyidual, has become a generic, name for amphitheatres, 
— at least I suppose so, for I heard it also at Old Capua, — 
just as a Vesvmo is the uniyersal Italian appellation of a 

On one of the large blocks of stone that were lying about 
near here, dug up in Lucien Bonaparte's late excayation, I 
obseryed this inscription : 


I haye since found that other yestiges had preyiously given 

* We find, by one of Cicero's letters, that when driTon into retire- 
ment, after the death of Pompey, he instituted a philosophical academy 
in his own house at Tusculum ; some confused idea of which, picked up 
from the discourse of the strangers whom he followed, had doubtless 
occasioned the blunder <tf our ragged guide as to the profession of 

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rise to the belief that the villa of Gkibinius was near here, 
aoid this inscription, perhaps placed by some descendant of 
the Tribune, seems to confirm it. 

Prince Lucien is carrying on the excavations amongst 
the ruins of Tusculum with great spirit. He has abeady 
brought to light an ancient street, or road, paved with large 
flat unsquared stones, laid down in their natural irregular 
form, but closely fitted together, like the pavement of the 
Via Appia, or the streets of Pompeii. It has a very solid, 
but somewhat rude and clumsy appearance. This Tusculan 
street, however, has not, like those of Pompeii, side-paths, 
or trottoirs, for foot-passengers, though, like them, it has a 
fountain at the comer.* 

The reticulated walls of a row of houses, with remains of 
yellow stucco upon them, still more strongly reminded us of 
the disinterred mansions of Pompeii. I wonder if the tra- 
vellers, who tell us that in its streets " they could not help 
being astonished that the inhabitants of the town did not 
appear," would have the same feelings here. I own I never 
experienced them in either place. I never "hesitated to 
enter a house in Pompeii, lest the master should come to 
meet me," or expected che oil-merchant, or the wine-seller 
"to jump up behind the little marble counters of their 
shops." t Indeed, this impression is to me wholly incom- 
prehensible. Broken walls, open doorways, empty chambers, 

* In these simple fountams, the water genenlly flows through the 
open mouth of a marble ram's head, or sometimes a mask, into a deep 
trough or cistern. 

t There are two oil-shops at Pompeii, with large earthem jars for 
the oil, sunk in the narrow marble counter. In another shop, this little 
dab of marble is marked with rims, apparently stained from the wet 
bottoms of cups ; and as coffee was unknown in those days, we must 
suppose it to have been a plaoe for the sale of wine, or liqueurs, if they 
had any. We know that Thermopolia, or shops where warm liquors were 
sold, were in use as early as the first Punic war, and probably this was 
one of the Thermopolia of Pompeii Next door to one of the oil-shops, 
is a baker's shop, with a furnace and oven for baking bread, and great 
stone mills, exactly on the construction of our coffee hand-mills, for 
grinding the flour. Is it possible that the ancient Romans had no 
better contriyance) Scripture, which was contemporaneous with this 
period, speaks of "two women grinding at a mill;"— in all probability 
just such a mill as this at Pompeii 

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846 BOME. 

with the painted stucco half stripped off; floors, with the 
parement torn up ; and houses whoUj roofless, and open to 
the li^ht of heaven,— can this give an idea of habitation ? 
No — ^it presents an appearance of a ruined and forsaken 
city, whose inhabitants have gone down to the grave. It 
is, indeed, wonderful to think that two thousand years ago 
these chambers, and streets, and theatres, and temples, were 
thronged with busy citizens — ^wonderful to see the fi^shness 
of the paintings where they have been left on the walls, of 
the names of the people above their doors, of the idle, un- 
meaning scrawls, scratched in their vacant hours, of the 
stone trielimum where they used to eat, and of the marble 
altars where they used to worship. But there is nothing to 
remind us of present life, or human occupation. All is 
ruinous and desolate. I ought, perhaps, to except the half- 
finished buildings of the Forum, with its basOica, temples, &c., 
which, having been shattered by one of the earthquakes that 
gave warning (unheeded, uncomprehended warning) of the 
coming destruction, — ^the unfortunate Fompeians were in 
the act of repairing and rebuilding, when Vesuvius, after the 
repose of countless ages, burst forth into those flames that 
have never since been quenched, and into that tremendous 
eruption which overwhelmed their city beneath its ruins.* 
There, indeed, every object tends to impress the eye with 
the belief of present business and occupation. The large 
blocks of stone, half-chipped over with the fresh marks of 
the chisel, — ^the flags lymg ready to insert in the hatf- 
finished pavement — ^the Doric columns round the Porum 

* Pompeii was covered with the soft ashes from the volcano, which 
are easily removed. So, probably, was the neighbouring village (or 
rather, perhaps, villa) of Stabiae. Herculanetun is, however, filled with 
a substance which time has turned into stone. It was formerly thought 
to be congealed lava ; but had that fiery torrent inundated the city, the 
bronze statues, and all the metallic and glass vessels, which were found 
entire, would have been fused ; it is therefore conjectured that the beds 
of ashes which filled it almost instantaneously, were mixed with the 
streams of boiling water which are thrown out in every eruption, and 
were, we know, in this ; and that this mud, hardening, has produced 
the tufo which fills it. The impression of the head of one of the bronze 
statues was found on the stone in which it was cased, like a mould ; so 
that the mass must have been in a liquid or soft form when it closed 
round it. 

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half-raised, — ^the temples at the extremities half-built, — the 
walls of unequal height half-carried up, — ^all had such an air 
of new buildings going on, that, mistaking the men who 
were digging out the rubbish for workmen employed in 
erecting them, a gentleman of our party indignantly asked 
them what they were building there r 

Excepting this spot in Pompeii, — the last excavated, and 
by far the most interesting, — there is nothing to call up 
such a delusion ; nothing that does not speak of the past 
rather than the present. 

I remember nothing surprised me more in Pompeii, thau 
the diminutive size of every object. The narrow track of 
the wheels down the streets, which showed the smaUness 
of their carriages ; the little streets themselves ; the little 
houses ; the ridiculously little rooms, no larger than a light 
closet ; the little shops, and even the Httle temples, seemed 
calculated for a race of pigmies ; and one could hardly un- 
derstand how that portly personage — ^a Eoman in his toga, 
could have moved about in them.* 

But I forget that I am at Tusculum, not at Pompeii. 
Its few remaiQs that are above ground I have already 
noticed. It seems to have been built upon the bed of some 
volcanic eruption of incomputable antiquity, for lavas have 
been dug out below the ruins, and also quantities of cinders, 
like those of Vesuvius ; with which, indeed, the whole hill 
is covered. In this respect, too, it resembles Pompeii, 
where, beneath the foundations of the houses, lavas, &c. 
are brought up ; and even at the distance of three hundred 

Ealmst below the surface (the greatest depth that has been 
ored), volcanic matter is stiU found. 
Prom the summit of the hill of Prascati, the view is most 
grand and extensive. The eye, resting for a moment on 
the towers and cupolas of Home, and, more than all, on the 
great dome of St. Peter's, wanders far over the wide plain 
of the Campagna, to the purple heights of Mount Ciminus 
and Soracte, on the north ; to the Sabine Hills, backed by 

* Excavations have been carried on to such an extent at Pompeii 
since the authoress visited it, that many larger streets and buildings 
may probably have been brought to light. 

t Upwards of 170 feet. 

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348 BOHX. 

the lof^ Apemunes, on the east ; and to the blue waters 
of the Mediterranean, which bound the prospect, on the 

On our left, immediately above ns, rose the wood-covered 
height of Monte Cavo, towering in majesty to the skies. 
Far beneath us, on the right, the little lake of Gabii, where 
stood the ancient city of that name, attracted the eye by 
its gleaming waters ; so totally destitute of banks, that it 
looked like a looking-glass lying on the ground. 

In descending, we stopped at the Euffinella. Lucien 
Buonaparte has bestowed much money, but little taste, in 
its embellishment. Ancient ilex, the growth of ages, have 
been lopped into skeleton trees, and are interspersed with 
little parterres, newly made, embroidered with the names 
of Homer, Virgil, Eacine, Ac, planted in box, and framed 
in the same! The statue of Apollo has been stuck up 
amongst them, as if this ingenious device had been inspired 
by that god himself. There is no want of bad busts and 
modem statues, clipped hedges, and formal ^rass walks. 
Forlorn dirty offices meet the eye ; the slovenly, neglected 
appearance of everythiag gives this princely villa an air 
of utter wretchedness ; and we look in vain for flowers or 
shrubs, for bloom or fi*agrance, for nature or beauty. 

The chapel in the interior is pretty, and contams three 
tolerable paintings by Carlo Maratti, — ^a monument, erected 
by Prince Lucien to his first wife, who died at the age of 
twenty-six; another to his son, who died in the prime of 
youth ; and a third to his own and Napoleon's father, who 
was bom at Corsica, and died at Mon^elier, at the age of 
thirty-six, and who, judging from his bust, must have had 
an uncommonly fine commanding coimtenanee. 

In the little town of Frascati, we saw the tomb of 
Lucullus, a name which tradition alone has given. Once 
it has been a magnificent building, but now it serves for a 
•ig-stye. The exterior is nearly destroyed, and two dirty 
lOuses are bmlt against it. 

I forgot to mention, in their proper place, the (knironi 
di Lucmlo, as the country people call some curious and very 
extensive substractions, in the form of an oblong square, 
which Centroni they maintain to have been the cellars of 



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that great epicurean's villa. Their extent, indeed, enormous 
as it is (and by pacing, the gentlemen of our party com- 
puted it to be about 450 feet in length), would scarcely 
be disproporfcioned to that of a yilla, which, according to 
Pliny,* covered whole acres, and " made land scarce." 

According to some accounts, Prascati was the real birth- 
place of Metastasio. 

In the cathedral, — ^a paltry structure, — ^is a paltry monu- 
ment to Cardinal York, the last of the Stuarts, who was 
cardinal bishop of this diocese; and another to Prince 
Charles Edward, the Pretender. 

The inscription, which is sufficiently simple, you may 
perhaps like to see. It is as follows : — 

"Hie situs est Carolns Odoardus cut Pater Jacobus III. Eez AnglisB, 
Scotise, Francise, Hibemise, Primus Katorum, patemi Juris et regisa 
dignitatis successor et hasres, qui domicilio sibi Bomae delecto Comes 
Albaniensis dictus est 

"Vixit Annos LVII et mensem; decessit in Pace. — Pridie Kal. 
Feb. Anno MDCCLXXXVIl. " 

It was not over the dust of the last of this ill-fated race, 
that we could recal to mind their errors ; pity for their mis- 
fortunes could not fail to find its way to our hearts ; yet we 
could not but reflect, that had they sat on the throne of 
their fathers, and their royal tomb arisen in the land of 
their birth, we might now have had cause to mourn for the 
wrongs and liberties of our country, instead of the misfor- 
tunes of her expelled kings. 

♦ Pliny, lib. iv, cap. 6. 

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850 BOHS. 


Gbotta Febbata — CiCBBo's Villa — Dou^miosrso'B 
Fbesoos — Mabiko. 

NoTHtNCh caa exceed the beauty of the diire from Frascati 
to Albano ; for nine miles we continue to pasa through a 
varied succesBion of the most romantic and picturesque 
scenery! We first drove through the grounds of the Villa 
Giustiniani, and. along a road sh^^cLe^ with umbrageous 
woods of oak and ilei, to the church and convent of Grotta 
Ferrata, one of the supposfed sites of Cicero's Tusculan 
ViUa. The situation is delightful; the ancient trees and 
so£k verdant meadows around it, almost remiaded me of 
soffl,e'Of the loveliest scenes of England; and the little 
brook "that babbles by," was not the less interesting, from, 
the thought that its murmurs might, perchance, have once 
soothed the ear of Cicero. It is now called the Marana, 
but is generally thought to be the Aqtia Orahra, which he 
celebrates. Certainly this rivulet affords a strong presump- 
tion that it is the true site of Cicero's Villa. He would 
scarcely have described it as he does, had it been two miles 
off. Some remarkable pieces of sculpture are said to have 
been discovered here, which answer to descriptions he gives 
in his letters of the ornaments of his villa — ^particularly a 
Hermathene, or united statue of Mercury and Minerva — 
and a table supported by images of the Gods. A headless 
bust inscribed with his name was also dug up here ; and a 
medal with a head of Cicero, in fine preservation, is also 
said to have been found here. Two small bas-reliefs, which 
are placed in the adjacent episcopal palace,* are still to be 

• The same palace fonnerly inhabited by Cardinal York, which at 
the time of our visit, was in the posaession of Cardinal Qonsalvo, the 
then Bishop of FrascatL 

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^■-.H-^ i 

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t9een. One represents a young philosoplier, sitting with a 
scroll in his hand; the other (a strange subject), martial 
figures, supporting legs of a semi-colossal size. 

But so numerous and thickly set were the yillas of the 
Bomans at Tusculum in all ages of the republic and empire, 
that perhaps fancy alone could lead us to suppose it pos- 
sible now to trace the vestiges or the site of the only one 
which excites our interest — ^the Villa of Cicero; and the 
spot we view with veneration as consecrated by his genius, 
may have been the retreat of the infamous Agnppina.* 

The convent of G^reek BasiHan monks at Qrotta Eerrata 
was founded by a St. Nilo, or Nilus, in the tenth century, 
and if there was anything so heathenish as a vestige of 
Cicero's Villa at that time, no doubt he would piously sweep 
it all away. But the loss of the ruins of Cicero's Villa did 
not give me half so much pain as the sight of the ruins of 
Domenichino's eighteen frescos, which are mouldering on 
the mildewed walls of the musty old chapels of the saints, 
and are already so destroyed that the next generation will 
probably never behold them. Yet there is one of them (the 
Demoniac Boy) which is beyond all comparison the finest 
of his works, — ^not even, I tmnk, excepting the Communion 
of St. Jerome ; nor do I know any painting in the world 
that surpasses it, except some of Itaphad's. You will 
remember that the subject is the same tnat forms the lower 
and principal picture of the Transfiguration ; but Domeni- 
chino has avoided all approach to it, as completely as if he 
had never seen the work of his great predecessor. The poor 
possessed boy, — ^the touching agony expressed in his twisted 
muscles and distorted features, — ^his upturned eyes, his 
gasping mouth, his convulsed Hmbs, ana his whole figure, 
struggSng in the arms of his afflicted father, perhaps equal, 
— and, if I may be allowed to say so, surpass — the iJemoniac 
of !fiaphael. In other respects, the composition is less 
learned and complicated. There are fewer figures, — conse- 
quently not the same room for the masterly variety, and 
contrast of forms, expression, and attitude, that excite 
never-ending admiration, in the crowd without confusion 

* Agrippina had a splendid villa here. Tacitns, Ann. lib. ziv, 
cap. 3. 

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852 BOMi. 

that fills the canvas of Bapbael. But the few figures that 
Domenichino has introduceo, perhaps possess, &om that rery 
circumstance, a deeper interest, and an expression that takes 
more forcible hold on the mind. The saint, whose finger is 
pressed on the lip of the poor sufferer, while his other hand 
reaches the sacred oil that is to work the cure, is stnkinglj' 
fine ; and the earnest attention of the two little boys looking 
on, is nature itself. But the mother kneeling, watching in 
breathless suspense the fate of her child, as if life hung upon 
its gasp, — the whole expression, countenance, attitude, and 
drapery of this figure, are a masterpiece of perfection, and 
may well stand a comparison with the female in the l^^ans- 

The next in merit of these frescos, is the visit of the 
emperor to this convent, and his reception by St. Nilus, — 
with all the pomps of attendants and horses; a splendid 
composition, full of spirit and life. In the youth who is 
retreating from an unruly horse, Domenichino is said to 
have painted the portrait of the young woman of Erascati 
with whom he was in love, but who was refused him by her 
parents. St. Nilus is also the portrait of one of the monks, 
a friend of Domenichino' s. 

The next fresco represents a miracle which took place at 
the building of the very chapel in which we are stending. 
We behold the fell of a column upon the afl&ighted people, 
in consequence of the ropes breaking by which the work- 
men were raising it ; but it luckily happens that St. Bartho- 
lomew is looking at the plan of the bunding at the moment, 
and, therefore, one of his disciples miraciuously saves the 
people's heads from being broken by propping up the falling 
column. This is an admirable production, but it is even 
more injured than the other. 

Another fresco, but of somewhat inferior merit, represents 
St. Bartholomew, by his prayers, saving the harvest of his 
convent from destruction by rain. Another seems to repre- 
sent the assembled monks, attended by a long frmeral train, 
praying around the dead body of St. Nilus. In another, 
and one of the finest of the whole, the Virgin appears 
surrounded with angels and seraphim stooping from the 
clouds to present to the kneeling saints (Nilus and Bartho- 

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MABnro. 853 

IcMnew) a golden apple. Of the rest, the subjects can now 
be scarcely traced. 

At Marino — a pretty little town, most picturesquely situ- 
ated on the summit of a rocky hill, overhanging a romantic 
woody deU — ^we stopped to see the churches, which, being 
Priday evening, were crowded with people. At one of 
them we saw — what I had rather not have seen — ^the Trinity 
by Guido — in which the Eternal Father is represented as a 
stupid-looking old man in a red cloak. In the cathedral 
we saw an injured but very fine painting of Gruercino's St. 
Bartholomew ready to suffer Death — ^two ruffian execution- 
ers by his side. At another altar there is a painting of 
considerable but inferior merit, which seems to be only in 
part his work. It represents the martyrdom of St. Barna- 
bas, who was roasted alive, and who is supposed throughout 
Italy to be the great protector from fire. A little penny 
print of this saint pasted on their cottage-doors, is esteemed 
by the Italian peasants a far surer guarantee against the 
injuries of the devouring element, than all the stamps of 
the fire-insurance offices amongst us. 

Marino, anciently Ferentinum, was so called from the 
fountain of the Aqua FerentinaB, the source of which is still 
shown in the Colonna gardens. A ruined building in the 
woods, which, unfortunately, the closing day forbade us to 
visit, we were assured, is the remains of the Temple of 

Pursuing our way, we walked down the steep hill into 
the romantic dell below, the carriages following. At the 
bottom, the bridge crossing the brawling stream; the rocks 
overhanging it, shaded by drooping plants ; the ruined ivy- 
covered Gothic tower, rising far above the deep thick woods 
of oak and ilex ; and the bright verdure of the gay meadows; 
formed one of the most delightful scenes I ever beheld, — 
admirably calculated for painting. In the foreground was 
the road winding abruptly round, and at one comer, a 
fountain and large peservou*, at which the country women, 
in the most picturesque dresses imaginable, were washing 
and beating their clothes, talking and laughing with a 
hilarity that was Cfoite new to us, after bemg so many 
months shut up with the sombre Eomans. We proceeded 

VOL. II. 2 A. 

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354 BOMS. 

along thiB beautiful woody dell,, with Monte Gavo towermg 
above us, till we came at once into full view of the Lake of 
Albano, and beheld the deep clear basin of its waters, the 
bright verdure of its sloping banks, the rich foHage of the 
chesnut-trees, contrasting with the dark Cyprus and ilex, 
and the glowing tints of the evening sky, which assumed 
every varying hue as we contiaued to wina along above the 
lake. Passing Castel Gandolfo, the summer residence of 
the Pope, we entered Albano by an avenue of noble ilex 
trees,, two miles in length. 

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Alban Lake — The Nymphjeum of Domitiaw — ^Eijlns 
OF Domitian's Villa — Tomb of Ascaniijs — Tomb of 
Pompet — ^Alba Lokga — ^ANTEDiLimAir Vases. 

These is no antiquity in the world more remarkable than 
the great Emissarium, or outlet of the Alban Lake.. It 
was made nearly four hundred years before the Christian 
era, when Eome was an infant state. It is a tunnel a mile 
and a half in length, bored through the mountain of Albano, 
for the most part through the solid rock, and built of solid 
mason-work. It was done to carry off the waters of the 
lake, which, without any apparent cause, had suddenly over- 
flowed their banks, and then risen to such a height as to 
threaten Eome itself, and the whole plain of Latiimi, with 
inundation. This happened during the long-protracted siege 
of Veii. Messengers were sent to consult the Delphic 
oracle, who brought back for answer, that Eome would 
never be safe, nor Veii taken, till the waters of the Alban 
Lake were made to flow to the sea. A Veian prophet and 
prisoner had previously announced the same fiat. Inspired 
at once by fear and hope, this wonderful work, which 
seemed to require a degree of skill and science far beyond 
that early age, was, in the same year, begun and ended ; 
and so executed, that it would shame this degenerate age. 
After a lapse of twenty-two centuries, we find it still answer- 
ing its original purpose, as if only built yesterday, and 
behold the waters or the Alban Lake still flowing through 
it, as they did in the days of Camillus. The channel is six 
feet in height, by three and a half in breadth. Three men 
only could have laboured in it once; and it is calculated 
that by three men (beginning at each end) the most un- 
remittmg perseverence would not have brought it to a 
conclusion during at least three years. How it was finished 

2 A 2 

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856 BOMX. 

in one, is the question. Piranesi supposes that thej bored 
pits in several places through the mountain, down to the 
proper level, ancl let men down to continue the works, just 
as tunnels are excavated at the present time; and it is 
curious to think, if such was the case, that the ancient 
Eoman (or more properly Etruscan) system of engineering 
should have descended down to us, even to the present day. 
Be this as it may, we cannot otherwise now understand the 
rapidity with wliich it was executed; we can only admire 
the perfection and durability of this grand piece of architec- 
ture, which is, perhaps, without exception, the most ancient 
and the most noble work of Eoman tunes. The arch, which 
is still standing here, must convince the most sceptical, that 
the structure of the arch was known to the Bomans at least 
four hundred years before the Christian era, and three hun- 
dred before the epoch at which certain connoisseurs have 
fixed its introduction. But if they shall still maintain that 
the polished Greeks, even while they raised those magnifi- 
cent buildings that have been the sole models to succeeding 
ages and nations, were ignorant of this — one of the first 
principles of architecture ; — ^if they shall still maintain, that, 
though practised during so many centuries by their* rude 
neighbours, the Etruscans and Komans (with whom, too, 
they held constant intercourse), it was unknown to them, 
I shall certainly leave them in undisputed possession of 
their paradox. 

In front of the channel of the Emissarium is an open 
chamber, or vestibule, — ^if I may call it so, — ^which is in 
some degree ruined ; and the machines, works, &c., that 
were attached to it for relating the flow of water, as well 
as those for the takine of fish, have, of course, long since 
vanished. On one si<k of the arch of the Emissarium, from 
amongst the immense blocks of stone which form the 
massive walls, an ilex tree — ^the largest I ever beheld, that 
almost seems coeval with the building itself— has wreathed 
its old fantastic roots, and stretching ^rth into four immense 
trunks, spreads its broad honzontal branches and luxuriant 
depth of shade over the whcde court. 

^ot far firom hence, along the shore of the lake, are some 
lo% artificial cavesy or grottos, hoUowed out in its rocky, 

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precipitous banks, called, by the country people, the Bagni 
di XHuma, or Orotto delle Ninfe, which are supposed to be 
the remains of a NymphsDum built by Domitian. 

A soft green sward, spotted with magnificent trees, gently 
slopes to the margin of the water ; luxuriant ivy, hanging in 
wreaths nearly to the ground, shades its mouth, and a 
multitude of wild plants mingle their green pensile foHage 
from, the rocks above. The natural grandeur of this im- 
mense cavern, the vaulted roof, the lofty arches, and long 
withdrawing recesses, partially seen within the deep shade 
of its interior ; the sunny brightness of the rocks ana trees, 
and romantic banks without; the woody height of Monte 
Cavo towering into the bright blue heavens, and reflected in 
the (»*ystal mirror of the lake; the verdure and stillness 
and seclusion that breathe around, fbiin one of the most 
enchanting scenes I ever beheld. 

The ancient nymphsBa were generally hollowed out like 
this in the sides of steep hills, and no place could be more 
happily chosen for this purpose than the cool margin of the 
Alban Lake. I have alreaay noticed those delicious retreats 
of coolness and of shade, where the luxurious Eomans, in 
the oppressive heats of suinmer, used to recline on marble 
-seats, to breathe in stillness and repose, amidst their fresh 
flowing fountains, and to gaze on theur limpid basins, which 
reflected the statues of the nymphs that were fabled to 
haunt them. 

Virgil beautifully describes them : 

'^ Fronte sub adversa scopulis pendentibus antrum ; 
Intus aquae dulces, vivoque sedilia saxo ; 
Kympharum domus."* 

As the grottos on this lake, however, form, so far as I 
know, the only undoubted remains of an ancient nymphseum 
now left in the world, I shall give you a more particular 
account of them.* The entrance of the principal grotto is a 
widei^and lofty arch of fine Eoman brickwork, through which 
the sunbeams, playing amidst waving wreaths of ivy, break 

• Mn. lib. i, ver. 167. 
"t An andent mosaic picture of a Kymphaeum was found on the 
Quirinal Hill, and fonnerlj was in the Barberini CollectioE. There is 
an engraving of it in the Rom. Ant torn, iv^ p. 99d. 

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beautifiiUj on the cavemed roof. On the left, on entering, 
is a large semicircular recess, or alcove ; on the right, four 
niches for statues. Another arch, of the same span as the 
entrance, here crosses the grotto, and beyond it, on either 
side, are three niches for statues. 

Opposite, at the far extremity of the grotto, two arches 
of unequal size divide the breadth into two .alcoves, op 
recesses ; the largest contains one reservoir which has much 
the appearance of a bath ; the other has two smaller reser- 
voirs, or baths, close to each other. Behind the wall on the 
left side, which contains the alcove and the three niches 
already mentioned, and between it and the rock, a narrow 
concealed passage runs along, and issues out in the large 
alcove at the farther extremity of the grotto. But a sketch 
of the plan, however clumsily drawn, wiU perhaps give you a 
clearer idea of it than my description. 

Larger Becesa, 

Smaller Recess. 

Arch of Entrance. 

The channels for the water to flow down the rock into the 
reservoirs are still distinctly visible, and the reservoirs are 

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yet more than lialf-filled with water. The irregularity of 
their size and that of the whole plan is singular, and the nse 
of the concealed passage rather unaccountable. Perhaps 
the great recess at the side contained the statue of Diana, 
and the ten niches the statues of her nymphs. I should 
suppose this grotto to have been a natimil one, but con- 
Biderably enlarged by art. There is a smaller cave formed 
in the rock on each side of this, but no remains of bmlding 
about either of them. The mouth of one of them is so 
choked up with trees and wild bushes, that it is difficult to 
discover it, and stiU more difficult to penetrate into it, which 
we did, without making any very notable discoveries in 
reward for the scratches we received. 

These are by no means the only remains of the erections 
of Domitian at Albano. Among the extensive grounds of 
the YiOa Barberini, near the town, on the hill above, are 
scattered many vestiges of his magnificent villa, which is 
said to have comprised the ViOas of Clodius and of Pompey. 
The most curious of these are some long ranges of a Crypto 
JPartico, by some thought a part of Clodius* s "insane 
structures," as Cicero calls them.* Inunense conduits for 
water, shattered waUs, and other fragments of ancient 
buildiiigs, are met with here and there overgrown with a 

Profusion of ivy, half-lost in thickets of laurel, myrtle, and 
oily, — ^while ilex-trees, the growth of centuries, throw over 
them their impenetrable depth of shade. 

The view from the terrace of this villa, which is supported 
on these ancient arches and substructions of Domitian' s 
(perhaps, too, Clodius' s) Villa, is in the highest degree 
striking and beautiful ; but I resist the temptation of de- 
scribing it, although the Mils, the plains, the shores, were 

* "Insanis molibus oppresserat." — Oic. pro T. Ann, MUone. It was 
impossible, amidst these hills and " sacred groves/' not to remember 
Cicero's beautifal invocation to them, towards the close of the above 
unparalleled oration, or to raise our eyes to the majestic summit of that 
lofty mount, without being tempted to exclaim with him, — " Tuque ex 
tuo edito monte, Latialis sancte Jupiter, cujus ille lacus, nemora, 
finesque," &c. 

At a place called Le Fratocchie, formerly Bovillee, near the base of 
the Alban Mount, the murder of Clodius by Milo is supposed to have 
taken place. 

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360 BOlfE. 

replete with a thousand classic remembrances ; and far over 
the blue waters of the Mediterranean, which bathes the long 
line of coast, my eye was caught by the Island of Ponza, the 
ancient abode of illustrious IU)man exiles. 

At the Convent of St. Paul, are some walls built of large 
square blocks of stone, supposed to have formed part of 
Domitian*s PrsBtorian Camp; and in the gardens of the 
convent are some ruins of an amphitheatre. 

In a vineyard, called, I think, the Vigna Marzellif for- 
merly belonging to the Jesuits, are some trifling remains of 
an aqueduct, and of a building called the Tomb of Tullia. 

The ruins called the Celle 3fo;e,. obviously Gella Moffni— 
or halls of the Great [Pompey], must have Deen remains of 
his villa. 

We also observed a church which seems to have been 
an ancient circular building — probably the Eotunda to some 

At either end of the tovm of Albano, an ancient tomb 
excites the attention of the traveller. That which stands a 
little on the left of the road, on entering Albano fix)mEome, 
is a high pyramidal structure, once covered with marble and 
adorned with three orders of marble columns, but now 
entirely despoiled : it is called the Tomb of Ascanius. The 
other, at the southern extremity of -the tovm, and on the 
road to Naples, is a square edifice of immense soHdity, built 
of large blocks of stone, and crovnied with five small pyra- 
mids, of which two only are now entire. This is called the 
Tomb of the Horatii and Curiatii, the ^ye pyramids being 
thought to commemorate the five slaughtered combatants; 
and accordingly an inscription, placed upon it by a modem 
Eoman family, asserts tiie facH But Livy tells us, the 
scene of that memorable combat was at the Mssa Ohdlia^ 
the spot where Hannibal afterwards encamped, supposed to 
be on the Yia Latina, beside the reputed temple of Fortuna 
MuMebris; and certainly vdthin five miles of Home;* and 
as the five fallen combatants were interred on the field of 
battle, it is vain to look for their tomb here. 

By others, this sepulchre is denominated the Tomb of 

^ lAvjy lib. i, c. 23 ; lib. ii, c. 89. Liyy also states that Haimibal 
afterwards encamped upon the same spot. 

y Google 

CITY 07 AI.B1. LOlfTGA. 861 


Pbmpey, whose ashes, according to Plutarch, were brought 
from Egypt by Cornelia. According to Pliny, Strabo, and 
many ancient authors, he was buried at Moimt Casius, in 
Egypt.* According to a third supposition, it is a cenotaph 
erected to his memory ; and, in either case, the five pyra- 
mids are supposed to commemorate the five victories he 
gained before his first consulship. Plutarch also tells us, 
that the family mausoleum of Pompey was at Alba Longa, 
but we have no reason to imagine tms to be it. The fact is, 
that this ancient sepulchre, as well as * the Tomb of Asca- 
nius,' is unknown, and busy conjecture has supplied the 
place of history. 

According to Dionysius Halicamassus, th6 ancient city of 
Alba Longa was between the Alban Mount and the sea. 
Any of the antiquaries will show you the exact site, and you 
may choose out of the variety you will see, if you apply to 
them all. There is not, of course, a single vestige of it, 

A great deal of noise was made about some cinerary urns 
of terra-cotta, which were dug up near Castel Grandolfo, and 
which we were gravely assured last winter, were antedilu- 
vian, and had been deposited in that spot before the 
Peluge! Several treatises of great length and learning 
were written to prove this, and it was established in the 
most satisfactory manner, till suddenly, to the confusion 
of the antediluvians, they proved to be Gothic! Some 
foreigners (in their right senses) brought indisputable 
evidence of urns, so precisely similar, having been found in 
Prussia, and various parts of G-ermany, in Sweden, Den- 
mark, and England, that even the antediluvians were com- 
pelled to admit the truth. What can we think of the 
sanity of a set of archeological Academicians, that gravely 
pronounced some clay urns to be antediluvian ! 

I ought to have told you that this notion was put into 
their heads, in consequence of finding the urns, as was 
pretended, under a stratum of tufo. If this was true, the 
stone might have been subsequently formed without being 
antediluvian. Modern geological discoveries prove not only 
the possibility, but frequency of such formations. 

* Pliny, lib. xii. 

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Ascent of the Albait Mouttt — Camp of HANismsAL — 
Tbiumphal Wat — Convent ,or Feiaes — ^Yolcanos — 
Lake of Nemi — Aeicia — Civita Layinia — Coea — 
Temple of Heectjles — Cyclopean Walls. 

If I could, by description, convey to you any part of the 
pleasure I myself enjoyed in our expedition to the top of 
Monte Cavo, I would give it to you at large ; but as mere 
words can never paint the varied beauty of such scenery, I 
shall be as sparing of them as possible. 

After breakfast; on a beautiful May morning, at the door 
of the inn we mounted our donkeys, which carried us all 
with great ease and safety, although the long legs of some of 
the gentlemen neariy touched the ground. We passed the 
Capuchin convent, the terrace of which — ^forbidden to women 
— commands a most beautiful prospect, and then, turning 
along the banks of the lake, wound through magnificent 
woods and thick copses of oak, chesnut, and hazel, looking 
down into the deep crystal basin below, and above to the 
towering summit of the classic mountain, whose sylvan sides 
we were ascending. I observed some ancient broken con- 
duits for water here and there in the ground on our right. 
Amidst the trees appeared a rustic chapel to the Madonna. 
She is called La Madonna del Tufo^ because she was found 
under the tufo or soft volcanic stone. Like the vases, I 
wonder they did not make her out to be an antediluvian 
Madonna. But she is a very miraculous Madonna; and I 
am assured the day never passes without her working some 
miracle, more especially in the curing of cows, for which she 
is highly famed. We soon passed Palazzuola (the most 
favourite site for Alba Longa), which is now a villa of the 

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Coloniia family, with anotliep convent of Franciscans attached 
to it. Near it, by the road-side, are some immense caverns, 
supported by pillars of rock, said be natural, but evidently 
much enlarged by art. The wide arches of the rocky roof, 
the long perspective of the interior, indistinctly seen in dis- 
tance, dividing into remote passages and crossing arches, had 
a singularly fine effect beneath the hanging rocks and ancient 
trees that bend over them. The country people call them 
the Grottos of Ascanius, and a tomb, a httle farther along, 
they call the Tomb of Ascanius, not satisfied with the one 
he has already got possession of at Albano. But as As- 
canius was not a Boman consul, and as this tomb has twelve 
consular fasces, with the axes, it must have been the tomb 
of a consul, and consequently not his. It has also a Eoman 
eagle and a globe resting on a sceptre, sculptured upon it, 
so that it would seem to have been the tomb of an emperor. 
Some, however, think that it was an habitation for the living, 
not for the dead ; a part of the Consular House, where the 
Boman consuls slept during the celebration of the Ferice 
LatifKP, which the deputies of forty-seven cities attended. 
This solemnity, in latter times, lasted four days ; and if any 
informality or omission had taken place in the ceremony, 
the whole was recommenced JS-om the beginning. The 
principal magistrates of all the cities of Latium assembled 
lor this purpose, and, led by the Boman consul, ascended in 
solemn procession to the Temple of Jupiter Latialis, where 
they offered the sacrifice of an ox, of which every one 
carried away a portion. States at war with each other 
desisted from hostilities during this holy "truce of Grod;" 
and every treaty or engagement was here solemnly ratified 
in the sacred presence of their Supreme Deity. 

StiU ascendmg through the woods, we at length emerged 
from them at the village of Bocca di Papa, anciently Forum 
iPoptdi, which hangs over the lake on a steep shelving ledge 
of bare rock that terminates in a fine point, crowned with 
tufted ilex. We scrambled through this almost perpendi- 
cular village, on our feet, the poor asses being here scarcely 
able to pull themselves up, and were much pleased with the 
appearance of the people, who seem a much hardier, more 
industrious and contented race than those of the plain. 

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364 BOMS, 

The women, decently and most picturesquely dresised, were 
sitting twirling the spindle at their ootta^doors; and, 
strange to tell, they did not beg I The children, too, had 
genendly shoes and stockings ; a change I had also obseired 
at Prascati and Albano. 

The soil green sloping lawns above the village, which we 
next passed through, are called I Fruti d* Annibale; and 
the tradition is still told, that the Carthaginian pitched his 
camp here, and looked down upon the city he meant to 
suboue. There is nothing improbable in the tale ; for, from. 
the account Livy gives of Hannibal's route, both on his 
way fix)m Campania, when he vainly summoned Tusculum 
to surrender, and back again, after his unsuccessM bravado 
at the gates of Eome, it is plaiQ he passed over these lulls.* 
Previous to this, on his way to Capua, inmediately after the 
fatal battle of CanmB, it would seem he made a halt upon 
the mountains near Eome.t 

We now began to ascend the last and steepest part of the 
mountain, through thick woods of chesnut, and soon joined 
the ancient Via Triumphalis, which is paved in the usual 
way with large irregular shaped stones closely fitted to- 
gether, and forming a flat surface. It has the letters Y and 
N in many places still engraved upon it. The road is in 
high preservation, about the same breadth as the streets of 
Pompeii, and like them marked with the wheels of the cars 
or carriages. In this case, however, it could not be the 
track of the triumphal cars, for the lesser triumph only, the 
ovation, was celebrated here, when the victor walked on 
foot. Pope Alexander VII, indeed, was drawn up it in 
triumph in a carriaige ! 

The summit of the mountain is covered with soft green 
turf, perhaps one-fourth of a mile in circumference, the 
centa'e of which is occupied, not by the proud temple of 
Jupiter Latialis, but by a convent of Passionist Friars, 
built on its substructions ; and some large blocks of stone, 
which form the only remains of it, are set up to form a 
slovenly fence for their weed-covered garden, which they are 

* Livy, lit), xxvi, cap. It). 

t "In propinquis urbis montlbus moratus est" — Com. Nepos, in 

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too lazy even to cultivate. These good fathers were, luckily 
for us, at dinner when we arrived, and weU knowing we 
should obtain no admittance with their consent, we stole in 
at the open door, and proceeded straight up to the very top 
of the convent, from whence we enjoyed one of the most 
beautiM, extended, and classic prospects in the worid. All 
Latium lay like a map beneath our feet ; the regions far to 
the south, which, in returning from Naples, we had seemed 
to leave behind for ever, were once more revealed to our 
view. From the rocky cliffs of Anxur washed by the waves, 
where fancr^, even at this distance, almost seemed to give to 
our sight the ruined temples we had visited on its height ; 
along the low marshy waste of the Pontine Marshes, 
bounded on one side by the range of the Yolscian Hills, 
on the other by the blue line of the Mediterranean, whose 
waters encircled the lofty promontory of Circe, and bathed 
the depopulated walls of Antium, Lavinium, and Lauren- 
tium; we gazed upon towns and villages, and mountains, 
&med in early history and in classic song ; upon the very 
field of all the battles in the iEneid, where Tumus and 
^neas had fought, and 

" The Bwift Camilla Bcoured along the plain ;'^ 

— ^upon the ancient Tiber, winding its silent course through 
the deserted Campagna, and encircling, in a last embrace, 
the Insula Sacra, Defore its waters mingled with the ocean ; 
— upon Eome, with the stupendous ruins of the Colosseum, 
and the proud dome of St. Peter's; — ^upon the northern 
heights of Mount Ciminus and Soracte, that seemed to shut 
us from the land of our birth ; — ^and upon the range of the 
Sabine EiUs, and the lofty summits of the Apennines, that 
in proud and embattled grandeur rose up into the heavens, 
as if to fence in the classic plains of Italy. The very spot 
on which we stood, at the summit of the mountain, was the 
same from whence Juno surveyed the two contending 
armies, previous to the last combat of the -Slneid, and 
addressed her angry complaints to Jutuma, the goddess 
of the lake below, the transformed sister of the msfartii- 
nate l\imus. 

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866 BOMS. 

At Juno, e summo, qui nunc Albanus babetnr, 

Turn neque nomen erat, nee honos aut gloria monti* 

Prospiciens tumulo, campum adspectabat, et ambas 

Laurentum TroUmque acies, urbemque Latini. 

Eztemplo Tumi sic est affata sororem, 

Dira deam, stagnis quae, fluminibusque fiororis, 

Pnesidety Ac. &c. Ms. lib. zii, y. 134. 

"We were disturbed from the enjoyment of tracing, in this 
delightful prospect, a thousand spots which our early studies 
had made almost as interesting to us as the very recollec- 
tions of our childhood, by the approach of the fat old friars, 
who came puffing and blowing up the stairs, in grievous 
horror and perturbation, caused by hearing of our daring 
profanation of their holy j^remises, and who, at the sight of 
a party of young ladies, in actual possession of the very 
heights of the convent, commenced an outcry such as it was 
hardly possible to hear with gravity. Doubtless their rage 
and despair were exceedingly increased by the thought of 
the smoking viands they had left in the refectory below. 
They are a convent of renitents ; and, to judge from their 
appearance, eating and drinking must be to them a great 
penance, and one they practise most rigorously, for they 
are twelve as fat Iriars as ever wore a cowl, — ^more especially 
the one whose superior authority was denoted by his supe- 
rior corpulency, and who continued to vociferate in alternate 
tones of anger, lamentation, menace, and supplication, his 
desire for us to depart. At last we did so, and our parting 
donation, I believe, almost reconciled them to our trespass. 

It is impossible to look down from this height, into the 
basin of the Alban Lake, deep sunk within its high and 
shelving banks, without feeling impressed with the popular 
behef that it has once been the crater of a volcano. Its 
form is circular, its circumference is not more than five 
miles ; and the hiUs, the rocks, the plains, the very crust of 
the earth all around, are so evidently composed of volcanic 
matter, that this conviction is irresistibly impressed on our 
minds. The Frati d' Armiffale, — the green meadows where 
Hannibal was encamped, — are generally thought to have 
been the last mouth oi the flaming volcano ; and all around 

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LAKE 07 ITEMI. 367 

the village of Eocca di Papa, we observed great masses of 
lava, and other volcanic stones, precisely similar to many of 
the specimens we brought from Mount Vesuvius. It is 
curious, if this spot was once the reservoir of fire, that it is 
aiow that of snow. Home is supplied with ice from hence, 
and it is kept here in pits of fifty feet in depth, with a drain 
at the bottom. 

The beautiful little Lake of Nemi, a few miles further to 
the south, which we had visited on the road to Naples, by 
all the vulgar, and most of the scientific, is believed to have 
been once a crater. It is still smaller in circumference — 
stiU more deeply sunk in woody banks than that of Albano. 
So deep, indeed, is the gulf, and so small the aperture, that 
it is said even the stormy winds have no power to ruffle its 
calm basin, and the poets, therefore, caUed it the Speculum 
Dtams. Near this beautiful looking-glass, the goddess had 
her celebrated temple. The high priest was called Bex 
Nemcyrensis, and was always a fugitive slave, who had ob- 
tained his office by killing his predecessor in single combat, 
and who held it by the tenure of fighting all the candidates 
that aspired to it. The Capuchm convent here, which 
commands one of the most heavenly prospects I ever beheld, 
is supposed to stand on the hiU and grove of Yirbius.* An 
ancient circidar tower, one hundred and twenty feet in 
height, called the Torre di Diana, built on a rock projecting 
over the lake, has a strikingly picturesque effect, and the 
old castle of the Duca di Braschi beneath it is the very 
scene for a story of romance. 

An ancient Eoman ship was found under water in this 
lake, in the fifteenth century, which is called by Di Marchi, 

* Where, after Hippolytus had been mardered an^ brought back 
to life, — 

" Peeoniis revocatum herbis, et amore DianaB," 
and Father Jupiter, in, a passion, had sent old iEsculapius to the 
Stygian waves for his pains, he was concealed by Diana — 

" At Trivia Hippolytum secretis alma recondit 
Sedibus, et nymphes Egeriae nemorique relegat; 
Solus ubi in silvis Italis ignobilis sevum 
Exigeret, versoque ubi nomine Yirbius esset." 

Ms, lib. vii, v. 774. 

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868 BOME. 

' the bark of Trajan,' though the leaden pipes were inseribed 
-with the name of Tiberius. It is minutely described by 
Pope Pius II., in the seeond book of his Commentaries. It 
seems to. have, been a sort of floating summer vOla for the 
Emperor, and to have been fitted up with astonishing splen^ 
dour; yet still it did not approach to the immensity and 
magnincence of the bark of Hiero of Syracuse, which con- 
tained haUs paved with mosaic, baths, theatres, and temples ; 
nay, even gardens and aqueducts. 

Upon the Lake of Nemi is the pretty li^le town of Glen- 
sano, the name of which far-fetching .etymologists derive 
from Ckfnthianum,* or the fane of Cynthia. Between G-en- 
sano and Albano is La Poiocia, or Aricia, where Horace slept 
•the first night, of his journey to Brundusium. The Yia 
Appia, which crosses the vaUev below the town, is supported 
by an immenfle mole, with arcUes; a truly Eosian work, and 
well worth seeing, although it is generally passed unnoticed. 
It is necessary to descend into the valley in order to have 
a good view of it^ for from above, it ia so overgrown with 
wild plants, that nothing is disceimible, andTOu may travel 
along it without discovering it. This beautiSil valley,-r-the 
Vhr Aricia, is the far-famed spot where the nymph Egeria 
retired to mourn for Numa, and where, changed into a 
fountain, her niuriniirs still teU to the woods her grief. 
The fountain of Egeria, or Fonts Gendo, a.8 itjis now cdled, 
rushes forth such a powerful and impetuous torrent, that it 
immediately turns. mills.. 

From La Eiccia we made an, excursion, to Ciyita Lavuu% 
the Lanuvium of republican days, and passed on the right 
the riiins of the famous Temple of Juno Lamuvina, or 
Argiya ; so at least it was conjectured, because the statue 
of the goddess was found here, whose rites were celebrated 
with almost, as much secrecy as those of the Bona Dea, or 
the Eleusinian mysteries. We were, however, assiired that 
these ruins were a part of the Palace of Evander ! At 
Civita Lavinia we saw a ring, to which we were gravely 
informed that iElneas had moored his ship! But the La- 

* Corrupted into Gensanum, OeMano. It may be ©beerved that 
nearly all the Italian nouns, whether proper or common, are taken from 
the ablative of the Latin noon. 

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viiiium of ^neas is supposed by the learned to have been 
at a place now called Santa PetroniUa, about eight nules 
north of Nettuno, (the ancient Antium,) at the source of 
the Numicus, — or what they call the Numicus, which runs 
into the sea after a course of three miles. We saw some 
ancient Cyclopean walls at Civita Lavinia ; but the Cyclopean 
walls at Cora are far more perfect and entire. In our 
journey to Naples, we made an excursion from Velletri,* 
oyer the Volscian HiUs, to that ancient city. Cistema 
would have been a much nearer noint to Cora, but there 
we could not procure donkeys ; ana our pilgrimage of four- 
and-twenty mortal nules on the backs of these slow animals, 
which occupied us from the dawn of day to the fall of 
night, through untracked woods and wilds, was not unat- 
tended with fatigue, and eyen peril ; these hills being the 
notorious haunt of banditti, and Cora itself one of the 
chief places of their abode. Luckily, however, we accom- 
plished it in safety, and persuaded ourselves that the sight 
of its antiquities was a sufficient recompense. The most 
striking of these are the remains of the Temple of Hercules. 
The ancient Doric portico, with its whole entablature, is 
entire. It has four Doric columns in front, which sustain 
the simple and beautiful frieze and pediment. Its archi- 
tecture was much admired by Baphael, who studied it with 
great attention at the time he was employed in the build- 
ing of St. Peter's at Eome. 

This beautiM portico stands in a singularly fine situation, 
upon a led^e, or platform, supported by an ancient wall, on 
wnich the murels and cypress, the rocks and wild-spnngiQg 
aloes, form a fine foreground. Even the old tower of the 
church, rising behind it, adds to the picturesque efiect. 

In this church, we saw a beautiful Pagan altar found 
here, sculptured with rams' heads and wreaths of flowers, 

* At Velletri I was amused to see how aH the Velletriang,— even the 
dirty camerieri of onr beggarly inn, piqued themselves upon Augustus 
having been a native of Uieir town , — not that this was really the case, 
for he was only nursed there. Suetonius (Augustus, 5) expressly says, 
that Augustus was bom at Rome, in the ward of the Palatium, at ^e 
sign of the Oz-heads, where an JSdicola was afterwards dedicated to 
him. The good people of Velletri, however, have actually got his head 
stuck up for a sign-post at a public-house. 

VOL. II. 2 B 


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370 SOME. 

and a noble ancient yase, wbich seires for a baptismal font. 
In the walls of this church there is a blocked-up doorway; 
above which I observed the following inscription : — 






It is curious that the name of this man should be M. 
Manlius, for none of the family of Manlius were ever 
allowed to bear the name of Miircus, after the death of 
Capitolinus; and I do not remember that there was any 
other family of that name of any note. In another part of 
the town, and at another church, are the remains of the 
Temple of Castor and Pollux, which chiefly consist of two 
noble Corinthian columns, and a fragment of the Meze, on 
which is inscribed, — 


M. CALYIUS. M . . . . P. N. 

In the court of a house are two small Doric pillars, said 
to have belonged to the Temple of Diana. But the most 
curious of the antiquities at Cora are the Cyclopean Walls, 
of which there are very extensive remains. They are of 
immense solidity, at least thirty feet in height, ana built of 
enormous irregular-shaped stones, set up like flags, with 
their smooth flat expanse outwards, and fitted to each other 
with the greatest nicety, but without any cement. They 
really look as if they had been hammered together by the 
labour of the Cyclops. It has been justly remarked, that 
they most resemble the ancient pavement of the Via Appia, 
or the streets of Pompeii, set up vertically .f 

One of the most striking peculiarities in these Cyclopean 
walls — and one that, as far as I know, has never yet been 
noticed, is that they are built in continual angles, something 

* The marks in this inBcription I have made to signify obliterated 

t Vide Winkelman but rArchitectnre. 

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like the creases of a great Indian screen, when not mucli 
drawn out — -in this manner — 

There is a very curious ancient bridge, too, called the Ponte 
di Catena, built in the same Cyclopean mode of construc- 
tion, but, of course, not in these angles. Yitruvius, in 
speaking of these very walls of Cora, calls this extraordinary 
style of building, * antiquum,' and * incertum,' but throws no 
light upon its origin. * Dubious' it must still continue to 
be. There is no account more satisfactory in Winkelman, 
or any other author of it ; and, excepting that it is of the 
highest antiquity, nothing respecting it seems to be known. 
One writer (Father Volpi), attributes it to the Groths; but 
more enlightened critics will recognize these Cyclopean 
walls as works of a very ancient period. 

On Trajan's colmnn, an ancient city is represented, with 
walls of this construction ; and remams of it are found in 
several parts of Greece, and in many of the ancient towns 
near Rome, which, like Cora, boast a Greek origin. At the 
ruins of a city among the Volscian Hills, about five miles 
from hence, called Civita Penatoria, and which I believe was 
anciently called Alatri;* at Fondi, in the kingdom of 
Naples, where we also saw them ; at Civita Lavinia, and at 
Palestrina, vestiges of them still stand. 

Circumstances, over which I have no control, have pre- 
vented me from visiting Palestrina, so that I can give you 
no account of the Cyclopean walls there — ^nor yet favour 
you with my opinion, in addition to the numbers already 
given, on the subject of the famous mosaic of the Temple of 
Fortune, which is preserved in a palace there, to perplex the 
heads of antiquaries and cognoscenti. These are misfor- 
tunes which probably you will not lament very deeply, 
neither do I ; but Palestrina was the ancient PrsBneste, — 
therefore I should have Hked to have seen it; though of 
Praeneste there are now no remains. Even of the celebrated 

* Alatri was one of the five Satumian cities. The names of the 
others are Anagni, Atina^ Arce, and Arpino. 

2 B 2 

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372 BOM£. 

temple of 'Hhat most fortunate of Fortunes," as Cameades 
tlie Athenian, from its surpassing magnificence, called tlie 
Fortune of P^SBneste, — ^there is not now one stone left upon 
another, though the platform on which it stood can stiU be 
distinctly traced. 

At the Church of La Madonna della ViUa (so called from 
the ruins of a Eoman imperial viUa on which it was built), 
in the town of Falestrina, I am assured that considerable 
remains of porticos, halls, baths, and corridors, can still be 
traced. At a place called Volmontone, about five miles 
from the town, there is a great hall painted in fresco, by 
Ghispar Foussin, said to be one of his finest works. But at 
Genezzano, about six miles from Falestrina, there is an 
object much more visited, — a far-famed miraculous Madonna 
who, in emulation of the renowned Virgin of Loretto, flew 
there, all the way fi^m Albania, — ^not, however, bringing 
her house along with her. But, in other respects, her 
exploits, if I had time to narrate them, do by no means flail 
short of hers of Loretto. Many are the pilgrims, among 
whom may be reckoned crowned heads even of this genera- 
tion, who have come from distant countries to visit the 
shrine of this flying Virgin of QeneMano. The nuts and 
roses, for which FraBneste was £Eunous in Eoman days, I am 
.assured still abound there. 

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Feascati — Bai^ditti. 

CoH^STEBNATiON fills this little peaceftil town. Yesterday 
evening Lucien Bonaparte's viUa was entered by a gang of 
banditti; — ^but I must tell you the story in order as it 

About four in the afternoon Monswnore (as the old priest 
of the fanuly is through courtesy cafled) set out to take his 
accustomed walk; and, unluckily for himself, directed his 
steps up the hill to the ruins of ancient Tusculum ; when, 
suddenly, from the bushes which shade the cavity of the 
amphitheatre, two armed robbers sprung out, dragged him 
among the thickets, where four others were lying in ambush ; 
and having stripped him of his watch, money, and clothes, 
they tied his hands behind his back, and gave him notice, 
that the first moment he attempted to speak, or make the 
smallest noise, would be the last of his life. They kept 
him prisoner there tiU after sunset, when they crept through 
the wood to the house, and made a halt among the thick 
laurels and shrubs close to it. In the meantime the dinner- 
bell rang, the family sat down to table ; but as MoBsignore 
was not to be found, a servant was sent into the pJeasure- 
ground in search of him, who left the house-door unfastened. 
The banditti softly made their approaches. Five of them 
entered unseen and unheard, and the sixth staid to guard 
the door. Monsignore seized this moment to betake himself 
to his heels, and gained a remote out-house, where he buried 
himself overhead among straw, and was found many hours 
after more dead than alive. 

In the meantime the five robbers, with their fire-arms 
presented, cautiously advanced into the house, but they 
were soon descried by the servants, whose shrieks they 

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374 BOMS. 

stilled in a moment by the menace of instant death if they 
moved a step or uttered a sound. One maid-servant, how- 
ever, escapea, and gave the alarm to the party in the 
dining-room, who all fled in different directions to conceal 
themselves, excepting the imfortunate secretary, who had 
previously left the room to inquire into the cause of the 
tumult, and was seized, on his way down stairs, by the 
robbers, who mistook him for the Prince ; and, in spite of 
his protestations, was carried off, together with the head- 
butler, and a poor facchino* whom they encoimtered on the 
grounds, to the mountain above Yelletn, a distance of seven 
miles, without stopping. 

This morning the captured ^occAww, like another Eegulus, 
has been sent as ambassador, or charge d^affavres^ from the 
banditti to the Prince, to propose terms, which are, to 
deliver up their prisoners on the payment of a ransom of 
4000 crowns ; or, on the non-payment of it, within four-and- 
twenty hours, to shoot them. Lucien Bonaparte sent back 
one half of their demand in money, and an order on his 
banker for the rest. The robbers sent back the order, torn 
through the middle, with a further demand of 4000 crowns, 
in hard money, besides the 2000 they had already received 
under pain of the immediate death of their prisoners. The 
Prince received this insolent mandate in his palace at Eome, 
where he took refuge this morning, and has been obliged to 
obey it. 

I wonder the government do not feel ashamed that such 
outrages should be perpetrated within ten miles of Eome, 
and that they should be obliged to admit delegates firom 
banditti into the very seat of government — ^the capital 
itself. A detachment of troops, and about two hundred 
armed peasants, levied by Lucien Bonaparte, are ready for 
the pursuit of the villains, the moment their captives are 
released — ^but, till then, they dare not move ; for the eyrie 
on which they have perched themselves commands a view of 
the whole country in every direction, and they have sworn 
to put the prisoners to death the moment they see the 
approach of an armed man. 

The Pope's soldiers, indeed, it would seem, are not much 

• Porter, or out-door labourer. 

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to be depended upon themselves, for it is not long since the 
guard from the Trinita de' Monti, and the Porta del Popolo, 
at Eome, walked off one fine moonlight night, with their 
arms and accoutrements, to the hills, and joined a party of 

It was the intention of the banditti who entered Lucien 
Bonaparte's villa, to have seized both him and his daughter, 
who had been betrothed that very day to Prince Ercolani, a 
young Bolognese nobleman ; and haa they succeeded, their 
demands would haye had no bounds. 

Frascati, Nov. 19. 

After a captivity of two days and a half, the prisoners 
returned, and the troops ana armed peasantry mstantly 
began the pursuit. The mountain on which they were 
stationed, it is said, was previously completely surrounded 
with guards, and every part of it has been searched, — an 
immense reward has been offered for the apprehension even 
of one of them, — but all in vain. No traces of them have 
been discovered ; and Lucien Bonaparte, in addition k) the 
ransom, has had to pay an immense sum to the peasantry he 
hired, without the satisfaction of bringing the offenders to 
justice. > 

The unfortunate secretary has been confined to bed ever 
since, partly from the effects of fright, fatigue, and cold, and 
partly from a wound he received in his forehead in the 
scuffle, when he was first taken prisoner. The captured 
butler, andi facchino, whom I have seen, say that the robbers 
did not treat them ill, and gave them plenty of food ; more, 
indeed, than they could eat ; for it may be supposed that in 
such a situation their appetite could not be very keen. 
Neither could they enjoy much repose, surrounded with 
cocked carbines. The captain of those banditti, who was a 
remarkably little man, used to say to them, with great 
politeness, " We shall really be sorry to murder you, gen- 
tlemen ; but if the Prince does hot send the money we must 
do it — our honour is engaged." 

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376 SOME. 

They knew, indeed, too well, he would keep liis word, for 
it is not long since a joung woman was earned off between 
Yelletri and Terracina, and the ransom they required not 
being paid, she was murdered, and her body left on the 

Nor is this the only exploit of the sort in this neighbour- 
hood. A few weeks ago, a Soman gentleman and his 
daughters were taking a walk after mass on a Sunday, close 
to tne town of Palestrina, when a party of banditti rushed 
upon them, and carried them off to the mountains. The 
poor old man, who was asthmatic, and unable to keep pace 
with the rapidity of the flight, was brutally murdered before 
the eyes of his unfortunate daughters, whose ransom en- 
riched these monsters with the wealth of the man they had 

About two months ago, a bride, on the day of her 
nuptials, was carried off from a villa near Albano, while 
sitting at table, surrounded by her husband and relations, 
and after passing a night on the mountain, she was libe- 
rated, on the payment of a heavy ransom, without insult or 

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Eome, Febniary 4th, 1818. 
Tor haye been misinformed about our robbery. It is 
true, that about half an hour after sunset, and by the light 
of an early moon, the carriage was stopped by a ferocious 
looking party of brigands, who, armed to the teeth, and with 
cocked pistols held at our heads, demanded our money or 
our lives. But it is not true that thej^ personally mal- 
treated us. Our ears were not cut off, neither were we left 
without any clothes ; and I must beg to assure you, what- 
ever you may have heard to the contrary, that we were not 
murdered. Our assailants, who were four in nvimber, or 
perhaps more (but four only appeared), were, indeed, by no 
means sparing in their threats to put an end to us, and 
flourished then* glittering knives, and held their disagreeable 
pistols to our ears, with great perseverance; but this was 
done in order to frighten us iuto giving them aU we had ; 
for though I am convinced they would have had no more 
scruple in kiQiug us than a butcher a sheep, or a sportsman 
a partridge, if they could have got a single ducat by it ; yet, 
as that was not the case, — and as the mere abstract act of 
murdering a set of harmless people cannot afford any extra- 
ordinary gratification, they granted my reiterated prayer, 

(which W disdained to second,) to take our money and 

spare our lives ; and we have good reason to bless ourselves 
in escaping out of the hands of these banditti with no injury 
except to our purses. Some gentlemen of our acquaintance 
have not been so fortunate, having been very roughly 
handled ; but that I attribute entirely to their having had 
pistols, and not having had a lady to plead for them, and 
cajole the ruffians with her silvery tongue. However, I 
contrived to save a bag of gold, — the chief part of the money 
we had ; but I was nearly murdered for diamonds which I 

had not. Lady , whose carriage these banditti were 

waylaying, and expected they had stopped, was known to 

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378 ROME. 

have jewels of immese value, having shown them impru- 
dently on the journey. Her ladyship, however, unex- 
pectedly stopped for the night at the last post on our 
journey, where she had vainly tried to induce us to remain 
also, in consequence of the alarm about banditti ; and thus, 
having been mistaken for her, I became the victim, and was 
very neariy shot for not dehvering up diamonds which I did 
not possess. JSTay, I believe I should have been shot, but 
for an alarm we opportunely raised that the troops we had 
left behind at the last post were coming up. 

"We hear fresh accounts every day of captives carried off 
to the moimtains by the banditti, and the most daring out- 
rages practised with impunity. A party of them came down 
the other evening into the town of Terracina, took the post- 
master out of his own house, and barbarously murdered him. 
They had, it seems, vowed vengeance against him, on ac- 
count of the steps he had taken to bring them to justice. 

A few days ago, Barbone, the noted chief who holds his 
reign in the woody fastnesses of Monte Algido,* in defiance 
of the powers of papal justice, and who, during four years, 
has been the terror of the whole country, after performing 
various recent achievements at the head of his band, went 
in open day alone into the town of Velletri, ordered, and 
ate an excellent dinner at the inn, drank the best wines, 
walked about with the utmost nonchalance, and talked about 
the very robberies he had been committing. He was, how- 
ever, recognized at last; but strange to say, he made his 
escape, though slightly wounded in the leg by a shot. 

The numerous bands of robbers which infest this country, 
by no means live either upon their depredations on travel- 
lers, or the ransom of their prisoners ; their grand resource 
is the plunder of the farmers, particularly those who live 
among the hills, many of whom are extremely rich, not only 
in flocks and cattle, and such sort of rural property, but in 
money. The whole range of Volscian hiUs, which extend 
from the Alban Mount far into the kingdom of Naples, and 
branch off into various chains, stretching up to the Appen- 
nines, and through the heart of Calabria, are all infested 

* Anciently Mount Algidum, a high and beautiful hill in the same 
chain as the Alhan Mounts about twelve miles from Borne. 

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with banditti. The Frencli would allow no robbers but 
themselves, and kept the country tolerably clear of them ; 
but since they went away, they have increased and mul- 

The consequence of all the horrible outrages that have 
been practised during these nine months, has been, that the 
Secretary of State has gone in person to Terracina to hold a 
solemn conference with the brigand chiefs ; has entered into 
a formal treaty with them, complied with their terms, and 
offered friendship, protection, and reward, to hands still 
dripping with innocent blood ! In the name of His Hoh- 
ness, a general proclamation has been issued, inviting all the 
banditti to surrender themselves, and engaging to pay them 
a certain sum per day, to maintain them at the public 
charge, and to furnish them with good accommodations in 
the Castle of St. Angelo, and after six months' honourable 
imprisonment to liberate them again ! 

This is a high premium for robbeiy and murder ! And 
the more heinous the crimes they have committed, the 
higher is to be their reward! The chiefs get double as 
much as the rest. The way for a man to get a pension in 
Itome, seems to be to turn an assassin. 

A considerable body of these banditti have already de- 
livered themselves up upon the faith of this engagement, 
and are now living m clover at the Castle of St. Angelo. 
People flock to see them as if they were wild beasts. We 
went a few days ago, and I intend to repeat my visit, for 
their appearance and manners are beyond description inte- 
resting. We found them amusing themselves m a large 
open court, apparently enjoying the novelty of their situa- 
tion, and the notice they attracted. They are a very fine 

* The English completely rid Sicily of robbers, simply by making all 
proprietors, townships, &c. responsible for the robberies committed 
within their estate, or jurisdiction. The system they established is 
still persevered in; and, from being the most notorious country for 
robbery in the worid, the crime is now unheard of. A man may now 
[1818] travel alone, and unguarded, all over the Island of Sicily with a 
bag of money in his hand, in perfect safety. Several friends of ours, 
lately, though known to be remarkably well furnished with cash, made 
the whole tour, at different times, without fire-arms, and with only one 

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880 BOME. 

looking set of men, — ^fine limbs, fine features, fine flashing 
dark eyes and hair, and bright brown complexions. Their 
air ana deportment is &ee and independent, expressing un- 
daunted confidence and fearless resolution. But their coun- 
tenance ! — ^I can give you no idea of the sinister expression 
— ^the confirmed villany that many of them wore, especially 
when they talked and laughed. 

Their dresses were very rich and picturesque. One of 
them had a magnificent embroidered scarf twisted round 
him, which he laughed as he said he had taken from a lady. 

Tie captain boasted of having killed eighteen men with 
his own hand. His wife waa with him : she is only nineteen, 
and really the most beautiful creature I think I ever beheld. 
Several people have made presents to these wretches, and 
more especially to this woman, a practice I must say I think 
highly reprehensible ; and I am afraid the example was set 
bv an English lady of high rank, the Duchess of Devon- 
shire, who, as the patroness of learning, taste, and talent, I 
should have thought would scarcely have deigned to become 
the patroness of robbers. 

Several of them had little images of the Virgin and the 
saints suspended round their necks. One of them took out 
his little Madonna, kissed it, and said he should never have 
had any success without it, — that it had often saved his life, 
and that whenever he wanted anything, he always prayed to 
it. Another, being asked what they would do when they 
were liberated, replied, with a face which it would be vain 
to describe, — "Oh, we shall repent!" — (ci pentvremo^ I 
wonder if the poor wretches who were executed on the 
guillotine the other day deserved it better than those who, 
in six months, are to be released with free pardons to prey 
on society again.* 

The whole system of the government is marked by the 
same weakness and iucapacity. It would be endless to 
enter iuto the minutiae of the mal-administration which per- 
vades every department; but, for example, the petty im- 

* After my retam from Italy, I learnt that the Roman Qovemment 
did not keep their faith with the robbers, and that at the end of twelve 
months they were still in the Castle St. Angelo. I leave the whole of 
this transaction without any comment. 

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posts, absurd restrictions, ruinous monopolies, and frivolous 
impediments, with which commerce is fettered, act as a 
complete interdict to it. So many difficulties and perplex- 
ities are in the way of every branch of business, and so 
many delays and forms, and offices and vexations, have to be 
passed through in the importation and exportation of evenr 
commodity — even of the native produce of the Pope's domi- 
nions, in their passage from one part of it to another — ^that 
a man had need of the patience of Job to transact business 
at Eome. 

To give you some faint notion of this : the wine of Monte- 
fiascone, though remarkably delicious, is scarcely to be had 
in Eome at all; and that of Orvietto, though grown at a 
trifling distance, sells at nearly treble its price on the spot. 
The Annona laws, with aU their absurdities, are still in 
force ; and the popularity of the Pope and his ministers is 
by no means increased by the heavy duties {gabelle) which 
their wisdom has seen fit to lay on every sort of article- 
Duties carried to excess equally impoverish the revenue 
and the subject. The consumption is so materially dimi- 
nished, that the smaU quantitv used produces far less under 
an extravagant tax, than a large quantity would under a 
moderate one ; not to mention the temptation to smuggling, 
the expense of keeping up a check upon it, and the impos- 
sibility of preventing it. Besides, the smaller, quantity of 
your neighbour's produce you import, the less of yours they 
can afford to take from you; for all commerce is barter. 
There are many instances of governments acting on this dog 
and the shadow kind of principle ; but none, I imagine, ever 
carried it to moi« perfection than this. If a merchant from 
any remote part chooses to send his wine, or oil, or cheese,' 
or wool, or Hnt, or cloth, or what not, to this metropolis, he 
must pay a heavy duty, not only on entering the city, but at 
every town it passes through.; while there are various sapient 
laws enacted against the exportation of the chief articles of 
native produce. 

The government here looks with a jealous eye on Austria, 
who intermeddles strangdy in all affairs ; so much so, that 
sundry sagacious politicians have predicted that the Pope 
will soon no longer be armed wim independent temporal 

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882 HOME. 

power, and tliat the Papal will soon be merged in the 
Austrian States. Of this, however, I should hope there is 
little probability; for though an ecclesiastical government 
is, and must be bad, an Austrian one is ten times worse. 
It would really be to fall, as they say themselves, " dalla 
padella nelle brace;** or, according to our homely equivalent 
proverb, " out of the frying-pan into the fire." 

Bad as the papal government is, indeed, it is by no means 
so bad as that beneath which a great part of Italy is groan- 
ing. Not so bad, for instance, as Naples, or Piedmont, or 
Genoa, abandoned by English broken faith to Sardinia ; or 
ill-fated Lombardy ; or expiring Venice ; or even the little 
Duchy of Parma; or the stiQ smaller morsel of Lucca, 
which have been carved out to satisfy the cravings of king- 
domless royalty. 

Tuscany, upon the whole, has by far the least to com- 
plain of. But people in England who talk of erecting Italy 
mto one great independent kingdom, know nothing of the 
Italians. They hate each other with a hatred surpassing 
that of common Christians, and the nearer the neighbour- 
hood, the more inveterate the animosity. 

Eome and Naples, Pisa and Florence, Florence and Siena, 
Modena and Bologna, — in short, wherever there are two 
cities within a reasonable distance of each other, be sure 
the most cordial detestation reigns between them. A man 
from a little town or village ten miles off, calls himself a 
foreigner, and is considered so by the people he comes 
amongst, just as much as if he came from the other end of 
the world. A man's * patria,' in Italy, is the most limited 
thing imaginable. It is confined to the village which gave 
him birth. 

It is true, that there was, and is, a strong spirit of inde- 
pendence in the north, and, indeed, over the whole of Italy, 
and it was the want of that principle of union, to which I 
have alluded, that alone prevented them from asserting their 
liberty, in that auspicious moment when the French yoke 
was taken off, and no other was yet imposed. At present, 
however, the friends of freedom, or the faction of the car- 
honari, as they call themselves, increase every day ; and it 
will be strange, if in Lombardy, at least, they do not soon 
assume courage enough to break their chauis. 

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They want no masters, neither French nor Austrian. 
" Oe sono clue hestie,'* said a Milanese to me, with a bitter 
gesture of detestation. Of the two, however, the present 
• bestia ' 1/ should suppose to be by far the most generalljr 
and deservedly detested. Such, certainly, was the senti- 
ment of a' pocfr man, to whom I happened to observe, that 
they had n«w got the Austrian eagle with two necks, instead 
of the rrenkh with one. " Si, Signora,^^ he replied, heaving 
a deep sigh, *^ e mangia doppioy 

Indeed, the French ought to be beloved at Milan, if any- 
where; for they did a great deal for it; instituted new 
manufactures — erected new buildings — elevated it into the 
seat of government, the capital of the kingdom — ^made the 
wealth of the country flow into it, and in a great measure 
sacrificed to it the rest of Italy. 

And yet their government was so far from popular, that 
the moment the terror of their arms was removed, we know 
that the governor was literally torn in pieces. If, therefore, 
they were so little liked at Milan, which they had patro- 
nized, we may conclude they could not be much beloved at 
Borne, which they had oppressed; or Venice, which they 
had destroyed. Much good, however, and much evil, may 
with truth be reported of the French ; but the good is gone, 
and the evil remains. At the same time, it must be owned, 
that if they were equally rapacious and despotic, they were 
by no means so senseless, as the governments which have 
succeeded them; and which seem to have vied with each 
other in the generous design to whitewash their character 
at the expense of their own. 

Independent of this contrast, however, I own I cannot 
see that anything Napoleon ever did for Italy was so very 
surprising. He made himself master not only of the im- 
mense revenues of churches and convents, but too often of 
hospitals ; he imposed heavy burdens on the people ; and at 
Home, at least, reduced many of the nobles to beggary, by 
exorbitant contributions. Possessed of these immense re- 
sources, he made military roads for the progress of his 
ambition, and built triumphal arches for the gratification of 
his vanity. Ambition he possessed — ^insatiate ambition — 
but not tnat ambition which is 

** The glorious fault of heroes and of gods;^ 

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384 BOHS. 

his ambition was for power, not for glorj ; to suliogate, not 
to bless the world. It was the vice of a demcti, not the 
failing of an angel. 

I am aware these observations will give great offence to 
that numerous body of English, who pour forth iQtjualified 
praise of Napoleon's reign in Italy; and who, -'lule they 
profess themselves warm advocates of liberty, vefy consist- 
ently eulogize the man who sought to establish universal 
despotism through blood and carnage — ^to lay bas iron-bound 
tyranny, not onlv over the persons, but the minds of men, — 
over the press, the commerce, the literature of Europe. 

The desolating effects of his reign, I fear, Europe will 
long feel, in the exhausted resources, increased burdens, 
and palsied commerce^ which weigh down her states ; and 
the hopeless atheism, and dread demoralization, which poison 
her people. 

But I have fallen into a gloomy vein. So adieu I 

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Otjb last excursion from Eome was to Ostia. Nothing 
can be more dreary than the ride to this once magnficent 
sea-port. Even before you leave the gates of Eome, you find 
yourself in a desert. Tou issue out through the Porta San 
j?aola; pass the graves of your countrymen, and the proud 
sepulchral pyramid of Caius Cestius, the deserted convent of 
San Paola alle Tre Fontane — and proceed through a con- 
tinued scene of dismal and heart-sinking desolation; no fields, 
no dwellings, no trees, no landmarks, no signs of cultivation 
— except a few scanty patches of com, thimy scattered over 
the waste, and huts, like wigwams, to shelter the wretched 
and half savage people that are doomed to live on this field 
of death. For, by a strange paradox, man, in order to drag 
on a miserable existence, is here driven into the very jaws of 
certain destruction. 

The Tiber, rolling turbidly along in his solitary course, 
seems sullenly to behold the altered scenes that have withered 
around him. Two thousand years ago, and his shores were 
blooming in beauty, and crowded with the proud palaces of 
the great and the gay. Here, it is not only the works of 
man that have perished; Nature herself seems to have fallen 
into decay : and the total absence of existing objects seems 
to give more place for remembrances. 

A few miles from Ostia, we entered upon a wilderness 
indeed. A dreary swamp extended all around, intermingled 
with thickets, through which roamed wild buffaloes, the only 
inhabitants of the waste — sometimes seen breaking through 
the brake, or treading down reeds higher than themselves — 
sometimes swimming across the stagnant waters — in their 
habits grown amphibious, Uke the scenes they tenanted. 
TOL. n. 2 

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aw Bou. 

A considerable part of the way was upon the ancient pave- 
ment of the Via Ostiensis, in some places in good preserva- 
tion, in others broken up and destroyed. When this flailed 
us, the road was execrable. 

The modem fortifications of Ostia appeared before us long 
before we reached them. At lenp;th we entered its gate, 
guarded by no sentinel; on its bastions appeared no soldier; 
no children ran out from its houses to gaze at the rare splen- 
dour of a carriage ; no woman stood with rock and spmdle 
at her cottage-aoor ; no passenger was seen in the grass- 
grown street. It presented the strange spectacle of a town 
without inhabitants. After some beating and hallooing, on 
the part of the coachman and lacquey, at the shut-up door of 
one of the houses, a woman, unclosing the shutter of an upper 
window, presented her ghastly face ; and having first care- 
fully reconnoitred us, slowly and reluctantly admitted us 
into her wretched hovel. 

" Where are aU the people of the town ?" we enquired. 

" Dead !" was the brief reply. 

The fever of the malaria annually carries off almost all 
whom necessitv confines to this pestilential region. But this 
was the month of April, the season of comparative health, 
and we learnt, on more strict inquiry, that the population of 
Ostia, at present, nominally consisted of twelve men, four 
women, no children, and two priests. A body of convicts, 
whose lives it is found convenient to shorten, are also kejpt 
here; but they, with the few soldiers who constitute their 
guard, were out at labour when we arrived ;* the men were 
roaming about the marshes, shooting birds and buffaloes, and 
the woman whom we saw was HteraUy the only person in this 
deserted town. Yet it still has three churches, and is the 
see of a bishop. 

The ruins of Old Ostia are farther in the wilderness. The 
sea is now two miles, or nearly, from the ancient port. The 
cause of this, in a great measure, seems to be, that the extreme 

* I understand their principal work is at the atagni, or salt manihes, 
where, by natural evaporation, the salt is made (and very bad it is) 
that is used in Rome. One of the priests told me the conTict^tation 
k«re was an asylum for criminals, and that, guil^ of whatever crimes, 
if they fled here they escaped trial and further poniahment, bat that 
few x>r none sought it uncondemned. 

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08Tii.. 387 

flaiaieas of the land does not allow the Tiber to carry off the 
immense quantity of earth and mud its turbid waters bring 
down ; and the more that is dejposited, the more sluggishly it 
flows; and thus the shore rises, the sea recedes, and the 
marshes extend. 

Ostia was originally founded by Ancus Martins,* and it 
continued to be the only port of Borne until the time of 
. Claudius, who built Porto, on the opposite bank of the river. 
The marshy Insula Sacra, in the middle of the river, once 
sacred to Apollo, and now inhabited by wild buffaloes, divides 
the two ancient harbours which Cassiodorus calls * the eyes 
of £ome.' After the building of Claudiuses new port on the 
right bank of the river, the Mt stream, by which Maeas had 
entered its "yellow" tide, and on which Ostia stands, was 
quite deserted. 

We had intended to have crossed to the Sacred Island, and 
firom thence to the village of Fiumicino, on the other side, 
where there are said to be still some noble remains of ancient 
Porto, particularly of the mole ; but a storm suddenly came 
on, with such tremendous fury, that it was with the utmost 
difficulty we could keep our reet ; and our plan of crossing 
the wide mouth of the Tiber, in a crazy boat, was wholly 
frustrated. Bribery itself would not induce the boatmen 
to venture. 

The hats of the gentlemen were bound on their heads with 
handkerchiefs, and arm-in-arm wo tried to conteind with the 
fury of the blast, so far as to see the remains of Old Ostia. 
They are on higher ground, scattered over a green plain, 
** purpled with vernal flowers." Broken columns of granite, 
slabs of marble, and fragments of inscriptions without num- 
ber, were strewed along the grass. AU over it the turf was 
heaved in many a verdfmt hillock, which seemed to cover the 
ruins of magnificent temples and palaces. 

We saw the fine Boman brick walls of an ancient buil- 
ding, called by the vulgar a Temple, and by antiquaries a 
Curia, — but why a senate-house at Ostia? We looked in 
vain for any traces of the camp of -/Eneas,which must have 
been near here ; and as for the Numicus — the 
" Fontis stagna Kumici," 

♦ Liyy, 1. i, c. 83 ; " In ore Tiberia Oatia urbs condita," &c. 

2 2 

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388 BOicB. 

it is nowhere to be seen, not even by antiquarian eyes, along 
the whole extent of coast. 

We saw, indeed, the diy bed of a stream, called the 
Mume MortOy but it is close to, and has evidently been, the 
bed of the Tiber. Another Mume Morto, the people told 
us, is in the Isola Sacra. 

Our examination of the remaLos of antiquiiy at Ostia, if 
any more there be, was, however, abruptly terminated. 
Obliged to yield to the increasing violence of the storm, we 
were driven back to the wretched osteria we had left. In 
its large black kitchen, hall, and common apartment, the 
only habitable place in it, we found assembled some wild 
ruman-lookiQg men, who had sought shelter, like ourselves, 
from the gale ; two of them were playing at the game of 
morra, theur countenance inflamed with eagerness, and ooca- 
sionally with passion, as disputes arose about the number of 
fingers they had shown.* But no bloody termination en- 
sued. Three or four of their companions were lookiag on. 

They soon resigned to us the dirty table of boards, and 
the wooden benches, which, except a few crazy stools and 
empty casks, formed the only furniture of the place; and 
here we ate the cold dinner we had brought with us from. 

The storm also prevented us from visiting the site of 
Laurentinum, the wmter villa of the Younger Pliny,t which 
is about four miles from hence, on the coast. Some of the 
walls, I tmderstand, are still standing. 

"We delayed our departure as long as possible, in hopes 
the storm would abate ; but in vain. We returned at last 
without having visited the Insula Sacra, or the ruins of the 
Port, on the opposite shore, where now stands the village of 
iPiumicino. we consoled ourselves for our disappointment 
by the resolution to make another excursion to tnem from 
Bome by the other side of the Tiber ; but this, like many 
such resolutions, has never been accomplished. 

* For some account of this gamot see Letter LII. 
t The same so nxinately described ia Wmj, 1. ii, Epist. 17. 

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SxJirsBT ON THE Palatiite — ^Thb Colosseum and the 
EoBiTM BY Moonlight. 

On one of those delicious evenings that close the bright 
andbeantiM days of autumn in tms country, I lingered on 
the Palatine until the sun sunk in a flood of light and glory, 
such as no power of language or of painting can portray. 
Vainly would imagination try to body forth the beauty of 
an hour like this beneath the heavenly sky of Italy. The 
Boft mist that floated over the landscape like a silver 
▼efl, softened, without obscuring, every object, and gave a 
shadowy beauty to the grev tombs that covered the wide 

glain of the Campagna, wmle the hues that painted the 
•abine Hills, the purple lights that, fading, blended into 
distance, and the last crimson glow that was reflected from 
tihe tops of the embattled Apennines, altogether formed a 
picture that would have awakened admiration in the coldest 

I stood on the terrace of the Palace of the CaBsars,— on 
that ancient hill where the kings of Eome, the heroes of the 
Bepublic, and the imperial tyrants of the world, had suc- 
cessively triumphed and passed away. 

The last honzontal beam of the god of day, darting under 
the broad shade of the dark pine-tree, fell on the shattered 
ruins at mj feet. Eighteen centuries had now almost com- 
pleted then* course since first his radiance had illumined the 
golden walls of this magnificent fabric ; a thousand years his 
light had seen them laid in ruins, and still his setting ray 
seemed to shine with redoubled splendour on the fallen 

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300 Bon. 

marbles of that proud fane within which he was once 

** Slow Binkfl, more lorel j ere his course be run. 
O'er Latinm's desert plains — the setting sun; 
Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright^ 
Bat one unclouded blaze of living light : 
O'er Home's proud seat, o'er Tiber's sacred isle. 
The god of gladness sheds his paring smile; 
O'er his own regions lingering lores to shine, 
Though there lus altars are no more divine." 

Transitoiy as beautiM, the deep glow of the western sk^r 
quickly faded away ; — the shades of evening rapidly closed 
around — ^no twilight here interposed its meditative hour, 
but the moon arose with a brightness and beauty unknown 
to our wintry climate, and the evening star hghted her 
glowing lamp in the west ; as beneath their mingled rays, 
which trembled through the dark shade of the tall cvpresses, 
we slowly passed along the now forsaken Triumphal Wa^y 
towards the Colosseum. Would that I could describe it to 
you as it stood in its ruined loneliness amidst the deserted, 
hills of ancient Eome, surrounded with the remains of over- 
thrown temples, imperial palaces, triumphal arches, and 
buried thermffi, — mighty even in decay ! 

The still, pale moonbeam fell on the lines of its projecting 
columns, range above range, to the lofby attic, in ealvef^ 
light, leaving the black arches in mysterious darkness. 

We passed under the great arch of entrance, crossed the 
grass-grown area, ascended the long staircases, and tra- 
versed the circling corridors. No sound met our ear but 
the measured tread of our own footsteps, and the whispered 
murmurs of our own voices. The deep solitude and sLLencey 
the immensity and the ruin of the great fabric that sur- 
rounded us, filled our minds with awe ; and as we caught 
the view of the stars appearing and disappearing through 
the opening arcades, marked the moonbeams iUumining the 
wide range of these loffcy walls, and raised our eyes to the 
beauty of the calm, dear firmament above our head, — ^we 

* The broken Corinthian columns, and capitals of a temple on thia 
hin, are supposed to be the ruins of the famous Temple of Apollo on 
tlie Palatine. 

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dovld not but remember that, msaj Ages past, these eternal 
lights of heaven had shone on the sloping sides of this vast 
amphitheatre when thejr were crowded with thousandB of 
humaa- beings, impatient for the barbaroos sports of the 
rising day, — where now only the wild weeds wared as 1^ 
night-breeze passed over them.* 

Ib^ature holds her eternal course ; — ^the works of man 
perish. Earth is strewed over with the mouldering vestiges 
of his vanity and ambition ; and yet, compared with his own 
little space, how durable are even those mute memorials 1 
How wonderful is the discrepancy between the duration of 
his works and his own existence ! The bmldings he raises, 
the characters he impresses on the page, the colours he 
spreads on the canvas, the forms he creates in the breathing 
marble — ^live ; they enjoy a species of immortality on earth : 
but he passes away like a shadow. 

"We gazed around us on the gigantic wreck of this mighty 
fabric ; and as we recalled what it had once been, the long 
procession of years which had gone bv — ^the silent march of 
time — the countless generations that had gone down to the 
dust, rushed forcibly upon our mind. The proud masters 
of the world were no more ; and we, pilgrims from a then 
despised and barbarous land, were wandering amidst the 
ruined moniunents of their pride and their power, to admire 
their grandeur and to mourn over their decay 1 

We quitted the Colosseum; we passed along the im- 
tracked course of the Yia Sacra, amidst ruined temples 
and tottering arches ; we beheld before us the once-proud 
Capitol; we stood in the Boman Forum. How well did 
this hour of stillness, when nature itself seemed hushed, 
accord with this scene of ancient glorv ! How softly the 
silver moonbeams fell on the Corinthian columns and 
broken porticos of the temples, whose very gods are for- 
gotten! How distinctly its clear light marked the dark 
decaying marble of that proud sculpture, meant to immor- 
talize the triumphs of heroes ; and how beautifully its pale 
and moumM rav harmonized with the mouldering anehes 
sunk in earth, like the deeds they commemorate ! I could 

* It was customary for the common people thus to secure places 
over-night to see the games. 

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almost hare fancied that I saw Time seated amidst l^e 
rains he had made, mocking at their yanity, as he wovked 
at their destruction. Our thoughts turned upon those 
over whom he has no power, — ^for whom there is no monu- 
ment, — ^but whose memory is immortal on earth ; and we 
felt, not without emotion, that we stood on the yenerable 
soil where CamiUus, and Scipio, and Brutus, and Cicero 
had trod: 

In future years, how often in my nafciye land shall I 
recal to my mind 

" that in my youth 
When I was wandering, — upon such a night 
I stood within the Colosseum's walls, 
'Midst the chief relics of almighty Bome. 
The trees which grew along the broken arches 
Wared dark in the blue midnight, and the star& 
Shone, through the rents of ruin ; from afar 
The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber; and 
More near from out the Caesar's palace came 
The owl's long cry ; and interruptedly 
Of distant sentinels the fitful song 
Begun and died upon the gentle wind." 

And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon^ upon 

All this, and cast a wide and tender light 

Which soften'd down the hoar austerity 

Of rugged desoUtion, and fiU'd up. 

As 't were, anew, the gaps of centuries ; 

Leaving that beautiful which still was so. 

And making that which was not, till the place 

Became religious, and the heart ran o'er 

With silent worship of the great of old. 

The dead but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule — 

Our spirits from their urns !" 

LoBD Btbon. 

"Whilst our hearts were touched with feelings such as 
these, a bell from a distant convent on the Ceelian Hill, 
which tolled to call the friars to their midnight devotions, 
broke upon the silence of night. At the sound, a figure 
glided from the shade of the Temple of Concord, passed 
before us like a shadow, and disappeared among the trees. 

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We were somewhat startled at this apparition, which, ac- 
cording to all the rules of romance, should have served 
88 the prelude to some mysterious adventure ; but it only 
served to warn us to go home to bed ; and, as it appeared 
to us no more, nor even condescended to explain why it had 
appeared at all, you may conceive it to have been a ghost 
or a man, a monk or an assassin, as best suits your mncy. 

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Absolution granted by the Pope, 

Academy of Fine Arts, at Siena, 

i. 33, 35 
French, establidied in 

Rome, ii. 163 

of St. Luke, ii. 89, 90 

- of Music, ii. 263 

Acanthus, wild luxuriance of the, 
contrasted with its sculptured 
form, i. 142; growth and bloom 
of, i. 143; decorative use of, in 
architecture, i. 222 

Accademia of sacred music, ii. 189 

Accius NseTius, i. 3 

Acqua Pendente, romantic fiitu»- 

t tion of, i. 46 

Actors first sent to Rome, from 
Etruria, i. 274; present infe- 
riority of, ii. 269 

:.£diles plebeian, i. 835, n. 

.^sop, a celebrated actor of anti- 
quity, i. 277 

' Aggeres, or mounds of defence, i. 

Agrippa, battles of, 1. 304 

iAlaric, destruction of Rome by, 
i. 124 

Alba Longa, the Trojan town, the 
mother of Rome, i. 89, ii. 361; 
site of, i. 150 

Alban Lake, once the crater of 
a Tolcano, ii. 366; remarkable 
outlet to, ii. 355 

— Mount, first view of, i, 89; 
afleent of, ii. 362, 364 

Albano^ situation of, 1. 89; anti- 
quities qX, ii. 355; grottos of, 
ii. 354, 357, 359 

Alexander Severus, aqueduct ^, 
i. 348 

Alfieri, tragedies of, ii. 265 

Algidum, city of, ii. 342, 378 

Algido, Monte, ii. 378 

Almo, chissic stream of, i. 384, 430 

Alter of Census, i. 259 

Alter of the Elician Jove, erected 
by Numa, i. 164, 165 

of Jupiter Viminalis, 1. 177 

to MiE^ortune, i. 175 

of Murcia, i. 259. 

Pagan, at Siena, i. 32 

of Serapis, i. 268 

to the god of Secrecy, i. 259 

to the god Terminus, i. 154 

of Vulcan, i. 199 

Amazons, stetues of, it 76; battle 
of the, ii. 78 

Amici (Amisi), improvements in*, 
the microscope by, ii. 385. 

Amphitheatre of Pompeii, i. 289 

Amphitheatres first built in Rome, 
i. 286 ; wild beasts, for the, fed . 
with criminals, 1. 291 

of wood, built by 

Nero, i. 286 
Flavian.— See Co* 

Amphitheatmm CaBtrenae, i. 122, 

199, 222 
Ancient bridges of Rome, i 338 
Temple of Piety, erected to 

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the Roman daughter, who Bayed 
her father when condemned to 
perish with hunger, i. 249; 
ehurch on the site of the, ibid. 
- Temple of Bellona, site of. 

i 251 ; priests of, ibid. 

Temple of Janus, i. 260 

■■ Borne, remains of, i. 75; 

mins of, i. 450 
Anens Martiiis, i. 114 
Animals, hall of, i. 96 
Anio, a river which runs into the 

Tiber, i. 335; cascades of the, il 

338; petrifying quality of the 

water, ii. 387; rock-deposits of, 
r ibid. 
Annibale Oaracci, frescoes of. See 

i^— paintings of. See 

Annunciation, festa of the, ii. 177 
Antiques, manufactory of, ii. 812 
Antiquity, remaius of, on the Via 
' Appia, i 884 ; on the Via La- 

tina» i. 889; yestiges of, found 

in the walls of Rome, i. 119 
Antiquarianism, trite definition of, 

Antiquities, natural, of Rome, ii. 
. 283 

-Antium, the birth-place of Nero, i. 
r 106 ; ancient town of, ii. 369 
Antoninus Pius, Forum of, i. 211 ; 

temple of, i. 213 
' A&tinotis, colossal statue of, ii. 122; 

far-famed rilieyo of, ii. 169, 170 
Anxur, yiew from the clifis of, ii. 

366 . 
Apartment in Caesar's palace, i. 

' Apellicon, library of, i. 284 
Apennines, the, 1. 21, 89 
Apollo, statue of, i. 6; temple 

of, on the Palatine, i. 141 ; 

library and museum of, i. 142 ; 

colossal statue of, i. 269, ii 86 
Apollo Belyidere, i. 104, 105 
Apotheosis of Homer, ii. 100 

Appius, tribunal of, i. 199 

Aqua Acetosa, or mineral sprii^, 

Appia, Aqua Martia, and 

Aqua Tepula, waters with which 
Rome was supplied, i. 347 

Crabra, celebrated by Cicero^ 

ii. 360. 

Aqueducts first constructed in 
Rome, L 347; care of, under 
Augustus, i. 348; description of 
the, ii 338; destruction of, i. 

Aqueduct of Alexander Seyema; i. 

' of Augustus, i 347 

of Claudius, arch of, L 

123, 346, ii 338; remains of 
the, i 348 

- Martian, ruins of, i. 347; 

immense reseryoir of, i. 350 
of Nero, i 346 

Ara Coeli, church and conyent of, 
i 76, ii. 15; situation of, L 

Maxima, the great altar con- 
secrated to Hercules, i. 166, 235 

Arabesques, by Raphael, in the 
Vatican, i 316; in the baths of 
Titus, i 316 

Arbor Sancta, or sacred tree, i. 172 

Arch of Claudius Drusus Nero, 
i 340, 344 

of Constantino, i 81, 342 

of Dolabella and Silanus, L 


of the Fabii, i 183 

of Fabius the Censor, i. 199 

of Gallienus, i. 344 

— ^ of Germanicus, i 844, 346 

of Gordian, i. 340 

of Janus, i 843 

of Marcus Aurelius, L 345 ; 

ii 86 

of Musagetcs, i. 98 

of Nero, L 157 «. 

of San Lorenzo, i 344 

of Scipio Africanus, i. 157 

Digitized by 




Arch of Septimins Seyerns, i. 79 ; 

ezeaTation of the, by the French, 

ibid ; rains of, i. 190, 841 

of Tiberius, i. 197 

ofTitus, 181,341 

of Trajan, i. 209 n. 

Archias the poet, villa of, ii. S36 
Archdukes, palace and tomb of the, 

at Florence, i. 9 
Aricia or La Riccia, where Horace 

slept on his way to Brundnsium, 

U. 368; valley of, ibid. 
Amo, i. 21 
Arnold of Brescia, the champion of 

civil and religious liberty, i. 160 
Artists of modern Rome, ii. 298 
Asbestos, cloth of, impervious to 

fire, ii. 34 
Ascanius, grottos of, ii. 363 ; tomb 

of, ii. 360 
Asylum for outlaws, consecrated 

by Romulus, i. 167 ; ibid. n. 
Athenaeum, or public library, i. 

Augustus, house of, i. 185, 145; 

temple of Apollo, built by, i. 

141; hippodrome of, i. 146; 

crimes of, i. 254, n.; mausoleum 

of, i. 369; the sarcophagus of, 

i. 370, birth-place of, ii. 369, n. 
Augustinian convent, monks and 

library of the, ii. 3 
Aurelius, column of, i. 88, 213 
Aventine Hill, i. 163 ; origin of ii* 

name, ibid.; extent of, i. 164; 

church on the summit of, 1. 165; 

view from the, i. 166; temples 

on the, i. 166, 167 
Aventinns, King of Alba, i. 163 

Baccano, near it is obtained the 
first view of Rome, i. 61 

Bacchus, Indian, statue of, i. 101 

Balthazar Penizzi, remarkable 
painting by, "The Sibyl pro- 
phesying the birth of our 
Saviour,'* i. 36 

Bambino, or infant Jesns, remark- 
able image of, ii. 16, 17 

Banditti, ii. 373, 378 ; imprison- 
ment of, ii. 379 ; negotiation of 
the Papal Gk>vemment with, 
ibid ; noted haunts of, i. 89 

Baptistery of St. John Lateran, i. 

Barberini palace, ii, 106; piazza^ 
i. 257 

Barbone, a noted chief of banditti, 
ii. 878 

Basalt, Egyptian, lions of, men- 
tioned by Madame de Stifcel, t 

Basaltic columns, i. 43, 46, 51 

Basilicas, or ancient Ronun 
churches, i. 393, 429 

Basilica Emilia, i. 198 

Julia, i. 196 

of Livia, i. 141 

of Panlus iEmilitts, re- 

mains of, i. 80, 198 

Porcia, remains of, most 

ancient in Rome, i. 191 

of St John Latenin, i. 

393, 397 

. of St. Peter, i. 70, 7«» 

423, 426 
of Santa Maria Maggiore, 

i. 428 ; Christmas ceremony in, 

ii. 211 

of St. Paul, i. 430 

of Santa Croce, i. 488 

of San Lorenzo, i. 436 

• of San Sebastiano, i, 88S> 


Ulpia» i. 208 

Digitized by 




Baths of Agrippft. i. 304 

of CaracaUa, i. 305 ; plan of, 

i. 806 ; halls of, i. 308 ; statues 

found in the, and present pre- 

Yervation of, i. 810 
of ConBtantine, 1. 177, 304; 

ii. 102 
of Decins, i. 805 

— of Diocletian, i. 177; con- 
verted into a Christian church, 

of the Empress Helena, i. 

804; ruins of the, ii. 161 
for women, in Hadrian's villa, 

U. 325 

of Nero, i. 144; U. 123 

of St. Philip, calcareou 

springs at, i. 43 
-*— of Tiberius, i. 141 
of Titus, i. 311 ; vestiges of, 

ancient, of the Romans, i. 

801 ; uses, and remains of, i. 302, 

304; various kinds of, i. 309 

— antique, in the court of the 
Vatican, i. 95 

Beatrice Genci, portrait of, by 
Guido, ii. 103; history of, ii. 104 

Befano, the, ii. 235 

Belisarius, prophetic warning of, 
to Totila, i. 125; troops of, 
lodged in the palace of the 
Caesars, i. 139; stone, bearing 
the inscription of the death o^ 
i. 121 

Bellona, temple of, i. 251, 254; 
priests of, i. 251, 252 

Belvedere, extensive view from, i. 

museum, i. 98 

Benediction of the Pope at the 
close of the Holy Week, ii. 205; 
extent of the, ii. 206 

Bernini, colonnades by, in St. 
Peter's, i. 74 ; statues by, i. 23; 
remarkable group by, i. 459 

Besendina, i. 48 

Bibliotheca Ulpia, i. 828 

Boas, wild, among the Sabine 
Hills, ii. 296 

Bocca della Verity, a singular 
stone in the church of Santa 
Maria in C!osmedin, i. 284 

Bologna, John of, statue of Mer- 
cury by, i. 7 

cemetery of, ii. 290. 

Bolsena once destroyed by lire 
from heaven, i. 48 ; lake of, ib.; 
antiquity of, i. 49; temple of, 
ibid.; forest of, i. 60, 51 

Bona Dea, temple of, i. 167; femide 
freemasonry of, ibid. 

Bonaparte, his spoliations in Italy, 
ii. 383 

Lucien, ii. 348, 873 

Borghese palace, ii. 124 

chapel, i. 429 

Borgo San Spirito, or great hos- 
pital of Rome, ii. 28 

Botanical riches of Rome, ii. 284 

Brickwork, excellent, of the reigns 
of Augustus, Kero, and Titus, 
i. 242 

Bridge ^lius, i. 334 

of Caligula, i. 187 

of Cestius, i. 883 

first, built of wood, i. 881 

of stone, i. 382 

of Fabricius, mentioned by 

Horace, i. 882, 388 ; ii. 17 

Janiculensis, L 833 

Milvian, the only bridge 

over the Tiber out of Rome, 

i. 334 

Palatine, i. 832 

of San Angelo, i. 384, 402 

of Santa Trinit4, view of 

Florence from the, i. 16 
triumphal, still visible on 

the Tiber, i. 333 
Bridges, ancient and modem, i. 

331, 339 
Britons, sale of, in Rome as slaves, 

i. 195; the proximate cause of 

the introduction of Christianity 

into this country, i. 196 

Digitized by 



Boll-fight in the ColoflBeum, L 293 
Buon Convento, village of, i 39 
Boiattini, ii. 267 
Burials in Borne, 1. 356 ; ii 288 
Busts, antique, ii 69 
— _ of the Emperors, ii. 73 
■ of the Poets, in the Pan- 

theon, i. 228 

CABDiKr, Profane, in the Vatican, 

ii. 37 

Sacred, in the Vatican, ii. 35 

Oaciis, cave of, i. 165, 169 
CsBsar, palace of,i. 139; apartment 

in, i. 136 
Cnnaenla, or eating rooms, 1 144 
Gains Cestius, pyramids of, i. 367, 


■ BailiiUy the first Boman who 
gained a naval victory, i. 250 

- and Lucius, colossal statues 
of, L 155 

Caligula, houses of, i. 136 ; bridge 

built by, ibid. n. 
r OaUimaehus, L 142 
Cameos, ii. 812 
Camere of Raphael, ii. 46 
Camnccini, the Artist, ii. 134 ; his 

fine cabinet of paintings, ibid. 
Camp of Hannibal, ii. 860, 364 
Praetorian, of Domitian, ruins 

ofthe, 11.360 

for foreign soldiers, i. 173 

Campagna, view over the, i. 61-64; 

rains on the, i. 378 
Campidpglio, pUice of execution 

for male&ctors, i. 75 
Campo Santo, or cemetery of 

I^iq>les, ii. 290. 

Vaccine, i. 76 

Campus Martins, i. 70, 88, 119 

Sceleratus, in which the 

Vestal virgins were buried alive, 

. i. 124, 270 

■ Ustrinns, i. 867 

Caaova, Perseus and Pugllisto of, 
i. 107 ; the first Italian sculptor 
of the age, ii 298 ; works of, ii. 
299, 301 

Capitol, modem, i 75, )i9; i»azza 
of the, once the place of ezecntion 
for malefactors, ibid.; tower of, 
i. 85; view of modem and 
ancient Rome from, ibid.; re- 
mains of, i 153 

Capitoline Hill, colossal statues on 
the, i. 155; temples and aUars 
on, i 156, 159 

Capuchins, diturch of the, ii 9; 
convent of, ii. 362, 367; museum 
of bones of monks, ii 11 

Car, used in chariot-races, model 
of. in the Vatican, i 264 

Caracalla, baths of, i. 305; civens 
of, i 265, 354 

Caracci, paintings of, in the palace 
of Lucien Bonaparte, ii. 130 

Caravaggio, paintings of. See 

Carceres, divisions for cars in the 
circus, ii. 266 

Cardinal, at confession, i 41.8 

Oonsalvo, i. 455 

Fesch, his galleiy of 

paintings, ii 135 

Carlo Maratti, tomb of, i. 326 

Carnival, festivities of, ii. 253, 259 

Carthusians, church and convent 
of, i 827 

Cartoons of Raphael, i 101 ; ii 47 

Caryatides, i 99 

Casa Romuli, or thatched cottage 
of Romulus, i 193 

Cascade, artificial, made by Sixtus 
v., ii. 336 

Cascades of Tivoli, ii. 329 

Casino, Roman, description of, ii. 

in the Borghese gardens, 

U. 160 

of Raphael, ii 166 

Castel. Qandolfo, the summer resi- 
dence of the Pope, ii. 854 

Digitized by 




GuteUo Arehione, gothio fortreai 

of, IL 819 
Gtstle of Si Angelo, i. 408 ; pre- 

Bont employment of, L 4C4 n.; 

firewcd'ks from, at Easter^ ii. 209 ; 

impriflonmeiit of baniUtti in, 

it 879 
Castor and Pollux, colossal statues 

of L 155; appearance of, i 189, 

190; temple of, i. 189; ancient 

remains of the, ii. 878 
Gaatra Peregrina, or camp for 

foreign soldiers, i. 178 
Catacombs, extent and primary use 

of, i 880, 881; comparison be- 
tween those of Naples and Rome, 

Cataracts of Tivoli, ii. 880 
Cathedral of Florence, baptistery 

and remarkable gates of, i. 12, 16 

ofMUan, i. 451 

■■ Portuguese, ceremonies 

in the, on Christmas-eve, ii. 211 

of Siena, 1.30 

-of St. Peter's i. 69 

Cathedral of Yiterbo, murder at 

the altar of, by De Montfort, i. 56 
Cathedrals, comparative length of, 

thronghont the world, i. 416 
Cato, birth-place of, ii. 842 
Catullus, villa of, iL 335 
CavsBdium, or corridor of Hadrian's 

villa, ii. 828 
Cave of Cacus, L 165, 169 

of Sirens, ii. 329 

Caverns, immense natural, ii. 868 
Caves, artificial, ii. 356 
Cecilia Metella, tower of, i, 

tomb of, i. 365, 366 
Cella Solearis, i. 308 
Cemeteiy of Bologna, ii. 290 ^ 

of Florence, Ii. 290 

of Naples, ii. 290 

Cemeteries of Italy, ii. 290 
Cento Camerelle, of Hadrian's villa, 

u. 826 
Celle, ruins on the Campagna, 



Centaurs and LapiUue, combat of, 

i. 99 
Centum Qradus, the western ascent 

of the capitol, i 162 
CesUus, bridge of, L 833 

Chapel of the early Christians, 
i 320 

of La Madonna del Tufou 

U. 862 

subterranean, of St. Peter'^ 


Chariot-races, description of, L 263; 
exhibition of, by Nero, i. 264 

Charlemagne, marble statue o( L 

Chartreuse, retreat of Pius VI., in 
exile, i. 25 

Christ, fourteen representations of, 
bearing the cross, according to 
Bomish tradition, i. liZ,n,; the 
true cross of, i. 488 ; sepulchre 
of, ii. 189; ceremony of the en- 
tombment of, ii. 115, 195; resur- 
rection of, iL 201; miraculous 
discovery of the real blood o^ ii. 
232; alleged marriage of, with 
St Catherine, i. 88 

■ ■ painting of the flagellation 
of, by Sebastian del Piombo, ii. 

statue by Michael Angelo, 

i. 456 

Christian church, i. 198 

Christians, put to death in the Cir- 
cus of Nero, i 258; ten thou- 
sand put to death in one day, 
i. 432 

Christianity established in Bome, 
i. 129 ; triumph of, i. 334 ; free- 
dom of, from human samfice, a 
proof of its divine origin, L 258 

Christina, Queen of Sweden, resi- 
dence o( ii. 161; credulity of, 

Christmas ceremonies in the 
Church of Borne, ii. 211 

Church of Ara Coeli, i. 154; ii. 15, 
flight of 124 steps ascended on 

Digitized by 




the knees by Julius Caesar, ii. 16; 

origin of the name of, ii. 17 
Church of the Capuchins, ii. 10; 

painting of the Archangel 

Alichael trampling Satan, by 

Guide, ibid.; ecstacy of St. 

Francis, by Domenichino, ibid. 
— of Franciscan friars, at 

Viterbo, i. 55, 66 

of Grotta Ferrata, ii. 362 

■ of the Jesuits, i. 464 

of La Maddalena, i. 464 

of St. Agnes, i. 440, 441 

of S. Alessio, 1. 168 

of St. Andrea deUa Valle, 

31 ii. 

■■ San Andrea al Noviziato 

de' PP. Gesuiti, i. 454 
- Santa Anna, ii. 263 

sepulchre of Christ in the, ii. 


St. Adrian, i. 198, 204 

St. Augustin, ii. 3 

8. Antonio de* Portoghesi, 

ii. 189 
— — St. Bartholomew, ii. 18 

San Bernardo, i. 823 

of Sta. Bibiana, i. 246 

- of San Carlo al Catinari, ii. 



- Santa Cecilia in Trastevere, 

of St. Clement, the most 

ancient existing church in the 
world, i. 488 

• Sts. Cosmo and Damiano, 

i. 238 


of Santa Croce, i. 433 
S. Georgio, at Tivoli, ii. 

- of St. John Lateran, i. 393, 

396; remarkable relics in, i. 

398; baptistery of, i. 400 
of San Lorenzo fuori le 

murll, erected by Constantine, i. 

San Luigi do' Francesi, ii. 

Church of La Madonna de' Monti. 

1. 174 
della Villa, in 

Palestnna, ii. 372 
of Santa Maria degli An- 

geli, i. 825 

ii. 13 

solazione, i 196 

dell* Anima, 
della Con- 
in Cosme- 

din, the supposed school of St. 

Augustin, i. 233, 234 


di Loretto, 

i. 80 


nerva, i. 465 


-Maggi^re, i. 
428; remarkable relics in, i. 
429, 434; religious ceremonies 
in, on Christmas-day, ii. 211 

Bopra Mi- 

- Navicella, i. 

- della Pace, 

- del Priorata, 
-in Trastevere 
-of theTrinia 

- Vallicella, H. 

ii. 2 

i. 166, 167 

ii. 13, 28 

de' Monti, i. 88 

12 ; built by St. Filippo Nerij 

ibid.; portrait of, by Guido, 

of SS. Martin and Sylvester, 

of Santa Martina, i. 197 

of Santa Martina and St. 

Luca, i. 183, 197 

of San Nicola in Carcere. 


-- in Pane 

Pema, i. 176 

of Sant' Onofrio, where the 

remains of Tasso repose, ii. 24 
2 D 

Digitized by 




Ohnrch of St. Pitul faori le mxak i. 

■ alio ire fontaae^ 

the place of the Apostle's mar- 

tyidom, i. 482 

of St. Peter, i. 70, 78; 

colonnades of, i. 74 ; erection of, 
i. 407; subterranean chapel in, 
L 408; confessionals of, 1. 415; 
services in, during the Holj 
Week, ii. 186, 189; illumination 
of, ii. 208 

— — St. Pietro^ on the 
Bsquiline, i. 456 

St. Pietro in Montorio, 

Tiew of ancient uid modem 
Borne from, ii. 25 

> ■ Santa Sabina, i 168 

of St. Sebastian, i. 388, 435 

of S. SUvestro, i. 819 

of San Ste&no, I 442; 

Botondo, i. 171 

of St. Theodore, i. 86; here 

the twins were exposed and 
suckled by the wolf, ibid.; re- 
building of, 193 n. 

St. Urban VIII., I 886 

Cicero, connection of, with the 
Boman forum, i. 78; eloquence 
and fame of, i. 79; murder of, 
i. 78; house of, i. 129; Bostrum 
of, ii. 224; Tusculum villa of, ii. 
343 ; school of, ii. 344 n. 
Cimabue, the father of painting, 

i. 35 
Oimlnus, the ancient, i. 57 
Circle, ancient symbolical meaning 

of, ii. 321 
Circus, sports of, i. 260 ; the only 
remaining one, i. 264, 265; right 
of place in, i. 267 

. Agonalis, games of, i. 256 

Flaminius, i. 256 

of Caracalla, i. 265, 354 

of Flora, games of, exhi- 
bited every spring festival, still 
retained, i. 267 
——- of Hadrian, .258 

Cirous Maximus, i. 256, 259; 

260; plan of the, i. 258 
of Nero, i. 267 ; ChristiaiLs 

put to death in, i. 258 
of Sallnst, i. 257 ; site and 

form of, i. 269 
Civita OastelUma, L 373 
Lavinia, ii. 368 

Classic mountains, i. 89, 90 

Claude Lorraine, house of, mi^^- 
ficent view from, ii. 11. See 

Claudius, temple of, in Britain, 
near the Thames, i. 213; banish- 
ment of the Jews from Borne, 
by, i. 285; aqueduct of, ii. 338 

Drusus Nero, arch of, 

i. 340 ; fame of, ibid. 

Cleopatra, beautiful statue of, i. 97 

Clivus Asyli, ascent from the 
Forum to the altar of Bomulus, 
i. 162 

Publicii, ascent of Mount 

Aventine, i. 165 

Cloaca Maxima, most ancient of 
the Boman remains, i. 217; pre- 
sent utility of, after a lapse of 
3000 years, ibid. 

Clodius, villa of, ii. 359 ; murder 
of, ibid. n. 

Cocles, Horatius, defence of the 
Pons Sublicius by, i. 87 ; statue 
of, i. 202 

Coelian mount, i. 82; oonyent of, i. 
170, 171; temples and monu- 
ments on the, i. 172 

Coins, Boman, i. 138 

Cola di Bienzi, abode of, i. 447; cha- 
racter of, ibid.; titles of, i. 446; 
coronation of, i. 448; rise and 
fall of, ibid. ; death of, i. 449, 450 

Collis Hortulorum, (m the Pincian 
Hill, i. 66 

Colonna palace, gallery of, ii. 100. 
105; statuary and painting of 
the, ii. 101, 103 

Colonnades of St. Peter^s, i. 74; 
the work of Bernini, ibid. 

Digitized by 




OoloBBal Btataes, i. 155, 177; ii. 63 
Coloeseum, ruins of the, i. 81 ; sitn- 
ation of, i. 82; conBecration of, 
by Benedict XIY., ibid. ; dese- 
cration of, by the French, i. 83 ; 
prophecy of Bede respecting the, 
i. 286 ; opening of, by Titus, i. 
287 ; architecture and plan of, i. 
288, 289; £all of, i. 292, 295; 
gigantic ruins of, i. 299 ; romantic 
Tiew of, by moonlight, ii. 390 
Columbaria, or sepulchral cham- 
bers, i. 365 
Column of Aurelius, i. 88, 213 

Phocas, i. 186 

Rostral, ii. 85 

of Trajan, i. 88, 211 

Colnmna Bellica, i. 251 ; the ab- 
surdly reputed, ii. 103 
Columns, aatique, i. 431 
— — Corinthian, of Grecian 
marble, i. 79, 185; dispute re- 
specting, i. 187 
Combats of wild beasts, i. 290; 
Christians exposed to the rage 
of, i. 291 
Comedy, Roman, i. 275 
Comitium, the, i. 187, 203 
Commerce of Italy, ii. 93 
Commodus fights as a gladiator, 
i. 291 ; body of, hurled from the 
Pons Sublicius, i. 331 
Commons, want of, ii. 247 
Concord, temple of, i. 185, 199 
Confessionals in St. Peter's, i. 415, 
Confefasors, i. 416, 417; ii. 202 
Constantia, one of the first Chris- 
tian princesses in the world, i. 
Constantino the Great, arch of, i, 
876; marble statue of, i. 71; 
hipi>odrome of, i. 378, 441; 
defeat of Hazentius by, i. 384; 
church erected over the tomb of 
St. Paul, by, i. 480; mother of, 
1. 379 n. 
Census, altar of, on the Metae, i. 259 
Oonyents, existing number of, in 

Rome, ii. 213 ; general pnctke 

of retiring to, ii. 223 
Convents of Viterbo, twenty-eight 

in number, i. 63 
Convent of Carthusians, i. 25 

of the Chartreuse, i. 26 - 

of Greek Basiliean monks 

at Grotta Ferrata, ii. 350, 361 

of Passionist friars, ii. 864 

of Penitents, ii. 366 

of St. Augustin, ii. 8 

of Santa Croce, i. 436 

of St. Gregory, ii. 6; le- 

markable frescos in, ii. 6 

of St. John, i. 82 ; ii. 228 

- of Santa Maria dell' Im- 

prunata, 1. 25; famous image of 

the Virgin in the, 1. 26 

of St. Paul, i. 82 ; ii. 223 

of Santa Rosa, i. 54 

of S. Sylvestro, ii. 213; 

ceremony of tiding the veil in, 
ii. 215, 218 

of Santa Theresa, ii. 221 

Sepolto Vivo, in which 

contumacious nuns «re impri- 
soned, ii. 221 

of Tor' de' Specchl, ii. 222 

of the Vallombrosa, i. 21 

Conversazioni, ii. 259 

Cora, ancient city of, ii. 369 ; anti- 
quities of, ii. 370 

Corsini chapel, in the church of 
St. John Lateran, i. 396; palaee, 
ii 187 

palace of, ii. 189 

Cono, &e principal street of the 
city of Rome, i. 66; ii. 256 

Cosmo de' Medicis, tomb of, at 
Florence, i. 11; character and 
fame of, ibid; i. 12 

Criminals, public execution of, ii. 

Critics, court of, instituted by Au- 
gustus, i. 142 

Cross, illuminated, in St. Peter's, 
ii 188; illustrious votaries of 
the, ibid. 

2 D 2 

Digitized by 




Curia or Soman Benate-houec^ i. 80 
Calabra, where the priefits 

made their astronomical obsenra- 

tions to fix the Ides and Nones, 

i. 158 
Hostilia, the senate-house of 

TuUus Ho8tiliu8,i. 171--174 

Julia,!. 188 

of08tia,ii. 887 

Curiatii, tomb of the, ii. 360 
Curius Dentatus, humble abode of, 

ii. 842 
Custom-house, on the Soman fron- 
tier, i. 43, 44 

at Rome, i. ^& 

Cyclopean walls, ii. 869, 371 
Cjrbele, first temple of, i. 143; 
jmnual feast of, ii. 259 


Dancing ?aun, statue of the, i. 4 
Dante, portrait of, i. 16; inspired 

muse of, i. 18 
Decius, baths of, i. 304 
Deity, statue of the, i. 14 
Delubrum, a temple dedicated to 

many gods, i. 224 
Depraved state of morals in Borne, 

Diana, temple of, i. 166, 1G9 ; 

prayer of Gracchus in the, i. 170; 

statue of, ii. 63; bronze sculp- 
ture of, as the Pagan Trinity, ii. 

72; baths of, ii. 357; tower of, 

ii. 367 
Diocletian, parentage of, i. 320, n; 

baths of, i. 323 ; massacre of his 

subjects by, 1. 328 
Discobolus, statue of the, i. 101 
— in the Palazzo Massimi, 

ii. 113 
Disputed columns, the, i. 187, 189 
Dogana, on the Soman frontier, 

i. 43,44; of Some, i. 66 

Domenichino, frescos of, ii. 6, 13,. 
24. Seei^rftrcoes; paintings «f, 
ii. 88, 95, 125, 145, 153, 154. 
Sec Paintings ; remnants of the 
frescos of, ii. 351, 352 
Domitian, tomb of the family of, 
i. 120; celebrated ancestor of, 
i. 190 n; only statue of, ii 166 : 
villa of, ii. 359 ; nymphamn of, 
ii. 357; camp of, ii. 360 
Doria, palace of, u. 94 ; gallery of, 

ii. 95,99 
Dramas, first performed in Greece, 
and in Some, i. 275 ; invention 
of, traced to Egypt, ibid; present 
state of in Italy, ii. 269 ; sacred, 
ii. 268 
Duilius, the first Soman who ob- 
tained a naval triumph, i. 250 
Dying Ghidiator, statue of, ii. 79, 
82; Winkelman's opinion of, 
ibid, n. 

Early Christians, martyrdom of 
the, i. 291, 321, 432; altar of, in 
the Church of St. Sylvester, 
i. 320 ; place of concealment of, 
i. 380; chapel of, i. 882; ex- 
posed to the wild beasts, i. 291 

Easter Sunday, festival of, ii. 203 

Egeria, fountain of, i. 384 ; grotto 
of, i. 385 ; supposed transforma- 
tion of the nymph, ii. 368 

Egina Marbles, ii. 313; discovery 
of, ii. 314, 316; interesting 
group of, ii. 315 

Egypt, Obelises of, i. 259; brought 
to Some, i. 851, 855 

Egyptian ancient sculpture, ii. 65 
Caryatides, of granite, 

supposed to represent AntinoUs 

as a priest, i. 99, 100 

lions in basalt, i. 155 

obelisk of granite, i 6jf 


Digitized by 




Egyptian temple, ii. 325 

JEjmissarium, the, or outlet to the 
Alban Lake, ii. 855 

ISmeiald plasm, sculpture in, ii. 

Eminentissimi, a title given to 
Cardinals, ii. 177 

Emperors, busts of the, ii. 73, 74 

— forums of the, i. 214 

— statues of the, i. 98 

Empress Helena, said to kaye been 
an Englishwoman, i. 879. n; 
ohurch of Santa Croce built by, i. 
438 ; relics from the Holy Land, 
collected by, i. 484; sarcophagus 
of, i. 100 

Eficsenia, celebration of the, at 
Hadrian's villa, ii. 325 

Ennius, the first poet of Eome, 
i. 166 

Epiphany, festa of the, ii. 235 

Equestrian statue of Trajan, i. 210 

of Marcus Aure- 

lius, i. 76 

Esculapius, temple of, in the sacred 
island, ii. 18 

Esquiline Hill, ruins of, i. 178, 
174; derivation of its name, 
i. 175 ; palace of Tullius on the 
summit, i. 174 ; Imperial dwel- 
lings on, ibid ; ii. 161 

Eternal Father, statue of the, i. 14 

Etruria, i. 49 

Etrurians, obscurity of their his- 
toiy, i. 49; cultivation of the 
fine arts by, i. 50 ; ii. 70 

Etruscan yascs, i. 6 

sculpture, ii. 313 

statue, i. 193 


- system of engineering, ii. 

Euripus, canal round the circus, i. 

Executions, public at Itome, pre- 

noiis to the carnival, ii. 258, 


Fabius, the Roman Consul, i. 57 
" ■ the censor, arch of, i. 199 

Fabii, arch of the, i. 183 

Fabricius, bridge of, mentioned by 
Horace, i. 332 ; ii. 17 

Falconieri PaUce, paintings in, ii. 
183, 135 

Fantoccini, or Burattini, Italian 
puppet-dramas, ii. 267 

Farce, Oscan, or Atellanas, plays 
performed by young Roman 
amateurs, i. 274 

Farm, Sabine, of Horace, ii. 337 

Famese, Popes and Princes, i. 
189 ; gardens, i. 140, 143 ; con- 
vent, ibid; palace, ii. 142 

Famesinay painted hall of the, ii. 

Fasti Consulares. ii. 87 

Faun, Dancing, statue of, i. 4 

Ferentinum, modern Marino, foun- 
tain and temple of, ii. 353 

Feri80 Latinaj, i. 89; celebration 
of the, ii. 363 

Festa of the Annunciation, ii. 177 

of the Epiphany, ii. 285 

Festival of St. Peter's, ii. 208 
Festini, or public masked balls, ii. 

Feudal ruins, i. 391 
wars, of the Homan nobles, 

i. 139 
Fiano Palace, ii. 93 
Ficus Naevia, i. 194 

Ruminails, the tree beneath 

which Romulus and Remus were 
nurtured by a wolf, i. 86, 192—4 

Fiesole, romantic situation of, i. 17 : 
convent on the summit of, once 
the residence of Milton, i. 21 

Filatrice, statue of, ii. 307 

FilippoNeri, St.,mii'acle performed 
by, ii. 113 

Digitized by 




Fine Arts, pre-eminence of the, i. 
18, 20 ; academy of, i. 83, 35 ; 
general adaptation of, by the 
ancients, ii. 70^ 71 ; cultivation 
of, in Rome, ii. 309, 312; 
parsimony of the British gorem- 
liient in all that relates to, ii. 
133, 317 

FlaminiuB, circus of, i. 256 

Flavian Amphitheatre, See Colos- 

Flora, a favourite goddess among 
the Romans, i. 257; games in 
honour of, ibid 

Floralia, or games of Flora, i. 257 

Florence, i. 12, 17 ; the Athens of 
Italy, i. 18 ; museum of, i. 6, 9 ; 
cathedral of, i. 12, 13 ; sculptured 
altar-piece of ditto, by Michel 
Angelo, i. 14 ; gates of ditto, 
representing the histoiy of the 
Old and New Testament, i. 15 ; 
last view of, i. 21 ; residence of 
Milton, in the vicinity of, i. 21 ; 
hospital of, ii. 229 ; cemetery of, 
ii. 290 ; mosaics of, ii. 311 

Florentine gallery of sculpture, i. 
1, 5, 92 

Florentini theatre of Naples, ii. 264 

Fons Olei, or fountain of sacred oil, 
ii. 23 

Fontana di Felice or di Termini, 
ii. 30 

Paolina, ii. 28 

in the Piazza Barberini, 


of the Piazza Navona, i. 

854, ii. 31 

of St. Peter's, ii. 32 

di Termini, so contrived 

as to overflow during the heat of 

summer, ii. 31, 32 
Fonte Gerulo, ancient fountain of 

Egeria, ii. 368 
Fora Civilia, for the transaction of 

public business, i. 182 
or Fonims, of which there 

were anciently two kinds, i. 182 

Fora Yenaliay a market, L 182 

Fomarina, the beloved mistrew of 
Raphael, portrait of, i. 5, 6 

Fortune, Temple of, inscriptioa on 
the, i. 185, n ; statue of, in tiie 
Vatican, i. 93 

Forum of Antoninus Pius, i. 211; 
remains of, converted into a 
Custom-house, i. 212 

— — of Augustuai, i. 205 

Boarium, or cattle-market, 

description of, i. 214, 215; living 
sacrifices offered in the, L 216, 

of Julius Csesar, i. 204 

of Mars, i. 205 

of Nerva, i. 205 ; remains 

of, still extant, i. 205, 207 

Olitorium, i. 249 

of Peace, i. 205, 241, ». 

Populi, ii. 363 

Roman, degradati(m of, to 

a cattle market, i. 76; Corinthian 
columns, triumphal arches, and 
ruined temples in, i. 77; plan 
of the, 179, 188, 191 ; in tiie 
plain of this Forum was fought 
the battle between the ravishers 
of the Sabine women and their 
foes, i. 86 ; remarkable buildings 
of, i. 190, 202; ruins of, i. 190, 
199; lakes, gulf^, groves, &c. of, i. 
201, 202 ; remarkable scenes in, 
i. 78, 203; visit to, by moon- 
light, ii. 391 

of Trajan, piazza of, exca- 
vated by the French, i. 207, 208; 
erection of, by Apollodorus, i. 
209; library of,i. 210; statues of,, 
i. 211 

Forums of the Fmperors, i. 214 

Forum& of Greece and Rome com^ 
pared, i. 182 

Fossa Cluilia, i. 391 ; scene of the 
combat between the Horatii and 
Curiatii, ii. 360 

Quiritium, i. 115 

Fountain of Juturna, i. 219 

Digitized by 




FonntAin Of Meta Sadans, i. 299 
— — of the Aqua Ferentinee, 

u. 353 
of the nymph Bgeria, i. 

384 ; medicinal properties of its 

waters, ibid. 

- of the Tartarache, in the 

Piazza Mattel, ii. 
• of Trevi, ii. 

Fountains of Rome, ii. 29. 32 

Fraacati, i. 62 ; modem road to, i. 
389, ii. 340 ; origin of the name, 
ibid, ; viJlas of, ii. 341; extensive 
view from, ii. 347 

French taste in converting the 
Boman Forum into a promenade, 

academy, established in 

Some, ii, 163; occupation of 
Italy by the, i. 180, ii. 174; 
desecration of the Colosseum by 
the, L 83 

Frescoes by Albani, ' Centaur car- 
rying off Dejanira, and Hercules 
slaying him with an arrow,' ii. 

■ by Agostino Caracci, ' Tri- 

umph of Galatea ;' ' Aurora car- 
rying off Cephalus,'' ii. 142. 

by Annibale Caracci, of 

the ' Eternal Father,' ii. 17; ' Tri- 
umph of Bacchus and Ariadne,' 
ii. 142 ; ' Perseus and Andro- 
meda,' ii. 143 ; ' Nymph and 
Unicom,' ibid. 

- by Camuccini, ' Marriage of 

Cupid and Psyche,' ii. 133, 

by Daniel da Volteria, ii. 


' by Domenicheno, ' Martyr- 
dom of St. Sebastian,' i. 326; 
''The Angel presenting crowns 
to St. Cecilia and Valerian,' ii. 
4 ; ' Death of St. Cecilia/ ibid. ; 
' Flagellation of St. Andrew,' ii. 
6; 'Flagellation and Glorifica- 
tion of St. Andrew,' ii. 13 ; ' The 
Four Evangelist 8^' ibid; 'The 

Cardinal Yirtnes/ ii. 14; ' David 
dancing before the ark,' ibid.; 
Judith with the head of Holo- 
femes,' ibid. ; ' Esther before Aha- 
suems,' ibid. ; ' Solomon and the 
Queen of Sheba,' ibid ; ' The As- 
sumption/ ibid; 'Baptism of 
Si Jerome/ ii. 25 ; ' St Jerome 
tempted by the Devil/ ibid.; 
' St. Jerome scourged by Angels,* 
ibid. ; * Apollo/ ii. 117 ; * Time 
seizing hold of Tmth,' ibid; 
' Baehael and Jacob/' u. 18 ; 
minsof 18 frescoes, ii. 351. 
Frescoes by Giotto, * St. Peter 
walking on the waves,' in the 
church of the Capuchins, ii, 10. 
by Guercino, 'Aurora,' in 

the villa Ludovisi, ii. 149, 150. 

by Guide, ' Flagellation of 

St. Andrew,* ii. 6 ; ' Angel and 
Beggars at dinner with St. 
Gregory/ ii. 7; 'Choir of An- 
gels,' ibid. ; ' The Annunciation/ 
ii. 145 ; 'Aurora/ ii. 147, 

by Giulio Bomano, ii. 162 

by Lanfranco, ' Polyphe- 

mus and Galatea,' ii. 117. 

by Michael Angelo, 'The 

Last Judgment,' ii. 40, 42 ; ' Si- 
byls and Prophets,' ii 42 ; ' The 
Eternal Father/ ibid.; 'The 
Creation of Man and Woman,' 
ibid. ; Expulsion from Paradise/ 
ibid.; ' Paradise/ ibid. 

by Balthasar Perazzi, ' Tho 

Presentation in the Temple,' ii. 

by Pietro di Cortona, ' The 

Archangel bearing the symbols 
of our Saviour's Passion to Hea- 
ven/ ii. 12. 

by Raphael, ' Burning of 

the Borgo San Spirito ;' ' Libe- 
ration of St. Peter from Ptison;' 
* School of Athens,' ii. 48 ; ' Co- 
ronation of Charlemagne by Leo 
III./ ii. ^9; 'Dispute upon the 

Digitized by 




Sftcrament/ ii. 51 ; ' ApoUo on 
Mount Parnassus,' ibid. ; * Mi- 
racle of Botoena/ ibid. ; ' Meet- 
ing of Attila with Pope Leo I.,' 
ibid. ; ' Expulsion of Heliodorus 
from the Temple by Angels/ ii. 
52 ; ' Cupid and Payche/ ii. 140 ; 
'Nuptials of Alexander the 
Qreat and Boxana,' ii. 157. 

Funeral of a cardinal, it 298 

Funerals, origin of the term, i. 
866 ; early practice of parrying 
lights at, still enforced by Boman 
Catholics, ibid. 

— — in Borne, ii. 288 ; simi- 
larity between the modem and 
ancient processions, ii. 289 

Fnrietti mosaic, the, found in 
Hadrian's Tilla» ii. 72 

Gabu, the ancient, i. 89 
Qabinetto di Kerone, or balcony 
whence Nero riewed the circus 
games, i. 145 
Oabinus, yillaof, ii. 345 
Galileo, monument of, i. 12 
Gallery, geographical, in the Vati- 
can, i. 101 
of paintings in the Va- 

tican, i. 103 

- of Statues, i. 07 

Gallienus, arch of, i. 844 
Gambling, in Borne, ii. 295 
Games, Agonal, i. 257 
—- of the Amphitheatre, i. 290; 

total abolition of, i. 301 
of the Circus, i. 260, 261 ; 

signal for commencing, i. 262 
- of Flora, i. 257 

— Javanese, i. 300 
— Secular, in honour 


Apollo, i. 269 
of Trastevere, ii. 21 

Gardens, Boighese, iL 158, SCO 

— — — of Julius Cffisar, ii. 157 

Gaspar Poussin, landscapes painted 
by, L 319 

Gate of Pompeii, i. 356 

triumphal, at the end of the 

Circus, i 26<{ 

Gates of Borne, i. 117, 128, 124, 
125; ancient inscriptions on the 
Porta Maggiore, i. 117, n; at 
the Porta Pinciana is an inscrip- 
tion to Belisarius, i. 121 

Gauls^ defeat of the, by the intrepid 
Manlius, i. 837 

Gems, ii. 812 

Genezzano, a town near Palestrina, 
ii. 372 ; miiacolous Madonna of, 

Gensano, a town on the lake of 
Nemi, ii. 368 

Genseric the Vandal, iuTasion of 
Borne by, i. 124; pillage of the 
palace of the Caesars by, i. 189 ; 
spoils taken from the Pantheon 
by, i. 227 

Germanicus, enthusiasm of the 
people at the supposed recovery 
of, i. 226, «.; arch of, i. 344, 

Germany, music of, ii. 262 

Ghetto, the quarter where the Jews 
are compelled to reside in Borne, 
i. 284 

Giotto, the Siencse painter, sculp- 
tor, and architect, origin and 
fame of, i. 35 

Girandola, the, ii. 208 

Giuliano de' Medici, assassination 
of in the Cathedral of Florence, 
i. 14 

Gladiators, combats of, i. 84 ; shows 
of, i. 204; death of, i. 292; ex- 
pensive exhibition of, by Caesar, 
in the Circus, i. 261 ; senators, 
and women of rank fought 
as, i. 262 ; statue of the Dying' 
Gladiator, ii. 79, 82 

Glass, use of by the ancients, i. 

Digitized by 




182; discovery of, at Hercnlft- 
neum, ibid. 

Glazing, art of, when introduced, 
i. 132 

Golden house of Nero, i. 186-137 

Goldoni, plays of, ii. 264, 265, 

Good Friday, services on, in Roman 
Catholic churches, ii. 191 

Gothic architecture, i. 73 

Government of Italy, ii. 380, 382 

Gracchi, the, i. 196 

Gracchus, prophetic prayer of, ful- 
filled in Rome's debasement, 
i. 170 

GrsBooBtasis, or hall for foreign 
ambassadors, i. 190, 191, n. 

Grecian architecture, i. 78 

Graces, ancient group of, 


.— . sculpture, i. 3, 4 ; ii. 113 

statues, the pride of Flo- 
rence, i. 2 

Greece, forums of, i. 182 

Gregory the Great, remarks of, in 
the slave market, i. 195, 196 

Grotto of Bgeria, i. 385, ii. 868 

— Ferrata, ii. 850; convent 

of Greek monks in the, ii. 351 
-of Neptune, ii. 329, 388, 


Gvottos of Ascanins, ii. 363 
of Albano, plan of the, ii. 

Grove of Laurels, on the Aventine, 

i. 163 
Sacred, of the vestal virgins, 

i. 192 
of Virbius, beautiful prospect 

from the, ii. 367 
Guard, PraBtorian, ruins of the 

quarters of the, ii. 824 
Ouido di Siena, i. 34 ; frescoes of, 

ii. 6. See Frescoes ; remarkable 

painting by, the Arehangel 

trampling upon Satan, ii. 10 ; 

f>aintings of, ii. 89, 183, 184, 

146, 147. See Paintings. 

GnlfofOnrtius, 1.202 
Gymnasium, or Paleestra, arena of, 
i. 325 


Habits and food of the Italians, 
ii. 294, 295 

Hadrian, splendid temple erected 
by, i. 244 ; inhuman murder of 
the artist who ci-iticised the plan, 
i. 209, 244 ; death of the wife of, 
i. 245; patronage of arts and 
letters by, i. 245 ; ii. 72 ; circus 
of, 1. 258 ; tomb of, i. 404; villa 
of, ii. 321 ; mosaic found in the, 
ii. 72 ; mausoleum of, i. 370 

Hair of a Roman lady found in a 
tomb in the Appian way, ii. 37 

Hannibal, retreat of, from Rome, 
temple in honour of, i. 387 ; 
camp of, i. 388, ii. 860 

Hall of Animals, in Uie Vatican, 
i. 96 

oftheBiga, i. 100 

of the Grecian cross, i. 99, 


of Inscriptions, in the museum 

of the Capitol, ii. 66,70 

of the Muses, i. 98, 99 

of Niobe, i. 7. 

of the great Porphyiy vase, i. 


Hawkswood, Sir John, i. IS 

Heliogabalns, Baths of, i. 310; 
body of, hurled from the Pons 
Sublicius, i. 331 ; hippodrome of, 
i, 146 

Herculaneum, library at, i. 136 

Hercules, great altar of, i. 285 ; 
temple of, ii. 332 ; town sacred 
to, ibid; remains of the temple 
of 11.369 

Hills, the seven, i. 127 

Digitized by 




Hippodrome, the place appointed 

for chariot races, i. 255 
— — of Constantme, i. 


u. 322 


■ of Hadrian's villa, 
of Heliogabalus, i. 

Historic scenery, i. 62, 63, 89 ; ii. 

from the Pala- 
tine, i. 147, 148 

Holy days, obserrance of, in Borne, 
ii, 235 

doors, i. 421, 422 

Sepulchre, i. 149 

staircase, which Christ de- 
scended from the judgment seat 
of Pilate, i. 398 

week, services of the, ii. 183, 


years, invented by Boniface 

VIII, i. 421, 422 

Homes of the Italians, ii. 292 

Honorius, games of the amphi- 
theatre abolished by, i. 300 

Horace, Sabine farm of, ii. 329; 
villa of, ii. 335 

Horatii, tomb of the, ii. 860 

Horse-races during the Carnival, 
ii. 267 

Horses, Bomish ceremony of bles- 
sing, ii. 233 

Hospital of Florence, ii. 229 

of Hadrian's villa, ii. 323 

■ of San Spirito, at Bome, 

ii. 229 

of the TriniUfc de' Pelle- 
grini, here pilgrims are lodged 
during the holy week, ii. 196 
Hospitals, Italian, situation and 

character of, ii. 229 
House of Augustus, i. 135, 145 

of Claude Lorraine, ii. 11 

of Meceenas, i. 312 

of Nero, i. 136,137 

of Nicholas Poussin, ii. 11 

of Ovid, site of the, i. 159 

House of Pilate, i. 445 ; insoriptiflii 
upon the, i. 446; the resideaee 
of Cola di Bienzi, i. 447 

of Plautius Lateranus, i. 398 

ofPliny, i. 175 

of Baphael, ii. 147 

of St. Catherine, i 38 

of SaUust, I 270 

of Salvator Bosa, ii. 12 

of the Scipios, i. 179; ii. 103 

of Tiberius, i. 136, 146 

of Virgil, i. 175 

of the Virgin, i. 434 

Houses of ancient Borne, i. 130 

of Caligula, i. 136 

of Pompeii, i. 131 

of the ancients, i. 133, ld4; 

methods of warming, as related 
by Virgil and Horace, ibid. 

Human sacrifices, i. 254 

Hunting, ii. 236, 237, 296 

loHNOoBAPHT, or plan of Borne, i. 
188, n. 

Iliac table, representii^ the prin- 
cipal scenes of the Iliad, ii. 71 

Illumination of St. Peter's, and 
fireworks from, ii, 200 

Image, miradulous, in St. Peter's^ 
i. 413 

Immorality of the middle classes 
in Bome, ii. 250, 251 

Imperial Palace, baths of the, i, 
140, 141 

Improvisatore, Sgricci, the celebra- 
ted, ii. 273 

Improvisatori, academy of in.- Bome, 
ii. 272, 276 

Improvisatrice, ii. 276, 277 

Indolence of the Italians, ii. 287, 

Indulgences, sale of inthechorehes 
of Bome, i. 398, 419, 420, n. 

Digitized by 




Indulgences promised to the to- 
t&ries of the black cross in the 
arena of the Colosseum, i. 83 

. plenaiy, ii. 19 ; theo- 
logical conference respecting, 

Inquisition of Rome, i. 455, ii. 
309 ; founder of the, i. 169 

Inscriptions, hall of, ii. 66, 70 

Instruments used in sacrifice, com- 
pared with those now used in 
Boman churches, i. 216 

Interment of Christ on Holy Thurs- 
day, iL 195 

Isis, temple of, i. 166; fine Grecian 
Btatue of, ii. 77 ,* ancient statue 
of, ii. 167 

Island, Sacred, i. 87 ; ii. 18, 387 

Italy, scenery of, i. 28, 379; palaces 
of, ii. 91, 92 ; commerce of, ibid ; 
occupation of by the French, ii. 
174; gardens of, ii. 159; hospi- 
tals of, ii. 229; superstitious 
character of the inhabitants, ii. 
284; vexatious imposts in, ii, 

Italian character, ii. 20, 248 ; cook- 
exy, ii. 293 ; literature, ii. 282 ; 
marriages, ii. 243; nobility ii. 
98, 245, 246, 248; peasantry, 
i. 272; preachings, ii. 193; 
servants, ii 125; women, ii. 
> 219 

Intermontium, in which stood the 
Zelum consecrated by Romulus, 

Island of Ponzo, to which the early 
Romans were exiled, ii. 360 

Itinerant mumcians, ii. 261 

Jani of ancient Rome, i. 215 
Janiculum, mount, i. 87, 114, 166, 

JTanus, arch of, i. 343 

Quadrifrontis, ruin of, i. 214 

Jews, Roman, i. 284, 285 ; banish- 
ment of, by Claudius, ibid; 
baptism of, during the Holy Week 
in Rome, ii. 198 

John of Bologna, fiune of, i. 7 

Jugurtha, imprisonment and death 
of, i. 160 

Julius Caesar, birth place of, i. 175; 
temple of, converted into a slave 
market, i. 196; forum of, i. 
204 ; descent of, from the god^ 
dess Yenus, i. 248, n ; exhibition 
of gladiators by, i. 261; hia 
value of time, ibid ; divorce of 
the wife of, i. 167; monument 
of, i. 459 

Juno Lucina, beautiful statue of, in 
the Villa Albani, ii. 166 

Jupiter, remarkable statue of, in 
the Vatican, i. 97 

Capitolinus, temple of, i. 

75 ; statue of, i. 154 

Feretrius, i. 153, 164 

OptimuB Maximus, i. 200 

Stator, templo of, i. 152, 

n ; the first temple dedicated ta 
that g^d in Rome, i. 80 

Tonans, temple of, i. 79 ; 

statue of, ii. 169 

- Viminalis, altar of, i. 177 

Justinian, Pandects of, i. 12 
Jutuma, lake of, i. 190; miraculous 
appearance of Castor and Pollux, 
twice on the margin of the, ibid; 
fountain of, i. 219 


Kino of Spain, residence of the, 

in Rome, i. 168 
Knights of Malta, church in Rome^ 

belonging to the, i 167; gar- 

dens of, ibid. 

Digitized by 




IiACUB» i. 187 
Ladies, litenury, ii. 249 
Lago di Patria, 1. 361 
Lake, Alban, ii. 355, 366 

— of Bolsena, i. 48 ; two floating 
iBlaada of, ibid. 

— of Jaturna, situation, i. 190; 
remarkable appearance of Castor 
and Polloz on the borders of, 

of Nemi, ii. 868 

— ^- of Nero's Golden House, i. 137 

— ^ RegiUus, ii. 342 

Sulphureous, ii. 319 

Tartarean, ii. 318; petrify- 
ing quality of, ii. 319 

ofVico, L57 

of Viterbo, I 56 

L^mbs, ceremony of blessing the, 
ii. 234 

Language of signs^ use of, by the 
Italians^ ii. 255 

Laocoon, statue of the, i. 110, 111 ; 
discovery and restoration of, i. 
112, «., i. 318 

Li^is specularis, use of for glazing 
windows, i. 133; found chiefly 
in Spain, ibid. 

LaScala, i. 41 

Last Judgment, the noted fresco 
of Michel Angelo, ii. 41 

Lateran Baptistery, i. 400, 401 

paUwe, i. 400 

Laurentinum villa of the younger 
Pliny, ii. 388 

Lavinium of the Trojans, i. 150, ii. 

Lectistemum, entertainment given 
to the gods, i. 273, 368, n. 

Leonardo da Vinci, character and 
genius of, ii. 110; works and 
jesidence of, ibid; portrait of, 
ii. 112 ; portrait of Joan of Arra- 
gon by, ii. 97 ; origin and fame 
of, ii. 110, 111. See Paintings. 

Lepidus, villa of, ii. 336 
Libraiy of Apellicon, i. 284 

at Hercnlaneum, i 136, n. 

Laurentian, in Florence, 

i. 12 
of Liberty, the first public 

library in Home, i. 166 

of Marcellus, i. 149 

at Milan, i. 36 

" ■ Palatine, i. 142 

Ulpian, i. 210 

— — of the Vatican, ii. 33, 38 ; 

sacred and profane cabinets of, 

ii. 35; papyrus manuscripts of, 

ii. 36 
Libraries of Hadrian s villa, ii. 323 
Lintemum, i. 361 • 

Literature of Italy, ii. 249, 282 
Livia, battles of, i. 141 ; villa of, 

i. 374 
Loggie of Baphael, i. 92 ; ii. 56 
of the Vatican, ii. 59 

Lorenzo the Magnificent, duke of 
Florence, character of, L 12; 
library founded by, ibid ; attemp- 
ted assassination of, i. 14 

Lotus, planting of the, by Romulus, 
coeval with the cypress, i. 199 ; 
ornamental use of in statuary, 
ii. 65, 72 ; relievo of AntinoUs 
crowned with, ii. 169 

Lucien Bonaparte, villa of, ii. 
343 ; occupation of by banditti, 
ii. 373; stratagem of, to hold 
communion with Kapoleon in 
Elba, ii. 835, n. 

Lucius Verus, villa and gardens of, 
i. 374 ; busts of, ibid. n. 

LucuUuB, tomb of, ii. 348 ; exten- 
sive cellars in the villa of, ii. 349 

Ludus Matutinus, ii. 161 

Lung* Amo, i. 17 

Lupercal, antiquity and situation 
of, i. 194, 195 

Lupercalia, feasts of the, i. 253 

Lutheranism, toleration of,, in 
Bome, i. 175 

Digitized by 





Macelluh Maonitm, or market 

-for provisions in Komc« i. 173 
Madama, villa of, ii. 164 
Madonna, by St. Luke, i. 16 
miracles wrought by 

the, ii. 226 
Maestre Pie, communities of 

females for the education of the 

the poor, ii. 222 
Magna Grsecia, climate of, i. 134; 

here the Acanthus blooms, i. 

Malaria of Bolscna, i. 47, 50 

of Rome, i. 64, ii. 23, 386 

Malediction, on Jews, Turks, 

and Heretics, ii. 207 
Mamertine prisons, dungeons of, i. 

160, 161; here St. Peter and St, 

Paul were imprisoned, ibid. 
ManliuB Capitolinus, site of the 

house of, i. 153 
' Torquatus, origin of the 

surname, i. 337 ; inscription in 

memory of, ii. 370 
Mantua, relics found at, ii. 232 
Manuscripts, rare and vabiablc, in 

the Laurentian library, i. 12; 
— on papyrus, in the 

Vatican, ii. 36 
Marana, or Aqua Crabra of Cicero, 

11. 350 
Marbles, Egina, ii. 313 

Phigalian, ii. 316 «. 

Marcellus, library and museum of, 

i. 142; statue of, ii. 123 
Marcus Agrippa, urn of, 1. 395 

Aurelius, ancient temple 

of, i. 66; famous equestrian 
statue of, i. 76 ; statue of, i. 93 ; 
triumphal arch of, i. 211, 345; 

Marino, picturesque situation of, ii. 

353 ; churches and ancient name 

of, ibid. 
MarioneUcs, theatre of, Ii. 267 

Marius, disputed trophies of, i. 

155, 156 
Mark Anthony, the murderer of 

Cicero, 1. 78 
Market for slaves, i. 195 

for provisions, i. 173 

Marriages in Italy, ii. 243; periods 

of the year when forbidden, ii. 

287 ; ceremony of, in Catholic 

churches, ibid 
Mars, temple of, erected by Augus- 
tus, 1. 197 ; church on the site 

of, ibid.; forum of, 1. 205; 

priests of, i. 262 
Marsyas, statue of, in the Floren- 
tine gallery, 1. 8, n. 
Martona, i. 48 
Martyrdom of Saints, i. 319 
Martyrs, ground of the Colosseum 

consecrated by the blocd of, i. 

82; place of Interment of, i. 

459; relics of, sold throughout 

Christendom, i. 382 
Masaccio's fresco of St. Catherine, 

in the church of St. Clement, 

i. 439 ; death of, i. 440 
Masquerade at the Carnival in 

Kome, ii. 254, 257 
Mass, when performed at the 

great altar of St. Peter's, i. 416 
Mausoleum of Augustus, i. 3G9 

of the dukes de Mcdicis, 

i. 11 


- of Hadrian, 1. 861 
of Santa Constantia, 1. 

Maxentius, defeat of, by Constan- 
tino, 1. 334 ; remarkable appari- 
tion previous, ibid. 

Mazimus, The Circus, L 256 ; plan 
of the, 1. 258 

Mec8enas, house of, i. 312 ; classic 
remains of, 1. 313 

Medical profession in Rome, Ii. 

Medusa, head of, i. 99 

Meleager, one of the finest statues 
In the world, 1. 95, 109 

Digitized by 




Memmi, Simone, i. 35 

Mercury, statue of, by John of 
Bologna, i. 7 

Meridian, traced by Bianchini in 
1701, i. 827 

Meta Sudans, fountain of, i. 299 

Metaatasio, birth-place of, ii. 849 

Michael Angelo Buonarotti, in- 
feriority of existing works to the 
fame of, i. 6, 10 ; tomb of, i. 22; 
life and character of, i. 458; 
favourite study of Torso, i. 93 ; 
painting of the Virgin and dead 
Christ, in St. Peter's, i. 412; 
frescos of. See Frescoes; the 
Last Judgment by, ibid. ; statue 
of Christ by, i. 466; statue of 
Moses, ibid. 

Milan, the metropolis of literature, 
ii. 285; cathedral of, i. 451; 
library of, i. 36 

Mile-stone, recording the distance 
of the great Boman roads, i. 

— — ancient Roman, i. 155 ; 

in marble, ii. 66 

ancient Eoman, disco- 

very of, i. 124, w. 

Milliarium Aureum, i. 196 

Military amphitheatre, ancient re- 
mains of, i. 122 

Milton, residence of in the convent 
of Fiesole, i. 196 ; scenes in the 
vicinity of Florence, consecrated 
in his Paradise Lost, ibid. 

Miltonic pictures in the Sistine 
chapel, ii. 43 

Minerva Medica, i. 86 

■ pi-ocession to the, on 

Palm Sunday, ii. 176 

- the finest statue of in the 

world, ii. 169; church of, i. 456; 

procession to the church of, 

ii. 176 
Mint, the, i. 153 
Miracles, Pagan and Boman, ii. 

226, 230 
by Madonnas, ii. 226 

Miserere, service of the, in the 

holy week, ii. 182, 185 
Mithra, worship of, first introduced 

into Rome, i. 96; statue of, ibid.; 

rilievo of the sacrifices of, ii. 168 
Modem Rome, i. 88 
Monasterio, a nunnery, ii. 22, 218 
Mons Albanus, i. 89 ; ii. 362, 364 
Mons Janiculus, i. 114 
Mons Sacer, the hill to which the 

Roman army retired during the 

civil wars, i. 335, 336 

Soracte, i. 88 

Monte Algido, i. 89; the site of 

the city of Algidum, ii. 342 ; now 

the resort of banditti, ii. 378 

Caprino, i. 153; ii. 158 

Cavallo, the modem name 

of the Quirinal, i. 177 

Cavo, i. 89, ii. 362 ; ascent 

of, ii. 363 ; summit of, ii. 364 

Falcone, ii. 342 

Mario, i. 164 ; ascent of, ii. 

163; geological treasures of, ii. 

Montorio, i. 114 

Porcio, the birthplace of 

Cato, ii. 342 

Testaccio, formed of frag- 
ments of earthenware, i. 429 : 
wine-stores formed in the, i. 430 

Montefiascone, i. 52; celebrated 
wine of, i. 53 ; ruins of, ii. 381 

Monterosi, i. 59 

Monti di Pie«l, of Rome, ii. 295 

Monument of Salvator Rosa, i. 326 

to Julius CsBsar, i. 457 

Morals, depraved state of, in Rome, 
ii. 245 

Mosaic painting in St. Peter's, i. 

Mosaic pavement in the cathedral 
of Siena, i. 31 

in the hall of the 

Vatican, i. 99, 100 

Mosaics, beauty and indestructi- 
bility of, i. 413; remarkable one 
found in the churdi of San 

Digitized by 




Lorenzo, i. 437 ; ancient ones in 

the Hall of Inscriptions, ii. 68, 

72; manu&ctory of, ii. 809, 

Moses, statne of, by Michael An- 

gelo, i. 456 
Mount Augustus, 1. 172 

Aventine, i.l64 

Ciminus, ii. 346 

C<Elius, L 113 

Janicukun, i. 87, 114, 166, 


■ Soracte, i. 63, 88, 89 ; ii, 


Badicofoni, i. 41 

Mountains, classic, i. 89 
Mnrcia, altar of the Meta, 1. 159 
Muio Torto, the, i. 119, 121 
Musa,- Antonius, i. 93 
Museo Ghiaramonti, i. 92 
■ Pio Clementino, i. 93 

Muses, hall of the, i. 98 

sacred, ii. 189 

Museum, Bclvidere, i. 98 

of the Capitol, ii. 62, 71 

of the bones of the 

Capuchins, ii. 11 

of Florence, i. 6, 9 

of Mareellus, i. 142 

— - of Natural History, i. 142 
of Paintings, at the 

Capitol, ii. 84—89 

- of the Vatican, ii. 


Music, academy of, ii. 263 

of England, ii. 271 

of France, ii. 270 

of Germany, ii, 262 

ofItaly,ii. 270, 271 

of Naples, ii. 261 

Musicians, itinerant, ii. 261 


Nafues, music of, 11. 261 ; cemetery 
of, ii. 290; catacombs of, ii, 382 

Naples, theatres of, ii. 269 

botanical gardens of, ii. 

Napoleon, imprisonment of monks 

by, ii. 224 ; stratagem by which 

he held communication with his 

brother Lucien, when in Elba, ii. 

336, «.; reign of in Italy, ii. 

384 ; despotism of, ii. 224 ; 

tomb of the father of, ii. 348 
National dances, ii. 291 

habits of the lower classes. 

ii. 294, 297 

Natural antiquities of Borne, ii. 
283, 284 

Naumachia, curious ruins of the, 
ii. 325 

Navalia, the, i. 66 

Nemi, lake of, ii. 368 

Nero, tower of, i. 45; palace or 
golden house of, i. 136, 137 ; 
destruction of the, i. 138 ; baths 
of, i. 144, ii. 123; arch of, i. 
157 ; descent of, i. 190 n ; circus 
of, i. 257 ; escape of, from assas- 
sination, i. 334; death of, i. 336; 
tower of, i. 450 ; tomb of, i. 64, 
120, 371; remarkable tree grow- 
ing therefrom, ibid.; aqueducts 
of, i. 346 ; arch of, i. 157, n. 

Nettuno, the ancient Antium, ii. 

Nile, statue of the, i. 244 

Niobe, statue of, and her fourteen 
children, i. 7, 8 ; casts of in the 
British Museum, i. 8, n. ; hall of 
i. 7 

Nozze Aldobrandini, celebrated 
painting in the baths of Titus, i. 
316; ii. 97 

Numa, visits of to the grotto of 
Egeria, i. 385; burial-place of, 
i. 87 ; site of the Capitol of, ii. 

Numicns, a river of Nettuno, ii. 
369, 387 

Nymph Egeria, ii. 368 

NymphBBum, a place of cool retreat 

Digitized by 




attached to Roman viUag, i. 386; 
only remaina of, ii. 357; plan of, 
ii. 358 
Kymphniim of Domitian, ii. 357 

OsELiscon the Ooelian Hill, i. 354 
in the Church of Santa Ma- 
ria Maggiore, i. 354 

- Church of Santa Ma- 

ria fiopra Minerva, i. 354 
— Egyptian, i. 65 

Fameaina, the, ii. 139 

Fiano, ii. 93 

- on the Fountain of the 

Piazza Navona, i. 854 

- on the Fountain in the 

Piazza della Botonda, i. 354 
- in the court of the Vatican 

Palace, i. 354 

Palaestrina, i. 325 

■ Pincian, 'in the Circus 
of Sallust, present position and 
description of, i. 355 

" — on the Pincian Hill, i. 354 

of Titus, i. 312 

Obelises of Egypt, brought to 
Rome, i. 351, 355; description 
of that before St. Peter's, i. 70, 

in the Piazza del Popolo, 

brought from Egypt by Augus- 
tus, i. 352 

at the entrance of the 

Mausoleum of Augustus, sup- 
posed to have been erected one 
thousand years before Christ, i. 
354, 869 

in the Campus Martins, 

i. 353 

1. 364 

in the Circus of Caracalla, 


in the Circus Mazimns, i. 

Obelise in the Circus of Sallust^ I. 
259, 354 

Objects of worship in the Italian 
churches, i. 15, 16 

Octavia, the neglected wife of An- 
thony, i. 282 ; portico of, ibid ; 

Operas and opera-singers, ii. 263, 

Oppius and Cispius, summits of 
the Esquiline Hill, i. 175, 176 

Oracles at Bome, i. 251, 252 

Orizonti, landscapes of, ii. 101 

Orvietto, i. 53 ; wines of, iL 881 

Orti Famesiani, or Famese gar- 
dens, i. 143 

Ostia, gate leading to, i. 124; for- 
tifications of, ii. 386 ; population 
of, ibid. ; origin, and remains of, 
ii. 387 

Ovid, house of, i. 159 ; villa of, i. 
374 ; tomb of, ibid. 


Padua, botanical gardens of, Ii. 

Paganism, religious rites and faith 

of, i. 253 
Pagan miracles, ii. 227 
altar of Parian marble, 

i. 32 ; remains of, i. 49 

temple and worship, simi- 

litude between, and Roman Ca- 
tholic churches, ii. 26, 27 

Psecile, of Hadrian's villa, ii. 322 

Painters, celebrated, risen from the 
lower classes, ii. 110 

Paintings, by Albani, *Vennses,' 
ii. 126. 

■ by Albano, 'Rape of 

Europa,' ii. 102. 

by Andrea del Sarto, 

* Holy Family,' ii. 109 ; ♦ Por- 
trait of Leo X.,' ibid. 

Digitized by 




Paintings by Andrea Sacclii, 'Dream 
of St. Bruno/ ii. 59 ; ' Apostles/ 
ii. 108. 

by Annibale Caracci, 

' Magdalen in the Desert/' ii. 95 ; 
' La Pieta/ ii. 96 ; ' Peasant at 
dinner/ ii. 101; 'Madonna/ ii. 
102; * Landscape/ iL 127 ; 'Christ 
and Mary Magdalene/ ii. 181. 

by Fra' Bartolomeo, 

'Holy Family/ ii. 109, 110, 139; 
' St Peter and St. Paul/ ii. 145 
by Agostino Caracd, 

'Baising lie Widow's child/ ii. 

by Lndovico Caracci, 

' Christ giving sight to the Blind,' 
ii. 131 ; ' Samson pulling down 
the Temple/ ii. 154 

by Caravaggio, * Game- 

sters/ ii. 112 ; ' Judas returning 
the thirty pieces of sllyer to the 
Chief Priest,' ii. 113 ; ' St. Anne 
teaching the Virgin to sew,' ii. 
116; 'David with Goliath's 
head/ ii. 126. 'Holy Family,' 
ii. 138. 

by Cignani, ' Joseph 

and Potiphar's Wife,' ii. 108 

by Claude Lorraine, the 

'Molino,' ii. 94; the 'Tempio 
d'Apollo,' ibid; 'Temple of 
Venus/ ii. 101 

by Daniel da Volterra, 

' Deposition from the Cross/ ii, 
11; 'St. Helena's Discovery of 
the Cross, ibid. 

by Domenichino, ' Com- 
munion of St. Jerome/ ii. 67, 
59 ; ' Sibyl/ ii. 88 ; ' Murder of 
Peter the Martyr,' ii. 95 ; * Sports 
of Diana and her Nymphs,' ii. 
125; 'Ecce Homo/ ii. 145; 
'Adam and Eve in Paradise,' 
ii. 153 ; ' Triumph of David,' ii. 

by Francisco Mola, ' An 

old Woman with a Dog. ii. 131 

Paintings by Garofalo, ii. 99 

: by Gherardo delle Notti, 

* Christ before Pilate,' ii. 130 

by Giulio Romano, ' The 

Nativity, ii. 13 ; * Image of the 
Almighty,' ii. 57; 'Battle be- 
tween Constantino and Maxen- 
tius,' ii. 53 ; 'Venus in the Bath/ 
ii. 128 ; ' Christ and the Woman 
of Samaria,' ii. 131 ; Bacchana- 
lian Feasts/ ii. 146 

by Guercino, 'Santa Pe- 

tronilla,' ii. 60 ; ' Sibyl, ii. 88 ; 
' Magdalen,' ii. 96 ; * Prodigal 
Son,' ii. 98; 'Saints,' ii. 112; 
' Rinaldo and Armida,' ii. 117 ; 
' Fame blowing her Trumpet/ ii. 
150 , 'Saul and David,' ii. 144 ; 
' Ecce Homo,* ii. 137. 

by Guido, ' Archangel 

Michael trampling upon Satan/ 
ii. 10; 'Fortune/ ii. 59; 'Bac- 
chus and Ariadne, 'ii. 89 ; Por- 
trait of ' Beatrice Cenci,' ii. 103 ; 
'St. Sebastian/ ii. 102; 'The 
Ascension/ ii. 133 ; ' Marys at 
the Cross/ ii. 134 ; ' Madonna 
and Infant Christ/ ibid ; ' The 
Annunciation,' ii. 145 ; ' Andro- 
meda,' ii. 154 

by Lanfranco, 'Justice 

and Peace,' ii. 118 ; 'Oreo seiz- 
ing Lucilla/ ii. 128 

by Leonardo da Vine', 

portrait of ' Queen Joan of Ar- 
ragon/ ii. 97 ; * Leda,' ii. 127 ; 
' Modesty and Vanity,' ii. 131 

by Michael Angelo, 

' Prophets and Sibyls,' ii. 3, 43 

by Parmegiano, 'Mar- 
riage of St. Catherine, ii. 127 

by Pietro da Cortona, 

* Triumph of Bacchus,' ii. 88 

by Pietro Perugino, 'The 

Nativity,' * Annunciation,' and 
Crucifixion,' ii. 146 

by G. Poussin, 'Land- 

scapes,' ii. 94 

2 £ 

Digitized by 




PahitingB by N. Pouasin, ' Tri- 
umph of Flora/ u. 88; 'Or- 
pheus,' ibid ; copy of the ' Kozze 
Aldobrandini/ ii. 97, 101; 
'Death of Qermaaicus, iL 107; 
< Miracle of St. Peter^ ibid ; ' The 
MasBacre of the Ixmocenta,' ii. 

«^_ by Qttintin Matays, 'The 

Four MiserBy' ii. 99 

— by Eaphael, ' St. John 

the Baptist/ ii. 5; 'Transfi- 
guration/ i. 229; ii. 57, 59: 
'Sibyls/ ii. 2; 'Justice and 
Mercy/ ii. 53 ; ' Baptism of 
Christ/ ii. 57 ; ' Madonna del 
Foligno/ ii. 69; 'St. Luke 
painting the Virgin's portrait/ 
ii. 90 ; * Portrait of Fomarina,' 
u. 107; 'Holy FamUy/ ibid; 
'Portrait of a Musician/ ii. 112 ; 
'Deposition from the Cross,' ii. 
128; 'La Madonna de' Cande- 
labri^ ii. 131 ; ' Portraits/ ii. 

■ by Rubens, 'Altar- 

Pieces/ ii. 12; 'Portrait of 
Bubens' Confessor/ ii. 99 ; ' Por- 
traits, ii. 131 ; ' Tiger Hunt, ii. 

by Salvator Rosa, ' Beli- 

sariuB,' ii. 95 ; ' Landscs^es, ii. 
138, 146 

by Sasso Ferrate, ' Holy 

Family,' ii. 96 ; 'St. Joseph/ u. 
97 ; ' Madonnas/ ibid. 

-^— on touch-stone, by Si- 
rani, 'Judith in prayer/ ii. 127 

— by Sebastian del Piombo, 

' La Pieti/ i. 55 ; ' Christ tied to 
the column/ ii. 12; 'Flagella- 
tion of Christ,' ii. 26 ; ' Resurrec- 
tion of Lazarus/ ibid. 

— by Paul Veronese, 'St. 

Anthony preaching to the Fishes,' 
ii. 127 

by Tintoretto, 'Christ/ 

ii. 107 

Paintings by Titian, 'Martyxdom 
of St. Sebastian/ ii. 60; * Mag- 
dalen,' ii. 96 ; ' Sacrifice of Isaac, 
ibid; portrait of ' Andrea D<Nria» 
ibid ; ' Luther and Calvin,* ibid ; 
St. Catherine,' ibid; 'Giaoes,' 
125 ; Sacred and Profane Love^* 
ibid; 'Prodigal Son/ u. 126; 
' Landscapes,' ii. 135 

by Van MoUe, ' Diogenes 

looking for an Honest Man,' ii. 

. — by Vandyke, 'Portrait 

of Rubens/ ii. 131 
Palace, origin of the term, i. 129 

— of the Caesars, founded by 

Augustus, i. 134; situation, of, 
i. 135 ; destruction of, i. 189 

Corsini, the, ii. 137 

of Domitian, ii 359 

of Evander, ii. 868 

of Licinius, i. 246 

of Nero, i. 145, 147 «. 

Palaces of Rome, ii. 91 

of modem Rome, ii. 308 

of Siena, i. 29 

Palatine Hill, form and height of, 
i. 127 ; valley of, celebrated for 
the capture of the Sabine women, 
i. 86; history of the, i. 128; 
etymology of, ibid.; stntetores 
of, i. 129; ruins of, i. 130, 147; 
discovery of paintings in a laige 
hall on the, i. 138 ; temples of, 
i. 143 ; sunset on the, ii. 389 

libraiy, i. 142 

Palazzo Albani, ii. 146 

Altieri, ii. 147 

— Barberini, iL 106 ; pFMsnt 

prince of, ibid., museum of, ibid., 
gardens of« ii. 108 

Borghese, one of the largest 

palaces in Rome, ii. 124; seu^ 
ture of, ii. 125; galley of, ii. 
126, 128 ; gardens of the, iL 159 
Brasehi, noble ardiitee- 

ture of, ii. 121; gallery of the, 
iL 122 

Digitized by 




Palazzo Caffarelli, ii. 147 
of the Colonna fiunUy, ii. 


de* Conservatori, ii. 84 

Costaguti, freacoa in the, 

ii. 117 
— — Dona, ii. 94 

Falconieri, ii. 138, 136 

Farnese, ii. 143 

Giustiniani, i. 221, ii. 122 

Imperiale, of the French, 

ii. 144 
Luciano, gallery of, ii. 130; 

paintings of Carracci, in the, 

ii. 131 
Massimi, chapels of the, 

ii. 113,* in the stables are the 

remains of Pompey's theatre, 

ii. 114 

Mattei, ii. 118 

Nuovo di Torlonia, ii. 132 

Pitti, at Florence, gallery 

of scalptare in the, i. 9 

Poniaiowski, ii. 147 

■ Quirinal, ii. 144 

- Bospigliosi, ii. 147; con- 

tains the fomoos fresco of Qnido 
'Aurora,' ibid. 
— Ruspoli. ii. 147 

Sciarra, paintings in the. 

ii. 109, 112 

Spada, description of, ii. 

116 ; remarkable statue of Pom- 

pey, in the, ii. 114, 116 

Stoppani, ii. 147 

Vecchio, i 20 

' Verospi, ii. 147 

Palestrina, ancient Prssneste, i. 89; 

cydopean walls of, ii. 371 
Palilla, or festiTals in honour of the 

god Pales, i. 129 
Pallas, temple of, i, 29 
Palm Sunday in Bome, ii. 176 
Falmsy artificial, bome in proces- 

tions, ii. 181 
Palombara. or gunpowder maaa- 

ftctoiy of Bome, i. 311 

Pandects of Justinian, i. 12 

Pantheon, now the Botunda, i. 219 ; 
degraded state of, i. 220; con- 
secration of, as a Christian 
church, ibid. ; plunder of, by 
Gonstantine, i. 221 ; height, 
diameter, and circumference of, 
i. 123 n, ; statues in the, i. 227 
n. ; best view of, ii. 123 

Pantomines represented in Rome, 
i. 274 

Paolina chapel, ii. 44; illumination 
of, ii. 186 

Papal goremment, ii. 880 

Papyri, chamber of, in the Vatican, 
ii. 36 

Papyrus, manuscripts on, in the 
Vatican, ii. 36 

Paris, statue of, L 97 

Partisans, supporters of colours in 
the chariot-races, i. 263 

Pasquin, statue of, ii. 120; pas- 
quinades or witticisms of, ibid. 

Peace, temple of, i. 240 

forum of, i. 206, 241 

Peasants at confession, i. 417 

Penitents, convent of, ii. 366 

frequent processions of, 

ii. 171. 

Penitenza Maggiore, or eardinal 
who absolves from crhnes which 
no other priest can, ii. 187 

Perseus, statue of, i. 107, 108 ; 
imprisonment of, i. 161 

Pestilence, expedients for staying 
the progress ot; in Bome, i. 273 

Phaontes, Nero's freedman, under 
whose roof that emperor slew 
himself, i. 886 

Phidias and Praxiteles^ colossal 
statues by, i. 178 

Phigalian marbles, ii. 313, 816 n. 

Philosophers, busts ot, iii 76; 
theatre of, i. 276 

Phocas, column of, i. 186 

Piazza Barberini, i. 267 

of the Capitol, now Campi- 

doglio, i. 76 

2 E 2 

Digitized by 




Piazza of St. Peter*s, description 

of. i. 74 

Navona, i. 250 

della Botonda, i. 220 

Tnyana, i. 207 

Vatican©, ii. 147 

Pietre Dure, at Florence, ii. 811 
Pictures, Mil tonic, in the Sistine 

chapel, ii' 43 

■ of statuaiy in the Egina 

marbles, ii. 815 
Pila Horatii, on which the Rpoils of 

the Curiatii were heaped, i. 202 
Pilate, house of, i. 445 
Pilgrims to the church of St. 

Peter's, i. 419 
Pincian hill, i. 66 
Pine, luxuriance of the, in southern 

climates, ii. 159 
Pindemonte, the poet, ii. 280 
Pisa, botanical gardens of. 11. 285 
Piscina Publicaor public reservoir, 

i. 311 
Plan of the Circus Maximug, 1. 


of the Forum, i. 179 

of the walls, gates, and seven 

hills of Rome. L 118 

of Pompey*s theatre, i. 218 

of Bome. ii. 68 

of the Roman towns, ii. 391 

Plautius, Lateranus. house of. i. 75 

M., tomb of, ii. 820 

Plays first introduced into Rome, 

1. 273; cause of their introduc- 
tion, ibid. ; representation of, 

before the court of critics, i. 142 

extempore, ii. 267 

of Goldoni, ii. 265 

of Alfieri, ii. 265 

Plebeian ^diles^ establishment of, 

1. 885 n. 
Plenary indulgence, doctrine of, 

i. 419, 420 w. 
Pliny, house of, i. 175 
Poe^, and poets of Italy, ii. 279, 

Poets, busts of the, i. 228 

Poggibonzi, i. 26 

Pomoerium, the. i. 115 

Pompa Circenais, i. 262 

Pompeii, houses of, i. 131; climate 

of. i. 134; amphitheatre of, i. 

289; ruins of, ii. 345 n., 346. 

Pompey, remarkable statue of. 

ii. 114; remain? of the theatre 

of, ibid. ; tomb of the family of, 

ii. 360 ; mausoleum of, ii. 361 ; 

halls of, ii. 360 
Pons iElius. i. 334 

Cestius, i. 333, now Ponte 

Bartolomeo, ii. 18 

Fabricius, i. 332, now Ponte 

Quattro Capi, ii. 17 

Janiculensis, i. 33 

Milvius, i. 65 

Komentanus, i. 335 

Namiensis, or ruined bridge 

ofNami, i. 338 

Palatinus, i. 332 

Sublicius, the first bridge of 

wood in Rome, i. 114. 331 

Triumphalis, i. 333 

Pont au Gard. i. 388 
Ponte Bartolomeo, ii. 18 
Pontecelli, a bridge over the Anio, 

ii. 833 
Ponte di Catena, ii. 371 
della Santissima Trinita, i. 


del Lupo, at Tivoli, ii. 329 

Lamentano, i. 385 

Lucano, ii. 320 

Mammolo, i. 335, ii. 318 

MoUe, i. 65; the scene of the 

eventful battle between Constan- 

tine and Maxentius, i. 384 

Quattro Capi, ii. 17 

Rotto, the first stone bridge 

in Rome, i. 832 

Salario, remarkable tower 

of, i. 386; here Hannibal pitched 
his tent, i. 338 

San Angelo, L 70, 334 

Sisto, I 334 

Digitized by 




Ponte Vecchio, i. 17 

Ponzo, island of, ii. 360 

Pope Pius VII., palace of, i. 88 ; 
character of, i. 455; meeting 
with, ii, 8, 9 ; belief of the friars 
in his power to pardon sin, ii. 19 ; 
presentation to the, ii. 173 ; bene- 
diction of, on Easter Sunday, 
ii. 204, 207 

Porcia Basilica, the most ancient 
remains of a Roman church, i. 

Porcian meadows, ii. 342 

Porta Asinaria, i. 125 

Capena, or San Sebastiano, 

i. 124 

Collina, i. 124, 247 

Flaminia, i. 65 

Latina, L 125 

Maggiore, the finest gate of 

Kome, i. 123 

Portese, i. 117 

Pia, i. 125 

Salaria, Quirinalis, or 

Scelerata, i. 1 24 

San Giovanni, i. 119, ii. 338 

San Lorenzo, i. 121, 125 

San Paola, i. 124 

Santa, or holy door in St. 

Peter's, i. 421 

del Popolo, i. 65, 124 

Portico, Doric, of the temple of 
Hercules, ii. 369 

of Clodius, ii 359 

of Liberty, i. 166, 198, 284 

of Octavia, erected by Au- 
gustus, i. 282 ; library of, i. 284 ; 
remains of, i. 285 

Public, i. 168, 282 

of St. Peter's, i. 71 

Porticos of ancient Rome, 1. 282, 

Portland vase, discovery of, ii. 67 ; 
destruction of, in the British 
Museum, ibid, n, 

Porto, the port built by Claudius 
on the Tiber, ii. 387 

Poussin, landscapes of, i. 319, 

ii. 88; house of, ii. 11. See 

Prati Porcii, or Porcian meadows, 

ii. 342 
d* Annibale, or meadows of 

Hannibal's encampment, ii. 364, 

Praesepio, ii. 16 
Precious stones, costly figures 

wrought in, i. 7 
Pretorian camp, remains of, i. 119; 

form of, i. 121 
Priests, ordination of, ii. 200 
Prisons, Mamertino, of Rome, i. 

160, 163; here St. Peter was 

imprisoned by command of 

Nero, i. 161 
— _ of the Decemviri, beautiful 

temple in the, i. 249 
Procession in the Sistine chapel on 

Palm Sunday, ii. 180 


Easter Sunday, ii. 203, 204 
Processions during the Holy week, 

ii. 179, 181 
Processions of knights, priests, &e., 

in Pagan times, i. 252 
— — of penitents, ii. 176, 

Praeficsa, or hired mourners, ii. 77 
Proeneste, now Palestrina, ii. 371 
Promethean creation of man, ii. 73 
Protestant burial-ground in Rome, 

i. 368 
Protestantism at Rome, ii. 175 
Piytaneum, at Hadrian's villa, the 

residences of the judges, ii. 825 
Pulchrum Littus, or beautl^l shore 

of the Tiber, i. 233 
Purgatory, doctrine of, i. 383 
Pyramids of Caius Cestius, i. 367, 


Digitized by 




QuBur GHBisnyA of Bwedra, her 
abdication of a proiestant crown 
to embrace the catholic faith, i. 
409 ; reudence of, ii. 161 
• Zenobia, supposed palace 

of, ii. S20 

Qiiirinal Hill, etymology, popola- 
tion, and ancient buildings of, 
i. 177; colossal statues on the 
summit of, i. 177, 178 

Palace, a 144 

Radioofovi, mountain of, i. 41, 
42 ; village and fort of, ibid. 

Baphael, house of, iL 147; grave 
of, i. 229 ; painting of St. John 
the Baptist by, i. 5 ; first fresco 
of, i. 32, 33; sibyls of, ii. 2; 
frescos of, ii. 61, 57 ; last work 
of, i. 229 ; arabesques of, i. 315, 
316; cartoons of, ii. 47; his- 
torical paintings of, ii, 47, 49; 
loggie of, i. 93; ii. 56; oil 
paintings, in the Vatican, com- 
pared with those of Domenichino, 
ii. 57; skull of, preserved in 
Some, ii. 90; earliest paintings 
of, ii. 128; casino of, ii. 156; 
mosaic copy of the Transfigura- 
tion by, ii. 310. See Paintings. 

Keclusorio for females in Rome, i. 

Becords, public, destruction and 
restoration of, by Vespasian, 
i. 158 

Eediculus, temple of, i. 387 

Belies of the martyrs, sale of, 
throughout Christendom, i. 328 

— — from the Holy Land, i. 397, 
398, 433, 434 

Belies at St. Peter's, exhibitioii of, 
ii. 189 

Beligicm, rites of, among the 
ancients, i. 252 

Remains of the circus, L 266 

Besurrection of our Saviour, iL 200 

Bienzi, abode of, i. 447 ; character 
of, ibid.; coronation of, i. 448; 
rapid fall and disgrace of, ibid. 

Bipa Grande, the modem port of 
Bome, i. 87, 166 

Bival frescos of Guide and Dome- 
nichino, ii. 6 

Eiver gods, i. 76 

Beads, Boman, i. 201 

of Boma Vecchia, i. 391 

Bocca Brune, ii. 326 

di Papa, anciently the Forum 

Populi, ii. 363 

Bodolph Schadow, a Prussian 
sculptor, works of, ii. 307 

Roma Vecchia, i. 391 

Boman Catholic churches and cere- 
monies, compared with pagan 
temples and worship, ii. 26 

coins, discovery of, i. 138 

Forum, erection of by 

Constantino the Great, L 184; 
179; excavation of, by the 
English and French, i. 180, 181; 
monuments of the, L 183; dis- 
puted columns in, i. 187, 189; 
ruins of, i. 190 

houses, i. 180, 132, ii. 92, 

93; ancient remains of, i. 243 
palaces, general description 

of, ii. 91, 94 

roads, i. 201 

senators, i. 159; office and 

appointment of, 1. 160 
society, ii. 93, 238, 241 ; 

great defect in the constitution 

of, ii. 247, 297 
Bome, first view of, i. 61; cam- 

pagna and surrounding hills,!. 

62, 63; climate of, i. 64, 69; 

gradual extension of the city, 

i. 114, 118; when founded, 1. 

Digitized by 




129; ooiiflAgrati<m of, in ^e 
reign of Nero, i. 146. 147, «. ; 
%€aicer*8 poetic description of, 
i. 148 ; early legends of, i. 151 ; 
modes of supplying the city with 
water, i. 346, 849, ii. 80 ; laws of 
interment, i. 256, ii. 288; desert 
country around, i. 875; ancient 
streets of, i. 452, 458 ; churches 
of, i. 454; plan of, i. 238, ii. 
68 ; botanical riches of, ii. 284 
view of, from the tower of 
the Capitol, i. 85; from the 
dome of St. Peter's, i. 425 

Homalus^ the deified founder of 
Bome, i. 153 ; straw-roofed cot- 
tage of, i. 129 ; citadel of, i. 86 ; 
temple of, converted into a 
Christian church, i. 193; alleged 
translation of from earth to 
heaven, i. 1 99 ; point from whence 
he set out to trace the boundary 
of his infont city, i. 215; statue 
of, ii. 86 

Ronciglione, ruins of, i. 67, 69 

Hosa Taddei, a celebrated impro- 
visatrice, ii. 275, 277 

Bostra, Julian, position of the, in 
the forum, i. 191, n. 

E^stral column, ii. 85 

JKostrum, site and total ruin of, 
i. 78 

of Cicero, ii. 224 

Botondo of the Pantheon, i. 222 

Buffinella, the residence of Lucien 
Buonaparte, ii. 848; chapel of, 
ii. 348 

Bnins of the Colosseum, i. 83, 

in the Pish market, i. 284 

Sabinb Hills, first view of, i. 62 
'■ ' distant view of, ii. 347 

Sabine farm of Horace, ii, 387 
Sacellum, i. 172 

Sacred Dramas, performed in Borne, 
ii. 268 

• island, origin of, i, 87; 

natural formation of, according 
to Pliny, ii. 18 ; present occupa- 
tion of, ii. 387 
Sacrifices, human, i. 254 
Saints, martyrdom of, 1. 321 
Sala della Lavatura, where tho 
Pope washes the feet of pilgrims, 
ii. 186 

della Tavola, ii. 187 

Sale of indulgences, i. 420 n. 
Sallust, circus of, i. 269 ; ruins of 

the house of, i. 270 
Salt marshes near Borne, ii. 386 n. 
Saltarello, ii. 291 
Salvator Bosa, house of, ii. 12 ; 

tomb of, i. 326 ; See Paintings 
San Casciano, town of, i. 25 

Lorenzo Nuovo, built by Pins 

VI., i. 47 

— — Bovinato, picturesque 

ruins of, i. 48 
Sancta Sanctorum, i. 299 
Santa Casa, or house of the Virgin, 
i. 434, 445 

Constantia, tomb of, i. 376 

Croce, convent of, i. 436 

Petronilla, the ancient La- 

vinium , ii. 369 

Bosa, visit to the convent of, 

i. 54 

• Sabina, thrown into the 

Tiber, for her adherence to 
Christianity, i. 169 
— - Theresa, convent of, ii. 221 

Trinita, bridge of, ii. 221 

Santo Spirito, hospital of, ii. 229 
Saraconi, or Sienese Palace, i. 87 
Sarcophagi of the Empress Helena, 

and Constantia, i. 100 
Sarcophagus of Augustus, i. 370 
of Lorenzo, in the anti- 
chapel or Capello de' Depositi, 
i. 9 

Digitized by 




Sarcophagus of Scipio Barbatna, 

-^— of ancient Grecian 

scalpiiire, i. 50 
Sasso Ferrato, paintings of, ii. 96 ; 

See paintings. 
Saturnalia, modem (The Camiyal), 

ii. 252, 259 
Satyrce, dramas of Etruscano rigin, 

Saxa Rubra, or Grotto Rosso, the 

resort of Mark Antony, i. 375 
Scala Cordonata. the ascent to the 

modem Piazza of the capitol, i. 

76 n. 
Scenery, comparatiyc, of France 

and Italy, i 23 
Bchola Xanthi, or office of public 

notaries, i. 197 
School of arms and letters, i. 172 
— ^- of gladiators, i. 172 
— — of St. Augustine, i. 234 

of painting, i. 34 

Schools of the philosophers, ii. 825 
Science, depressed state of under 

the papal goyemment, ii. 282, 

Scipio Africanus, triumphal arch 

of, i. 157; tomb of, i. 359; 

marble bust of, ii. 69 ; house of, 

ii. 103 
Sculptors, Italian— Canoya, ii. 298, 

300, 304 ; Thorwaldsen, ii. 305 ; 

Rodolph Schadow, ii. 307, 308 
Sculpture, museum of, in the Capitol, 

a 70, 84 

— • Egyptian, ii. 64 

Grecian, ii. 85, 133 

Hall of, in the Vatican, 

i. 103 
Scythian, commanded by Apollo 

to flay Marsyas, i. 3 
Secretarium Senatus, where the 

writings of the senate were kept, 

i. 197 
Senate House, or Roman Curia, 

i. 80, 188 ; dungeons of, i. 160, 


Senator of Rome, i. 159; original 
appointment of, 160 

Senator's Palace, i. 75; statue of 
Rome Triumphant, at the foot of 
the steps to the, i. 76 ; remains 
of an ancient edifice beneath, i. 

Sepolto Vivo, conyent in wliich 
nuns are imprisoned, ii. 221 

Septimius Severus, little arch of, 
i. 214 

triumphal arch 

of, i. 79 

Septizonium, i. 138 

Sepulchre of Christ at St. Antonio 
de' Portoghesi, ii. 189 

Serapis, altar of, i. 268 

Serenades, ii. 264 

Seryices of the Holy week, ii. 3 83, 

Servius TuUius, murder of, by his 
son-in-law, i. 174 

Sette Salle, ruins of the, i. 322 

Seyen Hills of Rome, i. 88, 114, 

Sgricci, the improvisatore, remark- 
able talent of, ii. 273 

Shops of Rome, ii. 92, 93 

or Tabemae, ancient remains 

of, i. 146 

Sibyl, ancient books of the, i. 142, 
n. ; , temple of the, at Tivoli, 
ii. 330, 331 

Sicily, improved condition of so- 
ciety in, ii. 379, n. 

Siena, volcanic formations in tlie 
vicinity of, i. 28 ; antiquity, 
population, language, and society 
of, i. 29, 38 ; cathedral of, i. 30 ; 
pagan altar of Parian marble in 
the church of, i. 32 

Sienese school of painting, i. 34 

Signs, language of, used by the 
Italians, ii. 255 

Simulacrum, a sacred stone, said to 
have fallen from Heaven, i. 385 

Siren's Cave at Tivoli, ii. 829 

Sistine Chapel, containing the four 

Digitized by 




frescos of Michel Angelo, ii. 40, 

45 ; services in, during the Holy 

Week, ii. 182, 187 
Slaughter of Roman citizens by 

Sylla, Marius, and Augustus, i. 

Slave, statue of the, overhearing 

the conspiracy of Cataline, i. 2 
Slaves, traffic in, i. 195 
Sober habits of the Italians, ii. 295 
Spectacles, Roman, corresponding 

to the melo-drama of England, i. 

St. Angelo, castle of, i. 402 

— Jolm the Baptist, painting of, 
by Baphael, i. 5 

— Philip, baths of, i. 43 
Speculum Dianae, or looking-glass 

of Diana on the lake of Nemi, 
ii. 367 

Spoils of the Temple of Jerusalem, 
i. 243; restoration of, by Jus- 
tinian, ibid. 

Stadium for foot-races, i. 255 

Statue of the Eternal Father, i. 14 

of Marcus Aurelins, i. 76 

of the Nile, i. 244 

Statues, Grecian, i. 2 

St. Anthony, blessing of, on horses, 
ii. 233,244 

— Augustin, supposed school of, 
i. 234 ; convent of, ii. 3 

— Catherine of Siena, house of, 
i. 38 ; alleged marriage of, and 
correspondence with Christ, ibid. 

— Cecilia, the inventor of the 
organ, i. 460 ; church of, ibid. 

— Dominic, founder of the Inqui- 
sition, i. 169 

— Ctregorj', convent of, ii. 5; 
statue of, ii. 7 

— John, convent of, ii. 223; 
giurdens of the, ii. 224 

— John Lateran, church of, i. 393 

— Luke, academy of, ii. 89 

— Lorenzo, martyrdom of, i. 176 ; 
church of, ibid. 

St. Paul, imprisonment of, i. 161 ; 

martyrdom of, i. 432 
*- Paul's cathedral, contrasted with 

St. Peter's at Rome, i.74 

— Peter, imprisonment of by Nero, 
i. 161 ; dungeon of, with mira- 
culous spring of water, ibid.; 
pillar of, ibid ; death of, i. 405 ; 
visit to the sepulchre of, i. 408,. 

— Peter's, cathedral of, i. 69; inte- 
rior and exterior view of, 72, 73 ; 
colonnade of, 74 ; tomb and chain 
of St. Peter in, I 406, 408 ; ge- 
neral plan of, i. 407 ; tombs <^ 
the popes in, i. 412; ascent to 
the top of, i. 423 ; view from 
the dome of, 1. 425; illumina- 
tions of, ii. 208, 209 

— Sebastian, martyrdom of, i. 146 » 
painting of the, i. 326 

Statues, ^lleiy of, in the Vatican, 

i. 103 
Steps to the church of Ara Coeli, 

ascended by Julius Caesar, ii. 16 
Stone, Tiburtine, of which St. 

Peter's is built, i. 74 ; properties 

of, ibid. 

first bridge of, i. 832 

Street of tombs, 1. 356 
Suburbs of Rome, i. 116, 118 
Sybilline books, preservation of by 

Augustus, i. 142 

Tabulariuu, an ancient edifice 
in which the laws and public 
records were kept, i. 158; de- 
struction of, in the reign of 
Vespasian, ibid. 

Tapestries from the cartoons of 
Raphael, i. 101 ; removal of, by 
the French, and recovery by tlie 
present Pope, i. 102 

Digitized by 




Tapesizy chAmbera in the Yatican, 

TanntellA, origin of the dance, ii. 

Taip«ian rock, origin of the name, 

i. 151; downifhich malefactors 

were thrown, i. 152; present 

elevation of, i. 153; Milton's 

description of, ibid. 
Tasso, tomb of, ii. 24 
Taremella, town of, i. 25 
Telemaehas, an Asiatic monk, who 

died a martyr to the cause of 

humanity, i. 801 
Tempo, vale of, ii 323 
Temple of Antoninus and Faustina, 

description and plan of^ i. 183 

of Apollo, built by Augus- 
tus after the battle of Actium, i. 

141, 202; ii. 326 

of Antoninus Pius, i. 218 

of -fflsculapius, ii. 18 

of Bacchus, i. 877 

— — — of Bellona, i. 251 ; priests 

of, ibid. 

of the Bona Dea, i. 167 

of Canopus, the Egyptian 

Neptune, ii. 325 

of the goddess Camse, i. 


of Claudius, i. 172; in 
Britain, i. 213 

• of Castor and Pollux, situ- 

ation and antiquity of, i 189; 
remains of, ii. 370 

• of Concord, in the Forum, 

i. 77, 185 ; Ionic portico of, ibid. 

of the Cough, ii. 333 n. 

of Diana, site of the, i. 167 

ofEgina, ii. 315 

of the Faun, ii. 320 

of Fortune, I 81, 185 

of Fortuna Muliebris, or 

Fortune of women, built in com 
memoration of Coriolanus spar- 
ing Rome at the entreaties of 
his wife and mother, i. 389 

Temple of Hercules^ L 280; at 
Coii» ii 369 

of Hope, i. 250 ; roiiffi of 

the, i 379 

of Isis, i. 166 

of Janus, i. 260 n 

— — of Juno Honeta, ©r the ^ 

mint, i. 153 

of Juno Lanuvina, mins of 

the, u. 86d 

Begina, i. 167 
Sospita, i. 250 

i 282 

- of Juno in the fish-maiket. 



.Virilis,i232, 235, 
at Prsdneste, ii. 

• of Julius Csesar, i 195, 196 

of Jupiter Capitolinus, i. 

75; statue of, i. 154 

Feretrius^ i. 

151 ; the most ancient temple 
in Bome, i 154 

- of Jupiter Latialis, i. 60 ; 

convent of Friore on the site of, 
view from, ii. 364 

■ Optimus Maxi- 

mus, i. 200 

- of Jupitor Stator, the first 

temple vowed to the gods in 
Rome, i. 80, 185 

Tonans, i 79; 

excavation of by the French, i. 

180; disputed columns of, i. 

186; ruins of, i 192 

of Liberty, i. 166 

of Marcus Aurelius, i. 66 

of Mars, erected by Au- 

gustus, i 197, 252 

of Minerva, i. 206 

• Medica, i. 245 ; 

architecture of, i. 247 

of the Muses, i. 386 

of Neptune, i. 92 

of Nerva, i. 88 

- of the Palatine Apollo, i 


Digitized by 




Temple of Pallas, i. 207 

of Peace,!. 81, 239 ; destruc- 
tion and re-erection of, i. 240; 
cause of its original erection, 

— : of Piety, erected in honour 

of the daughter who saved the 
life of her father, i. 249 

- of Rome, remains of, i. 75 ; 

ruins of, i. 450 

of St Urban, i. 386 

- of Romulus and Remus, L 

86 ; present occupation of, i. 238 
Quirinus, i. 

88, 114, 177 

of Saturn, i. 80, 196 

— of the seven wise men of 

Greece, it 323 

Sibyl, at Tiroli, ii. 

330, 331 

• Sun, ii. 102 


■ of Venus Erycina, L 247, 

Genetrix, i. 248 
and Diana, in 

the Yale of Tempe, ii. 324 

■ and Rome, i. 82; 

one of the most splendid of 
Hadrian's works, i. 244 

in the Circus 

Mazimus, i. 258 

and Cupid, i. 
247; inscription on the statue 
of the goddess, i. 247 n. 

of Vesta, disputed situa- 

tion of, i. 132, 230, 232, 270, ii. 

- of Virtue and Honour, i. 

269, 386 

■ of the god Rediculus : ori- 

gin of the name, i. 387 

— of the goddess Voltumna, 

magnitude and magnificence of, 

i. 49 
Temples on the Palatine Hill, 

i. 143 
Tepidarium of the Baths, i. 324 
Terminal figures, ii. 167 

Terracina, town of, the resort of 

banditti, ii. 378, 379 
Terra-cotta, Etruscan and Grecian 
vases of, i. 6 ; urns of, suppoaed 
to be antediluvian, ii. 361 
Theatre Alberto, ii. 257 

of C. Balbus, i. 280 

Grecian, i. 273, 275 

of Marcellus, i. 249; re- 
mains of, i. 280 

- Marine, in Hadrian's villa. 

ii. 823 

of Pompey, i. 218 
— — - of Scaurus, i. 276 
in the convent of S. Syl- 

vestro, ii. 214 

of Jja Valle, ii. 264 

Theatres, Roman, i. 273, 275 ; first 

built by Pompey, i. 276; plan 

of, i. 278 
existing state of, in 

Rome, ii. 264, 269 
Theatrical Presepio, or exhibition 

of the Virgin and infant Jesus 

at the church of Ara Coeli, ii. 16 
Thermae, or baths of the Romans, 

1. 301, 311 ; total destruction of, 

i. 331 
Thermae of Consiantine, remains 

of, in the Colonna gardens, i. 


ancient, at Albano, ii. 360 

of Diocletian, i. 323 

of Nero, i. 64, 120, 371 

of Titus, i. 311 ; paint- 
ings in, i. 316; temperature of, 

i. 318 ; remains of one especially 

used by the Emperors, ibid. ; 

ruins of, i. 319 

Trajanse, i. 3?3 

Thetis, statue of, now at Paris, 

ii. 171 
Thorwaldsen, the first sculptor in 

rilievo of modern times, ii. 146; 

works of, ii. 304, 306 
Tiber, first view of, i. 64 ; sacred 

island of, i. 87; inundation of 

the, i. 274 

Digitized by 




Tiberius^ baths of, i. 141 ; house of, 
i. 136, 146; triumphal arch of^ i. 
Tibur, ii. 332 ; antiquity of, ibid. 
Tiburtine stone, of which St. Peter's 

is built, i. 74 
Time, mode of reckoning, in the 

south of Italy, ii. 9 n. 
Titian, picture of the Graces, by, 
* ii. 125, 126 ; sacred and profane 

Love, by, ibid. See Paintings, 
Titus, baths of, i. 311; triumphal 

arch of, i. 81, 341 
Tiyoli, i. 89; ii. 828 ; cascades of, 
ii. 329, 330; beautiful scenery of, 
ii. 339; temple of the Sibyl at, 
ii. 330; its projected removal, ii. 
Tomb of AscaniuB, ii. 360, 363 

< of the Archdukes, in the 

cathedral of Florence, i. 9 

of Cecilia Metella, the most 

beautiful sepulchral monument 
in the world, i. 365, 366 
— — of the Claudian family, i. 358 

of Clement XII , i. 395 

■ of Cosmo de* Medici, i. 11 

Dante, i. 16 

of the Empress Helena, i. 379 

of the Horatii and Curiatii, 

ii. 360, 663 

of Lucullus, ii. 348 

M. Plautius and his family, 

ii. 320 

of the Magnilla family, i. 366 

of Michael Angelo, i. 12 

— ■ — of Nero, i. 64 

of Ovid, i. 374 

of Paul III., i. 410 

Pompey, ii. 360 

of ^alvator Rosa, i. 326 

of Santa Constantia, i. 376 

of the Scipios, recent dis- 
covery of, i. 359 ; reputed tomb 
of the, i, 364 

of the Servilia family, i. 365 

of the Stuart ftimily, ii. 349 

of St. Peter, i. 72, 406 

Tomb of Tasso, ii. 24 

-— TuUia, ii. 360 

Urban VIII., in SL Peter's, 

of Vibius Marios, at Siena, L 

Tombs of the Popes in St. Peter's, 

i. 411 

of the Eomans, i. 356, 35S 

form and arrangement of, i. 363: 
inscription on one of the few per- 
mitted within the city, i. 357 n. 
streets of i. 356 

Torre di Quinto, i. 372 

Torso, the favourite study of 
Michael Angelo, i. 94; criticisms 
on the, by Winkelman, i. 94 n. 

Totila, destruction of Aurelian's 
walls by, i. 118 ; entry of, into 
Home, i. 125; threatened de- 
struction of the city by, ibid. ; 
bridge destroyed by, i. 337 

Tower of Cecilia Metella, i. 86 

' of the Capitol, view of Eome 

from, i. 85 

on the Ponte Lucano, ii. 320 

of Nero, i. 45 

Trajan, forum of, i. 207; famous 
equestrian statue of, i, 210; 
triumphal arch of, i. 211 ; bark 
of, discovered in the Lake of 
Nemi, ii. 367 : column of, i. 9^2, 
211, ii. 371 

Trastevere, that part of Rome be- 
yond the Tiber, ii. 19; insalu- 
brious climate of, ii. 22 ; church 
of Santa Maria in, ii. 23 

Travertine stone, used in Italian 
buildings, i. 74 

Tre Ore, or " three hours of agony," 
service of the, ii. 191, 192 

Trevi, fountains of, ii. 29 

Tribunal named the Sessorium, i. 

Tribune, gallery of, paintings in 
the, i. 6. 

in the Sistine chapel, ii. 


Digitized by 




Trinity de' Monti, the favourite 
residence of men of genius, ii. 12; 
Tiew of the illumination of St. 
Peter's from, ii. 209 

Triumphal Way, ii. 364 

Trophies of Marius, on the Gapito- 
line Hill, i. 156 ; ruins of the, 
ii. 161 

True Cross, portion of the, exhi- 
bited in the church of Santa 
Croce, i. 433 ; discoyery of, at 
Jemsalem, ibid.; exhibition of 
the, at St. Peter's, during the 
Holy Week, ii. 189 

Tullia, tomb of, ii. 360 

Tallian Wall, i. 119 

or Mamertine Prisons, i. 


TuUus Hostilius, extension of Borne 
by, i. 114 

Tascnlum, site of, ii. 343; exca- 
vated ruins of, ii. 345 

Twins, royal, nurtured by a wolf, 
i. 86; Etruscan statue of, i. 193; 
dedication of, 1 192 


Ulpian library. 

Unfinished statues by Michel 

Angelo, i. 10 
Unique Grecian sculpture, i. 5, 34 
Urban VIII., tomb of, i. 411 


Val Aricia, ii. 368 
Vale of Tempe, ii. 828 

Murcia, or Myrtia, i. 259 

Vallombrosa, yineyards and olive- 
groves of, i. 21, 22 
Vase, Portland, ii. 67 
Vases, ancient and modem, i. 7 

in the gallery of the Vatican, 

ii. 70 

Vases, Antediluvian, ii. 361 

Vatican, description of, i. 91, 96 ; 
statues of heroes, emperors, and 
gods in the, i. 93; octagonal 
court of, i. 95 ; hall of animals 
in the, i. 96; origin of the name, 
i. 98 ; geographical galleries of, 
i. 101 ; gallery of statues, i. 108; 
library of, ii. 33, 88 ; loggie of 
the, ii. 59 ; museum of, ii. 61 ; 
picture-gallery of, i. 103 

Vegetation, luxuriance of, in the 
southern climates, i. 21 

Veii, site of the ancient city of, 
i. 373 ; siege of, ii. 355 

Veil, ceremony of taking, ii. 215, 

Velabrum, the, i. 192, 215 

Velletri, reputed birthplace of 
Augustus, ii. 369; now the 
resort of robbers, ii. 374 

Venetian school of painting, ii 
39, n ; music of, ii. 261 

Venus, Cnidian, of Praxiteles, de- 
scription of, by Pliny, i. 9 

of Canova, i. 9, ii. 301 

di Medicis, description of, 

i. 1,2 

■of Titian, i. 5 

temples of, i. 244, 247, 252 

Vesta, temple and sacred grove of, 

i. 192 
Vestal virgins, first institution of, 

by Numa, i. 192 

■ buried alive, i. 271 ; 

Vesuvio, the generic name for a 

volcano in Italy, i. 43 
Vesuvius, eruptions of, ii. 346, n. 

place of interment, i. 124 
Vetturino travelling, i. 24 
Via Appia, i. 146, ii. 868, 384 

Argentina, i. 364 

Cassia, i. 53, 64 

Crucis, i. 143 

Flaminia, i. 64 

— Latina, the modern road fo 
Prascati, i. 389 ; remains of an- 
tiquity on the, i. 390 

Digitized by 




Via Komeataiut, 1 122, 335 

Nova, i 201 

OstensiB, ii. 386 

Sacra, origin of the term. i. 87; 

description of, i. 200 

Triumphalia, i. 82 ; ii. 868 

Valeria, i. 864 

Yibing Marians, tomb of, i. 64 
Yico, lake of, i. 57 

de Come\j, i 79 

Yicns Jugarius, L 201 

TuBcoB, i. 201, f>. 

View of Florence, i. 12 

of Rome, L 61, 85, 147, 148, 

Villa Adrianay inyalnable stataes 

found in, i. 98 
— — Aldobmndini, ii. 160, 841 
»— Albani, ii. 165; mnseum of, 

ibid. ; description of, ii. 166 

Altieri, ii. 161 

of Archias, the poet, il 386 

Barberini, ii. 359 ; view from 

the terrace of, ibid. 
of Catullus, ii. 835 

— of Cicero, ii. 360 

of Ciodius, iL 359; portico 

of, ibid. 

of Domitian, scattered 

yestiges of, ii. 359 

d'Este. erected by Cardinal 

Hippolito d'Este, ii. 336 

of Qabinius, ruins of the, ii. 


— Giraud, in Trastcvere, remark- 
able Casino of, ii. 162 

of Horace, ii. 335 

— of Hadrian, ii. 321 ; ruins of, 
ii. 322, 326; destruction of, 
ii. 327 

Lanti, ii. 162 

of Lepidus, ii. 336 

— of Liyia, i. 874 

Ludovisi, iL 149; statues and 

paintings of, ii. 150, 153 

Hadama, on Monte Mario, 

li. 164 

— Magnani or Spada, L 144 

Villa Masaimi, i. 828 

Mattel, ii. 162 

of Mecsenas, ii. 884 

Medicis, on the Pineian 

Hill, ii. 162 

MondrBgone> ii. 342; xiuig- 

n|ficent avenues of the, ibid. 

— Palombara, ii. 161 

— Pamfili,on Mount Janiculum, 
ii. 162 

of Piso, ii 386 

— of Pliny the younger, ii. 898 
Roman, rooms in a, i. 889 

Tusculan, of Cicero, i. 89; 

mosaics brought from, i. 100; 
site of the, iL 343, 350 

of Pompey, ii. 359 ; remains 

of, ii. 360 

— Gt Propertius, ii. 386 

of Quintilius Varus, iL 835 

of Vopiscus, iL 836, n. 

Villas of Modem Rome, ii. 156 
Viminal Hill, present uncertainty 

of its locality, L 176 ; etymology 

of, i. 77 
Vines and vineyards of Italy, L 23; 

mode of cultivating, in Madeira, 

Vintage feast, in Trastevere, iL 22 
Virbius, grove of, iL 867 
Virgil, manuscript copy of, in the 

libraiy of Milan, L 86 ; house of, 

Virgin Mary, preference given to, 

as an object of worship in Italian 

churches, L 15; miraculous 

image of, L 25; portrait of, 

painted by St. Luke, LI 68; house 

of, L 434, 435 
Virglnius, site of the murder of 

Virginia by, L 199 
Viterbo, this town contains 28 

convents, i. 58 ; churches o^ i. 

54, 55 

battle of, L 66 

mountains of, thedanical 

Ciminus, i. 57 
Vivarium, in which wild beasts mce 

Digitized by 




kept for exhibition in the Colos- 
seum, i. 297 
Volcanos, i. 28, ii. 347, 366, 367 
Volscian Hills, extent of the, ii. 

YoMnium. site of, i. 48, 50 
Vulcan, altar of, i. 199; here blood 
rained from heaven for 2 days, 


Walls of Aurelian, i. 116, 118 
Walls of the city, and Praetorian 

camp, i. 121 
Cyclopean, remains of, at 

Cora, ii. 370; peculiar formation 

of, ii 371 
at Palestrina, 

ii. 371 
of the palace of the CsBsars, 

built of brick, i. 242; durability 

of, i. 243 

of Rome, i. 113, 115,119; 

ancient buildings comprised in 
them, i. 120, 122 ; vestiges of 
antiquity found in the, i. 119 
of Republican Rome, i. 271 

Walls of Servius TuUius, i. 119 

Waterloo Bridge, Canova*s opinion 

of, i. 339, w. 
Whetter, Remouleur or Arrotino, 

i. 2, 4 ; Livy's account of the 

statue, i. 3 
Wild beasts for the Amphitheatre, 

fed with criminals, i. 291 ; com- 
bats of, ibid. ; dens for, i. 297 
-^- Boars in the vicinity of 

Rome, ii. 296 
Windows, adaptation of to Gothic 

architecture, not to Grecian, i. 

73; disputed existence of in 

Roman houses, i. 131, 132, 

133, n. 
Wolf and Twins, bronze statue of, 

i. 193 ; ii. 86 
Wool, sacred, manufactured into 

robes for the Archbishops, ii. 234 
Works in precious stones, i. 7 
Wrestlers, the famous group of, in 

the Florentine Gallery, i. 4 

Xystum, or place for wrestling, i. 

Zelum, or asylum for outlaws, i. 

Digitized by 






Digitized by 


^ SbeUtt eatalogtu ti 






*«* JU the Books advertised i» the present Catalogut are ueatlf hoarded U elotk, 
or hound. 


\NCLER S SOUVENIR. Feap. Sro, embellUhed w!tk upward! of 66 beavUtal EofniTlng* on 
Ste«I by Bbckwith and Totham, and hundreds of engravtfd Borders. eTory pace being sur- 
rounded (pub. at 18«.), doth, gilt, »«. 7W, ISSf 

ARTIST'S BOOK OF FABLES, conmrisin* a Series of Original Fftbles, fliuatrated by 166 
exquisitely beautiful Engravings on wood, by Haktby and other eminent Artists, after De- 
signs by the late Jaus Northcotx, ILA. Poet Sto, Portrait (pub. at 1/. U.), cloth, 
gilt, 9«. 1846 

BARBER'S ISLE OF WIGHT. 42 fine Steel Plates, and Dk. Maittsu's Gbolmical Mav. 
STO, gilt, cloth, 10«. 6d. 1646 

BEWICK'S SELECT FABLES, with a Memoir, 8to, with several Portraits of Bewick, and 
upwards of 350 Engravings on Wood, original impressions (pub. at U. 1«.), bds. lOi* 

JVewewiAr, ISSO 

BILUNGTON'S ARCHITECTURAL DIRECTOR, being an approved Guide to ArehU 
tecta. Draughtsmen, Students, Builders, and Workmen, to which is added a History of the- 
Art, he. and a Glossary of Architecture. New Edition, enlarged, 8vo, 166 Plates, cloth lettered 
(pub. at \L 8«.) 10«. M. 1848 

BOOK OF COSTUME, from the earliest period to the present time. Upwards <$f 200 beautiftd 
Sogravhtga on Wood, by Luttov. 8vo (pub. at U. 1«.), gilt cloth, gilt edges, 16f. M, 1647 


3 vols. 8to. 150 exquisite Line Engravings after ToKyBR, Boni kgtoit, Laxdbbbb, Robbrtm, 
HvLRBAST, etc. etc.; also numerous Autographs (pub. at 4^ 14«. M.) Cloth eiegantly gilt, 
3i. &«., or in morocco, 3/. 3«. 


BRITAIN. 8vo. 50 exquisitely beautiful Line Engravings after Tvkmbk, Bovuraiov, etc. 
etc (pub. at U. lit. Cd.), cloth elegantly gilt, 15«., or morocco, \L 1«. 1644 

Portrait of Ra]ihael, a View of HHmnton Court, and seven very hirhly finished Steel Engrav- 
ings of the celebrated Cartoons at Hamptni. Court (pub. at 13«.), cloth, gilt, 7t. M, 1646 

BOOK OF SHAKSPEARE GEMS. A Series of Landscape lUustrations of the most inte- 
resting localities of Shakspeare's Dramas; with Histories] and Descriptive Accounto, by 
Washivotov Ixtiko, Jbssb, W. Howitt, WoKnswoBTH, Ihglib, and others, svo, 
wiA 4S highly-finished Steel Engravic^s (pub. at 1/. lU. Cc/.) gilt cloth, I4s. ',i64S 

BOOK OF WAVER LY GEMS. A Series or 64 hlghly-fiolihed Line Engravings of th^ uect 
interesting Incidents and dcenerr in Walter Scarfs Me veis, o/ ^iBAta, rxBDBV, Rolls iSBd 
etiiers. after Pictures l)y Leslie, SroTHARn, Coopkr, He warp, ftc-., with iUostntive VMn^ 
, STO. (pub. at 11. lis. U. ), cloth, elegantly gUt, lie. if 4t 


Digitized byVjOOQlC 


BROCKEDON'S PASSES OF THE ALPS, t toIi. m«Uom 4to. Coatalnijig log beavtife. 
EDKraringi (pub. at lOL lOt. in boards), balf-bouad moreeoo, gilt cdgM, iLlZ»,6d, u» 

BRtTTON'S CATHEDRAL CHURCH ,QF UNCOLM, 4to. ufina PUtet, by Lb Kbxtx. 
(pab. at 3/. U.), clotli, U. U. lU^al «to, Lwf* Paper, doth !«. 11«. «d. 18S7 

ThU vMuma vaa publlalMd to eomploto Mr. Britton's Catbedrait, aad Is wastlnc in most of 
the sets. 

rrcted, freatljr ealarged,*lu)d continnod to th« present time, by Oaonon Staviat, Esq., oon- 
plete in one laqfe voliune, impL Sto, namoroos plates of monocranu, tL ii. 

BULWER'S PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE. l«o. Babelltoliod with 27 exocdslte Line Bn- 
vraviugs after l>avid Roberts, MaellM, and Partis (pab. at 1/. 11«. 6d.), cloth gilt, 14«. 

PA i NTIN 0. 4to, 12 line Plates, clouT (pabl at It. U. ), U. U. ISU 

■ the same, large papar, royal 4to, proof impressions of Platos, cloth (pub. at 41 4s.), 8f. U. 

CANOVA'S WORKS, oagmved la ontUne by Moses, with Descriptions and a Biographical 
Memoir by CicoKoara. S Tols. imp. Svo, IM plates, and fine Portrait by Worthington, half' 
bound morocco (pub. atO<. 12«.) it. fit. 

■ tlie same, 3 toIs. 4to, large paper, balf-bonnd, uncot (pab. at 9U ISt,), 4< it. 

* the same, 9 voU. «to, la^e paper, India Proofs, in pmn»\ (pub. at ISL lit,) tU 10«. 

ploxc Engravings, comprising irp wards of Two TbousMid tpeeimcoa* JStUtod by Jaiur BttJx- 
tON, Esa. Royal foHo (pub. at 124 ia«.), half-bound morocco, 4;. 4«. 1837 


IN ENGI^ND, from the Earliest Period to the Reign of Henry VIII. With UUtorieal aad 
Critical Illastrations, by Doi;ck. Ooooh, Mkvkick, Dawbox Tvkvbr, and Burrox. 
Royal folio, with 120 large Engravings, many of which are beautifUly coloured, and aeTml 
illuminated with gold (pub. at lU. 1A«<), half-beond moroooo, %U ««. 1838 

QARTER'^ ^JHIP AMMITfl^TlJftE. nA Auikutx Biiiitfi«s In Englaad, «itiL 120 
Viewtf, etched by himsclL 4 vols, square 12mo (puh. at V. 2t.)„bfttf noroeco, Us. 1824 

CATLIN'S NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS. S vols. Imp], tvo. sm Eagiavinga (pub. at 
2L 12*. 6d.), cloth, emblematically gilt, 1^ Mto. 1648 

f^om Designs by himselt Post 8vo (ortginaUy pub. at 1/. lis. M.), gUt cloth, «ilt«dges, 7*. 6dL 

CHAMBERLAINE'S IMITATIONS OF DRAWINGS from the Great Masters, in tlie 
rai Collection, engmved by Bajltou 
r*boai>d morocco, gili edges, iL U. 

CJJVUOrS LIBER VERITATIS. A Collection of SOO Engravings in imitation of the original 

Drawings of Claodx, by Ea&lok. 3 vols, folio (pub. at 31^ 10«.), half-bound morooen, gilt 

edges, lOL lOfc 
CLAUDE, BEAUTIES OF, 24 FINE ENGRAVINGS, containii* none of hie choicest 

Landscapes, heautiftoUy EagcaTed on 8te«J» folio, withdeteiiptivo tettes»srM«,aiidP<utraii» 

in a portfoUo (pub. at3A 12f.)i U* A«> 

OOESVELT'S PICTURE GALLERY. With an Introdactlon by Mu. Jamxsov. Royal 4to 
M Plates beauUftilly engraved in outliM* India Proob (pah. at U. &i.), haU-bouad morocco 
extra, il. f. lae 

COOKE'S SHIPPING AND CRAFT. A teries of U brilliaiktiStcUBta, comprising Pictur- 
esque, but at the same time extremely acearatoRepreaentationa. Royal 4lo( Si. Ma.M.}, 
gilt cloth, !(.! !«.()((. 

tiful Etcbiugs, after Drawings by CaIiCott, SxAnnxtD, Pkoux, Roaskxs, Haabixg, 
SxASJC, and CoTXAV. Royal 4to. Proo|li<«i.),giiteloth, 3^2«. 


AND ITALY. t> flua large Plates. Imperial foUo Cpnb. atlM. 10«.}, half morocco, gilt edges, 
«;.13«.8a. 184S 

CORNWALL, AN ILLUSTRATED ITINERARY OF: liieludlagHlitQiieal aadDeaeiip- 
tive Accounts. Imperial 8vo, illustrated by 118 beau tiiUl Engravings on Steel ai>d Wood, by 
Laxoxlls, UixcMCLU'n, JAOxaov, WiXiUAMs, 8XiY, etc altar dxawinga bgr Cuowxck. 
(Puh. at 16«.), half morocco, 8i. 1842 

Cornwall is uitdovbtedly the most interesting county in England. 

CORONATION OF QiORGE THE FOURTH, bySn Oboros NAnj(», in a9«rtoa of 

above 40 magnificent Paintings of the Procession, Ceremonial, and Banqunt, compreiMnding 
fititbful portiaiu of many of the distinguished Individuals who were present; with hisaorical 
and descriptive letter-preee, atlaa folio (pub. at HI. 10s.), half bound moraceq^filt •dges, 
12^. 12«. 

illnstrate the Ecclesiastical, Military, and Civil Costume of former aoes, with Letter-press 
Descriptioas, etc. by Dawson Tuaxna, Sir S. Mbtxiok, etc. 173 Plates. The enaaaelled 
Brass%« are splendidly illuminated, 2 vols. impl. 4tu half-bound morocco, gilt edges, 6^ 6k. IkSC 

— — — tas saae, larg^ pa;ter, imperial folio, half aoxoocs, iUl oJl£«a, it, it. 

Royal Collection, engmved by B ajltoi,oux and others, impl. fol. 70 Plates (pub. at 12<. 12«. j, 

Digitized by 



iSgland, with L«tt«r-preM D«cripliwi» by Aickm a». 2 »«to. imp«rial toUo, containlos UQ 
nif^ tplrited Etchings (pub. at a«.), balfraoroooo, 81. S«. 1»8 

•ditlDii. 150 splendid coiourad Vtewa, on the largest iieate, of the Architeeture, Antiquttiea, and 
Landscape Soenerr of Hlndoostan, 6 vols. In 8, elephant folio (pub. at 2l0t,), elegantly half- 
bound moroeeo, 522. 10s. 

DANIELL'S ORIENTAL SCENERY. 6 toIs. In 8, snuU folio, 150 Plates (pub. at IH. 18<. 
baif-boucd inoroeco, 61. 6*. . , . . . 

Thift is reduced Zrom the preceding large wosk, and is uncoloofed* 

DANIELL'S AI>flMATED NATURE, being Picturesque Delineatinns of the most Intevesting 
Sahiects from all Branches of Natural History, 125 Engravings, with Letter-pres« T'>B*vtM»ilon» 
2 Tels. small folio (pub. at 1S<. !&•.)• half morocco (uniform with the Oriental Scenery), it, 3«. 

DON QUIXOTE, PICTORIAL EDITION. Translated by Jakvis, car«fUlly revised. 
WlUi a copious origtaal Memoir of Cervantes. Illustrated by upwards of 820 beautiftil Wood 
Engravings, after the celebrated Designs of Toxv Johamkot, including 16 new and beautiful 
large Cuts, by A&hstrono, now first added. 2 vols, royal 8vo (pub. at 2^. lOt.), cloth gl.t, 
li. St. 1W9 

DULWICH QALLERY. a Series of 50 BeaatilUlly Coloured Plates from the most Celebrated 
Pictures in this Renuirkahle Collection; executed by R. CocKBOaH (Custodian^. All 

* This is one of the most splendid and interesting « 
forsome years been quite unatuinable, even at the full price.' 

PYRAMIDS OP GIZEH. With an Appendix, by J. S. Ferwno, Es«., on the Pyramids at 
A9>«tt Roash, the Fayoum, &c. &c. 2 vols, imperial 8vo, with 66 Plates, litliogtapbed by 
HA9HS (pub. at 21, 12«. 6d.), 1^ Is. IMO 


THE PYRAMIDS OF OIZEH, ABOU ROASH, Stc. Drawn from actual Survey and 
Admeasurement. With Notes and References to Col. Vyse's great Work, also to Denon, the 
neat French Work on Egypt, RoselUni, Belzuni, Burckhardt, Sir Gardner Wilkinson, Lane, 
and others. 3 Parts, elephant folio, the size of the great French '* Egypte" (pub. at iil, ISa.y 
In printed wrappers^ U, 3*.i half-boend morocco, U. 14*. Ad. 1843 

ENGLEFIELD'S ISLE OF WIGHT. 4to. so laxgt Flatee, EagraTed bj CooKXt and a Geo 
logical Map (pub. 7L 7«.), cloth, 2/. U. 1816 

FLAXMAN'S HOMEI?. Serenty-flve beautlf\t1 Compositions to the Iliad and Odysbmt, 
engraved under Flaxmas's inspection, by Fmou, Mosxs, and BLakk. 2 vols, oblong fvlld 
( pab. at 5^ 5fc ), boards 2/. 2s. ISOi 

FLAXMAN'S /ESCHYLUS, Thirty-ilx beautlAil Composidona from. Obleng fblio (pub. at 
21. Iflfc 6d.), boards 11. It. 1831 

FLAXMAN'S HESIOD» Thirty-seven beautifbl Compositions from. Oblong fblio (pub. at 

3<. 12«.6d.), boards U.5«. 1817 

" Flaxman's unequalled Compositions fri>m HcHner. .Ssehylos, attd Hesiod. have long 

hevn the admiration of Europe; of their simplicity and beauty the pen is quite incapable of 

conveying an adequate impression."— 5ir Tkoman Lawrence. 

FLAXMAN'S ACTS OF MERCY. A Series of Eight Compositions, In the manner of 
Ancient Sculpture, engraved in imitation of the originai Dtawiugs, by F. C. Lxwx*. Oblong 
folio (pub. at 2L 2«.), half-bound morocco, 16t. 1831 

FROtSSART. ILLUMINATED ILLUSTRATIONS OF. Seventy-four Plates, printed in 
Oeld and CNiloars. 2 vols, super-royal 8vo, half-bound, uncut (pub. at 4/. 10«. ), it. 10*. 

. the sams, large paper, 2 vols, royal 4to, half-bound, anout (pub. at lo:. lOe.), 6/. 6*. 

0£LL AND GANDY'S POMPEIANA ; or, /ipography. Edifices, and Ornaments c/ 

Pompeii. Original Series, containing the Resiftt'of the Excavations previous to 1811, 2 vols, 
reyafsvo, best edition, with upwards of 100 beautiful Line Engravinga by Ooodai.l, Cookk 
HSATH, PtB, etc. (pub. at ?/. 4s.), boards, U. St. 1824 

QEM8 OF ART, 36 FINE ENGRAVINGS, alter Rbxbsaitbt, Cvtt, Rbtvoldh, Povs- 
sis,, Tbhibrs, Cobbboio, VAX DBS vblux, folio, prooflmpressions, in portfolio 
(pub.at8/.8«.), W. llt.6d. 


- :, gilt ed^es, 8<. H. 

~ ' ■ en Domtstie Aitsliiteeture. Royal ixo, Plates, cloth (pub. at If.), 7«. 

mjp9t. at \L is.), gllLcloth, Mto. «• ^ . , . 
This adOtton oontaiu a traaslatiea oT the efficiail potm, wxm 1 

28 beautUU Outlines. BAyM 
htetori^Al anddeseripUve notes. 
B 2 


villas. Rcetoiy-Hottscs, P«x«onag«-H<>u*M; BailUTs, Oardener'a, OanM^ceper's, aiid Park- 
Gate LodKes: Cottacca and other Residences, in the Orcclan, Italian, and Old English Stvle 
of Aichitectoie : with Batimates. 3 toU. royal 4to, 96 Platos (pab. at M. ft*.)* cloth, iU Its. fid. 

TECTURE : chlfOr on the Western Side of India. Atlas 4to. Consisting of S6 most beauU- 

:hl*<lr OB the Western Side of India. Atlas 4to. Consisting of S6 most beauti- 
Plates, hIglilT flniahed, in imiution of Drawlnfs; vith DeacripUw Lettet- 
It 12/. 12«.), half-hoand morocco, gilt edges. U, 8«. lS3t 

ps tha most exqaisltely-ooloured volume of landscapes ever produced. 

HANSARD'S ILLUSTRATED BOOK OF ARCHERY. Being the complete Hlstoiy and 
Practice of the Art: Interspersed vith namerous Anecdotes; forming a completa Manual far 
tit Howman. 8vo. Illustrated by 39 beautiful Line EngraTlngs, exquisitely finished, liv 
EvoLBHaAAT, PoKTBVRT, otc, after Designs by Stkphaxofv (pub. at U. lU.fid.), gilt doth, 
10«. 9d. 

folio. SO beautlfUly coloured EngraTlngs, with SO YignetCea of Heads, SkiJu, te. (pnb. at 
10/. lOf.), hf. morocco, 0/. St. 1844 

loured Engravings, and a Map (pub. at ML Is.), gilt cloth, gilt edges, If. U. lu* 

HEATH'S CARICATURE SCRAP BOOK, on 60SheeU,conUinlngap«ardaofl000 Comic 
Subjects after Sbtmouk, Cruiksujlvx, Phis, and oth«r eminent Caricaturists, oblong folio 
(pub. at 2/. U.), cloth, giU, li$. 

This clever and enterUlning volume Is now enlarged bv ten additional sheets, each eon- 
taining numerous subjects. It Includes the whole of Heath's Omnium Oatherum, both Series ; 
Illustrations of Demonolofty and Witchcraft ; Old Ways and New Wars; Nautical DIctlonajy ; 
Scenes in London ; Sayings and Doings, etc. ; a series of humorous illustrations of Proverbs, 
etc. As a laiig« and almost infinite storehouse of humour it stands alone. To tha yvang 
artist it would be found a most valuable collection of studies; and to the fhmilj circle a coa- 
atant source of unexceptionable amusement. 

HOGARTH'S WORKS ENGRAVED BY HIMSELF, iss fine PUt«« (lacladlw tlw twa 
well-known " nuppressed Plates*'), with elaborate Letter- press Descriptions, by J. NiCHOLa. 
Atlas folio (pub. at 50/.), half-bound morocco, gilt back and edges, with a secret pocket for 
suppressed plates, 7/. 7«. ISSS 

HOLBEIN'S COURT OF HENRY THE EIGHTH. A Series of M exquiaitely beautiftil 
Portraits, engraved by Bartolozzi, Coopbr, and others, in imitation of the original' 
Drawings preserved in the Royal Collection at Windsor; with Historical and Biographical' 
Letter-press by Edicvvd Lodoe, Esq. Published by Johv Chambbrlaixb. Imperial 4to 
(pid). at 15/. 15«.), half-bound morocco, ftill gilt back and edges, iL 15t. W. ISU 

HOFLAND'S BRITISH ANGLER'S MANUAL: Edited by Edwabo Jbsbb, Es«.; or. 

the Art of Angling in England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland; ucluding a Piscatorial Account 
of the principal Rivers, Lakes, and Trout Streams; wiUi Instructions in Fly Pishing, TrolBng, 
and Angling of everv Description. With upwards of M exquisite Plates, many of which are 
highly-Bnished Landscapes engraved on Steel, the remainder beautifully engtaved on Wood. 
Svo, elegant in gilt cloth, 12«. lUS 

HOPE'S COSTUME OF THE ANCIENTS. Illustrated In upwards of S20 bwrnUIUly- 
engraved Plates, containing RepresentaUons of Egyptian, Greek, and Roman Habiu and 
Dresses. 2 vols, royal Svo, New Edition, with nearly 20 additional Plates, boaids, reduced 
to2/.5.. . / . -. ^^^ 

HOWARD (FRANK) ON COLOUR, as a Meavs of Art, being an adaptation of the Expe- 
rience of Professors to the practice of Amateurs, illustrated by 18 coloured Flataa, post svo, 
cloth gilt, 8«. — ,r- » 

In this afile volume are shown the ground colours in which the most celebrated palntera 
worked. It is very valuable to the connoisseur, as well as the student, in painting and water- 
colour drawing. 

HOWARD'S (HENRY, R. A.) LECTURES ON PAINTING. Delivered «t the Boyal 
Academy, with a Memoir, by his son, Fbakk Howabd, large post Svo, cloth, 7t. M. ISIS 

HOWARD'S (FRANK) SPIRIT OF SHAKSPEARE. 48S fine outline Platea. illuatratlve of 

all the principal Incidents in the Dramas of our national Bard, 5 vols. Svo (pub. at l4i.S«.)« 

cloth, 2/. 2«. 1827--3S 

•»* Tlie 483 Plates nUiy be had without the letter-press, for Ulustratiag all Svo ediUons of 

Shakspeare, for 1/. lit. Cd. 


illustrated with 12 splendid Examples flrom the Orcat Masters of the Art, aelectad Atom MlasaU, 
all beautlAilly illuminated. Square 12mo, decorated blading, 1/. It. 

HUMPHREY'S COINS OF ENGLAND, a Sketch of the progreea of the English i 

from the earliest period to the present time, with 228 beautiAd fae*similes of the most I 

ing specimens, illumiuated in gold, silver, and copper, square Svo, neatly decorated binding, IS*. 

HABITATIONS. Royal 4to, S7 PUtes (pub. at 2/. 2t.), half morocco 1/. 4«. 

4*.<VV Plates (p'^b. at 1/. It.), half monii.^n, lis. ^ ISU 

Digitized by 



»*'S'''^.P^1S'!!* ^O" J^i^T^ lr9P^^^f GAMEKEEPERS- COTTAGES, ETC. 

Aojral 4to, 13 Platei ( pau. at II. It. ), half morocoo, lU. IM 1 

DBNERS' HOUSES, etc. IM THE ITALIAN STYLE. » Plates, royal 4to (pub. it 
U. 1«.), halfmorooco, 14s. 1827 

ILLUMINATED BOOK OF CHRISTMAS CAROLS, aqoan Sro. 14 Boidcn inoinlnated 
iB Gold and Coloun, and 4 beaatiful Minlatuni, richly OmauMBltd Binding (pub. at U. 5«. ). 

15«. 1846 

ILLUMINATED BOOK OF NEEDLEWORK, By Mm. Owxk. withaHistoiT oTKeedle. 
work, by the Couktxss of Wiliok, Colonred Plates, post syo (pob. at Ut.), gilt cloth, ite. 1847 

ILLUMINATED CALENDAR FOR 1850. Copied from a celebrated If issal known as the 
*' Hoars " of the Duke of Anjou, Imperial 8to, 36 exquisite Miniatures and Borders, in gold and 
colours. Ornamented Binding (pub. at 2/. 2t.}, 15«. 

ILLUSTRATED FLY-FISHER'S TEXT BOOK. A Complete Guide to the Science of Trent, 
and Salmon Fishing. By Thbophxlub Sovth. Gent. (Ed. Chittt, Babjustsr). With 
23 beautidt] Engravings on Steel, alter Paintings by Coopxx, NxwiOK, Fxeldiko, Lee, and 
others. 8T0 (pub. at U. lit. 6d,), cloth, gilt, lOt. 6d. IMS 

ITALIAN SCHOOL OF DESIGN. Consisting of too Plates, chiefly engraTcd by Bakto- 
z.ozei, after the original Pictures and Drawings of Guerciho, MiCHABt. AxeEZA, Dombvi- 
CHixo, AmriBALB, LvBOVico, and Agostivo Cakacci, Pietro da Cobtoha, Carlo Ma- 
3LATTI, and others, in the Collection of Her Majesty. Imperial 4to (pub. at 1(0. 10*.), half mo- 
roeeo, gilt edges, it. it. 1812 

JAMES' (G. P. R.) BOOK OF THE PASSIONS, royal 8yo, Uhistrated with 16 splendid 
Line EngraTinn, after drawii^eby Edward Courbould STSrHAVoFr Chalov, Kehmt 
MsAoows, and Jevkixs; engraved under the superintendence of Charles Heath. New 
and iminroved edition (Jvsi pobliahedj, elegant ia gilt cloth, gilt edges (pub. at ll. lu. 6cf.), 

Inpl. 8vo, n beautlAil Portndti (pub. at U. Sfc), cloth, U. U. 1838^ 

JOHNSON'S SPORTSMAN'S CYCLOPEDIA ofthe Science and Practice of the Field, the 
Turf, and the Sod, or operations of the Chase, the Course, and the Stream, ih one very thick 
Tol. Svo, illustrated with upwards of 50 Steel Engravings, after Coopbr, Ward, Havcock, and 
others (pub. at U.1U. 6d.), eloth, 15t. 


Introduction and Text. Imperial Ibllo. First Series, containing 49 beautiful and highly Inte- 
resting Views of Ecclesiastical Buildings in Italy, several of which are expensively iliuminated 
In gold and colours, half-bound morocco, M. b$. 1843 

g Views of Eccle- 

tive Letter-press. 


Second and Concluding Series, containing 41 beantlfhland highbr-interesting V 
elastical Buildings in Italy, arranged In Chronological Older; with Descriptive 
Imperial fblio, half-bound morocco, 51. 5«. 


trate the Normans In Sicily. Imperial folio. SO large Engravings, consisting of Picturesque 

Views, Afchiteetural Remains, Interiors and Kxterlon of Buildings, with Deserlptive Letter* 

press. Coloured like Drawings, half-bound morocco, U. St. 1840 

But very few copies are now first executed in this expensive manner. 

KNIGHTS PICTORIAL LONDON. 6 voU. bound in s thick handsome rolt. imperial Svo, 
illustrated by 650 Wood Engravings (pub. at ZU 3«.), cloth, gUt, II. 18«. 1841-44 

HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS of the most Interesting and Curious Architectural 
Monumente of the City and Suburbs of Loadon and Westminster, e.y.. Monasteries, Churches, 
Charlteble Foundations, Palaces, Halls, Courte, Processions, Places of early Amusements, 
Theatres, and Old Houses. 2 vols, imperial 4to, containing 207 Copper-plate Engravings, with 
Historical and Descriptive Letter-press (pub. at 761. St.), half-bound morocco, 6L &§. 1819 -25 

LANDSCAPE ARCHITECTURE. New Edition, 350 Wood Cute, Portrait, thick 8T0, cloth 
lettered (pub. at li. 10«.), 15«. 

LVSON'S ENVIRONS OF LONDON ; being an Histerieal Account of the Towns, Villages 
and Hamletolnthe Counties of Surrey, Kent, Essex, Herte, and Middlesex, 5 Tols.4te, FUtes 
(pub. at 101. 10s.), cloth, 21. 10«. 
The same, large paper, 5 vols, royal 4to (pub. at 15/. 15t.), cloth, 3/. U. 


COLUMBUS, to the year 1848, comprising Ite History and StstiaUcs, 2 remarkably thick 
voliunes, imperial Svo. cloth lettered (pub. at 4/. I4«.6tf.),l<.il«.6<(. 1847 

MARTIN'S CIVIL COSTUME OF ENGLAND, ftt)m the Conquest to the PteientPerio*. 
ftpm Tapestry, MSS. fte. ^yal 4m 61 PUtes, l>eautiAiUy lUumluated In Gold and Colours, 
cloth, f Ut, 2/. 12*. 6(<. INt 

Digitized byVjOOQlC 


S vTineai iBquiry loio Ansieat Armour mm n cswicu in amcvp«, dim pawuviuMrij in sngHuia, 
from tbc Nornuut Conquest to the Reign of Charles II, with a Oiossknr, etc. by Sir SiLitCBi. 
RusM Mbtbick, LL.O., F.8.A., etc., new aid greatly improvod EditioQ, cocrectcil and en- 
l*qie4 ilirougbout b* the Author hltoaelt; with the aasUtaace of Ufnxj and AatiqaBTian 
Frlenda (Albbkt way, etc.)t 3 vola. Imperial 4to, lllustratad by more than 100 Plates, 
■plendiilly Illuminated, mostly In gold ana silver, exhibiting some of the finest Specimens 
extotkig in England; alio a new Plate of the TourMmMife of Locka and K^f (jfah» ai 3tU.U 
hair-bound morocco, gUt edges, 191. lOt. Uii 

Six Walter Scon Justly descrtbei title eottectton u -twB XMCOurxMUMtM ammovxx." 
..JSiUnburgk Rnitw. 

tlon of Oeodrlch Court, IM Bngrarlngs by Jos. Skbltov, 2 toU. folio (pab. at lU. lU.), 
half nsoroeeo, top edgea gilt, 4L lU. 6d. 

Vases, SUtues, Busta, Baa-Reliefs, and other Remains of Oreciaa ArL 62 lane and beaiitifUl 
Engravings, mostly coloured, with Letler^ress DeicriptioMU fanpeiitl4tB mib. at SL Bs.). 
half morocco, iL lit. td. 1822 

Taxsas, Tombs, Mausoleums, Sepulchral Chambers, Cinerary Urnsi Sarcophagi, Cippl; and 
other Ornaments, 170 Plaus, several of irUch are eolooxed, vtth Lettn^press, by aofi, small 
tvo ( pub. at at. St.), cloth, it. it. I8i« 

MURPHY'S ARABIAN ANTIQUITIES OF SPAIN; representing, in lOO Tery highly 
flniahed line Engrsvings, by Lx Kxox, Fiwdbk, LxyDSXEX, O. Cooks, &e., the most 
remarkable Remains of the Architecture, Sculpture, Paiatiogs, and Mosaics of the Spanish 

vattons. Sections, and Views of Uie; with its History and Description, and sn Introductory 
Discourse on OOTHIC ARCHITECTURE, imperial fblio, 37 fine Copper Plates, engraved 
by Lo wjiT (pub. at 4U. fi«.) , half morocco, U» u» WS 

NAPOLEON GALLERY; Or IIlustntiQns of the U(h asd Times of the Bmperark with 99 
Rtchlngs on Steel by Rbvxil, and other eminent Artists, ia one thick Teiume post STO^^pub. 
at 1/. If.), gUt cloth, gUt edges, 10«. 9d, 184S 


aw THE B1UTI8U EMPIRE; with an Acooant of the Medals, Ctos«ca,and Clasps which 
have bees conferred for Naval a»d Military Services : together with a History of the Order of 
the Onelplis of Hanover. 4 vols. Imperlsl 4to, splendidly printed snd Ulttstratcd by numerous 
flae Woodcuts of Badges, Crosses, Collars, Stars, Medals, Ribbands, Clasps, etc. and msny 
large Ptates, illuminated In gold and caiours, including fuU* length Portrarts of Queea Vlc- 
tom. Prbice Albert, the King of Hanover, and the Dukes of Cambridge and Sussex. (Pub. 
at Ui 14«.), cloth, with morocco backs, it. 15«. 6rf. •4»* Con^tiete to 1847 

• the same, wldi the PUttt .rhShly cotovied 'but not ISviniiiated* xnd wdfttHt the 

extre portraits, 4 vols, royal 4to. clotii, 8^. I0fl> M. 

Sir ITaRle Nicolaa has produced the-flnt comprefaenaive Hleter;j'of the BtilMi (^ersof 

Knighthood: and it Is one (fftKe mott etm^ntely prepmte«l tntl ipkndidlp prmted 'workt th*i ever 
* iteued from the preit. The Author appears to ns to have neglected no sources of Informstton, 
snd to have exnausted them, as fbr as regards the general scope and purpose of the inquiry. 
The Ghwphleal IHustratioas are such as Moeme a work of thiaeharacter upon such a auhieot; 
at, o fcourse, a lavish cost. The reseuniea of the recently re«l«ed art of wood-engsavhagbave 
been combined with the new art of printing in colours, so as to produce a rich effect, almost 
rivslling -that of the monastic illumtnaaons. Snek n b9ok it ture ^ « jilesf m -eneiy great- Hbrary. 
It contains matter ealculatcd to interest extensive classes of xeadeie, axd w«<hDpe by our 
specimw to excite their corlosity."— ^MNtrfy Anrirw. 

Plates by LowftK, new edttloB, reviled by Joe. Owux, Bm., one Yohuuey r^Nl 8vo, 
l^llt.6d. 1849 

For elassiea] Architecture, the text book of the Profession, the most uaeftil 0<tiide to the 
Student, and the best Compendium for the Amsteur. An emtuent Architect has declared 
it to be '* not only the most usefUl book of the kind ever published, butabtoltttely Indlipen- 
aable to the Student." 


THE GREAT, including a complete History of the Seven Years' War. By Fiusvcis 
KcoLxa. Illustrated by Ajmuh MBirBsx.. iLtiai «v>tf, with ahov* fi«ft Wo e d W U (pub. at 
ICSf.), cloth gUt,12«. laiS 

PICTORIAL UALLERY OP RACE'HORSCS. Contalnlog Poftnite of all the Wisning 
Horses of the Derby, Oaks, and Su Leger Stakes during the laatTMrteea Yeant, aad a His- 
tory of the principal Operations of the Turf. By Wilpxakb (Qee. Tatteraall, EsoJ. Royal 
ivo, containing 9ft beautiftil Engravings of Horses, sfler Pwtures by Coopbr, fftewnw, 
Hamcocx, Af.KBii, Jte. Also fttll-leng^ characteristie Porfraiu of eeiebtated Uvlac BMrte- 
nen (''Creeks of the Dav"), by Sxtxoux (p>*b. at U. S«.), scarlet cle*h, gilt, II. 1^ 

Digitized by 



PiCTURESqUE TOUR OF THE RIVER THAMES, in Ita WMton Coarw, ineluilte 

£ articular PeBcriptions of Richmond, Windsor, and Hampton Court. By Joliir Pishsk 
[VJUU.T. Illustrated V upwards of 100 very liigbly-fi niched Wood EngraTiugs by Orriv 
Smith. Bkakbton, Landblls, Limton, aod «ther eminent artista; to which ai« add«4 
eeveral beautlfal Copper and Steel Plate BnmTings by Cooks and others. Oo« luge kand- 
Kome volume, royal 8vo (pub. at R 5a.\ flit cloth, 10«. 6d. IMi 

The most bMutifttl volume of Topographical Lignegraphs ever pvodueed. 

Carnival, Banditti, ftc, 37 Plates, ImpeKial 4to, haIf>bound morooeo, Ite. iioMe, IMt 

PRICE (SIR UVEDALE) ON THE PICTURESQUE in Scenery and Landscape Garden, 
ing, vlth an Essay on the Origin of Taste, and much additional matter. By Sir Thomas 
Dick Laudkk, Bart. 8vo, with 60 beautuUl Wood Bngnvings by Movtaav Stamlbt 
(pub. at !(. 1«.), gilt eloth, 12*. IMf 


setting forth the Origin, UUtory, and Slmlflcatlon of the various Emblems, I>evlees, and Sym. 
bolical Colours, peculiar to Cbilatlan Designs of the Middle Agas. Illustrated by nearly M 
Plates, splendidly printed In gold and colours. Boyal 4to, half moroceo eadra, top edges gilt, 

PUGIN'S ORNAMENTAL TIMBER GABLES, selected from Andant Examples In 
England and Normandy. Boyal 4to, ao Plates, cloth, II. U. 1830 

Edifices In England; consisting of Plans, Elevations, Sections, and Parte at large, with Histo- 
rical and DescriptlTe letter-press, Illustrated by 225 Engravings by Lx Kaox. 8 vols. 4te 
(pub. at 12A 12*.), cloth, 71. 17«. td. Ulg 

PUGIN'S GOTHIC ORNAMENTS. 90 fine Plate*, drawn on Stone by J. D. Hammho and 
others. Boyal 4to, half morocco, 3i. 3*. 1844 

MUCIN'S NEW WORK ON FLORIATED ORNAMENT, with so plates, splendidly 
printed in Gold and Colonn, royal 4to, elegantly bound la cloth, with rich gold ornamantik 

RADCLIFFE'S NOBLE SCIENCE OF FOX-HUNTING, for the use of Sportemen, royal 
8vo., nearly 40 beautiful Wood Cute of Hunting, Hounds, ftc (pub. at 1/. 8<.), Cloth gilt, 
10*. id. lot 


Boyal 4to., eontelning 16 Plates, Bngraved by Mosxa, stllT covers, 7t. 6d. 

Ing 8 Piatea, Engraved by Moses, stiff covers, 4«. 6d. 

REYNOLDS' (SIR JOSHUA^ GRAPHIC WORKS, mo beautlftal EnaraVioa (com. 
prising nearly 400 subjecte) after thia deligbtftal painter, engraved on Steel by 8. W. Baynolda. 
3 vols, folio (pub. at 36^.), half bound morocco, gilt edges, 12/. 12«. 

REYNOLDS' (SIR JOSHUA) LITERARY WORKS. Comprising his Discourses, 
delivered at the Boyal Academy, on the Theory and Practice of Painting; his Journey te 
zanders and Holland, with Criticisms on Pictures; Du Fresnov's Art of Painting, with Notes 
xe which is preflxed, a Memoir of the Author, with Bemarks illustrative of his Principles and 
>i8etice, by Bbxckxt. New Edition. 2 vols. fcap. 8vo, with Portrait (pub. at 18i.), gitt 
xjoth, lot. 1846 

**Hls admirable Dlscouzees contain such a body of Just criticism, clothed la such perspicnousi 
elegant, and nervous lai^uage, that it is no exaggerated panegyric to assert, that tliey will last 
as long as the English tongue, and contribute, not less Uian the productions of his pencil, to 
render his name ImmortaL*'— iVbrtAeote. 

ROBINSON'S RURAL ARCHITECTURE; being a Series of Designs for Ornamental 
Cotteges, in 96 Plates, with Estimates. Fonxth, greatly improved. Edition. Boyal 4to (pub. 
at 4/. 4i.), half morocco, 2/. 6«. 


86 Plates by H ardivo and Allom. Boyal 4to, half morocco, 2^ 2s. 

ROBINSON'S ORNAMENTAL VILLAS^ MPlataa(pub.«t4i.4s.),ha]fmon>coo,tLU. 
ROBINSON'S FARM BUILDINGS. 66 Plates (pub. at2<.3s.), half noiocco,]/. lis. 64. 

ROBINSON'S LODGES AND PARK ENTRANCES. 4S Plates (pnb. at St Ss.), half 

morocco, iL 11<. 6d. 
ROBINSON'S VILLAGE ARCHITECTURE. Fourth Xditkm. wMh addlttonal Plate. «1 

Plates (pub at lU 16s.), half bound uniform, it 4k 

buS House, by Johk Bwttoh, Imperial foUo, 60 fine angravlngs, by La lU»x (pub. a 
IW. 16». ) half morocco, gilt edges, 31. 13«. 6d. '"^ 

any At- VICTORIA GALLERY, comprising 33 beanttftil Engraringe, after plehires a 
•^^MbKIN^S PA?A5t%'SW^ 'is °*Vd"SJ' ISSS'cK Tw 

Dow, Both. Cvrr. Bktvolds, Titiax, and Bubkks, engraved by GaxATBACK, s. w 
BxncOTSsT PaxsBWxy, Bwrkxi; lie.; with letter-prass by L»«»xl.^ royal 4to Cp»b. • 
4/. 4j.), half morocco* U. lit. tO. r^ i 

Digitized byVjOOQlC 


DBPBNDBMClJttS. Three Toit., 4to^ 159 pUUa, (pab. at «!. «t.) eloth, iLU. Uto 

SHAKSPEARE PORTFOLIO; a 8«riM oTM Okafhic iLLUsnATiovs, alter Deilgm br 
,. _. «_...-v .^.-.- ._-..-..__ »_._,.. «._...„. „.^^ ^ Cooper, WMtalf, 

ins, L^ornouui, uiinc, «c., oeauuiaiijr mfravea ity /" '" " 
Pjre, Flnden, Enfflehart, Ai 
with iMtlitr back. Imperial 8vo, IL U, 

the moBt emtiMBt Britlab Artieta. IndudiDf Smirke, Stotbard, Stapbanoft^ Cooper. Westalf. 
Hnton, Leslie, Brlnt, Corboukl, Clint, fce., beautiftallj rnfraved by HeMb, Greaibacfa, 
BohioMD, Pye, Flndan, Enfflebart, Arastioag, Bolla, and otbars (pab. atU. 8«.), in a case. 

SHAW AND BRIDOENS' DESIGNS FOR FURN ITURE, with Candelabra and laHerior 

DeeoraUoa, fo Plataa, royal 4to, ( pub. at 3L 3a.)> balf.bouod, uncut, li. lit. 6d. isa 

The Hunai large paper, ImpL 4to, the Plates coloured (pub. at 6^ <•.), ht-bd.., naeut, iL 3s. 

SHAVrS LUTON CHAPEL, >«* Arehttcctore and Omammte, Ulofltnted in a aeiiea of 2ft 

highly ftniahed Una BngraTiJWa, Inparlal folio (pub. atS^. Sfc), half morocco, uncut, U. 16: 


SILVESTRE^ UNIVERSAL PALEOGRAPHY, or Facafanfles of tba writings of ererr 
aae, taken from the most authentic Missals and other inttreetlag Manuscripts existiag in the 
libraries of France, Italy, Germany, and England. By M.Slfrestre, eoauining upwards of 
~~0 large and most baautifully executed fac-stmiies, on Copper and Stone, most richly lilumi- 
itad in the finest style of art, 2 vols, atlas folio, half morocco extra, gilt edges, 3U. lOa. 

ac, and Cham- 

Tha Historical and Descriptive Lfttei^press by Charapnliion, Figea 
. With additions and corrMUoiu by str Frederick Madden, a v< 

polUon, jun. With additions and corrtctioiu by Str Frederick Madden, a vol*, royal Svo, 

etoCh, \U l«t. 1S50 

— »— — the same, 1 toIb. royal 8to, ht mor. gilt edges (tmifbrm with the fbUo work), it. as. 


«c. ■ containing i^ x'ia»«>, avutv ■» 
halxmorocco, uncut, rsdueed to V. 

the 7th to the ICth Centnnr, with Historical Illustrations, foUo, with «a coloured plates ttlo- 
minated with gold and sUvsr, and highly flniahed (pub. at lOL I0t.j half bound, morocco, 
extra, gUt edges, s;. Vis. ftd. 

SPORTSMAN'S REPOSITORY: comprising a Series of highly llnisbed Line En«rsvlng«, 
reprasenting Uie Horse and the Dog, in all their varieties, by the celebrated engraver JoHX 
Scott, from original paintings by Reinagle, Gilpin, Stubbs, Cooper, and Landseer, arooafr- 
panied by n comprehensive Description by the Author of the <* BriUsh Field Sports," 4to, with 
37 large Couper riaUs, and nomaroua Wood Cuts by Baractt and others (pub. at 3/. 12«. (xL), 
cloth gilt, I/. 1«. 

•to., wltti 3A6 engravings (pub. at 7*. iOs.), half morocco, 31. 12. 6 J. 

flniahed Etchings, all of which arr more or less tinted, and some of them highly illuminated in 
gold and colours, with Historical DescripUons and Introduction, by Kkxpk. FoUo (pub. at 
\9L)t half morocco, St. 9s. 

STRUTTS SYLVA BRITANNICA ET S*^TICA; or, Portraits of Forest Trees, dbtin- 
guiahed tor their Antiquity, Magnitude, or Beauty, comprising M very large and hlghly-flmshed 
painters' Etchings, imperial folio (pub. at 9/. 9«.), half morocco extra, gilt edgea, 4L l««. 


the Establiahment of the Saxons in BriUin to the present time; with an historical and 
Critical Inquiry Into every Itranch of Costume. New and greatly improved Edition, with Cri- 
tiftal and Explanatory Notes, by J. R. Plakche', Esq., F.S.A. 3 vols, royal 4to. 153 Plates, 
cloth, 4/. 4s. Tlie Plates, coloured, 7^. 7*. The Plates splendidly illuminated in gold, sUver, 
and opaque colours, in the Missal style, 20/. 1B4S 


ConUiningthe most authentic Representations of all the EnRlIsh Mouarchs ft-om Edward tiie 
Confessor to Henry the Eiahtb ; together with many of the Great Personages that wem asM- 
nent under their several Reigns. New and greatly improved Editton, by J. R. Pijlxch^. 
Esa., F.S.A. Royal 4to, 72 Plates, cloth, 2/. 2s. llie Plates coloured, 4L is. Splendidlj 
illuminated, uniform with the Dresses, I2i. I2«. MIZ 

STUBBS' ANATOMY OF THE HORSE. 34 fine large Copper-plate Engravinga. Impe. 
rial folio (pub. at U. is.), boards, leather back, 1/. lit. 6d. 

The original edition of this fine old woik, which is indispensable to artists. It baa loBgbtek 
considered rare. 

TATTERSALL'S SPORTING ARCHITECTURE, comprising the Srad Farm, the Stall, 
the Stable, the Kennel, Race Studs, &c. with 43 beautilUl staei and wood illnstrations, sa^«r»I 
after Hakcock, cloth gUt (pub. at 1/. lu. 6d.), It. is. ' ISM 

svo. WoodcuU (pub. at U. 1«.), cloth, 7«. Sd. IMi 

" The best view of the sUte of modern art."— I7m'i«d States* Gaxette. 

ANA). By Lieut.- Colonel J. Ton, imperul 4to, embellished with above 28 extramely baauti- 
ntl line Engravings by FiMsxv, and oapttai Vug% fohUng map (4(. 14«. fid.), cloth, SmT U3» 

Digitized by 



TURNER AND GIRTIN'S RIVER SCENERY; tolio, so beautiful ennavlBn on ite«L 
after the drawlnpi of J. M. W. TirKirK&, brilUant impmiioni, in a portfolio, vftli morocea 
back (pub. at U. 5t.). reduced to 1/. lit. 6cf. 

the same, with thick glazed paper between the platea, half bound morocco: riit 

mt I'.l C \ m^AttttmA *A •# o« ' " 

edges (pub. at it. 6i.), reduced to 2U 2«. 

WALKER'S ANALYSIS OF BEAUTY IN WOMAN. Preceded ^7 a critical View of the 

Sneral H}-pothese8 respecting Beauty,, by Lsovakdo da Vixcj, Mbkos, Wivckeluamk, 
UME, HooARTH, BuRKE, Kkiuht, Alisov, and others. New Edition, royal gvo, illus- 
trated by 22 beautiful Plates, after drawings from life, by H. Howaxj>. by Gauci and Lav r 
(pub. at 2i.2«.),gUt cloth, 1/.U. 1M6 

Account oftlie Principal Artists, and CaUlojrue of EngraTers, who hare been bom or resided 
in England, with Notes br Dallawat; New Edition, Revised and Enlarged, by Rai^pii 
WoRMiM, Esq., complete in 3 toIb. 8to, with nmneroua beautiAil portralta and plates. Si. 2«. 

WATTS'S PSALMS AND HYMNS, Itr.vsTRATBD Editioit, complete, with Indexes of 
'* Sul^ccts," " First Lines,'* and a Table of Scriptures, Sto, printed in a very large and beauti- 
Ail type,/embe]tished with 24 beautiful Wood CuU by Martin, Westall, and others (pub. at 
U. 1*.), gUt cloth, 7«. 6d. 

WHISTON'S JOSEPHUS» ILLUSTRATED EDITION, complete: containing both the 
Antiquities and the Wars of the Jews. 2 vols. 8to, handsomely printed, emhelliiibed with AS 
beautiAil Wood Engraving*, by various Artists (pub. at IL is.), cloth lids., eiegantly gilt, 14s. 

moHt approved metliuds of imitating every kind of fkncy W^ood and Marble, in Oil or Distemper 
Colour, Designs for De;,orating ApartmenU, and tlie Art of Staining and Painting on Olass, 
&c., with Examples fr-im Ancient Wlndov^b, with the Supplement, 4to, illustrated with 104 
plates, ofwhich 44 are coloured, (pub. at 21. 14«.) cloth, U. lOt. 

WHITTOCK'S MINIATURE PAINTER'S MANUAL Foolscap Svo., t eolotmd pUtes. 
aad numerous woodcuts (pub. at 5«.) cloth, 3$. 

WIGHTWICK'S PALACE OF ARCHITECTURE, a Romance of Art and Hiatorv. Tmpc 
rial Svo, with 211 Illustrations, Steel PUtes, and Woodcuto (pub. at 2U 1S«. 6iL), doth, II. 1*. 


WILD'S ARCHITECTURAL GRANDEUR of Belgium. Germany, and France, S4flne 
Plates by Le Keux, &c. Imperial 4to (pub. at If. 18«.|, half morocco, H. 4a. 1197 

WILD'S FOREIGN CATHEDRALS, is Plates, coloured and mounted like Drawings, In a 
handsome portfilio (pub. at I2l. 12«.), imperial folio, iL ft*. 

WILLIAMS' VIEWS IN GREECE, 64 beautiful Line Enjrravings by Mtt.t.xii, Horsbvmh, 
and others. 2 vols, imperial Svo (pub. at 6<. 6«.), half bound mor. extra, gilt edges, 2L 12i. U. 


Reitchie, new edition, edited by E. Jes8E, Esq., illustrated with upwards of SO beaunnu 
Engravings on Steel and Wood, ruyal 8vo., gilt cloth, lia. 

BALREC. 2 {vols, in 1. imperial folio, eontninlng 110 flue Copper-plate Engravings, some 
very large and folding (pub. at 71. 7<.), half morocco, uncut, 3/. 13i. 6d, M27 

iaatural l^istors, glgrfculture, ice. 

ANDREWS' FIGURES OF HEATHS, wtth Scientific Descriptions. < vols, royal )»v«, 
with 300 beautifully coloured Plates (pub. at lU.), cloth, gilt, 7/. 10«. ISift 

^IKDICINAL PLANTS OF GREAT BRITAIN. 2 vols. Svo, illustrated by upwards of 20« 
Coloured Figures of PlanU (pub. at 31. 3«.), cloth, 1/. 16«. 184S 


in which the characters ofeact. Genus are displayed in the most elaborate manner, In a series 
of magnified Dlbsections and Figures, highly finished in Colours. Imp. Svo, Plates, 6/. 18SS-4S 

Account of the Plants collected by Messrs. Lat and Collie, and otiier Officers of the 
Expedition, during the Voyage to the Pacific and Behring's Straits. By Sir William 
Jacemcv Hooker, and G. A. W. Arkott, Esq., illustrated by 100 Plates, beautlfiillv en- 
graved, complete in 10 parts, 4to (pub. at 71. 10a.), &/. 183M1 

Collections and Notes of Captain Beecitbt and the Sriendfie Gentlemen who accompanied 
the Expedition. The Mammalia, by Dr. Richartison : Ornithology, by N. A. Vigors, Esq., 
Fishes, by G. T. Lat, Esq., and E. T. Bekxbtt, Esq.; Crustacea, by Rich Ann Owbx; 
Esq.; Reptiles, by Jonv Edward Gray, Esq.; Shells, by W. Sowbrby, Esq.; and Geology, 
by the Rev. Dr. Bucklakd. 4to, illustrated by 47 Plates, containing many hundred Figures, 
beautifully colcured by Sowbrby (pub. itiU U,), cloth, 3i. I3a. OiL IS3S 


FIfiirM, th« liie of Llf», oftbe Birdi, both Mfele and F«inaJe, in their moat Natural Attitudes: 
their Neeti and Enr^t rood, Favourite Plants, Shrubs, Trees, ftc. fee. New Edition, revisea 
and very eonsiderabiv augmented, a vols, in 1, medium 4to, containing 80 Iwaatifull/ coloured 
plates ( pub. at li. S«. ) , bslf bound morocco, gilt badcs, gilt edgtM, 31. St, 1845 

coIoutmI plates of flowers and groups (pub. at 4t. lOs.), eloth, U. lis. 1849 


OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND; with Figures, DcaAcipCions, and Local iUes of aU 
the Species. Royal 8?o, containing on 27 large Plates, 330 Figures of all the known British 
Species, la their tail alM, aMUrateijr Atvitu teoux Natura (puh. at iSfc), cloth, I0». 6ef. 1845 

CURTIS'S FLORA LONDINENSIS; EeTlsed and Improred hy Qnomos Gkatbs, ex- 
tended and continued by Sir W. Jacksov Hookbr; comprising the History of Plants indi- 
C nous to Oreat Britain, with Indexes; the Drawings made by Stdenhax, Edwards, and 
MDZimr. 6 vols, royal folio (or 10» parts), containing 647 Plates, exhibiting the fbll natural 
dM of each Plant, with magnifled Dissections of the Parts of Fructification, ftc, aU bcauti- 
ftdly colonrad ( pub. at STi. 4t. in parts), half bound morocco, top edge* gilt, 30i. 183S 

SPBCIBS OP PARASITE INSECTS (published under the patronage of the Britbh Assoefa. 
tlon), 8to, numerous beautiftillf eotoured plates of Lice, eontailnlng several hundred magnified 
flgures, cloth, li. lis. fid. 1849 

nnmeions woodcuts (pub. at UL 8«.}, cloth. If. lU. Set. 183UlgS8 

DON'S HORTU8 CANTABRIGIENSIS; thirteenth Edition, 8vo (pub. at 12. 4i.), elotb, U». 


J. O. Wbstwood, Esq., F.L.S., 4to, with 58 pistes, containing upwards of 120 exquisitely 
coloured figures (pub. at 61. Ot.), cloth, gilt, reonced to 21. 2«. 1842 

J. O. Westwood. Esq., F.L.S., 4to, with so plates, containing upwards of 180 exquisitely 
coloured flgures (pub. at 8/. 0«.)» clotn, gilt, 2/. 5«. 

** Donovan's works on the InseeU of India and China are splendidly Illustrated and ex- 
t^maly useful."— iVa/urati*<. 

''The entomological plates of our countnrman Donovan, are highly coloured, elegant, and 
_jeful, especially those contained In his quarto volumes (' .. .. .-,... .. 

great nnniber of speciea are delineated for the first time."- 


•»Blrds, 10 vols.— Shells, 5 vols.— FIsIms, 5 vols.— duadrupeds, 3 vols.— together 39 vols. Svo. 
oontalniiw 1 108 beautifully coloured plates (pub. at 66<. Ot. ) , boards, 2U. 17«. The same set of 
89 vols, bound in 21 (pub. at 73/. 10«.), half green morocco extra, gilt edges, gilt backs, SOf. 
Any of the classes may be had separately. 

General, New Edition, Enlarged, thick 8vo., witii 70 wood engT««4ngs (pub. at 13««), doth, 
8». fld. IVl 

upwards of 600 exotic Insects, of the Bast and West Indies, China, New Holland, North and 
Sooth America, Germany, Stc. By J. O. Wxstwood, Esq., F.L.S., Secretary of the Entomo- 
logical Society, ftc. 3 vols. 4to, 150 Plates, most beautifully coloured, conUining above 600 
flgures of Insects (originally pub. at 15/. \&t.), half bound morocco, 6/. 16«. M, 1837 

EVELYNS SYLVA AND TERRA. A Discourse of Forest Trees, and the Propagation of 
Timber, a Philosophical Discourse of the Earth: with Life of the Author, and Notes by Dr. A. 
Hunter, 3 vols, royal 4to. Fifth improved Edition, with 46 Plates (p^b. at 5L St.), cloth, V. 


166 plates, mostly coloured, 3 vols, royal 4to. (pub. at 9/.), cloth, at, 5*. 1838-43 

GREVILLE'S CRYPTOGAMIC FLORA, compriilng the Principal Species found in Great 
Britain, Inclusive of all the New Species recently discovered in Scotland. 6 vols, royal 8vo, 
360 beautifully coloured PUtes (pub. at lit. 16«0* half moioceo, SL 8«. 1833-8 

This, though a complete Work in itself, forms an almost indispensable Strnplement to the 
thlrty'six volumes of Sowerby's English Botany, which does not comprehend Cryptogamous 
Plants. It is one of the mort seientifle sad best executed work* ou IndigenouaBoteny ever 
produced in this country. 

HARDWICKE AND GRAY'S INDIAN ZOOLOGY.. Tw«ty parts, forming two vols., 
royal folia, 303 coionied plate* (pub. at 21/.), sewed, OL Us., or half morocoa, gilt edges, 
14/. 14«. 


This extremety beantiful work is the only one wfaiah_ contains our English Moths and Batter- 
Otes of the full natural sine, in all their changes of Olterpttlar, Chrysalia, fte., wMh the planM 
en which they feer< ^ , 

Digitized byVjOOQlC 



With DESCRIPTIONS, many ervhiob bavebcen altosetber iinii«ticed 1^ Botuilatt, or have 

not been correcUy flgrured. 2 vols. foUo, with 340 beaudAiUy eolound PlatM (p«ib. at 25/. 4«. i, 

half morocco, gilt edges, lai. 12*. 1829^1 

The grandest and most ralnable ofUie many sctoatlAc Works ytodae«d byStrWIUlam Hpoker. 

HOOKEft'S EXOTIC FLORA, conUlning Figures and DescrlpllonB of Rare, or otherwia«,> 
interesting Exotic PlanU, especially of such as are deserving of being cultivated in our Gar- 
dens. 3 vols. Impeilal Svo, containing 232 large and beautifully coloured Plates (pub. at 15^.), 
cloth, 6L 6«. 1823-1827 

, This is the most superb and attractive of all Dr. Hoo1cer*s valuable works. 

••The • Exotic Flora,' by Dr. Hooker, U like that of all the Botanical publicatiom of the in- 
defatigable author, excellent; and It assumes an appearance of finish and perfection to 
which neither the Botanical Magazine nor Register can extemaUy lay claim."— loiuteii. 

HOOKER'S JOURNAL OF BOTANY; coatalnlag Figures and Desertptions of such Plants 
as recommend themselves bv their novelty, rarity, or history, or by the uses to which they are 

g>plied in the Arts, In Medicine, and In Domestic Economy; together with occasional 
oUnieal Notices and Information, and occasional Fortraiu and Memoirs of eminent 
Botanists. 4 vols. 8vo, numerous plates, some coloured (pub. at 8/. ), cloth, II. 1834-42 

HOOKER'S BOTANICAL MISCELLANY; containing Figures and Descrtptloits of Plants 
which recommend themselves by their novelty, rarity, or history, or by the uses to which they 
are applied in the Arta, in Medicine, and in Domestic Economy, together with occanional 
Botanical Notices and Information, including many valuable Communications f^om distin- 
guished Scientific Travellers. Complete in 3 thick v<ds. royaf 8vo, wltii 153 plates, many finely 
coloured (pub. at 51, 5«.), gilt cloth, iL 13«. 6d. 1830-33 

NORTH AMERICA. Illustrated by 840 plates, complete in Twelve Parta, royal 4to, (pub. 
•t 12^. 12a.), 8^ The Twelve Parte compute, done up in 2 vols, royal 4to, extra clotli, 9L 


New and greatly improved Edition, containing alao the latest Discoveries and Improvemcnta 
In every department of the Apiary, with a desciiptlon of the most approved Hivxa now in use, 
thick 12mo, Portrait and numerous WoodcuU (pub. at 10*. M.), cloth, gilt, t$. 6d. 1S44 

JOHNSON'S GARDENER, complete in 12 vols, with numerous woodeuta. containing the 
potato, one vol.— Cucumber, one vol.— Grape 'tine, »wo tiris.— Auricula and Asparagus, one 
vol.— Pine Apple,twovolB.— Strawberry, one vol.— Dahlia, tmt vol.— Peach, one voL— Apple, 
two vols.— together 12 vols. 12mo, woodeuta (pub. at II. ie«.), cloth. It*. 1847 

■ I ' dtlierdfthevolMneB may be had aeparataly (pub. atts.M.), at la. 

thiek lamo, cloth lettered (pub. at 10«. 6d.), 4«. A comprehensive and elegant volume. 1846 

LATHAM'S GENERAL HISTORY OF- BIRDS. Being the Natural History and Descrip- 
tioa of all the Birds (above four thoussnd) hitherto known or described by Naturalista, with 
the Synonymes of preceding Writers : the second enlarged and Improved Edition, compre- 
hending all the discoveries fin Ornithology subsequent to the former pul)Iication, and a General 
Index, 11 vols. In 10, 4to, with upwards of 800 coloured Platas, lettered (pub. at 26/. 8*.), clotii, 
71. 17'. 6d. Wmchuter, 1821-28. The same with Che plates exquisitely coloured like drawings, 
11 vols, in 10, eleganljy half bound, greooimoroooo, gilt edges, \2l. 12«. 


Third Edition, with an Index of the Scientific Names and Synonymes by Mr. 6ovu>and Mr. 
Bytok, folio, 27 plates, coloured (pub. at 4/. it.), hL bd. morocco, 2/. tt. 1838 

royal 8vo, containing 132 most beautifully coloured plaUs, chiefly by Mas. Withbks, Artist 
to the Horticultural Society (pub. at lOL 10*.), half bound, morocco extra, gilt edges, U. &$. 

••This la an exqulsitaly beautiful work. Every plate la Ilk* a^hlghly iinlshed dnwlngt 
dmllar to those In the Horticultural Transactions." 

LtNDLEY^ DIGITALIUM MONOGRAPHIA. Folio, S8 plates of the Fbxglofe (pnh. at 

4/.4«.),eloth, W. ll«.6d. 

— ■ ■ the same, the plates beautifully coloured (pub. at tL <•.), clotli, U, VU. 9d, 

Tales, and Anecdotes of more than Five Hundred Animals, cemprebendmg all the Quadropeua, 
Birds, Pislies, Reptiles, I nsecta, &c. of which a knowledge Is indispensable in polite educa> 
tlon. With Indexes of Scientific aii Popular Names, an Explanation of Terns, and an Ap- 
pendix of Fabulous Animals, illustrat