Ex Libris
C. K. OGDEN
</
' ' V
THE TOURIST
SWITZERLAND AND ITALY.
THOMAS ROSCOE.
ILLUSTRATED FROM DRAWINGS
S. PROUT, ESQ.
PAI.VTKR IX WATER COLOURS TO HIS MAJESTY.
Or di tante grandezze appeiia testa
Viva la rimcmbranza ; e mentre insult i
Al valor morto, alia virtii sepulta
Tc barbaro rigor prcme e calpesta.
TKSTI.
LONDON :
ROBERT JENNINGS, 62, CHEAPSIDE.
1830
LONDON :
PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISOK, WHITEFRIAHS.
THE HON. LADY GEORGIANA AGAR ELLIS,
THIS VOLUME
is
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.
2OO0562
TO THE READER.
IN offering to the public a work at once novel
and attractive, and so widely differing in point of
design and execution from any of a similar class
hitherto announced, few observations will, it is
hoped, be deemed necessary. Its character and
pretensions will best be explained by simply re-
ferring to the names of the artists, its conductors
to the style of the embellishments themselves and,
as regards its literary illustrations, to the judgment
of the general reader. On this last point only it
may be proper to state, that the author has been
deeply indebted to the valuable suggestions and
other assistance of several talented individuals*, to
whom he is bound to offer his warmest acknowledg-
ments.
* Among others, in particular, to the author of the "Castilian."
CONTENTS.
Page
GENEVA . . . . . .1
Lausanne . . . . . .17
Montreaux and Castle of Chillon . . .39
St. Maurice . . . . 52
Lavey . . . . . .64
Martigny . . . . . .73
Sion . . . . . . .86
Viege . . . . . .101
Domo d'Ossola . . . . .105
Castle of Anghiera . . . . .109
Milan . . . . . . . 117
Lake of Corao . . . . . . 130
Como ...... 136
Verona . . . . . .139
Vicenza . . . . . .150
Padua ...... 157
Petrarch's House at Arqua . . . .173
The Rialto Venice . . . .182
Ducal Palace Venice . . . . 203
The Palace of the Foscari Venice . . . 214
The Bridge of Sighs Venice . . .221
Old Ducal Palace Ferrara . . .231
Bologna ...... 247
Ponte Sisto Rome . . . . .261
Ruins Rome ..... 266
Constantine's Arch Rome . . . 277
LIST OF PLATES,
ENGRAVED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF MR. CHARLES HEATH.
1. GENEVA GENERAL VIEW.
2. LAUSANNE.
3. MONTREAUX, CASTLE OF CHILLON, &c.
4. BRIDGE ST. MAURICE.
5. LAVEY, near ditto (Swiss COTTAGE.)
6. MARTIGNY.
7. SIGN.
8. V1SP, or VIEGE.
9. DOMO D'OSSOLA.
10. CASTLE OF ANGHIERA, FROM AKONA.
11. MILAN CATHEDRAL, <bc.
12. LAKE OF COMO.
13. COMO.
14. VIEW OF VERONA.
15. VIEW OF VICENZA.
16. PADUA.
17. PETRARCH'S HOUSE AT ARQUA.
18. THE RIALTO AT VENICE.
19. DUCAL PALACE, ditto.
20. THE PALACE OF THE FOSCARI, ditto.
21. THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS, ditto.
22. OLD DUCAL PALACE AT FERRARA.
23. BOLOGNA.
24. PONTE SISTO, ROME.
25. FISH MARKET, RUINS, ditto.
VIONKTTB CONST ANTINE'S ARCH, ROME.
GENEVA.
Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face,
The mirror where the stars and mountains view
The stillness of their aspect in each trace
Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue.
BYRON.
THE city of Geneva claims the distinction of high an-
tiquity. It is frequently mentioned by the name it now
bears in the Commentaries of Julius Caesar.
It became a republic in the year 1535, and by degrees
acquired the form of government which is maintained to
the present day. Its earlier history, however, is involved
in unusual obscurity; and notwithstanding the ingenious
speculations of many who have endeavoured to reconcile
the conflicting testimony of ancient uriters, none have
hitherto succeeded in removing the veil with which tra-
dition and ignorance have so long obscured it. These
tenebree seculorum will be a sufficient excuse for not
pursuing such an inquiry, more especially as Geneva
presents us with subjects far more interesting than the
investigation of remote tradition.
The city is built at the head of the Leman lake, which
is considered the finest piece of water in Europe. The
u ;iters abound with fish, arid are famous for trout, which
are often found of a prodigious size. At the opposite end
the Rhone falls into the lake, which at some distance se-
parates into two rapid streams, forming a small island in
2 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
the town, and then re-uniting pursues its course into
France. The lake is bordered on one side by the Pays
de Vaud, a country which was formerly conquered by the
Canton of Bern from the Dukes of Savoy. This may,
indeed, be. considered one of the most enchanting spots
in Europe. As far as the eye can reach it is studded
with towns, hamlets, gardens, and vineyards, and is
bounded by the hills of Mount Jura. The Savoy side has
a wilder and more romantic appearance, presenting a
pleasing contrast to the Pays de Vaud. Huge mountains
and tremendous precipices meet the eye on all sides,
rising behind each other in every wild and fantastic form
with which the imagination may choose to invest them.
On the one side Nature is displayed in her most sublime
and awful form, while on the other she exhibits her gayest
and most attractive attire. Thus, by a happy combina-
tion of the softest imagery with the grander and more
majestic scenery, the neighbourhood of Geneva abounds
with objects of surpassing interest. The hand of Nature
has indeed marked the scene as one of her happiest la-
bours. Every material is here combined that the poet
or the painter could desire to excite the imagination or
to stimulate a lingering fancy. The silver lake, which
extends like a huge mirror from shore to shore, reflecting
from its bright and polished surface the numberless beau-
ties that adorn its banks, the lofty mountains that rear on
every side their majestic heads, some clothed with eternal
snows, and others delighting the eye with freshness and
verdure, and the city itself, embosomed in its woods and
waters, present a scene which, for harmonious combina-
tion and variety of imagery, must stand unrivalled, even
GENEVA. 3
where beauty and sublimity most predominate. The glow-
ing language of Rousseau and the lofty verse of Byron
have been, not unworthily, employed in throwing round
these romantic and favoured regions a halo of which
neither time nor circumstance can ever deprive them.
Moore too thus beautifully describes his feelings on visit-
ing the lake and valley for the first time at sunset.
'Twas at this instant while there glow'd
This last, intensest gleam of light
Suddenly through the opening road
The valley burst upon my sight !
That glorious valley, with its lake,
And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling,
Mighty and pure, and fit to make
The ramparts of a Godhead's dwelling.
****
No, never shall I lose the trace
Of what I 've felt in this bright place ;
And should my spirit's hope grow weak,
Should I, oh God ! e'er doubt thy power,
This mighty scene again I '11 seek,
At this same calm and glowing hour,
And here at the sublimest shrine
That Nature ever rear'd to Thee,
Rekindle all that hope divine,
And feel my immortality!
4
Beyond the beauty and romance of its situation, the
city of Geneva has nothing in itself to merit particular
notice. Few European towns of its size and importance
are so sparingly decorated with public monuments. The
upper part, which rises on a gentle acclivity, is exceed-
ingly picturesque. The houses are of stone, and well-
constnicted. But the lower part offers rather an unplea-
B'2
4 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
sant contrast. The houses are many stories high, and
from their appearance would seem to have been built for
ages. They have heavy, projecting roofs, and on each
side of the streets are erected cumbersome wooden ar-
cades, under which the trading classes exhibit their wares
and merchandize. In the water which divides the town
there are also erected many heavy and unseemly buildings,
apparently for the sole use of the washerwomen of Ge-
neva. Indeed, this portion of the city being chiefly in-
habited by the mercantile part of the population, is not
very likely to meet with speedy improvement, since ex-
pense on the one hand and prejudice on the other are
most effectual securities for the adherence of the citizens
to the wisdom of their ancestors. The public walks and the
ramparts are, however, replete with interest. Thence the
eye of the tourist will be delighted with the brilliant suc-
cession of romantic villas, which rise like fairy mansions
along the margin of the lake, and, combined with the
scenes around, present a series of views as beautiful as
they are varied. The lake itself perhaps partakes more
of softness than of grandeur, and the pleasure of gliding
over its waters, when the setting sun casts a mellowed
light over the vivid and glowing scenery around, would
be the summit of such enjoyment, did not the frequency
of those fogs or vapours, which are the bane of this part
of Switzerland, too often intervene and involve the glo-
rious scene in mist and obscurity.
The attachment of the Genevese to the pleasures of so-
ciety renders their town a desirable residence to strangers.
As in France, it is chiefly the evening that is devoted to
society and conversation. The description which M. Si-
(JENKVA. 5
inoud gives of a soiree at Geneva might be mistaken for
that of an evening party in some country town in England.
" Soon after eight in the evening ladies sally forth,
wrapped in a cloak and hood, a rebellious feather only
appearing sometimes in front, and walk on tiptoe about
the streets preceded'by their maid, who carries a lantern.
When they reach their destination the cloak and double
shoes are thrown off in an ante-room appropriated to the
purpose ; their dress is shaken out a little by the at-
tentive maid, their shawl thrown afresh over their shoul-
ders with negligent propriety, their cap set to rights, and
then they slide in lightly, to appearance quite unconscious
of looks, make their curtsy, take their seats, and try to
be agreeable to their next neighbour ; yet now and then
they stifle a yawn, and change places under some pre-
tence for the sake of changing, and curiously turn over
young ladies' or young gentlemen's drawings, placed on
the table with prints and books, upon which they would
not bestow a look if they could help it, nor listen to the
music, to which they now seem attentive. Tea comes
at last, with heaps of sweet things ; a few card-parties
are arranged, and as the hour of eleven or twelve strikes,
the maid and lantern are announced in a whisper to each
of the fair visitors. Meanwhile the men, in groups about
the room, discuss the news of the day, foreign or do-
mestic politics, but mostly the latter, making themselves
very merry with the speech in council of such-and-such
a member (of course of the adverse party), who talked
for two hours on the merest trifle in the world, and
thought he was establishing his reputation as a states-
man for ever."
6 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Of all the important events which have contributed to
the celebrity of Geneva, none claims so great a portion
of interest as the Reformation, of which Geneva may
be said to have been the cradle and the nurse. Had it
not been for this precious home of liberty, which served
as a rallying point for the reformers of all countries during
the sanguinary terrors of persecution, the reformed doc-
trines would never have been so successfully promul-
gated, nor could their advantages have been so universally
secured. The Genevese were early in the field, and to
their exertions is the Protestant Church materially in-
debted for the rapid progress of its tenets, and for the
foundation on which it at present stands.
The circumstance which led the great apostle of the
Reformation, Calvin, to adopt Geneva as his residence is
singular. Passing through that town on his route from
France to Germany, he encountered his friend Farel, then
resident at Geneva, who entreated him to remain there
and to assist him in his ministry. Calvin, however, was
desirous of proceeding, till Farel, spiritu quodam heroico
afflatus (says Beza) threatened him, in the most solemn
manner, with the curse of God if he did not stay to assist
him in that part of the Lord's vineyard. Calvin accord-
ingly complied, and was appointed professor of Divinity.
It was at Geneva that the singular interview took place
between Calvin and Eckius related to Lord Orrery by
Deodati.
" Eckius being sent by the pope legate into France,
upon his return resolved to take Geneva in his way, on
purpose to see Calvin^and if occasion were, to attempt
reducing him to the Romish church. Therefore, when
GENEVA. 7
Eckius was come within a league of Geneva, he left his
retinue there, and went, accompanied but with one man,
to the city in the forenoon. Setting up his horses at an
inn, he inquired where Calvin lived, which house being
shown him, he knocked at the door, and Calvin himself
came to open it to him. Eckius inquired for Mr. Calvin ;
he was told he was the person. Eckius acquainted him
that he was a stranger, and having heard much of his
fame was come to wait upon him. Calvin invited him
to come in, and he entered the house with him ; where,
discoursing of many things concerning religion, Eckius
perceived Calvin to be an ingenious, learned imm, and
desired to know if he had not a garden to walk in ; to
which Calvin replying he had, they both went into it,
and then Eckius began to inquire of him why he left the
Romish church, and offered him some arguments to per-
suade him to re turn ; but Calvin could by no means be
jK?rsuaded to think of it. At last, Eckius told him that
he would put his life into his hands, and then said he
was Eckius, the pope's legate. At this discovery Calvin
was not a little surprised, and begged his pardon that he
had not treated him with the respect due to his quality.
Eckius returned the compliment; and told him if he
would come back to the church he would certainly pro-
cure for him a cardinal's cap; but Calvin was not to be
moved by such an offer. Eckius then asked him what re-
venue he had ; he told the cardinal he had that house and
garden and fifty livres per annum, besides an annual pre-
sent of some wine and corn, on which he lived very com-
trntcdly. Eckius told him that a man of his parts deserved
a better revenue ; and then renewed his invitation to come
8 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
over to the Romish church, promising him a better sti-
pend if he would. But Calvin, giving him thanks, assured
him that he was well satisfied with his condition. About
this time dinner was ready, when he entertained his
guest as well as he could, excused the defects of it, and
paid him every respect. Eckius after dinner desired to
know if he might not be admitted to see the church,
which anciently was the cathedral of that city. Calvin
very readily answered that he might ; accordingly, he
sent to the officers to be ready with the keys, and de-
sired some of the syndics to be there present, not ac-
quainting them who the stranger was. As soon, therefore,
as it was convenient, they both went towards the church ;
and as Eckius was coming out of Calvin's house he drew
out a purse, with about one hundred pistoles, and pre-
sented it to Calvin; Calvin desired to be excused; Eckius
told him he gave it to buy books, as well as to express
his respects for him. Calvin with much regret took the
purse, and they proceeded to the church ; where the syn-
dics and officers waited upon them, at the sight of whom
Eckius thought he had been betrayed, and whispered his
thoughts in the ear of Calvin, who assured him of his
safety. Thereupon they went into the church; and
Eckius having seen all, told Calvin he did not expect to
find things in so decent an order, having been told to the
contrary. After having taken a full view of every thing,
Eckius was returning out of the church, but Calvin
stopped him a little, and calling the syndics and officers
together, took out the purse of gold which Eckius had
given him, telling them that he had received that gold
from this worthy stranger, and that now he gave it to
GENEVA. 9
the poor; and so put it all in the poor-box that was kept
there. The syndics thanked the stranger; and Eckius
admired the charity and modesty of Calvin. When they
were come out of the church, Calvin invited Eckius again
to his house ; but he replied that he must depart ; so
thanking him for all his civilities, offered to take his leave;
but Calvin waited on him to his inn, and walked with
him a mile out of the territories of Geneva, where with
great compliments they took a farewell of each other."
The last moments of Calvin were remarked as the
finest of his life. Like a parent who is about to leave a
beloved family, he bade farewel to those whom he had
watched over so long with a truly parental care. To the
elders of the republic and the citizens he gave his part-
ing advice, that they should steadily pursue the course
in which he had directed them. His remains were con-
veyed, without any pomp, to the burial-place called
Plain Palais. His tomb was simple, and without inscrip-
tion ; but the feelings of gratitude were deeply engraven
on the hearts of the Genevese, and he was honoured with
the sincere mourning of his adopted countrymen, to whom
lie had been so long a father and a friend.
Among the numerous places in the neighbourhood of
Geneva that are deserving of attention, perhaps none
awakens a more vivid curiosity, or excites a more power-
ful interest, than Ferney, the retreat of Voltaire. Literati
and tourists of every country have considered it a pleasing
duty to undertake a pilgrimage to that celebrated shrine
of genius. The house has had many masters, but such
is the almost superstitious veneration in which every
thing that once belonged to the great poet has been re-
10 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
garded, that the mansion itself, with every article of de-
coration, remains the same as when he died.
There is a large picture in the hall, wretchedly exe-
cuted by some itinerant artist whom Voltaire met with
by accident, and who painted the picture according to
the design of the poet. One hardly knows which to con-
demn most, the miserable attempt of the painter, or the
vanity and egotism of the designer. Voltaire is repre-
sented in the foreground presenting the Henriade to
Apollo ; the Temple of Memory is seen, around which
Fame is flying and pointing to the Henriade ; the Muses
and Graces surround Voltaire, and the personages repre-
sented in the poem stand apparently astonished at his
surprising talents j the authors who wrote against him
are descending to the infernal regions, and Envy is ex-
piring at his feet !
The saloon is ornamented with a beautiful design in
china, intended for the tomb of a lady who was thought
to have died in child-birth, but who, horrible to relate,
was buried alive ! In the bed-room are portraits of Vol-
taire's most intimate friends, amongst which are those of
the celebrated actor Le Kain, and the great King of Prussia ;
there is also one of Voltaire himself. On one side of the
room is the Marquise de Chatelet, his mistress; and on
another the Empress of Russia and Clement XIV., better
known as Ganganelli, of whom the following memorable
reply is recorded : The Baron de Gluchen, when travel-
ling into Italy, took the opportunity when at Geneva of
paying Voltaire a visit at Ferney. He inquired of the poet
what he should say from him to the pope ? "I have been
favoured by his holiness," replied Voltaire, " witli many
GENEVA. 11
presents and numerous indulgences, and he has even con-
descended to send me his blessing} but I would give all
these, if Ganganelli would send me one of the ears of the
Head Inquisitor." On the baron's return he called at the
retreat of Voltaire, and informed him that he had de-
livered the message which he gave him to his holiness.
" Tell him," replied the pope, " that while Ganganelli
rules the church, the Head Inquisitor shall have neither
ears nor eyes." There are many other portraits, but in-
differently painted ; his own, indeed, appears to have
been more carefully executed. A vase of black marble
is placed in this room, which once contained the heart of
the philosopher. On it is the following affected inscrip-
tion : SON ESPRIT EST PARTOUT, ET SON C<EUR EST Id.
Over the vase is written MES MANES SONT CONSOLES
PUISQUE MON CCEUR EST AU MILIEU DE vous. The por-
trait of Frederick the Great is so wretchedly painted
that it is hardly fit to grace a sign-post. Le Kain is in
crayons, but executed with no better skill ; and if it
bears any resemblance to the great actor, he has cer-
tainly no reason to accuse the artist of flattery, for there
never could be a man less indebted to nature. The bed of
Voltaire and its hangings are somewhat impaired by time,
and have diminished considerably by the hands of visitors
still less ceremonious, who always consider themselves
justified in committing this kind of pious larceny.
The town of Ferney was entirely of the poet's crea-
tion, and many instances are recorded of the kind interest
he took in the welfare of its inhabitants. The church
close to his own residence is of his own building, which
gave occasion to the remark of a witty traveller " The
nearer the church the farther from God."
12 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Dr. Moore, who visited Voltaire about the year 1 779,
has left an amusing account of his appearance, and of his
mode of life at Ferney.
" The first idea which has presented itself to all who
have attempted a description of his person is that of a
skeleton. In as far as this implies excessive leanness it
is just ; but it must be remembered, that this skeleton,
this mere composition of skin and bone, has a look of
more spirit and vivacity than is generally produced by
flesh and blood, however blooming and youthful. The
most piercing eyes I ever beheld are those of Voltaire,
now in his eightieth year. His whole countenance is
expressive of genius, observation, and extreme sensibility.
In the morning he has a look of anxiety and discontent,
but this gradually wears off, and after dinner he seems
cheerful ; yet an air of irony never entirely forsakes his
face, but may always be observed lurking in his features
whether he frowns or smiles. When the weather is favour-
able, he takes an airing in his coach with his niece, or
with some of his guests, of whom there is always a suf-
ficient number at Ferney. Sometimes he saunters in his
garden ; or if the weather does not permit him to go
abroad, he employs his leisure hours in playing at chess
with Pere Adam ; or in receiving the visits of strangers
(a continual succession of whom attend at Ferney to
catch an opportunity of seeing him), or in dictating and
reading letters, for he still retains correspondents in all
the countries in Europe, who inform him of every re-
markable occurrence, and send him every new literary
production as soon as it appears. By far the greater
part of his time is spent in his study ; and whether he
reads himself or listens to another he always has a pen
GENEVA. 13
in his hand to take notes or to make remarks. Com-
position is his principal amusement. No author who
writes for daily bread, no young poet ardent for distinc-
tion, is more assiduous with his pen, or more anxious for
fresh fame than the wealthy and applauded Seigneur of
Ferney. He lives in a very hospitable manner, and takes
care always to keep a good cook. He has generally two
or three visitors from Paris, who stay with him a month
or six weeks at a time. When they go, their places are
soon supplied, so that there is a constant rotation of
society at Ferney. These, with Voltaire's own family
and his visitors from Geneva, compose a company of
twelve or fourteen persons, who dine daily at his table
whether he appears or not. For when engaged in pre-
paring some new publication for the press, indisposed, or
in bad spirits, he does not dine with his company, but
satisfies himself with seeing them for a few minutes,
either before or after dinner. All who bring recom-
mendations from his friends may depend on being re-
ceived, if he be not really indisposed. He often presents
himself to the strangers who assemble almost every
afternoon in his ante-chamber, though they bring no par-
ticular recommendation. But sometimes they are obliged
to retire without having their curiosity gratified.
" The forenoon is not a proper time to visit Voltaire.
He cannot bear to have his hours of study interrupted.
This alone is sufficient to put him out of humour j besides,
he is then apt to be querulous, whether he suffers by the
infirmities of age, or from some accidental cause of cha-
grin. Whatever is the reason, he is less an optimist at
that part of the day than at any other. It was in the
14 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
morning, probably, that he remarked, ' que c'etoit do-
mage que le quinquina se trouvoit en Ainerique, et la
fievre en nos climats.' Those who are invited to supper
have an opportunity of seeing him in the most advanta-
geous point of view. He then exerts himself to entertain
the company, and seems as fond of saying what are called
good things as ever; and when any lively remark or
bon mot comes from another, he is equally delighted,
and pays the fullest tribute of applause. The spirit
of mirth gains upon him by indulgence. When sur-
rounded by his friends, and animated by the presence of
women, he seems to enjoy life with all the sensibilities of
youth. His genius then surmounts the restraints of age
and infirmity, and flows along in a fine strain of pleasing
and spirited observation, and delicate irony. He has an
excellent talent for adapting his conversation to his com-
pany. The first time the Duke of Hamilton waited on
him, he turned the discourse on the ancient alliance be-
tween the French and the Scotch nations, reciting the
circumstance of one of his Grace's predecessors having
accompanied Mary Queen of Scots, whose heir he at
that time was, to the court of France : he spoke of the
heroic characters of his ancestors, the ancient Earls of
Douglas, of the great literary reputation of some of his
countrymen then living, and mentioned the names of
Hume and Robertson in terms of high admiration."
Voltaire was irascible and jealous to a great degree ;
an instance of which is related in an accidental interview
with Piron. Piron was a rival wit, who took a strange
delight in tormenting him, and whom he consequently
most sincerely hated. Voltaire never missed an oppor-
GENEVA. 15
tunity of lashing his rival in the keen encounter of nit ;
and Piron, equally liberal, left him but few advantages to
boast.
One morning Voltaire called at the mansion of the
celebrated Madame de Pompadour, and was awaiting her
coming in the salon. He had comfortably established
himself on a fauteuil, anxiously expecting the arrival
of the lady ; for though Voltaire was a philosopher, he
was nevertheless a keen-scented courtier, and seldom
neglected an opportunity of ingratiating himself with the
powers that were. The door opened, and Voltaire, ar-
rayed in his best smiles, sprang forward, to pay his ho-
mage to the arbitress of patronage, when, who should
meet him, smirking as it were in mockery of the poet,
but the hated Piron ! There was no retreating j Voltaire,
therefore, resolving to play the hero, drew himself up
with an air of hauteur, and, bowing slightly to Piron, re-
tired to the fauteuil from which he had risen. Piron
acknowledged the salutation with an equally indifferent
movement, and placed himself on a fauteuil exactly oppo-
site Voltaire. After some few moments passed in silence,
the author of the Henriade took from his pocket a black
silk cap, which he usually wore when at home, or in
the presence of any one with whom he thought he could
take such a liberty, and putting it on his head, observed
in a dry tone and with great indifference of manner,
" Je vous demande pardon, monsieur ; mais mon medecin
m'ordonne de "
" Point de cereinonie, monsieur," interrupted Piron,
" d'autant plus que mon medecin m'ordonne la memc
chose." So saying, he very coolly put on his hat.
16 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Voltaire stared at this unequivocal demonstration of
contempt ; but as he had provoked it, he was obliged to
put up with the affront. He was therefore compelled to
limit his indignation to the expression of his countenance,
which was any thing but amiable or conciliating, and oc-
cupied himself exclusively with his own reflections. Piron
took no notice of him j and the situation of the two poets
became every moment more embarrassing. Madame Pom-
padour did not arrive ; and Voltaire was evidently out of
humour. He again applied to his pocket, and drawing
from it a biscuit he began to eat it, offering as an apology
that his health was delicate. " Pardon, monsieur, mais
mon medecin m'a command^ de manger."
" Point de ceremonie, monsieur," repeated the im-
perturbable Piron, with an obsequious bow; and drawing
from his pocket a small bottle or flask, with which he
was usually provided, he uncorked it, and swallowed the
contents at a draught, at the same time testifying his
approval by smacking his lips with a violence perfectly
petrifying.
This was too much. The irascibility of the philoso-
pher prevailed, and starting up, with indignation in his
countenance, and darting a fierce look at the uncere-
monious Piron, he exclaimed, " Est-ce que monsieur se
moque de moi?"
" Excusez, monsieur," mildly retorted Piron, enjoying
the rage and confusion of his rival, " mais ma sante est
si faible que mon medecin m'a commande de boire.'
Fortunately, at this moment Madame de Pompadour
entered, in time to prevent the progress of hostilities ;
and if it was beyond her power to promote a good under-
GENEVA. 17
standing between the poets, she at least contrived to en-
gage their attention on subjects more worthy of their
talents.
Before we leave Geneva it will not be improper to
mention the claim which the public library has to notice.
It contains many rare and curious books and manuscripts,
and a very singular piece of antiquity, an ancient Roman
shield of massive silver. It was found in the bed of the
Arve in 1721.
The traveller who beholds a storm on the lake of
Geneva will not forget Lord Byron's beautiful de-
scription.
The sky is changed! and such a change! Oh night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud !
And this is in the night: Most glorious night !
Thou wert not made for slumber ! let me be
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight
A portion of the tempest and of thee !
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth !
And now again 'tis black, and now, the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth,
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.
18 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way,
The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand :
For here, not one, but many, make their play,
And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand,
Flashing and cast around ; of all the band,
The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd
His lightnings, as if he did understand,
That in such gaps as desolation work'd,
There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk'd.
Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye !
With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul
To make these felt and feeling, well may be
Things that have made me watchful; the far roll
Of your departing voices is the knoll
Of what in me is sleepless, if I rest.
But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal ?
Are ye like those within the human breast?
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest?"
LAUSANNE.
Rousseau, Voltaire, our Gibbon, and de Stael,
Leman ! these names are worthy of thy shore,
Thy shore of names, like these ; wert thou no more.
Their memory thy remembrance would recall !
BYRON.
LAUSANNE is a neat picturesque town, about eight
hours' drive from Geneva, and is deservedly celebrated
for the singular beauty of its situation. The climate is sa-
lubrious and delightful, and the romantic scenery of the
Pays de Vaud has not its equal in the world. Nothing
can surpass the glowing magnificence of a summer's
evening in this fairy region. When the sun descends
beyond mount Jura, the alpine summits reflect for a long
time the bright ruddy splendour, and the quiet lake, un-
ruffled by a breeze, assumes the appearance of liquid gold.
In the distance rises the vast chain of Alps, with their
seas of ice and boundless regions of snow, contrasted with
the near and more pleasing objects of glowing vineyards
and golden corn fields, and interspersed with the wooded
brow, the verdant and tranquil valley, with villas, hamlets,
and sparkling streams.
Rousseau expresses his rapture at this scene, in the per-
son of the hero of his celebrated romance, who, returning
from a voyage round the world, thus exclaims at the sight
of his native Pays de Vaud, " Ce paysage unique, le plus
c2
20 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
beau dont 1'oeil humain fut jamais frappe, ce sejour char-
mant auquel je n'avais rien trouve" d'egal dans le tour
du monde."
Lausanne is the capital of the Pays de Vaud. The
church is a magnificent gothic building, and was the ca-
thedral when the country was subject to the dukes of
Savoy. It was taken from the house of Savoy by the
canton of Bern, under whose dominion it remained for
nearly two centuries and a half, until the French revolu-
tion altered the whole face of affairs in Europe. Switzer-
land caught the cry of liberty and equality, and the go-
vernment of Bern, which had hitherto been vested in an
aristocracy, was transferred to a representative council,
chosen by the people.
The inhabitants of Lausanne are Calvinists, although
none of that mortifying spirit is discernible which cha-
racterises their brother presbyterians of Scotland. The
only point on which they appear to feel the necessity of
a strict observance is the time of divine service on the
Sabbath day. Every thing then is as quiet and still as
though all classes were convinced of the necessity of, at
least, an appearance of religious duty, and few persons
are seen in the streets, unless on their way to church.
But so soon as the services are ended, the day is devoted
to gaiety and recreation. As in France, the neighbour-
ing places of amusement are crowded with visitors, and
every thing exhibits a more than usual appearance of
gaiety. Their festivities however are conducted on a
more moderate scale ; for great attention is paid by the
government to repress the growth of luxury which, de-
spite of the endeavours of the Swiss republicans, is making
LAUSANNE. 21
a rapid progress. Many of the foreign residents find it
extremely difficult to accommodate their habits to the
regulations imposed on the inhabitants, and sometimes
incur the penalties awarded in cases of infringement of
their sumptuary la\vs.
Lausanne, in addition to the natural beauties with
which it so richly abounds, derives new interest from the
associations to which it gives rise.
The house of Gibbon, one of the most attractive ob-
jects at Lausanne, is visited by every stranger. To this
retreat he retired to complete those great historical la-
bours which have immortalized his name. The little
impression which he had made in public life the loss of
his seat at the Board of Trade and the neglect of the
coalition ministry, who " counted his vote on the day of
battle, but overlooked him in the division of the spoil j"
all seemed to render his voluntary banishment desirable ;
while his attachment to the society and scenery of Lau-
sanne, and his intimate acquaintance with the people
and the language, gave that banishment almost the air
of a restoration to his native country. Familiar as he
had been with the society of the learned, the noble, and
the great, he valued it too correctly to mourn over its
loss. " Such lofty connexions," he observes, " may at-
tract the curious and gratify the vain ; but I am too mo-
dest, or too proud, to rate my own value by that of uiy
associates ; and whatever may be the fame of learning or
iron ins, experience has shown me that the cheaper qua-
lifications of politeness and good sense are of more useful
currency in the commerce of life." The historian's
choice was well made, nor did it subject him to repent-
ance. " Since my establishment at Lausanne/' he says,
22 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
" seven years have elapsed, and if every day has not been
equally soft and serene, not a day, not a moment has oc-
curred in which I have repented of my choice."
In a letter addressed to Madame Severy, during his
visit to England in 1787, he expresses, very beautifully,
his attachment to his Swiss residence, and the pain which
he had experienced in leaving it.
" Je perdrois de vue cette position unique sur la terre,
ce lac, ces montagnes, ces riants cdteaux; ce tableau
charmant, qui paroit toujours nouveau aux yeux memes
accoutume's des leur enfance a le voir. Je laissois ma
bibliothe'que, la terrasse, mon berceau, une maison riante,
et tous ces petits objets de commodite" journaliere que
1'habitude nous rend si necessaires; et dont 1'absence
nous fait a tous momens sentir la privation. Sur tous
les pays de 1'Europe, j'avois choisi pour ina retraite le
Pays de Vaud, et jamais je ne me suis repente un seul
instant de ce choix."
During his residence at Lausanne, Gibbon in general
devoted the whole of the morning to study, abandoning
himself in the evening to the pleasures of conversation, or
to the lighter recreation of the card-table. " By many,"
he observes, " conversation is esteemed as a theatre or a
school ; but after the morning has been occupied with
the labours of the library, I wish to unbend rather than
to exercise my mind, and in the interval between tea and
supper I am far from disdaining the innocent amusement
of a game at cards."
In a letter to his kind and excellent relative, Mrs.
Porter, Gibbon has described what he terms the " ske-
leton of his life at Lausanne."
" In this season (the winter) I rise, not at four in the
LAUSANNE. 23
morning, but a little before eight; at nine I am called
from my study to breakfast, which I always perform
alone in the English style, and with the aid of Caplin I
perceive no difference between Lausanne and Bentinck-
strect. Our mornings are usually passed in separate
studies; we never approach each other's door without a
previous message, or thrice knocking, and my apartment
is already sacred, and formidable to strangers. I dress
at half-past one, and at two (an early hour, to which I
am not perfectly reconciled), we sit down to dinner.
We have hired a female cook, well skilled in her pro-
fession and accustomed to the taste of every nation, as,
for instance, we had excellent mince-pies yesterday.
After dinner, and the departure of our company, one,
two, or three friends, we read together some amusing
book, or play at chess, or retire to our rooms, or make
visits, or go to the cofiee-house. Between six and seven
the assemblies begin, and I am oppressed only with their
number and variety. Whist at shillings or half-crowns
is generally the game I play, and I play three rubbers
with pleasure. Between nine and ten we withdraw to
our bread and cheese, and friendly converse, which sends
us to bed at eleven ; but these sober hours are too often
interrupted by private or numerous suppers, which I have
not the courage to resist, though I practise a laudable ab-
stinence at the best furnished tables."
The gifted conversation and kind manners of Gibbon
attracted the friendship of some of the most estimable of
his neighbours, and in the society of the family of De
Severy he found some consolation for the loss of his
friend Deyverdun.
24 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
" Amongst the circle of my acquaintance at Lausanne
I have gradually acquired the solid and tender friendship
of a respectable family ; the four persons of whom it is
composed are all endowed with the virtues best adapted
to their age and situation ; and I am encouraged to love
the parents as a brother, and the children as a father.
Every day we seek and find the opportunities of meeting ;
yet even this valuable connexion cannot supply the loss
of domestic society." It was indeed this feeling of soli-
tude and loneliness which " tinged with a browner shade
the evening of his life." After enumerating, with the
pride and partiality which its comforts and its beauties
justified, the many advantages of his literary retreat, he
touchingly adds " but I feel, and with the decline of
years I shall more painfully feel, that I am alone in
Paradise."
The summer-house in which the great historian com-
pleted his lengthened labours may still be seen. " It
was on the day," says he, " or rather night, of the 27th
of June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve,
that I wrote the last lines of the last page in a sum-
mer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen,
I took several turns in a bergeau, or covered walk of
acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the
lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the
sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected
from the waters, and all nature was silent. I will not
dissemble the first emotions of joy on the recovery of my
freedom, and perhaps the establishment of my fame;
but my pride was soon humbled, and a sober melancholy
was spread over my mind by the idea that I had taken
LAUSANNE. 25
an everlasting leave of an old and agreeable companion,
and that whatsoever might be the future date of my his-
tory, the life of the historian must be short and pre-
carious."
The sentiment of regret thus breathed by Gibbon has
been no less beautifully expressed in the verse of Lord
Byron, who has made Tasso lament in the same spirit
over the dismissal of the Jerusalem :
But this is o'er my pleasant task is done,
My long-sustaining friend of many years !
If I do blot thy final page with tears,
Know that my sorrows have wrung from me none.
But thou, my young creation! my soul's child !
Which ever playing round me came and smiled,
And wooed me from myself with thy sweet sight,
Thou too art gone, and so is my delight ;
And therefore do I weep and inly bleed
With this last bruise upon a broken reed.
The terrace which the historian used to perambulate
still remains. Here, not unfrequently, he was accustomed
to walk and converse with the distinguished strangers
who sought him in his retreat. In one of his letters to
Lady Sheffield he has recorded, with excusable pride, a
memorable assemblage of rank and of talent upon his
terrace. " A few weeks ago, I was walking on our ter-
race with M. Tissot, the celebrated physician ; M. Mer-
cier, the author of the 'Tableau de Paris/ the Abbe
Kaynal; Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoiselle Ncckerj
the Abbe de Bourbon, a natural son of Louis XV. j the
hereditary Prince of Brunswick, Prince Henry of Prussia,
;iml a dozen counts, barons, and extraordinary persons,
26 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
amongst whom was a natural son" of the Empress of
Russia. Are you satisfied with the list, which I could
enlarge and embellish without departing from the truth :"
When visited by M. Simond a few years since, the
house of Gibbon exhibited symptoms of dilapidation and
decay. " The principal rooms are now used as a count-
ing-house ; the few trees on the terrace have been cut
down, and the grounds below are very littery" (we copy
the English version, and M. Simond was his own trans-
lator), and planted with shabby fruit-trees, but were no
doubt better in Gibbon's time, yet it could never have
been any great things ; you go down to this terrace by a
long flight of narrow stone stairs inside the house as if
to a cellar ; the terrace itself is a mere slip, seventy or
eighty yards long, by ten in width, with a low parapet
wall towards the prospect. An old-fashioned arbour of
cut charmille (dwarf-beech) at the end of the terrace,
encloses the petit cabinet, where Gibbon says he wrote
the last lines of his " Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire." It is itself declining and falling into ruin. In
short, every thing has been done to disenchant the place."
Lausanne and Ferney, as the abodes of Voltaire and
of Gibbon, have been finely apostrophised by Lord Byron :
Lausanne ! and Ferney ! ye have been the abodes
Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name ;
Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads,
A path to perpetuity of fame :
They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim
Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile
Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame
Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while
On man and man's research could deign do more than smile.
LAUSANNE. 27
The one was fire and fickleness, a child,
Most mutable in wishes, but in mind,
A wit as various, gay, grave, sage, or wild,
Historian, bard, philosopher, combined ;
He multiplied himself among mankind,
The Proteus of their talents : but his own
Breathed most in ridicule, which, as the wind,
Blew where it listed, laying all things prone,
Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne.
The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought,
And hiving wisdom with each studious year,
In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought,
And shaped his weapon with an edge severe,
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer;
The lord of irony, that master-spell,
Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear,
And doom'd him to the zealot's ready Hell,
Which answers to all doubts so eloquently welL
Yet, peace be with their ashes, for by them,
If merited, the penalty is paid ;
It is not ours to judge, far less condemn ;
The hour must come when such things shall be made
Known unto all, or hope and dread allay'd
By slumber, on one pillow, in the dust,
Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay'd ;
And when it shall revive, as is our trust,
'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just.
Lausanne and its neighbourhood are also rendered
illustrious by their having afforded a residence to Necker
and his most celebrated daughter. In a country house,
near Lausanne, before he removed to Coppet, Necker
composed his " Treatise on the Administration of the
Finances," and it was here that Gibbon became acquainted
with the ex-minister. At that period Mademoiselle Necker
28 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
was only a gay and giddy girl. " Mademoiselle Necker,"
says the historian in a letter to Lord Sheffield, " one of
the greatest heiresses in Europe, is now about eighteen
wild, vain, but good-natured, with a much greater pro-
vision of wit than of beauty." It does not appear that
Gibbon at this time appreciated the talents and the ge-
nius which afterwards shone forth so brilliantly in the
writings and conversation of Madame de Stael. Not un-
frequently the Neckers visited the historian in his humble
mansion, where the great financier conversed freely with
him on the subject of his administration and his fall.
Occasionally, also, Gibbon spent a few days with his
friends at Coppet, and the correspondence, which has
been published, between himself and Madame Necker,
proves the very amicable terms on which they stood to
one another, and from which, perhaps, the recollection
of their youthful attachment did not detract. In visit-
ing the scenes formerly illustrated by the lofty genius
and graceful society of Madame de Stael, the traveller
will regret that there is no adequate memoir of a person
so truly distinguished. " Some one," it is well observed
by Lord Byron, " some one of all those whom the charms
of involuntary wit and of easy hospitality attracted within
the friendly circles of Coppet, should rescue from oblivion
those virtues which, although they are said to love the
shade, are in fact more frequently chilled than excited
by the domestic cares of private life. Some one should
be found to portray the unaffected graces with which she
adonied those dearer relationships, the performance of
whose duties is rather discovered amongst the interior
secrets than seen in the outward management of family
LAUSANNE. 29
intercourse ; and which indeed it requires the delicacy
of genuine affection to qualify for the eye of an indif-
ferent spectator. Some one should be found, not to ce-
lebrate, but to describe the amiable mistress of an open
mansion, the centre of a society ever varied and always
pleased, the creator of which, divested of the ambition
and the arts of public rivalry, shone forth only to give
fresh animation to those around her. The mother, ten-
derly affectionate and tenderly beloved ; the friend, un-
boundedly generous, but still esteemed; the charitable
patroness of all distress, cannot be forgotten by those
whom she cherished, and protected, and fed. Her loss
will be mourned the most where she was known the best ;
and to the sorrow of very many friends, and of more de-
pendents, may be offered the disinterested regret of a
stranger, who, amidst the sublime scenes of the Leman
lake, received his chief satisfaction from contemplating
the engaging qualities of the incomparable Corinna."
Many amusing and interesting anecdotes of Madame
de Stael are, however, given in the " Notice" prefixed to
her " (Euvrcs inedites" by Madame Necker Saussure.
From her we learn that the " wild, vain, but good-na-
tured" Mademoiselle Necker actually proposed to her
parents that she should marry Mr. Gibbon in order that
they might secure the uninterrupted enjoyment of his
society ! Her devotion to her father is said almost to
have amounted to idolatry, as the following anecdote will
sufficiently prove. Madame Necker Saussure had come
to Coppet from Geneva in M. Necker's carriage, and had
been overturned on the way, but without receiving any
injury. On mentioning the accident to Madame de Stael
30 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
on her arrival, she asked, with great vehemence, who had
driven ; and on being told that it was Richel, her father's
ordinary coachman, she exclaimed, in an agony, " My
God! he may one day overturn my father!" and rung
instantly with violence for his appearance. While he
was coming, she paced about the room ii\ the greatest
possible agitation, crying out, at every turn, " My father !
my poor father! he might have been overturned!" and
turning to her friend, "At your age, and with your slight
person, the danger is nothing ; but with his age and bulk,
I cannot bear to think of it." The coachman now came
in; and this lady, usually so mild, and indulgent, and
reasonable with all her attendants, turned to him in a
sort of frenzy, and in a voice of solemnity, but choked
with emotion, said, " Richel ! do you know that I am a
woman of genius r" The poor man stood in astonishment,
and she went on louder : " Have you not heard, I say,
that I am a woman of genius ?" Coachee was still mute.
" Well, then ! I tell you that I am a. woman of genius
of great genius of prodigious genius ! and I tell you
more, that all the genius I have shall be exerted to se-
cure your rotting out your days in a dungeon, if ever you
overturn my father!" Even after the fit was over, she
could not be made to laugh at her extravagance, and
said, "and what had I to conjure with but my poor
genius ?"
It is singular, that though her youth was passed amidst
the most enchanting scenery of Switzerland, Madame de
Stael had little relish for its charms. " Give me the
Rue de Bac," said she to a person who was expatiating
on the beauties of the Lake of Geneva ; " I would prefer
LAUSANNE. 31
living in Paris in a fourth story, with a hundred louis a
year."
M. Simond has sketched with considerable ability
the character of this celebrated woman. " I had seen
Madame de Stael a child, and I saw her again on her
death-bed. The intermediate years were spent in an-
other hemisphere, as far as possible from the scenes in
which she lived. Mixing again, not many months since,
with a world in which I am a stranger, and feel I shall
remain so, I just saw this celebrated woman, and heard
as it were her last words, as I had read her works before,
uninfluenced by any local bias. Perhaps the impressions
of a man thus dropped from another world into this may
be deemed something like those of posterity. * * *
Madame de Stael lived for conversation j she was not
happy out of a large circle, and a French circle, where
she could be heard in her own language to the best ad-
vantage. Her extravagant admiration of the Paris so-
ciety was neither more nor less than genuine admiration
of herself j it was the best mirror she could get, and that
was all. Ambitious of all sorts of notoriety, she would
have given the world to have been noble and a beauty ;
yet there was in this excessive vanity so much honesty
and frankness, it was so void of affectation and trick,
she made so fair and so irresistible an appeal to your
own sense of her worth, that what would have been
laughable in any one else was almost respectable in
her. That ambition of eloquence, so conspicuous in her
writings, was much less observable in her conversation ;
there was more abandon in what she said than in what
she wrote; while speaking, the spontaneous inspiration
32 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
was no labour, but all pleasure ; conscious of extraordi-
nary powers, she gave herself up to the present enjoy-
ment of the deep things, and the good things, flowing
in a full stream from her own well-stored mind and
luxuriant fancy. The inspiration was pleasure the plea-
sure was inspiration ; and without precisely intending it,
she was, every evening of her life, in a circle of com-
pany the very Corinna she depicted, although in her
attempts to personify that Corinna in her book, and
make her speak in print, she utterly failed, the labour of
the pen extinguishing the fancy."
An amusing anecdote is related by M. Simond of the
early wit and vivacity which distinguished Madame de
Stael. " While at Coppet, an anecdote told us by an in-
timate friend of the family (M. de Bonstetten) recurred
to me. He was then five-and-twenty, she a sprightly
child of five or six years old; and walking about the
grounds as we were then doing, he was struck with a
switch from behind a tree ; turning round, he observed
the little rogue laughing. " Maman veut," she called
out, "que je me serve de la main gauche, etj'essayois!"
Amongst the literary associations which Lausanne
affords, it must not be forgotten that it was the last re-
sidence of that very amiable and highly accomplished
man, John Philip Kemble.
A few miles distant from Lausanne is the small town
of Vevay, a place which, like a thousand other places
near it, is associated with the recollection of one of the
most singular and highly-gifted men of modern times,
who has peopled these beautiful regions with the undying
offspring of his own imagination. " J'allai il Vevay loger
LAUSANNE. 33
,1 la Clef," says Rousseau, " et pendant deux jours quc
j'y restai sans voir personne, je pris pour cette villc un
amour que m'a suivi dans tons uies voyages, et qui m'y
a fait tftablir cnfin les heros de mon roman. Je dirois
volontiers i ceux qui ont du gout et qui sont sensibles
allez Vevai visitez le pays, examinez les sites, pro-
menez vous sur le lac, et dites si la Nature n'a pas fait
ce beau pays pour une Julie, pour une Claire, et pour un
St. Preux; mais ne les y cherchez pas." Lord Byron,
with equal rapture, has celebrated this favoured spot in
verse and in prose :
'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot,
Peopling it with affections ; but he found
It was the scene which passion must allot
To the mind's purified beings ; 'twas the ground
Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound,
And hallow'd it with loveliness : 'tis lone,
And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound
And sense, and sight of sweetness ; here the Rhone
I lath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a throne.
In reference to the passage from Rousseau just given,
Lord Byron has said, " In July, 1816, I made a voyage
round the Lake of Geneva, and as far as my own ob-
servations have led me in a not uninterested nor in-
attentive survey of all the scenes most celebrated by
Rousseau in his ' Heloise,' I can safely say, that in this
then- is no exaggeration. It would be difficult to see
Churns (with the scenes around it, Vevay, Chillon,
f, St. (iin^o, M( illerie, Eivan, and the entrance
of the Rhone), without being forcibly struck with its
peculiar adaptation to the persons and events with which
34 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
it Las been peopled." In surveying these scenes, it is,
indeed, painful to reflect that they were rather polluted
than sanctified by the presence of those, whom the genius
of Rousseau has invested with qualities so graceful and
so captivating. It is still more painful to know that
the character of Rousseau itself exhibited the same in-
consistency, pi'esenting an external surface of romance
and sentiment, beneath which festered many of the
meanest and most debasing of human passions. Moore
has poured out in some veiy spirited lines his indignation
against the blind worshippers of Rousseau.
'Tis too absurd, 'tis weakness, shame,
This low prostration before fame
This casting down before the car
Of idols, whatsoe'er they are,
Life's purest, holiest decencies
To be career'd o'er, as they please.
No let triumphant genius have
All that his loftiest wish can crave :
If he be worshipp'd, let it be
For attributes, bis noblest, first
Not with that base idolatry,
Which sanctifies his last and worst.
The house in which Rousseau resided is agreeably si-
tuated in a valley surrounded with mountains ; but the
garden to which he alludes in his Confessions as having
cultivated with his own hands, is now no longer to be
traced.
At Vevay may still be seen the house in which Lud-
low the Republican, one of the most honest and manly
adherents of the Parliament, in their great struggle with
Charles I., lived and died. The mansion stands near the
LAUSANNE. 35
gate leading to the Vallais, and over the door are in-
scribed the words,
OMNE 80LUM PORTI PATRIA
QUIA PATRIS.
Of his residence at Vevay, and of the infamous attempts
there made to assassinate him, Ludlow has left an ac-
count in his Memoirs. The parties employed to per-
petrate this crime had already succeeded in destroying
Mr. Lisle, another of the regicides, who, in the language
of one of the royalist writers, was " overtaken by divine
vengeance at Lausanne, where the miserable wretch was
shot dead by the gallantry of three Irish gentlemen, who
attempted the surprisal of him and four more impious
parricides." One of these attempted surprisals is thus
related by Ludlow : " According to our information, some
of the villains who were employed to destroy us had,
on the 14th of November, 1663, passed the Lake from
Savoy in order to put their bloody design in execution
the next day, as we should be going to the church. They
arrived at Vevay about an hour after sunset j and having
divided themselves, one part took up their quarters in one
inn and the other in another. The next day, being
Sunday, M. Dubois, our landlord, going early to the
church discovered a boat at the side of the lake with
four watermen in her, their oars in order and ready to
put off. Not far from the boat stood two persons, with
cloaks thrown over their shoulders } two sitting under a
treej and two more in the same posture a little way from
them. M. Dubois, concluding that they had arms under
u2
36 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
their cloaks, and that these persons had waylaid us with
a design to murder us as we should be going to the ser-
mon, pretending to have forgotten something, returned
home and advised us of what he had observed. In his
way to us he had met one Mr. Biuet, who acquainted
him that two men, whom he suspected of some bad inten-
tion, had posted themselves near his house, and that four
more had been seen in the market-place ; but that, find-
ing themselves observed, they had all retired towards the
lake. By this means, the way leading to the church
through the town being cleared, we went to the sermon
without any molestation, and said nothing to any man of
what we had heard ; because we had not yet certainly
found that they had a design against us. Returning from
church, I was informed that the suspected persons were
all dining at one of the inns, which excited my curiosity
to take a view of the boat. Accordingly I went with a
small company and found the four watermen by the boat,
the oars laid in their places, a great quantity of straw in
the bottom of the boat, and all things ready to put off.
About an hour after dinner, I met our landlord, and
having inquired of him concerning the persons before-
mentioned, he assured me they could be no other than a
company of rogues; that they had arms under the straw
in the boat; and that they had cut the withes that held
the oars of the town-boats, to prevent any pursuit if they
should be forced to fly. But these ruffians, who had ob-
served the actions of M. Dubois, and suspected he would
cause them to be seized, came down soon after I had
viewed the boat, and in great haste caused the watermen
to put off, and returned to Savoy. This discovery being
LAUSANNE. 37
made, the chatelain, the banderet, together with all the
magistrates and people of the town, were much troubled
that we had not given them timely notice that so they
might have been seized. We afterwards understood that
one Du Pose of Lyons, Monsieur Du Pre, a Savoyard (of
whom I shall have occasion to speak more largely), one
Cerise of Lyons, with Riardo before-mentioned, were part
of this crew."
Du Pre was subsequently seized, and having been con-
victed of attempting to assassinate the English and of
another crime, was sentenced to lose his head. The ac-
count of his execution is dreadful. " The day appointed
for his execution being come, he was brought down ; but
the terrors of death, with the dismal reflections on his
past life, seized upon him to such a degree that he fell
into a rage, throwing himself on the ground, biting and
kicking those that stood near, and asking if there were
no hopes of pardon. He was told that he ought to re-
member that, if he had been taken in his own country,
where he had murdered his brother-in-law, and had been
broken in effigy on the wheel, he should not have been
used so gently. He refused to go to the place of execu-
tion any otherwise than by force ; so that about two hours
were spent before he arrived at the place where he was
to die, though it was within musket-shot of the prison.
Here the executioner put a cap on his head, and placed
a chair that he might sit ; but he took off the cap and
threw it away, and kicked down the chair among the
people. When the executioner saw this, he tied his
hands between his knees; and having assured him that
if he persisted in his resistance he would cut him into
38 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
forty pieces, after about an hour's contest, he at last per-
formed his office."
On the revolution Ludlow returned to England, with
the view of serving against James II. in Ireland ; but a
motion having been made in the House of Commons by
Sir Edward Seymour, for an address to the king, praying
that he would cause Ludlow to be apprehended, he re-
turned to Switzerland, where he died in the year 1 693.
A monument was erected to his memory in the principal
church of Vevay, by his wife, which Addison has copied
in his Travels.
MONTREAUX
AND
THE CASTLE OF CHILLON.
Chlllon ! thy prison is a holy place,
And thy tad floor an altar for 'twas trod,
Until his very steps have left a trace,
Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod,
By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface !
For they appeal from tyranny to God.
BYRON.
THE Castle of Chillon can never be viewed without
exciting the noblest associations those to which Liberty
and Genius give birth. The names of Bonnivard, the
martyr of freedom, and of Byron, her martyr and her
laureate, have consecrated the scene. With the Pri-
soner of Chillon are connected feelings no less in uni
son with the writer's early and deplored fate, than
with the sublime and beautiful scenery around. The
greatest of our modern poets is known to have passed
some of the happiest days of his brief and chequered
existence in the vicinity of Chillon. Passionately fond
of sailing, the Lake afforded him the full indulgence of
this taste, combined with that character of scenery he
from a boy most admired, and with the sort of leisure
and social enjoyment he had always best loved. It was
here he first formed some of his most agreeable con-
nexions, in particular with the Shelleys, and several
40 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
distinguished strangers and foreigners, whom he ever
afterwards continued to esteem.
In this retirement, too, his health was said to have
rapidly improved] he had every thing around him cal-
culated to give scope to a genius like his, and to those
" fitful moods and fancies" by which he was always so
liable to be surprised. He had here even formed habits
of regular study and exercise ; he had solitude and society
at his command ; and his mind and manners evidently par-
took of the beneficial change.
Such, at least, is the opinion of those who there knew
him in the zenith of his genius, when engaged in writing
the third and fourth cantos of his Childe Harold, and
that admirable embodying of " the spirit and the power"
of captivity in his Prisoner of Chillon. It seems to have
been his object in this exquisitely pathetic and beautiful
poem to analyse the nature and effect of solitary con-
finement upon the human mind. He makes us feel its
encroachments hour by hour, and day by day, upon the
victim's heart ; we breathe another atmosphere ; " the
common sun, the air, the sky," become eclipsed from
our view, as if, by this intense and fearful vision, the
enthusiast of liberty burned to hold up " tyranny" to
the everlasting abhorrence of mankind.
Eternal spirit of the chainless mind!
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty ! thou art,
For there thy habitation is the heart
The heart which love of thee alone can bind ;
And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd
To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom,
Their country conquers with their martyrdom,
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind.
MONTREAUX AND CASTLE OF CHILLON. 41
The subject was doubtless first suggested by the sin-
gularly wild and gloomy yet picturesque appearance of
the castle from the lake on approaching near the town
of Villeueuve. From this point of view Lord Byron
most frequently must have beheld it, and there, pro-
bably, he conceived the idea of investing it with a fame
that will endure when not a stone shall be left uncovered
by the surrounding waters.
The style of architecture which the castle exhibits is
that of the middle ages ; its aspect is gloomy and low,
and there is nothing very striking, far less pleasing, about
it when divested of its surrounding scenery and associa-
tions. It is, in short, a strong, low fortress, built on a
rock emerging out of the lake, and only connected with
the shore by means of a drawbridge, or rather platform,
for the accommodation of its visitors. On one side there
rises to view the delightful Clarens, and upon the other
is seen the town of Villeneuve. Not far from the latter
the river Rhone pours itself into the lake. Almost im-
mediately opposite rise the rocks of Meillerie, a name too
celebrated, perhaps, in the romantic descriptions of Rous-
seau. The scene of his well-known romance is there,
the catastrophe of which is laid at a spot nearly ad-
joining the castle. Beneath its walls are situated the
dungeons, excavated in the solid rock, below the level of
the waters. In these were buried alive numbers of state
prisoners, particularly during the long and sanguinary
conflicts between the ancient dukes of Savoy and the
citizens of Geneva, the latter of whom were often con-
signed to captivity.
The cells now seen there, extensive as they appear,
42 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
were once filled with these victims of political strife. In
one part is placed a beam of oak, roughly hewn, and
blackened by age, formerly used as a block, on which
many of those executions, so disgraceful to the times,
and for which this castle was so remarkable, repeatedly
took place. The large arched vault above is supported
by seven pillars, and to some of these iron rings are still
fastened, intended for the purpose of restraining the
wretched inmates within the limits allotted to them by
their gaolers. In the hard pavement are left many traces
of the footsteps of the prisoners
Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod :
and doubtless among others by Francois Bonnivard, one
of the boldest and most persevering assertors of Geneva's
liberties, imprisoned there for a space of six years.
I was the eldest of the three,
And to uphold and cheer the rest
I ought to do and did my best
And each did well in his degree.
The two younger at length fall victims : the free spirit
of the hunter first pines within him, and he dies ; next,
the youngest and most loved. The passage in which the
fate of the last is related is exquisitely beautiful} the
most masterly, with one exception, in the entire poem :
But he, the favourite and the flower,
Most cherish'd since his natal hour,
His mother's image in fair face,
The infant love of all his race,'
His martyr'd father's dearest thought,
My latest care, for whom I sought
To hoard my life, that his might be
Less wretched now, and one day free ;
MONTBKAUX AND CASTLE OP CHILLON. 43
He, too, who yet had held untired
A spirit natural or inspired
He, too, was struck, and day by day
Was wither'd on the stalk away.
Oh God ! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing
In any shape, in any mood :
I 've seen it rushing forth in blood,
I 've seen it on the breaking ocean
Strive with a swoln convulsive motion,
I 've seen the sick and ghastly bed
Of Sin delirious with its dread :
But these were horrors this was woe
Unmix'd with such but sure and slow :
He faded, and so calm and meek,
So softly worn, so sweetly weak,
So tearless, yet so tender kind,
And grieved for those he left behind.
After this event the poet supposes Boiinivard to lose
all sense of his sorrows in stupor and delirium. When
again restored to a consciousness of his lot, he hears
near him the note of a bird, and this trivial and natural
little incident, with its effect upon the captive's mind,
is admirably employed to heighten the beautiful and
pathetic picture :
A light broke in upon my brain,
It was the carol of a bird ;
It ceased, and then it came again,
The sweetest song ear ever heard,
And mine was thankful till my eyes
Ran over with the glad surprise,
And they that moment could not sec
1 was the mate of misery;
But then by dull degrees came back
My senses to their wonted track ;
THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
I saw the dungeon walls and floor
Close slowly round me as before,
I saw the glimmer of the sun
Creeping as it before had done,
But through the crevice where it came
That bird was perch'd, as fond and tame,
And tamer than upon the tree ;
A lovely bird, with azure wings,
And song that said a thousand things,
And seem'd to say them all for me !
I never saw its like before,
I ne'er shall see its likeness more :
It seem'd like me to want a mate,
But was not half so desolate,
And it was come to love me when
None lived to love me so again,
And cheering from my dungeon's brink,
Had brought me back to feel and think.
I know not if it late were free,
Or broke its cage to perch on mine,
But knowing well captivity,
Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine !
Or if it were, in winged guise,
A visitant from Paradise ;
For Heaven forgive that thought ! the while
Which made me both to weep and smile ;
I sometimes deem'd that it might be
My brother's soul come down to me ;
But then at last away it flew,
And then 'twas mortal well I knew,
For he would never thus have flown,
And left me twice so doubly lone,
Lone as the corse within its shroud,
Lone as a solitary cloud.
If this be a truly poetical and correct, no less than ap-
palling picture of the sorrows of a captive's heart, the
following will be found equally true in point of local and
descriptive interest. The traveller, gazing around him
MONTREAUX AND CASTLE OF CHILLON. 45
from the walls of Chillon, will not fail to recognize the
scenery described by the delighted Bonnivard when he is
represented as obtaining a view of it from his prison :
But I was curious to ascend
To my barr'd windows, and to bend
Once more^ upon the mountains high,
The quiet of a loving eye.
I saw them and they were the same,
They were not changed like me in frame ;
I saw their thousand years of snow
On high their wide long lake below,
And the blue Rhone in fullest flow;
I heard the torrents leap and gush
O'er channell'd rock and broken bush ;
I saw the white-wall'd distant town,
And whiter sails go skimming down ;
And then there was a little isle
Which in my very face did smile,
The only one in view ;
A small green isle, it seem'd no more,
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor,
But in it there were three tall trees,
And o'er it blew the mountain breeze,
And by it there were waters flowing,
And on it there were young flowers growing,
Of gentle breath and hue.
The fish swam by the castle wall,
And they seem'd joyous each and all ;
The eagle rode the rising blast,
Methought he never flew so fast
As then to me he seem'd to fly,
And then new tears came in my eye,
And I felt troubled and would fain
I had not left my recent chain ;
And when I did descend again,
The darkness of my dim abode
Fell on me as a heavy load.
46 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
When at length the prisoner is set free, it seems to him
like a mockery rather than a blessing ; he had become
familiar even with the reptile inmates of his den, and
felt the pressure of his chain like the hand of a friend.
My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are : even I
Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.
In making Bonnivard the hero of his poem, Lord Byron
has not attempted to sketch, with correctness, the history
or the character of the patriot. " When the foregoing
poem was composed," he observes in a note, " I was not
sufficiently aware of the history of Bonnivard, or I should
have endeavoured to dignify the subject by an attempt to
celebrate his courage and his virtues. Some account of
his life will be found in a note appended to the Sonnet
on Chillon, with which I have been furnished by the
kindness of a citizen of that Republic which is still proud
of the memory of a man worthy of the best age of an-
cient freedom." From the same source the following
narrative is derived.
Sprung from an ancient and reputable family long re-
sident at Lunes, Frangois de Bonnivard was born in the
year 1496, and received his education at Turin. Before
the age of twenty he was made Prior of St. Victor. It
was a richly endowed benefice, and had before been in
the possession of his uncle, the late prior. Though his
interests were with the party of the Duke of Savoy, he
early became its strong and conscientious opponent, and
sacrificed to the progress of the reformation and the wel-
fare of his native city the whole of his patrimony, leaving
MONTBEAUX AND CASTLE OF CHILLON. 47
himself without any other resource than his eloquence and
talent.
This great man (Bonnivard deserves the title by the
rectitude of his principles, the nobleness of his intentions,
the wisdom of his councils, the courage of his conduct,
the extent of his knowledge, and the vivacity of his
mind) this great man, who must excite the admiration
of all persons by whom heroic virtue can be properly
appreciated, will inspire also the wannest gratitude in
the mind of every Genevese who loves the liberties of
his country. Bonnivard was ever one of its firmest
supporters j to secure the freedom of the republic he did
not fear to lose his own : he gave up his repose ; he
scorned his wealth j he neglected nothing that could tend
to establish the prosperity of a city which he had chosen
as his own. He cherished its rights as zealously as the
best of its citizens ; he served it with the intrepidity of a
hero ; he wrote its history with the candour of a philo-
sopher and the fire of a patriot.
At the commencement of his " History of Geneva" he
says, that from the time he began the study of the history
of nations he had felt the deepest interest for republics,
the rights of which he always espoused. While still very
young, Bonnivard openly avowed himself the defender of
Geneva against the Duke of Savoy and the bishop. In
1519 he was made to experience the consequences of his
boldness, and to suffer for the cause he had embraced.
The duke having entered Geneva with 500 men, Bonni-
vard, aware of the reasons he had to fear his resentment,
withdrew to Fribourg. On his journey, however, he was
Ixjt rayed by two men who had accompanied him, and
48 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
delivered into the duke's hands, by whom he was sent
to Grolee, and there kept close prisoner for two years.
Eleven years afterwards he was still more unfortunate ;
for being met upon the Jura by some robbers, they, not
content with plundering him, gave him up to the Duke
of Savoy. He was then sent to the Castle of Chillou,
where he remained until the year 1536, when, upon the
taking of that fortress by the Bernese, Bonnivard was
liberated, and the Pays de Vaud freed for ever from the
domination of the Dukes of Savoy.
When Bonnivard returned to Geneva he found it free,
as well from the duke's claims as from the burdensome
superstitions and exactions of the Romish clergy. He
was treated with great respect by the citizens, and, by
way of recompensing the injuries he had suffered in their
cause, they conferred upon him the freedom of the city.
A house, formerly occupied by the vicar-general, was
assigned to him, together with an annual pension of 200
crowns of gold, so long as he should continue in Geneva.
This sum bore no comparison to that he had voluntarily
relinquished; but perhaps it was at that period, and in
the then state of Geneva, as large as her citizens were
able to afford. In the year following his return he was
admitted into the Council of the Two Hundred.
Bonnivard's exertions for the welfare of the city did
not end here. He had laboured to make Geneva free, he
now succeeded in making it tolerant. He prevailed upon
the council by which the city was governed to grant the
ecclesiastics and the peasants time to consider the pro-
positions of the reformed religion which were now sub-
mitted to them. His policy upon this occasion forms a
MONTREAUX AND CASTI.K OF CHILLON. 49
remarkable contrast to the ferocious tyranny recom-
mended by-Calvin and his brethren, at the same period,
and in the same place. Bonnivard, the advocate of
true religion, succeeded by his mildness. Christianity is
always preached with success when it is preached in
charity.
Bonnivard was a learned man ; his MSS., which still
remain in the public library, sufficiently show that he
was well read in the Roman classics, and that he had
studied theology and history profoundly. He was devoted
to science, and believing that it would be a means of ele-
vating the glory of Geneva, he omitted no means of pro-
moting it in that city. In 1551 he gave his own col-
lection of books for the public use, and thus laid the
foundation of the public library at Geneva. His books
consist generally of those rare and valuable editions which
were published in the fifteenth century. In the same
year he bequeathed to the republic all that he was pos-
sessed of, on condition that it should be applied towards
completing a college which was then projected.
He died, in all probability, in the latter part of the
year 1571 ; but this is not well ascertained, there being
a vacuum in the necrology of Geneva, from July, 1570,
to the beginning of the year 1572.
Having spoken of Bonnivard, it would hardly be just
to omit the name of Pecolet, another of the Genevese
patriots, whose history abounds in curious adventure.
Being a man of wit, and of a gay turn of character, Pe-
( ok t was guilty of the sin to which wits are too generally
prone, that of uttering a joke, not relished by their
superiors. The most singular interpretation was given to
E
OU THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
his words; he was, in short, charged with entertaining
the idea of putting the prelate of whom they were spoken
to death. Upon mere suspicion Pecolet was seized, and
put three times to the torture, in order to make him con-
fess that he had meant to threaten the life of the bishop.
For a long time he refused to make any such confession,
until one day when the bishop was at dinner with a large
party, they suspended their victim by a rope, the guests
and attendants mocking and reviling him as he writhed
under his torments. He was at length brought to admit
all that had been advanced against him, which had not
however the effect of inducing his tormentors to relent.
The sufferer was plunged into a deeper dungeon, and was
on the point of being again tortured, when his doctor de-
clared it was doubtful whether he would be yet able to
go through a fresh application.
This was a little perplexing ; but the good bishop and
the duke were obliged to submit to the disappointment.
In the interval they agreed, as a sort of compensation, to
accuse Pecolet of possessing some enchantment which
had enabled him to undergo so much torment. The dif-
ficulty was to ascertain in what part of his body the
charm lay concealed; but as he had a remarkably fine
flowing beard, it was shrewdly conjectured it must be
lodged there.
Having held a council, this opinion was very logically
discussed and confirmed; and a barber was forthwith
sent for to deprive the necromancer of his fatal gift.
While the barber was earnestly engaged in preparing for
the important operation, Pecolet, aware of the many in-
terrogatories he had yet to undergo, suddenly seized the
MONTREAUX AND CASTLE OF CHILLON. 51
razor and cut off his tongue, that he might not in future
be compelled to accuse himself. Still his persecutors
were not to be deterred; and were again about to put
their victim to the question, when a tumult of the people
compelled them to consult their own safety, and Pecolet
was set at liberty. The courageous patriot, self-deprived
of the power of uttering either his complaints or his
witticisms, retired to end his days in- a monastery of the
order of St. Francis. He there continued for a long
period to lead a quiet and silent life, till one day the
friendly saint to whom he had devoted himself obtained
for him the rare privilege of being able to speak without
a tongue.
ST. MAURICE.
There is an air, which oft among the rocks
Of his own native land, at evening hour,
Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their flocks.
Oh, every note of it would thrill his mind
With tenderest thoughts, and bring around his knees
The rosy children whom he left behind,
And fill each little angel eye
With speaking tears, that ask him why
He wander'd from his hut to scenes like these.
Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar,
Sweet notes of home, of love, are all he hears;
And the stern eyes that look'd for blood before,
Now melting mournful lose themselves in tears.
MOORE.
IT will be necessary that the tourist should penetrate
a considerable distance into Switzerland, before he can
form a correct judgment of the varieties of Swiss scenery,
and more particularly of Swiss character. The inhabit-
ants of Geneva and Lausanne can hardly be termed
Switzers, in the true sense of the word ; so mixed are
they with foreigners, and their habits and manners so
imbued with foreign association. The character of the
sturdy Swiss can scarcely be recognised among the pliant
graces of more polished nations. As the traveller posts
from town to town in the interior, or rambles with more
humility, but with far greater pleasure, from village to
hamlet, he will soon discover the marked superiority of
the hardy Swiss peasant over the effeminate inhabitant
of the city.
ST. MAURICE. 53
Notwithstanding the desire of gain which so frequently
induces them to quit their native hills and valleys in
quest of foreign adventure, the Swiss are remarkable
for attachment to their country ; and after a life spent in
hardship and toil, they rarely fail to return with their
hard-earned gains to pass the evening of their existence
in their native canton. There are few who do not die
there. The secret and powerful impulse that sends them
abroad to seek their fortune, never fails to reunite them
at last. Even when absent from their homes for years,
their earlier recollections are liable to be awakened by the
most minute circumstance. In the French armies, the
air of the "Rans des Vaches," sung by the Swiss cow-
herds and milkmaids, was forbidden to be played ; the
recollections of home which the music created melting
the hardy Swiss soldier to tears, and invariably producing
desertion.
Pasturage is the chief produce of a Swiss farm . Early
in the summer the cattle leave the valleys, and are con-
ducted by the cowherds to the accessible parts of the
mountains, while as the snow disappears, they gradually
ascend, thus following the productions of nature which
are continually springing to life as they proceed. Those
who have the care of the cows generally account to the
owners for the proceeds, or pay a certain sum for what
they can make. A considerable number of swine are
supported by the herds of cows, and thus form another
source of profit. Scheucher describes, in his " Journey
to the Alps," the different productions which the moun-
t;iiueei> make from the milk, which constitute their chief
luxuries. The greatest harmony prevails between tin-
54 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
cowkeeper and his herd; indeed they may be consi-
dered as one family. He conducts them from pasture
to pasture, erecting his temporary habitation at each
resting place, and thus they pass their lives in con-
stant migration, until the commencement of the winter
obliges them to retire into the valleys. Round the necks
of the cows are attached bells, which are made to har-
monize with the Rans des Vaches, the constant strain of
their keepers. The bells are of different sizes, and the
merit of each individual cow is distinguished by the size
and tone of her bell; indeed it is affirmed, that if by any
accident the most meritorious cow (she who bears the
bell) has forfeited her rank, and the insignia are trans-
ferred to another, all the jealous and angry feelings are
exhibited, which a deprivation of honours might be ex-
pected to occasion among mankind. In the Pays de
Vaud, however, no herds of cattle are seen grazing, and
thus one picturesque feature in the country is lost. The
farmers of that district know better than to allow them
to ramble over their rich pastures, destroying as much as
they consume; but keep them in sheds, and supply them
with food cut for them without waste.
The road to St. Maurice, after leaving the lake of Ge-
neva, continues along the banks of the Rhone, whose
majestic waters glide rapidly along in their course to the
lake, shaded by the exuberant foliage of beech and wal-
nut-trees, and rendered picturesque by masses of rocks
which rise from its banks. The town is approached by
a magnificent stone bridge, which crosses the Rhone where
it is very deep and rapid. It is two hundred feet long,
and consists of a single arch, having on each side for its
ST. MAURICE. 55
foundation an immense rock, which rises on the banks of
the river, forming gigantic abutments, known by the fa-
miliar name of the Dent de Morcles and the Dent du
Midi. This bridge, independently of its situation, boasts
the ancient and honourable distinction of having Julius
Caesar for its founder. At one end is a tower, which is
now a chapel, and at the other is an ancient castle,
through which the road has been made to St. Maurice.
The plate will be found to afford a faithful representa-
tion of it.
The town of St. Maurice is singularly wild and beauti-
ful. It is situated at the base of a line of rocks, many of
which are formed into complete habitations, and almost
always form part of the houses of the inhabitants. At a
short distance from the town is a spot rendered interest-
ing by tradition as the scene of the massacre of six thou-
sand soldiers, called the Theban Legion, by order of
Miivimian, for their stubborn adherence to the Christian
faith.
The abbey of St. Maurice, which yet exists, was founded
in commemoration of the supposed event, by Sigisrnund
King of Burgundy, as a catholic atonement for the crimes
of fratricide, and the murder of half his family.
Near St. Maurice is the celebrated valley of Chainouni,
which, \\ith Mont Blanc and its glaciers, and the still
more wonderful Mer de Glace, are the most surprising
natural curiosities ever witnessed in this or in any other
country.
Tins extraordinary valley, strange as it may appear, was
wholly unknown to the inhabitants of the country till the
year 1741, when it was. discovered by two adventurous
56 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
English travellers, who explored the valley, ascended the
Montanvert to the Mer de Glace, penetrating those re-
cesses where the human voice was never before heard, and
treading the paths before unvisited, except by the cha-
mois and by the goat of the rocks. It was a singular in-
stance of enterprise, and it deserves to be recorded, that
although within eighteen leagues of the city of Geneva,
it was reserved for the adventure and courage of English-
men to disclose to the world the hidden wonders of the
Alps. An immense block of granite on the Montanvert,
on which the adventurous travellers dined, is called, to
this day, " la pierre des Anglais." Mons. de Saussure
some years afterwards visited the valley, and was the
first to ascend the Mont Blanc. His great work on the
Alps rendered the country so famous that thousands of
travellers flocked from all countries to see this hitherto
unknown and wonderful territory ; and it is now become
a regular summer lounge for half the idle tourists of
Europe.
The valley of Chamouni is about a mile wide. The
base of Mont Blanc forms its southern wall, and Mont
Bremen, followed by a long chain of hills, is on the op-
posite side.
The first view on entering the valley is unique and
wonderful. The monarch of mountains on the one side,
raising his majestic head, and overlooking the world,
whose successive ages and changes he has quietly wit-
nessed ; the gloomy forests that clothe the base, partly
borne down and intersected by immense glaciers, which
slowly but irresistibly force their way from the accu-
mulated pressure of snow, and seem, like a skirting dra-
ST. MAURICE. 57
pery to the mountain, of dazzling whiteness ; the burst-
ing torrents which force their way through immense
fragments of other worlds ; and the contrast which these
sublime monuments afford to the beautiful and verdant
clothing of the smiling valley are all justly calculated to
inspire the mind with the most vivid and lofty conception
of the works of that great Architect, in comparison with
which all efforts of human skill betray their feeble origin
and sink into insignificance. The tourist who would wish
to view Mont Blanc in all its grandeur must ascend
Mont Bremen on the opposite side. He will then, stand-
ing at about half the elevation of Mont Blanc, be fully
impressed with the magnitude of the greatest mountain in
Europe. By looking upwards from the valley it scarcely
seems higher than its compeers, but from Mont Bremen
its superiority becomes awfully conspicuous.
The ascent of Mont Bremen is not considered either
difficult or dangerous with the assistance of judicious
guides, whose directions it is necessary to follow impli-
citly : a terrible instance which followed the contempt of
their advice occurred some years since. A Danish tra-
\elliT named Eschur ventured heedlessly over the glacier
of Druet, and always kept in advance of his guides, vainly
supposing that his ideas were equal to their experience.
Having preceded them on one occasion more than two
hundred yards, to their horror he suddenly disappeared
from their sight. The nature of the calamity was too
well surmised to require explanation. He had slipped
;ui<l fallen into one of the numerous chasms which inter-
sect these vast seas of frozen snow. His companion and
the guide hastened back for assistance, and on the same
58 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
evening four men undertook the search for his body. It
was at last found at the bottom of a chasm nearly two
hundred feet deep. The unfortunate young man must
have died instantly. He was lying with his arms over
his head, as though for protection, but not a bone in his
body was unbroken. There is a monument erected near
Lavey to record his melancholy fate.
To visit the Mer de Glace it is necessary to make the
ascent of Montanvert, which will amply repay the tra-
veller for his pains. The first object in the ascent that
requires notice is the little fountain called le Caillet,
from which elevation the view is imposing beyond de-
scription. The noisy torrent of the Arve that foams
along in the plain beneath looks like the smallest rivulet,
and every thing which before appeared stupendous is now
dwindled into miniature insignificance, except the mighty
mountain, whose grandeur no height that man is able to
attain can diminish. The path then becomes more dif-
ficult as far as the hdpital de Blair, built by an English
gentleman of that name, when the Mer de Glace pre-
sents itself. The appearance of this vast mass of ice is
so wonderful, that the only idea which at all does justice
to it is that of a celebrated traveller, who describes it as
a tempestuous ocean whose towering waves have been
suddenly rendered motionless by an all-powerful hand,
and converted into solid masses of crystal.
To descend to the margin of this frozen sea there is a
path bordered by rhododendrons, which has been con-
structed for the purpose. The waves, which appear
comparatively small from Moutanvert, on a nearer in-
spection are found to be about twenty feet high, and in
ST. MAURICE. 59
walking on the surface care must be taken of the chasms
which e'very where present themselves, ready to engulf
the unwary traveller. The effect, however, is lost on a
near approach, and appears best from a distance, where
the whole expanse can be viewed.
Among the various candidates for fame by an ascent
to the summit of Mont Blanc, the most celebrated is
Mons. Saussure, whose object was as much for the ad-
vancement of science as for any personal gratification.
The narrative of his ascent is interesting, as well as those
of many adventurers since that time j but the view which
is eagerly anticipated from the summit, after the labour
and toil of the journey, is generally hidden from the
disappointed traveller by the thick clouds which usually
form the monarch's crown. Among the mountains which
present the grandest coup d'ceil, and which yield the
greatest recompense to those who have the strength to
attain their summit, is Mount Ventoux. This is one of
the highest mountains in Europe, and having but few
rivals near it of sufficient height to intercept the view, it
commands a more extensive prospect than either the
Alps or Pyrenees. From its summit may be descried the
whole south of France, at least as far as the eye can
reach, the waters of the Mediterranean, and the vast
chain of Alps, which forms the barrier between Italy and
the rest of Europe. From the number of narratives of
the various ascents we give the following, as much on
account of its curiosity and the beauty of its description,
as from the interest excited by the narrator himself. It
is written by the celebrated Petrarch in a letter to his
friend, Father Dennis.
60 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
" We went (Petrarch and his brother Gerard), from
Avignon to Malaverne, which is at the foot of the moun-
tain on the north side, where we slept at night and re-
freshed ourselves the whole of the next day. The day
after my brother and myself, followed by two domestics,
began to ascend the mountain with much trouble and
fatigue, though the weather was mild and the day very
fine. We had agility, strength, and courage; but this
mass of rocks is of a steepness almost inaccessible. To-
wards the middle of the mountain we found an old shep-
herd, who did all he could to divert us from our project.
' It is about fifty years ago,' said he, ' that I had the
same humour with yourselves. I climbed, with infinite
labour, to the top of the mountain ; and what did I get
by it? My body and clothes torn to pieces by rocks
and briars, much fatigue and repentance, with a firm re-
solution never to go thither again. Since that time I
have not heard it said any one has been guilty of the
same folly.'
"Young people are not to be talked out of their
schemes. The more the shepherd exaggerated the dif-
ficulties of the enterprise, the greater the desire we felt
to conquer them. When he saw that what he said had
no effect, he showed us a steep path along the rocks.
' That is the way you must go,' said he.
" After leaving our superfluous clothes, and all that
could embarrass us, we began to climb with inconceivable
ardour. Our efforts, which is not uncommon, were fol-
lowed with extreme weakness ; we found a rock on which
we rested some time ; after which we resumed our march,
but it was not with the same agility; mine slackened very
ST. MAUBICE. Gl
much. While my brother took a very steep path, which
appeared to lead to the top, I took another which was
more upon the acclivity. ' Where are you going ?' cried
my brother with all his might : ' that is not the way ; fol-
low me.' ' Let me alone,' said I ; ' I prefer the path that
is longest and easiest.' This was an excuse for my weak-
ness. I wandered for some time ; at last shame took
hold of me, and I rejoined my brother, who had seated
himself to wait for me. We marched one before another
for some time, but I became weary again, and sought an
easier path 5 and at last, overwhelmed with shame and
fatigue, I stopped again to take breath. Then abandon-
ing myself to reflection, I compared the state of my soul,
which aims to gain heaven, but walks not in the way to
it, to that of my body, which had so much difficulty in
attaining the top of Mount Ventoux, notwithstanding the
curiosity which caused me to attempt it. This reflection
inspired me with more strength and courage.
" Mount Ventoux is divided into several hills, which
rise one above the other ; on the top of the highest is a
Kttle plain, where we seated ourselves on our arrival.
" Stnick with the clearness of the air and the immense
space I had before my eyes, I remained for some time
motionless and astonished. At last waking from my
reverie, my eyes were insensibly directed towards that
fine country, to which my inclination always drew me. I
saw those mountains covered with snow, where the proud
enemy of the Romans opened himself a passage with
vinegar, if we believe the voice of Fame. Though they
are at a great distance from Mount Ventoux, they seem
so near that one might touch them. I felt instantly a
02 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
vehement desire to behold again this dear country, which
I saw rather with the eyes of the soul than those of the
body : some sighs escaped me which I could not prevent,
and I reproached myself with a weakness which t could
have justified by many great examples.
" The sun was going to rest, and I perceived that it
would soon be time to descend the mountain. I then
turned toward the west, where I sought in vain that long
chain of mountains that separates France from Spain.
Nothing that I know of hid them from my sight ; but
nature has not given us organs capable of that extensive
view. To the right I discovered the mountain of the
Lyonnoise, and to the left the surges of the Mediter-
ranean, which bathe Marseilles on one side, and on the
other dash themselves in pieces against the rocky shore.
I saw them very distinctly, though at the distance of
several days' journey. The Rhone glided under my eyes,
the clouds were at my feet. Never was there a more
extensive, variegated, and enchanting prospect ! What
I saw rendered me less incredulous of the accounts of
Olympus and Mount Athos, which they assert to be
higher than the regions of the clouds, from whence de-
scend the showers of rain.
" After having satisfied my eyes for some time with
the delightful objects which elevated my mind and in-
spired me with pious reflection, I took the book of ' St.
Augustine's Confessions,' which I had from you, and which
I always carry about me. It is dear to me from its own
value ; and the hands from which I received it render
it dearer still. On opening it I accidentally fell on this
passage in the tenth book : ' Men go far to observe the
ST. MAURICE. 63
summits of mountains, the waters of the sea, the begin-
ning and the courses of rivers, the immensity of the
ocean, but they neglect themselves.'
" I take God and my brother to witness that what I
say is true ! I was struck with the singularity of an
accident, the application of which it was so easy for me
to make.
" In the midst of contemplation I had got, without
perceiving, to the bottom of the mountain with the same
safety, though with less fatigue, than I went up. A fine
clear moon favoured our return. While they were pre-
paring our supper, I shut myself up in a corner of the
house to give you this account, and the reflections it pro-
duced in my mind. You are my father, and I hide
nothing from you. I wish I was always able to tell you
not only what I do but what I think. Pray to God that
my thoughts, now, alas ! vain and wandering, may be im-
movably fixed on the only true and solid good!"
We will now leave mountain and glaciers for a while,
and proceed on our route to Martigny, through the in-
teresting hamlet of Lavey, which will furnish us materials
for another chapter.
LAVEY.
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast;
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar
But bind him to his native mountains more.
GOLDSMITH.
NEAR the town of St. Maurice, on the road to Mar-
tigny, stands the small sequestered hamlet of Lavey. If
the taste of the traveller lead him to enjoy the quiet and
unobtrusive beauties of village scenery, he will not fail
to recognize this spot with delight. An appearance of
delicious calmness, of deeply harmonized repose, pervades
this enchanting retreat, and is in admirable keeping with
the tranquil hour of evening, and the modified beauty of
the whole scenery around.
The habitations likewise bear an appearance so perfectly-
primitive that one might, with reason, believe their archi-
tecture had known no alteration since the time when
houses were constructed with no other earthly view than
that of shelter. Yet, although we entirely acquit the
rustic architect of any variety in the design, a Swiss
cottage is an exceedingly picturesque object. The heavy
projecting roof, independent of all rule or order, but
constructed solely as a defence from the weather; the
staircases and communications to the interior, which are
-3
. r^
LAVKY. 65
all from without; the staircases themselves, with their
massy balustrades, containing as much timber as would
build a moderate-sized house, and the air of rude but
substantial .comfort which pervades many of these dwell-
ings, harmonize with the rural scenery, and by no means
make us regret the absence of more stately mansions.
Indeed, whether it be from a sort of prejudice, or that
the eye becomes accustomed to these irregular habita-
tions, any other building would appear strangely out of
placej and however such an improvement, or rather
change, might argue a step in civilization, it would cer-
tainly destroy one of the most picturesque features of
the country.
" It was on a calm summer's evening," we avail our-
selves of the note-book of a friend, " that our party
entered the village of Lavey not a breath seemed to
disturb the repose that reigned around. The sun had
disappeared behind the mountains, and had marked his
retreat by gilding their summits with a long and brilliant
line of golden light. The rural inhabitants were seen
gathering in small groups on the staircases of their
dwellings, enjoying the beauty of the evening, and in-
dulging in an hour of social converse after the labours of
the day. It was a scene for the pen of Goldsmith, and
we were pleasingly reminded how he had succeeded in
throwing such an air of quiet beauty over his poem of
the Village.
" At some little distance from the spot, a short way up
the mountain, was seen a group of these happy beings,
who, as it were, to welcome our arrival, struck up a wild
but pleasing melody. It was a true Swiss air, and the
66 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
voices which were attuned, in perfect time and harmony,
mellowed by the distance, sounded inexpressibly sweet,
and they died away in a soft and plaintive murmur. The
undisturbed serenity which prevailed might tend to hush
even a troubled mind into comparative calm and forget-
fulness; and the tranquil satisfaction expressed in the
honest countenances of these untutored villagers, made
us fancy that here we had at length found one earthly
hour of rest, one favourite retreat of happiness and con-
tentment.
" At the extremity of the hamlet were two cottages
which more particularly attracted our attention. They
were somewhat of a higher degree than the others, and
there was an air about them that bespoke the existence
of rustic opulence. Seated on the lower stairs of the
larger cottage was an elderly but good-looking female,
talking with, and caressing, a chubby boy, whom we
naturally supposed to be her grandson. Standing by her
side was a tall young woman, of rather a matronly ap-
pearance, who appeared to be the mother of the child.
A girl was seated on a stone bench near, and on the first
landing-place of the stairs we spied a tall good-looking
young man in earnest conversation with a very pretty
Swiss damsel. She wore the large straw hat, which forms
so conspicuous a part of the costume of the female Swiss
peasantry, and which a traveller has humorously likened
to the large head of a mushroom on its slender stalk.
" From the manner of the young man, and the evident
complacency with which she listened to his discourse,
it did not require much shrewdness to discover that he
was a favoured lover. There was another individual at
LAVBY. 67
a short distance who might be said to form one of the
group, and whose appearance interested us far more than
any of the others. Seated beside a pool of marshy water,
at the base of the other cottage, was a young female,
apparently about three or four and twenty years of age.
" Young as we learnt she was, her countenance bore
only the remains of former beauty, but was still in-
teresting. There was deep melancholy and a strange
wandering expression in her features that too clearly told
a tale of unusual sorrow, such as seemed at variance alike
with her years and station. She seemed plunged in a
reverie of deep and mournful interest. She sat gazing
intensely on the pool as though something more than
usual could be traced on its glassy surface, but her
thoughts were evidently far away. She seemed almost
devoid of life, a mere monumental emblem of ' Niobe
all tears.' Our approach failed to excite in her the least
surprise ; and while others were looking at us with
curiosity, she seemed wholly unconscious that we were
strangers and foreigners. Her interesting appearance,
and quiet unconscious gaze, strongly excited our curiosity
and compassion.
" We approached the group opposite, to whom we were
evidently objects of surprise and conjecture. The elderly
female fixed her eyes on us, after we had attentively
observed the young woman who had so excited our in-
terest, as though she seemed conscious of our intention of
making some inquiry concerning her.
" ' My good lady,' said one of our party, addressing her
in French, ' I dare say you are acquainted with the
history of yonder unhappy girl?'
F2
68 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
" ' Alas ! yes, sir, but too well,' she answered with a
deep sighj ' I have had occasion to be acquainted with
it.' It seemed a tender theme for the old matron ; but
our friend's curiosity, or rather compassionate interest,
overcame his regard to the feelings of the mother, whom
we at first supposed her to be, and he continued :
" ' She is your daughter, perhaps ?'
" ' She was to have been my daughter, poor Antonia!
she once loved me dearly ; no daughter could have
loved me dearer than she did, but now it is all passed:
she is quite unconscious of our tenderness and care.'
" ' Is she then totally deprived of reason?'
" ' Her misfortunes, acting upon an imagination highly
wrought and sensitive, have reduced her to the unhappy
state you now see.'
" ' Do you allow her to be continually at large ?'
" ' She does no injury to herself or others. She was.
always of a gentle and quiet disposition, and her sorrows
have never impelled her to become other than the gentle
being she was ; but she pines away her melancholy ex-
istence in this state of gloomy apathy and care.'
" ' Has she been long in her present unhappy con-
dition ?*
" ' Some years. She was left an orphan when quite a
child ; but her brother, who inherited the farm, was as
kind and affectionate to her as the fondest parent could
desire. Antonia grew in years, and her beauty was uni-
versally admired throughout the canton. You could little
suppose that the silent and forlorn being you there behold
was once the gayest of the gay, the happiest of human
beings. She was the merriest and most blithesome of all
LAVEY. by
the girls iu the district. But, alas ! it is not for poor
short-sighted mortals like ourselves,' continued the old
dame, in the sententious voice of age, ' to indulge in
hopes of continued happiness, or scrutinize the will of
that Providence on whom our lives and fortunes are
dependent.'
" During this time the lovers had descended gradually
from their elevation to within a few steps of the grand-
mother, and with an expression of deep feeling, leaned
over the balustrade, listening to the ' thrice-told tale,'
with apparently unabated interest. The mother of the
boy stood in the attitude of respectful attention ; and
the child himself, clinging to the knees of liis grand-
mother, seemed to understand, from the sedate ex-
pression of her features, that his mirth should be for a
time abandoned.
" ' Yes, sir,' continued the good old matron, ' it was
even in the midst of joy and contentment that this poor
girl was brought to the pitiable state in which you now
behold her.'
" ' And what might have been the cause that has pro-
duced such sad effects?'
" ' The misfortunes of poor Antonia, sir, were produced
by love ; a love too strong and too devoted for her
stricken heart to bear.'
" ' Love!' exclaimed our friend, surprised} ' has love
indeed been the occasion of these mournful results ?'
and he involuntarily cast his eyes towards the young
couple who were standing near, who had apparently, for
a time, forgotten their own bright anticipations in their
compassion for poor Antonia. It seemed strange that
70 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
they should pay their homage at the shrine of the dreaded
deity, in the very sight of one of his victims.
" The good matron proceeded.
" ' It was my poor son to whom she was so tenderly
attached ; they had loved each other for many years,
indeed we may say from infancy ; they had been brought
up side by side, and oftentimes has she taken milk from
the same breast that nourished my poor Walter. Well,
sir, to shorten my story, it was at last determined they
should marry. A farm was purchased for them. The
day was fixed, and the relations on both sides were in-
vited to the ceremony. Every one looked forward to the
event in joyful anticipation, and none more than my un-
married daughter and William, poor Antonia's brother,
between whom I began to see some signs of attach-
ment.'
" The good old dame had ventured on this remark
without knowing the vicinity of those of whom she was
speaking. This identity was, however, placed beyond
doubt by the cheek of the damsel being suddenly suf-
fused with blushes, and the complacency with which the
young man regarded her confusion spoke more than a
confirmation of the supposition. The recital of the Swiss
matron suffered no interruption by the contretemps she
had so unconsciously created, but continued.
" ' A few days previous to the wedding, my poor son
went to Martigny, to agree about the purchase of some
cows that he wanted for his farm. I shall never forget
the morning he took leave of us, saying he should return
at night. It is a singular fact, and I mentioned it to a
neighbour, that I could not help observing an air of me-
LAVKY. 71
lancholy when he parted, so different to what he was ; it
w r as like that of a doomed man ; and as he took my hand and
turned away I heaved a heavy sigh. Well ! he set out for
Martigny, but when night came Walter did not return.
" ' In tne morning Antonia came to me pale and ter-
rified, saying that she had had a frightful dream ; that
she had seen Walter with his hair all dripping with
water, and his body all covered with frightful wounds.
Alas! it was too sadly verified. My unfortunate son
never returned again} he perished in the terrible inun-
dation of the Drave ! Since that moment poor Antonia
has never smiled. From the uncertainty which prevailed
at first for him, until time confirmed our fears, she clung
to the veriest shadow of hope that lie was not lost; and
that persuasion is so identified with her aberration, that
she still entertains the hope of again beholding her de-
stined bridegroom. Often will she stray from hence to
the summit of one of the neighbouring heights, watching
and waiting his arrival, and then, disappointed and sad,
she will slowly return to repeat again the same melan-
choly routine.'
" At this moment Antonia arose from the seat she had
occupied during the time we had been listening to the
story of her sorrow, and came slowly towards us. She
seemed utterly unconscious of the presence of strangers.
' Walter is not yet returned, mother, and the sun has
been sometime below the mountain,' she said to the old
matron, in a plaintive and desponding tone.
" The eyes of the good old grandmother filled with
tears, she shook her head, but was not able to answer the
poor girl.
72 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
" ' Alas ! I 'in afraid he will not return to-night ; will
he never come?' sighed the poor sufferer, and she
turned slowly away, wringing her hands in anguish,
while the bitter tears coursed each other down her pale
cheek. Such an appeal to the feelings was unanswerable.
There was not a dry eye in the group, and the last words
of poor Antonia, together with her sad story, were long
remembered by her auditors.
" The evening had now completely closed in, and we
could not resist the temptation which the hearty invita-
tion of the good old lady gave us, of accepting for the
night the hospitality of her own and the adjoining cot-
tage, by which arrangement we should have the advan-
tage of seeing the magnificent waterfall of the Pissevache
by the earliest dawn of the morning."
MARTIGNY.
Night was again descending, when my mule,
That all day long had climb'd among the clouds,
Stopp'd, to our mutual joy, at that low door
So near the summit of the Great St. Bernard ;
That door which ever on its hinges moved
To them that knock'd, and nightly sends abroad
Ministering spirits.
ROGERS.
THE first object that presents itself worthy notice on
quitting Lavey is the celebrated waterfall of Pissevache.
It is situated on the high road, about three miles from
Martigny, and well deserves the reputation it has acquired
for beauty and sublimity. There are many cascades of
greater pretensions, having a larger body of water, or a
higher fall, but none can be more truly beautiful.
Situated by the road-side, and, consequently, easy of
access, it may on that account be undervalued, as there is
a perverse kind of charm attending those sights which give
rise to any unusual difficulty or danger. To those who are
satisfied with beholding it from a carriage window, with-
out the slightest risk or hazard, wishing for no perilous
adventure to recount by " flood or field," it will ever be
a scene of the greatest attraction, and must be considered
one of the most beautiful objects in the country. It is
formed by the river Salenche falling over a perpendicular
height of upwards of 200 feet into the valley below.
74 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
The effect produced by a first visit is invariably striking.
The wild murmur of the breaking waters making per-
petual music ; the sparkling foam illumined in the rays
of the sun, glittering like broken pieces of burnished gold,
and falling in a thousand varied shapes ; the stillness of
the solitude by which it is encompassed ; the beautiful
disorder of the scenery; large rocks scattered around,
torn from their foundations by time and tempest ; the
little white romantic dwellings peeping from amongst the
verdant foliage' in spots apparently inaccessible to all but
the goats of the ^mountains, leave nothing even for the
imagination to desire.
The charm produced by the scenery of the cascade con-
tinues as the traveller pursues his route, but it vanishes on
arriving at Martigny. The feeling of delight which the
tourist naturally experiences on viewing the most beauti-
ful works of nature, subsides on approaching the scene of
one of her most awful visitations. Martigny is the ancient
Octodurum of the Romans. It is encircled by high
mountains, and is divided by the river Dranse, which
falls into the Rhone. There are direct roads from this
place to the valley of Chamouni, which we have already
noticed, and likewise to the Great St. Bernard, into
Italy.
This once considerable and prosperous town now offers
but a ruinous appearance when compared with its former
opulence, owing to the dreadful calamity it suffered some
years since by a terrific inundation of the Dranse. Since
that awful event, indeed, some of the inhabitants, aided
by considerable voluntary donations, have courageously
endeavoured to remedy the sad effects produced at that
MARTIGNY. 75
calamitous period, yet the vast extent of injury is even
yet far from being repaired.
Nothing could surpass the sublime yet terrific spectacle
of this inundation ; it was as awful in its progress and
disastrous in its effects as the appalling commotion of an
earthquake.
The river Dranse, which divides Martigny, though in
the summer a small and insignificant stream, becomes in
the spring, when the snow melts on the mountains,
swollen into a formidable torrent. It is in fact the out-
let to the water which is formed by the many glaciers
which appear in succession from Mont Blanc to the
Rhone. The accumulation of waters, which caused the
inundation, was not known for a considerable time, until
some of the inhabitants of the valley remarked the un-
usual appearance of the stream, which continued trickling
along without augmentation, although the snows had
begun to melt.
Several people went to the source to ascertain the
cause, and found to their dismay, that a vast quantity of
ice having accumulated from the glacier of Getroz, had
fallen across the upper part of the valley, and formed a
vast lake, into which the Dranse flowed, secured from
outlet by the artificial embankment. Anxiety and alarm
spread throughout the country, and active measures were
adopted to guard against the danger already apprehended
to be at hand.
It was proposed to cut a gallery through the immense
wall of ice, and drain the lake gradually. The plan was
adopted, and with great labour and difficulty it was
eventually accomplished. Had the embankment lasted
70 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
a few days longer, the whole mass of water would have
found its way through this gallery into the Rhone; but
shortly after the work was completed, fearful detonations
were heard, and vast pieces of ice were seen floating on
the lake, which had been loosened from the foundation
of the dyke. Notice was speedily sent on all sides of
the impending danger, the water begun to rush in con-
siderable quantities from beneath the ice, and a crisis
was every moment dreaded.
At length, late one afternoon, a thundering explosion
was heard. Reverberating through the surrounding hills,
it bore the fearful tidings an immense distance, scatter-
ing dismay and terror amongst the trembling inhabitants.
The dyke had burst ; and the gigantic lakes of impri-
soned water rushed from their confinement with head-
long fury, forming a prodigious torrent a hundred feet
deep, and sweeping along at the rate of twenty miles an
hour. A huge forest, which lay across its track, was not
proof against the strength of the waters, large trees were
rooted up as though they had been osier wands, and
borne away like floating branches in its tide.
In this manner the inundation soon reached Bayne,
offering to the view of the astonished and affrighted peo-
ple, a stupendous mountain, composed of the ruins of all
that the waters had gathered in their progress, forests,
rocks, houses, cattle, and immense masses of ice, shoot-
ing into the clouds a column of dense and heavy fog.
The overwhelming deluge, thundering down in one pro-
miscuous and unearthly roar, now sped towards Martigny,
having compassed a distance of above fifteen miles in less
than an hour. At length it burst on that ill-fated town,
MARTIGNY. 77
producing a scene of the most awful destruction. Half
the place was immediately swept away, and the remain-
ing part was covered with ruins.
There were at least thirty persons perished, a com-
paratively small number, owing to the inhabitants having
been taught to expect some catastrophe at ham],, and
having provided against the danger by flight.
Among the victims was the landlord of the Swan Inn,
who was well known and respected among travellers for
his obliging disposition. He had imprudently remained
too long in order to save his cattle, and was overtaken by
the torrent and swept away. He was observed, at inter-
vals, on the surface of the stream, struggling with the
fearful energies of despair, until he sunk exhausted in the
abyss. His corpse was afterwards found torn and bat-
tered against the tree which had arrested its progress.
The inundation proceeded in its destructive course, till,
about midnight, it reached Lake Leman, when the watery
ruin was absorbed and lost amid the capacious lake.
It is supposed that this has not been the first disaster
of the kind which has occurred at Martigny, but that a
similar calamity happened in the year 1595. There is a
beam yet existing in the ceiling of a house in that town,
which bears the following singular initial inscription :
M. O. F. F. 1595, L. Q. B. F. I. P. L. D. G. ; which
has been thus ingeniously explained : " Monsieur Olliot
Fit-Faire, 1595, Lors Que Bayne Fut Inonde Par Le Gla-
cier De Getroz."
An English gentleman, and a young artist from Lau-
sanne, accompanied by a guide, after visiting the works
at the dyke, which had created great interest even among
78 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
those who were beyond the reach of the apprehended
calamity, were returning towards Bayne, when acci-
dentally tuniing round, they beheld this terrific mountain
of waters bearing down on them with overwhelming and
frightful rapidity. The noise, which ought to have
warned them of its approach, was not heard in the roar
of the torrent of the Dranse, on whose banks they were
journeying. The English traveller dashed the spurs into
his horse, at the same time warning his guide, who was
in advance with some travellers they had accidentally
encountered. The whole party instantly dismounted,
scrambled up the mountain, and escaped in safety, while
in another instant the rushing tide swept past them at
their feet in the valley below.
The artist was, however, missing, and great fears were
entertained for his safety. For many hours it was be-
lieved he was lost, and it was not till some time after-
wards they discovered that he had been in great tribula-
tion with his restive mule, who suddenly shying at a
fallen rock, had discovered the frightful object which
was approaching, and impelled by the instinct of pre-
servation, dashed up the mountain without the aid of
whip and spur, thus bearing his rider out of danger.
It is calculated that if the gallery had not been opened
in the embankment of ice, by which means the body of
water was materially lessened, the whole of the lower
part of the Valais would have been included in the ca-
tastrophe. The survivors of this dreadful calamity were
hardly to be congratulated on their escape, for on return-
ing it was a matter of difficulty to trace even the site of
many of the houses, and the cultivated fields and vine-
MARTIGNY. 7^
yards were covered with gravel and rubbish of every
description, rendering them totally unfit for future cul-
tivation.
Although our route to Italy is by the Simplon, we
cannot pass the road to Mount St. Bernard, without
visiting the good monks of whom so much has been said
throughout Europe.
The convent of Saint Bernard was founded in the year
968, and is situated more than 8000 feet above the level of
the sea, being the most elevated habitation in Europe. It
is bordering on the region of eternal snow : in the height
of summer the thermometer descends every evening to
the freezing point. The mountain was known to the
Romans by the name of Mons Jovis, but Bernard, the
uncle of Charlemagne, conducting an army into Italy by
this route, it has been ever after called by his name.
No spring, nor summer, on the mountain seen,
Smiles with gay fruits, or with delightful green,
But hoary winter, unadorned and bare,
Dwells in the dire retreat, and freezes there.
About ten monks constantly reside here, and braving
the horrors of this inhospitable climate, with a devotion
beyond praise, pass their lives in the perilous offices of
humanity. By their active exertions many lives are
saved yearly, and their unbounded hospitality reflects on
them the highest honour as men and Christians. The
duties of Christianity are indeed practised to their fullest
extent by these exemplary and pious ecclesiastics.
Within their hospitable walls the hungry are fed, the
naked are clothed, and the sick are administered to 5 and
all without distinction of rank or religion. Every even-
80 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
ing during the winter, one of the monks, accompanied by
a trusty domestic, and one or two of their large dogs,
descends a part of the mountain in search of benighted
travellers. The dogs, of which so many interesting stories
are related, are trained to this sort of service, and, aided
by natural and wonderful instinct, perform their duty to
admiration. They will scent a man at a great distance,
and rarely miss their way through the thickest fog, or the
deepest snow. They generally travel laden with small
baskets of meat and wine, to refresh the traveller who
may stand in need.
The fathers themselves are continually on the alert,
and are often seen in the most exposed situations, looking
out for objects on which they may exercise their charity.
Without this invaluable Hospice, the passage of St. Ber-
nard would be impracticable in winter ; and, with all their
care, scarcely a winter passes without lives being lost.
Buonaparte crossed this mountain with the army by
which he conquered at the battle of Marengo. The spot
is still shown where his life was saved by a guide, who
afterwards reaped the reward of his service in the shape
of a purse filled with Napoleons.
It might well be supposed that so truly excellent a
community would be respected even by the depraved;
yet an instance was related of a shameful violation of their
hospitality by some abandoned wretches, who doubtless
thought the convent well stored with the donations of
the rich and benevolent. These miscreants, under the
disguise of travellers, were invited within the walls, and
after partaking of the convent cheer, presented some
concealed arms, and demanded all the money they were
MARTIGNY. 81
possessed of, on pain of instant death. Some little delay-
was effected, under the pretence of complying with their
wishes, when the opportunity was taken of collecting
the dogs together. With this formidable reinforcement,
the superior of the convent returned to his false guests ;
but, instead of handing them the eagerly expected gold,
he gave the word to his faithful auxiliaries, who rushed
fiercely at their unworthy antagonists, and, had not the
monks interfered, would have speedily sacrificed them to
their fury.
Having been obliged on their knees to beg for mercy,
they were forthwith bound by the monks, and secured
from further attempts at violence. On the arrival of the
next travellers, they were delivered over to them, to be
escorted to the next town. The kindness and attention
of these worthy and respected monks cannot fail to make
a lasting impression on all those who have experienced
their hospitality and benevolence.
The author of " Sketches of Italy" has well described
an adventure on the Great St. Bernard :
" Having gained upon the other guide and mules, our
friend and myself now entered on the regions of eternal
snow. A short progress brought us to a little low building
or chapel, a yard or two off the pathway, where the bodies
of persons found dead on the mountain are entombed.
Here the path appeared to separate, and we thought it
prudent to await the coming up of the guide. Our situa-
tion at this moment was far from enviable. Evening was
approaching, and we were yet far from the convent. The
' wind,' which the herdsman had warned us we should have
82 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
on the mountain, we now found to be the dreaded ' tour-
mentel,' the scourge of the Alps. We had gradually
felt it increase in strength and cold as we ascended, and
by the time we reached this height, it assailed us with a
fury which nearly carried us off our feet, and a piercing-
ness of cold which almost deprived us of the power of
motion, while at the same time the snow fell in immense
flakes, so thickly that we could not see above a yard or
two in any direction, and was drifted into monstrous
heaps by the ruthless wind, or whirled around us with a
frightful impetuosity. The mountain rose perpendicu-
larly before us, its height and summit shrouded in the
storm no trace of living existence near us nothing
but the dead bodies of those who had perished on this
very pass to withdraw our attention from our own situa-
tion and the only sound, except the howling of the
wind which we heard, water rushing beneath us under
the snow, tending to increase the horror of the scene.
But to this very sound we owed our safety, for soon after
the guide came in sight and we proceeded j the driving
snow so completely obscured the path, that the mules
could no longer distinguish it, and continually strayed
away. In pursuing them, the guide lost his own ideas of
the direction he ought to follow, and looked around for
some perpendicular bit of rock, the alpine finger-post,
to assist him in regaining his memory. Wishfully, but
in vain, did he look : one unbroken tract of snow met our
view within the short distance that our eyes could pierce
the thick mist ; and the friendly water, which still mur-
mured beneath our feet, was our only clue. By it we
continued to proceed, sinking up to our knees at every
MARTIGNY. 83
step in the new-fallen snow, and pressing up an almost
perpendicular ascent against an increasing storm.
"Where, all this time, was my brother? This was
precisely the question I could not answer, but which my
fears almost answered for me. He could be only a few
minutes in advance of us ; yet not only could we descry
nothing of him (which in the driving storm was not won-
derful), but no traces whatever either of his own or his
mule's footsteps remained on the snow. It seemed so
impossible that these should disappear so very quickly,
that I could not but conjecture that he had missed his
way, was at that moment wandering about the moun-
tains, and would be lost in the snow, or fall in the dark
over some of the precipices. The idea gained strength
with every passing moment ; and I saw that my com-
panion, though out of kindness to me he would not own
it, dreaded the same. Never shall I forget the horror of
those thoughts ! But I was sensible that the only thing
we could do for him was to reach the convent as quickly
as possible, if fortunately we were in the right path, and
to send out the inhabitants to seek him. I was inspired
with a strength I did not know I possessed, and for
nearly two hours continued to press onward, with all
the rapidity which, the increasing tempest, the depth of
snow, and the painful degree of rarity which the air
attains in these elevated regions, and which terribly
affects the breathing, permitted. Wliat was my delight,
in this situation, to hear the guide suddenly exclaim, in
a tone of ecstacy which marked his past uneasiness,
' Ah ! nous sommes tous pret ! voila la rocher qui est
au dcssous de 1'Hospice !' and to see, a moment after,
c 2
84 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
one of the monks perched upon a crag, whose very ap-
pearance, seemingly come out to meet us, augured that
the object of all my anxieties was safely housed. In
answer to my eager inquiries, he assured me my brother
was in the convent, and, taking me under the arm,
assisted me to proceed. We were at this moment not a
hundred yards from that friendly abode, though we could
not perceive it j and when, after mounting its icy steps,
I entered the building, and found myself in a comfortable
room, and before a blazing fire, the transition was so
sudden that I could scarcely persuade myself that I was
not dreaming, and momentarily dreaded that I should
awake amid the snows of the mountain.
" The kindness of the good monks I never shall forget.
They gathered round me, pressing me to take wine and
liqueurs, and a hundred other restoratives, after the cold
and fatigue I had undergone ; and finding that I was
only anxious to get my dress changed, lest I might per-
manently suffer from the storm, they conducted me to a
bedroom, and lighted me a fire. This I afterwards found
is an indulgence permitted only in very particular cases ;
but the kind-hearted brotherhood, commiserating my
sufferings, extended it to me j nor was it the only proof
I received of their hospitality and good-nature ; doubly
amiable in my case, because I had been the means of
giving them a great deal of trouble."
The good monks of St. Bernard have been happily
painted by Mr. Rogers :
" Bidden to a spare but cheerful meal,
I sate among the holy brotherhood
At their long board. The fare, indeed, was such
.M AIM 1C, NY. 85
As is prescribed on days of abstinence,
But might have pleased a nicer taste than mine;
And through the floor came up an ancient matron,
Serving unseen below ; while from the roof
( The roof, the floor, the walls of native fir)
A lamp hung flickering, such as loves to fling
Its partial light on apostolic heads,
And sheds a grace on all. Theirs time as yet
Had changed not. Some were almost in their prime .
Nor was a brow o'ercast. Seen as I saw them,
Ranged round their hearthstone in a leisure hour,
They were a simple and a merry race,
Mingling small games of chance with social converse,
And gathering news from all who came that way,
As of some other world. But when the storm
Rose, and the snow roll'd on in ocean billows
When on his face the experienced traveller fell,
Sheltering his lips and nostrils with his hands
Then all at once was changed, and sallying forth
Into that blank of nature, they became
Unearthly beings."
SIGN.
His humble board the holy man prepares,
And simple food and wholesome lore bestows :
Extols the treasures that his mountain bears,
And paints the perils of impending snows.
DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE.
THE next stage from Martigny on the route to the
Simplon is Sion, the capital of the Valais. The country
around presents a highly cultivated appearance, abound-
ing in vineyards, with large groves of walnut trees, and
extensive orchards of apple and pine trees. The sides
of the mountains are richly clothed with forest till they
are hidden in the clouds.
At a considerable distance from each other, situated
on the points of high rocks, are still shown the ruins of
three castles. Tradition asserts them to have been the
fastnesses of three brothers, who established a system of
brigandage over the valley, and communicated with each
other from their eminences by means of signals. The
pass of the valley was entirely under their jurisdiction,
and no traveller could journey in safety without previous
stipulation with one of the marauders. Many instances'are
recorded of persons of consequence having been captured
by their followers, and retained in the dungeons of one of
the castles till ransomed by their family or friends. One of
the castles having been taken by stratagem by the Baron
de Unstetteu, who suspected that a relative of his was a
SIGN. 87
prisoner within its walls, among other captives libe-
rated was a Spanish ecclesiastic, the bishop of some
diocess in Grenada. He had been taken when returning
from an embassy to Rome ; his suite was put to death,
and he had undergone a rigorous imprisonment for three
years, rather than yield to the demand of an exorbitant
ransom. It was the misfortune of those days that nobles
of high rank, who were considered as patterns of knight-
hood and honour, did not scruple to sanction the plunder
of unfortunate travellers, by their own retainers, pro-
vided they were presented with a handsome share of the
spoil.
Sion is the ancient Sedunum of the Romans, and was
their fortified boundary in this part of Helvetia. A wall
was built at some little distance, of which the traces are
still shown, to shut out the barbarians whose conquest
was not deemed of sufficient consequence to hazard an
expedition. The town is at present an extremely agree-
able and picturesque object. Its ancient castle is pin-
nacled on a rock, and the old walls, towers, and gates,
bear evident tokens of its past importance. It was
formerly the abode of warlike and princely ecclesiastics,
who held dominion over the town and adjoining country.
The Alps rise beliind in all their grandeur, and at their
feet winds the Rhone, at no great distance from its
source. Another castle likewise commands the town
from its eminence, and is now the residence of the
bishop ; besides a third, w here are seen the portraits of
all the prelates of Sion since the fourth century.
M;uiy of these ecclesiastics have rendered themselves
conspicuous in history for certain qualities, not quite in
tftt THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
accordance with the peace and humility inculcated by
the Gospel. Perhaps they may have been actuated by
a somewhat too zealous ambition of being accounted
worthy members of the church militant} for in one of
the battles of the period, amongst the spoils of the field
were shown the helmet and armour of a bishop of Sion
who was slain in the encounter. One of the most re-
nowned of their mitred warriors was Mathin Skimmir.
His abilities as a politician were only equalled by his
courage as a soldier, of which honourable mention is
made at the sanguinary conflict of Marignan. A curious
story is recorded of him. The preceding bishop had
caused a representation of Saint Theodosius, in the act
of fighting with the devil, to be struck on the coin of the
bishoprick. The warrior bishop being a lover of sim-
plicity, as well as of martial achievement, considering the
device somewhat redundant of ornament, ordered the
figure of the saint to be erased, thus leaving the devil in
full possession of the coin. The prince of darkness by
this means had his portrait pretty widely circulated by the
authority of the bishop, who, it may be supposed, wished
to inculcate a moral lesson by means of allegory.
There are some remains of Roman antiquities to be
seen in the town of Sion. An inscription in honour of
Augustus can yet be traced near the entrance to the
cathedral. On the banks of the Rhone, and opposite to
the town, is a deserted convent. It is hewn out of the
solid rock, and contains chapel, cells, refectory, kitchens,
and other apartments; but so wet from the continual
damp, that it is matter of surprise how it could ever
have been inhabited. There are numerous spots among
SIGN. 89
the rocks of the neighbourhood rendered sacred as
the abodes of holy men. Many remains of hermitages
are yet shown, each with some traditional history at-
tached to them of the virtues or misfortunes of their
ancient inhabitants.
Not long ago there was an individual who took up his
residence in one of these obscure retreats, and lived there
for some time without ever having been known to stir
from beyond the precincts of the mountain. He was uni-
versally respected by the inhabitants of the country for
his civil and unassuming manner, and was at last found
dead in his cell by some travellers whom curiosity had
induced to visit the hermitage. He was a stranger in
the country, and no one knew whence he came or any
thing of his history. It was supposed that he was a
prey to some secret grief which eventually terminated his
existence. An English gentleman, who was travelling
in Switzerland some time since, gave the following ac-
count of his visit to the anchorite. Speaking of himself
he said:
" Being in a -more than usual degree beset with the
infirmity so peculiar to travellers, a love of the extra-
ordinary, I inquired of mine host, of the Lion d'or, with
whom I had established a very friendly communication
by means of praising his sour wine, as to the objects of
curiosity in the neighbourhood. In the course of enu-
meration, on which he bestowed a considerable share of
eloquence, that which mostly attracted my attention
was the account he gave of a stranger who had chosen
his abode in a deserted hermitage, in one of the wildest
recesses of the mountains ; nothing was known of him, but
90 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
from his piety, and the kindness of his manner, he had
acquired, among the country people, a considerable share
of respect. He had never been known to quit the dreary
spot he had chosen.
" ' In what manner does he procure the necessaries of
life?' I inquired.
" ' His wants are few,' returned the host, ' and the in-
habitants of the country around take care the holy man
does not perish for Jack of the little he requires.'
" ' And what may be your opinion of this worthy?' I
inquired of my host.
" ' Doubtless,' replied he, crossing himself devoutly,
' doubtless he devotes himself to that dreary solitude to
atone for his sins.'
" I could not help shaking my head in doubt at this
charitable conclusion.
" ' It is not impossible,' said I, ' that this same hermit
may be a wolf in sheep's clothing, who, tired of the pro-
fession of rogue, by which he may not have been a gainer,
has determined to spend the rest of his life in sloth and
indolence, still continuing, though in a safer way, to prey
on the industry of others.'
" ' God forgive you,' said the host, ' for your un-
charitable surmises; the poor man has worked early and
late to learn some part of the business of watchmaking,
and all his earnings he gives to the poor. As to the bread
and fruit he receives from the peasants, he amply repays
the value, by teaching them and their children the duties
of men and Christians.'
" 1 stood abashed before my host, and could have
wished my unguarded expressions were recalled ; but
SIGN. 91
I was always sceptical on the subject of monks and
hermits, and required some proof to convince me of their
sincerity.
" ' There are, doubtless,' continued the landlord of the
Golden Lion, ' many impostors, from whose scandalous
conduct you have formed your opinion ; but father Ber-
thold is none of those. Many houseless poor and wander-
ing strangers have received, with gratitude, the timely
assistance which his little fund has afforded them, and
frequent donations are sent by the charitable for him to
distribute to the distressed.'
" My esteem for the recluse rose in proportion to the
spirited and feeling eulogium passed on his virtues by
the landlord, and I instantly conceived an earnest wish
to visit his retreat. My imagination portrayed him as the
victim of misfortune, seeking an asylum from the per-
secution of the world, and returning to mankind good for
evil. My sympathy for his imaginary wrongs rose in
proportion as my prejudice had been heretofore excited
by his supposed hypocrisy.
" I resolved to visit the hermitage, more particularly as
the landlord described the situation to be all that a lover
of the picturesque and romantic could desire. It was
noon when I set out on my excursion, accompanied only
by a guide, my companions declining to be of the party.
I did not regret their absence, for my thoughts were so
occupied with the subject, which interested me, that I
felt I should have been but a sorry companion. My
guide did not interrupt me with the never-ending detail
which some of those gentry possess, and we proceeded
in silence towards the height where the recluse had his
92 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
rocky habitation. We had commenced the ascent of the
mountain, the path was very steep, and every step be-
came more difficult of access. We halted in a little plain,
which seemed as though placed as a resting-place, pre-
vious to entering a gloomy-looking defile which led to
the hermit's abode.
" The scene became singularly wild and sombre. A
very narrow path led through this rocky pass, which we
trod with great caution. Though it was but little after
noon, the gloom was gradually increasing as we advanced.
I found it was produced by large masses of overhanging
rocks, which seemed suspended in the air above us, and
crowned with thick foliage, that completely shadowed
our path. As we proceeded the gloom became positive
darkness, and, I must confess, I did not feel at all com-
fortable in my situation; but as I looked forward, I saw
the dull twinkling of a solitary light, which seemed to
proceed from the extremity of our unpleasant and even
dangerous pathway. The guide informed me the light
was placed there by the hermit, as a direction to his
lonely retreat, for some accidents had occurred to the
poor who had ventured thither without a guide.
" The passage now became excessively steep, and
seemed as though it had been cut into the rude resem-
blance of a staircase. When, with great fatigue, we had
nearly reached the summit, a most extraordinary cry was
heard, which, reverberating amongst the recesses of this
wilderness, conveyed a strange feeling of awe, amounting
almost to terror. I looked to the place whence the
sound proceeded, and I perceived, by the little light
which the lamp afforded, a large dog standing on a pro-
8ION. 93
jecting fragment of rock, almost perpendicularly above us,
and again making the dull echoes resohnd with his wild
cry.
" Immediately afterwards I beheld a human figure,
bearing a lantern, ascending to the spot on which the
dog was placed, who crouched humbly at his feet. It
was the hermit. We had now approached near enough
to distinguish objects clearly, and the entrance to the
hermitage became visible. It was apparently hewn out
of the rock, and almost covered by the dark foliage that
crowned the mountain. The appearance of the recluse
was as singular as his dwelling. His apparel consisted
of a rough dark-coloured dress, reaching from his neck
almost to his feet, and girded round the waist with
a broad leathern belt; a lantern was suspended to his
side, which it rarely quitted when traversing the dismal
precincts, of which he appeared the undisputed pro-
prietor. His beard was not as white as snow, as some
hermits have been described, but his appearance was
sufficiently venerable to excite respect. He had, more-
over, a mild prepossessing look, that bespoke your good-
will before a word was uttered ; and the kindness and
piety for which he was remarked might be almost read
in the lines of his countenance.
" He welcomed us to his retreat, which was through
the entrance mentioned. It was a dark apartment, with
a deal table, on which lay some of the implements of the
art which he cultivated. In one corner was a mattress,
which served him for a bed ; and there was a small cup-
board, in which was some bread and dried grapes, and a
jar of oil for his lamps.
94 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
" ' You have chosen a lonely retirement/ I said, ' and
a particularly unfortunate situation for the successful
practice of the art with which I hear you amuse your-
self.'
" ' No place can be said to be lonely/ he replied,
' when the mind is fully occupied to the advantage of
itself and others ; but I have another apartment wherein
I can practise, with greater advantage, the business
whereof you speak, which I will presently show you.'
He then led the way through a gallery cut in the rock,
and opening a door, I was almost bewildered with the
sudden change. It was like emerging from the deepest
night to the bright glories of day. The apartment was
of good size, likewise cut out of the rock, the front of
which was open to the light, at a very considerable ele-
vation up the mountain.
" I was delighted with the glorious prospect. Below
was the town of Sion, with its rocks and castles ; the
river Rhone winding through a beautiful and picturesque
country, and the summits of the snow-capt Alps rising
one above the other as far as the eye could reach. When
my surprise had in some degree subsided, I turned to the
hermit, who was smiling at my astonishment, to con-
gratulate him on possessing a place so enviable.
" ' The eye soon becomes accustomed to beauties,
however great/ he replied, ' and it requires much more
than a pleasing prospect to satisfy a mind which, if not
occupied, would prey upon itself.' His words raised my
curiosity, and I took a bottle of wine out of the small
basket which the guide had brought, with some sand-
wiches, and, at the invitation of the hermit, took a chair
SIGN. 95
in this delightful spot, and entreated him to partake,
hoping that a little intimacy might perhaps beget con-
fidence. In this, however, I was mistaken, for my en-
treaties were not sufficient to prevail on him to depart
from his own abstemious fare. On the table I observed
a Bible, and on shelves round the room were a great
many books. There was a small side-table, likewise,
which bore the implements of his trade, and two or three
unfinished watches. He was very affable, and conversed
with freedom on every subject but that which related to
himself, but that was unfortunately what I most parti-
cularly desired to know.
" Alternately stimulated by an eager curiosity to learn
the particulars of the hermit's history, and the equally
importunate calls of a keen appetite, which the morn-
ing's ramble had created, I began to find the latter in a
fairer way of gratification than the former. The flask of
excellent liqueur, with which my host of the Golden
Lion had provided me, had nearly disappeared, but my
friend the recluse still continued insensible to my re-
peated hints. My frequent though distant endeavours
to draw him into a conversation that might lead to the
conclusion I desired were vain. At last, however, find-
ing, perhaps, that I was one of those pertinacious beings
who sometimes are tempted to infringe on the rules of
good-breeding rather than surrender a favourite point,
he saw the necessity of a decided reply to my no less
distinct, though distantly worded, inquiries.
" ' During the time that I have occupied this retreat,'
he observed, ' I have been honoured with the visits of
many travellers, and I have observed with some pain,
96 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
they have all expressed a desire to learn the reasons
which have induced me to quit the world.'
" ' Such desire is but natural,' I replied, thinking this
was a favourable opportunity for pressing the subject
more unreservedly, ' for the motive must have been ex-
traordinary that could justify such a resolution, and doubt-
less the recital would furnish an excellent moral lesson.'
" ' The misfortunes of an humble individual like my-
self,' said the hermit, ' would confer no benefit on those
who revel in prosperity ; and a curiosity that can ex-
perience gratification in hearing the sorrows of the un-
fortunate is but an unworthy feeling, and ought not to be
gratified.'
" I felt the rebuke, perhaps, because I deserved it ;
for I could not distinguish any thing in the placid coun-
tenance of the old man, or in the gentle tone of his voice,
to warrant the belief that his remark was levelled ex-
pressly at me. I hastened to deprecate his censure.
" ' If the recital of misfortune,' I remarked, ' were the
means of creating pain in the individual if curiosity
alone were to be gratified it ought justly to be repro-
bated ; but might there not be a compassionate interest
which seeks the alleviation of sorrows disguised under the
semblance of curiosity ? and,' I added, with warmth and
sincerity, ' if I seek to know your history, be assured it
is that I may offer you consolation or assistance, although
perhaps inadequate.'
" The old man laid his hand gently on my arm, and
fixing his mild blue eyes on me with a melancholy ex-
pression which I shall never forget, ' My kind young
friend,' said he, ' I am obliged to you for your compas-
SIGN. 97
sionate feeling ; be assured that I do not attribute your
curiosity to unworthy motives ; but you are young ; in
time you will learn that no slight or common-place mis-
fortune could induce a man to forsake his home, his
country, all in fact that mankind covet in this world,
and retire to a solitary cave, where his best prospect is
the grave : you will learn that assistance to such as he
would be vain ; that commiseration would be useless ;
that his only hopes are those of another world. Seek
not then that I should, by the recital, revive those scenes
of sorrow which, even through the lapse of years, I can-
uot remember without pain : be satisfied that I have
tasted the cup of affliction in many a deep and bitter
draught ; and God grant, my young friend, that you may
never experience the disappointment, the cruel laceration
of the heart's best feelings which I have had so bitterly
to lament.'
" I was moved with the old man's words, and the tone
in which they were uttered ; and as I raised my eyes, I
saw a tear silently trickle down his aged cheek. He
rose from his seat and removed slowly to the opening, or
window, to conceal the emotion which his thoughts oc-
casioned. I could not but reproach myself for the pain
I had unconsciously created, to so kind-hearted and un-
fortunate a being j and I would have given worlds to
have known bow I could, even in the slightest degree,
have contributed to his comfort. But his sorrows were
henceforth sacred, and during the short time I remained
we conversed on other subjects. When I arose to depart,
the old man lighted his lamp, and accompanied me to the
verge of his gloomy abode. Here I bade him farewell,
98 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
and promised that, on my return from Italy, I would
revisit the hermitage.
" It was about a year and a half afterwards that I again
found myself at the Lion d'Or, in the ancient town of
Sion, and after partaking of a hasty meal, I set out, un-
accompanied, to visit my friend the hermit. It was a
fine afternoon, and the sun had yet some distance to
travel ere the Alps would screen him from my sight, as
I quickly and without difficulty retraced the path I had
trod on a former occasion. I involuntarily quickened my
pace, as I advanced towards the narrow defile that led to
the gloomy habitation of the recluse. I longed again to
see the old man, whose placid and benignant manner,
and whose deep but unobtrusive griefs had caused within
me an interest and respect for him, that the time which
had departed had by no means extinguished. I ascended
the dismal path until the darkness rendered it dangerous
to proceed. The lamps which had lighted the way at my
former visit were no longer seen. I called loudly, hoping
that the sound of my voice would be heard and answered.
I could distinguish no reply but the echo, which gave back
my voice in many a prolonged and mournful reverberation.
Fatigued and disappointed, after another fruitless attempt
to make myself heard, I returned to the light, and was
about to retrace my steps to Sion, when I saw a shep-
herd, who was ascending the mountain after his flock.
I called to him, and made inquiry after the hermit. The
man shook his head.
" ' Has he then left the mountain ?' I asked, hoping
that he might have found cause to renounce his solitude.
" The man looked the affirmative.
SIGN. 99
" ' Whither has he gone ?' I inquired anxiously.
" ' I hope, to heaven !' replied the peasant, in a tone of
compassion.
" 'Alas ! then, he is dead!'
" The shepherd made no answer, but crossed himself
devoutly.
" ' Tell me the manner of his death," I said, after a
short pause, in which sorrow and disappointment had
succeeded to the pleasing anticipations in which I had
indulged, of again conversing with the old man,
" ' Tis but a short tale/ he said, ' and I will tell it
you willingly.' He seated himself on one of the frag-
ments of rock which lay plentifully scattered about, and
continued : ' It is now about six months that we ceased
to observe the hermit walk on the mountain, which was
his constant custom ; and the bread and fruits which
were left for him were untouched. We thought, perhaps,
he had broken his rule, and gone to Sion for a day, but,
when another day passed, and still the fruits remained,
we were fearful that something was wrong, and taking a
piece of lighted pine-wood, we determined to ascend to
the hermitage. When we had nearly reached the top we
found the lights, which the hermit kept constantly burn-
ing, were extinguished ; and, on listening, we heard
distinctly the low wailings of a dog. Some of our party
were seized with fear, and returned with precipitation,
fearful of they knew not what : myself and another con-
tinued our way. We entered the dark apartment of the
hermitage, and the first object that met our sight was the
old man lying dead on the mattress which served him for
his bed. His poor dog, whose wailings we heard, was
n2
100 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
lying close beside his dead master, apparently almost
starved for want of food. The death of the old man was
a source of great sorrow to the country people around,
for they loved him very much, and a great number fol-
lowed him to his grave. He was buried in the church-
yard of the monastery in the valley.'
" Did he leave no paper behind, to say who he was ?"
I inquired.
"None," said the shepherd. "No one knows who he
was, or whence he came j but it is hoped he will rest
in peace, though he died enshrined with all his sins to
answer for."
I rewarded the shepherd for his story, and returned to
Sion, filled with melancholy.
VIEGE.
Qui non palazzi, non teatro, o loggia,
Ma in loro vece un' abete, un faggio, un pino
Tra 1' erba verde e '1 bel monte vicino
Levan di terra al ciel nostr' intcllctto.
PKTRARCA.
AT a short distance from Sion flows the river Merges,
which separates the district into what is called the Haut
and Bas Valois. There is a marked difference between the
inhabitants of these two portions of the same district.
The former are an industrious people ; simple and in-
offensive in their manners, strong and healthful in their
persons, and of comely appearance. The latter are squalid
and wretched, frightfully deformed with the goitrous
swelling, and many of them more or less affected with
cretinism. Previous to the French revolution, the people
of the low Valois were subjects of the upper, having
in earlier times been conquered from the Dukes of
Savoy. In the alteration which Europe has undergone
of late years, the two people have become fellow-subjects
to the same league, and are now on a perfect equality
with each other, apparently with no ill feeling caused
by the recollection of their former respective situations.
The canton of the Valois has been rendered conspicuous
by the desperate and determined opposition made by its
inhabitants to the constitution imposed on them by the
102 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
French Directory. The French, after having been de-
feated in many a sanguinary encounter, succeeded at
last in enforcing their odious measures, with the de-
struction of more than one-fourth of the population.
The contest was carried on with unexampled ferocity;
no quarter was given or accepted, and it is said that
eighteen young women were found slaughtered by the
sides of their fathers and brothers in a field of battle
where the French were victorious. After the fury of
the conflict was over, and the country was subdued, the
French soldiers rendered ample testimony to the valour
and devotion of its inhabitants ; and it must be said in
justice to them, that they did all in their power to
remedy the devastation they had caused. Liberal sub-
scriptions were raised for the suffering survivors in dif-
ferent parts of Europe, and the French general himself
distributed 1 200 rations daily to the starving population.
In this part of Switzerland there is little to attract the
attention of the curious : it only claims a share of notice,
being the thoroughfare into Italy by the passage of Mount
Simplon. On the high road is the village of Siene, one
of the prettiest places in the district, but on no other
account deserving attention. The Col de la Gemmi with
its frozen summit next rises to view, and at its base is
seen a magnificent cataract, the picturesque appearance
of which is very much heightened by a dark forest of
pines through which it takes its foaming course towards
the Rhone. The passage of the Gemmi is one of the
most extraordinary of the Alps. Although attended with
some little difficulty and danger, the traveller, by tra-
versing it, may reach the interior of Switzerland in a few
VIEGE. 103
hours, which by the regular road would make a distance
of two hundred miles. The people of the Valois in 1799
defended this passage against the French, who adopted
every means to force them, but without success. Had
not their Austrian allies induced them to abandon their
own tactics, for those of a more legitimate but less suc-
cessful nature, their country would not so soon have
fallen a sacrifice to their invaders. Beyond this are the
celebrated baths of the Leuk. They are approached by
a narrow path, cut out of the rock in many places, by
the side of the mountain, and are 5000 feet above the
level of the sea. On observing the many little villages
and habitations perched among the mountains, apparently
inaccessible to all but the goats, it would be difficult to
pronounce any path impracticable to the hardy moun-
taineer. There is a village near the baths which is
approached by a passage called the Chemin d'Echelles :
eight successive ladders over precipices lead to this sin-
gular abode, which the inhabitants are in the habit of
traversing at all hours without any difficulty, and utterly
unconscious of danger. Some distance beyond this is
shown the village and castle of Raren : they formerly
belonged to powerful barons of that name, some of whom
were captain generals of the Valois. A curious instance
of insurrection is related of the people of the Valois
against one of the former lords of this domain, named
YVischard : they were animated by a strong feeling of
resentment against him, doubtless from some aggravated
case of feudal exaction, and determined on revenge. A
party of young men having concerted their measures,
went about from hamlet to village, carrying with them a
104 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
large wooden club, shaped at one end like a man's head,
and invited every one to join the feud by driving a nail
into the head, which signified an intention to become
a party in the expedition. This species of proceeding
against an individual who had incurred the displeasure
of the people was called La Matza, probably from the
club or mace which they carried with them. A very
considerable number soon joined against the obnoxious
baron, who was at last forced to fly, having been obliged
to witness the destruction of his castles and the confisca-
tion of his estates. On the road to Brigg, which is the
last town in Switzerland, is seen the small village of
Viege or Visp, remarkable for two churches of singular
architecture which well deserve inspection. It is situ-
ated on the banks of the river Visp, which is of great
depth and rapidity, and scarcely inferior to the Rhone.
Over it rises the towering summit of Mount Rose,
which forms one of the chain of Alps, and is con-
sidered nearly as high as Mont Blanc. Travellers usually
proceed to Brigg and remain there the night previously
to the ascent of the Simplon. Glyss is the regular post
town, but Brigg is generally preferred. In the chapel at
Glyss, is a picture of George de Supersax and his wife,
with their twelve sons and eleven daughters, with the
following inscription :
" En 1'honneur de saint Anne
George de Supersax, soldat,
A fonde cette chapelle 1'an de grace, 1519,
A eleve un autel, et 1' a enrichi
En reconnoissance des vingt-trols cnfans
Qui son cpouse Marguerite lui a donnee."
DOMO D'OSSOLA.
Now the scene is changed.
And on Mont Cenis, o'er the Simplon winds
A path of pleasure.
ROGERS.
THE traveller who intends to enter Italy by the Sim-
plon, after leaving Viege usually passes through Brigg, one
of the most considerable towns of the Haut Valais, si-
tuated opposite to the base of the Simplon. The route
of the Simplon, with its wonderful road, passing through
excavated mountains, and over precipitous valleys, has
been so frequently described, that a repetition of its mar-
vels and its beauties may well be spared. The road is
one of the few really noble monuments which Napoleon
has left of his reign. It was commenced in 1801, and
occupied upwards of three years in the completion, afford-
ing employment to 30,000 men. Fifty bridges are thrown
over the valleys and precipices, and five galleries are
hewn through the solid rock, the largest of which is
nearly seven hundred feet in length.
Having ascended through the wild and magnificent
scenery of the Simplon, the eager traveller at length be-
holds the fair plains of Italy spread before him :
But now 'tis past,
That turbulent chaos; and the promised land
Lies at my feet in all its loveliness !
To him who starts up from a terrible dream,
106 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
And, lo ! the sun is shining, and the lark
Singing aloud for joy, to him is not
Such sudden ravishment, as now I feel
At the first glimpses of fair Italy.
The first view of Italy from the Simplon cannot fail to
delight the traveller. He beholds, spread out before
him, the beautiful Val d'Ossola, enclosed by sweeping
hills, crowned with verdure, and speckled with pic-
turesque villages, and with mansions embosomed in the
trees. In the distance lies the town of Domo d'Ossola,
so called from its containing the principal church, or
duomo of the valley. It is a small, but populous com-
mercial town, much frequented by the small merchants of
Milan and of Switzerland. The environs of the town are
laid out in meadows, or planted with vines, frequently
supported by little pillars of granite.
Evelyn has left an amusing account of his passing the
Simplon. " This night, through almost inaccessible
heights, we came in prospect of Mons Sempronius, now
Mount Sampion, which has on its summit a few huts and
a chapel. Approaching this, Capt. Wray's water-spaniel
(a huge filthy cur, that had followed him out of England)
hunted a herd of goats down the rocks into a river made
by the melting of the snow. Arrived at our cold har-
bour (though the house had a stove in every room), and
supping on cheese and bread, with wretched wine, we
went to bed in cupboards so high from the floor, that we
climbed them by a ladder. We were covered with fea-
thers, that is, we lay between two ticks stuffed with
them, and all little enough to keep one warm. The ceil-
ings of the rooms are strangely low for those tall people.
DOMO D'OSSOLA. 107
The house was now, in September, half covered with
snow ; nor is there a tree or bush growing within many
miles. From this uncomfortable place we prepared to
hasten away the next morning, but as we were getting
on our mules, comes a huge young fellow, demanding
money for a goat, which he affirmed that Capt. Wray's
dog had killed ; expostulating the matter, and impatient
of staying in the cold, we set spurs, and endeavoured to
ride away, when a multitude of people being by this
time gathered together about us (for it being Sunday
morning, and attending for the priest to say mass), they
stopped our mules, beat us off our saddles, and disarming
us of our carbines, drew us into one of the rooms of our
lodging, and set a guard upon us. Thus we continued
prisoners till mass was ended, and then came half a score
grim Swiss, who taking on them to be magistrates, sate
down on the table, and condemned us to pay a pistole
for the goat, and ten more for attempting to ride away,
threatening, that if we did not pay it speedily, they would
send us to prison, and keep us to a day of public justice,
where, as they perhaps would have exaggerated the
crime, for they pretended we had primed our carbines,
and would have shot some of them (as, indeed, the cap-
tain was about to do), we might have had our heads cut
off, as we were told afterwards, for that amongst these
rude people, a very small misdemeanor does very often
meet that sentence. Though the proceedings appeared
highly unjust, on consultation among ourselves we thought
it safer to rid ourselves out of their hands, and trouble we
were brought into, and therefore we patiently laid down
our money, and with fierce countenances had our mules
108 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
and arms delivered to us ; and glad we were to escape as
we did. This was cold entertainment, but our journey
after was colder, the rest of the way having been, as they
told us, covered with snow since the creation ; no man
remembered it to be without : and because by the fre-
quent snowing the tracks are continually filled up, we
pass by several tall masts, set up to guide travellers, so
as for many miles they stand in ken of one another
like to our beacons."
Since the peace, the Simplon has been tracked by an
endless succession of English travellers :
If up the Simplon's path we wand,
Fancying we leave this world behind,
Such pleasant sounds salute one's ear,
As " Baddish news from 'Change, my dear
The funds (phew, curse this ugly hill)
Are lowering fast (what, higher still ?)
And (zooks, we 're mounting up to heaven!)
Will soon be down to sixty-seven."
CASTLE OF ANGHIERA,
ARONA.
Thy pencil brings to mind a day,
When from Laveno and the Beuscer hill,
I over Lake Verbauus held my way ;
In pleasant fellowship, with wind at will.
SOUTHKY.
THE Lago Maggiore, the Lacus Verbanus of the
Romans, is celebrated not only for its extent, but for the
diversified beauties it exhibits. From Locarno at the
north end, to Sesto Calende at the south, the Lake
measures thirty-seven English miles. On a promontory
projecting into the lake, is situated the castle of Au-
ghiera, from which the province, erected into a county by
the emperor Wenceslaus, derived its name. From this
castle the Alps are seen in the distance, clothed with
pine and firs, and their summits crowned with snows.
All things minister delight,
The lake and land, the mountain and the vales,
The Alps, their snowy summits rear in light,
Tempering with gelid breath the summer gales ;
And verdant shores and woods refresh the eye,
That else had ached beneath that brilliant sky.
One of the most attractive objects upon the Lago
Maggiore is the Isola Bella, one of the Borromean
Islands, so called from their forming part of the pos-
112 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
The gardens of Isola Bella, with their straight walks,
their porticos, their urns, their statues, and their temples,
have excited the scorn and almost the indignation of
modern travellers. Mr. Pennant, in a letter subjoined to
Archdeacon Cox's Travels in Switzerland, has termed
them " a monument of expense and folly j" Mr. Southey,
in his pretty little poem on the Lago Maggiore, tells us
they are "folly's prodigious work 3" and a late tourist
speaks of them as " outraging all purity and simplicity."
It may, however, be doubted, whether the modern taste
for the natural has not been carried to an excess, and
whether the more artificial gardens of former times did
not contribute to the gratification of the taste as well as
to that of the eye and of the fancy. In architectural
ornament and in the artful and methodical arrangement
of the ground there is, at least, as much to delight a re-
fined and correct taste as in the unskilful imitations of
natural scenery so acceptable to a modern eye. The
stately aisle-like avenues of former days have given
place to naked circuitous approaches, and the broad
grassy alleys of our ancient gardens have been removed
to make way for the contorted gravel walks of our mo-
dern grounds ; changes which have been supposed to be
improvements from the common mistake of confounding
the artificial and the ungraceful.
Upon the Isola Bella is a laurel tree of great size and
beauty. A late traveller says that " Buonaparte, when
in this neighbourhood shortly after the battle of Marengo,
came hither, and in an apparent fit of musing carved on
its bark the word ' Battaglia,' some letters of which may
still be traced."
CASTLE OF A N(. II IKK A. 113
The view from I sola Bella lias been well described by
Mr. Eustace. " A high wall surrounds the whole island ;
but it. is so constructed as to form a terrace, and thus
to aid the prospect. The prospect, particularly from
the top of the pyramid, is truly magnificent. The vast
expanse of water immediately under the eye, with the
neighbouring islands covered with houses and trees
the bay of Magotzo, bordered with lofty hills westward
eastward, the town of Lavena with its towering moun-
tain to the south the winding of the lake, with num-
berless villages, sometimes on the margin of the water,
sometimes on gentle swells, and sometimes on the sides
and crags of mountains to the north, first the little
town of Palanza, at the foot of a bold promontory, then
a succession of villages and mountains bordering the
lake as it stretches in a bold sweep towards the Alps,
and loses itself amid their snow-crowned pinnacles.
The banks of the lake are well wooded, and finely varied
with a perpetual intermixture of vineyard and forest,
of arable and meadow, of plain and mountain. The
latter circumstance, indeed, characterises the Lago
Maggiore, and distinguishes it from the others, which
are enclosed in a perpetual and uninterrupted ridge of
mountains ; while here, the chain is frequently broken
by intervening plains and valleys. This interruption not
only enlivens its surface by admitting more light and
sunshine, but apparently adds to its extent by removing
its boundaries, and at the same time gives a greater
elevation to the mountains by bringing them into con-
trast with the plains."
I
114 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
The little town of Arona is situated on the borders of
the Lago Maggiore, having the lake in front, and being
flanked by a precipitous cliff, on the summit of which
are to be seen the remains of an ancient castle, formerly
the residence of the Borromean family, and in which the
celebrated Cardinal Borromeo, canonized by the Roman
church, was born. The name of this excellent and vir-
tuous man, one of the great lights of the catholic church,
is not yet forgotten by the descendants of those who
were blessed by his enlightened charities. He was
born in the year 1538 ; and on the accession of his uncle,
Pius IV., to the papal chair in 1559, he was raised to
some of the highest offices in the church, and received
the cardinal's hat. " It was," says Tiraboschi, " a truly
admirable thing to see a youth of two-and-twenty, for
such was Borromeo's age when he was elected cardinal,
sustaining the weighty cares of the pontificate, and ma-
naging with singular good sense the most difficult affairs."
After discharging the various duties of the day, the car-
dinal was accustomed in the evening to assemble round
him the persons most distinguished in the court of Rome
for their talents and learning, for the purpose of con-
versing upon subjects connected with moral philosophy.
These meetings, from the time and place at which they
were held, acquired the title of the Notti Vaticane.
In the early part of his life, this establishment of Car-
dinal Borromeo was remarkable for its splendour and
magnificence ; but the council of Trent having enjoined
a greater simplicity of life amongst the priesthood, he
discarded his princely retinue, and appropriated his for-
CASTLE OF ANGHIERA. 115
tune to the noblest objects of charity and improvement.
He promoted education, not only amongst the glergy,
but also amongst the people at large, supplying the
funds for the establishment of various institutions di-
rected to the encouragement of letters. Among other
admirable improvements, he introduced at Milan the
system of Sunday schools for the education of young
persons, an establishment which is continued at the pre-
sent day. " It is both novel and affecting," observes
Mr. Eustace, " to behold on that day, the vast area of
the cathedral filled with children, forming two grand
divisions, of boys and girls, ranged opposite each other,
and then again subdivided into classes according to their
age and capacities, drawn up between the pillars, while
two or more instructors attend each class, and direct
their questions and explanations to every individual
without distinction. A clergyman attends each class
accompanied by one or more laymen for the boys, and
for the girls by as many matrons. The lay persons are
said to be oftentimes of the first distinction." The per-
sonal wants of the poor and of the sick within his diocese
were ever liberally supplied by Cardinal Borromeo, and
during a destructive pestilence which burst out in Milan,
he built a lazzaretto, and tended the patients with his
own hands. He died in the year 1584, aged only forty-
six, after leaving a name worthy of canonization in any
hierarchy. Not far from Arona, the piety of his re-
latives erected to the memory of St. Charles Borromeo a
colossal statue in bronze of vast magnitude, being in
height seventy feet, and supported by a marble pedestal
of forty feet.
i2
116 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Far off the Borromean saint is seen
Distinct, though distant, on his native town,
Where his colossus, with benignant mien,
Looks from its station on Arona down :
To it the inland sailor lifts his eyes
From the wide lake when perilous storms arise.
The remains of St. Charles are deposited (it can
scarcely be said that they repose, for they are exposed
to every inquisitive stranger) in the cathedral of Milan.
How mistaken was the piety that could exhibit such a
spectacle as that described by Sir J. E. Smith ! " Be-
fore the high altar, in a subterraneous chapel, reposes
St. Charles Borromeo. This chapel is one of the most
remarkable things about the cathedral. Nothing can be
richer. The hangings are cloth of gold, the architraves
of the doors, the cornice, in short, every thing but the
hangings is of massy silver. The cornice is supported by
large statues of angels, and adorned with fine alto re-
lievos all of the same metal. On the back part of the
altar and raised a little above it, lies the saint's body in
a transverse position, in a case made of large slices six
or eight inches square, of very fine rock crystal set in
frames of silver given by Philip IV. of Spain, who was
eight years in search of a sufficient quantity of crystal.
The body is most magnificently dressed in archiepiscopal
robes, with abundance of jewels. The face only is
visible, and looks like that of an Egyptian mummy. The
nose is nearly gone, which added to the drawing back of
the lips from the teeth, gives the countenance a horrible
and ghastly look."
MILAN.
Kt Mfdiolani inira omnia ; copia reruin
Innuincra- cultaeque donius, facumla viroruin
Ingenia, et mores Iteti : tuin dupplice muru
Amplificata loci species, populique voluptas
Circus, et inclusi moles cuneata theatri:
Templa, 1'alatineque arces, opulensque moueta,
Et regio Herculei Celebris sub honore lavacri,
Cunctaque marmoreis ornata peristyla signis,
Meniaque in valli formam circumdata labro.
Omnia qua; inagnis operum velut arnula formls
Excellunt: nee juncta premit vicinia Roma:.
AUSONIUS.
ALTHOUGH, since the times of Ausonius, Milan has
been subjected more than any city in Italy, or perhaps
in the world, to the evils attending upon the greatest
scourges of humanity, war and plague, yet the praises
\\liicli the poet bestows upon it are still, in a great
degree, applicable to that city. If there be not a circus
and moles cuneata theatri; there are yet theatres of modern
fashion, and that of La Scala.both for size and beauty, is one
of the first in the world. There is no place dedicated to
Hercules, but there are churches of very remarkable
beauty, not to mention the cathedral, inferior in size only
to St. Peter's at Rome, and superior even to that edifice
iu ornaments. Marble is there as plentiful as it was in
the time of Ausonius. It is true that there is no longer
i./mli-ii.^ niuiiffn thriv ; yet the mint (zeccaj, under the late
kingdom of Italy, was one of the best, and the coins
which \vcro struck there were superior, and still arc, to
118 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
all others in elegance of design. A few thousand francs
worth of coins issued by Maria Luigia, Duchess of Parma,
Napoleon's widow (which may perhaps be said to excel
all the coins of the Italian kingdom), were struck at
Milan.
Milan was a city of great importance in the time of
the Romans, particularly towards the latter end of the
empire, when it was even the seat of some of the em-
perors before the invasion of the barbarians. It was
destroyed by Attila so completely that its archbishop,
St. Ambrose, emphatically copying one of Cicero's ex-
pressions, said of it, and of some other cities destroyed
by that conqueror, that they were " tot semirutarura
urbium cadavera." It was however rebuilt, and, in the
twelfth century, it was, as it still is, the most flourishing
and powerful of all the cities of Lombardy. The emperor,
Frederic I. (Barbarossa), found in the Milanese a people
determined to resist his tyrannical pretensions, and his
German legions would have in vain attempted to reduce
that city to a slavish obedience, had not many of the other
cities of Lombardy joined the emperor against their own
countrymen. Frederic, assisted by Pa via, Cremona, Lodi,
and other neighbouring cities, in addition to his own
Germans, besieged Milan, and, in seven months, suc-
ceeded in taking it, the citizens being reduced to the last
extremities, and the emperor insisting on their uncon-
ditional surrender. Having taken possession of the city,
he ordered all the inhabitants to leave it, and having de-
livered it up to plunder, he caused it to be razed to the
ground. The executors of this abominable order were
Lombards. Milan was divided into six parts, and six of
MILAN. 119
the Lombard tribes were charged with the destruction,
each of one portion of the city, an office which they
executed so literally, and with so inveterate a hatred,
that it excited both surprise and scandal even among the
Germans in the emperor's army. The population of
Milan was distributed into four provisional encampments,
which were erected near the site on which the city once
stood, and for three or four years the Milanese were sub-
ject to all kinds of vexatious and tyrannical acts from
their imperial governors. At length the Italians becoming
sensible of the danger of allowing the imperial power
to grow stronger in Italy, united, and entered into an
alliance, known under the name of the famous " Lega
Lombarda." One of the first acts of this league was to
assist the population of Milan in rebuilding and fortifying
their city, which was done in an incredibly short time,
and Milan in a few years was rebuilt handsomer and
larger than before, as it now exists. The allies, amongst
whom the Milanese stood prominent, having obtained a
victory over the emperor, forced him to a dishonourable
peace, which was sealed by the treaty " De Pace Cou-
stantiae," so called, because it was signed at Constance.
The cathedral of Milan was commenced in 1386, by
Galeazzo Viscouti, Duke of Milan, a prince who has left
behind him a very lofty name. The front of this noble
edifice was imperfect till the beginning of the present
century, when by the orders of Napoleon it was com-
pleted. It is of gothic architecture, and in fret-work, in
carving, and in statues it surpasses all churches in the
world. The whole of it, even the roof, is of marble, and
taking into account both the large and small statues, it
120 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
is said to contain several thousands. Some of the pillars
are ninety feet high, and eight in diameter. The whole
temple is 490 feet long, 298 broad, and 258 high in the
interior under the dome. The highest external point of
the tower is 400 feet.
This tower, dome, or obelisk, for, as Mr. Eustace ob-
serves, it is difficult to ascertain its appellation, was built
only in 1763, and commands a very fine view. Coryat,
who from another tower surveyed Milan, and the plain of
Lombardy, speaks of the pleasure which he thus enjoyed
in the following enthusiastic words : " I ascended almost
to the toppe of the tower, wherence I surueyed the
whole citie round about, which yeelded a most beautifull
and delectable shew. There I observed the huge sub-
urbs, which are as bigge as many a faire towne, and com-
passed about with ditches of water : there also I beheld
a great part of Italy, together with the lofty Apennines,
and they shewed me which way Rome, Venice, Naples,
Florence, Genoa, Ravenna, &c. lay. The territory of
Lombardy, which I contemplated round about from this
tower, was so pleasant an object to mine eyes, being re-
plenished with such unspeakable variety of all things,
both for profit and pleasure, that it seemeth to me to be
the very Elysian fields, so much decorated and celebrated
by the verses of poets, or the temple or paradise of the
world ; for it is the fairest plain, extended about some
200 miles in length, that ever I saw, or ever shall, if I
should travell over the whole habitable world ; insomuch,
that I said to myself, that this country was fitter to be
an habitation for the immortal gods than for mortal men."
The churches of Milan are in general beautiful, and
.MILAN. 121
the traveller, who is at all interested in ecclesiastical an-
tiquities, \vill find great pleasure in investigating the rites
of the diocese of Milan, commonly called " The Ambro-
sian rite," said to have been instituted by St. Ambrose,
archbishop of that city. The popes have, in vain, at
different times,, attempted to prevail upon the Milanese
to conform to the strict practice of the Roman church.
It seems that, in olden times, the Milanese church used
some peculiar method in the administration of the Lord's
Supper ; and to this day the ritual for the celebration of
mass is different from that adopted in other catholic
countries. One of the great peculiarities of the Am-
brosian rite consists in the administration of the baptism,
which takes place by immersion, according to the primi-
tive rite of the church. The rules of the diocese of
Milan have also the effect of prolonging the carnival
in that city, Lent there beginning not on Ash Wednes-
day, but on the following Sunday. The consequence is,
that carnival lasts three days longer (Friday being ex-
cluded) at Milan than in any other city. This period is
called Carnovoloze, and is very merrily kept, owing chiefly
to a large concourse of people from the neighbouring
places, the inhabitants of which make the best of their
time, by shortening the period of Lent and prolonging
that of carnival.
In speaking of the ecclesiastical history of Milan, the
glorious name of Borromeo is not to be forgotten. Two
ranl'mals of that name, Carlo and Federico, deserve par-
ticular mention. Of the former something has been al-
ready said. If ever a man deserved to be canonized, it
122 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
was San Carlo Borromeo. His piety, his generosity, and
the purity of his manners, were equally remarkable. His
nephew, Federico Borromeo, emulated his virtues, and has
left a splendid monument of the noble patronage, which
he extended to letters, by the establishment, at his own
expense, of the Ambrosian Library, one of the richest in
MSS. of any in Europe. He moreover endowed it with
funds out of which nine doctors annexed to it were to be
paid, new books bought, and a correspondence kept up
with the literary men of Europe. He likewise caused
oriental types to be cast, books in those languages to
be printed, the languages themselves, as well as Greek,
Latin, and Italian, to be taught gratis, provided for the
maintenance of the establishment in future, and ordered
that the library should be opened to the public through-
out the year, and every thing necessary for taking notes
supplied to the students. An establishment like this,
founded by the liberality of a private individual, is so
honourable and rare an occurrence, that it ought not to
escape the notice of travellers who wish to sec in a
country what is really worthy of notice.
It was by the Cardinal Carlo Borromeo, as before observed,
that the Sunday-schools at Milan were founded, that pre-
late being satisfied, that the more the people are instructed,
the more probable is it that they will follow the precepts
of the gospel. There is no city in which so large a number
of establishments for the gratuitous education of children
exists as in Milan. They formerly amounted in number
to one hundred and twenty, but it is to be feared that
the tyrannical interference of the government has de-
MILAN. 123
stroyed several of these excellent institutions. About
ten years ago, Lancastrian schools were introduced, and
were supported by some philanthropic citizens, whose
exertions in so noble a cause became the object of sus-
picion to the Austrian government. The consequence
was, that a great number of these benevolent individuals
fell victims to the ignorance and despotism of the go-
vernment, and the Lancastrian schools were suppressed.
The very utterance of the words mutual instruction to
this day amounts in Milan to a high misdemeanour.
It must be said, to the honour of Milan, that it sin-
habitants are distinguished for their generous support
of any great undertaking or institution which may tend
in any way to promote public comfort. Among their
charitable institutions, that of the Ospedal Maggiore de-
serves particular notice, on account both of the splendid
manner in which it has been endowed by the piety of the
Milanese, and of the liberality with which the needy are
supported, and the miseries of life softened or remedied.
To the public spirit of the Milanese, in patronizing what-
ever is noble and useful, the world owes the most perfect
collection of historical monuments respecting the middle
ages that any nation can boast of. We allude to the
Rerum Italicarum Scriptores, edited by the learned
Muratori, assisted by Sassi and Argelati. The plan of
tli is work was formed by Muratori, when one of the
doctors of the Ambrosian Library, together with his two
associates above mentioned. A very great number of
historical documents inserted in that collection were
copied from the MSS. of that library, aud, to meet the
124 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
enormous expense caused by the printing, a society was
formed at Milan, the individuals of which, who called
themselves Socii Palatini, entered into a subscription
for this purpose, and by their liberality the edition was
published.
The scientific traveller who visits Milan will find that
the principles of hydrostatics and hydraulics have never
been better practically applied than in Lombardy, the
fertile plains of which are, in many parts, skilfully irri-
gated. When he inspects at Milan the two canals, that
of the Mantesana, and that of Pavia, he will be delighted
in thinking that they are two of the oldest works of this
kind ; and that it was on the former that those ingenious
contrivances by which boats ascend hills, or descend into
valleys (we mean locks), were first applied by their in-
ventors. The canal of Pavia, which forms a communi-
cation between Milan and this city, by which mer-
chandizes are conveyed from the Ticino into the Po, and
thence to Venice, was completed only twelve years ago.
It is, however, many centuries since its commencement.
On a bridge within Milan, which crosses this canal, the
following event took place in 1373.
Bernabo Visconti, Duke of Milan, having incurred the
pope's displeasure with respect to some political trans-
actions and alliances which were considered injurious to
the court of Rome, his holiness Urban V., the reigning
pontiff, sent the Cardinal Belfort and the Abbot of Farfa
to expostulate with the duke ; directing that if he did not
yield to the pontifical commands, he should be excom-
municated. The ambassadors were well received, but
MILAN. 125
completely failed in their negotiation ; and, according to
their orders, solemnly delivered into Bernabo's hands the
bull of excommunication. He received it very quietly,
placing it, without the least observation, in his vest.
The ambassadors then took leave, and he, as if to pay
them honour, accompanied them with a large retinue
towards the gate by which they were to return.
On the party arriving on the bridge above mentioned,
the duke stopped, and abruptly said to the ambassadors,
" Gentlemen, will you eat or drink ? for I am determined
that you must do either the one or the other before you
leave this bridge."
The two prelates, surprised at this address, consulted
a little while together, not knowing well what to think
of the proposal ; then one of them answered, " My lord,
in a place like this, where there is so much water at hand,
we prefer eating to drinking."
Upon which the duke, drawing from his vest the bull
of excommunication, rejoined, " Then eat the bull which
you have delivered to me."
It was in vain that the two ambassadors remonstrated,
and threatened him with divine punishment. Bernabo
was not a man whose conscience could be moved by such
fears ; he peremptorily insisted ; and both the cardinal
and the abbot, to escape with their lives, were actually
obliged to devour not only the bull, which was, of course,
written on parchment, but the ribbons by which the seals
were appended, and the very seals themselves; after
which they were allowed to return to their sovereign.
About a century afterwards the tragical death of
(Jaleazzo Sforza, Duke of Milan, killed by a party of
]26 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
young men, full of patriotism and the love of liberty,
turned all eyes upon this city-
Galeazzo Sforza, Lord of Milan, united to great talents
the most profligate character. Cruel, licentious, false,
and violent, he not only delighted in shedding blood,
but even in a refinement of torture. He caused some
of his victims to be buried alive, others to die of hun-
ger. A peasant on being convicted of killing a hare,
was obliged to eat it up raw, skin and all. Three young
men, Giovanni Andrea Lampugnani, Carlo Visconti, and
Girolamo Olgiati,who had been educated by Cola Montani,
a celebrated professor of literature, in a Spartan manner,
joined together to destroy this monster. Montani, who
was full of Grecian and Roman literature, strongly im-
pressed upon his pupils that it was in a free country 7
that those great men had flourished whose deeds we now
read of with such admiration ; insisting that the first act
was to free the country from tyrants. The conspiracy was
agreed upon between these three young men, and kept
for many months secret, without an occasion presenting
itself for carrying it into execution. At length it was
reported that the duke intended going to St. Stephen's
church on that saint's day, the 26th December, 1476,
and in that place they determined upon killing him.
Early in the morning they went to the church, prayed
that Heaven would bless their undertaking, which they
considered not only just but holy; begged St. Stephen to
forgive them if in so pious a cause they were obliged to
pollute his church with blood; and, besides the usual
prayers, they addressed to this saint a peculiar petition,
purposely written for the occasion by Visconti. On the
MILAN. 127
duke entering the temple, they immediately killed him.
Lampiignani was slain on the spot by a Moorish servant
of the duke's ; Visconti was soon afterwards taken and
put to death. Olgiati, taken the last of all, was likewise
put to death with the most horrible tortures. A con-
fession, or rather statement of the conspiracy, drawn up
from the relation of Olgiati, then twenty-two years of age,
by order of his judges, and in the agonies of torments,
still exists, in which a man of extraordinary fortitude is
recognized. He never appears once to repent of what
he has done. He met his death with the courage of a
martyr, and the resignation of a Christian, but he never
acknowledged himself guilty before God of what he had
done. " I know," he said to the priest who attended
him during the excruciating torments by which he was
put to death, " that my poor "body deserves this and
greater punishment, if it could bear it, for my sins.
But for the glorious deed for which I suffer, I hope to be
rewarded by the Almighty ; for I know the purity of my
motives. I would suffer a thousand times the same death
cheerfully ; and were I to die and revive again ten times,
I would ten times do the same." He only once moaned j
but he soon checked himself, saying, " Collige te, Hiero-
nyme; habet vetus memoria facti: mors acerba, fama
perpetua." His undaunted stoicism was the means of
accelerating his death, as the executioners themselves
were moved by it, and it was thought that his example
might be dangerous. An epigram which he composed
when he heard from the place where he was concealed
the noise of the mob dragging along the streets the body
of his friend Lampugnani, has been preserved.
128 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Quern non armattc potuerunt mille phalanges
Sternere, privata Galeaz Dux Sfbrtia dextra
Concidit: atque ilium minime juvere cadentem
Astantes famuli, nee opes, Jiec castra, nee urbes.
Unde patet ssevo tutum nil esse tyranno.
But the consequences of Galeazzo's death were far dif-
ferent from what the conspirators expected. His eldest
son, then eight years of age, \vas nominally his successor,
but the throne was usurped by Lodovico the Moor, an
abominable traitor, to whom Italy owed the invasion of
Charles VIII. of France. Ludovico by that invasion, in
the end, lost both his throne and his liberty, and it is from
that time that an incessant succession of misfortunes and
calamities has poured upon Italy. Milan, after many
vicissitudes, became an Austrian province, and afterwards,
under Napoleon, was the capital of the little kingdom of
Italy. In 1814 it returned under the yoke of its former
master, the German emperor, who, by the iron rod with
which he rules Lombardy, and more particularly Milan,
amply revenges the humiliations to which his prede-
cessor, Frederic Barbarossa, was of old subjected by the
Lombards, more especially by the then brave Milanese.
From the loss of its independence, Milan, like the rest
of Italy, has fallen into complete oblivion with respect
to the civilized world. Despotism has effeminated the
people, blighted their glory, and dried up every source
of opulence. Nothing that formed the ancient renown
of Milan, even in a commercial point of view, now re-
mains. Its rich manufactories, both of swords and
armour, so famous through all the world, have now dis-
appeared ; a person surveying Milan in its present state
will scarcely believe that a spirit of industry and com-
MILAN. 129
mercial enterprise was ever cultivated in a place now
debased and ruined by a degrading government. It is
scarcely then worth while to notice the idleness of the
assertion so often repeated, that no man of talents is
to be reckoned among the Milanese. The city, where
the Emperors Julian the Apostate and Maximian were
born, and among the names of whose native citizens we
meet with those of Marechal Trivulgio, and in more mo-
dern times of Beccaria and Verri, of Farini and Faveroni,
of Manzoni and Grossi this city cannot in fairness be
accused of not having contributed its full share to the
glorious list of names which shed so much lustre (the
only consolation of which that unhappy country cannot
be deprived, either by Jesuitical cunning or by Austrian
feudality) on the Ausonian peninsula.
LAKE OF COMO.
jEdificare te scribis, bene est: inveni patrocinium. ./Edificio enim jam
ratione quia tecum. Nam hoc quoque non dissimile, quod ad mare tu, ego
ad Larium Lacum. Hujus in littore plures villse mese, sed dua- ut maxime
delectant, ita excrcent.
PLIN. EPIST.
I love to sail along the Larian Lake,
Under the shore though not to visit Pliny,
To catch him musing in his plane-tree walk,
Or fishing, as he might be, from his window.
ROGERS.
THE Lake of Como, the Lacus Larius of the ancients,
is upwards of thirty miles long, and between two and
three miles broad. It is divided into two branches, one
of which leads directly to the town of Como, while the
other, called the Lake of Lecco, discharges the Adda,
and communicates, by means of that river and its canals,
with Milan. The borders of the lake are lofty hills,
covered with vines, chestnut, walnut, and almond trees,
and enlivened with numerous villages. The temperature
is mild, and not only the inhabitants of Milan, but nu-
merous strangers, amongst whom are many English, re-
treat to the delightful villas with which the lake is sur-
rounded. Like its neighbour the Benacus, the Lacus
Larius is subject to tempests, which sometimes render
its navigation dangerous. It is, indeed, included by
Virgil in the same line with the stormy Benacus.
LAKE OF COMO. 131
Tu Lari, maxime, tuque
Fluctibus et fremitu assurgans, Benace, marino.
In consequence of the lake being fed by the melting
of the snow on the neighbouring mountains, the water is
higher in summer than in winter.
On the eastern side of the lake is situated the Pliniana,
a villa belonging to a Milanese nobleman, and supposed
to be the site of one of Pliny's beautiful residences on the
borders of the Lacus Larius. He has himself described
the situation of two. " We are pretty much agreed,
likewise, I find, in our situations; and as your buildings
are carrying on upon the sea-coast, mine are rising upon
the site of the Larian lake. I have several villas upon the
borders of this lake, but there are two particularly in which
I take most delight, so they give me most employment.
They are both situated like those at Baiae ; one of them
stands upon a rock, and has a prospect of the lake, the
other actually touches it. The first, supported as it
were by the lofty buskin, I call my tragic ; the other, as
resting upon the humble sock, my comic villa. They
have each their particular beauties, which recommend
themselves to me so much the more, as they are of dif-
ferent kinds. The former commands a wider prospect
of the lake ; the latter enjoys a nearer view of it. This,
by an easy bend, embraces a little bay ; the promontory
upon which the other stands forms two. Here you have
a straight walk extending itself along the banks of the
lake ; there a spacious terrace that falls by a gentle
descent towards it. The former does not feel the force
of the waves, the latter breaks them ; from that yon see
the fishing vessels below ; from this you may fish yourself,
K 2
132 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
and throw your line from your chamber, and almost from
your bed, as from a boat. It is the beauties, therefore,
these agreeable villas possess that tempt me to add to
them those which are wanting."
The resemblance of the Pliniana to either of these
descriptions has been questioned by Mr. Eustace. Some
writers have supposed that one of the villas which Pliny
possessed, .in the neighbourhood of Como, occupied this
site j but though he had many in the vicinity of the lake,
he yet describes only his two favourite retreats, and the
situation of the Pliniana corresponds with neither. The
one was, it seems, on the very verge of the lake, almost
rising out of the waters, and in this respect it resembled
the Pliniana ; but it would be difficult to find, in the
latter, sufficient space among the rocks for the " gestatio
qu<K spatiosissimo xysto leviter inflectitur"
The attachment which Pliny felt for his Larian villas,
and the longing desire which, amidst the bustle of Rome,
he experienced to visit those delightful retreats, are beau-
tifully expressed in one of his letters to Caninius. " How
is my friend employed ? Is it in the pleasures of study
or in those of the field ? Or does he unite both, as he well
may, on the banks of our favourite Larius ? The fish in
that noble lake will supply you with sport of that kind,
as the surrounding woods will afford you game; while the
solemnity of that sequestered scene will, at the same
time, dispose your mind to contemplation. Whether you
are engaged with some only, or with each of these agree-
able amusements, far be it that I should say I envy you,
but I must confess I greatly regret that I also cannot
partake of them; a happiness I long for as earnestly as
L.AKK OF COMO. 133
a man in a fever for driuk to allay his thirst, or for baths
and fountains to assuage his heat. But if it be not given
me to see a conclusion of these unpleasant occupations,
shall I never at least break loose from them? Never, in-
deed, I much fear; for new affairs are daily rising, while
the former still remain unfinished : such an endless train
of business is continually pressing upon me and riveting
my chains still faster."
In a small court at the back of the villa Fliniana rises
the celebrated ebbing and flowing spring, which has been
described by both the elder and the younger Fliny. It
rises from the rock about twenty feet above the level of
the lake, into which, after passing through the under
story of the tilla, it pours itself. The following descrip-
tion of it, from the Letters of the younger Pliny, is in-
scribed in Latin and Italian upon the walls of the villa :
" There is a spring which rises in a neighbouring moun-
tain, and, running among the rocks, is received into a
little banqueting room, from whence, after the force of
its current is a little restrained, it falls into the Larian
Lake. The nature of this spring is extremely surprising ;
it ebbs and flows regularly three times a day. The in-
crease and decrease is plainly visible, and very amusing
to observe. You sit down by the side of the fountain,
and while you are taking a repast, and drinking its water,
which is extremely cool, you see it gradually rise and fall.
If you place a ring or any thing else at the bottom when
it is dry, the stream reaches it by degrees, till it is en-
tirely covered, and then gently retires ; and if you wait
you may see it thus alternately advance and recede three
successive times." The rising and falling of the water is
J3i THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
said to be affected by the direction and force of the wind,
and at the present day the fountain presents the same
phenomena described by Pliny. Similar springs exist in
different parts of England.
On the borders of the Lake of Como is situated the
villa occupied by the late Queen, of which the following
short description is given by Mr. Cadell, in his Journey
through Carniola, Italy, and France : " To see the Lake,
we proceed in a boat. Two miles and a half up, and
near the water's edge, on the west bank of the Lake, is
a villa belonging to the Princess of Wales, bought from
General Pino, and now (1818) for sale. The house pre-
sents a front of considerable size. The ground attached
to the villa is of small extent. A road has been made, at
the expense of the Princess, along the side of the Lake,
from the village to Como."
Mr. Rogers has celebrated, in his beautiful poem of
" Italy," an incident which befel him while sailing over
the Lake of Como :
In a strange land,
Such things, however trifling, reach the heart,
And through the heart the head, clearing away
The narrow notions that grow up at home,
And in their place planting good-will to all.
At least I found it so ; nor less at eve,
When, bidden as an English traveller
('Twas by a little boat that gave me chase,
With oar and sail, as homeward-bound I crossed
The bay of Trammezine), right readily
I turned my prow and followed, landing soon
Where steps of purest marble met the wave ;
Where, through the trellises and corridors,
Soft music came, as from Armida's palace,
Breathing enchantment o'er the woods, the waters ;
LAKE OF COMO. 135
And, through a bright pavilion, bright as day,
Forms such as hers were flitting, lost among
Such as of old in sober pomp swept by;
Such as adorn the triumphs and the feasts
Painted by Cagliari ; where the world danced
Under the starry sky, while I looked on,
Listening to Monti, quaffing gramolata,
And reading, in the eyes that sparkled round,
The thousand love adventures written there.
Can I forget, no never, such a scene,
So full of witchery. Night lingered still,
When, lit by Lucciole, I left Bellagio ;
But the strain followed me ; and still I saw
Thy smile, Angelica ; and still I heard
Thy voice, once and again bidding adieu.
The pen of Mr. Wordsworth, also, has been well em-
ployed in celebrating the beauties of the Lake of Coino :
More pleased my foot the hidden margin roves
Of Como, bosom'd deep in chestnut groves,
To flat-roof d towns, that touch the water's bound,
Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound ;
Or from the bending rocks obstrusive cling,
And on the whitened wave their shadows fling ;
While round the steeps the little pathway twines,
And silence loves its purple roof of vines.
The viewless lingerer hence at evening sees,
From rock-hewn steps, the sail between the trees ;
Or marks, mid opening cliffs, fair dark-eyed maids
Tend the small harvest of their garden glades ;
Or stops the solemn mountain shades to view
Stretch o'er the pictured mirror broad and blue,
Tracking the yellow sun from steep to steep,
As up the opposing hills with tortoise foot they creep.
COMO.
Quid agit Comum, tuae meaeque delicia? >
PI/IN. EPIST.
THE towu of Como is of considerable antiquity, and
owes its chief celebrity to the circumstance of its having
been the birth-place of the younger Pliny, of whom a
statue is erected in front of the cathedral. It was the
delight of Pliny to adorn his native town, and to esta-
blish amongst his fellow-citizens institutions for the en-
couragement of learning. His admirable arguments in fa-
vour of the formation of an university at Como are parti-
cularly interesting at the present time, when a similar ex-
periment has been so successfully tried in our own metro-
polis. " Being lately at Comum, the place of my nativity, a
young lad, son to one of my neighbours, made me a visit.
I asked him whether he studied rhetoric, and where ?
He told me he did, and at Mediolanum. And why not
here ? Because, said his father, who came with him, we
have no professors. No ! said I ; surely it nearly concerns
you who are fathers (and very opportunely, several of the
company were), that your sons should receive their edu-
cation here rather than any where else. For where can
they be placed more agreeably than in their own country,
or instructed with more safety and less expense than at
COMO. 137
home and under the eye of their parents ? Upon what
very easy terms might you, by a general contribution,
procure proper masters, if you would only apply towards
the raising a salary for them the extraordinary expense
you sustain for your sons' journeys, lodgings, and for
whatever else you pay in consequence of their being
educated at a distance from home, as pay you must for
every article of that kind. Though I have no children
myself, yet I shall willingly contribute to a design so
beneficial to my native country, which I consider as my
child or my parent ; and therefore, I will advance the
third part of any sum you shall think proper to raise for
this purpose. I would take upon myself the whole ex-
pense, were I not apprehensive that my benefaction
might be hereafter abused and perverted to private ends,
which I have observed to be the case in several places
where public foundations of this kind have been esta-
l)li>hi'd * * *. You can undertake nothing that will
be more advantageous to your children nor more accept-
able to your country. Your sons will by these means
receive their education where they received their birth,
and be accustomed from their infancy to inhabit and
affect their native soil."
The affection with which Pliny regarded his native
place appears from several of his letters. In addressing
one of his correspondents, he says, " How stands Comum,
that favourite scene of yours and mine? What becomes
of the pleasant villa, the vernal portico, the shady plane-
tree walk, the crystal canal, so agreeably winding along
its flowery banks, together with the charming lake be-
low, which serves at once the purposes of use and
138 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
beauty ? What have you to tell me of the firm yet soft
gestatio, the sunny bath, the public saloon, the private
dining-room, and all the elegant apartments for repose,
both at noon and night? Do these possess my friend,
and divide his time with pleasing vicissitude ? or do the
affairs of the world, as usual, call him frequently from
this agreeable retreat?"
The town of Como is very pleasantly situated on the
southern extremity of the lake, in a narrow vale, enclosed
by fertile hills. It is surrounded by a wall, flanked with
towers, which present a picturesque appearance. The
houses are built of stone } but the cathedral is of white
marble, and though it displays a mixture of Grecian and
gothic architecture, has not an unpleasing effect. The
celebrated Paulus Jovius was bishop of Como, of which
town he was a native. His house is still shown without
the walls, by the side of the lake. Como was also the
birth-place of the poet Caecilius, as we learu by the fol-
lowing invitation, addressed to him by Catullus.
" Poetae, tenero meo sodali,
Velim Caecilio, papyre, dicas,
Veronam veniat, novi relinquens
Comi maenia, Lariumque littus.
Nam quasdam volo cogitationes
Amici accipiat sui, meique.
Quare si sapiat, viam vorabit"
Como and Verona have both claimed with much eager-
ness the honour of giving birth to the elder Pliny. The
Conte An ton -Giuseppe della Torre di Rezzonico, in a
long dissertation, vindicated the claims of Como his na-
tive place, which has been thought by the learned Tira-
boschi to place the question at rest.
VERONA.
Ocelle mumli, sidus I tali cceli,
Flos urbium, flos comiculumquc amconuin
Quot sunt, eruntve, quot fuere, Verona !
SCALIOBR.
TIIK situation of Verona is extremely well chosen. It
is built on the declivity of a hill at the foot of the Alps
along the banks of the Adige, to which, with great good
taste and good sense, openings have been preserved, as in
Paris to the Seine. The immediate neighbourhood of the
city is adorned by numerous villas and gardens, which
give elegance and animation to the landscape. The in-
terior of the city also presents many picturesque views,
to which its abundant marble quarries have contri-
buted. " This city," says Evelyn, " deserved all those
eulogies Scaliger has honoured it with, for in my opinion
the situation is the most delightful I ever saw, it is so
sweetly mixed with rising ground and valleys, so ele-
gantly planted with trees on which Bacchus seems riding
as if it were in triumph every autumn, for the vines reach
from tree to tree : here of all places I have seen in Italy
would I fix a residence."
" Verona," says Mrs. Piozzi, " is the gayest looking
town I ever lived in ; beautifully situated ; the hills
around it elegant, the mountains at a distance venerable,
140 XI1E LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
the silver Adige rolling through the valley, while such
a glow of blossoms now ornaments the rising grounds,
and such cheerfulness smiles in the sweet faces of its
inhabitants, that one is tempted to think it the birth-
place of Euphrosyne. Here are vines, mulberries, olives ;
of course, wine, silk, and oil ; every thing that can
seduce, every thing that ought to satisfy desiring man.
Here then, in consequence, do actually delight to reside
mirth and good humour, in their holiday dress. A Ve-
rona mezzi matti, say the Italians themselves of them, and
I see nothing seemingly go forward here but improvisator!,
reciting stories or verses to entertain the populace ; boys
flying kites cut square like a diamond on the cards, and
called stelle; and men amusing themselves at a game called
pallamajo, something like our cricket."
The first object of interest in Verona is the ancient
amphitheatre, which, in extent and magnificence, may
almost rival the Coliseum. The gladiators' bloody circus
stands, a noble wreck in ruinous perfection. This splen-
did structure, which according to the conjectures of some
critics was never completed, in its outward circum-
ference measures about 1300 feet, while the length of
the area is upwards of 200 feet. It still exhibits more
than forty tiers of seats, which before it fell into ruins
must have been more numerous. De la Laude conjec-
tures, that 22,000 persons might conveniently be seated
within its circuit; and it is said, that when the sovereign
pontiff, in 1782, bestowed his blessing upon the as-
sembled multitude within its walls, a still greater
number of persons were then collected. The seats, with
the staircases and galleries of communication, are all
VKHONA. 141
formed of blocks of solid marble. Upon these seats
Pliny the younger often sate to witness the furious com-
bats which the amphitheatre then exhibited. " You are
perfectly in the right," says the philosopher in one of his
letters, " to promise a combat of gladiators to our good
friends the citizens of Verona, not only as they have
long distinguished you with their peculiar esteem and
veneration, but as it was from that city you received the
amiable object of your most tender affection, your late ex-
cellent wife. I am sorry the African panthers which had
been largely provided for this purpose did not arrive time
enough ; but though they were delayed by the tempestuous
season, the obligation to you is equally the same, since it
was not your fault that they were not exhibited." Till
the end of the last century, plays were occasionally acted
in this amphitheatre, an use to which it was applied by
the French on their entrance into Verona. For a long
course of years, sums of money were appropriated to the
preservation of this magnificent ruin, and two persons,
with the title of Presidents alia arena, were appointed to
protect it from injury and decay. The period at which
this edifice was erected is not known, there being no in-
scription or peculiarity of architecture to mark its origin.
By some, it has been attributed to the age of Augustus ;
by others, to that of the emperor Maximian.
During the sitting of the congress at Verona, the area
of the amphitheatre, which had been covered to the depth
of nearly two yards by the accumulation of earth, was
cleared, and the full proportions of this magnificent struc-
ture were rendered visible. The amphitheatre is not
the only relic of Roman architecture which Verona
142 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
possesses. In the middle of the corso or principal street
stands a double arch or gateway of marble, inscribed with
the name of Gallienus, and supposed to have been for-
merly the entrance into the Forum Judiciale.
Opposite to the Palazzo del Podesta, or town-hall,
stand the monuments of the Scaligers, the ancient lords
of Verona of the " Gran Lombardo"
" Che porta in su la scala il santo augello,"
and of the celebrated Can Grande, the favourite subject
of Dante's verse.
" Colui, ch' impresso fue
Nascendo si da questa Stella forte
Che notabili fieii 1'opera sue."
" That mortal who was at his birth impress'd
So strongly from this star that, of his deeds,
The nations shall take note."
These monuments have been considered fine speci-
mens of the gothicj and though exposed for nearly five
hundred years in the public street, they have remained
undefaced. " A circumstance is worthy of observation
in these monuments," says Mr. Stewart Rose, " as in-
dicative of the peculiar properties of Italian climate. A
curious unpainted iron trellice forms the protection of
them, and is of the same age (1350, if I recollect rightly) ;
yet this screen, though some parts of it, as the armorial
bearings of the Scaligers, are thin, has not been injured
by time. The Italian air, even when charged with sea-
salt, as in the Venetian islets, seems to have very little
effect upon iron."
VKRONA. 143
Verona is rich in architectural edifices. Here San
Micheli, an architect of high ability, nearly contemporary
with Palladio, flourished, and has adorned the city with
many specimens of his genius. Amongst these are the
palaces Canossa, Terzi, Bevilacqua, and Pompei, of which
the Palazzo Pompei has be*en thought to exhibit most
favourably the skill of the architect. In addition to
these buildings, San Micheli, also, designed the Capelli
Pellegrini in the church of San Bernardino, and the Porta
del Pallio, celebrated for its beautiful simplicity. The
theatre, from the design of Palladio, is situated in the
neighbourhood of the ancient amphitheatre. The por-
tico has been decorated, by the celebrated Maffei, the
illustrator of Verona, with Etruscan marbles and in-
scriptions .
To this extraordinary person, the glory of Verona, and
indeed of Italy, a statue was erected, after his death, by
the gratitude of his fellow-citizens ; but a more enduring
monument is to be found in the numerous learned and
excellent performances, which his genius and industry
gave to the world. Scarcely any branch of literature or
of science was left untouched by his pen to which,
also, his native city owes the valuable exposition of her
literary treasures and antiquities in the " Verona Illus-
trata." To promote the study of antiquities he founded
a museum, and established also a literary society at his
o\vn house. His countrymen, grateful for the benefits
and the fame which they derived from Maffei, placed,
during his life-time, in the hall of the Philharmonic Aca-
demy, a bust of him, with the following admirable inscrip-
tion " Scipioni Maffaeo adhuc viventi Academia Filhar-
144 THK LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
monica sere et decreto publicoj" but the modesty of
Maffei prompted him to remove this honourable testimony
to his merits.
The Englishman who visits Verona eagerly seeks for
some authentic relic to connect the scene before him
with that most touching df all dramas Romeo and
Juliet.
" Are those the ancient turrets of Verona ?
And shall I sup where Juliet, at the masque,
Saw her loved Montague and now sleeps by him ?"
In order, no doubt, to satisfy the craving of our country-
men in this particular, the kind Veronese used formerly
to point out in an ancient chapel the tomb of Juliet ;
but the destruction of this building a few years since
has at the same time destroyed the illusion. There is
every reason, however, to believe that Verona was the
seat of a tragical history, resembling in all its more pro-
minent features that which has been dramatised by Shak-
speare. Gerolamo della Corte, in his History of Verona,
has referred to it as an historical event ; and both Luigi
da Porto and Bandello, in their novels, have laid the
scene of the story at the same place, So in the old me-
trical history of Romeus and Giuliet, which, it is pro-
bable, was followed by Shakspeare, the scene is laid in
Verona.
The author of " Sketches descriptive of Italy" was
led, like the rest of his countrymen, to the pseudo-tomb
of Juliet, and has discovered that she was buried in a
red marble coffin. "Did it not possess an extensive
claim on the notice of strangers, this tomb would cer-
VKRONA. 145
tainly be mistaken for a common water-trough : for it
is formed of the coarsest red marble, and has no orna-
ment whatever. If, therefore, it had any connexion with
Juliet, it was probably her coffin. The garden in which
it now stands occupies the site of a church belonging to
an old monastery, which was destroyed by the explosion
of a powder-mill, moored in the neighbouring Adige.
The old woman who has the care of it, tells the story of
Juliet's death, as it is related in the Italian novel from
which Shakspeare drew the materials of his matchless
drama. Every English visitor, she says, carries away
a bit of the marble : a circumstance she greatly de-
plores, not considering that her telling them all so, is the
very way to effect the continuance of the custom."
From Verona, the traveller usually diverges to the
Lago di Garda, the Benacus of the Romans, one of the
three largest lakes on the southern declivity of the Alps.
The beautiful scenery around this magnificent sheet of
water awakens a thousand delightful associations. " The
Lago di Garda, wliich disembogues into that of Mantua,
was highly spoken of by my Lord Arundel to me as the
most pleasant spot in Italy, for which reason I observed
it with the more diligence, alighting out of the coach and
going up to a grove of cypresses growing about a gentle-
man's country house, from whence, indeed, it presents a
most surprising prospect. The hills and gentle risings
about it produce oranges, citrons, olives, figs, and other
tempting fruits, and the waters abound in excellent fish,
especially trouts." The Lago di Garda is still subject to
the storms, which agitated its surface in the time of
Virgil. " We saw the Benacus in our way," says Addison,
146 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
" which the Italians now call Lago di Garda. It was
so rough with tempests when we passed by it that it
brought into my mind Virgil's noble description of it,
Adde lacus tantos, te Lari maxime, teque
Fluctibus et fremitu assurgens, Benace, marino."
Mr. Eustace also had the fortune to see the lake in its
state of classical agitation. " Before we retired to rest,
about midnight, from our windows we observed the lake
calm and unruffled. About three in the morning I was
roused from sleep by the doors and windows bursting
open at once, and the wind roaring round the room. I
started up, and looking out, observed by the light of the
moon, the lake in the most dreadful agitation and the
waves dashing against the walls of the inn, and resembling
the swellings of the ocean more than the petty agitation
of inland waters.
" Next morning, the lake so tranquil and serene the
evening before, presented a. surface covered with foam,
and swelling into mountain billows that burst in breakers
every instant at the door of the inn, and covered the
whole house with spray." At Peschiera the lake ter-
minates in the river Mincius, " Smooth-flowing Mincius,
crowned with vocal reeds," which like the Benacus has
preserved its classical character,
Tardis ingens ubi flexibus errat
Mincius, et tenera praetexit arundine ripas.
Georg. m. 14u
But the most striking feature of the Lago di Garda
VERONA. 147
is the promontory of Sermione, the favourite retreat of
Catullus, himself a native of Verona.
Peninsularum Sirmio, insularumque
Ocelle, quascunque in liquentibus stagnis
Manque vasto fert uterq'ue Neptunus,
Quain te libenter, quamque laetus inviso, &c.
This delightful little poem lias lost none of its- beauty
in the version of Moore.
Sweet Sermio ! thou the very eye
Of all peninsulas and isles,
That in our lakes of silver lie,
Or sleep enwreath'd by Neptune's smiles,
How gladly back to thee I fly!
Still doubting, asking, can it be
That I have left Bithynia's sky
And gaze in safety upon thee?
Oh ! what is happier than to find
Our hearts at ease, our perils past;
When anxious long, the lighten'd mind
Lays down its load of care at last ;
When tired with toil, on land and deep,
Again we tread the welcome floor
Of our cmn home, and sink to sleep
On the long wish'd for bed once more :
This, this it is, that pays alone
The ills of all life's former track-
Shine out, my beautiful, my own
Sweet Sermio greet thy master back.
And thou, fair lake, whose water quaffs
The light of Heaven, like Lydia's sea,
Rejoice, rejoice, let all that laughs
Abroad, at home, laugh out for me!
14B THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
The extremity of tbe promontory is covered with ruins,
and a vault is exhibited to the stranger under the name
of the Grotto of Catullus.
The neighbourhood of the Lago di Garda is also ren-
dered interesting by its connexion with the second era
of classical literature in Italy. Its beauties inspired
the muses of Bembo, Navagero, and Fracastoro, the
latter of whom possessed a delightful villa, situated near
the lake. The traveller may, probably, be able to trace
its site from the pleasing description which the bio-
grapher of the poet has given. It was placed amidst
the range of hills, which extend between the lake and
the Adige, about fifteen miles from Verona. Here, after
a moderate ascent, rose the villa of the poet, which was
sufficiently elevated to command a view of the lake.
The house was plain ; had little to boast from arti-
ficial ornament, but much from the natural beauty of its
situation. It was of a square form, with an open aspect
on every side, except the north. On the east, where
the Adige rolls its rapid current, hastening from the
interior of Germany and laving the foot of the mountain,
it commanded a view of Verona, with innumerable villas
scattered here and there on the subjacent plain. Herds
and flocks added to the picturesque beauty of the
scene, heightened still more by the smoke of the scat-
tered habitations, seen more distinctly towards evening.
On the west, the appearance of the Lago di Garda was
no less pleasing hills rising in alternate succession met
the view the sometimes disturbed and tumultuous bil-
lows of the lake the charming peninsula of Catullus
vessels with expanded sails, and fishing barks seen
VERONA. x 149
approaching from a remote distance, and numerous towns
and hamlets seated on the sunny promontories. Be-
neath, lay Bardoleno, its declivities crowned with olives
and orange trees the hilly summits here embrowned
with shady woods, there spreading a green and luxuriant
pasture. The damp unwholesome winds from the south
were warded off by an orchard of the choicest fruit trees,
so arranged as to form a screen to the villa, while mount
Baldo on the north, towering behind, protected it from
the rigorous blasts of winter. Fracastoro has himself
celebrated, in a poem addressed to his friend Francesco
Torriano, the studious pleasures of this charming retreat.
" Here peaceful solitude the muse befriends,
Soothes us awake, and on our sleep attends.
What, if my ceiling boast no painted dyes,
Nor fears the innoxious dust that round it flies;
If chisell'd by the immortal sculptor's hand,
No busts surprise, nor breathing statues stand;
Here Freedom dwells, that loves the rural plains,
And wide expatiates in her own domains."
GEESWELL.
In this retreat Fracastoro died in the year 1553. The
inhabitants of Verona, of which city he was a native,
erected a statue to his memory.
V I C E N Z A.
Mccnia, templa, domus, et propugnacula, et arces,
Atque alia in multis sunt monumenta locis
Istius ingenio, et cura fabrefacta decenter
Fania unde illius vivet, honorque diu.
BRESSA.VI.
VICENZA is to be visited as the city of Palladio. It is
the Mecca of architects, adorned with a hundred shrines,
each claiming the devotion of the pilgrim. " Vicenza,"
says an excellent critic (Mr.Forsyth), " is full of Palladio.
His palaces here, even those which remain unfinished,
display a taste chastened by the study of ancient art.
Their beauty originates in the design, and is never super-
induced by ornament. Their elevations enchant you,
not by the length and altitude, but by the consummate
felicity of their proportions, by the harmonious distribu-
tion of solid and void, by that happy something between
flat and prominent, which charms both in front and in
profile j by that maestria which calls in columns, not to
encumber, but to support, and reproduces ancient beauty
in combinations unknown to the ancients themselves.
Even when obliged to contend with the coarsest Gothic
at La Ragione, how skilfully has Palladio screened the
external barbarism of that reversed hulk, by a Greek
elevation as pure as the original would admit. His Vi-
centine villas have been often imitated in England, and
are models more adapted to resist both our climate and
OIF
byRriiW .Jtntnapil Omta^t i r
152 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
In examining the palaces designed by Palladio, it must
be remembered that the architect was frequently com-
pelled to sacrifice his own pure and beautiful conceptions
to the false taste of the persons by whom he was employed.
This appears not only from an inspection of his published
works, but especially, as is stated by a writer in one of
our literary journals, from a collection of original draw-
ings by Palladio, now in the possession of the Signore
Finale of Verona. Amongst those drawings are many
designs for buildings which were never executed, but
which are more creditable to the architect than any of
his existing edifices. Amongst others, there is a beau-
tiful design for the bridge of the Rialto. It must not be
forgotten that the modest mansion built by Palladio for
his own residence, is to be seen near his most celebrated
work, the Teatro Olyinpico.
While residing at Vicenza, Mr. Stewart Rose witnessed
the exhibition of an improvisatore in one of the halls of
the Teatro Olympico. " Two understrappers appeared
upon the stage with materials for writing, and a large
glass vase ; one of those took down, on separate scraps of
paper, different subjects which were proposed by such of
the audience as chose to suggest them. The other having
duly sealed them, threw them into the above-mentioned
vase, which he held up and shook before the spectators.
He then presented it amongst them for selection, and
different subjects were drawn, till they came to ' Alfieri
alia tomba di Shakspeare,' an argument which was ac-
cepted by universal acclamation.
" The two assistants now retired, and the principal
appeared in their place. He was young and good-look-
VICENZA. 153
ing, and being of opinion that a neckcloth took from his
beauty, wore his neck bare, but in other respects had
nothing singular in his dress, which was precisely that of
an Englishman. He received the paper on entering, and
immediately threw himself on a chair, from whence, after
having made a few Pythian contortions, but all apparently
witli a view to effect, he poured forth a volley of verse,
without the slightest pause or hesitation; but this was
only a prelude to a mightier effort.
" He retired, and the two assistants re-appeared;
subjects were proposed for a tragedy, the vase shaken as
before, and the papers containing the arguments drawn.
" Amongst the first titles fished out was that of " Ines
de Castro," which, as no objection was taken to it, was
adopted, and communicated to the improvisatore. He
advanced, and said, that, as he was unacquainted with the
story, he desired to be instructed in the leading facts.
These were communicated to him, succinctly enough, by
the suggestor of the theme, and he proceeded forthwith
to form his dramatis personae, in the manner of one who
thinks aloud. There were few after the example of
Alfieri. As soon as the matter was arranged, he began,
and continued to declaim his piece without even a mo-
mentary interruption, though the time of recitation, un-
broken by any repose between the acts, occupied the
space of three hours.
" Curiosity to see how far human powers can be car-
ried, may tempt one to go and see a man stand upon his
head ; but to see a man stand on his head for three hours
is another thing. As a tour deforce, the thing was mar-
vellous ; but I have seen as wonderful in this country,
154 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
which is fertile in such prodigies. I recollect once seeing
a man to whom, after he had played other pranks in
verse, three subjects for sonnets were proposed, one of
which was, 'Noah issuing from the ark ;' the other, 'The
death of Caesar j' and the third, ' The wedding of panta-
loon.' These were to be declaimed, as it may be termed,
interlacedlyj that is, a piece of Noah, a piece of Caesar,
and a piece of pantaloon. He went through this sort of
bread and cheese process with great facility, though only
ten minutes were given him for the composition, which
was moreover clogged with a yet more puzzling condi-
tion : he was to introduce what was termed a verso obli-
gato, that is, a particular verse, specified by one of the
audience, at a particular place in each of the sonnets.
This last summerset in fetters appeared to please the
spectators infinitely, who proposed other tricks which
I do not remember, but which were all equally extraor-
dinary."
In the earlier part of the present century, the Signora
Fantastici was the favourite improvisatrice of the day.
Mr. Forsyth has described her performances, which dis-
played very extraordinary powers : " She went round
her circle, and called on each person for a theme. See-
ing her busy with her fan, I proposed the fan as a sub-
ject; and this little weapon she painted, as she promised,
' col pennel divino di fantasia felice.' In tracing its
origin, she followed Pignotti, and in describing its use,
she acted and analyzed to us all the coquetry of the
thing. She allowed herself no pause, as the moment she
cooled, her estro would escape. So extensive is her
reading, that she can challenge any theme. One morn-
VICBNZA. 155
ing, after other classical subjects had been sung, a Vene-
tian count gave her the boundless field of Apollonius
Rhodius, in which she displayed a minute acquaintance
with all the Argonautic fable. Tired at last of demigods,
I proposed the sofa for a task, and sketched to her the
introduction of Cowper's Poem. She set out with his
idea, but being once entangled in the net of mythology,
she soon transformed his sofa into a Cytherean couch,
and brought Venus, Cupid, and Mars on the scene ; for
such embroidery enters into the web of every iinprovi-
satore."
The curious philologist who visits Vicen^a will not
neglect the Sette Communi, the descendants of some
northern tribes, residing amongst the hills in the neigh-
bourhood of Vicenza, and retaining not only the cha-
racteristic habits and manners, but even the language, of
their ancestors. Much controversy has arisen as to the
original stock from which this tribe is derived, which,
undoubtedly, from the language still spoken by them, was
of northern extraction. It is said that one of the kings
of Denmark, visiting Italy, found that the idiom of the
Sette Communi so much resembled the Danish as to en-
able him with ease to understand their language. This
tribe furnishes by no means a singular instance of a com-
munity retaining the language of their ancestors in the
midst of another nation. On the borders of Transylvania
a Roman colony is still in existence by whom the Latin
language is familiarly spoken. Alate traveller, passing
through this part of the country, was wakened one
morning at his inn by the entrance of a Transylvanian
Boots, with a glass in his hand, who addressed him in the
156 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
following words, " Domine, visneschnaps?" The traveller,
summoning up his classical acquirements, replied by an-
other interrogatory, " Quid est Schnaps?" " Schnaps est
res," said the Boots, " omnibus maxime necessariu omne
die" presenting to him the glass of brandy.
In the neighbourhood of Vicenza a singular contrivance
is described by Ray, who visited Italy in 1663. " In the
same village we had also sight of the famous Ventiduct,
belonging to a nobleman of Vicenza, contrived for the
coolness of his palace, during the heat of the summer, to
effect which channels are cut through the rocks from a
spacious high-roofed grotto to the palace, so that when
they intend to let in the cool air, they shut up the gate
at the cave, and by opening a door at the end of the
channel, convey the fresco into the rooms of the palace,
each of which has a conduit or hole to receive it."
PADUA.
THE TOWN-HALL.
For the great desire I had
To sec fair Padua, nursery of arts,
I am arrived for fruitful Lombardy,
The pleasant garden of great Italy;
And by my father's love and leave am ann'd,
With his good will and thy good company,
My trusty servant well-approved in all.
Here let us breathe, and happily institute
A course of learning and ingenious studies.
TAMING or THE SHREW.
PADUA " la dotta," as, in compliment to its celebrated
university, it is still termed, is situated in the midst of a
rich and abundant country. " Padua," says Mr. For-
syth, " has contracted from its long low porticos and its
gloomy churches, a grave old vacancy of aspect." Since
the fall of Venice, however, this city has increased in
importance, and presents a more animated scene than
when it was visited by Mr. Forsyth.
The town-hall of Padua, usually called II Salone, was
commenced in the year 1 1 72, and is said not to have been
completed until 1306. It is the largest hall in Europe
with a roof unsupported by pillars, being about 300 feet
in length, and 100 in breadth, while Westminster hall
only measures in length 2/0 feet, and in breadth 74.
The walls of this magnificent structure are ornamented
with frescoes by Giotto, which, in the course of the last
158 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
century, were retouched by Zannoni. The bust of Livy,
and a tomb, which was supposed to have covered his re-
mains, are also displayed in the hall. About the year 1340
a monumental stone was discovered in the monastery of
S. Giustina, upon which the name "T. Livius" appeared.
This was quite sufficient to satisfy the antiquarian pa-
triotism of the Paduans, who, transported at their dis-
covery, assembled in crowds round the relic, and bore it
in pomp and triumph through the streets of their city.
At length an inquisitive scholar, upon an examination of
the inscription, found that the T. Livius to whom it was
dedicated was some forgotten freedman, and not the
celebrated Patavinian. In the town-hall may be seen a
stone inscribed with the words " lapis vituperii" formerly
applied to a singular use, and serving, by a very simple
machinery, all the purposes of our insolvent courts. Any
unfortunate Paduan, who found himself unable to pay his
debts, and was willing to swear that he was not worth
five pounds, was seated, in a full hall, upon this stone,
without that protection from the cold which his garments
usually supplied, and was by this process relieved from
the burthen of his debts. " But this is a punishment,''
says Addison, " that nobody has submitted to these four
and twenty years." " None of the confined debtors,"
observes Mr. Howard, in his remarks on the prisons at
Padua, " would sit on the elevated stone in the great
hall, and I was informed that not one had submitted to
this ignominy these ten years." In other cities of Italy
the same custom was formerly prevalent. The ceremony
consisted in the debtor sitting down three times, each
time repeating the words " cedo bonis,"
PADUA, 159
No persons have ever been more delighted with anti-
quities of their own manufacture than the Paduans. The
Gothic tomb of Antenor attracted for a long period their
patriotic veneration ; and the house in which Livy was
born was exhibited with pride to the stranger. " In this
town," says Evelyn, " is the house in which Titus Livius
was borne, full of inscriptions, and pretty faire." Coryate
likewise visited this mansion in 1 608, and has given, in
his usual quaint style, the reasons for his belief in its
genuineness. " Amongst other very worthy monuments
and antiquities which I saw in Padua, the house of Titus
Livius was not the meanest : for had it beene much worse
than it was, I should have esteemed it precious, because
it bred the man whom I do as much esteeme, and whose
memory I as greatly honour, as any ethnic historiogra-
pher whatsoever, either Greeke or Latin j having some-
times heretofore, in my youth, not a little recreated my-
self with the reading of his learned and plausible histories.
But seeing, I now enter into some discourse of Livie's
house, methinks I heare some carpinge criticke object
unto me, that I do in this one point play the part of a
traveller, that is, I tell a lie j for how is it possible (per-
haps he will say) that Livie's house should stand to this
day, since that yourself before have written that Padua
hath beene eftsoones sacked and consumed with fire?
How cometh it to passe that Livie's house should be
more priviledged from the fury of the fire than other
private houses of the citie ? I answer thee, that it is very
probable this building, whereof I now speake, may be
the very house of Livie himself, notwithstanding that
Padua hath been often razed and fired." Omitting, how-
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ever, his arguments here, he thus concludes. " For the
very same house, wherein he lived with his family (as many
worthy persons did confidently report unto me) and wrote
many of his excellent histories with almost an incompara-
ble and inimitable style, I saw, to my great joy, being in
a certain street as you go from the Domo, which is the
cathedrall church, to the gate Saint Johanna."
The palace of the university, from the designs of Pal-
ladio, is built in a quadrangular form, with arcades round
the central court. It contains the public schools or
lecture-rooms, a theatre of anatomy, and a museum of
natural history. The university of Padua, though in-
ferior in point of antiquity to that of Bologna, was yet
founded at a very early period, and reckons amongst its
scholars some of the most celebrated men of Italy and of
other nations. Dante, Petrarch (who afterwards, for
some time, resided in this city), and Tasso all prosecuted
their studies at this university ; whose schools during the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were filled with disciples
from the remotest parts of Europe. Here, too, Galileo
taught. At one period there are said to have been no
less than 200 of the German youth studying jurispru-
dence in the schools of Padua. The names and arms of
those who have taken degrees at the university may still
be seen on its walls, and amongst them may be found
many names from England and from Scotland.
Te, septicornis Danubii accola,
Te fulva potant flumina qui Tagi,
Longeque semoti Britanni
( ' ultuni animi ad capiendum adibant
In the present age many highly distinguished men
PADUA. 1C1
have studied or taught at Padua. Her schools may boast
of Foscolo as a student, and of Sebiliato, Brazuolo, Ce-
sarotti, and Forcellini as teachers.
Amongst the celebrated men of our own nation who
have studied at this university, was the great Harvey, for
whom is claimed the merit of having been the first to
discover the circulation of the blood. At the age of
nineteen he became a pupil of the very learned Hiero-
nymus Fabricius ab Aquapendente, for whom, in his
writings, he always expresses the highest regard. In
the year 1 602 Harvey was created doctor of physic and
of surgery in this university. Chaucer, too, is said to
have passed some time at Padua, though it does not ap-
pear that he resided there as a student. Goldsmith spent
six months at this university, and has been supposed by
some of his biographers to have taken his degree here.
Padua, like Bologna, can boast that her schools have
been adorned by many learned and accomplished women.
Of these no one attained a higher reputation than Lu-
cretia Helena Cornaro, a Venetian lady of a noble family,
the daughter of a procurator of St. Mark. She acquired
an accurate knowledge of the Spanish, French, Latin,
Greek, and Hebrew languages, and had some acquaintance
with the Arabic. Her knowledge of all the scholastic
sciences was extensive ; and possessing a talent for
poetry, she composed verses, which she sung to her harp.
So deeply also was she versed in theological studies that
the university of Padua were desirous of enrolling her
amongst the doctors of theology, but this proceeding was
opposed by the bishop. She was, however, honoured
with the cap of doctor of philosophy, which was bestowed
162 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
upon her in 1678, in the cathedral of Padua, no other
building being sufficiently capacious to accommodate the
crowds who assembled to witness the ceremony.
The university of Padua was formerly distinguished,
not only by the learning, but also by the riotous conduct
of its alumni. This arose principally from the great
number of students of different nations who were con-
gregated within its walls. " I heard," says Coryate,
" that when the number of students is full, there
are at the least one thousand five hundred here; the
principal faculties that are professed at the university
being physicke and civill law; and more students of
forrain and remote nations doe live in Padua, than in
any one university of Christendome. For hither come
in, many from France, high Germany, the Netherlands,
England, &c. who, with great desire, flocke together to
Padua for good letters sake, as to a fertile nursery, and
sweet emporium and mart town of learning."
Evelyn, during his travels in Italy, matriculated at
this university, resolving to spend some months here in
studying physic and anatomy, sciences of which Padua
then possessed the most celebrated professors. He found
" the streets very dangerous when the evenings grow
dark." " Nor is it," he continues, " easy to reform their
intolerable usage, when there are so many strangers of
several nations." Misson, who visited Padua in 1 688,
gives the following account of the disorders of which the
students were guilty. " These scholars have a custom of
going abroad, armed, in the night-time, in whole troops,
and lurking between the pillars of these piazzas, assault
such as happen to pass by that way ; for whilst one asks
PADUA. 163
the question, ' Qui va li?' another immediately cries,
' Qui va IIP' and so,- without giving time to the pas-
senger to recollect himself, knock him down, and some-
times break an arm or a leg, or perhaps give him a pass-
port to the other world." Even in Addison's time it
was not considered safe to walk the streets after sunset.
With the decline of the university, the licentious spirit
of the students was extinguished, and when Dr. Moore
visited Padua, at the close of the last century, he found
the streets as tranquil by night as by day.
The university of Padua has been long on the decline.
Burnet, who visited it in 1 684, observes, " The university
here, though so much supported by the Venetians that
they pay fifty professors, yet sinks extremely : there are
no men of great fame in it, and the quarrels amongst the
students have driven away most of the strangers that
used to come and study here." Dr. Moore found its
schools almost deserted. "The theatre for anatomy
could contain five or six hundred students, but the voice
of the professor is like that of him who crieth in the wil-
derness." " Of eighteen thousand students," says Eus-
tace, " six hundred only remain, a number which, thinly
scattered over the benches, is barely sufficient to show
the deserted state of the once crowded schools of Padua."
Formerly Venice sent her senators to control and direct
the affairs of the university, under the title of Riforma-
tori dello studio di Padoua. Mr. -Foray th has given an
anecdote which presents, in a strong light, the fitness of
the clarissimos for their office : " Not long since, a Ve-
netian senator being deputed as a visitor to this university,
asked the astronomer if the observatory wanted any iu-
M 2
164 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
stniment. ' It wants nothing/ replied Chiminelli, ' ex-
cept a good horizon.' ' Horizon !' said the most potent
signor, ' why then we must send to London for one.' "
Strangers, on arriving at Padua, are generally con-
ducted by their guide, in the first instance, to the church
of St. Antonio, the patron saint of the city. Here the
remains of the saint are exhibited, and the traveller will
have an opportunity of proving how
buried saints the ground perfume
Where, fadeless, they've long been lying.
" The body of this holy person," says Dr. Moore, "is
enclosed in a sarcophagus, under an altar in the middle
of the chapel, and is said to emit a very agreeable and
refreshing flavour. Pious catholics believe this to be the
natural effluvia of the saint's body; while heretics assert
that the perfume (for a perfume there certainly is) pro-
ceeds from certain balsams, rubbed on the marble every
morning before the votaries come to pay their devotions.
I never presume to give an opinion on contested points
of this kind ; but I may be allowed to say, that if this
sweet odour really proceeds from the holy Franciscan, he
emits a very different smell from any of the brethren of
that order whom I ever had an opportunity of approach-
ing." Addison accounts for the odour in the same man-
ner, observing, that the scent is stronger in the morning
than at night. By Mr. Eustace, the authority of Addison
is, singularly enough, introduced in confirmation of the
miraculous effluvia : " In Addison's days, ointments, it
seems, distilled from the body, celestial perfumes" (ac-
cording to Addison, they resembled "apoplectic balsam")
PADUA. 165
" breathed around the shrine, and a thousand devout ca-
tholics were seen pressing their lips against the cold
marble, while votive tablets hung over and disfigured the
altar. When we visited the santo, the source of oint-
ment had long been dried, the perfumes had evaporated,
the crowds of votaries had disappeared, and nothing re-
mained to certify the veracity of our illustrious traveller
but a few petty pictures hung on one side of the monu-
ment." The miracles attributed to St. Anthony are very
numerous. Dr. Moore thus relates one of them in that
droll and dry style of humour, of which his novels of
" Edward" and " Mordaunt" contain such admirable spe-
cimens. " When aii impious Turk had placed fireworks
under the chapel, with an intention to blow it up, they
affirm that St. Antonio hallooed three times from his
marble coffin, which terrified the infidel, and discovered
the plot. The miracle is more miraculous as the saint's
tongue was cut out, and is actually preserved in a crystal
vessel, and shown as a precious relic to all who have
a curiosity to see it. I started this as a difficulty which
seemed to bear a little against the authenticity of the
miracle 5 and the ingenious person, to whom the objection
was made, seemed 'at first somewhat nonplussed, but
after recollecting himself, he observed that this, which at
first seemed an objection, was really a confirmation of
the fact, for the saint was not said to have spoken, but
only to have hallooed, which a man can do without a
tongue ; but if his tongue had not been cut, added he,
there is no reason to doubt that the saint would have re-
vealed the Turkish plot in plain articulate language."
It can scarcely be thought singular that the saint, after
166 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
his death, should speak without the assistance of his
tongue, since he is recorded, in his lifetime, to have
been able to preach in two places at one time, a faculty
for which some of our own curates have great occasion.
Few saints have had greater powers attributed to them
than St. Anthony, who was said to have had the distri-
bution of thirteen graces every day.
In surveying the churches of Padua the traveller must
not neglect that of St. Giustina, built, it is said, by An-
drea Riccio, a Paduan architect, after the design of Pal-
ladio; it has been esteemed one of the finest structures
in Italy. " St. Justina's ionic aisles," says Mr. Forsyth,
" stand in that middle sphere, between elegance and
majesty, which I would call the noble. This church,
like a true Benedictine, is rich in the spiritual and the
temporal, in sculpture and painting, in the bones of saints
and the disputed bodies of two apostles. Paul Veronese's
martyrdom of St. Justina still remains here. Pereodi's
dead Christ is a grand composition in statuary, without
one particle of the sublime. This magnificent pile remains
unfinished for a very sufficient reason, not the want of
money, but the possession of it. Some pious simpleton,
as they represented to me, ambitious to figure on so
grand an edifice, left a large sum, which the monks were
to enjoy until they completed the front."
The lover of Dante, in visiting Padua, will not forget
Ezzelino, the ferocious lord of that city, whom the poet
beholds, in company with Obizzo of Este, steeped to the
brow in boiling blood.
Onward we moved
The faithful escort by our side, along
PADUA. 167
The border of the crimson-seething Hood,
Whence from those steep'd within loud shrieks arose.
Some there I mark'd, as high as to their brow
Immersed, of whom the mighty Centaur thus
" These are the souls of tyrants, who were given
To blood and rapine. Here they wail aloud
Their merciless wrongs. Here Alexander dwells,
And Dionysius fell, who many a year
Of woe wrought for fair Sicily. That brow
Whereon the hair so jetty clust'ring bangs
Is Azzolino ; that with flaxen locks
Obizzo of Este, in the world destroy'd
By his foul step-son."
The tower from which Ezzelino, who was much de-
voted to astrology, studied the motions of the planets, is
still to be seen in Padua.
an old dungeon tower,
Whence blood ran once, the tower of Ezzelino.
The atrocities of Ezzelino are powerfully described in
the Chronicle of the Paduan Monk. " This year, towards
the end of August, Ecelinus, the enemy of the human
race, by the suggestion of demons and of malignant men,
firmly believing that the soldiery and the popular repre-
sentatives of the March had conspired against him, drew
his deadly sword irrevocably from the scabbard, and be-
ginning with a Veronese soldier, whom he asserted to be
the ringleader of the conspiracy, perpetrated in Padua,
Vicenza, and the whole of the March, an unheard-of
slaughter and destruction of men. Noble matrons, and
delicate and beautiful virgins, wasted away in unknown
dungeons, amid pestilence, and injuries, and afflictions.
Daily, with different kinds of torments, the old and young
perished under the hands of the executioner. Loud
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voices, as of those crying in tortures, were heard by day
and by night issuing from remote places, wakening the
greatest grief and horror. None dared openly to bewail
those evils, but all united, though not with their hearts,
yet with their voices, in wishing life and victory to Ezze-
lino. He was just, he was good, he was wise, he was
the friend of the March ! such was the flattering exclama-
tion of all ! But not all this could soften the ferocity of
his mind. To him all were alike, the laity and the
clergy, the aged and infirm, and the child lisping out its
earliest words."
On the loss of Padua the ferocity of Ezzelino burst
out afresh against the devoted Paduans, then serving
under his banners. " Thereupon," says the Chronicle
above cited, " this insatiable homicide and envenomed
dragon, heaping affliction upon the afflicted, commanded
all the Paduans (except a few infamous wretches) to be
seized, the number of whom amounted to twelve thousand,
and ordering them to be manacled, he had them thrust
into deep dungeons, where they miserably perished with
hunger and in other ways."
Though the cruelties of Ezzelino had thus reduced his
wretched subjects to a state of the most passive despair,
yet some instances were not wanting of that heroic re-
sistance which, though only exhibited in the person of a
single individual, almost redeems the character of a na-
tion. Monte and Araldus de Montesilice were carried to
Verona to be tried for treason against the tyrant. Being
borne into the palace, where at that moment Ezzelino
was dining, they loudly exclaimed that neither they nor
their ancestors had ever been guilty of treachery. The
PADUA. 169
frequent repetition of this assertion reached the ears of
Ezzelino, who descended hastily and unarmed to the
apartment where the prisoners stood, crying, in anger,
" The traitors have come in good season !" These words
were no sooner heard by Monte, than, roused to fury, he
sprang upon E/zelino, and dashing himself against him
with his whole heart and soul, prostrated him upon the
ground. There casting himself boldly upon his supine
enemy, and casting away not only all reverence, but all
fear of his person, being unarmed himself, he searched for
the sword of the tyrant, at the same time gnashing his
teeth in the extremity of his rage. " Of a truth," says
the admirable old chronicler who relates the story, " that
day might have been the end of many evils, the vindi-
cator of widows and orphans, the consolation of the poor,
the prevention of much mortality, the termination of in-
numerable rapines, the liberty and the security of Lom-
bardy and of the March ; but a sinister accident," adds
he, ' ' had placed nigh at hand that prudent soldier and
brave man Jacopo, the son of the Count Schinella, whom
Ezzelino kept near his person for his security. He,
drawing his sword, cut through the right thigh of Monte.
The latter nevertheless stirred not, and would doubtless
in the end have suffocated his impious adversary had not
the bystanders pierced his body and that of his brother
with repeated blows. The physicians were many days
ere they cured the face of Ezzelino, marked with the
teeth and bloody from the nails of this bold and com-
mendable man, who, excelling all other men of this world,
thus praiseworthily died."
The same writer relates another anecdote, equally
170 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
spirit-stirring. Henry de Ygna, the mayor or judge of
Verona, and the nephew of Ezzelino, sitting in the hall
of the palace, summoned before him an inhabitant of
Verona, called Giovanni de Scanarola, whom he desired,
in an angry voice, to reveal what he knew of a con-
spiracy which had been formed against himself. The
prisoner for a few minutes engaged the judge in con-
versation, then extricating a sword which he had con-
cealed under his garments, though his feet were bound
in "fetters, leaped like lightning upon the tyrant, and
dealing three heavy blows upon his head, laid him pro-
strate at his feet. " Giovanni," says the chronicler,
" that prudent and bold man, was immediately slain, and
had his head cut off by the guards of the judge j biit the
latter, after lingering for fourteen days, himself died."
The Paduan monk, in relating this incident, breaks out
into fervent expressions of admiration. " O wonderful
and stupendous boldness, worthy to be celebrated in the
mouths of all ! That a single man bound in fetters, and
surrounded with armed soldiers, should attack a man
young in years, bold in spirit, powerful in strength, and
terrible to his enemies ! Truly that proverb is correct
' He who fears not death is master of a king's life !'
At length Ezzelino met that death which he had in-
flicted on so many thousands of his countrymen. Being
severely wounded in battle, he was surrounded by a crowd
of his enemies and made prisoner. It might have been
expected that the frightful cruelties which the tyrant had
so long perpetrated would have roused his captors at once
to exterminate him, as they would a wild and savage beast
by whose fangs their friends and relatives had been torn
PADUA. 171
to pieces. But the lofty spirit of chivalry preserved them
from offering violence, even to the person of Ezzelino.
One of his captors, indeed, transported with the recol-
lection of his brother's sufferings, who had been muti-
lated by the tyrant's command, could not restrain himself
from striking him twice or thrice, crying, as he struck the
blows, that his brother should be avenged. " Whoever he
was," says the ancient chronicler, " he gained thereby no
praise, but rather the utmost opprobrium in thus striking
a captive man." Ezzelino, though carefully attended,
after lingering about five days, expired, " and the devil
got his soul," says the charitable historian, Nicholaus
Smeregus ; " for whose death," continues he, " may the
name of the Lord be blessed through ages of ages, and
beyond. Then was the dog Ezzelino buried in the ter-
ritory of Sunzinum, whence the verses,
Terra Sunzini tumulus ranis est Ezzelini
Quern lacerant Manes, Tartareique canes." >
It is not surprising that the superstition of his times
should have assigned to Ezzelino a supernatural and de-
moniacal parentage, a tradition which found its way into
the pages of Ariosto.
Ezellino immanissimo tiranno
Che fia creduto figlio del demonio.
Fierce Ezzelin, that most inhuman lord,
Who shall be deem'd by men a child of hell,
And work such evil, thinning with the sword
Who in Ausonia's wasted cities dwelL
In an early Latin tragedy by Albertinus Mussatus, of
172 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
which Ezzelino is the hero, his mother is thus made to
describe the advent of her infernal lover.
Quuni prima noctis bora communis quies
Omni teneret ab opere abstractum genus,
Et ecce, ab imo terra mugitum dedit,
Crepuisset ut centrum, et foret apertum chaos ;
Altumque versa resonuit ccelum vice.
Faciem ae'ris sulphureus invasit vapor,
Nubemque fecit. Tune subito fulgor domum
Lustravit ingens, f ulminis ad instar tono
Sequente, oletum sparsa per thalamum tulit
Fumosa nubes * * *
When the first hours of night had brought to all
Their common quiet and repose from toil,
I heard from out the depths of earth a moan
As though, from the centre cracking, chaos were
Opened beneath me. On my head meanwhile
The heavens gave back the sound. A sulphurous cloud
Darken'd the air when suddenly a light
Illumined all the house, like lightning, follow'd
With thunder-peals, and then that smoke-like cloud
Bore o'er my bed its vapours.
BIOTUS3S AT
ings. 6: Q>eipsid.& Cinldau Eovinel GallericVmenne ftiis
PETRARCITS HOUSE AT ARQUA.
This was his chamber. 'Tis as when he left it ;
As if he now were busy in his garden.
And this his closet. Here he sate and read.
This was his chair; and in it, unobserved,
Reading, or thinking of his absent friends,
He passed away, as in a quiet slumber.
ROGERS.
SUFFERING from that restless irritability which too
often distinguishes the temperament of genius, Petrarch,
though possessing a mansion in almost every country in
which he had an ecclesiastical benefice, lived as if he
had no home. He has himself described, in touching
language, the painful state of mind which prompted him
to seek, in change of scene, a relief from the feelings with
which he was oppressed : " I am again in France, not to
see what I have already seen a thousand times, but to
dissipate weariness and disquietude, as invalids seek to
do, by change of place." .... "Thus I have no place to
remain in, none to go to. I am weary of life, and what-
ever path I take, I find it strewed with flints and thorns.
In good truth, the spot which I seek has no existence
upon earth ; would that the time were come when I
might depart in search of a world far different from this,
wherein I feel so unhappy unhappy, perhaps, from my
own fault j perhaps from that of mankind ; or it may be
only the fault of the age in which I am destined to live j
or it may be the fault of no one still I am unhappy."
174 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
The zeal of those to whom the fame of the poet was
dear has recorded and distinguished the various places
of his residence. The house granted to him by the Ve-
netians, in the Riva degli Schiavoni, is still shown to the
stranger in Venice. The inhabitants of Arezzo have
designated his birth-place by a long inscription. In
Pavia, where he passed the autumn of 1368, a tablet and
a bust have been erected to him. In Padua, the house
in which he resided was explored by the diligent Toma-
sini, while Vaucluse is still the object of repeated pil-
grimages. The house of the poet has indeed disappeared,
nor can even the site of his gardens be ascertained with
precision, but the beautiful scenery which so often in-
spired him still remains unchanged.
Four years before his death, Petrarch retired to Arqua,
where he is said to have built the house which is the
subject of the present illustration. The identity of the
edifice rests upon tradition, but the tradition is not of
modern date. Of the scenery around Arqua, a descrip-
tion has been given in the notes to Childe Harold. Arqua
(for the last syllable is accented in pronunciation) is
twelve miles from Padua, and about three miles on the
right of the high road to Rovigo, in the bosom of the
Euganean hills. After a walk of twenty minutes across
a flat, well-wooded meadow, you come to a little blue
lake, clear but fathomless, and to the foot of a succes-
sion of acclivities and hills, clothed with vineyards and
orchards, rich with fir and pomegranate trees, and every
sunny fniit shrub. From the banks of the lake, the road
winds into the hills, and the church of Arqua is soon seen
between a cleft where two ridges slope towards each
PETRARCH'S ROUSE AT ARQUA. 175
other, and mainly enclose the village. The houses are
scattered at intervals on the steep sides of these summits,
and that of the poet is on the edge of a little knoll over-
looking two descents, and commanding a view, not only
of the glowing gardens in the dales immediately beneath,
but of the wide plains above, whose low woods of mul-
berry and willow, thickened into a dark mass by festoons
of vines, tall single cypresses, and the spires of towns,
are seen in the distance, which stretches to the mouths
of the Po and the shores of the Adriatic. The climate
of these volcanic hills is warmer, and the vintage begins
a week sooner than in the plains of Padua. Petrarch is
laid, for he cannot be said to be buried, in a sarcophagus
of red marble, raised on four pilasters, on an elevated
base, and preserved from an association with meaner
tombs. It stands conspicuously alone, but will soon be
overshadowed by four lately planted laurels. Petrarch's
fountain, for here every thing is Petrarch's, springs and
expands itself beneath an artificial arch, a little below
the church, and abounds plentifully, in the driest season,
with that soft water which was the ancient wealth of the
Euganean hills. It would be more attractive were it not,
in some seasons, beset with hornets and wasps. No other
coincidence could assimilate the tombs of Petrarch and
Archilochus. The revolutions of centuries have spared
these sequestered valleys, and the only violence that has
been offered to the ashes of Petrarch was prompted, not
by hate, but by veneration. An attempt was made to
rob the sarcophagus of its treasure, and one of the arms
was stolen by a Florentine through a rent which is still
visible. The injury is not forgotten, but has served to
176 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
identify the poet with the country where he was born,
and yet where he would not live. A peasant boy of
Arqua being asked who Petrarch was, replied, " that the
people of the parsonage knew all about him, but that he
only knew that he was a Florentine."
Foscolo, in his Letters of Ortis, has described the
enthusiasm with which he visited the residence of Pe-
trarch. " Noi prosequimmo il nostro breve pellegrinaggio
fino a che ci apparve biancheggiar dalla lunga la casetta
che un tempo accoglieva
Quel Grande alia cui fama 4 angusto il mondo
Per cui Laura ebbe in terra onor celesti.
Io mi vi sono appressato come se andassi a prostrarmi
su le sepolture de' miei padri, e come uno di que' sacer-
doti che taciti e reverenti s'aggiravano per li boschi
abitati dagl' Iddii. La sacra casa di quel sommo Italiano
sta crollando per la irreligione di chi possiede un tanto
tesoro. II viaggiatore verra invano di lontana terra a
cercare con meraviglia divota la stanza armoniosa ancora
dei canti celesti del Petrarca. Piangera invece sopra un
mucchio di mine coperto di ortiche e di erbe selvatiche
fra le quale la volpe solitaria avra fatto il suo covile."
The house of Petrarch is vulgarly called la gatta di
Petrarcha, from its containing the embalmed figure of
a cat, preserved in a niche in the wall. In honour
of this cat, the favourite of the poet, two Latin epi-
grams have been written, in which she is said to have
held the first place in her master's affections, and to
have been nearer his heart than even Laura herself.
" Maximus ignis ego, Laura secundus erat." The curious
PETRARCH'S HOUSE AT ARQUA. 177
and precise Tomasini has given, in his Petrarca Redivivus,
an engraving of the poet's chief favourite, together with
the representation of a chair of extraordinary form, and
a book-press, which were said to have formed part of
Petrarch's domestic establishment. The interior of the
poet's mansion has been described, in detail, by Mr.
Eustace. " It consists of two floors : the first is used
for farming purposes, as it is annexed to a farmer's
house : the second story contains five rooms, three of
which are large, and two closets : the middle room seems
to have been used as a reception room or hall; that on
the right is a kitchen ; that on the left has two closets,
one of which might have been a study, the other a bed-
chamber. Its fire-place is high, and its pastes fuligine
nigri (beams black with soot). To the chief windows is
a balcony ; the view thence towards the opening of the
valley on the side, and in front towards two lofty conical
hills, one of which is topped with a convent, is calm and
pleasing. The only decoration of the apartments is a
deep border of grotesque painting running as a cornice
under the ceiling j an old smoky picture over the fire-
place in the kitchen, said by the good people to be an
original by Michael Angelo, and a table and chair, all
apparently, the picture not excepted, as old as the house
itself. On the table is a large book, an album, contain-
ing the names and sometimes the sentiments of various
visitants. The following verses are inscribed in the first
page. They are addressed to the traveller.
Tu che devoto al sagro albergo urrivi,
Ove s'aggira ancor 1'ombra immortale,
Di quei che vi depose il corpo frale,
La patria, il nonie, i sensi tuoi qui scrivi.
178 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Thou who with pious footsteps lovest to trace
The honour'd precincts of this sacred place,
Where still th' immortal spirit hovers near,
Of him who left his fleshly burden here,
Inscribe thy name, thy country, and impart
The new emotions that expand thy heart
" The walls are covered with names, compliments,
and verses. Behind the house is a garden with a small
lodge for the gardener, and the ruins of a tower covered
with ivy. A narrow walk leads through it, and continues
along the side of the hill under the shade of olive-trees :
a solitary laurel still lingers beside the path, and recalls
to mind both the poet and the lover. The hill ascends
steep from the garden, and, winding round, closes the
vale and the prospect."
Upon the fountain, which has been already described,
and from which, as the inscription tells us, the poet drew
draughts of immortal song, the following classical lines
were written by Marc Antonio Romiti :
Lmnina vix puero nascenti adaperta Petrarchae,
Vix tenera vitas limina pressa pede,
Cum, mihi perpetuos, ut primum adolaveret setas,
Hsec debent luctus lumina, dixit Amor.
Ecce, ubi tempus adest, lacrymse labuntur amarae
Continue ex oculis, more perennis aquae.
Scilicet objicitur juveni pulcherrima rerum
Perpetui fletus causa, puella sui.
At longos miserata nimis Libetina labores
Pallenti clausit lumina fessa manu.
Risit Amor, furtim et subductos condit ocellos
Non procul a tumulo, magne Petrarcha, tuo.
Jussit et irriguos lympha nianare perenni,
Fallere et urentes caetera membra rogos.
Splendide fons, miseros semper testabere amantes
Ponere nee lacrymis funere posse modum.
PETRARCH'S HOUSE AT ARQUA. 179
In this retreat Petrarch appears to have spent the last
years of his life, engaged in the same laborious pursuits,
the same unsatisfied inquiries to which he had dedicated
himself in his maturer years. His unceasing devotion to
letters may be gathered from the account which he has
himself left of the mode in which he was accustomed to
pass his time. " Whether I am shaved, or having my
hair cut ; whether I am riding on horseback, or taking my
meals, I either read myself, or get some one to read for
me. On the table where I dine, and by the side of my
bed, I have all the materials for writing; and when I
awake in the dark I write, although I am unable to read
the next morning what I have written." During the
latter years of his life, says Ugo Foscolo, in his Character
of the poet, he always slept with a lighted lamp near him,
and rose exactly at midnight. " Like a wearied traveller
I quicken my pace in proportion as I approach the end
of my journey. I read and write night and day; it is my
only resource. My eyes are heavy with watching ; my
hand is wearied with writing, and my heart is worn with
care. I desire to be known to posterity; if I cannot
succeed, I may be known to my own age, or at least to
my friends. It would have satisfied me to have known
myself, but in that I shall never succeed." For four
months before his death the days of Petrarch were spent
in languor and dejection, till on the 19th of July, 1374,
he was found dead in his library chair, with his head
resting on a book.
There is a tomb in Arqua ; rear'd in air,
Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose
N'2
180 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
The bones of Laura's lover : here repair
Many familiar with his well-sung woes,
The pilgrims of his genius. He arose
To raise a language, and his land reclaim
From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes -.
Watering the tree, which bears his lady's name,
With his melodious tears, he gave himself to Fame.
They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died;
The mountain village, where his latter days
Went down the vale of years ; and 'tis their pride
An honest pride and let it be their praise,
To offer to the passing stranger's gaze
His mansion and his sepulchre ; both plain
And venerably simple, such as raise
A feeling more accordant with his strain,
Than if a pyramid form'd his monumental fane.
And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt
Is one of that complexion which seems made
For those who their mortality have felt,
And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd
In the deep umbrage of a green bill's shade,
Which shows a distant prospect, far away,
Of busy cities, now in vain display'd,
For they can lure no further; and the ray
Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday,
Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers,
And shining in the brawling brook, whereby,
Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours
With a calm languor, which, though to the eye
Idlesse it seem, hath its morality.
One of the noblest of the modern poets of Italy has
dedicated to the mansion of Petrarch a sonnet, of which
the late Mr. Charles Johnston, whose poetical compo-
sitions display a fine and pure taste, has left the fol-
lowing version :
PETRARCH'S HOUSE AT ARQUA. 181
Chamber! that didst in this small space confine
Him for whose fame earth is too small a bound,
Him, bard of love, most pure and most profound ;
Whence Laura had on earth honours divine ;
What recollections, sad yet sweet, are mine
As slow I pace thy solitary round !
Why tears bedew my breast, who thee have found
Still wanting honours which are duly thine !
Here was indeed a temple and a shrine
For marble, gold, and precious stones ; yet, no :
Thou hast no need of these ; and they may be
Fit ornaments for royal tombs, and shine
With lustre, where the laurel will not grow;
The name of Petrarch is enough for thee.
Amongst our own poets, too, Mr. Rogers has visited
and celebrated the tomb of Petrarch.
There is within three leagues and less of Padua
(The Paduan student knows it, honours it)
A lonely tombstone in a mountain churchyard ;
And I arrived there as the sun declined
Low in the west. The gentle airs that breathe
Fragrance at eve, were rising, and the birds
Singing their farewell song the very song
They sung the night that tomb received a tenant :
When, as alive, clothed in his canon's habit,
And slowly winding down the narrow path,
He came to rest there. Nobles of the land,
Princes, and prelates mingled in his train,
Anxious by any act while yet they could
To catch a ray of glory by reflection :
And from that hour have kindred spirits flock'd
From distant countries, from the north, the south,
To see where he is laid.
VENICE.
THE RIALTO.
Vlderat Adriacis Venetam Neptunus In undis
Stare urbem, et tola ponere jura marl :
Nunc mihi Tarpeias quantumvis Jupiter arces
Objice, et ilia tui moonia Mart is ait:
SI Pelago Tybrim prefers urbem aspice utramquc,
Illam homines dices, hanc posuisse decs.
SANNAZARO.
THE impression which the first new of Venice con-
veys is described by every traveller as most singular and
striking. All other cities that he has visited present in
their more prominent features a general resemblance; and
it is only when the eye begins to examine the details that
the diversified characters of the places become apparent.
But Venice, the " Rome of the ocean/' the " Sea Cybele,"
stands alone amid the cities of the earth. No eye can for
a moment mistake her : her palaces, her spires, her towers,
and her cupolas, rising from the bosom of the waters, at
once proclaim her name. The magnificence of her edi-
fices, too, correspond well with the associations which
history and romance have spread around her. " Her
aspect is like a dream ; and her history is like a romance."
And unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her i uiinc in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto : Shylock, and the Moor,
And Pierre, can not be swept or worn away
The keystones of the arch ! though all were o'er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.
VENICE THE RIALTO. 183
The Rialto, thus doubly immortalised in the scenes of
Shakspeare and the verse of Byron, is a bridge which
crosses the Canal Grande, or Great Canal, which traverses
the whole city, dividing it into two nearly equal portions.
The Rialto is situated nearly in the middle of the canal,
and is formed of one arch, about eighty-one feet wide.
A double row of mean shops, twenty-four in number on
each side, are built upon the bridge, which is so coated
with dirt as scarcely to permit the marble of which it is
constructed to be visible. The canals of Venice have
left very few open spaces in the city, and the Broglio, or
portico under the ducal palace, the Piazza, of St. Mark,
and the Rialto, are therefore the places in which the
Venetians are accustomed to meet and converse. It is
difficult to conjecture why Otway chose the Rialto for his
conspirators to meet at; no place could be less proper
for secret deliberation. Shakspeare, with more accuracy,
has preserved the proper character of the place. " He
hath an argosy," says Shylock, " bound to Tripolis; an-
other to the Indies. I understand, moreover, upon the
Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico."
He selects it also as the scene of the public insults
offered by Antonio to the Jew.
" Signer Antonio ! many a time and oft
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances."
It is probable, indeed, that, in speaking of the Rialto,
Shakspeare did not intend to designate the bridge, but
an edifice on one side, which was formerly used as an
exchange by the " Merchants of Venice;" and the ex-
pression "In the Rialto," seems to countenance this con-
jecture. Coryate, who visited Italy about the year 1608,
184 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
says in his "Crudities," "The Rialto, which is on the
farther side of the bridge as you come from St. Mark's,
is a most stately building, being the Exchange of Venice,
where the Venetian gentlemen and the merchants doe
meete twice a day, betwixt eleven and twelve of the
clocke in the morning, and betwixt five and sixe of the
clocke in the afternoone. This Rialto is of a goodly
height, built all with bricke, as the palaces are, adorned
with many faire walkes or open galleries, that I have be-
fore mentioned, and hath a prety quadrangular court ad-
joyniug to it."
By ascending to the summit of the Campanile or Tower
of St. Mark, the tourist will be presented with a clear
view of the city, of its port and shipping, and of the
neighbouring shoals and islands. The Tower of St. Mark,
which, like those of Bologna, is constructed of brick, has
few pretensions to architectural beauty. Its shape is qua-
drangular, and its height about three hundred feet. It was
built in the time of the doge Dominico Morosini, who was
elected in the year 1 1 48. The architect, Buono, was much
celebrated for the buildings which he designed in Naples,
in Pistoia, in Florence, and in Arezzo. The summit of the
Tower of St. Mark is consecrated to science. It was the
study of the " starry Galileo." In ascending the Cam-
panile it will not be uninteresting to the traveller to
know that he is pursuing the footsteps of the amiable
and excellent John Evelyn. " After this we climb'd up
the Toure of St. Mark, which we might have don on
horseback, as 'tis said one of the French kings did, there
being no stayres or steps, but returnes that take up an
entire square on the arches, 40 foote, broad enough for a
coach."
VKNICE THE RIALTO. 185
Of the prospect which is presented to the traveller
from the summit of the Campanile, Coryate speaks in
glowing terms. " From every side of the square gallery
you have the fairest and goodliest prospect that is (I
thinke) in all the worlde. For therehence you see the
whole model and forme of the citie, sub uno intuitti, a
sight that doth in my opinion farre surpasse all the shewes
under the cope of Heaven. Then you may have a sy
nopsis, that is a general view of little Christendome (for
soe doe many in title this citie of Venice), or rather of the
Jerusalem of Christendome."
The bell of the Campanile is of a great size, and the
sound of it to a person in the tower is almost deafening.
A few years since a singular accident happened there.
The tongue of the bell fell upon a person who was un-
fortunately standing beneath it, and killed him.
On descending from the Campanile, the traveller finds
himself in the Piazza di S. Marco, or Place of St. Mark,
surrounded by churches and palaces of Palladian archi-
tecture. The Piazza di S. Marco, though small in com-
parison with the vast squares of other cities, is the grand
scene of public resort for the Venetians. In former days
it was
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy.
But the same fatal course of events which has destroyed
the glory and independence of Venice, has cast a cloud
over the spirits of her children, and " the harsh sound of
the barbarian drum" echoes through the arcades which
were once filled with Italy's most enlivening music : the
Piazza di S. Marco is now a military parade.
On one side of the Piazza is the celebrated church of
186 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
St. Mark, the patron saint of the republic, a most ex-
traordinary edifice, constructed in a great measure from
the spoils of Constantinople. The architecture of St.
Mark's is an unhappy combination of almost every style ;
of Grecian, of Gothic, and of Saracenic. The building
was commenced so early as the year 829, and having been
destroyed by fire, was rebuilt in the year 976. The front
presents a forest of porphyry columns of various dimen-
sions, intermingled with a few of verde antique, and the
roof is surmounted by cupolas, which give the edifice the
air of a mosque. In the interior the same rich and taste-
less magnificence is visible, and porphyries, and oriental
marbles, and glittering mosaics are dimly seen in its dark
recesses. In front of the church, half hidden under the
porch window, are again visible the restored horses.
Before Saint Mark still glow his steeds of brass,
Their gilded collars glittering in the sun.
This splendid monument of art, so often the trophy of
the conqueror, has been the subject of much controversy;
but the best opinion appears to be, that it is of Grecian
workmanship, and that it was transferred to Constan-
tinople by Theodosius. On the sacking of that city by
the Venetians in 1206 the horses were transferred to the
church of St. Mark, where they remained until the year
1 797, when, on the entry of the French, they were car-
ried to Paris. Upon the overthrow of Napoleon, they
were again restored to the Venetians. On the capture
of Constantinople, this monument of art was carried to
Venice by the great doge Dandolo, and on its restoration
a descendant of the doge, now captain of a ship in the
Austrian service, was, out of compliment to his glorious
VENICE THE RIALTO. 187
ancestor, charged with the honourable office of accom-
panying the horses back to St. Mark, the only com-
pliment paid by the Austrian government to the fallen
nobility of Venice. It is remarkable, that on the taking
of Constantinople by the Venetians and the French, the
former carried away the monuments of art as treasures,
while the latter wantonly and brutally destroyed them.
Many of the churches of Venice claim the traveller's
particular attention. Of these, several are from the
designs of Palladio. The Chiesa del Redentore, and the
Chiesa di S. Georgio Maggiore, have been considered
the most favourable specimens of his genius. Indeed,
every church in Venice ought to be visited, since they
all contain numerous treasures of art from the pencils of
the most distinguished painters. Another of the prin-
cipal objects, which claims the attention of the traveller at
Venice, is the Arsenal, a spacious edifice, occupying an
entire island. Before the gate stand several sculptured
lions, the spoils of Greece, triumphali manu a Pirteo di-
repta. While Venice had an existence as a free state,
upwards of a thousand artisans were constantly employed
here, and double that number in time of war. At pre-
sent, the Arsenal serves only as a spectacle to strangers
and a monument of the fallen glory of Venice.
The Venetian palaces are rich in architectural beau-
ties ; some display the chaste and classical taste of Pal-
ladio, and others the airy grace of Sansovino, or the
grand conceptions of San Micheli, while in almost all are
to be. seen the master-pieces of Titian and his followers.
The Palazzo Barbarigo has been named the Scuola di
Ti/iano : within its walls that celebrated artist resided
188 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
for upwards of four years, and there also he breathed his
last. His tombstone may be seen in the church of the Frari
or Conventual Friars of the order of the Cordeliers, bearing
the simple and appropriate inscription, " Qui giace il
gran Tiziano." In the church of St. Sebastian may also
be seen the tomb and monument of Paul Veronese.
Amongst the palaces of Venice which have been sanc-
tified by the presence of genius, an Englishman will not
be forgetful of the residence of Byron, whose muse, in-
deed, crosses him in every memorable place. It was the
pride of the poet to link his own memory with those
noble associations which the scenes he has described in-
spire. In the dedication prefixed to the fourth canto oi
Childe Harold, he has expressed this sentiment very
beautifully. " What Athens and Constantinople were to
us a few years ago, Venice and Rome have been more
recently. The poem also, or the pilgrim, or both, have
accompanied me from first to last ; and perhaps it may
be a pardonable vanity which induces me to reflect with
complacency on a composition which, in some degree,
connects me with the spot where it was produced, and
the objects it would fain describe ; and, however un-
worthy it may be deemed of those magical and memorable
abodes, however short it may fall of our distant concep-
tions and immediate impressions, yet as a mark of respect
for what is venerable, and feeling for what is glorious, it
has been to me a source of pleasure in the production,
and I part with it with a kind of regret which I hardly
suspected that events could have left me for imaginary
objects." Lord Byron, during his residence in Venice,
occupied a palace upon the Canal Grande. " There was
VENICE THE RIALTO. 189
one palace," says Lady Morgan, " whose dark facade was
spotted irregularly with casements, the anchorage poles
before its portico were surmounted with an English
coronet and arms ; it was now silent and deserted like
the rest ; ' Palazzo di Lord Byron,' said the chief of our
gondolieri, as we rowed by it."
In visiting Venice, the traveller used formerly to make
a point of being present on Ascension day, when the
Doge
Deck'd in pearly pride,
In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride ;
but now " the spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord," and
the magnificent pageant no longer recalls to the mind of
the stranger the former sea triumphs of Venice. The
late Sir James Edward Smith has left an amusing account
of this ceremony, which he witnessed in the year 1 787,
and which at that period had much declined from its an-
cient splendour. " We first repaired to the ducal palace,
and saw the tables set out with sweetmeats and other
decorations for the dinner. They were very paltry, and
much inferior to the generality of mayors' feasts in Eng-
land. The doge presently appeared, not exactly with all
that alacrity one would expect in a bridegroom whose in-
tended spouse was so very favourable and complacent as
on the present occasion ; but he had passed many such
bridal days already, and knew the fickleness of his mis-
tress's disposition^ so that, though in the ceremony he
might assume the title of her lord and master, she could
at pleasure very soon make him sensible of the contrary,
and however complacent now, might perhaps be in a very
ill humour before morning. The doge was accompanied
190 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
by the pope's nuncio, with the officers of state and a
large train of nobles, and so went on board the Bucen-
taur, which was then rowed and towed towards Lido, an
island about two miles distant, where stands a church,
with a fort guarding the approach to Venice from the
Adriatic. The flat roof of the vessel was spread with
crimson velvet, looking magnificent among the gilding;
but nothing can be more ugly than its shape, or more
awkward than its motion. We accompanied it in our
gondola, amid thousands of other gondolas, peotas, and
boats of all kinds, which covered the sea, and formed the
most striking and curious part of the spectacle. The
ships all saluted the Bucentaur as it passed; and a little
before its arrival at Lido, the doge threw a plain gold
ring, worth about three sequins, into the sea, with the
usual speech ' Desponsamus te, mare, in signum veri
perpetuique dominii.' This part of the ceremony could
be seen only by those who were very near. The doge
and his suite then attended mass at the church of Lido,
during which every body who chose it might go on board
the Bucentaur to see its inside ; foreigners were even
permitted to stay there, and to return with the doge.
We took advantage of this indulgence. The doge sat on
his throne towards the stern, with the nuncio, a very
keen, sensible-looking man, at his right hand; and the
senators, in their robes of crimson silk, with great wigs
put over their hair, like our lawyers, were ranged on
benches and intermixed with strangers, some of whom I
was sorry and ashamed to see wear their hats, and in
very shabby clothes, particularly two or three Frenchmen.
The doge's dress was white and gold; his cap the same,
VENICE THE RIALTO. 191
formed like a Phrygian bonnet. He was then about
seventy-six years of age, and is since dead; his counte-
nance rather pleasant than striking. It was a truly fine
sight to look down from the windows of the Bucentaur
upon the sea, almost covered with gondolas and other
vessels all around; the shores of the islands crowded
with spectators, and especially all the windows and roofs,
as well as the shore about St. Mark's Place, where the
doge and his company landed." The Bucentaur, which
now " lies rotting, unrestored," was only used on the
occasion of this solemnity. It was a heavy, broad-bot-
tomed vessel, drawing little water, loaded with ornaments,
gilding, and sculpture, not unlike the state barges of the
city of London. On the entry of the French into Venice
the Bucentaur was dismantled, and has now wholly
perished.
Though Venice has lost her Bucentaur, her gondolas
still remain, wakening in the heart of the stranger, as he
glides over " the soft waves once all musical to song," a
thousand romantic associations ; yet even here the glory
of the Venetians has departed from them. Till the ex-
tinction of the republic, it was no unusual circumstance
to hear the voices of the gondoliers chanting the verses
of their favourite poets. " Hark ! while I am writing this
peevish reflection in my room," says Mrs. Piozzi, " I hear
some voices under my windows answering each other
upon the Grand Canal. It is, it is the gondolier!, sure
enough ; they are at this moment singing to an odd sort
of tuqe, but in no unmusical manner, the flight of Ermi-
nia, from Tasso's 'Jerusalem.' Oh, how pretty! how
pleasing ! This wonderful city realises the most romantic
192 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
ideas ever formed of it, and defies imagination to escape
her various powers of enslaving it." But the sense of
political degradation and of private penury has at length
almost extinguished in the breast of the gondoliers the
love of music and of verse. By few of them now are the
stanzas of Ariosto or of Tasso remembered, the musical
repetition of which was, in former days, so favourite an
exercise. The effect of this recitative has been well de-
scribed by Mr. Hobhouse. " On the 7th of last January,
the author of ' Childe Harold ' and another Englishman,
the writer of this notice, rowed to the Lido with two
singers, one of whom was a carpenter and the other a
gondolier. The former placed himself at the prow, the
latter at the stern of the boat. A little after leaving the
quay of the Piazzetta they began to sing, and continued
their exercise until we arrived at the island. They gave
us, amongst other essays, the death of Clorinda, and the
palace of Armida, and did not sing the Venetian, but the
Tuscan verses. The carpenter, however, who was the
cleverer ( of the two, and was frequently obliged to prompt
his companion, told us that he could translate the original.
He added, that he could sing almost three hundred
stanzas, but had not spirits (morbin was the word he
used) to learn any more, or to sing what he already knew :
a man must have idle time on his hands to acquire or to
repeat, ' and,' said the poor fellow, ' look at my clothes
and at me I am starving.'"
" It is now," says Mr. Stewart Rose, " almost as dif-
ficult to find one who can sing a Venetian ballad, as one
who can chant verses from Tasso. This poet has been,
as you know, translated into all, or most of all, the Italian
VENICE THE RIALTO. 193
dialects, but with most success into that of this state, mi-
nistering matter for their music to the gondoliers of former
times. But ' the songs of other years' have died away.
I requested one the other day from a man who was said
to be amongst the last depositories of them ; but found I
had touched a tender string in asking him for a song of
Sion. He shook his head and told me, that 'in times
like these he had no heart to sing.' This boat music
was destined for the silence and solitude of the night j
but it should seem that some of our countrymen enter-
tain very different notions on this subject} as I saw lately
a sober-looking Englishman, with his wife and child, em-
barked on the Grand Canal at mid-day, with two violins
and a drum. Yet they did not look h'ke people who
would have paraded Bond-street at the time of high
water with fiddles in a barouche."
Sir J. E. Smith has left a lively description of the gon-
dolas and gondoliers, in his remarks on Venice. " The
gondolas being entirely black have a very hearse-like ap-
pearance j but the gay liveries of the rowers, and the
elegant company within, soon chase away all funereal ideas.
Nothing can be more graceful than the attitude of these
gondoliers, as they urge their light barks over the waves,
skimming the surface of the water with the rapidity of a
swallow, and scarcely seeming to touch it more j while
their bright prows of polished iron gleam jn the sunshine,
and glitter in the rippling waves. Their elegance of atti-
tude is certainly owing to the just and full exertion of
the muscular frame, which always gives elegance. They
stand on a very narrow part of the boat, slightly elevated,
like the ridge of a house, and varying in its horizontal
194 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
inclination every moment, on which they are supported
only by the close application of their feet through their
shoes, a firm position of their legs, and accurate poising
of the body, the upper part of which with the arms alone
is in motion."
The restraint which the watery streets of Venice im-
pose upon travellers, renders it an undesirable residence
for any considerable length of time. " Strangers," says
Mr. Forsyth, "accustomed to expatiate on terra firma,
soon feel the moated imprisonment of a town, where
their walks are incessantly crossed by a canal, and their
thread of talk or thinking is cut short at the steep steps of a
bridge. I admit its aquatic advantages, and the cheap
convenience of its gondolas, yet, with eight theatres, and
a proportionate quantity of private amusement, with large
libraries and well stocked markets, with every thing that
study or pleasure could desire, Venice is the last residence
that I should choose in Italy." During the summer months
the effluvia from the small canals, which, as an English
lady's-maid observed, " have not at any time a pretty
smell with them," renders this a disagreeable if not an
unhealthy residence.
At Venice an Englishman will have a good opportunity
of forming an opinion of Italian society. " If you are in-
clined to society," says one of the best-informed of our
modern travellers, Mr. Stewart Rose, " the favourite so-
ciety of Venice, I mean that of the coffee-houses (where
both sexes assemble), is, generally speaking, to be en-
joyed at all hours. To a certain degree this is even ap-
plicable to private society. There are several ladies here
who open their houses, where, from nine at night till three
VENICE THE HIALTO. lOo
in the morning, there is a constant flux and reflux of com-
pany of different ages, sexes, and conditions, not to speak
of many smaller circles. Here all foreigners are well re-
ceived ; but to be an Englishman is to bring with you a
sure letter of recommendation. He who is once asked is
always welcome, and may rest assured that he is not
brought there merely to be looked at as a lion, and then,
perhaps, left to lament himself as a ' lost monster.'
Moreover, he may go in boots, in a great coat, and, to
some small parties, even in a tabarro, the cloak of the
country} and when there, without being squeezed or
stewed, find people, right and left, who are anxious- and
qualified to converse with him.
" The society of Venice may, indeed, be compared to
the fire in the glass-houses of Venice, which is said to be
never out; for there is also a continual morning assem-
blage at the house of one lady or another, who, in the
phrase of the country, ' tiene appartamento,' or in that
of London is ' at home.' This appears to be a sort of
substitute for the casinos, now nearly extinguished. Of
these coteries I cannot speak from experience, but the
playing at company in sunshine presents but a melancholy
sort of idea. However this may in reality be, society at
Venice is on so very easy and rational a footing, that if it
is to be enjoyed any where it is here; the more so as it
seldom breaks into the extravagancies it does in other
countries."
The Venetians are still distinguished by a considerable
originality of character, and by a degree of eccentric hu-
mour which is seldom seen amongst the other inhabitants
of the south. Mr. Rose has collected some amusing illus-
o2
196 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
trations of this spirit, and amongst them the following.
A Venetian, who died not very long ago, made a provision
of torches for his funeral, artificially loaded with crackers,
anticipating to a confidential friend the hubbub that would
result from the explosion, which he calculated must take
place in the most inconvenient spots. It would be an un-
pardonable omission not to state that this posthumous joke
verified the most sanguine expectations of its projector.
The traveller in Italy, who is desirous of witnessing
the festivities of the Carnival, in general selects the Ro-
man festival in preference to that of Venice. We have
consequently but few descriptions of this spectacle at the
latter place. In the year 1646 Evelyn was present at it,
and has left a short account of the extravagancies which
he witnessed.
" I stirred not from Padoa till Shrovetide, when all
the world repair to Venice to see the folly and madness
of the Carnival ; the women, men, and persons of all con-
ditions disguising themselves in antique dresses, with ex-
travagant music and a thousand gambols, traversing the
streets from house to house, all places being then ac-
cessible and free to enter. Abroad they fling eggs filled
with sweet water, but sometimes not over sweet. They
also have a barbarous custom of hunting bulls about the
streets and piazzas, which is very dangerous, the pass-
ages being generally very narrow. The youth of the se-
veral wards and parishes contend in other masteries and
pastimes, so that 'tis impossible to recount the universal
madness of this pkce during this time of licence. The
great banks are set up for those who will play at basset ;
the comedians have liberty, and the operas are open ; witty
VENICE THE RIALTO.
pasquils are thrown about, and the mountebanks have
their stages in every corner. The diversion which chiefly
took me up, was three noble operas, where were ex-
cellent voices and music, the most celebrated of which
was the famous Anna Renche, whom we invited to a fish
dinner after four days in Lent, when they are given over
at the theatre."
" I do think," says Mrs. Piozzi, " the Turkish sailor
gave an admirable account of a carnival, when he
told his Mahometan friends at his return, that those
poor Christians were all disordered in their senses, and
nearly in a state of actual madness while he remained
amongst them, till one day on a sudden they luckily
found out a grey powder, that cured such symptoms, and
laying it on their heads one Wednesday morning, the
wits of all the inhabitants were restored at a stroke ;
the people grew sober, quiet, and composed, and went
about their business just like other folks. He meant the
ashes strewed on the heads of all one meets in the streets
through many a Catholic country, when all masquerading,
money-making, &c. subside for forty days, and give from
the force of the contrast, a greater appearance of devo-
tion and decorous behaviour in Venice than almost any
where else during Lent."
The splendour and magnificence which formerly gave
to Venice her title of " la Ricca" have at length faded
;i\vay. The gorgeous furniture of her water-palaces is
tarnished, her " gentiluomini" are despoiled of their rich
apparel, and the superb spectacles which her waves used
to exhibit are seen no more. Even so late as the middle
of the last century, Venice had not forgotten her former
198 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
magnificence. In a letter written in the year 1 740, Lady
Mary Wortley Montague has described a regatta, which
rivals in pomp and brilliancy the splendours of earlier
ages. " You seem to mention the regatta in a manner
as if you would be pleased with a description of it. It is
a race of boats ; they arc accompanied by vessels which
they call piotes or bichones, that have a mind to display
their magnificence ; they are a sort of machines that are
adorned with all that sculpture and gilding can do to
make a shining appearance. Several of them cost one
thousand pounds sterling, and I believe none less than
five hundred. They are rowed by gondoliers dressed
in rich habits, suitable to what they represent. There
were enough of them to look like a little fleet, and I own
I never saw a finer sight. It would be long to describe
every one in particular j I shall only name the principal.
The Signora Pisani Mocenigo's represented the chariot
of the Night, drawn by four sea-horses, and showing the
rising of the moon accompanied with stars, the statues
on each side representing the hours to the number of
twenty-four, rowed by gondoh'ers in rich liveries, which
were changed three times, all of equal richness, and the
decorations changed also to the dawn of Aurora and the
mid-day sun, the statues being new-dressed every time,
the first in green, the second time red, and the last blue,
all equally laced with silver, there being three races.
Signer Soranto represented the kingdom of Poland, with
all the provinces and rivers in that dominion, with a con-
cert of the best instrumental music, in rich Polish habits j
the painting and gilding were exquisite in their kinds.
Signer Contarini's Piote showed the liberal arts ; Apollo
VENICE TUB RIALTO. li)9
was seated on the stern upon Mount Parnassus, Pegasus
behind, and the Muses seated round him ; opposite was
a figure representing Painting, with Fame blowing her
trumpet, and on each side Sculpture and Music in their
proper dresses. The Procurator Foscarini's was, Flora
guided by Cupids, and adorned with all sorts of flowers,
rose-trees, &c. Signer Julio Contarini's represented the
triumphs of valour ; Victory was on the stern and all the
ornaments warlike trophies of every kind. Signor Cor-
reri's was the Adriatic sea receiving into her arms the
Hope of Saxony. Signor Alvisio Mocenigo's was the
garden of Hesperides j the whole fable was represented by
different statues. Signor Querini had the chariot of Venus
drawn by doves, so well done, they seemed ready to fly
upon the water ; the Loves and Graces attended her," &c.
However false was the glory which once shone around
Venice, it shone with a brilliancy seldom equalled ; and
it is difficult to read her magnificent history without feel-
ings of admiration which would be better repressed.
Mourn not for Venice let her rest
In ruin, mid those states unblest,
Beneath whose gilded hoofs of pride
Where'er they trampled Freedom died.
No let us keep our tears for them,
Where'er they pine, whose fall hath been
Not from a blood-stain'd diadem,
Like that which deck'd this Ocean Queen,
But from high daring in the cause
Of human rights the only good
And blessed strife, in which man draws
His powerful sword on land or flood.
The power of her government; the secrecy of its de-
200 THK LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
liberations ; and the vigour and resolution with which those
deliberations were carried into action, are contrasted so
forcibly with the imbecility of her citizens in modern times,
that we regard with an undue favour qualities ill calculated
to secure the happiness of mankind. The character and
maxims of the government exercised a powerful influence
over the nobles, who assumed an almost kingly rank and
station. Even so late as the time of Addison, these lofty
pretensions were still visible. "The noble Venetians
think themselves equal, at least, to the electors of the em-
pire, and but a degree below kings j for which reason they
seldom travel into foreign countries, where they must
undergo the mortification of being treated like private
gentlemen." Though bearing a ducal coronet on their
arms, the only title they assumed was that of " Gentil-
uomini," or gentlemen, a few only boasting the title of
" Knights of St. Mark." " Of the gentll uomo Veneto"
says the writer of the Notes to the Fourth Canto of Childe
Harold, " the name is still known, and that is all. He is
but the shadow of his former self j but he is polite and
kind. It surely may be pardoned to him if he is queru-
lous." The fallen fortunes of the Venetian nobles have
driven them from the scenes of their former riches and
splendour. In their degradation and despair they have
forsaken their stately mansions 5 and Jewish merchants
now inhabit the palaces, which in other days were filled
with the proudest nobles of Christendom. The Con-
tarini, the Morosini, the Falieri, the Dandoli, the Foscari,
the Grimani, the Priuli, have become names which be-
long only to history. Within the last thirty years, nearly
a hundred of the most magnificent palaces of the city
VENICE THE HI ALTO. 201
have been sold and dismantled, till, at length, the Aus-
trian government interfered to stay the work of destruc-
tion. At the close of the seventeenth century, the po-
pulation of Venice amounted to nearly 200,000 souls.
At the period of the extinction of the republic it was
140,000, which, within thirty years, was reduced to
1 00,000 ; so rapid is the pestilence of political degrada-
tion. Truly, indeed, has it been said of Venice, in the
language of Scripture, that she " dies daily."
Some idea may be formed of the degradation of the
Venetian nobility from the fact, that the mendicants of
Venice venture to assume the title, and doubtless expect
that their pretensions will be credited. " The number of
indigent persons in Venice," says an American traveller,
" calling themselves noble, is noticed by almost every
traveller. I have been repeatedly stopped by genteel-
looking persons in the Place of St. Mark, calling them-
selves poveri nobili, who received with thankfulness the
most trifling gratuity. In passing through the streets
and public squares, my attention has been frequently ar-
rested by decent females their faces concealed by a
veil, and kneeling for hours together : all these, as my
guide informed me, were povere nobili Veneziane."
But even in the midst of their poverty, the gaiety of
the Venetian temperament shines out. " From what you
see of the Venetians in their favourite rendezvous of
pleasure," says the writer just mentioned, " you would
suppose them the happiest people in the world ; but fol-
low them to their homes, and the scene is entirely re-
versed. A wretched, half-furnished apartment, the win-
dows of which look upon the sullen waters of a lonely
202 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
canal, whose solitude is interrupted only by the occasional
appearance of a black gondola, is often the abode of some
ruined family once high in the ranks of nobility. In a
mansion, whose appearance announces the interior of a
palace, beauty and accomplishments are often found lan-
guishing in want, yet solacing their sad condition by those
pleasures which Italy still yields to the imagination and
the heart. The gay assemblies of St. Mark's Place in
the evening ; a musical party on the water ; a trip to
Padua along the pleasant banks of the Brenta, have the
power of dissipating the gloom of adversity."
No one can leave Venice without acknowledging the
beauty and feeling of Mr. Wordsworth's " Sonnet on the
Extinction of the Venetian Republic."
" Once did she hold the gorgeous east in fee,
And was the safeguard of the west: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth.
Venice, the eldest child of liberty
She was a maiden city, bright and free :
No guile seduced, no force could violate ;
And when she took unto herself a mate,
She must espouse the everlasting sea.
And, what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
When her long life hath reach'd its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade
Of that which once was great is pass'd away."
VENICE.
THE DUCAL PALACE.
Enter the palace by the marble stairs,
Down which the grizzly head of old Faliero
Roll'd from the block. Pass onward through the chamber,
Wh ere among all drawn in their ducal robe*
But one is wanting.
ROGERS.
THE principal, and, as it may be called, the state
entrance of Venice from the sea, is by the Piazzetta di
S. Marco, or Lesser Place of St. Mark, a smaller qua-
drangle opening into the Piazza, a great square of St.
Mark. The side of the Piazzetta which is open to the
Lagune is adorned with two magnificent granite columns.
On the summit of one of these pillars,
St. Mark yet sees his Lion where he stood
Stand, but in mockery of his wither'd power,
Over the proud place where an emperor sued,
And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour
When Venice was a queen with an unequalled dower.
On the quay of the. Piazzetta, the Emperor Frederic
Barbarossa landed on the 23d of July, 1 1 77, to accom-
modate his disputes with the sovereign pontiff, Alexander
III., and to reconcile himself to holy church. Accom-
panied by the doge, the patriarch, the dignified clergy
and citizens of Venice, he went in procession to the
church of S. Marco, where the pope was waiting to par-
204 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
don his repentant son. In the vestibule of the church,
Frederic, throwing off" his mantle, prostrated himself at
the feet of the supreme pontiff.
In that temple porch
Did Barbarossa fling his mantle off,
And kneeling, on his neck receive the foot
Of the proud pontiff.
A piece of marble is still shown upon which, it is said,
the imperial neck rested, while Alexander, placing his
foot upon it, repeated the haughty sentence, " Super
aspidem et basiliscum ambulabis." " Non tibi, sed
Petro !" murmured the humiliated emperor.
On the right of the Piazzetta stands the DUCAL
PALACE, formerly called the Palazzo Ducale, Palazzo
Publico, or Palazzo di S. Marco, but now the Palazzo
Ex-ducale. This magnificent structure was for centuries
the seat of one of the most powerful and terrible govern-
ments of Europe. The senate, which resembled a con-
gress of kings rather than an assemblage of free merchants,
the various councils of state, and the still more terrible
inquisitors of state, the dreaded " Ten," here held their
sittings. The splendid chambers in which the magnificent
citizens were accustomed to meet, where their delibera-
tions inspired Christendom with hope, and struck dismay
into the souls of the Ottomans, are still shown to the
stranger j but the courage, and the constancy, and the
wisdom, which then filled them, are fled.
The Ducal Palace was originally erected in the ninth
century ; but having been on several occasions partially
destroyed by fire, it has been, in portions, frequently
rebuilt. Of the architecture of the palace, which, like
VENICE THE DUCAL PALACE. 205
that of other buildings in Venice, is rather Saracenic
than Gothic, the reader may form his own opinion. " It
is built," says that intelligent traveller, Mr. Forsyth,
" in a style which may be Arabesque, if you will, but it
reverses the principles of all other architecture $ for here
the solid rests on the open, a wall of enormous mass rests
on a slender fret-work of shafts, arches, and intersected
circles. The very corners are cut to admit a thin spiral
column, a barbarism which I saw imitated in several old
palaces." Near the principal entrance is a statue of the
doge Foscaro, in white marble ; and opposite to the en-
trance are the magnificent steps, called " the Giants'
Staircase," from the colossal statues of Mars and Nep-
tune, by which it is commanded. Here, it is said, the
Doges of Venice received the symbols of sovereignty, and
here the traveller may ascend
The stairs by which they mounted
To sovereignty, the Giants' Stairs, on whose
Broad eminence they were invested dukes.
Upon the landing-place of these stairs, the Doge Ma-
rino Faliero was sentenced to be beheaded.
As Doge, clad in the ducal robes and cap,
Thou slialt be led hence to the Giants' Staircase,
Where thou and all our princes are invested ;
And there, the ducal crown being first resumed
Upon the spot where it was first assumed,
Thy head shall be struck off, and Heaven have mercy
Upon thy soul !
" When the execution was over," says the Chronicle
of Sanutp, " it is said, that one of the Council of Ten
went to the columns of the palace, over-against the Place
206 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
of St. Mark, and that he showed the bloody sword unto
the people, crying out, with a loud voice, ' The terrible
doom hath fallen upon the traitor;' and the doors were
opened, and the people all rushed in to see the corpse of the
duke who had been beheaded." It is a remarkable fact,
that out of the first fifty Doges of Venice, five abdicated,
five were banished with their eyes put out, five were
massacred, and nine deposed. Well might Lord Byron
say that the Venetians seem to have had a passion for
breaking the hearts of their doges ! The fatality which
waited upon the chiefs of the republic tracked their foot-
steps to the end ; and Manini, the last doge of Venice,
was struck to the earth with sudden and mortal sickness
while in the degrading act of swearing fidelity to the
Austrians.
The staircase leads to the apartments which were
formerly appropriated to the doge, and to the various
chambers of council and of state, in which the Venetian
nobles were used to assemble. The apartments are filled
with the noblest specimens of the Venetian school. In
the hall of the college, on the east side of the building,
where the signory were accustomed to grant audiences
to the ambassadors of foreign states, may be seen a
splendid picttire of Europa, by Paul Veronese, with others
from the pencil of Tintoret. The ceilings in the hall of
the Council of Ten, and in the adjoining room, are also
ornamented by the hand of the former master. Almost
every room is filled with matchless specimens of art.
On every side the eye of the stranger rests upon
monuments of the faded glory of Venice. The walls of
the grand-council hall are covered with pictures recalling
VENICE THE DUCAL PALACE. 207
the triumphs of her arms. The ceiling, from the pencil
of Paul Veronese, represents Venice crowned by Fame ;
while the humiliation of the Emperor Frederic Barba-
rossa, and the taking of Constantinople, form the chief
subjects of the pictures which adorn the walls. Over
the tenantless seats of the magistrates may be seen in-
scribed the lofty sentences which enforced their duties
or stimulated their patriotism. On a picture over the
doge's chair, in one of the council rooms, we read,
" Vehementer est iniquum, vitam quam a natura ac-
ceptam, propter patriam conservaverimus, naturae, cum
cogat, reddere patriae, cum rogat, non dare. Sapientes
igitur aestimandi sunt, qui nullum pro salute patriae peri-
c u hi in vitant." No relic of former days speaks more
forcibly to the heart of the stranger than the fatal
v lion's head," for the reception of those secret denun-
ciations wliich the infamous policy of the oligarchical
government of Venice encouraged. These receptacles
of treachery were placed in various parts of the ducal
palace. The lower gallery, or portico under the palace,
is called the Brogiio ; and here, in former times, the
noble Venetians were accustomed to walk and converse.
" The Brogiio," says Misson, who travelled in Italy
towards the end of the seventeenth century, " is the place
where the nobles walk, who sometimes take one, and
sometimes the other side, according to the conveniency
of the sun or shade, and no one else is admitted to mix
with them on that side of the walk, but the other is free
for every body. They are so nice in this point, that
when a young nobleman comes to the age which qualifies
him for the council, and to take the robe, four noblemen
208 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
of his friends introduce him the first day into the Broglio 5
and if any nobleman is excluded from the council, he ia
no longer admitted into the Broglio." Here the senators,
as they walked, discussed the affairs of the republic, and
the votes which they should give in the senate. It was one
of the rules of the infamous inquisition of state, " that
the spies selected from the nobility should be especially
charged to give an account of all that should be said by
the nobles on the Broglio, and particularly early in the
morning, because at that time they are accustomed to
speak more freely in consequence of the small number of
persons present." The dress of the Venetian nobles,
when they went abroad, has been described by Coryate.
" It is said that there are of all the gentlemen of Venice,
which are there called claressimoes, no lesse than three
thousand, all which, when they go abroad out of their
houses, both they that beare office, and they that are
private, do weare gownes, wherein they imitate Romanos
rerum dominos gentemque togatam. Most of their gownes
are made of black cloth, and over their left shoulder they
have a flappe made of the same cloth, and edged with
blacke taffata. All these gowned men doe weare inar-
veilous little blacke caps of felt, without any brimmes at
all, and very diminutive falling bands."
Opposite to the Ducal Palace stands the Library of St.
Mark, an institution of which Petrarch may be con-
sidered the founder. Twelve years before his death he
presented to the Venetian senate his rich collection of
ancient manuscripts, and received, in return, a mansion
in the Riva degli Schiavoni, which is still shown to the
stranger. The library of Petrarch was augmented by
VENICE THE DUCAL PALACE. 209
the addition of that of Cardinal Bessarion, also presented
by its owner to the senate. But it was not until the
year 1529 that the Venetians provided a suitable building
for the reception of these treasures, when the present
magnificent edifice was raised from the design of Sanso-
vino. Amongst the librarians of this institution are
found the names of Andrea Navagero, of Bembo, of
Dempster, and of other very learned men. The collection
in the library of St. Mark is not extensive, but is extremely
rich in manuscripts. Amongst these are shown two
copies of the Greek version of the Septuagint, of the
eighth or ninth century ; a Commentary on Homer,
rather later in date j the original of Fra Paolo's History of
the Council of Trent ; and the original manuscript, with
many corrections and alterations, of Guarini's Pastor
Fido. " Having heard," says Mrs. Piozzi, " that Gua-
rini's manuscript of the Pastor Fido, written in his own
hand, was safely kept at this place, I asked for it, and
was entertained to see his numberless corrections and
variations from the original thought, like those of Pope's
Homer, preserved in the British Museum ; some of which
I copied over for Dr. Johnson to print at the time he
published his Lives of the English Poets."
The library of St. Mark was visited by the celebrated
Montfaucon, who was however prevented by the jealousy
of the Venetians from examining its contents. " In this
library," he observes, " there are none but manuscript
books, most of them Greek, and presented by Cardinal Bes-
sarion. Here was hope of a mighty harvest ; but on the 8th
of August, when we came the third time by appointment,
the abbot told us that the procurator Cornaro, who has
210 THE LANDSCAPK ANNUAL.
the chief care of the library, upon an information given
him by I know not what person, that had slipped into
the library the day before, had forbade our being allowed
to examine, much less to transcribe ; thinking it for the
honour of the republic and its library, that so great a
number of manuscripts should stand quietly on their
shelves, and be of no manner of use ; as if Cardinal Bes-
sarion, who took so much care to find out those books,
and bring them together from several parts of the world,
had done it only to have them heaped up in a beautiful
room, and lie there till they perish of age, or worms, or
fire, as often happens."
Venice was formerly considered the great book-mart
of the south, and the traveller was accustomed at this
place to complete his collections of Italian books. It
was from the port of Venice that Milton despatched to
England the literary treasures which he had collected
during his residence abroad; and from the same port
Evelyn consigned his ample collections of books, works
of art, and of objects of natural history. In the last
century the English consul at Venice formed, principally
in this city, the excellent library, which was afterwards
purchased by George III., and which was the foundation
of the splendid collection of books munificently presented
by the king to the British Museum.
The monastery of St. George formerly contained a
valuable library of manuscripts, collected by Cosmo de
Medici, " Pater patriae," deposited by him in that place,
as a mark of gratitude for the hospitality afforded him
by the Venetians during his exile from Florence. This
library was in existence in 1614, but in consequence of
VENICE THE DUCAL, PALACE. 211
the monastery being at that period rebuilt, it was dis-
persed, and the books are supposed to have perished.
Montfaucon, indeed, who visited Venice about the year
1700, says, 4t l had been informed by some persons that
there were manuscripts in the monastery of St. George
of our monks of Monte Cassino, where having attended,
they scarcely allowed me to see their library from the
door." The same learned writer also mentions several
private collections of manuscripts at Venice, which have
long before this time been in all probability dispersed.
From the period of the revival of letters, Venice can
boast of a numerous list of persons distinguished by their
learning, and by their attachment to literature and science.
Of these illustrious men none acted a more celebrated
part than Sarpi, better known in England by the name
of Father Paul. Eminent alike in literature, in science,
and in politics, and distinguished at the same time by the
integrity and independence of his mind, and by the purity
of his private life, he would have exhibited one of the
most admirable and excellent characters of modern times,
had he not lent himself to the propagation of the infamous
principles upon which the Venetian government acted.
In the disputes in which, the Venetian government engaged
with the church of Rome, the pen of Sarpi was vigorously
employed in maintaining the cause of the Venetians, in
consequence of which he incurred the implacable resent-
ment of the papal court. Though he had received inti-
mations from various quarters that designs were in agita-
tion against his life, yet, trusting to the innocence and
rectitude of his conduct, he took no precautions against
such attacks. At length, returning to his monastery late
p2
212 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
in the evening, he was attacked by five assassins, who
wounded him in fifteen places with stilettoes, one of
which was driven with such force into his face, that the
assassin who planted it was compelled to leave it in the
wound. None of the blows proved mortal, owing prin-
cipally to the skill and attention of the celebrated Aqua-
pendente, whom the government rewarded most liberally
for a service so acceptable to the state. The death of
Father Paul, many years afterwards (uttering with his
dying voice a blessing on the republic), was received
with much joy at Rome, the pontiff himself affirming that
the hand of God was at length visible : " as if," says
Fulgentio, the biographer of Sarpi, " it had been a
miracle for a man to die at the age of seventy-one."
Sarpi, as already stated, acted a distinguished part in
the disputes which occurred at the commencement of the
seventeenth century, between the state of Venice and
the court of Rome. In illustration of the resolute spirit
with which the republic carried on that contest, some
anecdotes have been given by M. Dam. The pope
having forbidden the clergy of Venice to perform divine
service, the Council of Ten issued a mandate, requiring
them, notwithstanding the interdict, to proceed in the
performance of their usual duties. The priests promised
obedience with one or two exceptions. The grand vicar
of Padua, having been informed of the order issued by
the government, observed, that he should act according
to the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. " Very well,"
said the magistrate who communicated the order, " but
it is proper that you should know that the Holy Spirit
has already inspired the Council of Ten to hang every
VENICE THE DUCAL PALACE. 213
one who disobeys their orders." The curate of Santa
Maria, notwithstanding the decree of the government,
closed his church. On the following morning, when
divine service was to be performed, be beheld, on looking
out of his window, an enormous gallows, which had been
erected in the night. The argument succeeded, and the
curate, forgetting the pope's interdict, opened his church
with alacrity, and preached as usual. So great was the
jealousy with which the Venetians regarded the court of
Rome, that, when during the pontificate of Urban VI II.,
an inscription, recording the services rendered to holy
church by the republic, in the time of Alexander III.,
was removed from the Vatican, the Venetian ambassador
was directed by his masters to quit Rome without taking
leave 5 nor would the republic again appear by their re-
presentative at the court of Rome, until the inscription,
ten years afterwards, was restored by Innocent X.
VENICE.
THE PALACE OF THE FOSCARI.
Despair defies even despotism : there is
That in my heart would make its way through hosts
With levell'd spears ; and think you a few jailors
Shall put me from my path ? Give me, then, wayT
This is the Doge's palace.
THE TWO FOSCARI.
THE fatal history of the Foscari, whose palace is re-
presented in the plate, is told by the old Venetian writers,
and more particularly by Sanuto, whose relation has
been followed by M. de Sismondi, in his admirable His-
toire des Republique Italiennes, and by M. Daru, in
his valuable Histoire de la Republique de Venise. Though
every English reader is acquainted with it through the
drama of Lord Byron, it will not, perhaps, be thought
improper to give in this place an outline of the story.
Francesco Foscari, at the age of fifty-one, attained the
summit of a Venetian's ambition, and was elected doge.
A noble name, rendered still more splendid by the ser-
vices which he who bore it had performed to the re-
public, favouring fortunes, an undaunted courage, and a
family of sons who seemed to inherit the lofty spirit of
their father, rendered the newly elected doge an object
of jealousy to the nobility of Venice. The first blow to
VENICE THE PALACE OP THE FOSCARI. 2] 5
the happiness of Foscari was the death of three of his
sons, within eight years after his assumption of the ducal
authority. Though the stability of his family was much
shaken, his enemies did not for many years venture to
carry into execution the schemes which they had formed
for his destruction. The signal successes in war which
distinguished his government, and which added to the
republic Brescia, Bergamo, Ravenna, and a great part
of Lombardy, silenced for a time the voice of envy and
opposition. At length, in the year 1445, the oppor-
tunity was afforded for inflicting upon the heart of the
venerable doge an incurable wound. In that year Be-
vilacqua, a Florentine exile, instigated, without doubt, by
the enemies of the Foscari, secretly denounced Jacopo
Foscari to the state inquisitors of Venice, for having re-
ceived presents from Filippo Visconti, Duke of Milan.
The rank and station of the accused could not protect
him from the cruel severity with which all state criminals
were treated in Venice, and the son of the doge, like the
meanest sen-ant of the republic, was subjected to the
question, and rigorously tortured. Although no confession
could be wrung from him, he was pronounced guilty by
the voice of his father, and was banished for life to
Napoli di Romania. On his voyage to the place of his
exile, he fell sick at Trieste in consequence of the suffer-
ings he had endured. In consideration of his health, the
government of Venice were with difficulty prevailed upon
by his father to permit the place of his exile to be
changed, and to allow him to retire to Treviso, under the
condition of his presenting himself every morning before
216 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
the governor of that place. Here he was joined by his
wife, the daughter of Leonardo Contarini.
For five years Jacopo Foscari remained at Treviso gra-
dually recovering from the effects of his Venetian tor-
tures, until a fresh opportunity occurred to the enemies
of his house of renewing their inhuman persecution. In
the year 1450, Almoro Donato, chief of the Council of
Ten, was assassinated ; and as a servant of Jacopo Fos-
cari had been seen on the day of the crime being com-
mitted at Venice, Foscari himself was suspected of having
been privy to the commission of it. The servant being
seized was put to the question, but no confession afiect-
ing the honour of his master could be wrung from him.
Jacopo Foscari was then ordered to return to Venice,
and was for the second time subjected to the utmost se-
verity of the question. Though nothing but a denial of
the imputed crime could be forced from him, he was
condemned to be banished to Candia, and a reward was
directed to be bestowed upon the informer who had de-
nounced him to the state. Within a short period after-
wards, a man of abandoned character, whose name was
Nicolao Erizzo, confessed on his death-bed that he was
the assassin of Donato.
In vain did the Foscari protest against the injustice of
detaining a citizen in exile, when the crime for which he
was banished had been confessed by another. The in-
exorable Council of Ten refused to recal their sentence,
and the younger Foscari, broken in health and in spirit,
continued to languish out his years in exile. That exile
became at length so insupportable to him, that he ad-
VENICE THE PALACE OF THE FOSCARI. 217
dressed a letter to the Duke of Milan, imploring his good
offices with the Venetian senate, and intreating him to
intercede for a remission of his sentence. The spies who
surrounded Foscari immediately carried this letter to the
Council of Ten, and the unfortunate writer was once
more summoned to appear as a criminal at Venice. For
the third time he underwent the horrible process to which
In 1 had before been subjected. In the midst of his tor-
tures he stated that he had written the letter to the
duke, with the intention that it should fall into the hands
of the Venetian government, knowing that he should be
immediately recalled to Venice as a criminal, where he
might once more behold his wife and his parents. Upon
this confession his sentence of banishment was confirmed,
and it was ordered in addition that he should be impri-
soned for the space of one year. His request to be per-
mitted to see his relatives was granted, but the interview
was directed to take place in one of the public halls of
the ducal palace. There, over his tortured form his mo-
ther and his wife wept, but the doge, even in this trying
moment, preserved the stern dignity of the sovereign.
When his son, shrinking from the solitude of the prison
to which his emaciated frame was about to be conveyed,
implored his father to procure for him the privilege of
remaining in his own house, saying, " Messer Padre, vi
prcgo che procuriate per me acciocheio torni a casa mia ;"
the doge replied, " Jacopo, va e obbedisci a quello che
vuole la terra, e non cercar piu oltre." The younger
Foscari did obey the cruel voice of his country ; but
scarcely had he readied the place of his exile, than, worn
out by his sufferings, he expired.
218 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
The destruction of the venerable doge himself still
remained to be accomplished. Amongst the most reso-
lute enemies of the Foscari was Jacopo Loredano. His
father Piero and his uncle Marco had been the stern
opponents of Francesco Foscari, and died under circum-
stances which gave rise to suspicions of their having
perished by his means. In that bitterness of soul which
sometimes leads men to the most extraordinary modes
of expressing their feelings, Jacopo Loredano opened, in
his books of trade, an account with his great enemy,
charging him as debtor for the lives of his father and
his uncle. A page was left unwritten upon, on the op-
posite side. To balance this account of blood became
the principal object of Loredano' s life; and, having been
elected a member of the Council of Ten, opportunities
were not wanting of enforcing the payment of the debt.
Almost heart-broken by the death of his son, the doge
had retired to his palace, where, incapable of applying
himself to the business of the state, he lived secluded
from the public eye. This secession furnished Loredano
with grounds upon which to rest his project. He pro-
posed in the council that, as Foscari neglected the duties
of his ducal office, they should proceed to the election
of another doge. Of such a deposition there had been
no instance in the annals of the republic, and the council
hesitated before the adoption of so arbitrary a measure.
Waiting upon the doge in a body, they endeavoured, in
the first instance, to procure from him a voluntary re-
nunciation of his dignity; but the lofty spirit of Fran-
cesco Foscari was not yet quelled. He said that he had
sworn faithfully to serve the republic, and that, until re-
VENICE THE PALACE OF THE FOSCARI. 219
leased from his oath and deposed, he would not lay down
his sovereign authority. The council being again as-
sembled absolved him from his oath, and commanded him
to resign within three days the symbols of his ducal
power. In obedience to this mandate, Foscari delivered
up the doge's ring, which was broken in his presence,
and supported by the arm of his brother prepared to quit
the palace of St. Mark, where for five and thirty years
he had lived the first servant of the republic. A secre-
tary, seeing him about to descend the Giants' Staircase,
suggested to him that he would find it more convenient
to descend through a more private passage, as the Giants'
Stairs were crowded with the citizens. " No," said
Foscari, " by those steps I mounted, and by those will
J descend." The people as he passed testified their
affection and respect, and such was the nature of the
public excitement, that the Council of Ten found it
necessary to publish a proclamation forbidding the Vene-
tians, under pain of death, to speak of the late depo-
sition.
The electors were now assembled in conclave to choose
a new doge, and on the 30th October, 1457, Paschal
Malipieri was raised to the supreme dignity. The great
bell of St. Mark, announcing the appointment of his suc-
cessor, sounded in the ears of Francesco Foscari. Grief
and indignation overwhelmed the frame already worn out
by age and infirmities : he died before the cheerful
peals which welcomed the new doge had ceased to
sound. His enemies, who had despoiled him of his power
while living, insisted upon rendering him ducal honours
when dead, and notwithstanding the remonstrances of
220 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
his widow, who implored permission to expend her own
dowry upon his obsequies, the body of Foscari was again
borne up the Giants' Stairs, and, clothed in the ducal
garments, exposed to the public gaze, his successor assist-
ing at the ceremony in the simple robe of a Venetian
senator.
Jacopo Loredano, turning to his books of trade, opened
them at the leaf where he had stated the account be-
tween himself and Francesco Foscari, and on the oppo-
site page inscribed the fatal acquittance " 1'ha pagata."
" He has paid it !"
BR1BGB F SK&MS.
tf Oct'S8182S ly Robert Jennings 2 Chapajti Giraldou
VENICE.
THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs,
A palace and a prison on each hand ;
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of an enchanter's wand.
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O'er the far times when many a subject land
Look'd to the winged lion's marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.
BYROW.
AMID the thousand romantic associations with which
Venice teems, there are none possessing a deeper or more
engrossing interest than those which fill the heart of the
traveller as he steps upon thePonte del Sospiri, or " Bridge
of Sighs." Connecting the splendours of the ducal pa-
lace with the dungeons of the public prison, it recals the
memory of those majestic times when Venice sate crowned
upon the waters, and when she ruled not only the crea-
tures of her conquests but her own subject-sons with
the most despotic sway. Over the " Bridge of Sighs"
have passed the thousand victims whom the state-jealousy
of the TKN consigned to torture or to death, and whose
groans were lost in the dark recesses to which it gave a
ready access. The awful secrecy which attended all the
political punishments of the Venetians was much assisted
by this gloomy communication, which prevented the ac-
cused from being subjected at any time to the public gaze.
The Bridge of Sighs derives no small additional interest
222 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
from its having suggested to Lord Byron the splendid
commencement of the fourth canto of Childe Harold ; and
to the annotations on that poem we are also indebted for
an accurate description of this singular structure, and of
the dungeons to which it leads.
The Ponte del Sospiri is a covered bridge or gallon-,
considerably elevated above the water, and divided by a
stone wall into a passage and a cell. The state dungeons
called pozzl, or wells, were constructed in the thick walls
of the palace, and the prisoner, when taken out to die,
was conducted across the gallery to the other side, and
being then led back into the other compartment or cell
upon the bridge, was there strangled. The low portal
through which the prisoner was taken into this cell is
now walled up, though the passage still remains open.
The pozzl are under the flooring of the chamber at the
foot of the bridge. They were formerly twelve, but on
the first arrival of the French the Venetians hastily
blocked or broke up the deepest of these dungeons. The
curious traveller may still, descending through a trap-
door, crawl down through holes half choked with rub-
bish to the depth of two stories below the first range.
The cells are about five paces in length, two and a half
in width, and seven feet in height. A small hole in the
wall admitted the damp air of the passages, and served
for the introduction of the prisoner's food. A wooden
pallet, raised a foot from the ground, was the only fur-
niture, and no light was allowed. Upon the walls of
many of the cells sentences are still visible which the
despair or the devotion of their inmates has dictated.
The author of " Sketches descriptive of Italy" visited
VENICE THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 223
these dungeons, of which he has given some account.
Coryate, in his " Crudities," has also described the prison
to which " the Bridge of Sighs" leads, of which he appears
to have been quite enamoured. " There is near unto the
duke's palace a very faire prison, the fairest absolutely
that ever I saw, being divided from the palace by a little
channel of water, and again joyned unto it by a marvellous
faire little gallery, that is inserted aloft into the middest
of the palace wall eastward. I think there is not a fairer
prison in all Christendome : it is built with very faire
white ashler stone, having a little walke without the
rooines of the prison, which is forty paces long and seven
broad ; for I meated it ; which walke is fairly vaulted
over head, and adorned with seven goodly arches, each
whereof is supported with a great square stone pillar.
The outside of these pillars is curiously wrought with
pointed diamonde work. In the higher part of the front
towards the water, there are eight pretty pillars of free-
stone, betwixt which are seven iron windows for the pri-
soners above to look through. In the lower part of the
prison, where the prisoners do usually remaine, there are
six w indows, three on each side of the doorej whereof
each hath two rowes of great iron barres, one without and
the other within; each row containing ten barres, that
ascend in height to the toppe of the window, and eighteen
more that crosse these tenne : so that it is altogether im-
possible for the prisoners to get forth. Betwixt the first
row of windows in the outside, and another within, there
is a little space, or an entry, for people to stand in that
will talke with the prisoners who lie within the inner
windows that are but single barred. The west side of
224 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
the prison, which is near to the duke's palace, is very
curiously wrought with pointed diamond worke, with
three rows of crosse-barred iron windows in it, whereof
each row containeth eleven particulars. It is reported
that this prison is so contrived that there are a dozen
roomes under the water, and that the water doth often-
times distill into them from above to the great annoyance
of the prisoners that lodge there. Before this prison was
built, which was not (as I heard in Venice) above ten
years since, the towne prison was under the duke's pa-
lace j where it was thought certain prisoners, being largely
hired by the King of Spaine, conspired together to blow
up the palace with gunpowder, as the papists would have
done the parliament house in England: whereupon the
senate thought good, having executed those prisoners
that were conspirators in that bloody design, to remove
the rest to another place, and to build a prison in the
place where this now standeth."
A modern critic, in remarking upon " The Palladian
Architecture of Italy," coincides in the admiration which
Coryate has expressed of this edifice. Nor are the "Bridge
of Sighs," and
The sunless cells beneath the flood,
And racks and leads that burnt out life,
pnssed over by Corinne, a description doubtless suf-
ficiently familiar to the reader.
The " Bridge of Sighs" has not even yet altogether
forgotten its ancient uses. " I saw to-day," says Mr.
Matthews the Invalid, " a man being conducted back to
prison, after trial, through the covered passage over the
Bridge of Sighs."
VKNICE THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 225
The secret history of that terrible tribunal, the Inqui-
sition of State, which for so many years exercised a de-
spotic sway over the lives and fortunes of the Venetians,
filling these dungeons with its victims, has been fully
developed by the industrious researches of M. Daru. He
has discovered and given to the world the statutes or
regulations which created and governed the inquisition
of state, together with the ordinances made by the in-
quisitors themselves. A more singular monument of the
dreadful machinery by which the despotic government of
Venice was moved, cannot be conceived. The rules and
orders of the tribunal were all written in the hand of
one of the three inquisitors, and deposited in a box, of
which each was in turn to possess the key. All the
forms of proceeding were to be kept inviolably secret,
none of the inquisitors bearing any external sign of their
office. The warrants commanding the appearance of
parties before them never issued in their own names,
but in that of the Secretary of the Tribunal. If the order
was disobeyed, the Messer grande, or head of the police,
was directed to seize the refractory party, not at his
house, but suddenly in some retired place, and conduct
him to the state prison. Spies were selected from every
rank of people, the nobility, the citizens, and the priests,
to whom rewards of every kind were promised. Four
spies, unknown to one another, were attached to each
of the foreign ambassadors, and if these men were unable
to penetrate the secrets of the stranger, a banished
Venetian was directed to take refuge in his house, and
to betray the party who protected him. If a person
was suspected, and the spies who were charged with
Q
226 THR LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
him were unable to implicate him, a creature of the in-
quisitors was sent to him to offer him a considerable sum
of money in case he should betray any of the secrets of
the government to a foreign ambassador. If the party
concealed this offer, his name was placed on the list of
the suspected. In case it was thought necessary to de-
stroy a person, he was never put to death in public, but
was privately drowned during the night in the canal
Orfino. If a noble Venetian revealed propositions made
to him by a foreign ambassador, he was directed to pro-
ceed until the inquisition had acquired the necessary in-
formation, when the person who had appeared as the
intermediate agent was put to death. In case a noble
accused of any crime took refuge in the house of an
ambassador, he was to be assassinated. When it was
necessary to proceed against a chief of the Ten, and he
was convicted, poison was employed to destroy him.
Such are a few only of the frightful laws which governed
this execrable tribunal.
A power tbat never slumber'd, never pardon'd,
All eye, all ear, nowhere, and every where ;
Entering the closet and the sanctuary,
Most present when least thought of nothing dropp'd
In secret when the heart was on the lips,
Nothing in feverish sleep, but instantly
Observed and judged a power, that if but glanced at
In casual converse, be it where it might,
The speaker lower'd at once his eyes, his voice,
And pointed upwards as to God in Heaven !
The information which Bishop Burnet received when
he visited Venice, and to which he could not persuade
himself to attach any credit, appears to have approached
more nearly to the truth than he imagined : " I give no
VENICE THE BRIDGE OP SIGHS. 227
rrc'dit," he observes, " to that which a person of great
eminence assured me was true, that there was a poisoner-
general in Venice that had a salary, and was employed
by the inquisitors to despatch those against whom a
public proceeding would make too great a noise. This
I could not believe, though my author protested, that the
brother of one who was solicited to accept of the em-
ployment discovered it to him." It is singular, that
Burnet, in exile on account of his attachment to liberal
opinions, should have esteemed the abominable institu-
tion of the Venetian inquisition, " the greatest glory and
chief security of the republic."
Various anecdotes are related of the marvellous de-
spatch and secrecy with which the orders of the inqui-
sitors were carried into effect.
A French nobleman, travelling through Venice, and
being robbed there of a considerable sum of money, im-
prudently indulged in some reflections upon the Vene-
tians, observing, that a government which was so careful
in watching the proceedings of strangers might bestow
a little more attention on the state of their own police.
A few days afterwards he left Venice, but he had only pro-
ceeded a very short distance, when his gondola stopped.
On demanding the reason of this delay, his gondoliers
replied, that a boat was making signals to them. The
Frenchman, disturbed at this incident, was meditating on
the imprudence of which he had been guilty, when the
boat which was following his gondola came up, and the
person in it requested him to go on board. He obeyed.
" Are you not the Prince de Craon ?" said the stranger.
" I am."
Q 2
228 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
" Were you not robbed last Thursday?"
" I was."
" Of what sum ?"
" Five hundred ducats."
" Where were they?"
" In a green purse."
" Do you suspect any one ?_"
" My valet de place."
" Should you know him again?"
" Certainly."
The stranger then pulled aside a mantle, beneath
which lay a dead man, holding in his hand a green purse.
" Justice has been done," said the stranger 3 " take your
money, but beware how yo\i return to a country, the
government of which you have despised."
A Genoese painter, at work in a church, quarrelled
with some Frenchmen, who made use of very abusive
expressions against the government. The following morn-
ing the artist was carried before the Inquisitors of State,
and interrogated with regard to the persons with whom
he had disputed on the preceding day. The terrified
prisoner hastened to clear himself, protesting that he had
uttered nothing offensive to the government. Suddenly
a curtain was drawn aside, and he beheld the two French-
men strangled. Half dead with terror, he was dismissed,
with an injunction to avoid speaking of the government
in future, either good or evil.
Not unfrequently persons were sacrificed by the in-
quisitors to the most unfounded jealousies. On the re-
turn of a Venetian squadron, a dispute arose between the
people and the sailors, and a dangerous riot ensued. The
VENICE THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 229
magistrates in vain endeavoured to stop the effusion of
blood, till at length an officer, who had formerly com-
manded in the fleet, and who was much beloved by the
sailors, interfered, and by his influence succeeded in calm-
ing the tumult. The reputation he acquired by this act
excited the alarm of the inquisitors. He was secretly
seized, and never afterwards seen. In the same manner
a Venetian, who, during a time of scarcity, distributed
corn to the poor, was committed to the cells of the state
prison.
Mrs. Piozzi has illustrated the severity of the Venetian
government by an anecdote not devoid of interest.
" Some years ago, perhaps a hundred, one of the many
spies who ply this town by night, ran to the state inqui-
sitor with information, that such a nobleman (naming
him) had connections with the French ambassador, and
went privately to his house every night at a certain
hour. The Messer grande, as they call him, could not
believe, nor would proceed without better and stronger
proof against a man for whom he had an intimate per-
sonal friendship, and on whose virtue he counted with
very particular reliance. Another spy was therefore set,
and brought back the same intelligence, adding the de-
scription of his disguise; on which the worthy magistrate
put on his mask and bautta, and went out himself, when
Ins eyes con tinning the report of his informants, and the
reflection on his duty stifling all remorse, he sent publicly
for Foscarini in the morning, whom the populace at-
tended all weeping to his door. Nothing but resolute
denial of the crime alleged could, however, be forced
from the firm-minded citi/en, who, sensible of the dis-
covery, prepared for that punishment which he knew to
230 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
be inevitable, and submitted to the fate his friend was
obliged to inflict, no less than a dungeon for life, that
dungeon so horrible that I have heard Mr. Howard was
not permitted to see it. The people lamented, but their
lamentations were vain. The magistrate who condemned
him never recovered the shock ; but Foscarini was heard
of no more, till an old lady died forty years after in Paris,
whose last confession declared that she was visited with
amorous intentions by a nobleman of Venice, whose name
she never knew, while she resided there as companion to
the ambassadress. So was Foscarini lost ! so died he, a
martyr to love and tenderness for female reputation!"
In the later years of the republic, the government
sometimes endeavoured by stratagem to preserve that re-
putation for omniscience and omnipresence, which it had
acquired at an earlier period. Not long before the disso-
lution of the republic, two strangers arrived at an hotel
in Venice. Scarcely had they comfortably settled them-
selves before they were waited upon by the messer grande,
or head of the police, who inquired whether they had not
two trunks in their possession. It was in vain to deny
the fact. The trunks were produced, and the trembling
travellers were ordered to deliver up certain papers,
which were accurately described to them. Travellers and
trunks were then seized by the officers and carried away,
to the infinite dismay of the spectators, who were left
trembling and amazed at the vigilance and knowledge of
the government. The travellers were never seen again,
and of course were supposed to have visited the bottom
of the canal Orfino. They were in fact agents of the
government, disguised as strangers, and having played
their parts were privately dismissed in the night.
O3LJ5 BTUCAIL IPA&.-&C3K AT
; cr.dor. Pub'rOct'28 ':H2S. by Ptobcrt Jennings 62 Q-aps;de * Geiaidou Bovinrt ullkne Vivjn Jie i*r
FERRARA.
Citta sin' ora a riverire assorgo,
L' amor, la cortesia, la geutilezza
l>c' tuo! signer), e gli onorati pregi
Dei cavalier, dei cittadini egregi.
ABIOSTO.
Ilsarriverent ensemble a Ferrare, 1'une dcs villes d'ltalie les plus tristes,
car elle est a La fois vaste et deserte; le peu d'habitans qu'on y trouve
marchent lenteraent, comme s'ils etaient assures d'avoir du temps pour
tout. On ne peut concevoir comment c'est dans ces memes lieux que la
cour la plus brillantc a existe, celle que fut chantte par 1'Arioste et le
Tasse.
Ds STAEL.
IT is the high privilege of genius to confer an undying
interest upon the meanest spot which its presence has
sanctified. Ferrara, sinking from her former lofty rank
amongst the cities of Italy, possesses, amid the urctls
uliirli have crept over her streets, and the ruins which
defile her churches and her palaces, a solitary grace and
a grandeur which intellectual associations only can be-
stow. The prison of Tasso and the house of Ariosto are
shrines before which the stranger-pilgrims of all nations
bend in devotion.
While thou, Ferrara ! when no longer dwell
The ducal chiefs withiti thee, shall fall down,
And crumbling piecemeal view thy hearthlese halls,
,\ poet's wreath shall be thine only cro\\ n,
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,
While -ir;uii:ers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls!
232 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Tasso has indeed made
a temple of his cell,
Which nations yet shall visit for his sake :
for amongst the different objects of interest which Fer-
rara presents, none can compete with the cell in which
the poet was confined, in the hospital of St. Anna.
" As misfortune," says Lord Byron, " has a greater in-
terest for posterity and little or none for the cotemporary,
the cell where Tasso was confined, in the hospital of St.
Anna, attracts a more fixed attention than the residence
or the monument of Ariosto at least it had this effect
on me." Over the entrance of the cell the traveller
reads the following inscription.
" Rispettate, O poster!, la celebrita di questa stanza,
dove Torquato Tasso infermo piu di tristezza che delirio,
detenuto demoro anni vii., mesi n., scrisse versi e prose,
e fu rimesso in h'bert^ ad instanza della citta di Bergamo,
nel giorno vi., Luglio 1586."
Tradition (which, in Italy especially, is ever careful
in tracking the footsteps of genius) has assigned this
little chamber as the original place of the poet's confine-
ment. The cell, which is nine paces Jong, between four
and six wide, and seven feet high, is below the ground
floor of the hospital, and is dimly lighted through a grated
window. To the narrow bounds of this dungeon did the
Duke of Ferrara consign the poet who
revell'd amongst men and things divine,
And pour'd his spirit over Palestine ;
and with the brand of shame
Stamp'd madness deep into his memory.
FKURARA. 233
The inscription is incorrect, not only in stating that
the poet owed his liberation to the city of Bergamo, but
also in assigning the same cell as the place of the poet's
- imprisonment during the whole of his cruel confinement.
He was incarcerated within its walls only from March,
1579, to December, 1580, when he was placed in a more
commodious apartment, where, to use his own expression,
he could philosophise and walk about. Subsequently, his
imprisonment was rendered still less strict, and he was
occasionally permitted to leave his prison during the
day. The causes which led to the confinement of the
poet have been the subject of much controversy, but
it appears most probable, that the freedom with which
he spoke of the duke and his court was the true ground
of his punishment. The subject has been ably discussed
by Mr. Hobhouse, in his Illustrations of the Fourth Canto
of Childe Harold, and by Mr. Wiffen, in the Life pre-
fixed to his excellent Translation of the Jerusalem.
" Historians," says Ugo Foscolo, " will be ever em-
barrassed to explain aright the reasons of Tasso's im-
prisonment ; it is involved in the same obscurity as the
exile of Ovid. Both were among those thunder-strokes
that despotism darts forth. In crushing their victims
they terrified them, and reduced spectators to silence.
There are incidents in courts that, although known to many
persons, remain in eternal oblivion contemporaries dare
not reveal, and posterity can only divine them." The
misfortunes of the poet have given rise to one of the
most beautiful efforts of Lord Byron's muse, " the La-
ment of Tasso," as well as to some of the most powerful
stanzas in the fourth canto of Chiide Harold.
234 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Ferrara ! in thy wide, and grass-grown streets,
Whose symmetry was not for solitude,
There seems as 'twere a curse upon the seats
Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood
Of Este, which for many an age made good
Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore
Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood
Of petty power impell'd, of those who wore
The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn before.
And Tasso is their glory and their shame.
Hark to his strain ! and then survey his cell;
And see how dearly earn'd Torquato's fame,
And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell:
The miserable despot could not quell
The insulted mind he sought to quench, and blend
With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell
Where he had plunged it Glory without end
Scatter'd the clouds away and on that name attend
The tears and praises of all time ; while thine
Would rot in its oblivion in the sink
Of worthless dust, which from thy boasted line
Is shaken into nothing ; but the link
Thou formest in his fortunes bids us tlu'nk
Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn
Alfonso ! how thy ducal pageants shrink
From thee ! if in another station born,
Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou mad'st to mourn.
In the public library of Ferrara, founded so late as the
year 1 740, are preserved some inestimable relics of Tasso
an autograph copy of the Jerusalem, several letters
written by the poet during his confinement in the
hospital of St. Anna, and his last will. The letters and
the testament have been published by Mr. Hobhouse, in
his Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of Childe
KKItllAUA. 225
Harold. In one of the letters, there is a passage which,
with others that occur in his writings, gives a colour to
the assertion of the poet's enemies that his mind was
disordered. He entreats his correspondent to receive
and keep in safety for him fifty gold crowns, telling him
that " in his cell there is a demon that opens the boxes
and takes out the money, in no great quantities, indeed,
but not so little as not to incommode so poor a fellow."
It was probably this passage which suggested to Lord
Byron the fine lines in his " Lament of Tasso."
Yet do I feel at times my mind decline,
But with a sense of its decay : I see
Unwonted lights along my prison shine,
And a strange demon, who is vexing me
With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below
The feeling of the healthful and the free;
But much to One, who long hath suffer'd so,
Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place,
And all that may be borne, or can debase.
I thought mine enemies had been but man,
But spirits may be leagued with them all Earth
Abandons Heaven forgets me ; in the dearth
Of such defence the Powers of Evil can,
It may be, tempt me further, and prevail
Against the outworn creature they assail.
Why in this furnace is my spirit proved
Like steel in tempering fire ? because I loved ?
Because I loved what not to love, and see,
Was more or less than mortal, and than me.
It is probable, that the " Folletto," or demon of which
Tasso complains, was not the only being answerable for
the disappearance of his money : but many of the ap-
paritions with which he was tormented can only be
236 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
explained by the supposition that his imagination was dis-
ordered. He adopted a singular mode of freeing himself
from the nocturnal visions which disturbed him, eating
a large supper to procure sound sleep. " I must now,"
says he to one of his correspondents, " give you some
account of my sprite. The little thief has stolen from
me many crowns, I know not what number, for I do not,
like misers, keep an account of them, but, perhaps, they
may amount to twenty. He puts all my books topsy
turvy, opens my chests, and steals my keys, so that I
can keep nothing. I am unhappy at all times, but
especially during the night, nor do I know if my disease
be frenzy, or what, in its nature. I find no better re-
medy than living fully and satisfying my appetite, that I
may sleep profoundly. As to food, indeed, by the grace
of God, I can eat abundantly, for the object of the
magician seems not to have been to impede my diges-
tion, but my contemplation. Often, however, I fast, not
from motives of devotion, but because my stomach is full ;
but at such times I cannot sleep."
Of the mental suflerings which Tasso sustained in his
dungeon he has himself left an affecting account. " Mean-
while I am unhappy, nor will I conceal my misery, in
order that you may remedy it with all your force, with
all your diligence, and with all your faith. Know then
that, in addition to the wonders of the Folletto, which I
may reserve for our correspondence at some future pe-
riod, I have many nocturnal alarms. For even when
awake, I have seemed to behold small flames in the air,
and sometimes my eyes sparkle in such a manner that I
dread the loss of sight, and I have visibly seen sparks
FERRARA. 237
issue from them. I have seen also in the middle of the
tent-bed shades of rats, which by natural reason could
not be there. I have heard frightful noises, and often in
my ears are the sounds of hissing, tingling, ringing of
bells, and sounds like that of a clock. After these is a
beating for an hour; and sometimes in my sleep it seems
as if a horse threw himself upon me, and I have after-
wards found myself languid and fatigued. I have dreaded
the falling sickness, apoplexy, and blindness : I have had
headaches, but not excessive ; pains, but not very violent,
of the intestines, the side, the thighs, and the legs. I
have been weakened by vomiting, dysentery, and fever.
Amidst so many terrors and pains, there appeared to me
in the air the image of the glorious virgin, with her son
in her arms, sphered in a circle of coloured vapours, so
that I ought by no means to despair of her grace. And
though this might easily be a phantasy, because I am
frenetic, disturbed by various phantasms, and full of in-
finite melancholy, nevertheless, by the grace of God, I
can sometimes withhold my assent, which, as Cicero re-
marks, being the operation of a sound mind, I am in-
clined to believe it was a miracle of the virgin. But if
I am not deceived, the source of my frenzy is to be at-
tributed to some confections which I eat three years ago ;
since from that period I date this new infirmity, which
joined itself to the first, produced by a similar cause,
but which was neither so long nor so difficult to cure."
At length, on the intercession of the Prince of Man-
tua, the poet was released from " the narrow circus of
his dungeon wall ;" but the injury which it is probable
238 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
his mind first contracted during his imprisonment \vas
not removed with his enlargement. While residing at
Naples, under the friendly roof of Manso, he continued
to be visited by a familiar spirit, with whom he con-
versed iu a lofty and mysterious strain. Manso, indeed,
adopted a very different course to dispel these illusions
than that which the Duke of Ferrara had been pleased
to pursue. " The Signor Torquato," says he in a letter
to one of his correspondents, " is become a very mighty
hunter, and triumphs over all the asperity of the season
and of the country. When the days are bad, we spend
them, and the long hours of evening, in hearing music
and songs ; for one of his principal enjoyments is to
listen to the Improvisator!, whose facility of versifying
he envies, nature having, as he says, been in this point
very avaricious to him. Sometimes, too, we dance with
the girls here, a thing which likewise affords him much
pleasure."
From the cell of Tasso, the traveller, to whom the me-
mory of genius is dear, will direct his footsteps to the
house of Ariosto. On the death of his patron, the Car-
dinal Ippolito d'Este, the poet was recalled to Ferrara,
where he erected the simple mansion which the venera-
tion of his countrymen has preserved. The centre of
the facciata of the house displays an inscription which
well illustrates the modest independence which distin-
guished the character of the poet
PARVA SED APTA MIHI } SED NULLI OBNOXIA j SED NON
SORDIDA : PARTA MEO SED TAMKN JEHK DOMCS.
FKRRARA. 239
And on the highest part of the front is inscribed
SIC. DOMU8. HXC.
AREOSTEA.
PROPITIOS.
DEOS. HABEAT. OLIM. UT.
PINDARICA.
V\ T ithin these walls, and in the gardens attached to his
residence, Ariosto, in the enjoyment of the ease and in-
dependence so dear to his soul, devoted himself with
ardour to the prosecution of his poetical tastes. Here
he composed the additional cantos of the Orlando, and
versified some comedies which in his youth he had
written in prose. Here also he continued, with little
interruption, to reside until the period of his death in
1533.
Ariosto was born at Reggio, in Lombardy, where the
house in which he first saw the light is distinguished by
an inscription recording the fact. He was buried at
Ferrara, in the church of the Benedictines, where his
bust, surmounting his tomb, was struck by lightning, and
the iron crown of laurels which surrounded the brows of
the poet was melted away :
The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust
The iron crown of Laurel's mimick'd leaves.
In the year 1801 the remains of the poet were trans-
ferred from the Benedictine church to the public library,
with all the splendid honours due to his fame. The
240 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
same walls now contain the perishable and the imperish-
able the ashes of the poet and his own copy of the Or-
lando, which is unfortunately imperfect. In the library
are also preserved an autograph copy of one of his sa-
tires, and of his comedy La Scolastica, together with
several letters in the poet's own hand. These ines-
timable MSS. were examined by Mr. Stewart Rose,
during his residence in Italy, and are particularly no-
ticed by him in his admirable " Letters." AVith these
literary treasures are also preserved the arm-chair and
the inkstand of the poet. The library likewise contains
an autograph copy of the Pastor Fido.
" The old ducal palace stands," says Mr. Forsyth,
" moated and flanked with towers, in the heart of the
subjugated town like a tyrant intrenched among slaves,
and recals to a stranger that gloomy period described by
Dante :
Che le terre d' Italia tutte piene
Son di tiranni ; e un Marcel diventa
Ogni villan, che parteggiando viene."
But the ducal palace of Ferrara did not always present
this gloomy aspect. During the greater part of the six-
teenth century there were few of the courts of Europe
which could vie in splendour or richness with that of
Ferrara. Montaigne, accustomed as he was to the bril-
liancy of the court of his own sovereign, was astonished
at its magnificence. " The court of these princes," ob-
serves Gibbon, " was at all times polite and splendid :
on extraordinary occasions, a birth, a marriage, a journey,
a festival, the passage of an illustrious stranger, they
FERRARA. 241
strove to surpass their equals, and to equal their su-
periors j and the vanity of the people was gratified at
their own expense. Seven hundred horses were ranged
in Borso's stables : and in the sport of hawking the duke
was attended to the field by a hundred falconers. In
his Roman expedition to receive the ducal investiture,
his train of five hundred gentlemen, his chamberlains and
pages, one hundred menial servants, and one hundred
and fifty mules were clothed, according to their degree,
in brocade velvet or fine cloth ; the bells of the mules
were of silver, and the dresses, liveries, and trappings
were covered with gold and silver embroidery. The
martial train of Alfonso II. in his campaign in Hungary
consisted of three hundred gentlemen, each of whom was
followed by an esquire and two arquebusiers on horse-
back, and the arms and apparel of this gallant troop
were such as might provoke the envy of the Germans
and the avarice of the Turks. Did I possess a book
printed under the title of The Chivalries of Ferrara, I
should not pretend to describe the nuptials of the same
duke with the emperor's sister j the balls, the feasts and
tournaments of many busy days ; and the final repre-
sentation of the temple of love, which was erected in the
palace garden, with a stupendous scenery of porticos and
palaces, of woods and mountains. That this show should
continue six hours without appearing tedious to the
spectators is perhaps the most incredible circumstance."
The indefatigable Muratori has faithfully chronicled
these splendours ; and to his pages the curious reader is
referred.
Tasso has described the striking appearance which
242 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Ferrara presented on his visit to it in 1565. " Quando
prima vidi Ferrara, e mi parve che tutta la citta fosse
dipinta, e luminosa, e plena di mille forme e di mille ap-
parenze, e le azioni di quel tempo simile a quelle che
sono rappresentate ne' teatri, con varie lingue e con varj
interlocutori."
Tlie old ducal palace, moated and flanked with towers,
recals to the memory the days when genius, and beauty,
and splendour, rendered Ferrara one of the most brilliant
courts in Europe. To an Englishman especially, those
ancient wallg possess an interest as the residence of that
magnificent race whose descendant now bears the crown
and sceptre of England.
The history of the house of Este, which has been
told by Gibbon in a style as gorgeous as its own ancient
glories, is remarkable for some domestic tragedies with
which its pages are stained. Within the walls of the
ducal palace may be seen the fatal spot where the guilty
loves of Hugo and Parisina were expiated fcy blood.
" It was there," says an historian of Ferrara, " in the
prisons of the castle, and exactly in those frightful dun-
geons which are seen at this day, beneath the chamber
called the Aurora, at the foot of the Lion's tower, at the
top of the street Giovecca, that, on the night of the
twenty-first of May, were beheaded, first Ugo and after-
wards Parisina." The scene of this tragedy, which he
has so beautifully illustrated, was visited by Lord Byron
during his residence in Italy. The annals of Este are
discoloured, if possible, by a still darker history. The
Cardinal Ippolito was enamoured of a young and beautiful
lady of his own princely family, but his natural brother
FERRARA. 243
Julio had attracted and won her affections. The pas-
sion of the lovers could not be concealed from the car-
dinal . who learned that the lady had commended in the
language of tenderness the beautiful eyes of her youthful
relative. " The deliberate cruelty of the cardinal," says
Gibbon, " measured the provocation and the revenge.
Under the pretence of hunting he drew the unhappy
youth to a distance from the city, and there compelling
him to dismount, his eyes, those hated eyes, were ex-
tinguished by the command, and in the presence, of an
amorous priest, who viewed with delight the agonies of
a brother. It may, however, be suspected that the
work was slightly performed by the less savage execu-
tioners, since the skill of his physicians restored Don
Julio to an imperfect sight. A denial of justice pro-
voked him to the most desperate counsels, and the re-
venge of Don Julio conspired with the ambition of Don
Ferdinand, against the life of their sovereign and eldest
brother, Alfonso I. Their designs were prevented, their
persons seized, their accomplices executed ; but their
sentence of death was moderated to a perpetual prison,
and in their fault the Duke of Ferrara acknowledged his
own."
During the reign of Alfonso I., the court of Ferrara
was distinguished by its richness and splendour. The
residence of Tasso, of Ariosto, and of Guarini, at Ferrara,
and the relation in which those celebrated men stood to
the house of Este, have conferred upon the princes of that
family a reputation as patrons of literature, to which, in
justice, they have no title. The cruel imprisonment of
R 2
244 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
Tasso has been already related. Ariosto, in the service
of his patron the Cardinal Ippolito d'Este, was repri-
manded for bestowing on the composition of his poem
the time which he ought to have employed on his mas-
ter's affairs ; " II cardinal disse che molto gli sarebbe
stato piu caro che Messere Ludovico avesse atteso a ser-
virlo, inentre che stava a comporre il libro/' while the
utmost liberality of the Duke of Ferrara could only afford
for the poet the wretched annuity of 100 scudi, the
arrears of which, as he has himself declared, were fre-
quently withheld from him.
S' avermi dato onde ogni quattro mesi
Ho venticinque scudi, ne si fermi,
Che molte volte non mi sien contesi,
Mi debbe incatenar, schiavo tenermi,
Obbligarmi ch' io sudi e tremi, senza
Rispetto alcun, ch' io moja o ch' io m 1 infermi ;
Non gli lasciate aver questa credenza,
Ditegli che piuttosto ch' esser servo,
Torro la povertade in pazienza.
Nor was the treatment of Guarini at the court of
Ferrara more liberal than that which Tasso and Ariosto
had experienced. Having served the duke for sixteen
years with honour and credit both at home and abroad, he
was induced, from the little encouragement afforded him
at Ferrara, to quit that court, a step for which he sought
the duke's permission, but doubtful of the reception which
his petition would meet with, he privately left the city
in the night and withdrew to Turin. But here, and
afterwards at Venice, the vengeance of Alfonso pursued
FBRRARA. 245
him, and prevented him from receiving that encourage-
ment in other courts which he had denied to him in his
own.
If in his peregrinations through Ferrara, the traveller
should observe at the door of the inn where he lodges
a magnificent Latin inscription, commencing " Quod Ta-
b< TIM haec diversoria," &c. it may afford him some
amusement to peruse the following commentary upon it,
which was probably floating in the mind of Sir Walter
Scott, when he described with such admirable humour
the pride of that ancient lady who entertained his most
sacred majesty, Charles II. "The emperor and two of
his brothers," says Dr. Moore, " lodged lately at the inn
where we now are. Our landlord is so vain of this,
that he cannot be prevailed on to speak on any other
subject 5 he has entertained me with a thousand par-
ticulars about his illustrious guests : it is impossible that
he should ever forget those anecdotes, for he has been
constantly repeating them ever since the royal brothers
left his house. I asked him what AVC could have for
supper ? He answered that we should sup in the very
same room in which his imperial majesty had dined. I re-
peated my question, and he replied, that he did not be-
lieve there were three more affable princes in the world.
I said I hoped supper would be soon ready j and he told
me that the archduke was fond of a fricassee, but the
emperor preferred a fowl plain roasted. I said with an
air of impatience, that I should be much obliged to him
if he would send in supper. He bowed and walked to
the door, but before he disappeared, he turned about and
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assured me, that although his majesty ate no more than
an ordinary man, yet he paid like an emperor. To per-
petuate the memory of this great event of the emperor
and his two brothers having dined at his house, the land-
lord got an ecclesiastic of his acquaintance to compose
the pompous inscription which is now engraven upon a
stone at the door of his inn. ' Quod taberna/ " &c.
BOLOGNA.
II Bolognese c un popol del demonio,
Che non si pu6 frenar con alcuu freno.
TABSONI.
CELEBRATED alike in arts and in letters, Bologna, " the
mother of studies," presents numerous objects of interest
to the amateur and to the scholar. The halls which
were trod by Lanfranc and Irnerius, and the ceilings
which glow with the colours of Guido and of the Carracci,
can never be neglected by any to whom learning and
taste are dear.
The external appearance of Bologna is singular and
striking. The principal streets display lofty arcades,
and the churches, which are very numerous, confer upon
the city a highly architectural character. But the most
remarkable edifices in Bologna are the watch-towers, re-
presented in the plate. During the twelfth century,
when the cities of Italy, " tutte piene di tiranni," were
rivals in arms as afterwards in arts, watch-towers of
considerable elevation were frequently erected. In Ve-
nice, in Pisa, in Cremona, in Modena, and in Florence
these singular stnictures yet remain j but none are more
remarkable than the towers of the Asinelli and the Ga-
risenda in Bologna. The former, according to one chro-
nicler, was built in 1 109, while other authorities assign
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it to the year 1119. The Garisenda tower, constructed
a few years later, has been immortalised in the verse of
Dante.
When the poet and his guide are snatched up by the
huge Antaeus, the bard compares the stooping stature of
the giant to the tower of the Garisenda, which, as the
spectator stands at its base while the clouds are sailing
from the quarter to which it inclines, appears to be fall-
ing upon his head.
" Qual pare a riguardar la Carisenda
Sotto '1 chinato, quand' un nuvol vada
Sovr' essa, si ched' ella incontro penda;
Tal parve Anteo a me, che stava a bada
Di vederlo chinare"
" as appears
The tower of Carisenda from beneath
Where it doth lean, if chance a passing cloud
So sail across that opposite it hangs ;
Such then Antaeus seem'd, as at mine ease
I mark'd him stooping."
" En approchant de Bologne," says Madame de Stael,
" on est frappe de loin par deux tours tres-elevees, dont
1'une surtout estpenche d'une maniere que effraie la vue.
C'est en vain que Ton salt qu'elle est ainsi batie, et que
c'est ainsi qu'elle a vu passer les siecles ; cet aspect im-
portune 1'imagination."
The tower of the Asinelli rises to the height of about
350 feet, and is said to be three feet and a half out of
the perpendicular. The adventurous traveller may ascend
to the top by a laborious staircase of 500 steps. Those
BOLOGNA. 249
steps were trod by the late amiable and excellent Sir
James Edward Smith, who has described the view pre-
sented at the summit. " The day was unfavourable for
a view; but we could well distinguish Imola, Ferrara,
and Modena, as well as the hills about Verona, Mount
Baldus, &c. seeming to rise abruptly from the dead flat
which extends on three sides of Bologna. On the south
are some very pleasant hills stuck with villas." The
Garisenda tower, erected probably by the family of the
Garidendi, is about 130 feet in height, and inclines as
much as eight feet from the perpendicular. It has been
conjectured that these towers were originally constructed
as they now appear ; but it is difficult to give credit to
such a supposition.
According to Montfaucon, the celebrated antiquary,
the leaning of these towers has been occasioned by the
sinking of the earth. " We several times observed the
tower called Asinelli, and the other near it named Ga-
risenda. The latter of them stoops so much that a per-
pendicular, let fall from the top, will be seven feet from
the bottom of itj and, as appears upon examination,
when this tower bowed, a great part of it went to niin,
because the ground that side that inclined stood on was
not so firm as the other, which may be said of all other
towers that lean so; for besides these two here men-
tioned, the tower for the bells of St. Mary Zobenica, at
Venice, leans considerably to one side. So also at Ra-
venna, I took notice of another stooping tower, occa-
sioned by the ground on that side giving way a little.
In the way from Ferrara to Venice, where the soil is
marshy, we see a structure of great antiquity leaning to
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one side. We might easily produce other instances of
this nature. When the whole structure of the above
named tower Garisenda stooped, much of it fell, as ap-
pears by the top of it."
At a very early period, when the rest of Italy and of
Europe had scarcely yet begun to emerge from the dark-
ness of the middle ages, Bologna had opened her schools
to the studious of all nations. To her, England was in-
debted for the learning of Lanfranc, and in her halls the
celebrated Thomas a Becket was instructed. " The cradle
of regenerated law," she was the first to diffuse through-
out Europe the recovered treasures of Roman juris-
prudence. It has been asserted, that Bologna was the
earliest university that conferred degrees. And cer-
tainly, for a very considerable period both before and
after the restoration of learning, she held the very highest
rank in the university of letters, reckoning amongst her
alumni kings, and princes, and pontiffs. In the scuole
pulliche, or halls of this celebrated university, many
thousand pupils were in former ages assembled, and at
one period they are said to have amounted to 12,000,
but at the present day, the number of students does not,
probably, exceed 400 or 500. Nearly seventy professors
are, however, still employed, and various branches of
study are pursued with distinguished success. The
buildings of the university, as they now appear, were
commenced in 1562, under the auspices of Cardinal Bor-
romeo.
The university of Bologna is celebrated not only for
its learned men, but for the accomplished and erudite
ladies, by whom its schools have been distinguished. In
BOLOGNA. 251
the fourteenth century, Giovanni d' Andrea, professor of
jurisprudence in that university, had two daughters, Bet-
tina, and Novella, the latter of whom, when her father
was prevented from delivering his lectures, was accustomed
to supply his place ; but as she was very beautiful, it was
found necessary, in order to prevent the attention of
the students from being distracted, that she should lec-
ture behind a curtain. An old French author, cited by
Tiraboschi, has given a long account of the fair lecturer,
but too long to quote.
Moore also, with singular felicity, has introduced the
beautiful Novella into the proem of one of his " Fables
for the Holy Alliance."
Novella, a young Bolognese,
The daughter of a learn'd law doctor,
Who had with all the subtleties
Of old and modern jurists stock'd her,
Was so exceeding fair, 'tis said,
And over hearts held such dominion,
That when her father, sick in bed,
Or busy, sent her, in his stead,
To lecture on the code Justinian,
She had a curtain drawn before her,
Lest, if her charms were seen, the students
Should let their young eyes wander o'er her,
And quite forget their jurisprudence-
Just so it is with truth when seen,
Too fair and bright 'tis from behind
A light, thin, allegoric screen
She thus can safest teach mankind.
In later times, also, the chairs of the university have
occasionally been filled by female professors of great
252 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
learning and eminence. Natural philosophy was pro-
fessed by Laura Bassi, and anatomy, by Madonna Man-
zolina. Only a few years since, the professorship of
Greek was held by Signora Clotilde Tambroni, whose
severity is still remembered by her disciples. "This
university," observes Mrs. Piozzi, " has been particularly
civil to women ; many very learned ladies of France and
Germany have been and still are members of it ; and La
Dotteressa, Laura Bassi, gave lectures not many years
ago in this very spot, upon the mathematics and natural
philosophy, till she grew very old and infirm ; but her
pupils always handed her very respectfully to and from
the doctor's chair. Che brava donnetta ch' era ! says the
gentleman who showed me the academy, as we came out
at the door ; over which a marble tablet with an in-
scription more pious than pompous is placed to her
memory ; but turning away his eyes, while they filled
with tears, tutti muojono, added he, and I followed, as
nothing either of energy or pathos could be added to a
reflection so just, so tender, and so true."
Bologna has not ceased to produce that race of learned
and accomplished men, who in former days proceeded
from her schools. Mr. Stewart Rose has given an ac-
count of the celebrated Mezzofanti, whose acquirements
as a linguist surpass even those of our own distinguished
scholar, Sir William Jones. " The living lion to whom
I allude/' says Mr. Rose, " is the Signor Mezzofanti, of
Bologna, who when I saw him, though he was only
thirty-six years old, read twenty and conversed in
eighteen languages. This is the least marvellous part of
the story ; he spoke all these fluently, and those of
BOLOGNA. 253
which I could judge, with the most extraordinary pre-
cision. I had the pleasure of dining in his company for-
merly, in the house of a Bolognese lady, at whose table
a German officer declared that he could not have distin-
guished him from a German. He passed the whole of
the next day with G. and myself, and G. told me that he
should have taken him for an Englishman who had been
some time out of England. A Smyrniote servant, who
was with me, bore equal testimony to his skill in other
languages, and declared that he might pass for a Greek
or a Turk throughout the dominions of the Grand Signior.
But what most surprised me was his accuracy ; for during
long and repeated conversations in English, he never once
misapplied the sign of a tense, that fearful stumbling-block
to Scotch and Irish, in whose writings there is almost al-
ways to be found some abuse of these indefinable niceties.
" The marvel was, if possible, rendered more marvellous
by this gentleman's accomplishments and information j
things rare in linguists, who generally mistake the means
for the end. It ought also to be stated that his various
acquisitions had been all made in Bologna, from which,
when I saw him, he had never wandered above thirty
miles."
Of this very extraordinary person the following anec-
dotes may be relied upon as authentic. An Italian gen-
tleman having introduced to him two Russians and a
Pole, who were passing through Bologna, Mezzofanti en-
tered at once into conversation with them in their own
languages. One of the Russians then addressed him in
Turkish, and was answered in the same tongue with much
facility, although, as Mezzofanti informed them, this was
254 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
only the second time of his having conversed with any
one in Turkish. The Pole now addressed him, ob-
serving that he thought he was acquainted with a lan-
guage which even so distinguished a scholar as himself
would be unable to understand, beginning at the same
time to speak in the language of the Bohemians or Gyp-
sies. To his great astonishment, however, Mezzofanti
promptly answered him in the same singular language.
When called upon to explain the manner in which he
had acquired this singular knowledge, he said that some
Zingari or Gypsies, passing through Bologna, had been
seized and imprisoned ; that he had sought and obtained
permission from the authorities to visit them in their con-
finement, and that he had thus made himself acquainted
with their language. At the same time opening a drawer,
he displayed several sheets of paper containing a gram-
mar and vocabulary, which he had framed of the Gypsy
tongue.
At a marriage festival in Bologna several persons, as
is usual in Italy, were called upon to repeat a few extem-
pore verses suitable to the occasion. At length Mezzo-
fanti was requested to exercise his improvisatorial powers,
a display which he declined, alleging his inability to com-
pose verses. He requested permission, however, to offer
his congratulations in prose, and immediately proceeded to
compliment the new-married couple in more than thirty
languages, varying each time not only the substance of
the compliment, but the style of phrase and expression,
according to the genius of the language in which he was
speaking.
The attachment of the Bolognese to literature has been
BOLOGNA. 255
manifested, not only by the ancient splendours of their
university, but by the institutions of later ages. In the
seventeenth century the Count Marsigli founded an in-
stitution for the encouragement of science, of literature
and arts, on which he bestowed an invaluable collection
of books, scientific instruments, and objects of natural
history. In 1714 the senate or corporation purchased
for the reception of these treasures the Palazzo Cellesi,
now known by the name of the Institute di Bologna.
The library, the extensive museum of natural history
and of anatomy, and the gallery of antiques, well deserve
the attention of the stranger. Amongst the many va-
luable MSS. preserved in the library may be seen the
collections of the celebrated naturalist Aldrovandus, in
one hundred and eighty-seven large folio volumes. The
architects of the Palazzo dell' Institute were Pellegrino
Tibaldi and his son Domenico, and the walls and ceilings
of the palace are adorned with fresco paintings.
The Count Marsigli, the founder of the Institute of
Bologna, was to that city what Maffei was to Verona,
the promoter and encourager of arts and science, and the
centre and ornament of its literary society. The life of
Count Marsigli was one of singular and eventful interest.
He was born at Bologna, in 1 658, of an ancient and il-
lustrious family. Having received a learned education,
he accompanied the Venetian envoy to Constantinople in
1 679, and on his return published his first literary work,
entitled " Observations on the Thracian Bosphorus."
Hostilities impending between the Turks and the Im-
perialists, he offered his sen-ices to the Emperor Leopold,
and having been employed to fortify the river and island
256 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
of Raab, he was rewarded with a company of infantry.
Being wounded and deserted by his soldiers, lie was taken
prisoner by the Tartars, who sold him to the governor of
Temeswar, by whom he was carried as a slave to the
siege of Vienna. Marsigli during this time carefully con-
cealed his rank, lest an exorbitant sum should be de-
manded for his ransom. At Vienna he was sold to two
brothers of Bosnia, and on the retreat of the Turkish
army after the victory of Sobieski, he was compelled to
travel eighteen successive hours tied to his master's stir-
rup, and narrowly escaped being massacred with the other
captives. At length, having been ransomed, he returned
to Bologna, and after a short residence there, again re-
sumed his military occupations, and served with distin-
guished success in the army of the Imperialists. In
1/00, he was appointed commissioner to settle the
boundaries between the two empires in Hungary and
Dalmatia, and departed on his mission attended by a
splendid escort. On arriving at the residence of the
Turkish brothers who had formerly been his masters, he
directed them to be sought for and brought before him.
They had fallen into great poverty, and Marsigli not only
presented to them his purse, but recommended them to
the protection of the vizier. Taking up his residence
some time afterwards near Marseilles, he resumed those
literary and scientific studies by which he had distin-
guished himself in his earlier life. As he stood one day
on the harbour of Marseilles, he saw amongst the slaves
in a galley which had just arrived, a Turk who had been
accustomed, during his captivity in Bosnia, to bind him
to a stake at night to prevent his escape, and who had
BOLOONA. 257
treated him with much harshness. The Turk recog-
nising him, threw himself in fear and shame at his feet,
entreating his forgiveness. Marsigli raised him from the
ground, and not only relieved his immediate necessities,
but, by an application to the king, succeeded in obtaining
his liberty. In 1 709, Count Marsigli resumed for a short
period the profession of arms, and was entrusted by
Clement XI. with the command of the papal troops.
He soon, however, returned to his native city, and in
1712 founded the celebrated Institute which has been
already mentioned. The Bolognese, grateful for the be-
nefits he had rendered them, were desirous of erecting
a statue in his honour, a mark of distinction which his
modesty induced him to refuse. The remainder of his
life was spent in literary and scientific pursuits, and in
foreign travel. Having visited England, he formed an
acquaintance with Sir Isaac Newton, and became a
member of the Royal Society. The collections which he
made during his travels, he bestowed in 1 727 upon the
Institute. At length, having returned to his native city,
he died there on the 1 st of November, 1 730. His chief
works are his " Histoire Physique de la Mer," published
in 1 72f>, and his " Danubius Pannonico-Mysicus," in five
volumes folio, presenting a history of the Danube and the
adjacent country. He was also the author of several
smaller works on subjects connected with science.
Amongst all the cities of Italy, Bologna has been said
to stand second only to Rome as a treasury of art. Though
it possesses few works of sculpture of which to boast, yet
in paintings it is most abundantly wealthy. 'Die number
of churches in Bologna is very great, and there are few
s
268 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
that do not display upon their walls some splendid spe-
cimen of the Bolognese masters, of Guido, of Guercino,
and of the Caracci. Several of the palaces, also, are
rich in paintings, particularly the Palazzo Zampieri, where
the ceilings are embellished by the pencils of the Caracci
and of Guercino, though the principal pictures which or-
namented its walls have been removed. The traveller,
therefore, ought to make such arrangements as will enable
him to devote a considerable portion of time to Bologna.
Forty of the finest pictures in this city were transferred
by the French to Paris, but the principal part of them
have been since restored. In examining the works of
art in Bologna, the celebrated fountain of John of Bo-
logna, in the Piazza del Gigante, must not be neglected.
One of the most remarkable edifices in the neighbour-
hood of Bologna is the arcades, leading from the city to
the church of the Madonna of St. Luke. This singular
building, resembling that in the environs of Vicenza, was
built during the seventeenth century, and has been de-
scribed, in its incomplete state, by Bishop Burnet. The
best account of it, however, is given by Mrs. Piozzi.
Amongst the literary recollections which the view of
Bologna rccals, the well from which the Secchia Rapita
was taken must not be forgotten. The bucket itself is
still exhibited in the magnificent tower of the Ghirlandina
at Modena. Nor will it be forgotten by those to whom
the genius of Richardson is dear, that the residence of
the beautiful and unfortunate Clementina was at Bologna.
Who does not remember that " at Bologna and in the
neighbourhood of Urbino are seated two branches of a
noble family, marquises and counts of Poretta, which
BOLOGNA. 259
boasts its pedigree from Roman princes, and has given
to the church two cardinals, one in the latter age and one
in the beginning of this?" Who can forget the daughter
of this noble house " the favourite of them all lovely
in her person gentle in her manners, with high but
just notions of the nobility of her descent, of the honour
of her sex, and of what is due to her own character ?"
" When I perambulated," says Mrs. Piozzi, " the palaces
of the Bolognese nobility, gloomy though spacious, and
melancholy though splendid, I could not but admire
Richardson's judgment, when he makes his beautiful
bijou, his interesting Clementina, an inhabitant of su-
perstitious Bologna. The Poretta palace is hourly pre-
senting itself to iny imagination, which delights in the
assurance that genius cannot be confined by place."
Bologna, like most of the cities of Italy, has been the
seat of many tragical incidents, affording such ricli ma-
terials for her novelists. Amongst others, is one which
we give in the words of the excellent critic by whom it
is related. "The family Geremei of Bologna were at
the head of the Guelphs, and that of the Lambertazzi of
the (ihibellines, who formed an opposition by no means
despicable to the domineering party. Bonifazio Gereraei
and Imelda Lambcrta/zi, forgetting the feuds of their
families, fell passionately in love with each other, and
Imelda received her lover into her house. This coming
to her brothers' knowledge, they rushed into the room
where the two lovers were, and Imelda could scarcely
escape, whilst one of her brothers plunged a dagger,
poisoned after the Saracen fashion, into Bonifazio's
breast, whose body was thrown into some concealed part
82
260 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
of the house and covered with rubbish. Imelda hastened
to him, following the tracks of his blood, as soon as the
brothers were gone ; found him, and supposing him not
quite dead, generously, as our own Queen Eleanor had
done about the same time, sucked the poison from the
bleeding wound, the only remedy which could possibly
save his life : but it was too late ; Imelda's attendants
found her a corpse, embracing that of her beloved Boni-
fazio."
ROME.
THE PONTE SISTO.
The Niobe of nations ! there ehe stands,
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ;
An empty urn within her wither'd hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago :
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless
Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow.
Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ?
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.
BYKO.N.
THE Ponte Sisto was erected during the pontificate
of Sixtus IV., from whom it derives its name. The view
of this bridge recals to the mind of the traveller the cha-
racter of one of the most violent and depraved men who
ever filled the chair of St. Peter. Profligate, avaricious,
and despotic, to supply means for his pleasures he not
only exposed to sale the offices of the church, but in-
stituted new ones for the mere purpose of bartering them,
and when the indignation of the people was roused by
these infamous acts, he established an inquisition of the
press in order to stifle the voice of censure. His death
is said to have been occasioned by vexation at the pro-
spect of a general peace " Di grossi conti avri avuto
questo pontefice nel tribunale di Dio," says Muratori.
The following account of the Ponte Sisto and its neigh-
262 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
bourhood is given by a lively writer in one of the best of
our periodical works. " The Ponte Sisto, an erection of
Sixtus IV., notorious for his connexion with the Pazzi
conspiracy, is an ordinary bridge, and the buildings about
it are ordinary disfigurements. It is preceded by a meagre
fountain, which is a mere concetto in water. Here the
Tyber, mshing angrily enough in whirlpool and in mud,
yellow and frothy, just hints what an inundation might
have been in the days of Horace and Augustus. It con-
ducts you into the heart of the Janiculum or Transtevere.
Its inhabitants are still very fiercely marked with all the
characteristics of the ancient race, unalloyed by any weaker
blending of Greek, Jewish, or Gothic blood, and furnish
a bold illustration of the observation of. Alfieri, ' that in
no country in Europe does the plant man attain such ro-
bust maturity as in Italy/ and, it might be added, in no
part of Italy is this vigour of constitution so striking as
at Rome. Every head you meet might bear an imme-
diate translation into marble, and not be misplaced beside
the austere busts of the Vatican or Capitol. The Lungara,
which by its length and regularity justifies the appella-
tion, leads directly to St. Peter's through the bastions of
the Leonine city, or the Borgo, along the banks of the
Tyber, from all view of which, however, it is singularly
excluded by the Farnesina and its gardens, the Chigi sta-
bles, &c. &c. On the left are a series of palaces with
their plantations stretching up the sides of the Janiculum
behind. The most remarkable of the line is undoubt-
edly the Corsiui, now deserted by its prince, who, more
a Florentine than a Roman, resides habitually in the
former city. One of its last inhabitants was Christina
ROME THE PONTE SISTO. 263
of Sweden ; ' the glory of the priesthood, and the shame,'
and whose equivocal reputation still, sub judice, is not to
be determined either by Pasquin or Filicaia. The bastion,
even in its unfinished state, is a fine piece of military ar-
chitecture, which might have done honour to the genius
of Micheli. It leans, on one side, on a portion of the
colossal hospital of the Santo Spirito, and on the other
runs up to the Campo Santo of the city. The gate, or
its immediate vicinity, has been immortalised by the death
of the Constable Bourbon, and the graphic sketch of Cel-
lini. Above is San Onufrio, consecrated by the ashes of
Tasso vineyards, cypresses, chestnuts, pines, bosoming
it, or framing it, and beyond scattered villas, oratories,
crosses, and ruins j the whole shut in by the regular
towers and brown-red battlements of the Borgo."
" Pope Clement," says Cellini, " having, by the advice
of signer Giacopo Salviati, dismissed the five companies
which had been sent him by signer Giovannino, lately
deceased in Lombardy, the Constable Bourbon, finding
that there were no troops in Rome, eagerly advanced
with his army towards that capital. Upon the news of
his approach, all the inhabitants took up arms. I hap-
pened to be intimately acquainted with Alessandro, the
son of Pietro del Bene, who at the time that the Co-
lonnas came to Rome, had requested me to guard his
house. Upon this more important occasion he begged I
would raise a company of fifty men to guard the same
house, and undertake to be their commander, as I had
done at the time of the Colonnas. I accordingly engaged
fifty brave young men, and we took up our quarters in his
house, where we were all well paid and kindly treated.
264 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
" The army of the Duke of Bourbon* having already
appeared before the walls of Rome, Alessandro del Bene
requested I would go with him to oppose the enemy : I
accordingly complied, and taking one of the stoutest
youths with us, we were afterwards joined on our way
by a young man of the name of Cecchino della Casa. We
came up to the walls of Campo Santo, and there descried
that great army, which was employing every effort to
enter the town at that part of the wall to which we had
approached. Many young men were slain without the
walls, where they fought with the utmost fury ; there
was a remarkably thick mist. I turned to Alessandro,
and spoke to him thus : ' Let us return home with the
utmost speed, since it is impossible for us here to make
any stand ; behold, the enemy scales the walls, and our
countrymen fly before them, overpowered by numbers.'
Alessandro, much alarmed, answered, ' Would to God we
had never come hither 5' and so saying, he turned with
the utmost precipitation, iu order to depart. I thereupon
reproved him, saying, ' Since you have brought me
hither, I am determined to perform some manly action,'
and levelling my arquebuse, where I saw the thickest
crowd of the enemy, I discharged it with a deliberate
aim at a person who seemed to be lifted above the rest,
but the mist prevented me from distinguishing whether
he was on horseback or on foot. Then turning sud-
denly about to Alessandro and Cecchino, I bid them
* Bourbon, without any artillery, arrived quite unexpectedly
at Rome, on the night of the 5th of May, with 40,000 men : the
ensuing morning the assault, of which Cellini gives this account,
took place.
ROME THE PONTK SI8TO. 265
fire off their pieces, and showed them how to escape
every shot of the besiegers. Having accordingly fired
tu ire for the enemy's once, I cautiously approached the
walls, and perceived that there was an extraordinary
confusion among the assailants, occasioned by our having
shot the Duke of Bourbon * j he was, as I understood
afterwards, that chief personage, whom I saw raised
above the rest."
* All historians agree, that Bourbon fell by a musket-shot
early in the assault, while, distinguished by his white mantle,
with a scaling ladder in his hand, he was leading on his troops to
the walls.
ROME.
RUINS.
The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire,
Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride ;
She saw her glories star by star expire,
And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,
Where the car climb'd thecapitol; far and wide
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site :
Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void,
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light,
And say, " here was, or is," where all is doubly night ?
BYRON.
To endeavour even to enumerate the countless mul-
titude of objects which press upon the eye and the mind
of the traveller as he traverses the streets of the " Eternal
City" would be a vain and useless task. The first sensa-
tion of the stranger is almost that of bewilderment, so
oppressive is the crowd of images by which he is assailed.
Mr. Rogers, in his " Italy," has described the feelings of
a traveller who visits Rome for the first time.
I am in Rome ! Oft as the morning ray
Visits these eyes, waking, at once I cry,
Whence this excess of joy ? What has befallen me ?
And from within a thrilling voice replies
Thou art in Rome ! A thousand busy thoughts
Rush on my mind, a thousand images ;
And I spring up as girt to run a race.
HOME RUINS. 267
The beautiful ruin represented in the plate is only
one of a thousand specimens of the splendour whieh
Rome exhibits. Though precluded by our limits from
entering into any details of the magnificent edifices with
which the ancient city abounded, yet the following ac-
count of some of the most remarkable spectacles which
the modern city affords will not be considered altogether
uninteresting or misplaced.
One of the best and most entertaining narratives of
the carnival at Rome is given by Sir James Edward
Smith.
" This entertainment lasts here but nine days, Sundays
excluded; and even on those nine days masks are al-
lowed to be worn for only three or four hours in the
afternoon. Its first beginning was on the afternoon of
Saturday, February 10th; the scene of diversion being
the Corso, the principal street of the city, which runs
from the Piazza del Popolo, in a straight line almost up
to the capitol, which, indeed, ought to be laid open to it.
" The middle part of this street, which unluckily is
not a very wide one, is in carnival time occupied by
three rows of coaches all in procession ; those which
compose the two outermost going up one side and down
the other, and so making a continual circuit, as in Hyde
Park. The central row is composed of the coaches of
sovereign princes, and I believe cardinals, at least the
splendid equipage of the present pope's nephew always
moved in that line, but whether in consequence of his
rank as cardinal, or as governor of Rome, I am not
certain. Here the ' exiled majesty of England' might
l,i si in (very afternoon, lolling in his coach, the very
268 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
image of a drunken Silenus, more asleep than awake,
and apparently tottering on the brink of that grave to
which he is since gone. The small remains of expression
to be seen in his face wore the appearance of good-
nature. He was often accompanied by his legitimated
daughter, the Duchess of Albany, a lively and unaffected
woman, but without any personal charms. She died, I
think, before her father. The countenance of this un-
fortunate prince had much resemblance to that of King
James II., and it has been somewhat severely remarked,
that ' the perverseness of his destiny, and the worth-
lessness of his character, bore testimony to his descent.'
The permission to ride in the centre of the Corso was
almost the only mark of rank that the pretender enjoyed ;
the pope having long ago required him to lay aside the
style and title of king. The people commonly nick-
named him ' the king of the twelve apostles,' because
he lived in the square so named. To Englishmen the
Romans were always very polite on this subject. Being
at a house in the Corso one afternoon, from the balcony
of which we had a view of the carriages and masks,
somebody inquired whose coach that was in the middle
of the street ? They were immediately answered aloud,
purposely, in our hearing, ' II pretendente.' We observed
a few North Briton travellers assiduous in their attentions
to the Duchess of Albany and her father.
" The equipages on the Corso displayed great magni-
ficence, and a fantastic style of ornament never indulged
but in carnival time. After the promenade had con-
tinued about two hours, the coaches were all drawn up
in a row on each side of the street, and foot passengers
ROME RUINS. 269
either stationed between them and the houses, or seated
on rows of chairs or benches on the foot walk, which
is in some places raised three or four feet above the
central pavement. Thus every body waited in anxious
expectation for the race. At length a number of little
horses without riders started from a stand in the Piazza
del Popolo for a goal at the other end of the Corso. They
were decked with ribbons, intermixed with tinsel and
other rattling matter, and small nails so contrived as to
prick their sides at every step and spur them on. They
were also tickled and spirited up as much as possible by
their owners before the signal for starting, so that they
set off furiously at first, but the spirit of many of them
failed before the end of the course ; and one or two of
the most promising were often seen to stop short in the
middle, staring about them, while a more steady racer
arrived at the goal. Nothing can be more silly than this
race ; and our English jockey travellers, who are com-
petent judges on such parts, at least, of the curiosities of
Italy, treat this diversion with the same contempt that
some people bestow on their own racing at home.
" On these occasions the houses in the Corso are orna-
mented with tapestry, hung out of their windows, which
contributes much to the splendour of the scene. At the
French academy of painting and sculpture, we observed
some very rich ornaments of this kind, representing the
natural productions of Cayenne, executed in a first-rate
style, probably at the Gobelins, and forming an interest-
ing study for a naturalist. They are exposed at no other
time.
" We mixed with the motley crowd every afternoon,
270 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
our English clothes serving most completely as a masque-
rade dress, and procuring us a number of rencounters,
all of the facetious and good-humoured kind. Tuesday,
February 20th, was the last day of carnival ; and on that
evening all the diversions were carried to their highest
pitch. The crowd was prodigious ; but although every
body was full of tricks, and all distinctions of ranks and
persons laid aside, the whole passed off without the least
ill behaviour, or any thing like a quarrel. It was the
most good-humoured mob I ever saw. About dark, every
body took a small lighted taper in their hands, and most
people held several ; happy were they who could keep
the greatest number lighted, for the amusement consisted
in trying to extinguish each other's caudles. Some people
carried large flambeaux. All the windows, and even
roofs, being crowded with spectators, and scarcely any
body without lights, the street looked h'ke a starry firma-
ment. Below were many carriages parading up and down,
much more whimsical and gaudy than had yet appeared.
Some resembled triumphal cars, decked with wreaths of
flowers and party-coloured lamps in festoons. The com-
pany within carried tapers, and a plentiful ammunition
of sugar-plums, with which they pelted their acquaint-
ances on each side, insomuch that the field of action
looked next morning as if there had been a shower of
snow. These carriages contained the first company and
most elegant women in Rome, fantastically dressed, but
generally unmasked. They were open to the jokes and
compliments of any body who chose to stand on the steps
of their coach doors, which were very low, and the ladies
were not backward in repartee. When they had no
ROME RUINS. 271
answer ready, a volley of sugar-plums generally repulsed
their besiegers. The ranks on the raised footway, and
the crowd below, were in a continual roar of laughter ;
some with effusions of real humour, while those who
could sport no better wit bawled out, as they carried
their branches of wax candles, ' Sia amazzato chi non
ha luine !' ' Kill all that have no lights !' To which others
answered, ' Kill all that have !' Others called out, ' Siano
amazzati gli abbati barbieri, capucini,' or 'my lordi :'
the latter to us Englishmen, and sometimes they called
us ' Frances!,' Frenchmen."
Goethe has also given a delightful picture of the car-
nival at Rome, which has been emulated by Madame de
Stael in her " Corinne," both probably already familiar
to the reader.
Amongst the antiquities and curiosities of Rome, none
are more singular, or indeed more deserving of study and
attention, than the catacombs. Not only do they in-
terest the traveller by the associations to which they give
rise as the abodes of the early Christians and the refuge
of the first martyrs of the church, but they also present
an invaluable monument of the state of art during the
earlier ages of Christianity. The catacombs are formed
chiefly by the excavation of the sand called puzzolana,
from which a very lasting cement is manufactured. The
origin of these excavations is not known, but it is pro-
bable that they were commenced at an early period of
the Roman history. The arenariae extra portain Esqui-
linam are mentioned by Cicero, and Nero was advised
to' conceal himself in these retreats.
It is impossible within the limits of these pages
272 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
to give an adequate description of this vast subter-
ranean city of the dead. Those who are desirous of
obtaining an accurate knowledge of the singular an-
tiquities which it contains must consult the Roma Sot-
teranea of the learned Antonio Bosio, who devoted a
great portion of, his time to the examination and de-
scription of the catacombs. According to the narrative
of a contemporary writer, Bosio does not appear to have
been much affected by the solitude and sanctity of the
place. He and his companions carried with them under-
ground a complete apparatus for cooking, and a skilful
proficient in that art, making the deserted mansions of
the dead re-echo with the sound of their revelry. Per-
haps the best specimens of the catacombs are those of
Calixtus, explored by Bosio in the year 1593, and
situated between the church of St. Maria in Pal-
mis, and the Via Appia. So vast is its extent, that
Bosio, though he employed many days in tracking its
passages, was unable to complete his survey of it, some
new gallery always presenting itself. The passages in
general are high enough to allow a person to Avalk up-
right, though occasionally they are so narrow as to be
almost impassable. In the solid rock are excavated
spaces for the reception of the dead bodies, which are
generally enclosed in stone coffins. The principal cham-
bers of the catacombs of Calixtus are four in. number,
communicating with one another. Both the walls and
the ceilings are highly ornamented with historical sub-
jects from the Old and New Testament, which may be
found represented in the Roma Sotteranea.
Lady Miller, in her letters from Italy, has given a
ROMK BUINS. 273
livi'ly description of the catacombs, and of an adventure
that happened to her there. " We explored them ac-
companied by a ragged ill-looking fellow whose business
is to sweep the church and to show these silent mansions
of the dead. One of our footmen was sent of a mes-
sage, the other followed us. We were provided with
little wax candles, and descended the staircase, each
carrying a lighted bougie ; the others were for pro-
vision, lest any of those already lighted should burn out
or extinguish. Having at length reached the bottom,
after no very agreeable descent, we found ourselves in a
labyrinth of very narrow passages turning and winding
incessantly j most of these are upon the slope, and, I be-
lieve, go down into the earth to a considerable depth.
They are not wider than to admit one person at a time,
but branch out various ways like the veins in the human
body; they are also extremely damp, being lodged in
the earth, and caused our candles to burn blue. In the
side niches are deposited the bodies (as they say) of
more than seventy-four thousand martyrs. These niches
are mostly closed up by an upright slab of marble, which
bears an inscription descriptive of their contents. Several
are also buried under these passages, whose graves are
secured by iron grates. We followed our tattered guide
for a considerable time through the passages ; at last he
stopped, and told M. if he would go with him to a certain
souterrain just by, he would show him a remarkable cata-
comb. At that moment I was staring about at the in-
scriptions, and took it for granted that M. was really very
near ; but after some moments I asked the footman who
was standing at the entrance, if he saw his master ; he
T
274 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
replied in the negative, nor did he hear any voice. This
alarmed me : t bade him go forward a little way, and
that I would wait where I was, for I feared losing my-
self in this labyrinth in attempting to get out, not know-
ing which way they had turned. I waited a little time,
and finding the servant did not return, called out as loud
as I could, but to my great disappointment, perceived
that I scarce made any noise, the sound of my voice,
from the dampness of the air or the lowness of the
passages, remaining, as it were, with me. I trembled
all over ; and perceiving that my bougie was near its
end, I lighted another with some difficulty, from the
shaking of my hands, and determined to go in search of
M. myself at any hazard j but figure to yourself the
horror that seized me, when, upon attempting to move,
I perceived myself forcibly held by my clothes from be-
hind, and all the efforts I made to free myself proved
ineffectual. My heart, I believe, ceased to beat for a
moment, and it was as much as I could do to sustain my-
self from falling down upon the ground in a swoon.
However, I summoned all my resolution to my aid and
ventured to look behind me, but saw nothing. I then
again attempted to move, but found it impracticable.
Just God ! said I, perhaps M. is assassinated, and the
servant joined with the guide in the perpetration of the
murder; and I am miraculously held fast by the dead,
and shall never leave these graves. Notwithstanding
such dreadful representations that my frighted imagina-
tion pictured to me, I made more violent efforts, and in
struggling, at last discovered that there was an iron
grate, like a trap-door, a little open behind me, one of
ROME RUINS. 275
the pointed bars of which had pierced through my gown,
and held me in the manner I have related. I soon ex-
tricated myself, and walking forward, luckily in the right
path, found M., who was quietly copying an inscription,
the guide lighting him, and the servant returning towards
me with the most unconcerned aspect imaginable. I
had the discretion to conceal my fright as much as I was
able, and only expressed with some impatience my de-
sire of returning into the open air. M., who is ever
complaisant to my wishes, instantly complied, and as we
were retiring, the poor guide, whom my imagination re-
presented as an assassin, told us that there was a pit
among the catacombs of which the bottom could never
be discovered, and he had been told that formerly a great
many people had been abused, robbed, and flung into it.
I thanked God inwardly that he had not told me this
story earlier. Having entered the carriage, I determined
within myself that this visit to the catacombs should be
my last."
The catacombs were visited by Evelyn in the year
1645. " We now took coach a little out of towne to
visit the famous Roma Soterranea, being very much like
what we had seen at St. Sebastians. Here, in a little
corn-field, guided by two torches, we crept on our bellies
into a little hole, about twenty paces, which delivered us
into a large entry that led us into several streets or alleys,
a good depth in the bowels of the earth, a strange and
fearful passage for divers miles, as Bosio has measured
and described them in his book. We ever and anon
came into pretty square rooms, that seemed to be chapels
with altars, and .some adorned with very ordinary ancient
276 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
painting. Many skeletons and bodies are placed on the
sides one above the other, in degrees like shelves,
whereof some are shut up with a coarse flat stone, having
engraven on them ' Pro Christo,' or a cross and palms,
which are supposed to have been martyrs. Here, in all
likelihood, were the meetings of the primitive Christians
during the persecutions, as Pliny the younger describes
them. As I was prying about I found a glass phial, filled,
as was conjectured, with dried blood, and two lachryma-
tories. Many of the bodies, or rather bones (for there
appeared nothing else), lay so entire as if placed by the
art of the surgeon, but being only touched, fell all to dust.
Thus, after wandering two or three miles in this subter-
ranean meander, we returned, almost blind when we
came into the daylight, and even choked by the smoke
of the torches. It is said, that a French bishop and his
retinue adventuring too far in these dens, their lights going
out, were never heard of more." " They tell us," says
Montfaucon, in his Journey through Italy, " that a man
of quality, who ventured into those places unadvisedly,
with his family, was never after heard of. I met, not
long since, with some papers of a French traveller, who
seemed to be a man of sense, and said, that having gone
into those dark ways with a few companions, they wan-
dered up and down for above five hours, not without dan-
ger of being lost for ever, had they not lighted on work-
men who were digging up bodies."
THE ARCH OF CONSTANTINE.
VIGNETTE.
Ces portes triomphales qu'on volt encore a Rome, perpetuaient, autaut
que leg homines le peuvent les honneurs rendus a la gloire. II y avalt sur
lours sominets une place destinOe aux joueurs de flute et de trompette, pour
que le vainqueur, en passant, fut enivrd tout a la fois par la musique et par
la louange et gofitat dans un rru'me moment toutes les emotions les plus
i-X.ilti-i-:.
DB STARL.
THE Arch of Constantine is one of the best preserved
monuments of Roman antiquity which have been trans-
mitted to modern times. It was erected in honour of
the signal victory obtained by the emperor, near Rome,
over the troops of the infamous Maxentius; a victory
chiefly owing to the gallantry of Constantine himself,
who charged in person the cavalry of the enemy. This
triumph was followed by the celebration of numerous
games and festivals at Rome ; and several edifices, which
had been raised at the expense of Maxentius, were now
dedicated to his conqueror. To preserve the memory of
the victory, the triumphal arch was decreed, which is
still distinguished by the emperor's name. So low, how-
ever, had the arts fallen, that no sculptor could be found
whose skill was considered adequate to the erection of
this magnificent trophy, and the arch of Trajan was un-
scrupulously destroyed to furnish the materials for that
of Constantine. The ruins of the former were traced by
278 THE LANDSCAPE ANNUAL.
a diligent antiquary, whose labours are recorded by the
learned Montfaucon. " The difference of times and per-
sons, of actions and characters, was totally disregarded.
The Parthian captives appear prostrate at the feet of a
prince who never carried his arms beyond the Euphrates,
and curious antiquarians can still discover the head of
Trajan on the trophies of Constantine. The new orna-
ments, which it was necessary to introduce between the
vacancies of ancient sculpture, are executed in the rudest
and most unskilful manner." Antiquarians are not well
agreed as to the particular portions of Constantiue's Arch
which were borrowed from that of Trajan. After speak-
ing of the Arch of Septimius Severus, Mr. Forsyth adds,
" Constantine's Arch is larger, nobler, and even more
correct in its architecture ; the only object now in re-
view: but is that architecture its own? We know that
its columns, statues, and relievi are not; and we may
fairly suspect that even its composition was also stolen
from other works, as Constantine's reign was notorious
for architectural robbing."
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