UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES if,. -— UNHTERSITY of CALIFORIflA AT LOS ANGELES UBRARY DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE. T*' - 8 4 20 2 :"T4TP THE DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE. /y/y MRS. JAMESON. "Sad, solemn, soure, and full of fancies fraile, She woxe ; yet wist she neither how nor why ; She wist not, silly Mayde, what she did aiie. Yet wist she was not well at ease perdie ; Yet thought it was not Love, but some Melancholic." SPENSER. FROM THE LAST LONDON EDITION. BOS TO N: JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY, Late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, & Co. 1875. . \ A- \ -V \ \ ^-14G ID J ^3? PREFACE. u ■W'lTii regard to a certain little Diary, of which it has been thought proper to give here a new edi- tion, — what shall I say ? If I have cheated some gentle readers out of much superfluous sympathy — as it has been averred — it was certainly without design. 1 can but repeat here the excuse already inserted in another place, ' that the work in question was not written for publication, nor would ever have been printed but for accidental circumstances ; that the title under which it appeared was not given by the writer, but the publisher, who at the time knew nothing of the real author: and that some false dates, unimportant circumstances, and fictitious characters, were afterwards interpolated, to con- ceal, if possible, the real purport and origin of the work ; for the intention was not to create an illu- sion, by giving to fiction the appearance of truth but, in fact, to conceal truth by throwing over it the veil of fiction.' I regret, that even this deception VI PREFACE. vras prat;tised, but would plead in excuse that the basis of that little book was truth ; that it was, in reality, what it assumed to be, 'a true picture of natural and feminine feeling.' I confess, that to go over the pages again for the purpose of correction, and for the first time, since their publication, has been rather a painful task : once or twice I have felt inclined to make the amende honorable. They contain some opinions which I have seen rea- son to alter or modify ; they record some feelings ■which I would rather have forgotten ; and Italy has since undergone some social and political changes : but the observations on art and natural scenery re- main as applicable now as they were ten years ago ; and I found I could make no alterations, no correc- tions, which would not detract from the sole merit the book could ever have possessed, and which, I presume, it still retains, — its truth as a picture of mind." A. J. [Fit)m " Visits and Sketches, at Home and Abroad."] CONTENTS. Calais; Biddy Fudge; Necessity of writing a Diary; Diary of a Blue Devil; Roueu; Joan of Arc; Paris; Comic Scenes in the Champs Elisasantryat Mola; Banditti near Fondi 244 — 253 XIV CONTENTS. BetTum to Rome; Contrast between Rome and Naples* Villas in the Neighbourhood of Rome; Pope's Gardens on the Monte Cavallo; Pamfili Gardens; the Princess Pauline; Style of Italian Gardens; English Landscape Gardening; Capability Brown; Gardens of Versailles; Burial-place of the Pompeys; San Gregorio; Deep In- terest attached to Rome; Wagenal's Studio; the jEgina Marbles, their Restoration by Thorwaldsen ; Gibson, the English Sculptor; Pozzi, the Florentine Statuary; In- stance of his atiected Taste ; Gibson's Psyche ; Anecdote of Canova 253—262 Dimier alfresco Lu the Pamfili Gardens; View from the ViUa Pamfili; Lines written in the Gardens; Com- mencement of the Holy Week; the Pope's Chapel; Ceremonies; the Vatican; St. Peter's; Santa Maria della Pace; Raffaelle's Four Sibyls; the Villa Lanti; Naples and Rome, Distinction between their Beauty; Remarks on Petrarch; Guido's Am"ora; Triumph of David, by Domenichino; Guido's Andromeda; Twelve Apostles, by Rubens; Five Senses, by Carlo Cignani; Death of Samson, by L. Carracci; Portrait of Nicolo Poussin; the Miserere; its solemn Effect in the Sistine Chapel; Good Friday; Ceremonies at the Vatican; Splendor of its Galleries; Camera dei Papiri; Sala della Croce; Second Miserere; Characteristic Anecdote; St. Peter's; Illumination of the Gu-andola; Sestini the Improwisatore ; Sgricci: Gorilla the Improvvisatrice; La Fantastica; Subjects of Sestini's Improwisaziono ; Description of Sestini; his Death; High Mass at St. Peter's; Pilgrims at the Shrine of St. Peter; Exposition of the Relics; Illumination of St. Peter's; Splendid Fireworks 262—291 Betum to Florence; Viterbo; Different Sensations on Los A'f,,^-,, : .-,; CONTEXTS. X-V qnit'ing Rome and Naples ; Radicofani; Lake of Bolsena and Jloutepilciano; Florence; Mr. Rogers; Conti'ast between the general Appearance of the Tuscan States and the States of the Church; Amusing Instance of the gossiping Curiosity of the Florentines; an Italian Sum- mer; on the Style of particular Painters; what is meant by the Manner of a Painter; Remarks on the ditferent llamiers in which the same Subject has been treated by different Painters, exemplified in the Virgin and Holy Family; Remarks on the Vii^gins of Raffaelle, of Con-eggio, of Guide, of Titian, of ]!\IurLllo, of Carlo Dolce, of Carlo Maratti, of Caravaggio, of Rubens, of Vandyke, of Michel Angelo, of Carlo Cignaui; his Madonna del Rosario ; the iladonnas of Sasso Ferrato 292—313 Anecdote of an English Lady ; the Opera, Signora Bassi Primo Uomo at the Pergola; Execrable Dancing; Rossini, Character of his Music; his Influence on the Taste of the Age; Anecdote from Dr Holland; Rossini compared to Marini ; Lucca, Remarks on its Decay ; Richness of the country between Florence and Lucca ; Style of Agri- culture; Italian Plough; Cathedral of Lucca; Palace; Pisa, its Look of elegant Tranquillity; the Duomo; the Baptistry and Leaning Tower; the fabulist Pignotti; University of Pisa; Botanic Garden; a stupendous Magnolia; General Appearance of Leghorn; a Visit to the Jewish Synagogue ; Women caged up like Jlonkeys ; English Burial-gi-ound ; Tomb of Smollett 313—321 On the Meaning of the Picturesque; England the Country where the Picturesque least prevails, and why; the Pic- turesque of England and the Picturesque of Italy con- trasted; the Spirit of the Ancient Mythology still prev- alent in Italy; Claude's Sunsets; the Grosvenor Tl CONTENIB. Claudes ; Apology for the Enthusiasm of Travellers ; Sarzana; Fire-flies; Adventure at Lerici; Fantastic Apparition; the Lament at Nina; a Calm on the Mediterranean; Sestri; Genoa compared to a noble Matron; Personification of the other gi-eat Cities of Italy; Coup-d'oeil of Genoa; Strada Nuova; Beauty no Rarity at Genoa ; the !Mazzara, its Effect on Female Beauty; Farewell to Italy; Turin; Influence of the Conversation of Itlen of the World and Jlen of Gallantry on the Female Mind; the Life of a Coquette; St. Michael; Lyons; Sorrowful Recollections of Italy; In- creasing Illness and Death of the Writer; Conc.usion 32 .—341 DIARY AN ENNUYEE ♦ Calais, June 21. What young lady, travelling for the first time on the continent, does not write a " Diary V " No Booner have we stept on the shores of France — no sooner are we seated in the gay salon at Dessin's, than we call, like Biddy Fudge, for " French pens and French ink," and forth steps from its case the morocco-bound diary, regularly ruled and paged, with its patent Bramah lock and key, wherein we are to record and preserve all the striking, pro- found, and original observations — the classical rem- iniscences — the thread-bare raptures — the poetical effusions — in short, all the never-sufficiently-to- be-exhausted topics of sentiment and enthusiasm, which must necessarily suggest themselves whila posting from Paris to Naples. Verbiage, emptiness, and affectation ! • First pubUshed in 1826. 18 DIAUT OF AN ENNUTEE. Yes — but what must I do, then, with my volume in green morocco ? Very true, I did not think of that. We have all read the Diary of an Invalid, the best of all diaricf snco oli Evelyn's. — Wei], then, — Here beginneth the Diary of a Blue Devil. ^Miat inconsistent beings are we ! — How strange that, in such a moment as this, I can jest in mock- ery of myself ! but I will write on. Some keep a diary, because it is the fashion — a reason why 1 should not ; some because it is hlue, but I am not blue, only a hlue devil; some for their amusement, — amusement! ! alas! alas! — and some that they may remember, and I that I may forget. O • would it were possible ! When, to-day, for the first time in my life, I saw the shores of England fade away in the dis- tance — did the conviction that I should never be- hold them more, bring with it one additional pang of regret, or one consoling thought ? — neither the one nor the other. I leave behind me the scenes, the objects, so long associated with pain ; but from pain itself I cannot fly: it has become a part of myself I know not yet whether I ought to rejoice and be thankful for this opportunity of travelling, while my mind is thus torn and upset ; or rather regret that I must visit scenes of inter- 'jst, of splendor, of novelty — scenes over which, years ago, I used to ponder with many a sigh, and DIARY OF AN ENNTJTfcfi. 19 many a vain longing, now that I am lost to all the pleasure they could once have excited : for what is all the world to me now ? But I will not weakly yield : though time and I have not been long ac- quainted, do I not know what miracles he, " the all-powerful healer," can perform ? Who knows but this dark cloud may pass away ? Continual motion, continual activity, continual novelty, the absolute necessity for self-command, may do some- thing for me. I cannot quite forget ; but if I can cease to remember for a few minutes, or even, it may be, for a few hours l O how idle to talk of " indulging grief: " talk of indulging the rack, the rheumatism! who ever indulged grief that truly felt it ? to endure is hard enough. It is o'er! with its pains and its pleasures, The dream of affection is o'er ! The feelings I lavish'd so fondly Will never return to rae more. With a faith, ! too blindly believing — A truth, no unkindness could move; My prodigal heart hath expended At once, an existence of love. And now, like the spendthrift forsaken, B}' those whom his bounty had blest, Ail empty, and cold, and despairing, It shrinks in my desolate breast. But a spirit is burning within me, Unquench'd, and unquenchable yet; It shall teach me to bear uncomplaining, The grief I can never forget. 20 ST. GERMAmS. Rouen, June 25. — I do not pity Joan of Arc • that heroic woman only paid tlie price 'which all must pay for celebrity in some shape or other : the swoi'd or the fegot, the scaffold or the field, public hatred or private heart-break ; what mat- tor ? The noble Bedford could not rise above the ajre in which he lived : but that was the age of gallantry and chivalry, as well as superstition : and could Charles, the lover of Agnes Sorel, with all the knights and nobles of France, look on while their champion, and a woman, was devoted to chains and death, without one effort to save her ? It has often been said that her fate disgraced the military fame of the English ; it is a far fouler blot on the chivalry of France. St. Ger mains, June 27. — I cannot bear this place, another hour in it will kill me ; this sultry evening — this sickening sunshine — this quiet, unbroken, boundless landscape — these motionless woods — the Seine stealing, creeping through the level plains — the dull grandeur of the old chateau — the languid repose of the whole scene — instead of soothing, torture me. I am left without resource, a prey to myself and to my memory — to reflection, which embitters the source of suffering, and thought, which brings distraction. Horses on to Paris ! Vite ! Vite ! Paris, 28. — What said the witty Frenchwoman ? — Paris est le lieu du monde oil Von pent le tnieux se 21 passer de boriheur ; — in that case it will suit me ad mirably. 29. — AVe walked and drove about all day : I was amused. I marvel at my own versatility when I think how soon my quick spirits were excited by this gay, gaudy, noisy, idle place. The different appearance of the streets of London and Paris is the first thing to strike a stranger. In the gayest and most crowded streets of London the people move steadily and rapidly along, with a grave col- lected air, as if all had some business in view ; here, as a little girl observed the other day, all the peo- ple walk about " like ladies and gentlemen going a visiting : " the women well dressed and smiling, and with a certain jaunty air, trip along with their pe- culiar mincing step, and appear as if their sole object was but to show themselves ; the men ill- dressed, slovenly, and in general ill-looking, lounge indolently, and stare as if they had no other pur- pose in life but to look about them.* July 12. — " Quel est a Paris le supreme talent? celui d'amuser : et quel est le supreme bonheur ? I'amusement." Then le supreme bonheur may be found every evening from nine to ten, in a walk along the Bou- levards, or a ramble through the Champs Elysees, and from ten to twelve in a salon at Tortoni's. What an extraordinary scene was that I wit« * It must not be forgotten that this was written ten years ago: the aspect of Paris is much changed since then. 22 CHAMPS ELYSEES. nessed to-night ! how truly French ! Spite of my- self and all my melancholy musings, and all my philosophic allowances for the difference of national character, I was irresistibly compelled to smile at some of the farcical groups we encountered. In the most crowded parts of the Champs Elys^es this evening, (Sunday,) there sat an old lady with a wrinkled yellow face and sharp features, dressed in flounced gown of dirty white muslin, a pink sash and a Leghorn hat and feathers. In one hand she held a small tray for the contribution of amateurs, and in the other an Italian bravura, which she sung or rather screamed out with a thousand indescriba- ble shruggings, contortions, and grimaces, and in a voice to which a cracked tea-kettle, or a " brazen candlestick turned," had seemed the music of the spheres. A little fiirther on we found two elderly gentlemen playing at see-saw ; one an immense corpulent man of fifteen stone at least, the other a thin dwarfish animal with grey mustachios, who held before him what I thought was a child, but on approaching, it proved to be a large stone strapped before him, to vender his weight a counterpoise to that of his huge companion. We passed on, and returning about half an hour afterwards down the same walk, we found the same venerable pair pur- suing their edifying amusement with as much en- thusiasm as before. ***** Before the revolution, sacrilege became one of 29 the most frequent crimes. I was told of a mai who, havinof stolen from a church the silver box containing the consecrated wafers, returned the wafers next day in a letter to the Cure of t'- parish, having used one of them to seal his enve! * * * * July 27. — A conversation with S** alwa) leaves me sad. Can it then be possible that he is right ? No — O no ! my understanding rejects the idea with indignation, my whole heart recoils from it ; yet if it should be so ! what then : have I been till now the dupe and the victim of factitious feelings ? virtue, honour, feeling, generosity, you are then but words, signifying nothing ? Yet if this vain philosophy lead to happiness, would not S** be happy ? it is evident he is not. When he said that the object existed not in this world which could lead him twenty yards out of his way, did this sound like happiness? I remember that while he spoke, instead of feeling either persuaded or convinced by his captivating eloquence, I was perplexed and distressed ; I suffered a painful compassion, and tears were in my eyes. I, who so often have pitied myself, pitied him at that mo- ment a thousand times moi-e ; I thought, I would not buy tranquillity at such a price as he has ])aid for it. Yet, if he should be right ? that if which every now and then suggests itself, is ter- rible ; it shakes me in the utmost recesses of my heart. 24 PARIS. S**, in spite of myself, and in spite of ail that, with most perverted pains, he has made himself, (so different from what he once was,) can charm and interest, pain and perplex me : — not so D** another disciple of the same school : he inspirea me with the strongest antipathy I ever felt for a human being. Insignificant and disagreeable in his appearance, he looks as if all the bile under heaven had found its way into his complexion, and all the infernal irony of a Mephistopheles into his turned-up nose and insolent curled lip. He is, he says he is, an atheist, a materialist, a sen- sualist : the pains he takes to deprave and degrade his nature, render him so disgusting, that I could . not even speak in his presence ; I dreaded lest he should enter into conversation with me. I might have spared myself the fear. He piques himself on his utter contempt for, and disregard of, women ; and, after all, is not himself worthy these words I bestow on him. * * * * Auff. 25. — Here begins, I hope, a new era. I have had a long and dangerous illness ; the crisis perhaps of what I have been suffering for mouths. Contrary to my own wishes, and to the expecta- tions of others, I live: and trusting in God that I have been preserved for some wise and good purpose, am therefore thankful : even supposing I should be reserved for new trials, I cannot Burely in this world suffer more than I have suf* 25 fered : it Is not possible that the same causes can be again combined to afflict me. How truly can I say, few and evil have my days been ! may I not say as truly, I have not weakly yielded, I have not " gone about to cause my heart to despair," but have striven, and not in vain ? I took the remedies they gave me, and was grateful ; I resigned myself to live, when, had I but wiUed it, I might have died ; and when to die and be at rest, seemed to my sick heart the only covetable boon. Sept. 3. — A terrible anniversary at Paris — still ill and very weak. Edmonde came, " pour me desennuyer." He has soul enough to bear a good deal of wearing down ; but whether the fine quali- ties he possesses will turn to good or evil, is hard to tell : it is evident his character has not yet set- tled : it vibrates still as nature inclines him to good, and all the circumstances around him to evil. We talked as usual of women, of gallantry, of the French and EngUsh character, of national prejudices, of Shakspeare and Racine, (never fail- ing subjects of discussion,) and he read aloud Delille's Catacombs de Rome, with great feeling, animation, and dramatic effect. La mode at Paris is a spell of wondrous power : it is most like what we should call in England a rage, a mania, a torrent sweeping down the bounds between good and evil, sense and nonsense, upou 26 riety, while the gold and the mai-ble are buried and hidden till its force be spent. The rage for cashmeres and little dogs has lately given way to a rage for Le Solitaire, a romance written, I be- lieve, by a certain Vicomte d'Arlincoiirt. Le So- litaire rules the imagination, the taste, the dress of half Paris : If you go to the theatre, it is to see the " Solitaire," either as tragedy, opera, or melp- drame ; the men dress their hair and throw their cloaks about them, a la Solkaire ; bonnets and caps, tiounces and ribbons, are all a la Solitaire ; the print shops are full of scenes from I^e Soli- taire ; it is one very toilette, one very work-table ; ■ — ladies carry it about in their reticules to show each other that they are a la mode ; and the men — what can they do but humble their understand- ings and be extaxies, when beautiful eyes sparkle in its defence and glisten in its praise, and ruby lips pronounce it divine, delicious, " quelle sub- limite dans les descriptions, quelle force dans les caract^res ! quelle ame ! feu ! chaleur ! verve 1 originalite ! passion ! " &c. " Vous n'avez pas lu le Solitaire ? " said Ma- dame M. yesterday. " Eh mon dieu ! il est done possible ! vous ? mais, ma chere, vous etes perdue de reputation, et pour jamais I " To retrieve my lost reputation, I sat down to read Le Solitaire, and as I read my amazement grew, and I did in " gaping wonderment abound," to think that fashion, like the insane root of old, 27 had power to drive a whole city mad with non- sense ; for such a tissue of abominable absurdities, bombast and blasphemy, bad t;iste and bad lan- guage, was never surely indited by any madman, in or out of Bedlam : not Maturin himself, that king of fustian, " ever ^\Tote or borrowed Any thing half so hon'id ! " and this is the book which has turned the brains of half Paris, which has gone through fifteen editions in a few weeks, which not to admire is *^ pit oij able," and not to have read " quelque chose d'inouie." The objects at Paris which have most struck me, have been those least vaunted. The view of the city from the Pont des Arts, to-night, enchanted me. As everybody who goes to Rome views the Coliseum by moonlight, so nobody should leave Paris without seeing the effect from the Pont des Arts, on a fine moon- light night : — " Earth hath not any thing to show more fair." It is singular I should have felt its influence at such a moment : it appears to me that those who, from feeling too strongly, have learnt to consider too deeply, become less sensible to the works of art, and more alive to nature. Are there not times when we turn with indifference from the 28 finest pic cure or statue — the most improving b(»ok • — the most amusing poem ; and when the very commonest, and every-day beauties of nature, a soft evening, a lovely landscape, the moon riding in her glory through a clouded sky, without forcing or asking attention, sink into our hearts ? They do not console, — they sometimes add poig- nancy to pain ; but still they have a power, and do not speak in vain : they become a part of us ; and never are we so inclined to claim kindred with nature, as wlien sorrow has lent us her mournful experience. At the time I felt this (and how many have felt it as deeply, and expressed it better !) I did not Ihink it, still less could I have said it ; but I have pleasure in recording the past impres- sion. " On rend mieux compte de ce qu'on a senti que de ce qu'on sent." * * * * September 8. — Paris is crowded with English ; and I do not wonder at it; it is, on the whole, a pleasant place to live in. I like Paris, though I shall quit it without regret as soon as I have strength to travel. Here the social arts are 3arried to perfection — above all, the art of con- versation : every one talks much and talks well. In this multiplicity of words it must happen of course that a certain quantum of ideas is inter mixed : and somehow or other, by dint of listen- ing, talking, and looking about them, people do learn, and information to a certain point is general 29 Those who have knowledge are not shy cf im- parting it, and those who are ignorant take care not to seem so ; but are sometimes agreeable, often amusing, and seldom beles. Nowhere have I seen unformed sheepish boys, nowhere the surliness, awkwardness, ungraciousness, and uneasy proud bashfulness, I have seen in the best companies in England. Our Erench friend Lucien has, at fif- teen, the air and conversation of a finished gentle- man ; and our EngUsh friend C is at eighteen, the veriest log of a lumpish schoolboy that ever entered a room. AVhat I have seen of society, I like : the delicious climate too, the rich skies, the clear elastic atmosphere, the out of doors life the people lead, are all (in summer at least) delight- ful. There may be less comfort here ; but nobody feels the want of it; and there is certainly more amusement — and amusement is here truly " le supreme bonheur." Happiness, according to the French meaning of the word, lies more on the sur- face of life : it is a sort of happiness which is cheap and ever at hand. This is the place to live in for tiie merry poor man, or the melancholy rich one : for those who have too much money, and those who have too little ; for those who only wish, like the Irishman, " to live all the days of their life," — prendre en Uglre inonnoie la sornme desjdai- sirs: but to the thinking, the feeling, the domestic man, who only exists, enjoys, suffers through his affections — so GENEVA. " Who is retired as noontide dew, Or fountain in a noonday grove — " to such a one, Paris must be nothing better than a vast frippery shop, an ever-varying galantee-show, an eternal vanity fair, a vortex of folly, a pan- demonium of vice. Sepieniber 18. — Our imperials are packed, our passports signed, and we set off to-morrow for Geneva by Dijon and the Jura. I leave nothing behind me to regret, I see nothing before me to fear, and have no hope but in change : and now all that remains to be said of Paris, and all its wonders and all its vanities, all its glories and all its gayeties, are they not recorded in the ponderous chronicles of most veracious tourists — and what can I add thereto V ^ ^ v^ ^ Geneva, Saturday Night, 11 o'clock. Can it be the " blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone" I hear from my window ? Shall I hear it to-morrow, when I wake ? Have I seen, have I felt the reality of what I have so often imagined ? and much, much more V How little do I feel the contretemps and privations which affect others — and feel them onJy because they affect others 1 To me they are notliing : I have in a few hours stored my mind with images of beauty and gran- deur which will last through my whole existence. * * * * Yet I know I am not singular ; others have felt 81 the same : others, who, capable of " di inking in the soul of things," have viewed nature less with their eyes than their hearts. Now I feel the value of my own enthusiasm ; now am I repaid in part for many pains and sorrows and errors it has cost me. Though the natural expression of that en- thusiasm be now repressed and restrained, and my spirits subdued by long illness, what but en- thusiasm could elevate my mind to a level with the sublime objects round me, and excite me to pour out my whole heart in admiration as I do now ! How deeply they have penetrated into my imagination ! — Beautiful nature ! If I could but infuse into you a portion of my own existence, as you have become a part of mine — if I could but bid you reflect back my soul, as it reflects back all your magnificence, I would make you my only friend, and wish no other ; content " to love earth only for its earthly sake." I am so tired to-night, I can say nothing of the Jura, nor of the superb ascent of the mountain, to me so novel, so astonishing a scene; nor of the cheerful brilliance of the morning sun, illuminating the high cliffs, and throwing the deep woody valleys into the darkest shadow ; nor of the far distant plains of France seen between the hills, and melt- ing away into a soft vapory light ; nor of Morey, and its delicious strawberries and honey-comb ; nor of that never-to-be-forgotten moment, when turn- ing the corner of the road, as it wound round a cliff near the summit, we beheld the lake and city of Geneva spread at our feet, with its magnificent background of the Italian Alps, peak beyond peak, snow-crowned ! and Mont Blanc towering over all ! No description had prepared me for this prospect ; and the first impression was rapturous surprise : but by degrees the vastness and the huge gigantic features of the scene, pressed like a weight upon " my amazed sprite," and the feeling of its immense extent fatigued my imagination, till my spirits gave way in tears. Then came remem- brances of those I ought to forget, blending with all I saw a deeper power — raising up emotions, long buried though not dead, to fright me with their resurrection. I was so glad to arrive here, and shall be so glad to sleep— even the dull sleep which laudanum brings me. Oct. 1. — When next I submit (having the power to avoid it) to be crammed into a carriage, and cari'ied from place to place, whether I would or not, and be set down at the stated points de vue, while a detestable laquais points out what I am to admire, I shall deserve to endure again what I endured to-day. As there was no possibility of relief, I resigned myself to my fate, and was even amused by the absurdity of my own situation. We went to see the junction of the Arve and the Rhone : or rather to see the Arve pollute the rich, blue, transparent Rhone, with its turbid waters. The day was heavy, and the clouds rolled in pro- 33 digious masses along the dark sides of tlie moun- tains, frequently hiding them from our view, and substituting for their graceful outlines and ever- varying contrast of tint and shade, an impenetrable veil of dark grey vapor. 3d. — We took a boat and rowed on the lake lor about two hours. Our boatman, a fine hand- some athletic figure, was very talkative and in- (elUgent. He had been in the ser\'ice of Lord liyron, and was with him in that storm between La Melllerie and St. Gingough, which is described in the third canto of Childe Harold. He pointed out, among the beautiful villas, which adorn the banks on either side, that in which the empress Josephine had resided for six months, not long before her death. When he spoke of her, he rested upon his oars to descant upon her virtues, her generosity, her afiabillty, her goodness to the poor, and his countenance became quite animated with enthusiasm. Here, in France, wherever the name of Josephine is mentioned, there seems to exist but one feeling, one opinion of her benefi- cence and amabilite of character. Our boatman bad also rowed Marie Louise across the lake, on her way to Paris : he gave us no very captivating picture of her. He described her as " grande, blonde, bienfaile, et extrii.iement Ji^re ;" and told us how she tormented her ladies in waiting ; " coinme elle tracassait ses dames d'honneur." The day being rainy and gloomy, her attendants begged of 34 her to defer the passage for a shoit time, till the fogs had cleared away, and discovered all the beauty of the surrounding shores. She replied haughtily and angrily, " Je veux. faire ce que je veux — allez toujours." M. le Baron M n, whom we knew at Paris, told me several delightful anecdotes of Josephine : he was attached to her household, and high in her confidence. Napoleon sent him on the very morning of his second nuptials, with a message and billet to the ex-empress. On hearing that the ceremony was performed which had passed her sceptre into the hands of the proud, cold-hearted Austrian, the feelings of the woman overcame every other. She burst Into tears, and wringing her hands, ex- claimed " Ah ! au moins, qu'il soit heureux ! " Napoleon resigned this estimable and amiable creature to narrow views of selfish policy, and with her his good genius fled : he deserved it, and verily he hath had his reward. AVe drove after dinner to Copet ; and the Duch- ess de Broglie being absent, had an opportunity of seeing the chateau. All things " were there of her " — of her, whose genuine worth excused, whose all-commanding talents threw Into shade those fail- ings which belonged to the weakness of her sex, and her warm feelings and imagination. The ser- vant girl who showed us the apartments had been fifteen years In Madame de Stael's service. All *;he servants had remained long in the family, " elle COPET. 85 ^tait si bonne et si cliarmante maitresse ! " A pic- ture of Madame de Stael when young, gave me the idea of a fine countenance and figure, though the features were irregular. In the bust, the expres- sion is not so prepossessing: — there the colour and brilliance of her splendid dark eyes, the finest feature of her face, are of com-se quite lost. The bust of M. Rocca* was standing in the Baron de Stael's dressing-room : I was more struck with it than any thing I saw, not only as a chef d'oeuvre, but from the perfect and regular beauty of the head, and the charm of the expression. It was just such a mouth as we might suppose to have uttered his well-known reply — " Je I'aimerai tellemeixt, qu'elle Jinlra par m'ahner." Madame de Stael had a son by this marriage, who had just been brought home by his brother, the Baron, from a school in the neighbourhood. He is about seven years old. If we may believe the servant, Madame de Stael did not acknowledge this son till just before her death ; and she described the wonder of the boy on being brought home to the chateau, and desired to call Monsieur le Baron " Mon frere " and "Auguste." This part of Madame de Stael's con- duct seems incomprehensible ; but her death is recent, the circumstances little known, and it is difficult to judge her motives. As a icornan, as a wife, she might not have been able to brave " the world's dread laugh " — but as a mother ? * By Christian Fnedericla Tiock. 86 PANORAMA OF LAUSANNE. ^"^e have also seen Ferney — a place which did not interest me much, for I liave no sympathies with Voltaire : — and some other beautiful scenes in the neighbourhood. The Panorama exhibited in London just before I left it, is wonderfully correct, with one pardonable exception : the artist did not venture to make the waters of the lake of the intense ultra-marine tinged with violet as I now see them before me ; " So darkly, deeply, beautifully blue ; " it would have shocked English eyes as an exagger- ation, or rather impossibility. THE PANORAMA OF LAUSANNE. Now blest forever be that heaven-sprung art Which can transport us in its magic power From all the turmoil of the busy crowd, From the gay haunts where pleasure is ador'd, 'Mid the hot sick'ning glare of pomp and light; And foshion worsliipp'd by a gaudy tlu'ong Of heartless idlers — from the jarring world And all its passions, follies, cares, and crimes— And bids us gaze, even in the city's heart. On such a scene as this ! fairest spot ! If but the pictured semblance, the dead image Of thy majestic beauty, hath a power To wake such deep delight; if that blue lake, Over whose lifeless breast no bi'eezes play, Those mimic mountains robed in purple light, Yon painted vei'dure that but setms to glow, Thjse forms uubreathing, and those motionless woods JOUUNEY TO MILAN, 87 A beauteous mockery all — can" ravish thus, What would it be, could we now gaze indeed Upon thy Ihing landscape ? could we breathe Thy mountain air, and listen to thy waves, As they run rippling past our feet, and see That lake lit up by dancing sunbeams — and Those light leaves quivering in the summer air, Or linger some sweet eve just on this spot Where now we seein to stand, and watch the stars Flash into splendor, one by one, as night Steals over yon snow-peaks, and twilight fades Behind the steeps of Jura! here, her-e ! 'Mid scenes where Genius, Worth, and Wisdom dwelt,* Which fancy peopled with a glowing train Of most divine creations — Here to stray With one most cherished, and in loving eyes Read a sweet comment on the wonders round — Would this indeed be bliss? would not the soul Be lost in its own depth? and the full heart Languish with sense of beauty unexprest, And faint beneath its own excess of life ? Saturday. — Quitted Geneva, and slept at St Maurice. I was ill during the last few days of our stay, and therefore left Geneva with the less regret. I suffer now so constantly, that a day tolerably free from pain seems a blessing for which I can scarctj be sufficiently thankful. Such was yesterday. Our road lay along the south bank of the lake, • '• Rousseau, Voltaire, our Gibbon, and De Stael, 'H*man! tJiose names are worthy of thy shore." Loud Btbon. 88 JOURNEY TO MILAN. through Evian, Thonon, St. Gingough : and on the opposite shores we had in view successively, Lau- sanne, Vevai, Clarens, and Chillon. A rain storm pursued, or ahnost surrounded us the whole morn- ing ; but we had the good fortune to escape it. We travelled faster than it could pursue, and it seemed to retire before us as we approached. The eflect was surprisingly beautiful ; for while the two extremities of the lake were discolored and envel- oped in gloom, that part opposite to us was as blue and transparent as heaven itself, and almost as bright. Over Vevai, as we viewed it from La Meillerie, rested one end of a glorious rainbow : the other extremity appeared to touch the bosom of the lake, and shone vividly against the dark mountains above Chillon. La Meillerie — Vevai ! what magic in those names ! and O what a power has genius to hallow with its lovely creations, scenes already so lavishly adorned by Nature I it was not, however, of St. Preux I thought, as I passed under the rock of the Meillerie. Ah ! how much of happiness, of enjoyment, have I lost, in being forced to struggle against my feelings, instead of abandoning myself to them ! but surely I have done right. Let me repeat it again and again to myself, and let that thought, if possible, strengthen and console me. Monday. — I have resolved to attempt no descrip- tion of scenery ; but my pen is fascinated. I must note a few of the objects which struck me to-day JOURNEY TO MILAN. 39 and yesterday, that I may at will combine them ne'-eafter to my mind's eye, and recall the glorious pictures I beheld, as we travelled through the Vallais to Brig : the swollen and turbid, (no longer " blue and arrowy ") Rhone, rushing and roaring along ; the gigantic mountains in all their endless variety of fantastic forms, which enclosed us round, — their summits now robed in curling clouds, and then, as the winds swept them aside, glittering in the sunshine ; the little villages j)erehed like eagles' nests on the clilfs, far, far above our heads; the deep rocky channels through which the torrents had madly broken a way, tearing through every obstacle till they reached the Rhone, and marking their course with devastation ; the scene of direful ruin at Martigny ; the cataracts gushing, bounding from the living rock and plunging into some unseen abyss below ; even the shrubs and the fruit-trees which in the wider parts of the valley bordered the road side ; the vines, the rich scarlet barberries, the apples and pears which we might have gathered by extending our hands ; — all and each, "when I recall them, will rise up a vivid picture before my own fancy ; — but never could be truly represented to the mind of another — at least through the me- dium of words. And yet, with all its wonders and beauties, this day's journey has not enchanted me like Satur- day's. The scenery then had a different species of beauty, a deeper interest — when the dark blue sky 90 JOURNEY TO MILAN. was above our heads, and the transparent lake shone another heaven at our feet, and the recollec- tion of great and glorious names, and visions of poetic fSincy, and ideal forms more lovely than ever trod this earth, hovered around us : — and then those thoughts which would intrude — remem- brances of the far-off absent, who are or have been loved, mingled with the whole, and shed an imag- inary splendor or a tender interest, over scenes which required no extraneous powers to enhance their native loveliness, — no chann borrowed from imagination to embellish the all-beautiful reality. Duomo d'Osso/a. — What shall I say of the mar- vellous, the miraculous Simplon ? Nothing : everj body has said already, every thing that can be said and exclaimed. In our descent, as the valley widened, and th« stern terrific features of the scene assumed a gen- tler character, we came to the beautiful village of Davedro, with its cottages and vineyards spread over a green slope, between the mountains and the torrent below. This lovely nook struck me the more from its contrast with the region of snows, clouds, and barren rocks, to which our eyes had been for several hours accustomed. In such a spot as Davedro I fancied I should wish to live, could I in life assemble round me all that my craving heart and boundless spirit desire ; — or die, when life ha'l exhausted all excitement, and the subdued and weary soul had learned to be content with repose ; — but not till then. JOURNEY TO MILAX. 41 "We are now in Italy ; but have not jet heard the soft sounds of the Italian language. However, Ave read with great satisfaction the Italian denomination of our Inn, " La grande Alberga della Villa" — called out " Cameriere !" instead of " Gar^on !" — plucked ripe grapes as they hung from the treillages above our heads — gathered green figs from the trees, bursting and luscious — panted with the in- tense heat — intense and overpowering from its contrast with the cold of the Alpine regions we had just left — and fancied we began to feel cette vie ennivrante, Que le soleil du sud inspire a tous les sens. 1 1 at nigJtf. — Fatigue and excitement have lately- proved too much for me : but I will not sink. I will yet bear up ; and when a day thus passed amid scenes like those of romance, amid all that would once have charmed my imagination, and enchanted my senses, brings no real pleasure, but is ended, as noto it ends, in tears, in bitterness of heart, in lan- guor, in sickness, and in pain— ah ! let me remem- ber the lesson of resignation I have lately learned and by elevating my thoughts to a better Avoi-ld, turn to look upon the miserable affections which have agitated me here as * * The sentence which follows is so blotted as to be illegible. — Ed. 42 JOURNEY TO MILAN. Could I but become as insensible, as regardless of the painful past as I am of the all lovely pres- ent ! Why was I proud of my victory over pas- sion ? alas ! what avails it that I have shaken the viper from my hand, if I have no miraculous anti- dote against the venom which has mingled with my life-blood, and clogged the pulses of my heart ! But the antidote of Paul — even faith — may it not be mine if I duly seek it? Arona on the Banks of the Lago JIaggiore. Rousseau mentions somewhere, that it was once his intention to place the scene of the Heloise in the Borromean Islands. What a French idea*! How strangely incongruous had the pastoral sim- plicity of his lovers app2ared in such a scene ! It must have changed, if not the whole plan, at least the whole coloring of the tale. Imagine la divine Julie tripping up and down the artificial terraces of the Isola Bella, among flower pots and statues, and coloni^ades and grottos ; and St. Preux sigh- ing towards her, from some trim fantastic wilder- ness In the Isola Madre ! The day was heavenly, and I shall never forget the sunset, as we viewed it reflected in the lake, which appeared at one moment an expanse of liv- ing fire. This is the first we have seen of those eiFulgent sunsets with which Italy will make ua familiar. ^t. MILAN. ,; (53 /,t,g«lfc,, H Milan. — Our journey yesterday, tlirongli the flat fertile plains of Lombardy, was not very interest- ing; and the want of novelty and excitement made it fatiguing, in spite of the matchless roads and the celerity with which we travelled. Whatever we may think of Napoleon in Eng- land, it is impossible to travel on the continent, and more particularly through Lombardy, without being struck with the magnificence and vastness of his public Avorks — either designed or executed. He is more regretted here than in France ; or rather he has not been so soon banished from men's minds. In Italy he followed the rational policy of de- pressing the nobles, and providing occupation and amusement for the lower classes. I spoke to-day with an intelligent artisan, who pointed out to us a hall built near the public walk by Napoleon, for the people to dance and assemble in, when the weather was unfavorable. The man concluded some very animated and sensible remarks on tlie late events, by adding expressively, that though many had been benefited by the change, there was to him and all others of his class as much difference between- the late reign and the present, as between I'or et lefer. The silver shrine of St. Carlo Borromeo, with all its dazzling waste of magnificence, struck me with a feeling of melancholy and indignation. The gems and gold which lend such a horrible splen- dor to corruption ; the skeleton head, grinning ghastly under its invaluable coronet; the skeleton 44 MILAN. hand supporting a crozier glittering with diamonds, appeared so frightful, so senseless a mockery of the excellent, simple-minded, and benevolent being they were intended to honor, that I could but wonder, and escape from the sight as quickly aa possible. The Duomo is on the whole more re- markable for the splendor of the material, than the good taste with which it is employed : the statues which adorn it inside and out, ai-e sufficient of themselves to form a very respectable congre- gation : they are four thousand in number. Qth. Tuesday. — We gave the morning to the churches and the evening to the Ambrosian library. The day was, on the whole, more fatiguing than edifying or amusing. I remarked whatever was re- markable, admired all that is usually admired, but brought away few impressions of novelty or pleas- ure. The objects which principally struck my ca- pricious and fastidious fancy, were precisely those which passed unnoticed by every one else : and are not worth recording. In the first church we vis- ited, I saw a young girl respectably, and even ele- gantly dressed, in the beautiful costume of the Mi- lanese, who was kneeling on the pavement before & crucifix, weeping bitterly, and at the same time fanning herself most vehemently with a large green fan. Another church, (St. Alessandro, I think,) was oddly decorated for a Christian temple. A statue of Venus stood on one side of the porch, a statue of Hercules on the other. The two divini- MILAN. 45 ties, whose attributes could not be mistaken, Lad been converled I'rom heathenism into two very re- Bpectable saints. I forget their Christian names Nor is this the most amusing metamorphosis I have seen here. The transformation of two heathen di- vinities into saints, is matched by the apotheosis of two modern sovereigns into pagan deities. On the frieze of the salle^ adjoining tlie Amphitheatre, there is a head of 2«fapoleon, which, by the addition of a beard, has been converted into a Jupiter ; and on the opposite side, a head of Josephine, which, being already beautiful and dignified, has required no alteration, except in name, to become a credit- able Minerva. \Oth. — At the Brera, now called the " Palace of the Arts and Sciences," we spent some delightful hours. There is a numerous collection of pictures by Titian, Guldo, Albano, Schidone, the three Carraccis, Tintorretto, Giorgione, &c. Some old paintings in fresco by Luini and others of his age, were especially pointed out to us, which had been cut from the walls of churches now destroyed. They are preserved here, I presume, as curiosi- ties, and specimens of the progress of the arts, for they possess no other merit — none, at least, that I could discover. Here is the " Marriage of the Virgin," by Raffaelle, of which I had often heard. It disappointed me at the first glance, but charmed me at the second, and enchanted me at the third. The uno^'truisive grace and simplicity of Raflaelle 46 do not immediately strike an eye so unpractised, and a taste so unformed as mine still is ; for though I have seen the best pictures in England, we have there no opportunity of becoming ac- quainted with the two divinest masters of the Italian art, RafFaelle and Correggio. There are not, I conceive, half a dozen of either in all the collections together, and those we do possess, are far from being among their best efforts. But Ratfaelle must not make me forget the llagar in the Brera : the affecting — the inimitable Hagar ! what agony, what upbraiding, what love, what helpless desolation of heart in that countenance ! I may well remember the deep pathos of this pic- ture ; for the face of Hagar has haunted me sleep- ing and waking ever since I beheld it. Marvel- lous power of art ! that mere inanimate forms, and colors compounded of gross materials, should thus live— thus speak — thus stand a soul-felt pres- ence before us, and from the senseless board or canvas, breathe into our hearts a feeling, beyond what the most impassioned eloquence could ever inspii'e — bejond what mere words can ever render. Last night and the preceding we spent at the Seala. The opera was stupid, and Madame Bel- locchi, who is the present prima donna, appeared to me harsh and ungraceful, when compared to Fodor. The new ballet, however, amply indem* nified us for the disappointment. Our ItaHan friends condoled with us on being 47 a few da/s too late to see La Vestale, -wliicli had been performed for sixty nights, and is one of Vigano's masterpieces. I thought the Didone Abbandonata left us nothing to regret. The im- mense size of the stage, the splendid scenery, the classical propriety and magnificence of the dresses, the fine music, and the exquisite acting, (for there is very little dancing,) all conspired to render it enchaiating. The celebrated cavern scene, in the fourth book of Virgil, is rather too closely copied in a most inimitable pas de deux ; so closely, in- deed, that I was considerably alarmed pour les hienseaiices : but little Ascanius, who is asleep in a corner, (Heaven knows how he came there,) wakes at the critical moment, and the impending catastrophe is averted. Such a scene, however beautiful, would not, I think, be endured on the English stage. I observed that when it began, the curtains in front of the boxes were withdrawn, the whole audience, who seemed to be expecting it, was hushed ; the deepest silence, the most de- lighted attention prevailed during its performance ; and the moment it was over, a third of the specta- tors departed. 1 am told this is always the case ; and that in almost every ballet d'action, the public are gratified by a scene, or scenes, of a similar ten- dency. The second time I saw the Didone, my atten- tion, in spite of the fascination of the scene, was attracted towards a box near us, which was occu« 48 pied by a noble English family just arrived at Milan. In the front of the box sat a beautiful girl, apparently not fifteen, with laughing lips and dimpled cheeks, the very personification of bloom- ing, innocent, EnrjUi^h loveliness. I watched her (I could not help it, when my interest was once awakened,) through the whole scene. I marked her increased agitation : I saw her cheeks flush, her eyes glisten, her bosom flutter, as if with sighs I could not overhear, till at length overpowered with emotion, she turned away her head, and covered her eyes with her hand. Mothers ! — English mothers ! wjio bring your daughters abroad to finish their education — do ye well to ex- pose them to scenes like these, and /orce the young bud of early feeling in such a precious hot-bed as this ? Can a finer finger on the piano, — a finer taste in painting, or any possible improvement in foreign arts, and foreign graces, compensate for one taint on that moral purity, which has ever been (and may it ever be !) the boast, the charm of Englishwomen ? But what have I to do with all this ? — I came here to be amused and to forget : — not to moralize, or to criticize. Vigano, who is lately dead, composed the Dlilone Ahbandonata, as well as La Vestale, Gtcilo, Nina, and others. All his ballets are cel- ebrated for their classical beauty and interest. This man, though but a dancing-master, must liave had the soul of a painter, a musician, and a 49 poet in one. He 'must have been a perfect master of desi;jn, grouping, conti'ast, picturesque, and scenic effect. He must have had the most exquis- ite feeling for musical expression, to adapt it so admirably to his purposes ; and those gestures and movements with which he has so gracefully combined it, and which address themselves but too powerfully to the senses and the imagination — what are they, but the very " poetry of motion," la poesie mixe en action, rendering words a super- fluous and feeble medium in comparison ? I saw at the mint yesterday the medal struck in honor of Vigano, bearing his head on one side, and on the other, Prometheus chained ; to com- memorate his famous ballet of that name. One of these medals, struck in gold, was presented to hira in the name of the government : — a singular dis- tinction for a dancing-master ; — but Vigano was a dancing-master of geniua : and this is the land where genius in every shape is deified. The enchanting music of the Prometteo l)y Beethoven, is well known in England, but to pro- duce the ballet on our stage, as it was exhibited here, would be impossible. The entire tribe of our dancers and figurantes, with their jumpings, twirlings, quiverings, and pirouettings, must be first annihilated ; and Vigano, or Didelot, or No- verre rise again to inform the whole corps de ballet with another soul and the whole audience with another spirit : — for 4 00 — ' Poiche paga il volgo sciocco, 6 giusto Scioccamente ' ballar ' per dargli gusto." The Theatre of the Scala, notwithstandinfj the vastness of my expectations, did not disappoint me. I heard it criticized as being dark and gloomy ; for only the stage is illuminated : but when 1 remember how often I have left our English theatres with dazzled eyes and aching head, — distracted by the multiplicity of objects and faces, and " blasted with excess of light," — I feel reconciled to this peculiarity ; more especially as it heightens beyond measure the splendor of the stage effect. We have the Countess Bubna's box while we are here. She scarcely ever goes herself, being obliged to hold a sort of military drawing-room almost every evening. Her husband. General Bubna, has the command of the Austrian forces in the north of Italy : and though the Archduke Reinier is nominal viceroy, all real power seems lodged in Bubna's hands. He it was who sup- pressed the insurrection in Piedmont during the last struggle for liberty : 'twas his vocation — more the pity. Eight hundred of the Milanese, at the head of them Count Melzi, were connected with the Carbonari and the Piedmontese insur- gents. On Count Bubna's return from his expe- dition, a list of these malcontents being sent to him by the police, he refused even to look at it, 51 and merely saying that it was tlie business of the police to surveiller those persons, but he must be allowed to be ignorant of their names, publicly tore the paper. The same night he visited the theatre, accompanied by Count Melzi, was re- ceived with acclamations, and has since been de- servedly popular. Bubna is a heavy gross-looking man, a victim to the gout, and witli notliing martial or captivating in his exterior. He has talents, however, and those not only of a military cast. lie was gener- ally employed to arrange the affairs of the Emperor of Austria Avith Napoleon. His loyalty to his own sovereign, and the soldier-like frankness and integ- rity of his character, gained him the esteem of the French emperor ; who, when any difficulties oc- curred in their arrangements, used to say impa- tiently — " Envoyez-moi done Bubna ! " The count is of an illustrious family of Alsace, which removed to Bohemia wlien that province was ceded to France. He had nearly ruined him- self by gambling, when the emperor (so it is said) advised him, or, in other words, commanded him to marry the daughter of one Arnvelt or Arnfeldt, a baptized Jew, who had been servant to a Jewish banker at Vienna ; and on his death left a million of florins to each of his daughters. He was a man of the lowest extraction, and without any education ; but having sense enough to feel its ad- vantiiges, he gave a most brilliant one to hia 02 MILAN. daugTiters. The Countess Bubna Is an elegant, an accomplished, and has the character of being also an amiable woman. She is here a person of the very first consequence, the wife of the arch- iluke alone taking precedence of her. Apropos of the viceroy, when on the Corso to-day with the Countess Bubna, we met him with the vice-queen, as she is styled here, walking in public. The archduke has not (as the countess observed) la plus jolie tournure du nmnde ; his appearance is heavy, awkward, and slovenly, with more than the usual Austrian stupidity of countenance : a com- plete tesla tedesca. His beautiful wife, the Prin- cess Maria of Savoy, to whom he has been married oidy a few months, held his arm ; and as she moved a little in front, seemed to drag him after her like a mere appendage to her state. I gazed after them, amused by the contrast: he looking like a dull, stiff, old bachelor, the very figure of Moody in the Country Girl ; — she, an elegant, sprightly, captivating creature ; decision in her step, laughter on her lips, and pride, intelligence, and mischief in her brilliant eyes. ^ 4^ 7^ ^ ^ We visited yesterday the military college found- ed by the viceroy, Eugene Beauharnoss, for the children of soldiers who had fallen in battle. The original design is now altered ; and it has become a mere public school, to which any boys may be admitted, paying a certain sum a year. We went 53 over the wliole ouilding, and afterwards saw the scholars, two hundred and eighty in number, sit down to dinner. Every thing appeared nice, clean, and admirably ordered. At the mint, which interested me extremely, we found them coining silver crowns for the Levant trade, with the head of Maria Theresa, and the date 1780. We were also shown the beautifully engiaved die for the medal which the university of Padua pre- sented to Belzoni. The evening was spent at the Teatro Re, where we saw a bad sentimental comedy (una Conmiedia di Caraterre) exceedingly well acted. One actor, I thought almost equal to Dowton, in his own style ; — we had afterwards some fine music. Some of the Milanese airs, which the itinerant musicians give us, have considerable beauty and character. There is less monotony, I think, in their general style than in the Venetian music ; and perhaps less sentiment, less softness. When left alone to- night, to do penance on the sofa, for my late ■walks, and recruit for our journey to-morrow. — I tried to adapt English verses to one or two very pretty airs which Annoni brought me to-day, with- out the Italian words ; but it is a most difficult and invidious task. Even Moore, with his unequalled command over the lyric harmonies of our lan- guage, cannot perfectly satisfy ears accustomed to the " Linked sweetuess loii": da-awn out " of the Italian vowels, combined witli musical sounds : fancy such dissonant syllables as ex, pray, what, breaks, strength, uttered in minim time, — hissing and grating through half a bar, instead of the dulcet anima mia, Catina amabile — Caro mio tesoro, &c. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. All that it hoped Jly heart believed, And when most trasting, Was most deceived. A shadow hath fallen O'er my young years ; And hopes when brightest. Were quench' d in tears. I make no plaint — I breathe no sigh — My lips can smUe, And mine eyes are dry. I a«k no pity, I hope no cure — The heart, tho' broken, Can live, and endure ! We left Milan two days ago, and arrived early the same day at Brescia : there is, I believe, very little to see there, and of that little, I saw notUng, • — being too ill and too low for the slightest exer- 5d tion. The only pleasurable feeling I can remem- ber was excited by our approach to the Alps, aftei traversing the flat, fertile, uninteresting plains of Lombardy. The peculiar sensation of elevation and delight, inspired by mountain scenery, can only be understood by those who have felt it: at least I never had formed an idea of it till I found myself ascending the Jura. But Brescia ought to be immortalized in the history of our travels : for there, stalking down the Corso — le nez en I'air — we met our acquaint- ance L , from whom we had parted last on the pave of Piccadilly. I remember that in Lon- don I used to think him not remarkable for wis- dom, — and his travels have infinitely improved him — in folly. He boasted to us triumphantly that he had run over sixteen thousand miles in sixteen months : that he had bowed at the lev6e of the Emperor Alexander, — been slapped on the shoulder by the Archduke Constantine, — shaken hands with a Lapland witch,— and been presented in full volunteer uniform at every court between Stockholm and Milan. Yet is he not one particle wiser than if he had spent the same time in walk- ing up an(f down the Strand He has contrived, however, to pick up on his tour, strange odds and ends of foreign follies, which stick upon the coarse- grained materials of his own John Bull character like tinfoil upon sackcloth ; so that I see li*,tle dif- ference between what he was, and what he is, 56 I.AGO DI GARDA. except tliat, from a simple goose, — he has become a compound one. With all this, L is not unbearable — not i/et at least. He amuses others as a butt — and me as a specimen of a new genus of fools : for his folly is not like any thing one usually meets with. It is not, par exemple, the folly of stupidity, for he talks much ; nor of dulness, for he laughs much ; nor of ignorance, for he has seen much ; nor of wrong-headedness, for he can be guided right ; nor of bad-hearted ness, for he is good-natured ; nor of thoughtlessness, for he is prudent ; nor of extravagance, for he can calcu- late even to the value of half a lira ; but it is an essence of folly, peculiar to himself, and like Mon- sieur Jaques's melancholy, "compounded of many simples, extracted from various objects, and the sun- dry contemplation of his travels." So much, for the present, of our friend L . We left Brescia early yesterday morning, and after passing Desenzano, came in sight of the Lago di Garda. I had from early associations a de- lightful impression of the beauty of this lalce, and it did not disappoint me. It is far superior, 1 think, to the Lago Maggiore, because the scenery is more resserre, lies in a smaller compass, so that the eye takes in the separate features more easily. The mountains to the north are dark, broken and wild in their forms, and their bases seemed to extend to the water edge : the hills to the south are smiling, beautiful, and cultivated, LAGO DI GARDA. 57 stuiJiled with white flat-roofed buildings, which glitter one above another in the sunshine. Our drive along the promontory of Sirmione, to visit the ruins of the Villa of Catullus, was delightful. The fresh breeze which ruffled the dark blue lake, revived my spirits, and chased away my head-ache. I was inclined to be enchanted with all I saw ; and when our guide took us into an old cellar choked with rubbish, and assured us gi-avely that it was the very spot in which Catul- lus had written his Odes to Lesbia, I did not laugh in his face ; for, after all, it would be as easy to prove that it is, as that it is not. The old town and castle of Sirmio are singularly pictu- I'esque, whether viewed from above or below ; and the grove of olives which crowned the steep ex- tremity of the promontory, interested us, being the first we had seen in Italy : on the whole-I fully en- joyed the early part of tliis day. At Peschiera, which is strongly fortified, we crossed the IMincio. — fountain Ai-ethuse, and thou honored fiood, Smooth flowing Miaicius crowned with vocal reeds. Its waters were exquisitely transparent ; but it was difficult to remember its poetical pretensions, in sight of those odious barracks and batteries The reeds mentioned by Virgil and Milton still flourish upon its banks, and I foi'gave them foi spoiling in some degree the beauty of the shore, ■when I thought of Adelaide of Burgundy, who concealed herself among them for three days, when she fled from the dungeon of Peschiera to the arms of her lover. I was glad I had read her story in Gibbon, since it enabled me to add to clas- sical and poetical associations, an interest at once romantic and real. The rest to-morrow — for I can write no more. At Verona, Oct. 20. I had just written the above when I was startled by a mournful strain from a chorus of voices, raised at intervals, and approaching grad- ually nearer. I Avalked to the window, and saw a long funeral j^rocession just entering the church, which is opposite to the door of our inn. I imme- diately threw over me a veil and shawl, followed it, and stood by while the service was chaunted over the dead. The scene, as viewed by the light of about two hundred tapers, which were carried by the assistants, was as new to me as it was solemn and striking : but it was succeeded by a strange and forlorn contrast. The moment the service was over, the tapers were suddenly extinguished ; the priests and the relatives all disappeared in an in- conceivably short time, and before I was quite aware of what was going forward : the coffin, stripped of Its embroidered pall and garlands of flowers, appeared a mere chest of deal boards, 59 roughly nailed together ; and was left standing on tressels, bare, neglected, and forsaken in the mid- dle of the church. I approached it almost fearfully, and with a deeper emotion than I believed such a thing could now excite Avithin me. And here, thouTht I, rests the liuman being, who has lived and loved, suifered and enjoyed, and, if I may judge by the splendor of his funeral rites, has been hon- ored, served, flattered while living : — and now not one remains to shed a last tear over the dead, but a single stranger, a wanderer from a land he perhaps knew not : to whom his very name is unknown ! And while thus I moralized, two sextons appeai-ed ; and one of them seizing the miserable and deserted coffin, rudely and unceremoniously flung it on his shoulders, and vanished through a vaulted door : and 1 returned to my room, to write this, and to think how much better, how much more humo.nely, we manage these things in our own England. Oct. 21. — Verona is a clean and quiet place, con- taining some fine edifices by Palladio and his pupils. ITie principal object of interest is the ancient am- phitheatre ; the most perfect I believe in Italy. The inner circle, with all its ranges of seats, is en- tire. We ascended to the top, and looked down into the Piazza d'arme, where several battalions of Austrian soldiers were exercising ; their arms glit- tering splendidly in the morning sun. As I have now been long enough in Italy to sympathize in the national hatred of the Austrians, I turned from 60 the siglit, resolved not to be pleased. The arena of the amphitheatre is smaller, and less oval in form than I had expected : and in the centre there is a little paltry gaudy Tvooden theatre for puppets and tumblers, — forming a grotesque contrast to the massive and majestic architecture around it: but even tumblers and puppets, as Rospo observed, are better than wild beasts and ferocious gladiators. There is also at Verona a triumphal arch to the Emperor Gallienus ; the architecture and inscrip- tion almost as perfect as if erected yesterday ; — and a most singular bridge of three irregular arches, built, I beheve, by the Scaligieri family, who were once princes of Verona. It is well known that the story of Romeo and Juliet is here regarded as a traditionary and indis- putable fact, and the tomb of Juliet is shown in a garden near the town. So much has been written and said on this subject, I can add only one observa- tion. To the reality of the story it has been ob- jected that the oldest narrator, Masuccio, relates it as having happened at Sienna : but might he not have heard the tradition at Verona, and transferred the scene to Sienna, since he represented it as related by a Siennese ? — Delia Corte, whose history of Verona I have just laid down, mentions It as a real historical event ; and Louis da Porta, in his beautiful novel, la Giulietta, expressly asserts that he has written it down from tradition. If Shaks- peare, as it is said, never saw the novel of Da PADUA, 61 Porta, how came lie by the names of Romeo and Juliet, the Montagues and the Capulets : if he did meet with it, how came he to depart so essentially from the story, particularly in the catastrophe ? I must get some books, if possible, to clear up these difficulties. 23f/, at Padua. — We spent yesterday morning pleasantly at Vicenza. Palladio's edifices in general disappointed me ; partly because I am not architect enough to judge of their merits, partly because, of most of them, th& situation is bad, and the materials paltry ; but the Olympic theatre, although its solid perspective be a mere trick of the art, surprised and pleased me. It has an air of antique and classic elegance in its decorations, which is very striking. I have heard it criticized as a specimen of bad taste and trickery : but why should its solid scenery be considered more a trick, and in bad taste, than a curtain of painted canvas ? In both a deception is practised and intended. We saw many things in Vicenza and its neighbourhood, which I have not time, nor spirits, to dwell upon. We arrived here (at Padua) last night, and to- day I am again ill : unable to see or even to wish to see any thing. My eyes are so full of tears that I can scarcely write. I must lay down my pencil, lest T break through my resolution, and be tempted to record feelings I afterwards tremble to see writ- ten down. — O bitter and too lasting remembrance ! I must sleep it away — even the heavy and drug- 62 VENICE. bought sleep to which I am now reduced, is better than such waking moments as these. Venice, October 25th. I feel, while I gaze round me, as if I had seen Venice in my dreams — as if it were itself the vision of a dream. We have been here two days ; and I have not yet recovered from my first sur- prise. All is yet enchantment : all is novel, ex- traordinary, affecting from the many associations and remembrances excited in the mind. Pleasure and wonder are tinged with a melancholy interest ; and while the imagination is excited, the spirits are depressed. The morning we left Padua was bright, lovely, and cloudless. Our drive along the shores of the Brenta, crowned with innumerable villas and gay gardens, was delightful ; and the moment of our arrival at Fusina, where we left our carriages to embark in gondolas, was the most auspicious that could possibly have been chosen. It was about four o'clock: the sun was just declining towards the west : the whole surface of the lagune, smooth as a mirror, appeared as if paved with fire ; — and Venice, with her towers and domes, indistinctly glittering in the distance, rose before us like a gorgeous exhalation from the bosom of the ocean. It is farther from the shore than I expected. As we approached, the splendor faded : but the in- G3 terest and the -wonder grew. I can conceive noth- ing more beautiful, more singular, more astonish- ing, than the first appearance of Venice, and sad indeed "will be the hour when she sinks (as the poet prophesies) " into the slime of her own canals." The moment we had disembarked our luggage at the inn, we hired gondolas and rowed to the Piazzi di San Marco. Had I seen the church of St. ^lark any where else, I should have exclaimed igainst the bad taste which every whei'e prevails in it : but Venice is the proper region of the fan- tiistic, and the church of St. Mark — with its four hundred pillars of every different order, color, and matei-ial, its onental cupolas, and glittering vanes, and gilding and mosaics — assimilates with all around it : and the kind of pleasure it gives is suitable to the place and the people. After dinner I had a chair placed on the bal- cony of our inn, and sat for some time contem- plating a scene altogether new and delightfuL The ai-ch of the Rialto just gleamed through the de(!pening twilight ; long lines ol' palaces, at first partially illuuiinated, faded away at length into gkomy and formless masses of architecture ; the gondolas glided to and fro, their glancing lights reflected on the water. There was a stillness all around me, solemn and strange in the heart of a great city. No rattling carriages shook the streets, no trampling of horses echoed along the pavement : 64 the silence was broken only by the melancholy erj of the gondoliers, and the dash of their oars ; by the low murmur of human voices, by the chime of the vesper bells, born over the water, and the sounds of music raised at intervals along the canals. The poetry, the romance of the scene stole upon me unawares. I fell into a reverie, in which visionary forms and recollections gave way to dearer and sadder realities, and my mind seemed no longer in my own power. I called upon the lost, the absent, to share the present with me— I called upon past feelings to enhance that moment's delight. I did wrong — and memory avenged her- self as usual. I quitted' my seat on the balcony, with despair at my heart, and drawing to the table, took out my books and work. So passed our first evening at Venice. Yesterday we visited the Accademia, where there are some fine pictures. The famous Assumption by Titian is here, and first made me feel what con- noisseurs mean when they talk of the carnations and draperies of Titian. We were shown two designs for monuments to the memory of Titian, modelled by Canova. Neither of them has been erected ; but the most beautiful, with a little alter- ation, and the substitution of a lady's bust for Titian's venerable head, has been dedicated, I believe, to the memory of the Archduchess Chris- tina of Austria. I remember also an exquisite Canaletti, quite different in style and subject from any picture of this master I ever saw. VENICE. C5 We then rowed to the ducal palare. The coun- cil chamber (I thought of Othello as I entered it) is now converted into a library. The walls are decorated with the history of Pope Ale.xander the Third, and Frederic Barbarossa, painted by the Tintoretti, father and son, Paul Veronese and Palma. Above them, in compartments, hang the portraits of the Doges ; among which Marino Fa- liero is 7iot ; but his name only, Inscribed on a kind of black paU. The Ganymede is a most extpilslte little . group, attributed to the age of Praxiteles ; and not without reason even to the hand of that sculptor. To-day we visited several churches — rich, on the outside, with all the luxury of architecture, — with- inslde, gorgeous with painting, sculpture, and many- colored marbles. The prodigality with which the most splendid and costly materials are lavished here is perfectly amazing : pillars of lapis-lazuli, columns of Egyptian porphyry, and pavements of mosaic, altars of alabaster ascended by steps in- crusted with agate and jasper : — but to particular- ize would be in vain. I will only mention three or four which I wish to recollect : the Church of the Madonna della Salute, so called because erect- ed to the Virgin in gratitude for the deliverance of the city from a pestilence, which she miraculous- ly drove into the Adriatic. It is remarkable for its splendid pictures, most of them by Luca Gior- dano ; and the superb high altar. I think it was 6 66 the Church of the Gesuata which astonished us most. The whole of the inside walls and columns are encrusted with Carrara marble inlaid with verd- antique, in a kind of damask pattern ; over the pulpit it fell like drapery, so easy, so graceful, so exquisitely imitated, that I was obliged to touch it to assure myself of the material. Then by way of contrast followed the Church of San Giorgio Mag- giore, — one of Palladio's masterpieces. After the dazzling and gorgeous buildings we had left, its beautiful simplicity and correct taste struck me at first with an impression of poverty and coldness. At the Church of St. John and St. Paul is the famous martyrdom, or rather assassination, of St. Peter Martyr, by Titian, one of the most magical pictures in the world. Its tragic horror is redeem- ed by its sublimity. Here too is a most admirable series of bas-reliefs in white marble, representing the history of our Saviour, the work of a modern sculptor. Here too the Doges are buried ; and close to the Church is the equestrian statue of one of the Falieri family : near wliich Marino Faliero met the conspirators. At the Frati is the grave of Titian : a small square slab covers him, with this inscription : — Qui giace il gi-an Tizia!no Vecelli. Emulator dei Zeusi e degli Apelli. there is no monument : — and there needs none. It was, I think, in the Church of St. John and St. Paul, that I saw a singular and beautiful altar VEXICE. 67 of black touch-stone, used when mass Is said for the soul of an executed criminal. This Is all I can remember of to-day. 1 am fatigued, and my head aches ; — my Iniaginatiou is yet dazzled : — my eyes are tired of admiring, my mind is tired of thinking, and my heart with feel- ing. Now for repose. 27. — To-day we yisited the ManfrinI Palace, the Casa Pisani, the Palazzo Barberigo, and concluded the morning in the colonnade of St. Mark, and the public gardens. The day has been far less fatigu- ing than yesterday : for though we haye seen an equal yariety of objects, they forced the attention less, and gratified the imagination more. At the ManfrinI Palace there is the most valu- able and splendid collection of pictures I have yet seen In Italy or elsewhere. I have no Intention of turning my little Diary into a mere catalogue of names which I can find In every guide-book ; but I cannot pass over Giorgione's beautiful group of himself, and his wife and cliild, which Lord Byron calls " love at full length and life, not love Ideal," and it is Indeed exquisite. A female with a guitar by the same master is almost equal to it. There are two Lucretias — one by Guido and one by Giordano : though both are beautiful, particularly the former, there was, I thought, an Impropriety iu the conception of both pictures : the figure was too voluptuous — too exposed, and did not give me the idea of the matronly Lucretia, who so carefully 68 VENICE. arraiiged her drapery before she fell. I remember, too, a St. Cecilia, by Carlo Dolci, of most heavenly beauty, — two Correggios — Iphigenia in Aulis, by Padovanino : in this picture the figure of Agamem- non is a complete failure, but the lifeless beauty of Iphigenia, a wonderful effort of art : and a hun- dred others ,at least, all masterpieces. The Barberigo Palace was the school of Titian. AVe were shown the room in which he painted, and the picture he left unfinished when he died at the age of 99. It is a David — as vigorous in the touch and style as any of his first pictures. ***** It is now some days since I had time to write ; or rather the intervals of excitement and occupa- tion found me too much exhausted to take up my pencil. Our stay at Venice has been rendered most agreeable by the kindness of Mr. 11 , the British Consul, and his amiable and charming wife, and in their society we have spent much of the last few days. One of our pleasantest excursions was to the Armenian convent of St. Lazaro, where we were received by Fra Pasquale, an accomplished and intelligent monk, and a particular friend of Mr, 11 . After we had visited every part of the convent, the printing press — the library — the lab- oratory — which contains several fine mathematical instruments of English make ; and admired the VEXICE. 69 beautiful little tame gazelle whicli bounded through the cori'idors, we were politely refreshed with most delicious sweetmeats and coffee ; and took leave of Fra Pasquale with regret. There is no opera at present, but we have visited both the other theatres. At the San Luca, they gave us " Elizabeth, the Exile of Siberia," tolerably acted : but there was one trait introduced very characteristic of the place and people : Elizabeth, in a tremendous snow storm, is pursued by robbers ; and finding a crucifix, erected by the roadside, embraces it for protec- tion. The crucifix flies away with her in a clap of thunder, and sets her down safely at a distance from her persecutors. The audience appeared equally enchanted and edified by this scene : some of the women near me crossed themselves, and put their handkerchiefs to their eyes : the men rose from their seats, clapped with enthusiasm, and shouted " Bravo ! Miracolo ! " At the San Benedetto we were gratified by a deep tragedy entitled " Gabrielle Innocente," so exquisitely absurd, and so grotesquely acted, thai' the best comedy could scarcely have afforded us more amusement, — certainly not more merriment. In the course of the evening, coffee and ices were served in our box, as is the custom here. With Mrs. H this evening I had a long and pleasant conversation ; she is really one of the most delightful and unaffected women I ever met 70 with : and as there is nothing in my melancholy visage and shrinking reserve to tempt any person ^ converse with me, I must also set her down as one of the most good-natured. She talked much of Lord Byron, with whom, during his residence here, she was on intimate terms. She spoke of him, not conceitedly as one vain of the acquaint- ance of a great character ; nor with affected reserve, as if afraid of committing herself — but with openness, animation, and cordial kindness, as one whom she liked, and had reason to like. Siie says the style of Lord Byron's conversation is very much that of Don Juan : just in the same manner are the familiar, the brilliant, the sublime, the affecting, the witty, the ludicrous, and the licentious, mingled and contrasted. Several little anecdotes which she related I need not write down ; I can scarcely forget them, and it would not be quite fair as they were told en conjiance. 1 am no anecdote hunter, picking up articles for *' my pocket book." ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ A little while ago Captain F. lent me D'ls- raell's Essays on the Literary Character, which had once belonged to Lord Hyron ; and contained marginal notes in his handwriting. One or two of them are so curiously characteristic that I copy them here. The first note is on a passage In which D'ls- raell, in allusion to Lord Byron, traces his fond- 71 ness for oriental scenery to his having read Rycaut at an early age. On this, Lord Byron observes, that he read every hook rekiting to the East before he was ten years old, Including De Tott and Can- temir as well as Rycaut : at that age, he says that he detested all poetry, and adds, " when I was in Turkey, I was oftener tempted to turn mussul- man than poet : and have often regi'etted since that / did not." At page 99, D'Israeli says, " The great poetical genius of our times has openly ahenated himself from the land of his brothers," (over the word brothers Lord Byron has written Cains.) " He becomes immortal in the language of a people whom he would contemn, he accepts with ingratitude the fame he loves more than life, and he is only truly great on that spot of earth, whose genius, when he is no more, will contemplate his shade in sorrow and in anger." Lord Byron has underlined several words in this passage, and writes thus in the margin : " AVhat was rumored of me in that language, if true, I was unfit for England ; and if false, Eng- land was unfit for me. But ' there is a world else- where.' I have never for an Instant regretted that country, — but often that I ever returned to it. It is not my fault that I am obliged to write In Eng- lish. If I understood any present language, Italian, for instance, equally well, I would write in it: — but 12 VENICE. it will require ten years, at least, to form a style. No tongue so easy to acquire a little of, and so dif- ficult to master thoroughly, as Italian." The next note is amusing ; at page 342 is men- tioned the anecdote of Peti-arch, who when return- ing to liis native town, was informed that the pro- prietor of the house in which he was born had often wished to make alterations in it, but that the town's-people had risen to insist that the house con- secrated by his birth should remain unchanged ; — " a triumph," adds D'Israeli, " more aifecting to Petrarch than even his coronation at Rome." Lord Byron has written in the margin — " It would have pained ?ne more that the proprietor should often have wished to make alterations, than it would give me pleasure that the rest of Arezzo rose against his right (for right he had) : the de- preciation of the lowest of mankind is more pain- ful, than the applause of the highest is pleasing. The sting of the scorpion is more in torture than the jiossession of any thing short of Venus would be in rapture." ***** The public gardens are the work of the French, and occupy the extremity of one of the islands. They contain the only trees I have seen at Venice : — a few rows of dwarfish unhappy-looking shrubs, parched by the sea breezes, and are little fre- quented. We found here a solitary gentleman, who was sauntering up and down with his hands VENICE. /3 in his pockets, and a look at once stupid and dis- consolate. Sometimes lie paused, looked vacantly over the waters, whistled, yawned, and turned away to resume his solemn walk. On a trifling remark addressed to him by one of our party, he entered into conversation, with all the eagerness of a man, whose tongue had long been kept in most unnatural bondage. He congratulated himself on having met with some one who would speak Eng- lish ; adding contemptuously, that " he understood none of the outlandish, tongues the people spoke hereabouts :" he inquired what was to be seen here, for though he had been four days in Venice, he had spent every day precisely in the same manner; viz. walking up and down the public gardens. We told him Venice was famous for fine buldings and pictures ; he knew nothing of them things. And that it contained also, " some fine statues and an- ti(|ues" — ^he cared nothing about them neither — he should set off for Florence the next morning, and begged to know what was to be seen there V JVIr. R told him, with enthusiasm, " the most splen- did gallery of pictures and statues in the world ! " He looked very blank and disappointed. "Noth- ing else ? " then he should certainly not waste his time at Florence, he should go direct to Rome ; he had put down the name of that town in his pocket- book, for he understood it was a very convenient place : he should therefore stay there a week : thence he should go to Naples, a place he had also u heard of, where he should stay another week : then ht should go to Algiers, where he should stay three weeks, and thence to Tunis, whei-e he expected to be very comfortable, and should probably make a long stay; then he should return home, having seen every thing worth seeing. He scarcely seemed to know how or by what route he had got to Venice — but he assured us he had come " fast enough ;" — he remembered no place he had passed through except Paris. At Paris, he told us, there was a female lodging in the same hotel with himself, who, by his description, appears to have been a single lady of rank and fashion, ti-avelling with her own carriages and a suite of servants. He had never seen her ; but learning through the do- mestics that she was travelling the same route, he sat down and wrote her a long letter, beginning " Dear Madam," and proposing they should join company, " for the sake of good fellowship, and the hit of chat they might have on their way." Of course she took no notice of this strange billet, " from which," added he with ludicrous simplicity, " I supposed she would rather travel alone." Truly, " Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time." After this specimen, sketched from life, who will say there are such things as carica- tures ? We visited to-day the Giant's Staircase and the Bridge of Sighs, and took a last farewell of St. 75 Mark — we were surprised to see the church hung wilh black — the Icstoons of flowers all removed — masses going forward at several altars, and crowds of people looking particularly solemn and devout. It is the " Giomo dei morte," the day by the Ro- man Catholics consecrated to the dead I observed many persons, both men and women, who wept Avhile they prayed, with every appearance of the most profound grief. Leaving St. Mark, I crossed the square. On the three lofty standards in front of the church, formerly floated the ensigns of the three states subject to Venice, — theMorea, Cyprus, and Caiidia : the bare poles remain, but the en- signs of empire are gone. One of the standards was extended on the ground, and being of innnense length, I hesitated for a moment whether I should make a circuit, but at last stepped over it. I looked back with remorse, for it was like trampling over the fallen. We then returned to our inn to prepare for our departure. How I regret to leave Venice ! not the less because I cannot help it. Kovigo, Nov. 3. We left Venice in a hurry yesterday, slept at Padua, and travelled this morning through a most lovely country, among the Enganean hills to Kovigo, where we are very uncomfortably lodged at the Albergo di San Marco. I have not yet recovered my regret at leaving 76 Venice so unexpectedly ; though as a residence, I could scarce endure it ; the sleepy canals, the jrliding gondolas in their "dusk livery of woe" — the absence of all vei'dure, all variety — of all nature, in short ; the silence, disturbed only by the incessant chiming of bells — and, worse than all, the spectacle of a great city " expiring," as Lord Byron says, " before our eyes," would give me the hor- rors : but as a visitor, my curiosity was not half gratified, and I should have liked to have stayed a few days longer — perhaps after all, I have reason to rejoice that instead of bringing away from Ven- ice a disagrreeable impression of satiety, disgust, and melancholy, I have quitted it with feelings of admiration, of deep regret, and undiminished interest. Farewell, then, Venice ! I could not have be- lieved it possible that it would have brought tears to my eyes to leave a place merely for its own sake, and unendeared by the presence of any one I loved. As Rovigo affords no other amusement I shall scribble a little longer. Nothing can be more arbitrary than the Austrian government at Venice. As a summary method of preventing robberies during the winter months, when many of the gondoliers and fishermen are out of employ, the police have orders to arrest, without ceremony, every person who has no per- manent trade or profession, and keep them in 77 confinement and to hard labor till the return of spring. The commerce of Venice has so much and so rapidly declined, that Mr. 11 told us when first he was appointed to the consulship, a hundred and fifty English vessels cleared the port, and this year only five. It should seem that Austria, from a cruel and selfish policy, is sacrificing Venice to the prosperity of Trieste : but why do I call that a cruel policy, which on recollection I might rather term poetical and retributive justice ? The grandeur of Venice arose first from its trade in salt. 1 remember reading in history, that when the king of Hungary opened certain productive salt mines in his dominions, the Venetians sent him a peremptory order to shut them up ; and such was the power of the Republic at that time, that he was forced to obey this insolent command, to the great injury and impoverishment of his states. The tables are now turned : the 02:)pressor has become the oppressed. The principal revenue derived from Venice is from the tax on houses, there being no land tax. So rapid was the decay of the place, that in two years seventy houses and palaces were pulled down ; the government forbade this by a special law, and now taxes are paid for many houses whose proprietors are too poor to live in them. There is no society, properly so called, at Venice ; three old women of rank receive company now and then, and it is any thing rather than select. Mr. F. told us at Venice, that, on entering the states subject to Austria, he had liis Johnson's Dic- tionary taken from him. and could never recover it; so jealous is the government of English princi- ples and English literature, that all English books are prohibited until examined by the police. The whole country from ]\lilan to Padua was like a vast garden, nothing could exceed its fertility and beauty. It was the latter end of the vintage ; and we frequently met huge tub-like waggons loaded with purple grapes, reeling home from the vineyards, and driven by men whose legs were stained with treading in the wine-press — now and then, rich clusters were shaken to the ground, as I have seen wisps of straw fall from a hay-cart in England, and were regarded with equal indiifer- ence. Sometimes we saw in the vineyards by the road-side, groups of laborers seated among the branches of the trees, and plucking grapes from the vines, which were trailed gracefullj' from tree to tree and from branch to branch, and drooped with their luxurious burden of fruit. The scene would have been as perfectly delightful, as it was new and beautiful, but for the squalid looks of the peasantry ; more especially of the women. The principal productions of the country seem to be wine and silk. There were vast groves of mul- berry trees between Verona and Padua ; and wo visited some of the silk-mills, in which the united strength of men invariably performed those operaf JOURNEY TO FLOREXCE. 79 tious ■which in England are accomplished by steam or water. I saw in a huge horizontal wheel, about a dozen of these poor creatures labouring so hai'd, that my very heart ached to see them, and I begged that the machine might be stopped that I might speak to them : — but when it teas stopped, and I beheld their half savage, half stupefied, I had almost said brulified countenances, I could not utter a single word — but gave them something, and turned away. " Compassion is wasted upon such creatures," said R ; " do you not see that their minds are degraded down to their condition ? they do not pity themselves : " — but therefore did I pity them the more. Bologna, Nov. 5. I fear I shall retain a disagreeable impression of Bologna, for here I am again ill. I have seen little of what the town contains of beautiful and curious : and that little, under unpleasant and painful circumstances. Yesterday we passed through Fei-rara ; only stopping to change horses and dine. We snatched a moment to visit the hospital of St. Anna and the prison of Tasso — the glory and disgrace of Fer- • rara. Over the iron gate is written " Ingresso alia prigione di Torquato Tasso." The cell itself is miserably gloomy and wretched, and not above twelve feet square. How amply has posterity So JOURNEY TO rLOKENCE. avenged the cause of the poet on his tyrant ! — and as we emerge from his obscure dungeon and descend the steps of the hospital of St. Anna, with what fervent hatred, indignation, and scorn, do we gaze upon the towers of the ugly red brick palace, or rather fortress, which deforms the great square, and where Alphonso feasted while Tasso wept ! The inscrijition on the door of the cell calling on strangers to venerate the spot where Tasso, " Infermo piu di tristezza che delirio," was confined seven years and one month — was placed there by the French, and its accuracy may be doubted ; as ftir as I can recollect. The grass growing in the wide streets of Ferrara is no poetical exaggeration ; I saw it rank and long even on the thresholds of the deserted houses, whose sashless windows, and flapping doors, and roofless walls, looked strangely desolate. I will say nothing of Bologna ; — for the few days I have spent here have been to me days of acute suSering, in more ways than I wish to re- member, and therefore dare not dwell upon. At Covigliajo in the Apennines. O for the pencil of Salvator, or the pen of a .Radclille ! But could either, or could both united, give to my mind the scenes of to-day, in all their splendid combinations of beauty and brightness, gloom and grandeur ? A picture may present to the eye a small portion of the boundless JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 81 whole- -one aspect of the ever- varying focc of nature ; and words, how weak are they ! — they arc but the elements out of which the quick imag- ination frames and composes lovely landscapes, according to its power or its peculiar character ; and in which the unimaginative man finds only a mere chaos of verbiage, without form, and void. The scenery of the Apennines is altogether different in character from that of the Alps : it is less bold, less lofty, less abrupt and teri-ific — but more beautiful, more luxuriant, and infinitely more varied. At one time, the road wound among prec- ipices and crags, crowned with dismantled for- tresses and ruined castles — skirted with dark pine forests — and opening into wild recesses of gloom, and inmieasurable depths like those of Tartarus profound ; then came such glimpses of paradise ! such soft sunny valleys and peaceful hamlets — and vine-clad eminences and rich pastures, with here and there a convent half hidden by groves of cypress and cedars. As we ascended we arrived at a height from which, looking back, we could see the whole of Lombardy spread at our feet ; a vast, glittering, indistinct landscape, bounded on the north by the summits of the Alps, just ap- parent above the horizon, like a range of small silvery clouds ; and on the east, a long unbroken Une of bluish light marked the far distant Adriatic ; as the day declined, and we continued our ascent, (occasionally assisted by a yoke of oxen where the 82 JOURNEY TO FLOREXCE. aclivity was very precipitate,) the mountains closed around us, the scenery became more wildly romantic, barren, and bleak. At length, after passing the crater of a volcano, visible through the gloom by its dull red light, we arrived at the Inn of Covigliajo, an uncouth dreary edifice, situated in a lonely and desolate spot, some miles from any other habitation. This is the very inn, infamous for a sei'ies of the most horrible assassi- nations, committed here some years ago. Travel- lers arrived, departed, disappeared, and were never heard of more ; by what agency, or in what man- ner disposed of, could not be discovered. It waa supposed for some time that a horde of banditti were harbored among the mountains, and the police were for a long time in active search for them, while the real miscreants remained unsus- pected for their seeming insignificance and help- lessness ; these were the mistress of the inn, the cameriere, and the curate of the nearest village, about two leagues off. They secretly murdered every traveller who was supposed to carry prop- erty — burled or burned their clothes, packages, and vehicles, retaining nothing but their watches, jewels, and money. The whole story, with all its horrors, the manner of discovery, and the fate of these wretches, is told, I think, by Forsyth, who can hardly be suspected of romance or exaggera- tion. I have him not with me to refer to ; but I well remember the mysterious and shuddering .TOURNEY TO FLOKENCE. 83 dread with whicli I read the anecdote. I am gla.I no one else seems to recollect it. The inn at pres- ent contains many more than it can possibly ac- commodatt,. We have secured the best rooms, or rather the only rooms — and besides ourselves and other foreigners, there are numbers of native trav- ellers : some of whom arrived on horseback, and others with the Vetturini. A kind of gallery or corridor separates the sleeping rooms, and is divided by a curtain into two parts : the smaller is appropriated to us, as a saloon : the other half, as I contemplate it at this moment through a rent in the curtain, presents a singular and truly Italian spectacle — a huge black rron lamp, suspended by A chain from the rafters, throws a flaring and shifting liglit around. Some trusses of hay have been shaken down upon the floor, to supply the place of beds, chairs, and tables ; and there, re- clining in various attitudes, I see a number of dark-looking figures, some eating and drinking, some sleeping ; some ])laying at cards, some tell- ing stories with all the Italian variety of gesticula- tion and intonation ; some silently looking on, or listening. Two or three common looking fellows began to smoke their cigars, but when it was suggested that this might incommode the ladies on the other side of the curtain, they with genuine politeness ceased directly. Through this motley and picturesque assemblage I have to make my way to my bed-room in a lew minutes — I will taka another look at them, and then andiamo ! 84 FLORENCE. Flo^(•n^e, Not. 8. "La belliseraa e famosissima figlia di Roma," as Dante calls her in some relenting moment. Last night we slept in a blood-stained hovel — and to-night we are lodged in a palace. So much for the vicissitudes of travelling. I am not subject to idle fears, and least of all to superstitious fears — but last night, at Covigliajo, I could not sleep — I could not even lie down for more than a few minutes together. The whis- pered voices and hard breathing of the men who slept in the corridor, from whom only a sliglit door divided me, disturbed and fevered my nerves ; horrible imaginings were all around me : and gladly did I throw open my window at the first glimpse of the dawn, and gladly did I hear the first well-known voice which summoned me to a hasty breakfast. How reviving was the breath oi the early morning, after leaving that close, suflb- cating, ill-omened inn ! how beautiful the blush of light stealing downwards from the illumined sum- mits to the valleys, tinting the fleecy mists, as they rose from the earth, till all the landscape was flooded with sunshine : and when at length we passed the mountains, and began to descend into the rich vales of Tuscany — when from the heights above Fesole, we beheld the city of Florence, and above it the young moon and the evening star sus- pended side by side ; and floating over the whole of the Val d'Arno, and the lovely hills which FLORENCE. 85 enclose it, a mist, or rather a siiflfusion of tlie richest rose color, which gradually, as the day declined, faded, or rather deepened into purple ; then I first understood all the enchantment of an Italian landscape. — O what a country is this ! All that I see, I feel — all that I feel, sinks so deep into my heart and ray memory ! the deeper be- cause I suffer — and because I never think of ex- pressing, or sharing, one emotion with those around me, but lock it up in my own bosom ; or at least in my little book — as T do now. Nov. 10. — We visited the gallery for the first time yesterday morning ; and I came away with my eyes and imagination so dazzled with excel- lence, and so distracted with variety, that I re- tained no distinct recollection of any particular object except the Venus ; which of course was the first and great attraction. This morning was much more delightful ; my powers of discrimina- tion returned, and my power of enjoyment was not diminished. New perceptions of beauty and excellence seemed to open upon my mind ; and faculties long dormant, were roused to pleasurable activity. I came away untired, unsated ; and with a de- lightful and distinct impression of all I had seen. I leave to catalogues to particulai'ize ; and am con- tent to admire and to remember. I am glad I was not disappointed in the Venus, which I half expected. Neitlier was I surprised ; 86 FLOKENCE. but I felt while I gazed a sense of unalloyed and unmingled pleasure, and forgot the cant of criti- cism. It has the same effect to the eye, that per- fect harmony has upon the ear : and I think I can understand why no copy, cast, or model, however accurate, however exquisite, can convey the im- pression of tenderness and sweetness, the divine and peculiar charm of the original. After dinner we walked in the grounds of the Cascine, — a dairy farm belonging to the grand duke, just without the gates of Florence. The promenade lies along the bank of the river, and is sheltered and beautiful. We saw few native Italians, but great numbers of English walking and riding. The day was as warm, as sunny, as brilliant as the first days of September in England. To-night, after resting a little, I went out to view the effect of the city and surrounding scenery, by moonlight. It is not alone the brilliant purity of the skies and atmosphere, nor the peculiar char- acter of the scenery which strikes a stranger ; but here art harmonizes with nature : the style of the buildings, their flat projecting roofs, white walls, balconies, colonnades, and statues, are all set off to advantage by the radiance of an Italian moon. I walked across the first bridge, from which I had a fine view of the Ponte della Trinitii, with its graceful arches and light balustrade, touched with the sparkling mooubeams and relieved by FLOREXCK. 87 dark shadow: then I strolled along tlu. (juay Ir. front of the Corsini palace, and beyond the colon- nade of the Uilizi, to the last of the four bridges; on the middle of which I stood and looked back upon the city — (how justly styled the Fair !) — with all its buildings, its domes, its steeples, its bridges, and woody hills, and glittering convents, and mar- ble villas, peeping from embowering olives and cypresses; and far off the snowy peaks of the Apennines, shining against the dark purple sky ; the whole blended together in one delicious scene of shadowy splendor. After contemplating it with a kind of melancholy delight, long enough to get it by heart, I returned homewards. Men were standing on the wall along the Arno, in various picturesque attitudes, fishing, after the Italian fashion, with singular nets suspended to long poles ; and as I saw their dark figures between me and the moonlight, and elevated above my eye, they looked like colossal statues. I then strayed into the Piazza del Gran Duca. Here the rich moon- light, streaming through the arcade of tlie gallery, fell directly upon the fine Perseus of Benvenuto Cellini ; and illuminating the green bronze, touched it with a spectral and supernatural beauty. Thence I walked round the equestrian statue of Cosmo, and so home over the Ponte Alia Carrajo. Aov. 11. — I spent about two hours in the gal lery, and for the first time saw the Niobe. Thin etatue has been for a long time a favorite of my 88 FLORENCE. imagination, and I approached it, treading softly and slowly, and with a feeling of reverence ; for 1 had an impression that the original Niobe would, like the original Venus, surpass all the casts and copies I had seen, both in beauty and expression : but appai'ently expression is more easily caught than delicacy and grace, and the grandeur and pathos of the attitude and grouping easily copied — for I think the best casts of the Niobe are accu- rate counterparts of the original ; and at the first glance I was capriciously disajjpointed, because the statue did not surpass my expectations. It should be contemplated from a distance. It is supposed that the whole group once ornamented the pediment of a temple — probably the temple of Diana or Latona. I once saw a beautiful drawing by Mr. Cockerell, of the manner in which he supposed the whole group was distrib- uted. Many of the figures are rough and unfin- ished at the back, as if they had been placed on a height, and viewed only in front. In the same room with the Niobe is a head which struck me more — the Alexandre Monrant. The title seemed to me misapplied ; for there is something indignant and upbraiding, as well aa mournful, in the expression of this magnificent head. It is undoubtedly Alexander — but Alex- ander reproaching the gods — or calling upon Heaven for new worlds to conquer. I visited also the gallery of Bronzes : it contains, FLORKNCE. 8b among other master-pieces, the aerial Mercury of John of Bologna, of which we see such a multi- plicity of copies. There is a conceit in perching him upon the bluff cheeks of a little Eolus : but what exquisite lightness in tlie figure ! — how it mounts, how it floats, disdaining the earth ! On leaving the gallery, I sauntered about ; visited some churches, and then returned home depressed and wearied : and in this melancholy humor I had better close my book, lest I be tempted to write what I could not bear to see written. Sunday. — At the English ambassador's chapel. To attend public worship among our own country- men, and hear the praises of God in our native accents, in a strange land, among a strange people ; where a different language, different manners, and a different religion prevail, affects the mind, or at least ought to affect it; — and deeply too: yet I cannot say that 1 felt devout this morning. The last day I visited St. Mark's, when I knelt down beside the poor weeping girl and her dove- basket, my heart was touched, and my prayers, 1 humbly trust, were not unheard : to-day, in that hot close-crowded room, among those fine people flaunting in all the luxury of dress, I felt suffo- cated, feverish, and my head ached — the clergy- man too ***** Samuel Rogers paid us a long visit this morn- ing. He does not look as if the suns of Italv had 90 FLOREXCE. revivified him — but he is as aminhle and amusing as ever. He talked long, et avec heaucoup d'onC' tion, of ortolans and figs ; till methought it was the very poetry of epicurism ; and put me in mind of his own suppers— " Wliere blushing fraits through scatter'd leaves invite, Still clad in bloom and veiled in azure light. The wine as rich in years as Horace sings; " and the rest of his description, worthy of a poeti- cal Apicius. Rogers may be seen every day about eleven or twelve in the Tribune, seated opposite to the Venus, which appears to be the exclusive object of his adoration; and gazing, as if he hoped, like another Pygmalion, to animate the statue ; or rather, perhaps, that the statue might animate him. A young Englishman of fashion, with as much talent as espI6glerie, placed an epistle in verse between the fingers of the statue, addressed to Rogers ; in which the goddess entreats him not to come there ogling her every day ; — for though " partial friends might deem him still alive," she knew by his looks he had come from the other side of the Styx ; and retained her antique abhorrence of the spectral dead, &c., &c. She concluded by beseeching him, if he could not desist from haunt- ing her with his ghosdij presence, at least to spare her the added misfortune of being be-rhymed by bis muse. FLORENCE. 91 Rogers, with equal good nature and good sense, neither noticed these linas, nor withdrew his friend- 6hip and intimacy from the writer. ***** Carlo Dolce is not one of my favorite masters. There is a cloying sweetness in his style, a general want of power which wearies me : yet I brought away from the Corsini Pulace to-day an impression of a head by Carlo Dolce, (La Poesia,) which I shall never forget. Now I recall the picture, I am at a loss to tell where lies the charm Avhich has thus powerfully seized on my imagination. Here are no " eyes upturned like one inspired " — no dis- tortion — no rapt enthusiasm — no Muse full of the God ; — but it is a head so purely, so divinely intel- lectual, so heavenly sweet, and yet so penetrating, — so full of sensibility, and yet so unstained by earthly passion — so brilliant, and yet so calm — that if Carlo Dolce had lived in our days, I should have thought he intended it for the personified genius of Wordsworth's poetry. There is such an individual reality about tliis beautiful head, that I am inclined to believe the tradition, that it is the portrait, of one of Carlo Dolce's daughters who died young : — and yet " Did ever mortal mixture of earth's monkl Breatlie sucli divine, enchanting ravishment ? " ***** Nov. 15. — Our stay at Florence promises to 82 FLOREXCE. be far gayer than either Milan or Venice, or even Paris : more diversified by society, as well as afford- ing a wider field of occupation and amusement. Sometimes in the long evenings, when fatigued and over-excited, I recline apart on the sofa, or bury myself In the recesses of a fautcuil ; when I am aware that my mind is wandering away to for- bidden themes, I force my attention to what is going forward ; and often see and hear much that is entertaining, if not improving. People are so accustomed to my pale face, languid indifference and, what M calls, my impracticable silence, that after the first glance and introduction, I be- lieve they are scarcely sensible of my presence : so I sit, and look, and listen, secure and harbored in my apparent dulness. The flashes of wit, the attempts at sentiment, the affectation of enthusi- asm, the absurdities of folly, and the blunders of ignorance ; the contrast of characters and the clash of opinions, the scandalous anecdotes of the day, related with sprightly malice, and listened to with equally malicious avidity, — all these, in my days of health and happiness, had power to sur- prise, or amuse, or provoke me. I could mingle then in the conflict of minds ; and bear my part ■with smiles in the social circle ; though the next moment perhaps I might contemn myself and others : and the personal scandal, the character- istic tale, the amusing folly, or the malignant wit, were efl'aced from my mind — FLOREXCE. 93 -" Like forms with chalk Painted on rich men's floors for one feast night." Now it is diiferent : I can smile yet, but my smile is in pity, rather than in mockery. If suffer- ing has subdued my mind to seriousness, and per- haps enfeebled its powers, I may at least hope that it has not soured or embittered my temper : — if what could once amuse, no longer amuses, — what could once provoke has no longer power to irritate : thus my loss may be improved into a gain — car tout est Men, quand tout est mal. It is sorrow which makes our experience ; it is sorrow which teaches us to feel properly for oui-- selves and for others. We must feel deeply, be- fore we can think rightly. It is not in the tem- pest and storm of passions we can reflect, — but afterwards when the waters have gone over our soul; and like the precious gems and the rich merchandise which the wild wave casts on the shore out of the wreck it has made — such are the thoughts left by retiring passions. Reflection is the result of feeling ; from that absorbing, heart-rending compassion for one's Self, (the most painful sensation, almost, of which our nature is capable,) springs a deeper sympathy for others ; and from the sense of our own weakness, and our own self-upbraiding, arises a disposition to be indulgent— to forbear — and to forgive — so at least it ought to be. When once we have shed those inexpressibly bitter tears, which fall unre- ffl FLOKEXCE. gaided, and which we forget to wipe away, O how we shrink from inflicting pain ! how we shudder at unkindness ! — and think all harshness even in thought, only another name for cruelty ! These are but common-place truths, I know, which have often been a thousand times better expressed. Formerly I heard them, read them, and thought I believed them : now I feel them ; and feeling, I utter them as if they were something new. — ■ Alas ! the lessons of sorrow are as old as the world itself. To-day we have seen nothing new. In the morning I was ill : in the afternoon we drove to the Cascina ; and while the rest walked, I spread my shawl upon the bank and basked like a lizard in the sunshine. It was a most lovely day, a summer-day in England. In this paradise of a country, the common air, and earth, and skies, seem happiness enough. Wliile I sat to-day, on my green bank — languid, indeed, but free from pain — and looked round upon a scene wliich has lost its novelty, but none of its beauty, — where Florence, with its glittering domes and its back- ground of sunny hills, terminated my view on one side, and the Apennines, tinted with rose color and gold, bounded it on the other, I felt not only pleasure, but a deep thankfulness that such pleas- ures were yet left to me. Among the gay figures who passed and repassed before me, I remarked a benevolent but rather FLORENCE. 95 heavy-looking old gentleman, with a shawl hanging over his arm, and holding a parasol, with which he was gallantly shading a little plain old woman from the November sun. After them walked two young ladies, simply dressed ; and then followed a tall and very handsome young man, with a plain but elegant girl hanging on his arm. This was the Grand Duke and his family ; with the Prince of Carignano, who has lately married one of his daughters. Two servants in plain drab liveries, followed at a considerable distance. People po- litely drew on one side as they approached ; but no other homage was paid to the sovereign, who thus takes his walk in public almost every day. Lady Morgan is merry at the expense of the (irand Duke's taste for brick and mortar : but monarchs, like other men, must have their amuse- ments ; some invent uniforms, some stitch embroid- ery ; — and why should not this good-natured Grand Duke amuse himself with his trowel if he likes it? As to the Prince of Carignano, I give him up to her lash — le traitre — but perhaps he thought he ■was doing right : and at all events there are not flatterers wanting, to call his perfidy patriotism. I am told that Florence retains its reputation of being the most devout capital in Italy, and that here love, music, and devotion, hold divided em- pire, or rather are tria jwicta in uno. The liberal patronage and taste of Lord Burghersh, conti'ibute 96 FLORENCE. perhaps to make music so much a pass^ion as it is at present. Mai;iielli, the Grand Duke's Maestra di Cappella, and director of" the Conservatorio, is the finest tenor in Italy. I have the pleasure of hear- ing him frequently, and think the purity of his taste at least equal to the perfection of his voice ; rare praise for a singer in these " most brisk and giddy-paced times." He gave us last night the beautiful recitative which introduces Desdemoua's song in Othello — Nessum maggior dolore, Che ricordarsi del tempo felice Nella miseria ! and the words, the music, and the divine pathos of the man's voice combined, made me feel — as I thought I never could have felt again. TO As sounds of sweetest music, heard at eve. When summer dews weep over languid flowers, When the still air conveys each touch, each tone, However faint — and breathes it on the ear With a distinct and thrilling power, that leaves Its memory long within the raptur'd soul, — — Even such thou art to me ! — and thus 1 sit And feel the hai-mony that round thee lives. And breathes from every feature. Thiis I sit — And when most quiet — cold — or silent — then Even then, I feel each word, each look, each tone ! FLORENCE. 97 There's not an accent of that tender voice, There's not a day-beam of those sunntright eyes, Nor passhig smile, nor melancholy grace, Nor thought half utter'd, feeling half betray'd, Nor glance of kindness, — no, nor gentlest touch Of that dear hand, in amity extended. That e'er was lost to me; — that treasur'd well, And oft recalled, dwells not upon my soul 1 ike sweetest music heard at summer's eve ! Yesterday we visited the church of San Lo- renzo, the I^aurentian library, and the Pietra Dura manufactory, and afterwards spent an hour in the Tribune. In a little chapel in the San Lorenzo are Michel Angelo's fjimous statues, the Morning, the Noon, the Evening, and the Night. I looked at them with admiration rather than with pleasure; for there is something in the severe and overpower- ing style of this master, which affects me disagree- ably, as beyond my feeling, and above my com- prehension. These statues are very ill disposed for effect : the confined cell (such it seemed) in which they are placed is so strangely dispropor- tioned to the awful and massive grandeur of their forms. There is a picture by Michel Angelo, considered a chef d'oeuvr3, which hangs in the Tribune, to the right of the Venus :' now if all the connois- seurs in the world, with Vasari at their head, were to harangue for an hour together on the merits of 7 98 FLORENCE. this picture, 1 mi- ROME. 133 able and disappointing, that we can seldom estimate justly the object before us. We make compari- sons involuntarily in a case where comparisons are odious. ***** The weather is cold here during the prevalence of the tramontana: but I enjoy the brilliant skies and the delicious purity of the air, which leaves the eye free to wander over a vast extent of space. Looking from the gallery of the Belvedere at sun- set this evening, I clearly saw Tivoli, Albano, and Frascati, although all Rome and part of the Cam- pagna lay between me and those towns. Tlie out- lines of every building, ruin, hill, and wood, were so distinctly marked, and stood out so brightly to the eye ! and the full round moon, magnified through the purple vapor which floated over the Apennines, rose just over Tivoli, adding to the beauty of the scene. O Italy ! how I wish I could transport hither all I love ! how I wish I were well enough, happy enough, to enjoy all the lovely things I see ! but pain is mingled with all I behold, all I feel : a cloud seems forever before my eyes, a weight forever presses down my heart. I know it is wrong to repine : and that I ought rather to be thankful for the pleasurable sensations yet spared to me, than lament that they are so few. When I take up my pen to record the im- pressions of the day, I sometimes turn within my- self, and wonder how it is possible that amid the 134 (Strife of feelings not all subdued, and the despond- ing of the heart, the mind should still retain its faculties unobscured, and the imagination all ita vivacity and its susceptibility to pleasure, — like the beautiful sunbow I saw at the Falls of Terni, bending so bright and so calm over the verge of the abyss which toiled and raged below. ^ ¥^ y^ ^ T^ 22. — This morning was devoted to the Capitol, •where the objects of art are ill arranged and too crowded : the lights are not well managed, and on the whole I could not help wishing, in spite of my veneration for the Capitol, that some at least among the divine master-pieces it contains could be transferred to the glorious halls of the Vatican, and shrined in temples worthy of them. The objects which most struck me were the dying Gladiator, the Antinous, the Flora, and the statue called (I know not on what authority) the Faun of Praxiteles. The dying Gladiator is the chief boast of the Capitol. The antiquarian NIbby insists that this statue represents a Gaul, that the sculpture is Grecian, that it formed part of a group on a pedi- ment, representing the vengeance which Apollo took on the Gauls, when, under their king Brennus, they attacked the temple of Delphi : that the cord round the neck is a twisted chain, an ornament peculiar to the Gauls ; and that the form of the shield, the bugles, the style of the hair, and thp ROME. 135 mustachios, all prove it to be a Gaul. I asked, " why should such faultless, such exquisite sculp- ture be thrown away upon a high pediment ? " the affecting expression of the countenance, the head ' bowed low and full of death,' the gradual failure of the strength and sinking of the form, the blood slowly trickling from his side — how could any spectator, contemplating it at a vast height, be sensible of these minute traits — the distinguishing perfections of this matchless statue ? " It was re- plied that many of the ancient buildings were so constructed, that it was possible to ascend and ex- amine the sculpture above the cornice, and though some statues so placed were unfinislied at the back, (for instance, some of the figures which belonged to the group of Niobe,) others (and he mentioned the ^gina marbles as an example) were as highly finished behind as before. I owned myself un- willing to consider the Gladiator a Gaul, but the reasoning struck me, and I am too unlearned to weigh the arguments he used, much less confute them. That the statue being of Grecian marble and Grecian sculpture must therefore have come from Greece, does not appear a conclusive argu- ment, since the Romans commonly employed Greek artists : and as to the rest of the argument, - — suppose that in a dozen centuries hence, the charming statue of Lady Louisa Russell should be discovered under the ruins of Woburn Abbey, and that by a parity of reasoning, the production 136 of Chdn trey's chisel should be attribuled co Italy and Canova, merely because it is cut from a block of Carrara marble ? we might smile at such a con- clusion. Among the pictures in the gallery of the Capi- tol, the one most highly valued pleases me least of all — the Europa of Paul Veronese. The splendid coloring and copious fancy of this master can never reconcile me to his strange anomalies in composition, and his sins against good taste and propriety. One wishes that he had allayed the heat of his fancy with some cooling drops of dis- cretion. Even his coloring, so admired in gen- eral, has something florid and meretricious to my eye and taste. One of the finest pictures here Is Domeni- chino's Cumean Sibyl, which, like all other mas- terpieces, defies the copyist and engraver. The SiblUa Persica of Guercino hangs a little to the left ; and with her contemplative air, and the pen in her hand, she looks as if she were recording the effusions of her more inspired sister. The former is a chaste and beautiful picture, full of feeling and sweetly colored ; but the vicinity of Domeni- chino's magnificent creation throws It rather Into shade. Two unfinished pictures upon which Guldo was employed at the time of his death are preserved In the Capitol : one is the Bacchus and Ariadne, so often engraved and copied ; the other, a single figure, the size of life, represents the Soul 137 of the righteous inaa ascending to heaven. Had Guido lived to finish this divine picture, it would have been one of his most splendid productions ; but he was snatched away to realize, I trust, in his own person, his sublime conception. The head alone is finished, or nearly so ; and has a most extatic expression. The globe of the earth seems to sink from beneath the floating figure, which is just sketched upon the canvas, and has a shadowy indistinctness which to my fancy added to its eflect. Guercino's chef-d'oeuvre, the Res- urrection of Saint Petronilla, (a saint, I believe, of very hypothetical fame,) is also here ; and has been copied in mosaic for St. Peter's. A magnif- icent Rubens, the She Wolf nursing Romulus and Remus ; a fine copy of RaSaelle's Triumph of Galatea by Giulo Romano ; Domenichlno's Saint Barbara, with the same lovely inspired eyes he always gives his female saints, and a long et cetera. From the Capitol we immediately drove to the Borghese palace, where I spent half an hour look- ing at the picture called the Cumean Sibyl of Do- menichino, and am more and more convinced that it is a Saint Cecilia and not a Sibyl. We have now visited the Borghese palace four times ; and apropos to pictures, I may as well make a few memoranda of its contents. It is not the most numerous, but it is by far the most valu- able and select private gallery in Rome. 133 ROME. Domenichino's Chase of Diana, with the two beautiful nymphs in the foreground, is a splendid picture. Titian's Sacred and Profane Lovo puzzlea me completely : I neither understand the name nor the intention of the picture. It is evidently alle- gorical : but an allegory very clumsily expressed. The aspect of Sacred Love would answer just as well for Profane Love. What is that little Cupid about, who is groping in the cistern behind ? why does Profane Love wear gloves ? The picture, though so provokingly obscure in its subject, is most divinely painted. The three Graces by the same master is also here; two heads by Giorgione, distinguished by all his peculiar depth of character and sentiment, some exquisite Albanos ; one of Eaffaelle's finest portraits — and in short, an end- less variety of excellence. I feel my taste become more and more fastidious every day. This morning we heard mass at the Pope's Chapel ; the service was read by Cardinal Fasche, and the venerable old pope himself, robed and mitred en grand costume., was present. No females are allowed to enter without veils, and we were very ungallantly shut up behind a sort of grating, where, though we had a tolerable view of the cere- monial going forward, it was scarcely possible for us to be seen. Cardinal Gonsalvi sat so near us. that I had leisure and opportunity to contemplate the fine intellectual head and acute features of this 139 remarkable man. I thought his countenance had something of the Wellesley cast. The Pope's Chapel is decorated in the most ex- quisite taste; splendid at once and chaste. There are no colors — the whole interior being white and gold. At an unfortunate moment, Lady Morgan's ludicrous description of the twisting and untwist- ing of the Cardinal's tails came across me, and made me smile very mal apropos : it is certainly from the life. Whenever this lively and clever woman describes what she has actually seen with her own eyes, she is as accurately true as she is witty and entertaining. Her sketches after nature are admirable ; but her observations and inferences are colored by her peculiar and rather unfeminine habits of thinking. I never read her "Italy " till the other day, when L., whose valet had contrived to smuggle it into Rome, offered to lend it to me. It is one of the books most rigorously proscribed here ; and if the Padre Anfbssi or any of his satel- lites had discovered it in my hands, I should as- suredly have been fined in a sum beyond what I should have liked to pay. We concluded the morning at St. Peter's, where we arrived in time for the anthem. ***** 23. — Our visit to the Barberini palace to-day was solely to view the famous portrait of Beatrice Cenci. Her appalling story is still as fresh in re- 140 KOME. membrance here, and her name and fate as fa- miliar in the mouths of every class, as if instead ot two centuries, she had lived two days ago. In spite of the innumerable copies and prints I have seen, I was more struck than I can express by the dying beauty of the Cenci. In the face, the ex- pression of heart-sinking anguish and terror is just not too strong, leaving the loveliness of the counte- nance unimpaired; and there is a woe-begone negligence in the streaming hair and loose drapery which adds to its deep pathos. It is consistent too with the circumstances under which the picture is traditionally said to have been painted — that is, in the interval between her tortui-e and her exe- cution. A little daughter of the Princess Barberini was seated in the same room, knitting. She was a beautiful little creature ; and as my eye glanced from her to the picture and back again, I fancied I could trac-e a strong family resemblance ; par- ticularly about the eyes, and the very peculiar mouth. I turned back to ask her whether she had ever been told that she was like that picture ? pointing to the Cenci. She shook back her long curls, and answered with a blush and a smile, " yes, often." * * The family of the Cenci was a branch of the house of Co- lonna, now extinct in the direct male line. The last Prince Co- lonna left two daughters, co-herresses, of whom one married the Prince Sciarra, and the other the Prince Barberini. In thia The Barberini palace contains other treasures beside the Cenci. Poussin's celebrated picture of the Death of Germanicus, Raffaelle's Fornarina, inferior I thought to the one at Florence, and a St. Andrew by Guido, in his very best style of heads, " mild, pale, and penetrating ; " besides others which I cannot at this moment recall. * * * * * 24. — Yesterday, after chapel, I walked through part of the Vatican ; and then, about vesper-time, entered St. Peter's, expecting to hear the anthem : but I was disappointed. I found the church as usual crowded with English, who every Sunday convert St. Peter's into a kind of Hyde Park, where they promenade arm in arm, show off their finery, laugh, and talk aloud : as if the size and splendor of the edifice detracted in any degree from its sacred character. I was struck with a feeling of disgust ; and shocked to see this most glorious temple of the Deity metamorphosed into a mere theatre. Mr. W. told me this morning, that in consequence of the shameful conduct of the English, in pressing in and out of the chapel, occupying all the seats, irreverently interrupting the service, and almost excluding the natives, the anthem will not be sungc in future. manner the portrait of Beatrice Cenci came into the Barberini Eunily. The authenticity of this interesting picture has been disputed: but last night after hearing the point extremely well contested by two intelligent men, I remained c nvinced of ita autheutici'v 142 ROME. This is not the first time that the behavior of the English has created oQ'ence, in spite of the friendly feeling which exists towards us, and the allowances which are made for our national char- acter. Last year the pope objected to the in- decent custom of making St. Peter's a place of fashionable rendezvous, and notified to Cardinal Gonsalvi his desire that English ladies and gentle- men should not be seen arm in arm walking up and down the aisles, during and after divine ser- vice. The cardinal, as the best means of pro- ceeding, spoke to the Duchess of Devonshire, who signified the wishes of the Papal Court to a large party, assembled at her house. The hint so ju- diciously and so delicately given, was at the time attended to, and during a short interval the oflcnce complained of ceased. New comers have since re- commenced the same course of conduct : and in fact, nothing could be worse than the exhibition of gayety and frivolity, gallantry and coquetterie at St. Peter's yesterday. I almost wish the pope may interfere, and with rigor; though, individually, I should lose a high gratification, if our visits to St. Peter's Avere interdicted. It is surely most ill- judged and unfeeling, (to say nothing of th^ prof- anation, for such it is,) to show such open con- tempt for the Roman Catholic religion in its holiest, grandest temple, and under the very eyes of the head of that church. I blushed for my country- wouien. ***** 143 On Christmas Eve v/e went in a large party to visit some of the principal churches, and witness the celebration of the Nativity ; one of the most splendid ceremonies of the Romish Church. We arrived at the chapel of INIonte Cavallo about half- past nine : but the pope being ill and absent, noth- ing particular was going forward ; and we left it to proceed to the San Luigi dei Francesi, where we found the church hung from the floor to the ceiling with garlands of flowers, blazing with light, and resounding with heavenly music : but the crowd was intolerable, the peo])le dirty, and there was such an effluence of strong perfumes, in which garlic predominated, that our physical sensations overcame our curiosity : and we were glad to make our escape. We then proceeded to the church of the Ara Celi, built on the site of the temple of Ju- piter Capitolinus, and partly from its ruins. The scene here from the gloomy grandeur and situation of the church, was exceedingly fine : but we did not stay long enough to see the concluding pro- cession, as we were told it would be much finer at the Santa Maria Maggiore ; for there the real manger which had received our Saviour at his birth was deposited : and this inestimable relic Avas to be displayed to the eyes of the devout : and wi/h a waxen figure laid within, (called here II Bambino,) was to be carried In procession round the church, " with pomp, with music, and with triumphing." 144 The real cradle was a temptation not to be with stood : and to witness this signal prostration of the human intellect before ignorant and crafty super- stition, we adjourned to the Santa Maria Maggiore. For processions and shows I care very little, but not for any thing, not for all I suffered at the moment, would I have missed the scene which the interior of the church exhibited ; for It Is impossible that any description could have given me the faintest idea of it. This most noble edifice, with its perfect proportions, its elegant Ionic columns, and its ma- jestic simplicity, appeared transformed, for the time being, into the temple of some Pagan divinity. Lights and flowers, incense and music, were all around : and the spacious aisles were crowded with the lowest classes of the people, the inhabitants of the neighboring hills, and the peasantry of the Campagna, who, with their wild ruffiau-like fig- ures and picturesque costumes, Avere lounging about, or seated at the bases of pillars, or praying before the altars. How I wished to paint some of the groups I saw ! but only Rembrandt could have done them justice. We remained at the Santa Maria Maggiore till four o'clock, and no procession appearing, our pa- tience was exhausted. I nearly fainted on my chair from excessive fatigue ; and some of our patty had absolutely laid themselves down on the steps of an altar, and were fast asleep ; we there- fore returned home, completely knocked up by the night's dissipation. ROME. 145 27. — " Come," said L. just now, as he drew his chair to the fire, and rubbed his hands with great complacency, " I think we've worked pretty hard to-day ; three palaces, four churches — besides odds and ends of ruins we dispatched in the way : to say nothing of old Nibby's lectures in the morning about the Voices, the Saturnines, the Albanians, and the other old Romans — by Jove ! I almost fancied myself at school again ^Armis vitrumque canter, as old Virgil or somebody else says. So now let's have a little ecart6 to put it all out of our heads : —for my brains have turned round like a windmill, by Jove ! ever since I was on the top of that cursed steeple on the capitol," &c., &c. I make a resolution to myself every morning before breakfast, that I will be prepared with a decent stock of good-nature and forbearance, and not laugh at my friend L.'s absurdities ; but in vain are my amiable intentions : his blunders and his follies surpass all anticipation, as they defy all powers of gravity. I console myself with the con- viction that such is his slowness of perception he does not see that he is the butt of every party ; and such his obtuseness of feeling, that if he did see it, he would not mind it ; but he is the heir to twenty- five thousand a year, and therefore, as R. said, he can afford to be laughed at. We " dispatched," as L. says, a good deal to- 10 146 day, though I did not " work quite so liard " as the rest of the party : in fact, I was obliged to return home from fatigue, after having visited the Doria and Sciarra Palaces, (the last for the second time,) and the church of San Pietro in VIncoli. The Doria Palace contains the largest collection of pictures in Rome : but they are in a dirty and jieglected condition, and many of the best are hung in the worst possible light : added to this there is such a number of bad and indifferent pic- tures, that one ought to visit the Doria Gallery half a dozen times merely to select those on which a cultivated taste would dwell with pleasure. Leonardo da Vinci's portrait of Joanna of Naples, is considered one of the most valuable pictures in the collection. It exhibits the same cast of coun- tenance which prevails through all his female heads, a sort of sentimental simpering aflfectatlon which is very disagreeable, and not at all consist- ent with the character of Joanna. I was much more delighted by some magnificent portraits by Titian and Rubens ; and by a copy of the famous antique picture, the Nozze Aldobrandini, executed in a kindred spirit by the classic pencil of Poussln. The collection at the Sciarra Palace is small, but very select. The pictures are hung with judg- ment, and well taken care of The Magdalen, which is copsidered one of Guido's masterpieces, charmed me most : the countenance is heavenly : though full of extatic and devout contemplation, 147 there is in it a touch of melancholy, " all sorrow's softness charmeJ from its despair/' which is quite exquisite : and the attitude, and particularly the turn of the arm, are perfectly graceful : but Tvhy those odious turnips and carrots in the fore-ground ? They certainly do not add to the sentiment and beauty of the picture. Leonardo da Vinci's Vanity and Modesty, and Caraviy^Io's Gamblers, both celebrated pictures in very ditferent styles, are 'in this collection. I ought not to forget Raf faelle's beautiful portrait of a young musician who was his intimate friend. The Doria and Sciarra palaces con tarn the only Claudes I have seen in Rome. Since the acquisition of the Altieri Claudes, we may boast of possessing the finest productions of this master in England. I remem- ber but one solitary Claude in the Florentine gal- lery ; and I see none here equal to those at Lord Grosvenor's and Angerstein's. We visited the church of San Pietro in Vincoli, to see Michel Angelo's famous statue of Moses, — of which, who has not heard ? I must confess I never was so disappointed by any work of art as I was by this statue, which is easily accounted for. In the first place, I had not seen any model or copy of the original ; and, secondly, I had read Zappi's sub- lime sonnet, Avhich I humbly conceive does rather more than justice to Its subject. The fine open- ing- ■ " Chi e cestui che iti dura pietra scolto Siede Giyanie" — 148 ROME. gave me the impression of a colossal and elevated figure : my surprise, therefore, was great to see a sitting statue, not much larger than life, and placed nearly on the level of the pavement ; so that in- stead of looking up at it, I almost looked down upon it. The " Doppio raggio in fronte," I found in the shape of a pair of horns, which, at the first glance, gave something quite Satanic to the head, which disgusted me. When I began to recover from this first disappointment — although my eyes were opened gradually to the sublimity of the attitude, the grand forms of the drapery, and the lips, which unclose as if about to speak — I still think that Zappi's sonnet (his acknowledged chef- d'oeuvre) is a more sublime production than the chef-d'oeuvre it celebrates. The mention of Zappi reminds me of his wife, the daughter of Carlo Maratti, the painter. She was so beautiful that she was her father's favorite model for his Nymphs, Madonnas, and Vestal Virgins ; and to her charms she added virtue, and to her virtue uncommon musical and literary talents. Among her poems, there is a sonnet ad- dressed to a lady, once beloved by her husband, beginning " Donna! che tanto al mio sol piacesti," tvhich is one of the most graceful, most feeling, most delicate compositions I ever read. Zappi selebrates his beautiful wife under the name of 149 Clori, and his first mistress uader that of Filli : to the latter he has addressed a sonnet, which turns on the same thouglit as Cowley's well-known song, " Love in thine eyes." As they both lived about the same time, it would be hard to tell which of the two borrowed from the other ; probably they •were both borrowers from some elder poet. The characteristics of Zappi's style, are tender- ness and elegance : he occasionally rises to sub- limity ; as in the sonnet on the Statue of Moses, and that on Good Friday. He never emulates the flights of Guido or Filieaja, but he Is more uniformly graceful and flowing than either : his happy thoughts are not spun out too far, — and his points are seldom mere concetti. T>1 GIAMBATTISTA ZAPPI. Amor s'asside alia mia Filli accanto. Amor la segue o\'iinque i passi gira : In lei parla, in lei tace, in lei sospira, Anzi in lei vive, ond'eUa ed ei pub tauto. Amore i vezzi, amor le insegna il canto ; E se mai diiolsi, o se pur mai s' adira, Da lei non parte amor, anzi se mira Amor ne le belle ii'e, amor nel piauto Se awien che danzi in regolato errore, Darle il moto al bel piede, amor riveggio, Come I'auretto quando muove un fiore. 150 Le veggio in fronte amor come in suo seggio, Sul crin, negli occhi, su le labbra araoie, Soi d'iutomo al suo cuore, amor non veggio. TRANSLATION, EXTEMPORE, OF THE FOREGOING SONNET. Love, by my fair one's side is ever seen, He hovers round her steps, where'er she strays, Breathes in her voice, and in her silence speaks, Around her lives, and lends her all his arms. Love is in every glance — Love taught her song; And if she weep, or scorn contract her brow, Still Love departs not from her, but is seen Even in her lovely anger and her tears. When, in the mazy dance she glides along. Still Love is near to poise each graceful step : So breathes the zephyr o'er the yielding flower. Love in her brow is throned, plays in her hair, Darts from her eye and glows upon her lip. But, oh ! he never yet approached her heart. After beinfj confined to the house for three days, partly by indisposition, and partly by a vile sirocco, Jvhich brought, as usual, vapors, clouds, and blue devils in its train — this most lovely day tempted me out ; and I walked v^ith V. over the Monte Cavallo to the Forum of Trajan. After admiring the view from the summit of the pillar, we went on ROME. 151 towards the Capitol, which presented a singular scene : the square and street in front, as well aa the immense flight of steps, one hundred and fifty in number, which lead to the church of the Ara Ceh, were crowded with men, women, and chil- dren, all in their holiday dresses. It was with difficulty we made our way through them, though they very civilly made way for us, and we were nearly a quarter of an hour mounting the steps, so dense was the multitude ascending and descend- ing, some on their hands and knees out of extra-devotion. At last we reached the door of the church, where we understood, from the ex- clamations and gesticulations of those of whom we inquired, something extraordinary was to be seen. On one side of the entrance was a puppet show, on the other, a band of musicians, playing " Di tanti palpati." The interior of the church was crowded to suffocation ; and all in darkness, except the upper end, where, upon a stage brilliantly and very artificially lighted by unseen lamps, there was an exhibition in wax-work, as large as life, of the Adoration of the Shepherds. The Virgin was habited in the court dress of the last century, as rich as silk and satin, gold lace, and paste diamonds could make it, with a flaxen wig, and high-heeled shoes. The infant Saviour lay in her lap, his head encircled with rays of gilt wire, at least two yards long. The shepherds were very well done, but th'i sheep and dogs best of all ; I believe they "62 were the leal animals stuffed. There was a distant landscape seen between the pasteboard trees which was well painted, and from the artful disposition of the light and perspective, was almost a deception — but by a blunder veiy consistent with the rest of the show, it represented a part of the Campagna of Rome. Above all was a profane representation of that Being, whom I dare scarcely allude to, in conjunction with such preposterous vanities, encir- cled with saints, angels, and clouds : the whole got up very hke a scene in a pantomime, and accompa- nied by music from a concealed orchestra, which was intended, I believe, to be sacred music, but sounded to me like some of Rossini's airs. In front of the stage there was a narrow passage divided off, admitting one person at a time, through ■which a continued file of persons moved along, who threw down their contributions as they passed, bowing and crossing themselves with great devo- tion. It would be impossible to describe the ecstasies of the multitude, the lifting up of hands and eyes, the sti-ing of superlatives — the bellissi- mos, santissimos, gloriosissimos, and maravigliosissi- mos, with which they expressed their applause and delight. I stood in the background of this strange scene, supported on one of the long-legged chairs tvhich V** placed for me against a pillar, at onco amazed, diverted, and disgusted by this display of profaneness and superstition, till the heat and crowd overcame me, and I was obliged to leave the 153 churoh. I shall never certainly forget the " Bam- bino " of the Ara Ceh : for though the exhibition I saw afterwards at the San Luigi (where I went to look at Domenichino's fine pictures) surpassed what I have just described, it did not so much sur- prise me. Something in the same style is exhibited in almost every church, between Christmas day and the Epiphany. During our examination of Trajan's Forum to- day, I learnt nothing new, except that Trajan levelled part of the Quirinal to make room for it. The ground having lately been cleared to the depth of about twelve feet, part of the ancient pavement has been discovered, and many frag- ments of columns s^et upright : pieces of frieze and broken capitals are scattered about. The pillar, which is now cleared to the base, stands in its orig- inal place, but not, as it is supposed, at its original level, for the Romans generally raised the substruc- ture of their buildings, in order to give them a more commanding appearance. The antiquarians here are of opinion that both the pavement of the Basilica and the base of the pillar were raised above the level of the ancient street, and that there is a flight of steps, still concealed, between the piUar and the pavement in front. The famous Ulpian Library was on each side of the Basilica, and the Forum difiered from other Forums in not being an open space surrounded by buildings, but a building surrounded by an open space. 154 ROME. ***** Dec. 31. — Jan. 1. — That hour in which we pass ft'orn one year to another, and begin a new account with ourselves, with our fellow-creatures, and with God, must surely bring some solemn and serious thoughts to the bosoms of the most happy and most unreflecting among the trifles on this earth. What then nmst it be to me ? The first hour, the first moment of the expiring year was spent in tears, in distress, in bitterness of heart — as it began so it ends. Days, and weeks, and months, and seasons, came and " passed like visions to their viewless home," and brought no change. Through the compass of the whole year I have not enjoyed one single day — I will not say of happiness — but of health and peace ; and what I have endured has left me little to learn in the way of sufiering. AVould to Heaven that as the latest minutes now ebb away while I write, memory might also pass away ! Would to Heaven that I could efiace the last year from the series of time, hide it from myself, bury it in oblivion, stamp it into annihilation, that none of its dreary moments might ever rise up again to haunt me, like spectres of pain and dis- may ! But this is wrong — I feel it is — and I repent, I recall my wish. That great Being, to whom the life of a human creature is a mere point, but who has bestowed on his creatures such capaci- ties of feeling and suffering, as extend moments to hours, and days to years, inflicts nothing in vain. 155 and if I have suffered much, I have also learned much. Now the last hour is past — another yeai opens : may it bring to those I love all I wish them in my heart ! to me it can bring nothing. The only blessing I hope from time \s for get fulness ! my only prayer to heaven is — rest, rest, rest ! ***** Jan. 4. — We dispatched, as L* * would say, a good deal to-day : we visited the Temple of Vesta, the Church of Santa Maria in Cosmadino, the Temple of Fortune, the Ponte Rotto, and the house of Nicolo Ricnzi : all these lie together in a dirty, low, and disagreeable part of Rome. Thence we drove to the Pyramid of Caius Cestus. As we know nothing of this Caius Cestus, but that he lived, died, and was buried, it is not possible to attach any fanciful or classical interest to his tomb, but it is an object of so much beauty in itself, and from its situation so striking and picturesque, that it needs no additional interest. It is close to the ancient walls of Rome, which stretch on either side as far as the eye can reach in huge and broken masses of brick- woi'k, fragments of battlements and buttresses, overgrown in many parts with shrubs, and even trees. Around the base of the Pyramid lies the burying-gj-ound of strangers and heretics. Many of the monuments are elegant, and their frail materials and diminutive forms are in affecting contrast with the lofty and solid pile which towers ftbove them. The tombs lie around in a small 156 space " amicably close," like brothers in exile, and as I gazed I felt a kindred feeling with all ; for I too am a wanderer, a stranger, and a heretic ; and it is probable that my place of rest may be among them. Be it so ! for methinks this earth could not afford a moi'e lovely, a more tranquil, or more Baered spot. I remarked one tomb, which is an exact model, and in the same material with the sarcophagus of Cornelius Scipio, in the Vatican. One small slab of white marble bore the name of a young girl, an only child, who died at sixteen, and " left her parents disconsolate : " another elegant and simple monument bore the name of a young painter of genius and promise, and was erected " by his companions and fellow-students as a testi- mony of their affectionate admiration and regret." This part of old Rome is beautiful beyond descrip- tion, and has a wild, desolate, and poetical grandeur, which affects the imagination like a dream. The very air disposes one to reverie. I am not sur- prised that Poussin, Claude, and Salvator Rosa made this part of Rome a favorite haunt, and studied here their finest effects of color, and their grandest combinations of landscape. I saw a young artist seated on a pile of ruins with his sketch book open on his knee, and his pencil in his hand — dur- ing the whole time we were there he never changed his attitude, nor put his pencil to the paper, but remained leaning on his elbow, like one lost in ecstasy. 157 Jan. 5. — To-day we drove through the quarter of the Jews, called the Ghetta degli Ebrel. It is a long street enclosed at each end ■with a strong iron gate, which is locked by the police at a cer- tain hour every evening ; (I believe at 10 o'clock ;) and any Jew found without its precincts after that time, is liable to punishment and a heavy fine The street is narrow and dirty, the houses wretched and ruinous, and the appearance of the inhabitants squalid, filthy, and miserable — on the whole, it was a painful scene, and one I should have avoided, had I followed my own inclinations. If this specimen of the effects of superstition and ignorance was depressing, the next was not less ridiculous. We drove to the Lateran : I had frequently visited this noble Basilica before, but on the present occasion, we were to go over it in form, with the usual tor- ments of laquais and ciceroni. I saw nothing new but the cloisters, which remain exactly as in the time of Constantlne. They are in the very vilest style of architecture, and decorated with Mosaic in a very elaborate manner : but what most amused us was the collection of relics, said to have been brought by Constantine from the Holy Land, and which our cicerone exhibited with a sneering solemnity which made it very doubtful whether he believed himself in their miraculous sanctity. Here is the stone on which the cock was perched wnen it crowed to St. Peter, and a pillar from the Temple of Jerusalem, split asunder at the time of 158 the crucifixion; it looks as if it had been sawed very accurately in half from top to bottom; but this of course only renders it more miraculous. Here is also the column in front of Pilate's house, to which our Saviour was bound, and the very well where he met the woman of Samai-ia. All these, and various other relics, supposed to be con- secrated by our Saviour's Passion, are carelessly thrown into the cloisters — not so the heads of St. Peter and St. Paul, which are considered as the chief treasures in the Lateran, and are deposited in the body of the church in a rich shrine. The beautiful sarcophagus of red porphyry, which once stood in the portico of the Pantheon, and contained the ashes of Ai^rippa, is now in the Corsini chapel here, and encloses the remains of some Pope Clement. The bronze equestrian statue of !Mar- cus Aurelius, which stands on the Capitol, was dug from the cloisters of the Lateran. The statue of Constantine in the portico was found in the baths of Constantine : it is in a style of sculpture worthy the architecture of the cloisters. Constantine was the first Christian emperor, a glory which has served to cover a multitude of sins : it is indeed impossible to tbrget that he was the chosen instru- ment of a great and blessed revolution, tut in other respects it is as impossible to look back to the period of Constantine without horror — an era when bloodshed and barbarism, and the general 159 depravity of morals and taste se^mod to have readied their climax. On leaving the Lateran, we walked to the Scala Santa, said to be the very flight of steps which led to the judgment hall at Jerusidem, and transported hither by the Emperor Constantine ; but while the other relics Avhich his pious benevolence bestowed on the city of Rome have apparently lost some of their efficacy, the Scala Santa is still regai'ded with the most devout veneration. At the moment of our approach, an elegant barouche drove up to the portico, from which two well-dressed women alighted, and pulling out their rosaries, began to crawl up the stairs on their hands and knees, re- peating a Paternoster and an Ave Maria on every step. A poor diseased beggar had just gone up before them, and was a few steps in advance. This exercise, as we are assured, purchases a thousand years of indulgence. The morning was concluded by a walk on the Monte Piucio. I did not know on that first morning after our arrival, when I ran up the Scala della Trinita to the top of the Pincian hill, and looked around me with such transport, that I stood by mere chance on that very spot from whrch Claude used to study his sun-sets, and his beautiful effects of evening. His house was close to me on the left, and those of Nicoio Poussin and Salvator Rosa a little beyond. Since they have been pointed out to me, I never pass from the Monte Pincio along the Via Felice i60 without looking up at them with interest : such power has genius, " to hallow in the core of human hearts even the ruin of a wall." * * * * » Jan. 6 — Sunday, at the English chapel, which was crowded to excess, and where it was at once cold and suffocating. We had a plain but excel- lent sermon, and the officiating clergyman, Mr. W., exhorted the congregation to conduct themselves with more decorum at St. Peter's and to remember "what was due to the temple of that God who waa equally the God of all Christians. We afterwards ■went to St. Peter's ; where the anthem was per- formed at vespers as usual, and the tenor of the Argentino sung. The music was indeed heavenly — but I did not enjoy it : for though the behavior of the English was much more decent than I have yet seen it, the crowd round the chapel, the talk- ing, pushing, whispering, and movement, were enough to disquiet and discomfort me : I withdrew, therefore, and walked about at a little distance, where I could just hear the swell of the organ. Such is the immensity of the building, that at the other side of the aisle the music is perfectly in- audible. 7. — Visited the Falconieri Palace to see Cardinal Fesche's gallery. The collection is large, and con- tains many fine pictures, but there is such a melange of good, bad, and indifferent, that on the whole I was disappointed. L* * attached himself ROME. 161 to my side the whole morning — to benefit, as he said, by my " tasty remarks : " he hung so dread- fully heavy on my hands, and I was so confounded by the interpretations and explanations his igno- rance required, that I at last found my patience nearly at an end. Pity he is so good-natured and good-tempered, that one can neither have the com- fort of heartily disliking him, nor find nor make the shadow of an excuse to shake him oif ! In the evening we had a gay party of English and foreigners : among them « * * * * A REPLY TO A COMPLAINT. Trust not the ready smile ! 'Tis a delusive glow — For cold and dark the while The spirits flag below. With a beam of departed joy, The eye may kindle yet: As the cloud in yon wintry sky, StiU glows with the sun that is set The cloud wiU vanish away — The sun will shine to-morrow — To me shall break no day On this dull night of sorrow I 11 iG2 HOME. A REPLY TO A REPROACH. I would not tliat the ■world should know, IIow deep ■within niv panting heart A thousand warmer feelings glow, Than word or look could e'er impart. I would not that the world should guess At aught beyond this outward show ; What happy dreams in secret bless — What burning tears m secret flow. And let them deem me cold or vain; — there is o/ie Avho thinks not so ! In one devoted heart I reign, And what is all the rest below ! 9. — We Lave had two days of tru'^y English weather; cold, damp, and gloomy, with storms of wijid and rain. I know not why, but there is something peculiarly deforming and discordant in bad weather here ; and we are all rather stupid and depressed. To me, sunshine and ■n'armth are substitutes for health and spirits ; and their ab- sence inflicts positive suffering. There is not a single room in our palazzetto which is weather- proof; and as to a good fire, it is a luxury un- known, but not unnecessary, in these regions. In Buch apartments as contain no fire-place, a stufa or portable stove is set, which diffuses little warmth. ROME. 163 and renders the air insupportably close and suf- focating. I witnessed a scene last night, ■which was a good illustration of that extraordinary indolence for which the Romans are remarkable. Our laquais Camillo suffered himself to be turned off, rather :han put wood on the fire three times a day ; he would rather, he said, " starve in the streets than Dreak his back by carrying burdens like an ass; and though he was miserable to displease the Onoratissimo Padrone, his first dutu was to take care of his own health, which, with the blessing of the saints, he was determined to do." R threw liim his wages, repeating with great contempt the only word of his long speech he understood, " Asino ! " " Sono Romano, io," replied the fel- low, drawing himself up with dignity. He took his wages, however, and marched out uf the house. The impertinence of this Camillo was sometimes amusing, but oftener provoking. He piqued him- self on being a profound antiquarian, would con- fute Nibby, and carried Nardini in his pocket, to whom he referred on all occasions ; yet the other day he had the impudence to assure us that Caiua Cestus was an English Protestant, who was ex- communicated by Pope Julius Cassar ; and took his Nardini out of his pocket to prove his asser- tion. V brought me to-day the " Souvenirs de Felicie," of Madame de Genlis, which amused me 164 ROME. delightfully for a few hours. They contain many truths, many half or whole falsehoods, many im- pertinent things, and several very interesting anec- dotes. They are written with all the graceful simplicity of style, and in that tone of lady-like feeling which distinguishes whatever she writes : but it is clear that though she represents these " Souvenirs " as mere extracts from her journal, they have been carefully composed or re-com- posed for publication, and were always intended to be seen. Now if my poor little Diary should ever be seen ! I tremble but to think of it ! — what egotism and vanity, what discontent — repining — - caprice — should I be accused of? — neither per- haps have I always been just to others ; quand on sejif, on rejlechit rarement. Such strange vicisi- tudes of temper — such opposite extremes of think- ing and feeling, written down at the moment, ■without noticing the intervening links of circum- stances and impressions which led to them, would appear like detraction, if they should meet the eye of any indifferent person — but I think I have taken sufficient precautions against the possibility of such an exposure, and the only eyes which will ever glance o^er this blotted page, when the hand that writes it is cold, will read, not to criticize but to sipnpatliize. 10. — A lovely brilliant day, the sky without a cloud and the air as soft as summer. The car- riages were ordered immediately after breakfast. ROME. 165 and we sallied forth in high spirits — resolved, aa L * * said, with his usual felicitous application of Shakspeare, To take the tide in the affairs of men. The baths of Titus are on the iEsquiline ; and noth- ing remains of them but piles of brickwork, ar,d a few subterranean chambers almost choked with rubbish. Some fragments of exquisite arabesque painting are visible on the ceilings and walls ; and the gilding and colors are still fresh and bright. The brickwork is perfectly solid and firai, and ap- peared as if finished yesterday. On the whole, the impression on my mind was, that not the slow and gentle hand of time, but sudden rapine and violence had caused the devastation around us; and looking into Nardini on my leturn, I found that the baths of Titus were nearly entire in the thirteenth century, but were demolished with great labor and difficulty by the terocious Senator Brancaleone, who, about the year 1257, destroyed an infinite number of ancient edifices, " per togliere ai Nobili il modo di fortificarsi." The ruins were excavated during the pontificate of Julius the Second, and under the direction of Raffaelle, who is supposed to have taken the idea of the arabesques in the Loggie of the Vatican, from the paintings here. We were shown the niche in which the Laocoon stood, when it was discovered in 1502. 166 ROME. After leaving the baths, we entered the neighbor- ing church of San Pietro in Vincoli, to laok again at the beautiful fluted Doric columns which once adorned the splendid edifice of Titus : and on this occasion we were shown the chest in which the fet- ters of St. Peter are preserved in a triple enclosure of iron, wood, and silver. ]My unreasonable curi- osity not being satisfied by looking at the mere outside of this sacred coffer, I turned to the monk who exhibited it, and civilly requested that he would open it, and show us the miraculous treasure it contained. The poor man looked absolutely astounded and aghast at the audacity of my request, and stammered out, that the coffer was never opened, without a written order from his holiness the pope, and in the presence of a cardinal, and, that this favor was never granted to a heretic, (coa rispetto parlando ;) and with this excuse we were obliged to be satisfied. The church of San Martino del Monte is built on part of the substructure of the baths of Titus ; and there is a door opening from the church, by which you descend into the ancient subterranean A'aults. The small, but exquisite pillars, and the pavement, which is of the richest marbles, were brought from the Villa of Adrian at Tivoh. The walls were painted in fresco by Nicolo and Gaspai Poussin, and were once a celebrated study for young landscape painters; almost every vestige of coloring is now obliterated by the damp which ROME. 167 Btreams down the walls. There are some excellent modern pictures in good preservation, I think by Carliiccio. This church, though not large, is one of the most magnificent we have yet seen, and the most precious materials are lavished in profusion on every part. The body of Cardinal ToraasI is preserved here, embalmed in a glass case. It is exhibited conspicuously, and in my life I never saw (or smelt) any thing so abominable and dis- gusting. The rest of the morning was spent in the Vatican. I stood to-day for some time between those two great masterpieces, the Transfiguration of Raf- faelle, and Domenichino's Communion of St. Je- rome. I studied them, I examined them figure by figure, and then in the ensemble, and mused upon the diflferent effect they produce, and were de- signed to produce, until I thought I could decide to my own satisfaction on their respective merits. I am not ignorant that the Transfiguration is pro- nounced the " grandest picture in the world," nor so insensible to excellence as to regard this glo- rious composition without all the admiration due to it. I am dazzled by the flood of light which bursts from the opening heavens above, and aflected by the dramatic interest of the group below. What splendor of color ! What variety of expression ! What masterly grouping of the heads ! I see all thiij — but to me Raffaelle's picture wants imity of 168 ROME. interest : it is two pictures in one ; the demoniao boy in the foreground always shocks me ; and thus, from my peculiarity of taste, the pleasure it gives me is not so perfect as it ought to be. On the other hand, I never can turn to the Do- menichino without being thrilled with emotion, and touched with awe. The story is told with the most admirable skill, and with the most exquisite truth and simplicity : the interest is one and the same ; it all centres in the person of the expiring saint ; and the calm benignity of the officiating priest is finely contracted with the countenances of the group who support the dying form of St. Je- rome : anxious tenderness, grief, hope, and fear, are expressed with such deep pathos and reality, that the spectator forgets admiration in sympathy ; and I have gazed, till I could almost have fancied myself one of the assistants. The coloring is as admirable as the composition — gorgeously rich in efl'ect, but subdued to a tone which harmonizes with the solemnity of the subject. There is a curious anecdote connected with this picture, which I wish I had noted down at length as it was related to me, and at the time I heard it : it is briefly this. The picture was painted by Dy- menichino for the church of San Girolamo della Carith. At that time the factions between the dltferent schools of painting ran so high at Rome, that the followers of Domenichino and Gu do abso- lutely stabbed and poisoned each other; and the ROME. 169 popular prejudice being in favor of tLe latter, the Communion of St. Jerome was torn down from its place, and flung into a lumber garret. Some time afterwards, the superiors of the convent wishing to substitute a new altar-piece, commissioned Nicolo Poussin to execute it; and sent him Domenichino'3 rejected picture as old canvas to paint upon. Xo sooner had the generous Poussin cast his eyes on it, than he was struck, as well he might be, with aston- ishment and admiration. He immediately carried it into the church, and there lectured in public on its beauties, until he made the stupid monks ashamed of their blind rejection of such a master- piece, and boldly gave it that character it has ever since retained, of being the second best picture in the world. 11. — A party of four, including L * * and my- self, ascended the dome of St. Peter's ; and even mounted into the gilt ball. It was a most fatiguing expedition, and one I have since repented. I gained, however, a more perfect, and a more sub- lime idea of the architectural wonders of St. Peter's, than I had before ; and I was equally pleased and surprised by the exquisite neatness and cleanliness of every part of the building. We drove from St. Peter's to the church of St. Onofrio, to visit the tomb of Tasso. A plain slab marks the spot, which requires nothing but his name to distinguish it. " After life's fitful fever he sleeps 170 well." The poet Guidi lies in a little chapel close by ; and his efBgy is so placed that the eyes appear fixed upon the tomb of Tasso. In the church of Santa Maria Trastevere, (which is held in peculiar reverence by the Tras- teverini,) there is nothing remarkable, except that like many others in Rome, it is rich in the spoils of antique splendor : afterwards to the Palazzo Farnese and the Farnesina to see the frescos of EaiTaelle, Giulio Romano, and the Caraccis, which have long been rendered familiar to me in copies and engravings. 12. — I did penance at home for the fatigue of the day before, and to-day (the 13th) I took a de- lightful drive of several hours attended only by Scaccia. Having examined at different times, and in detail, most of the interesting objects within the compass of the ancient city, I wished to generalize what I had seen, by a kind of survey of the whole. For this purpose making the Capitol a central point, I drove first slowly tlirough the Forum, and made the circuit of the Palatine Hill, then by the arch of Janus, (which by a late decision of the an- tiquarians, has no more to do with Janus than with Jnpiter,) and the temple of Vesta, back again over the site of the Circus Maximus, between the Par latine and the Aventine, (the scene of the Rape of the Sabines,) to the baths of Caracalla, where I spent an hour, musing, sketching, and poetizing; thence to the church of San Stefano Rotundo, 171 cnce a temple dedicated to Claudius by Agrip« pina; over the Celian Hill, covered with masses of ruins, to the church of St. John and St. Paul, a small but beautiful edifice ; then to the neigh- boring church of San Gregorio, from the steps of which there is such a noble view. Thence I re- turned by the arch of Constantino, and the Coli- seum, which frowned on me in black masses through the soft but deepening twilight, through the street now called the Suburra, but formerly the Via Scelerata, where Tullia trampled over the dead body of her father, and so over the Quirinal, home. My excursion was altogether delightful, and gave me the most magnificent, and I had almost said, the most bewildering ideas of the grandeur and extent of ancient Rome. Every step was classic ground: illustriors names, and splendid rec- ollections crowded upon the fancy — " And trailinf; clo.^ds of glory did they come." On the Palatine Hill were the houses of Cicero and the (iracchi ; Horace, Virgil, and Ovid re- sided on the Aventine ; and Meca?nas and Pliny on the ^:;quilinc. If one little fragment of a wall remained, which could with any shadow of proba- bility be pointed out as belonging to the residence of Cicero, Horace, or Virgil, how much dearer, how much more sanctified to memory would it be than all the magnificent ruins of the fabrics of the Cassars 172 But no — all has passed away. I have heard the ro> mains of Rome coarsely ridiculed, because, after the researches of centuries, so little is comparatively known — because of the endless disputes of antiqua- rians, and the night and ignorance in which all is involved : but to the imagination there is some- thing singularly striking in this mysterious veil which hangs like a cloud upon the objects around us. I trod to-day over shapeless masses of build- ing, extending in every direction as far as the eye could reach. AVho had inhabited the edifices I trampled under my feet ? What hearts had burned — what heads had thought — what spirits had kindled there, where nothing was seen but a wilder- ness and waste, and heaps of ruins, to which anti- quaries — even Nibby himself — dare not give a name ? All swept away — buried beneath an ocean of oblivion, above which rise a few great and glo- rious names, like rocks, over which the billows of time break in vain. Indi esclamo, qua!' notte atra, importuna Tutte I'ampie tue glorie a un tratto amorza? Glorie di senno, di valor, di forza Gia mille avesti, or non hai pur una! / ***** One of the most striking scenes I saw to-dav was the Roman forum, crowded with the common people gaily dressed ; (it Is a festa or saint's day ;) the women sitting in groups upon the fallen col- umns, nursing or amusing their children. ITie ROME. 17S men were playing at mora, or at a game like quoits. Under the "west side of the Palatine Hill, on the site of the Circus Maximus, I met a woman mounted on an ass, habited in a most beautiful and singular holiday costume, a man walked by her side, leading the animal she rode, with lover-like watchfulness. He was en veste, and I observed that his cloak was thrown over the back of the ass as a substitute for a saddle. Two men followed behind with their long capotes hanging from their shoulders and carrying guitars, which they struck from time to time, singing as they walked along. A little in advance there is a small chapel, and Madonna. A young girl approached, and laying a bouquet of flowers before the image, she knelt down, hid her face in her apron, and wrung her hands from time to time as if she was praying with fervor. When the group I have just mentioned came up, they left the pathway, and made a cir- cuit of many yards to avoid disturbing her, the men takins oti' their hats, and the woman inclining her head, in sign of respect, as they passed. All this sounds, while I soberly write it down, very sentimental, and picturesque, and poetical. It was exactly what I saw — what I often see : such is the place, the scenery, the people. Every group is a picture, the commonest object has some in- terest attached to it, the commonest action is dig- nified by sentiment, the language around us ia music, and the air we breathe is poetry. 174 Jusl as I was writing the word munic, the sounds of a guitar attracted me to the Avindow, -which looks into a narrow back street, and is exactly opposite a small white house belonging to a vettu- rino, who has a very pretty daughter. For her this serenade was evidently intended ; for the moment the music began, she placed a light in the window as a signal that she listened propitiously, and then retired. The group below consisted of two men, the lover and a musician he had brought with him : the former stood looking up at tlie window with his hat off, and the musician, after singing two very beautiful airs, concluded with the delicious and popular Arietta " Buona notte amato bene ! " to which the lover wJiislled a second, in such perfect tune, and with such exquisite taste, that I was enchanted. Rome is famous for sere- nades and serenaders ; but at this season they are seldom heard. I remember at Venice being Avakened in the dead of the night by such deli- cious music, that (to use a hyperbole common in the mouths of this poetical people) I was " trans- ported to the seventh heaven : " before I could perfectly recollect myself, the music ceased, the inhabitants of the neighbouring houses threw open their casements, and vehemently and enthusiasti- cally applauded, clapping their hands, and shout- ing bravos : but neither at Venice, at Padua, nor at Florence did I hear any thing that pleased and touched me so much as the serenade to which I have just been listening. ROME. 175 14. — To-day "was quite heavenly — like a lovely May-day in England : the air so pure, so soft, anj the sun so warm, that I would gladly have dis- pensed with my shawl and pelisse. We went in carriages to the other side of the Palatine, and then dispersing in small parties, as will or fancy led, we lounged and wandered about in the Coli- seum, and among the neighbouT-ing ruins till dinner time. I climbed up the western side of the Coliseum, at the imminent hazard of my neck ; and looking down through a gaping aperture on the brink of which I had accidentally seated my- self, I saw in the colossal corridor far below me, a young artist, who, as if transported out of his senses by delight and admiration, was making the most extraordinary antics and gestures : sometimes he claspeil his hands, then extended his arms, then stood with them folded as in deep thought ; now he snatched up liis portfolio as if to draw what so nmch enchanted him, then threw it down and kicked it from him as if in despair. I never saw such admirable dumb show : it was better than any pantomime. At length, however, he hap- pened to cast up his eyes, as if appealing to heaven, and they encountered mine peeping down upon him from above. He stood fixed and motionless for two seconds, staring at me, and then snatching up his portfolio and his hat, ran off and disap- peared. I met the same man afterwards walking 176 along the Via Felice, and could not help smiling as he passed : he smiled too, but pulled his hat over his face and turned away. I discovered to-day (and it is no slight pleasure to make a discovery for one's self) the passage which formed the communication between the Co- liseum and the Palace of the Caesars, and in which the Emperor Commodus was assassinated. I rec- ognized it by its situation, and the mosaic pave- ment described by Nibby. If I had time I might moralize here, and make an eloquent tirade a la Eustace about imperial monsters and so forth, — but in fact I did think, while I stood in the damp and gloomy corridor, that it was a fitting death for Commodus to die by the giddy playfulness of a child, and the machinations of an abandoned woman. It was not a favorable time or hour to contemplate the Coliseum — the sunshine was too resplendent — It was a garish, broad, and peering day. Loud, light, suspicious, full of eyes and ears; And every little corner, nook, and hole. Was penetrated by the insolent light. We are told that five thousand animals were slain in the amphitheatre on its dedication — how dreadful ! The mutual massacres of the gladiators inspire less horror than this disgusting butchery 1 To what a pitch must the depraved appetite for Uood and death have risen among the corrupted 17? and ferocious populace, before such a sight could be endured ! ***** 15. — We drove to-day to the tomb of Cecilia Metella, on the Appian Way, to the Fountain of Egeria, and the tomb of the Scipios near the Porta Cappena. I wish the tomb of Cecilia iSIetella had been that of Cornelia or Valeria. There may be little in a name, but how much there is in association ! What this massy fabric wanted in classical fame Lord Byron has lately supplied in poetical interest. The same may be said of the Fountain of Egeria, to which he has devoted some of the most exquisite stanzas in his poem, and has certainly invested it witli a charm it could r.ot have possessed befqre. The woods and groves which once surrounded it, have been all cut down, and the scenery round it is waste and bleak ; but the fountain itself is pretty, overgrown with ivy, moss, and the graceful capil- laire plant (capello di venere) drooping from the walls, and the stream is as pure as crystal. L* *, who was with us, took up a stone to break off a piece of the statue, and maimed, defaced, and wreti.'hed as it is, I could not help thinking it a profanation to the place, and stopped his hand, falling him a barbarous Vandyke: he looked so awkwardly alarmed and puzzled by the epithet I had given him ! The identity of this spot (like all other places here) has been vehementlj disputed. 12 178 ROME. At even step to-day we encountered doubt, and contradiction, and cavilling : authorities are mar- shalled against each other in puzzling array, and the modern unwillingness to be cheated by fine sounds and great names has become a general scepticism. I have no objection to the " shadows, doubts, and darkness" which rest upon all around us ; it rather pleases my fancy thus to " dream over the map of things," abandoned to my own cogitations and my own conclusions ; but then there are certain points upon which it is very dis- agreeable to have one's faith disturbed ; and the Fountain of Egeria is one of these. So leaving the more learned antiquarians to fight it out, secundum arlem, and fire each other s wigs if they will, I am determined, and do steadfastly believe, that the Fountain of Egeria I saw to-day is the very iden- tical and original Fountain of Egeria — of Numa's Egeria — and therefore it is so. The tomb of the Scipios is a dirty dark wine cellar : all the urns, the fine sarcophagus, and the original tablets and inscriptions have been removed to the Vatican. I thought to-day while I stood in the sepulchre, and on the very spot whence the sarcophagus of Publius was removed, if Scipio, or Augustus, or Adrian, could return to this world, how would their Roman pride enduj'e to see their last resting-places, the towers and the pyramids in which they fortified themselves, thus violated and put to ignoble uses, and the urns which contained ROME. 179 their ashes stuck up as ornaments in a painted room, where barbarian visitors lounge away their hours, and stare upon their relics with scornful indifference or idle curiosity 1 The people here, even the lowest and meanest among them, seem to have imbibed a profound re- spect for antiquity and antiquities, which some- times produces a comic effect. I am often amused by the exultation with which they point out a bit of old stone, or piece of brick wall, or shapeless fragment of some nameless statue, and tell you it is antico, wolto antico, and the half contemptuous tone in which they praise the most beautiful modern production, e modei'na — via pure noii 4 caiiva ! 18. — We had an opportunity of witnessing to- day one of the most splendid ceremonies of the Catholic church. It is one of the four festivals at which the Pope performs mass in state at the Vat- ican, the anniversary of St. Peter's entrance into Rome, and of his taking possession of the Papal chair ; for here St. Peter is reckoned the first Pope. To see the high-priest of an ancient and wide-spread superstition publicly officiate in his sacred character, in the grandest temple in the universe, and surrounded by all the trappings of hii) spiritual and temporal authority, was an exhibi- tion to make sad a reflecting mind, but to please 180 ROME. and exalt a lively imagination : I wished mrself a Roman Catholic for one half hour only. The pro- cession, which was so arranged as to produce the most striking theatrical effect, moved up the cen- tral aisle, to strains of solemn and beautiful music from an orchestra of wind instruments. The musi- cians were placed out of sight, nor could I guess from what part of the buildings the sounds pro- ceeded ; but the blended harmony, so soft, yet so powerful and so equally diffused, as it floated through the long aisles and lofty domes, had a most heavenly effect. At length appeared the Pope, borne on the shoulders of his attendants, and hab- ited in his full pontifical robes of white and gold ; fans of peacocks' feathers were waved on each side of his throne, and boys flung clouds of incense from their censers. As the procession advanced at the slowest possible foot-pace, the Pope from time to time stretched forth his arms which were crossed upon his bosom, and solemnly blessed the people as they prostrated themselves on each side. I could have fancied it the triumphant appi'oach of an eastern despot, but for the mild and venerable air of the amiable old Pope, who looked as if more humbled than exalted by the pageantry around him. It might be acting^ but if so, it was the most admirable acting I ever saw : I wish all his attend- ants had performed their parts as well. While the Pope assi.sts at' mass, it is not etiquette for him to do anv thins for himself: one Car Jinal kneeling, ROME. 181 holds the book open before him, another carries his handkerchief, a third folds and unfolds his robe, a priest on each side supports him whenever he rises or moves, so that he appears among them like a mere helpless automaton going through a certain set of mechanical motions, with which his will has nothing to do. All who approach or address him, prostrate themselves and kiss his embroidered slip- per before they rise. When the whole ceremony was over, and most of the crowd dispersed, the Pope, after disrobing, was passing through a private part of the church where we were standing accidentally, looking at, one of the monuments. We made the usual obei- sance, which he returned by inclining his head. He walked without support, but with great dill'i- culty, and appeared bent by infirmity and age : his countenance has a melancholy but most benevolent expression, and his dark eyes retain uncommon lustre and penetration. During the twenty-one years he has worn the tiara, he has suffered many vicissitudes and humiliations with dignity and for- titude, lie is not considered a man of very power- ful intellect or very shining talents : he is not a Ganganelli or a Lambertini ; but he has been happy in his choice of ministers, and his govern- ment has been distinguished by a spirit of liberality, and above all by a partiality to the English, which calls for our respect and gratitude. There wcn-e present to-day in St. Peter's about five thousand 182 ROME. people, and the church would certainly have con- tained ten times the number. 19. — We went to-day to view the restored model of the Coliseum exhibited in the Piazza di Spagna ; and afterwards drove to the manuiactory of the beads called Roman Pearl, which is well worth seeing once. The beads are cut from thin laminsE of alabaster, and then dipped into a composition made of the scales of a fish (the Argentina). When a perfect imitation of pearl is intended, they can copy the accidental defects of color and form which occur in the real gem, as well as its bril- liance, so exquisitely, as to deceive the most prac- tised eye. 20. — I ordered the open carriage early this morning, and, attended only by Scaccia, partly drove and partly walked through some of the finest parts of ancient Rome. The day has been perfectly lovely; the sky intensely blue without a single cloud ; and though I was weak and far from well, I felt the influence of the soft sunshine in everj nerve : the pure elastic air seemed to pene- trate my whole frame, and made my spirits bound and my heart beat quicker. It is ti'ue, I had to regret at every step the want of a more cultivated companion, and that I felt myself shamefully — no ■ — not shamejully, but lamentably ignorant of many 183 tMngs. There is so much of which I wish to know and learn more : so much of my time is spent in hunting books, and accjuiring by various means the information Avith which I ought already to be prepared ; so many days are lost by frequent indisposition, that though I enjoy, and feel the value of all I do know and observe, I am tantalized by the thoughts of all I must leave behind me unseen — there must necessarily be so much of what I do not even hear ! Yet, in spite of these drawbacks, my little excursion to-day was delight- ful. I took a direction just contrary to my last ex- pedition, first by the Quattro Fontane to the Santa Maria Maggiore, which I always see with new de- light; then to the ruins called the temple of Mi- nerva Medica, which stand in a cabbage garden near another fine ruin, once called the Trofei di Mario, and now the Acqua Giulia: thence to the Porta Maggiore, built by Claudius ; and round by the Santa Croce di Gerusalemme. This churcli was built by Helena, the mother of Constantine, iind contains her tomb, besides a portion of the True Cross from which it derives its name. The interior of this Basilica struck me as mean and cold. In the fine avenue in front of the Santa Croce, I paused a few minutes, to look round me. To the right were the ruins of the stupendous Claudian Aqueduct with its gigantic arches, stretch- ing away in one unbroken series far into the Cam- pagna : behind me the Amphitheatre of Castrensc 184 to the left, other ruins, once called the Temple of Venus and Cupid, and now the Sessoriuni: in front, the Lateran, the obelisk of Sesostris, the Porta San Giovanni, and great part of the ancient walls ; and thence the view extended to the foot of the Apennines. All this part of Rome is a scene of magnificent desolation, and of melancholy yet sublime interest : its wildness, its vastness, its waste and solitary openness, add to its effect upon the imagination; The only human beings I beheld in the compass of at least two miles, were a few herdsmen driving their cattle through the Gate of San Giovanni, and two or three strangers who were sauntering about with their note books and portfolios, apparently enthusiasts like myself, lost in the memory of the past and the contemplation of the present. I spent some time in the Lateran, then drove to the Coliseum, where I found a long procession of penitents, their figures and faces totally concealed by their masks and peculiar dress, chanting the Via Crucis. I then examinod the site of the Temple of Venus and Rome, and satisfied myself by ocular demonstration of the truth of the measurements which gave sixty feet for the height of the columns and eighteen feet for their circumference. I knew enough of geometrical proportion to prove this to my own satisfaction. On examining the fragment? which remain, each fluting measured a foot, that is, eight mches right across. This appears prodigious, ROME. 184 but it is, nevertheless, true. I am forced to believe to-day, what I yesterday doubted, and deemed a piece of mere antiquarian exaggeration. This magnificent edifice was designed and built by the Emperor Adrian, who piqued himself on his skill in architecture, and carried his jealousy of other artists so far, as to banish Apollodorus, who had designed the Forum of Trajan. When he had finished the Temple of Venus and Rome, he sent to Apollodorus a plan of his stupendous struc- ture, challenging him to find a single fault in it The architect severely criticized some trifling over- sights ; and the Emperor, conscious of the justice of his criticisms, and unable to remedy the defects, ordered him to be strangled. Such was the fat* of Apollodorus, whose misfortune it was to have an Emperor for his rival. They are now clearing the steps which lead tc this temple, from which it appears that the length of the portico in front was three hundred feet, and of the side five hundred feet. While I was among these ruins, I was struck by a little limped fountain, which gushed from the crumbling wall and lost itself among the fragments of the marble pavement. All looked dreary and desolate; and that part of the ruin which from its situation must have been the sanctiun sanctorum, the shrine of the divinity of the place, is now a receptacle of filth and every conceivable abomina- tion. 186 ROME. I walked on to the ruins now called the Basi- lica of Constantinc, once the Temple of Peace. This edifice was in a bad style, and constmcted at a period when the arts were at a low ebb : yet the ruins are vast and magnificent. The exact direc- tion of the Via Sacra has long been a subject ol vehement dispute. They have now laid open a part of it which ran in front of the Basilica : the pavement is about twelve feet below the present pavement of Rome, and the soil turned up in their excavations is formed entirely of crumbled brick- work and mortar, and fragments of marble, por- phyry, and granite. I returned by the Forum and the Capitol, through the Forums of Nerva and Trajan, and so over the Monte Cavallo, home. 23. — Last night we had a numerous party and Signor P. and his daughter came to sing. S/ie is a private singer of great talent, and came attended by her lover or her fiance; who, according to the Italian custom, attends his mistress every where during the few weeks which precede their mar- riage. He is a young artist, a favorite pupil of Camuccini, and of very quiet unobtrusive manners. La P. has the misfortune to be plain ; her features are irregular, her complexion of a sickly paleness, and though her eyes are large and dark, they ap- peared totally devoid of lustre and expression. Her plainness, the bad taste of her dress, her aw"k- ward figure, and her timid and embarrassed de- 187 portment, all furnished matter of amusement and observation to some young people, (English of course,) whose propensities for quizzing exceeded their good-breeding and good-nature. Though La P. does not understand a word of either French or English, I thought she could not mistake the significant looks and wliispers of which she was the object, and I was in pain for her, and for her modest lover. I drew my chair to the piano, and tried to divert her attention by keeping her in con- versation, but I could get no farther than a few questions which were answered in monosyllables At length she sang — and sang divinely : 1 found the pale automaton had a soul as well as a voice. Afler giving us, with faultless execution, as well as great expression, some of Rossini's finest songs, she sung the beautiful and difficult cavatina in Otello, " Asxisa al pie d'un Salice" with the most enchanting style and pathos, and then stood as unmoved as a statue while the company applauded loud and long. A moment afterwards, as she stooped to take up a music book, her lover, who had edged himself by degrees from the door to the piano, bent his head too, and murmured in a low voice, but with the most passionate accent, " O brava, brava cara ! " She replied only by a look — but it was such a look ! I never saw a human countenance so entirely, so instantaneously changed in character: the vacant eyes kindled and beamed with tenderness : the pale cheek glowed, and a bright smile plajdng round her mouth, just parted her lips sufficiently to discover a set of teeth like pearls. I could have called her at that moment beautiful ; but the change was as transient as sudden — it passed like a gleam of light over her face and vanished, and by the time the book was placed on the desk, she looked as plain, as stupid, and as statue-like as ever. I was the only person who had witnessed this little by- scene ; and it gave me pleasant thoughts and interest for the rest of the evening. Another trait of character occurred afterwards, which amused me, but in a very diffei'ent style. Our new Danish friend, the Baron B , told us he had once been present at the deiapitation of nine men, having first fortified himself with a large goblet of brandy. After describing the scene in all its horrible details, and assuring us in his bad Ger- man French that it was " une chose Men mauvaise a voir," I could not help asking him with a shudder, how he felt afterwards ; whether it was not weeks or months before the impressions of hon-or left his mind ? He answered with smiling naivete and taking a pinch of snufF, " Mafoi I madame,je n'ai pas pu manr/er cle la viande toute cette journee-la V ***** 27. — We drove to the Palazzo Spada, to see the famous Spada Pompey, said to be the very statue at the base of which Caesar fell. I was pleased to find, contrary to my expectations, that this statue ROME. 189 h'JS great intrinsic merit, besides its celebrity, to recommend it. The extremities of the limbs have a certain clumsiness which may perhaps be a feature of resemblance, and not a fault of the sculptor; but the attitude is noble, and the like- ness of the head to the undisputed bust of Pompey in the Florentine gallery, struck me immediately. The Palazzo Spada, with its splendid architecture, dirt, discomfort, and dilapidation, is a fair specimen of the Roman palaces iu general. It contains a corridor, which from an architectural deception appears much longer than it really is. I bate tricks — in architecture especially. We afterwards visited the Pantheon, the Church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, (an odd combination of names,) and concluded the morning at Canova's. It is one of the pleasures of Rome to lounge in the studj of the best sculptors; and it is at Rome only that sculpture seems to flourish as in its native soil. Rome is truly the city of the soul, the home of art and artists. AVith the divine models of the Vatican ever before their eyes, these inspiring skies above their heads, and the quarries of marble at a con- venient distance — it is here only they can conceive and execute those "works which are formed from the beau-ideal ; but it is not here they meet with patronage : the most beautiful things I have seen at the various studj have all been executed for English, German, and Russian noblemen. The names I heard most frequently were those of the 190 Dukes of Bedford and Devonshire, Prince Estef> hazy, and the King of England. Canova has been accused of a want of simplic^ ity, and of giving a too voluptuous expression to some of his figures : with all my admiration of his genius, I confess the censure just. It is particu- larly observable in the Clori svegllata, (the Nymph awakened by Love,) the Cupid and Psyche for Prince Yousouppofl", the Endymion, the Graces, and some others. In some of Thorwaldson's works there is exquis- ite grace, simplicity, and expression : the Shepherd Boy, the Adonis, the Jason, and the Hebe, have a great deal of antique spirit. I did not like the colossal Christ which the sculptor has just finished in clay : it is a proof that bulk alone does not con- stitute sublimity : it is deficient in dignity, or rather in divinity. At Rodolf Schadow's, I was most pleased by the Cupid and the Filatrice. His Cupid is certainly the most beautiful Cupid I ever saw, superior, I think, both to Canova's and to Thorwaldson's. The Filatrice, though so exquisitely natural and graceful, a little disappointed me ; I had heard much of it, and had formed in my own imagination an idea different and superior to what I saw. This beautiful figure has repose, simplicity, nature, and grace, but I felt a want — the want of some internal sentiment : for instance, if, instead of watching the rotation of her spindle with such industrious atten- 191 lion, the Filatrice had looked careless, or absent, or pensive, or disconsolate, (like Faust's Margaret at her spinning-wheel,) she would have been more interesting — but not perhaps what the sculptor in- tended to represent. Schadow is 111, but we were admitted by his order into his private study ; we saw there the Bacchante, which he has just finished in clay, and which is to emulate or rival Canova's Dansatrice. He has been at work upon a small but beautiful figure of a piping Shepherd-boy, which is just made out : beside it lay Virgil's Eclogues, and his spectacles were between the leaves.* Almost every thing I saw at Max Laboureur's struck me as vapid and finikin. There were some pretty groups, but nothing to tempt me to visit it again. ***** 30. — We spent the whole morning at the Villa Albani, where there is a superb collection of an- tique marbles, most of them brought from the Villa of Adrian at Tivoli. To note down even a few of the objects which pleased me, would be an endless task. I think the busts interested me most. There is a basso-relievo of Antinous— the * Poor Schadow died yesterday. He caught cold the other eyening at the Duke of Bracciano's uncomfortable, ostentatious palace, where we heard him complaining of the cold of the Mosaic floors : three days afterwards he was no more, lie is universally regretted. — Author's note. 192 beautiful head declined in his usual pensive atti- tude : it is the most finished and faultless piece of sculpture in relievo I ever saw; and as perfect and as polished as if it came from the chisel yes- terday. There is another basso-relievo of Marcus Aurelius, and Faustina, equal to the la-st in execu- tion, but not in interest. We found Rogers in the gardens : the old poet was sunning himself — walking up and down a beautiful marble portico, lined with works of art, with his note-book in his hand. I am told he is now writing a poem of which Italy is the subject ; and here, with all the Campagna di Roma spread out before him — above him, the sunshine and the cloudless skies — and all around him, the remains of antiquity in a thousand elegant, or venerable, or fanciful forms : he could not have chosen a more genial spot for inspiration. Though we disturbed his poetical reveries rather abruptly, he met us with his usual amiable courtesy, and conversed most delightfully. I never knew him more pleas- ant, and never saw him so animated. Our departure from Rome has been postponed from day to day in consequence of a trijling acci- dent. An Austrian colonel was taken by the banditti near Fondi, and carried up into the mountains : ten thousand scudi were demanded for his ransom ; and for many days past, the whole city has been in a state of agitation and suspense about his ultimate fate. The Austrians, 19S roused by the insult, sent a large body of troops (some say tliree thousand men) against about one hundred and fifty robbers, threatening to exter- minate them. They were pursued so closely, that after dragging their unfortunate captive over the mountains from one fastness to another, till he was nearly dead from exhaustion and ill-treatment, they either abandoned or surrendered liim without terms. The troops immediately marched back to Naples, and the matter rests here : I cannot learn that any thing farther will be done. The robbers being at present panic-struck by such unusual energy and activity, and driven from their accus- tomed haunts, by these valorous champions of good order and good policy, it is considered that the road is now more open and safe than it has been for some time, and if nothing new happens to alarm us, we set off on Friday next. I visited to-day the baths of Dioclesian, and the noble church which Michel Angelo has con- structed upon, and out of, their gigantic ruins. It has all that grand simplicity, that entlreness which characterizes his works: it contains, too, some ad- mirable pictures. On leaving th<5 church, I saw on each side of the door, the moimments of Sal- vatoi Rosa and Carlo Maratti — what a contrast do they exhibit in their genius, in their works, In their characters, in their countenances, in their lives! Near this church (the Santa Maria dei Angeli) Is the superb fountain of the Acqua 13 194 ROME. Felice, tbe first view oi' which rather disappointed me. I had been told that it represented Mosea striking the rock, — a magnificent idea for a foun- tain ! Dui. the execution falls short of the concep- tion. The water, instead of gushing from the rock, is poured out from the mouths of two pro- digious lions of basalt, brought, I believe, from Upper Egypt: they seem misplaced here. A little beyond the Ponta Pia is the Campo Scelerato, where the Vestals were interred alive. We after- wards drove to the Santi Apostoli to see the tomb of the excellent Ganganelli, by Canova. Then to Sant' Ignazio, to see the famous ceiling painted in perspective by the Jesuit Pozzo. Tlie ell'ect is certainly marvellous, making the interior appear to the eye, at least twice the height it really is ; but though the Illusion pleased me as a work of art, I thought the trickery unnecessary and mis- placed. At the magnificent church of the Gesuiti (where there are two entire columns of giallo an- tico) I saw a list of relics for which the church is celebrated, and whose efficacy and sanctity were vouched for by a very respectable catalogue of miracles. Among these relics there are a few worth mentioning for their oddity, viz : one of the Virgin's shifts, three of her hairs, and the skirt of Joseph's coat. 31. — We spent nearly the whole day in the gallery of the Vatican, and in the Pauline and S'stine chapels. JOUKNEY TO NAPLES. 195 JOURNEY TO NAPLES. February 1, at Velletri. I LEFT Rome this morning exceedingly de^ pressed : Madame de Stael may well call travelling wi triste plaisir. ]\Iy depression did not arise from the feeling that I left behind me any thing or any person to regret, but from mixed and melancholy emotions, and partly perhaps from that weakness which makes my hand tremble while I write — which has bound down my mind, and all its best powers, and all its faculties of enjoyment, to a languid passiveness, making me feel at every mo- ment, I am not what I was, or ought to be, or might have been. We arrived, after a short and most delightful journey by Albano, the Lake Nemi, Gensao, &c., at Velletri, the birthplace of that wretch Octa- vius, and famous for its wine. The day has been as soft and as sunny as a INIay-day in England, and the country, through which we travelled but too rapidly, beyond description lovely. The blue Mediterranean spread far to the west, and on the right we had the snowy mountains, with their wild fantastic peaks " rushing on the sky." I felt it all 196 JOURNEY TO NAPLES. in my heart with a mixture of sadness and delight which I cannot express. This land was made by nature a paradise : it seems to want no charm " unborrowed from the eye," — but how has memory sanctified, history illustrated, and poetry illumined the scenes around us ; where every rivulet had its attendant nymph, where every wood was protected by its sylvan divinity ; where every tower has its tale of hero- ism, and " not a mountain lifts its head unsung;" and though the faith, the glory, and the power of the antique time be passed away — still A spirit hangs. Beautiful region! o'er thy towns and farms, Statues and temples, and memorial tombs. I can allow that one half, at least, of the beauty and interest we see, lies in our own souls ; that it is our owu enthusiasm which sheds this mantle of light over all we behold : but, as colors do not exist in the objects themselves, but in the rays which paint them — so beauty is not less real is not less BEAUTY, because it exists in the medium through which we view certain objects, rather than in those objects themselves. I have met persons who think they display a vast deal of common sense, and very uncommon strength of mind, in rising superior to all prejudices of educa- tion and illusions of romance — to whom enthusi- asm is onlyr another name for afl'ectation — who, JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 197 where the cultivated and the contemplative mind finds ample matter to excite feeling and reflection, give themselves airs of fashionable nonchalance, or flippant scorn — to whom the crumbling ruin is so much brick and mortar, no more — to whom the tomb of the Horatii and Curiatii is a stacTc of chim- nei/.'i, the Pantheon an old oven, and the Fountain of Egeria a pig-sty. Are such persons aware that in all this there is an affectation, a thousand times more gross and contemptible than that affectation (too frequent perhaps) which they design to ridicule ? " Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes, He is a slave — the meanest we can meet." 2. — Our journey to-day has been long but de- lightfully diversified, and abounding in classical beauty and interest. I scarce know what to say now that I open my little book to record my own sensations : they are so many, so various, so pain ful, so delicious — my senses and my imagination have been so enchanted, my heart so very heavy — where shall I begin ? In some of the scenes of to-day — at Terracina, particularly, there was beauty beyond what I ever beheld or imagined : the scenery of Switzerland is of a different character, and on a different scale : it is beyond comparison grander, more gigantic, more overpowering, but it is not so poetical. Switzerland is not Italy — is not the enchanting 198 JOURNEY TO NAPLES. south. Tliis soft balmy air, these myrtles, orange- groves, palm-trees; these cloudless skies, thia bright blue sea, and sunny hills, all breathe of an enchanted land ; " a land of Faery." Between Velletri and Terracina, the road runs in one undeviating line through the Pontine Marshes. The accounts we have of the baneful effects of the malaria here, and the absolute solitude, (not a human face or a human habitation intervening fiom one post-house to another,) invest the wild landscape with a frightful and peculiar character of desolation. As for the mere exterior of the country, I have seen more wretched and sterile looking spots, (in France, for instance,) but none that so affected the imagination and the spirits. On leaving the Pontine Marshes, we came almost suddenly upon the sunny and luxuriant region near Terracina : here was the ancient city of Anxur ; and the gothic ruins of the castle of Theodoric, which frown on the steep above, are contrasted with the delicate and Grecian propor- tions of the temple below. All the country round is famed in classic and poetic lore. The Promon- tory (once poetically the island) of Circe is still the Monte Circello : here was the region of the Lestrygons, and the scene of part of the ^neld and Odyssey ; and Corinne has superadded roman- tic and charming associations quite as delightful, and quite as true. Antiquarians, who, like politicians, " seem to JOURNEY TO NAPLES. 199 Bee the things that are not," have placed all along this road, the sites of many a celebrated town and fane — " making hue and cry after many a city ■which has run away, and by certain marks and tokens pursuing to find it ; " as some old author Bays so quaintly. At every hundred yards, frag- ments of masonry are seen b}' the roadside ; por- tions of brickwork, sometimes traced at the bottom of a dry ditch, or incorporated into a fence ; some- times peeping above the myrtle bushes on the wild hills, where the green lizards lie basking and glittering on them in thousands, and the stupid ferocious buffalo, wuth his fierce red eyes, rubs his hide and glares upon us as we pass. No — not the grandest monuments of Rome — not the Coliseum itself, in all its decaying magnificence, ever inspired me with such profound emotions as did those name- less, shapeless vestiges of the dwellings of man, starting up like memorial tombs in the midst of this savage but luxuriant wilderness. Of the beautiful cities which rose along this lovely coast, the colo- nies of elegant and polished Greece — one after another swallowed up by the " insatiate maw " of ancient Rome, nothing remains — their sites, their very names have passed away and perished. We might as well hunt after a forgotten dream. Vain was the chief's, the sage's pride, They had no poet, and they died ! In vain they toil'd, in vain they bled, They had uo poet — and are dea 1. 200 JOURNEY TO NAPLES. I write this at Gaeta — a name famous in the poetical, the classical, the military story of Italy, from the days of ^neas, from whom it received its appellation, down to the annals of the late war On the site of our inn, (the Albergo di Cicerone,) stood Cicero's Formian Villa ; and in an adjoining grove he was murdered in his litter by the satellites of the Trium-vdri, as he attempted to escape. I stood to-night on a little terrace, which hung over an orange grove, and enjoyed a scene which I would paint, if words were forms, and hues, and sounds — not else. A beautiful bay, enclosed by the Mola di Gaeta, on one side, and the Promon- tory of Misenum on the other : the sky studded with stars, and reflected in a sea as blue as itself — and so glassy and unruffled, it seemed to slumber in tlie moonlight : now and then the murmur of a wave, not hoarsely breaking on rock and shingles, but kissing the turfy shore, where oranges and myrtles grew down to the water edge. These, and the remembrances connected with all, and a mind to think, and a heart to feel, and thoughts both of pain and pleasure mingling to render the effect more deep and touching. — Why should I write fhis ? O surely I need not fear that I sha.11 forget J JOURNEt TO NAPLES. 201 BTJITTEN AT MOLA DI GAETA, NEAR THE RUINS OF ' CICERO'S FOKSIIA2f VILXuV. We wandered tlu-ough bright climes, and drank th » beams Of southern suns : Elysian scenes we view'd, Such as we picture oft in those day dreams That haunt the fancy in her wUdest mood. Upon the sea-beat vestiges we stood, Where Cicero dwelt and watch'd the latest gleams Of rosy light steal o'er the azure flood : And memory conjvir d np most glowing themes, Filling the expanded heart, tiU it forgot Its own peculiar grief! — ! if the dead Yet haunt our earth, around this hallow'd spot, Hovei-s sweet Tully's spirit, since it fled The Roman Forum — Forum now no more ! Though cold and silent be the sands we tread, StiU bums the " eloqiient air," and to the shore There rolls no wave, and through the orange shade There sighs no breath, which doth not speak of hire The FATHER OF HIS country: and though dim Her day of empire — and her laurel crown Tom and defaced, and soiled with blood and tears, And her imperial eagles trampled down — StiU with a queen-like grace, Italia wears Her garland of bright names, — her coronal of stars, (Radiant memorials of departed worth!) That shed a glory round her pensive brow. And make her still the worship of the earth. 202 NAPLES. '' Sunday, Sd. We left Gaeta early. If the scene was so beau- tiful in the evening — how bright, how lovely it was this morning ! The sun had not long risen ; and a Boft purple mist hung over part of the sea ; while to the north and west the land and water sparkled and glowed in the living light. Some little fishing boats which had just put off, rocked upon the glassy sea, which lent them a gentle motion, though itself appeared all mirror-like and motionless. The orange and lemon trees in full foliage literally bent over the water; and it was so warm at half-past eight that I felt their shade a relief. After leaving Gaeta, the first place of note is or was Minturnum, where Marius was taken, con- cealed in the marshes near it. The marshes remain, the city has disappeared. Capua is still a large town ; but it certainly does not keep up its ancient fame for luxury and good cheer : for we found it extremely difficult to procure any thing to eat. The next town is Avversa, a name unknown, I believe, in the classical history of Italy : it was founded, if I remember rightly, by the Norman knights. Near this place is or was the convent NAPLES. 203 where Queen Joanna strangled her husband An- drea, with a silken cord of her own weaving. So says the story : noii lo credo in. From Avversa to Naples the country is not in- teresting ; but fertile and rich beyond description : an endless succession of vineyards and orange groves. At length we reached Naples ; all tired and in a particularly sober and serious mood : we remembered it was the Sabbath, and had forgotten that it was the first day of the Carnival ; and great was our amazement at the scene which met us on our arrival — I looked, I stared, I smiled. I laughed: and all The weight of sadness was in wonder lost. The whole city seemed one vast puppet-show ; and the noisy gayety of the crowded streets almost stunned me. One of the first objects we encoun- tered was a barouche full of Turks and Sultanas, driven by an old woman in a tawdry court dress as coachman ; while a merry-andrew and a harle- quin capered behind as footmen. Owing to the immense size of the city, and the difficulty of making our way through the motley throng of masks, beggars, lazzaroni, eating-stalls, carts and carriages, we were nearly three hours traversing the streets before we reached our inn on the Chiaja. 1 feel tired and over-excited : I have been 204 NAPLES. standing on my balcony looking out upon tho moonlit bay, and listening to the mingled shouts, the laughter, the music all around me ; and think- ing — till I feel in no mood to wi-ite. ***** 7. — Last night we visited the theatre of San Carlo. It did not strike me as equal to the Scala at Milan. The form is not so fine, the extent of the stage is, or appeared to be, less ; but there is infinitely more gilding and ornament: the niii-rors and lights, the sky-blue drapei'ies produce a splen- did effect, and the coup-d'oeil is, on the whole, more gay, more theatre-like. It was crowded in every part, and many of the audience were in dominos and fancy dresses : a few were masked. Rossini's Barbiere di Seviglia, which contains, I think, more melody than all his other operas put together, (the Tancredi perhaps excepted,) was most enchantingly Bung, and as admirably acted ; and the beautiful classical ballet of " Niobe and her Children," would have appeared nothing short of perfection, had I not seen the Didone Abbandonata at Milan. But they have no actress here like the graceful, the expressive Pallerini ; nor any actor equal to the ^neas of the Scala. ***** The Austrians, who are paramount here, allow masks only twice a week, Sundays and Thursdays. The people seem determined to indemnify them- selves for this restriction on their pleasures by 205 every allowed excess dui-ing tlie two days of mer- riment, wliicli their despotic couquerors have spared them. I am told by M * * and S * *, our Italian friends, that the Carnival is now fallen off from its wild spirit of fanciful jrayety ; that it is stupid, dull, tasteless, in comparison to what it was formerly, owing to the severity of the Austrian police. I know nothing about the propriety of the measures whit-h have been resorted to for curbing the excesses of the Carnival ; I think if people will run away Instead of fighting for their national rights, they must be content to suffer accordingly — but I meddle not with politics, and with all my heart abhor them. Whatever the gayetles of the Carnival may have been formerly, it is scarce pos- sible to conceive a more fantastic, a more pictur- esque, a more laughable scene than the Strada dl Toledo exhibited to-day ; the whole city seemed to wear " one universal grin ; " and such an Inces- sant fire of sugar-plums (or what seemed such) was carried on, and mth such eagerness and mimic fury, that when our carriage came out of the con- flict, we all looked as if a sack of flour had been shaken over us. The Implements used In this ridiculous warfare, are, for common purposes, little balls of plaster of Paris and flour, made to resem- ble small comfits : friends and acquaintances pelted each other with real confetti, and those of the most delicious and expensive kinds. A double file of carriages moved in a contrary direction along the 206 Corso ; a space in the middle and on each side being left for horsemen and pedestrians, and the most exact order was maintained by the guards and police ; so that if by chance a carriage lost its place in the line it was impossible to recover it, and it was immediately obliged to leave the street, and re-enter by one of the extremities. Besides the warfare carried on below, the balconies on each side were crowded with people in gay or grotesque dresses, who had sacks of bon-bons before them, from which they showered volleys upon those be- neath, or aimed across the street at each other : some of them filled their handkerchiefs, and then dexterously loosening the corners, and taking a certain aim, flung a volley at once. Tliis was like a cannon loaded with grape-shot, and never failed to do the most terrific execution. Among the splendid and fanciful equipages of the masqneraders, was one, containing the Duke of Monteleone's family, in the form of a ship, richly ornamented, and drawn by six horses mounted by masks for postilions. The fore part of the vessel contained tlie Duke's party, dressed in various gay costumes, as Tartar warriors and Indian queens. In the stern were the servants and attendants, tra- vestied in the most grotesque and ludicrous style. This magnificent and unwieldly car had by some chance lost its place in the procession, and vainly endeavored to whip in; as it is a point of honor among the charioteers not to yield the y;aj>\ Our NAPLES. 207 coachman, however, was ordered (though most un- willing) to draw up and make way for it ; and this little civility was acknowledged, not only by a profusion of bows, but by such a shower of deli- cious sugar plums, that the seats of our carriage were literally covered with them, and some of the gentlemen flung into our laps elegant little baskets, fastened with ribbons, and filled with exquisite sweetmeats. I could not enter into all this with much spirit : " non son io quel ch'un tempo fui : " but I was an amused, though a quiet spectator ; and sometimes saw much more than those who were actually engaged in the battle. I observed that to-day our carriage became an object of attention, and a favorite point of attack to several parties on foot, and in carriages ; antl I was at no loss to discover the reason. I had with me a lovely girl, whose truly English style of beauty, her brilliant bloom, heightened by her eager animation, her lips dimpled with a thousand smiles, and her whole countenance radiant with glee and mischievous archness, made her an object of admiration, which the English expressed by a fixed stare, and the Italians by sympathetic smiles, nods, and all the usual superlatives of delight. Among our most po- tent and malignant adversaries, was a troup of ele- gant masks in a long open carriage, the form of ■which was totally concealed by the boughs of laurel, and wreaths of artificial flowers, with which it was "iiovered. It was drawn by six fine horses, fanci- 208 fully caparisoned, ornamented with plumes of" feath- ers, and led by grotesque masks. In the carriage stood twelve persons in black silk dominos, black hats, and black masks ; with plumes of crimson feathers, and rich crimson sashes. They were armed with small painted targets and tin tubes, from which they shot volleys of confetti, in such (luantities, and with such dexterous aim, that we were almost overwhelmed whenever we passed them. It was in vain we returned the compliment ; our small shot rattled ou their masks, or bounded from their shields, producing only shouts of laugh- ter at our expense. A favorite style of mask here, is the dress of an English sailor, straw hats, blue jackets, white trow- sers, and very white masks with pink cheeks: we saw hundreds in this whimsical costume. 13. — On driving home I'ather late this evening, and leaving the noise, the crowds, the confusion and festive folly of the Strada di Toledo, we came suddenly upon a scene, which, from its beauty, no less than by the force of contrast, strongly im- pi-essed my imagination. The shore was silent, and almost solitary : the bay as smooth as a mir- ror, and as still as a frozen lake ; the sky, the sea, the mountains round were all of the same hue, a soft grey tinged with violet, except where the sunset had left a narrow crimson streak along the edge of the sea. There was not a breeze, not the slightest breath of air, and a single vessel, NAPLES. 209 a frigate with all its white sails crowded, lay mo- tionless as a monument on the bosom of the waters, in which it was reflected as in a mirror. I have seen the bay more splendidly beautiful ; but I never saw so peculiar, so lovely a picture. It lasted but a short time ; the transparent purple veil became a dusky pall, and night and shadow gradually enveloped the whole.* * * * « * How I love these resplendent skies and blue seas ! Nature here seems to celebrate a continual Festa, and to be forever decked out in holiday costume! A drive along the '■^sempfebeataMergelUna " to the extremity of the Promontory of Pausilipjx) is posi- tive enchantment ; thence we looked over a land- scape of such splendid and unequalled interest ! the shores of Baia, where Cicero, Horace, Virgil, Pliny, Mecaenas, lived; the white towers of Puz- zuoli and the Islands of Ischia, Procida, and Xisida. There was the Sibyl's Cave, Lake Acheron, and the fabled Lethe ; there the sepulchre of Misenus, who defied the Triton ; and the scene of the whole sixth book of the .3ineid, which I am now reading in Annibal Caro's translation ; there Agrippina • A chasm occurs here of about twenty pages, which in the original MS. are torn out. Nearly the whole of what wa« written at Naples has suffered mutilation, or has heen purposely effaced; 60 tliat in many piirts only a detached Bentence, or a few words, are legible in the course of several pages. — Editoe. 14 210 mourned Germanicus ; and there her daughter fell a victim to her monster of a son. At our feet lay the lovely little Island of Nisida, the spot on which Brutus and Portia parted for the last time before the battle of Philippi. To the south of the bay the scenery is not less magnificent, and scarcely less dear to memory ; Naples, rising from the sea like an amphitheatre of white palaces, and towers, and glittering domes; beyond, Mount Vesuvius, with the smoke curling from its summit like a silver cloud, and foiuuing the only speck upon the intense bkie sky ; along its base Portici, Annunziata, Torre del Greco, glitter in the sun ; every white building — almost every window in every building, distinct to the eye at the distance of several miles : farther on, and perched like white nests on the mountainous promontory, lie Castel a Mare, and Sorrento, the birthplace of Tasso, and his asylum when the injuries of his cold-hearted persecutors had stung him to madness, and drove him here for refuge to the arms of his sister. Yet, farther on, Capua rises from the sea, a beautiful object in itself, but from which the fancy gladly turns to dwell again upon the snowy build- inas of Sorrento. de la liberty vieille et sainte patrie ! Terre autrefois feconde en sublimes vertus ! Sous d'indignes Ct'sars maintenaiit asservie Ton emj)ire est tomb^ ! tes heros ne sent plus! NAPLES. 211 Mais dans son sein Tame ag^andie Croit sur leiirs monumeus respirer leur g^nie, Comme on respire encore dans un temple aboli La Majesty du Dieu dont il ^tait rempli. De la IIaktink. THE SONG OF THE SYREN PARTHENOPE. A RHAPSODY, WRITTEN AT NAPLES. Mine are these waves, and minethe twilight depths O'er which they roll, and all these tufted isles That lift their backs like dolphins from the deep, And all these sunny sliores that gird us I'oiuid! Listen ! listen to the Sea-maid's shell ; Ye who have wander'd hither from far climes, (Where the coy summer yields but half her sweeta. ) To breathe my bland luxurious air?, and drink My sunbeams ! and to revel in a land Where Nature — deck'd out like a bride to meet Her lover — lays forth all her chaniis, and smiles Languidly bright, voluptuously gay, Sweet to the sense, and tender to the heart. Listen! listen to the Sea-maid's shell; Ye who have fled jour natal shores in hate Or anger, urged by pale disease, or want. Or gi"ief, that clingi ig like the spectre bat. Sucks drop by drop the life-blood from the heart, And hither come to learn forgetfulness, 212 NAPLES. Or to (jrolong existence ! ye shall find Roth — though the spring Lethean flow no more, There is a power in these entrancing skies And murmuring waters and delicious airs, Felt in the dancing spirits and the blood, And (ailing on the lacerated heart Like balm, until that life becomes a boon. Which elsewhere is a burthen and a curse. Hear then — hear the Sea-maid's airy shell. Lister., listen! 'tis the Syren sings, The spirit of the deep — Partheuope — She who did once i' the dreamj- days of old Sport on these golden sands beneath the moon. Or pour'd the ra\ishing music of her song Over the silent waters; and bequeath'd To all these sunny capes and dazzling shores Her own immortal beauty and her name. This is the last day of the Carnival, the last night of the opera : the people are permitted to go in masks, and after the performances there will be a ball. To-day, when Baldi was describing the ex- cesses which usually take place during the last few hours of the Carnival, he said, " the man who hag but half a shirt will pawn it to-night to buy a good supper and an opera-ticket : to-morrow for fish and soup-maigre — fasting and repentance ! " Saturday, 23. — I have just seen a most magnifi- cent sight ; one which I have often dreamed of, often longed to behold, and having beheld, never NAPLES. 213 sliall foigot. Mount Vesuvius is at this moment blazing like a huge furnace ; throwing up every minute, or half minute, columns of fire and red-hot stones, which fall in showers and bound down the side of the mountain. On the east, there are two distinct streams of lava descending, which glow with almost a white heat, and every burst of flame is accompanied by a sound resembling cannon at a distance. — I can hardly write, my mind is so overflowing "with astonishment, admiration, and sublime pleas- ure : what a scene as I looked out on the bay from the Santa Lucia ! On one side, the evening star and the thread-like crescent of the new moon were setting together over Pausilippo, reflected in lines of silver radiance on the blue sea ; on the other the broad train of fierce red light glared upon the water with a fitful splendor, as the ex- plosions were more or less violent : before me all "was so soft, so lovely, so tranquil ! while I had only to turn my head to be awe-struck by the con- vulsion of fighting elements. I remember, that on our first arrival at Naples, I was disappointed because Vesuvius did not smoke so much as I had been led to expect from pictures and descriptions. The smoke then lay like a scarcely perceptible cloud on the highest point, or I'ose in a slender white column ; to-day and yesterday, it has rolled from the crater ia black volumes, mixing with the clouds above, and dai'kening tiie sky. 214 NAPLES. Half-pant twelve. — I have walked out again ; the blaze from the crater is less vivid ; but there are now four streams of lava issuing from it, which have united in two broad currents, one of which extends below the hermitage. It is probable that by to-morrow night it will have reached the lower part of the mountain. Sundcvj, 24. — Just returned from chapel at tho English ambassador's, where the service was read by a dandy clergyman to a crowd of fine and super- fine ladies and gentlemen, crushed together into a hot room. I never saw extravagance in dres3 carried to such a pitch as it is by my country- women here, — whether they dress at the men or against each other, it is equally bad taste. The sermon to-day was very appropriate, from the text, " Tale ye no thought what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, or what ye shall put on," and, I dare say, it was listened to with singular edification. 5 o'clock. — ^Ve have been driving along the Strada Nuova in L * *'s britchka, whence we had a fine view of Vesuvius. There are tremendous bursts of smoke from the crater. At one time the •whole mountain, down to the very base, was almost enveloped, and the atmosphere around it loaded with the vapor, which seemed to issue in volumes half as large as the mountain itself. If horses are to be had we go up to-night. Monday nirjht. — I am not in a humor to de- scribe or give way to any poetical flights, but I 215 must endeavour to give a faithful, S( ber, and cir- cumstantial account of our last niglit's expedition, ■while the imprt^ssion is yet fresh on my mind ; though there is, I think, little danger of my for- getting. We procured horses, which, from the number of persons proceeding on the same errand with ourselves, was a matter of some dilKculty. We set out at seven in the evening in an open car- riage, and almost the whole way we had the mountain before us, spouting fire to a prodigious height. The road was crowded with groups of people who had come out from the city and en- virons to take a nearer view of the magnificent spectacle, and numbers were hurrying to and Iro in those little flying currlcoli which are peculiar to Naples. As we approached, the explosions be- came more and more vivid, and at every tre- mendous burst of fire our friend L * * jumped half oft" his seat, making most loud and characteristic exclamations, — " By Jove ! a magnificent fellow ! now for it, whizz ! there he goes, sky high, by George ! " The rest of the party were equally en- thusiastic in a different style; and I sat siknt and quiet from absolute inability to express what I felt. I was almost breathless with wonder, and excite- ment, and impatience to be nearer the scene of action. While my eyes were fixed on the mountain, my attention was from time to time excited by regular rows of small shining lights, six or eight in number, creeuing, as it seemed, along the edge S16 of the stream of lava ; and, when contrasted with the red blaze which i-ose behind, and the gigantic black bat'kground, looking like a procession of glow-worms. These were the torches of travellers ascending the mountain, and I longed to be one of them. We reached Resina a little before nine, and alighted from the carriage ; the ascent being so rugged and dangerous, that only asses and mules accustomed to the road are used. Two only were in waiting at the moment we arrived, which L * * immediately secured for me and himself; and though reluctant to proceed without the rest of the party, we were compelled to go on belbre, that we might not lose time, or hazard the loss of our monture. We set off then, each with two attend- ants, a man to lead our animals and a torch- bearer. The road, as we ascended, became more and more steep at every step, being over a stream of lava, intermixed with stones and ashes, and the darkness added to the difficulty. But how shall I describe the scene and the people who surrounded us ; the landscape partially lighted by a fearful red glare, the precipitous and winding road bor- dered by wild-looking gigantic aloes, projecting their huge spear-like leaves almost across our path, and our lazzaroni attendants with their shrill shouts, and strange dresses, and wild jargon, and striking features, and dark eyes flashing in the gleam of the torches, which they flung round their 21? heads to prevent their being extinguished, formed a scene so new, so extraordinary, so like romance, that my attention was frequently drawn from the mountain, though blazing in all its tumultuous magnificence. The explosions succeeded each other with ter- rific rapidity about two in every three minutes ; and the noise I can only compare to the roaring and hissing of ten thousand imprisoned winds, mingled at times willi a rumbling sound like artillery, or distant thunder. It frequently hap- pened that the guides, in dashing their torches against the ground, set fire to the dried thorns and withered grass, and the blaze ran along the earth like wildfire, to the great alarm of poor L * *, who saw in every burning bush a stream of lava rushing to overwhelm us. Before eleven o'clock we reached the Her- mitage, situated between Vesuvius and the Som- ma, and the highest habitation on the mountain. A great number of men were assembled within, and guides, lazzaroni, servants, and soldiers, were lounging round. I alighted, for I was benumbed and tired, but did not like to venture among those people, and it was proposed that we should wait for the rest of our party a little further on. We accordingly left our donkeys and walked forward upon a kind of higli ridge, which serves to fortify the Hermitage and its environs against the lava. From this path, as we slowly ascended, we had a 218 glorious view of the eruption ; and the whole Bcene around us, in its romantic interest and terri- ble magnificence, mocked all power of description There were, at this time, five distinct toiTents of lava rolling down like streams of molten lead ; one of which extended above two miles below us, and was flowmg towards Portici. The showers of red- hot stones flew up like thousands of sky-rockets: many of them being shot up perpendicularly, fell back into the crater, others falling on the outside, bounded down the side of the mountain with a velocity which would have distanced a horse at full speed : these stones were of every size, from two to ten or twelve feet in diameter. My ears were by this time wearied and stunned by the unceasing roaring and hissing of the flames, wlille my eyes were dazzled by the glare of the red, fierce light : now and then I turned them for relief to other features of the picture, to the black shadowj' masses of the landscape stretched beneath us, and speckled with shining lights, which showed how many were up and watching that night ; and often to the calm vaulted sky above our heads, where thousands of stars, (not twinkling as through our hazy or frosty atmosphere, but shining out of " heaven's profoundest azure," with that soft steady brilliance peculiar to a highly rarefied medium,) looked down upon this frightful turmoil in all their bright and placid loveliness. Nor should 1 forget one other feature of a scene, on which I 21& looked Tvi.li a painter's eye. Great numbers of the Austrian forces, now o.-cupying Naples, were on the mountains, assembled in groups, some standing, some sitting, some stretched on the ground and wrapped in their cloaks, in various attitudes of amazement and admiration : and as the shadowy glare fell on their tall martial figures and glittering accoutrements, I thought I had never beheld any thing so wildly picturesque. The remainder of our partj' not yet appearing, we sent back for our asses and guides, and deter- mined to proceed. About half a mile beyond our companions came up, and here a division took place ; some agreeing to go forward, the rest turn- ing back to wait at the Hermitage. I was of course one of those who advanced. ]\Iy spirits were again raised, and the grand object of all this daring and anxiety, was to approach near enough to a stream of lava to have some idea of its con- sistency, and the manner in which it flowed, or trickled down. The difficulties of our road now increased, " if road that might be called, which road was none," but black loose ashes, and masses of scoria and lava heaped in ridges, or broken into hollows in a manner not to be described. Even my animal, though used to the path, felt his footing at every step, and if the torch was by accident extinguished, he stopped, and nothing could make him move. My guide, Andrea, was very vigilant aad attentive, and, in a few words of Italian he 220 knew, encouraged me, and assured me there was no danger. 1 had, however, no fear : in fact, 1 was infinitely too much interested to have been alive to danger, had it really existed. Salvador, well known to all who have visited Mount Vesu- vius, had been engaged by Mr. R. as his guide. He is the principal cicerone on the mountain. It is his bvisiness to despatch to the king every three hours, a regular account of the height of the erup- tion, the progress, extent, and direction of the lava, and, in short, the most minute particulars. He also corresponds, as he assured me, with Sir Hum- phry Davy ; * and is employed to inform him of every interesting phenomenon which takes place on the mountain. This man has resided at the foot of it, and been principal guide for thirty-three years, and knows every inch of its territory. As the lava had overflowed the usual footpath leading to that conical eminence which forms the summit of the mountain and the exterior of the crater, we were obliged to alight from our saga- cious steeds ; and, trusting to our feet, walked over the ashes for about a quarter of a mile. The path, or the ground rather, for there was no pathj was now dangerous to the inexperienced foot; and Salvador gallantly took me under his peculiar care. * Was the letter addressed ' AUa Sua Excellenza Serom/ndevi,'' which caused so much perplexity at the Post-Office and British Museum, and exercised ihe acumen of a minister of state, from Salvador to hi^ illustrious correspondent? 221 He led mc on before tlie rest, and I followed with confidence. Our object was to reach the edge of a stream of lava, formed of two currenis united in a point. It was glowing with an intense heat; and flowing, not with such rapidity a? to alarm us, but rather slowly, and by fits and starts. Trickling, ia short, is the word which expresses its motion : if one can fancy it applied to any object on so large a scale. At this time the eruption was at its extreme height. The column of fire was from a quarter to a third of a mile high ; and the stones were thrown up to the height of a mile and a quarter. I passed close to a rock about four feet in diameter, which had rolled down some time before : it was still red- hot, and I stopped to warm my hands at it. At a short distance from it lay another stone or rock, also red-hot, but six times the size. I walked on first with Salvador, till we were within a few yards of the lava — at this moment a prodigious stone, followed by two or thi-ee smaller ones, came rolling down upon us with terrific velocity. The gentle- men and guides all ran ; my first impulse was to run too ; but Salvador called to me to stop and see what direction the stone would take. I saw the reason of this advice, and stopped. In less than a second he seized my arm and hurried me back five or six yards. I heard the whizzing sound of the stone as it rushed down behind me. A little farther on it met with an impediment, ftijaiust which it bolted with such force, that it fiew 222 XAPLES. up into the air to a great height, and fell in a shower of red-hot fragments. All this passed in a moment : I have shuddered since when I have thought of that moment ; but at the time, I saw the danger without the slightest sensation of terror. I remember the ridiculous figures of the men, as they scrambled over the ridges of scoria ; and was struck by Salvador's exclamation, who shouted to them, in a tone which would have become Cassai himself, — '• Che tema ! — Sono Salvador ! " * We did not attempt to turn back again, which I should have done without any hesitation if any one had proposed it. To have come thus far, and to be so near the object I had in view, and then to run away at the first alarm ! it was a little pro- voking. The road was extremely dangerous in the descent. I was obliged to walk part of the ■way, as the guides advised, and but for Salvador, and the interesting information he gave me from time to time, I think I should have been over- powered. He amused and fixed my attention, by his intelligent conversation, his assiduity, and solic- itude for my comfort, and the naivete and self^ complacency with which his information was con- veyed. He told me he had visited Mount ^tna (en amateur) during the last great eruption of that mountain, and acknowledged with laudable I'andor that Vesuvius, in its grandest moments, was a mere bonfire in comparison : the whole cone * Quid times ? &c. NAPI,ES. 225 of Vesuvius, he said, was not larger than some of the masses of rock ho had seen whirled from the crater of Mount ^Etna, and rolling down its sides. He frequently made me stop and look back : and here I should observe that our guides seemed as proud of the performances of the mountain, and as anxious to show it off to the best advantage, as the keeper of a menagerie is of the tricks of his dancing bear, or the proprietor of " Solomon in all his glory " of his raree-show. Their enthu- siastic shouts and exclamations would have kept up my interest had it flagged. " O veda, Signora ! O bella ! O stupenda ! " The last great burst of fire was accom])anied by a fresh overflow of lava, which issued from the crater, on the west side, in two broad streams, and united a few hundred feet below, taking the direction of Torre del Greco. After this explosion the eruption subsided, and the mountain seemed to repose : now and then show- ers of stones flew up, but to no gi-eat height, and unaccompanied by any vivid fl:imes. There was a dull red light over the mouth of the crater, round which the smoke rolled in dense tumultuous volumes, and then blew off towards the southwest. After a slow and difficult descent, we reached the Hermitage. I was so exhausted that I was glad to rest for a few minutes. My good friend Salvador brought me a glass of Lachrt/ma Cltristi and the leg of a chicken ; and with recruited dpirits we mounted our animals and again started. 224 The descent was infinitely more slow and diffi- cult than i\)2 ascent, and much more trying to the nerves. I had not Salvador at my side, nor the mountain before me, to beguile me from my fears ; at length I prevailed on one of our attendants, a fine tall figure of a man, to sing to me ; and though he had been up the moun am six times in the course of the day, he sang delightfully and with great spirit and expi-esslon, as he strlded along with his hand upon my bridle, accompanied by a magnificent rumbling bass from the mountain, which every now and then drowned the melody of his voice, and made me start. It was past three when we reached Resina, and nearly five when we got home : yet I rose this morning at my usual hour, and do not feel much fatigued. About twelve to-day I saw Mount Vesuvius, looking as quiet and placid as the first time I viewed it. There was little smoke, and neither the glowing lava nor the flames were visible in the glare of the sunshine. The atmosphere was perfectly clear, and as I gazed, almost misdoubting my senses, I could scarcely believe in the reality of the tremen- dous scene I had witnessed but a few hours be- fore. 26. — The eruption burst forth again to-day, and is exceedingly grand ; though not equal to what it was on Sunday night. The smoke rises from the crater in dense black masses, and the wind having veered a few points to the southward, it Is now NAPLKS. 225 driven in the direction of Naples. At the moment I write this, the skies are obscured by roiling vapors, and the sun, "which is now setting just op- posite to Vesuvius, shines, as I have seen him through a London mist, red, and shorn of his beams. The sea is angry and discolored ; the day most oppressively sultry, and the atmosphere thick, sulphureous, and loaded with an almost im- palpable dust, which falls on the paper as I write. March 4. — We have had delicious weather al- most ever since we arrived at Naples, but these last three days have been perfectly heavenly. I never saw or felt any thing like the enchantment of the earth, air, and skies. The mountain lias been perfectly still, the atmosphere without a sin- gle cloud, the fresh verdure bursting forth all around us, and every breeze visits the senses, as if laden with a renovating spirit of life, and wafted from Elysium. \Vhoever would truly enjoy nature, should see her in this delicious land : " Od la plus douce nuit succede au plus beau jour ; " for here she seems to keep holiday all the year round. To stand upon my balcony, looking out upon the sun- shine, and the glorious bay ; the blue sea, and the pure skies — and to feel that indefinite sensation of excitement, that super/lu de vie, quickening every pulse and thrilling through every nerve, is a pleas- ure peculiar to this climate, where the mere con- sciousness of existence is happiness enough. Then evening comes on, lighted by a moon and starry 15 226 heavens, whose softness, richness, and splendor are not to be conceived by those who have lived always in the vapory atmosphere of England — • dear England ! I love, like an Englishwoman, its fireside enjoyments, and homefelt delights: an English drawing-room with all its luxurious com- forts — carpets and hearth-rugs, curtains let down, sofas wheeled round, and a group of family facoa round a blazing fire, is a delightful picture ; but for the languid frame, and the sick heart, give me this pure elastic air " redolent of spring ; " this reviving sunshine and all the witchery of these deep blue skies ! — Numbers of people set oflT post-haste from Rome to see the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, and arrived here Wednesday and Thursday ; just time enough to be too late. Among them our Roman friend Frattino, who has afforded me more amusement than all our other acquaintance together, and de- serves a niche in my gallery of characters. Frattino is a young Englishman, who, if he were in England, would probably be pursuing his studies at Eton or Oxford, for he is scarce past the age of boyhood ; but ha\nng been abroad since he was twelve years old, and early plunged into active and dissipated life, he is an accomplished man of fashion, and of the world, with as many airs and caprices as a spoiled child. He is by far the most heautiful creature of his sex I ever saw ; so like the 227 Aiitinous, that at Rome he went by that name. Tlie exquisite regularity of his features, the grace- ful air of his head, his antique curls, the fiiultless proportions of his elegant figure, make him a thing to be gazed on, as one looks at a statue. Then he possesses talents, wit, taste, and information : the most polished and captivating manners, where he wishes to attract, — high honor and generosity, where women are not concerned, — and all the ad- vantages attending on rank and wealth ; but under this i'ascinating exterior, I suspect our Frattino to be a very worthless, as well as a very unhappy being. While he pleases, he repels me. There is a want of heart about him, a want of fixed princi- ples — a degree of profligacy, of selfishness, of fickle- ness, caprice, and ill-temper, and an excess of vanity, which all his courtly address and savoir /aire cannot hide. What would be insufferable in another, is in him bearable, and even interesting and amusing : such is the charm of manner. But all this cannot last ; and I should not be sur2:)riscd to see Frattino, a few years hence, emerge from his foreign frippery, throw aside his libertine follj-, assume his seat in the senate, and his rank in Brit- ish society ; and be the very character he now affects to despise and ridicule — " a true-bred Eng- lishman, who rides a thorough-bred horse." Our excursion to Pompeii yesterday was " 3 pu;-nic party of pleasure," a I'Anglaiae. Now a S28 NAPLES. party of pleasure is proverbially a lore ; and cm' expedition was in the beginning so unpromising, so mismanaged — our party so numerous, and com- posed of such a heterogeneous mixture of opposite tempers, tastes, and characters, that I was in pain for the result. The day, however, turned out more pleasant than I expected : exterior polish supplied the want of something better, and our excursion had its pleasures, though they were not such as I should have sought at Pompeii. I felt myself a simple unit among many, and found it easier to syn.pathize with others, than to make a dozen others sympathize with me. We were twelve in number, distributed in three light barouches, and reached Pompeii in about two hours and a half — ])issing by the foot of Vesu- vius, through Portici, Torre del Greco, and I'An- nonziata. The streams of lava, which overwhelmed Torre del Greco in 1 794, are still black and barren ; but the town itself is rising from its ruins ; and the very lava which destroyed it serves as the material to rebuild it. We entered Pompeii by the street of the tombs : near them are the semicircular seats, so admirably adapted for conversation, that I wonder we have not sofas on a similar plan, and similar scale. I need not dwell on particulars, which are to be found in every book of travels : on the whole, my expectations were surpassed, though my curiosity was not half gratified. 229 The most interesting thing I saw — in fact the only thing, for which paintings and descriptions had not previously prepared me, was a building which has been excavated within the last fortnight; it is only partly laid open, and laborers are now at work upon it. Antiquarians have not yet pro- nounced on its name and design ; but I should imagine it to be some public edifice, perhaps dedicated to religious purposes. The paintings on the walls are the finest which have yet been dis- covered : they are exquisitely and tastefully de- signed; and though executed merely for effect, that effect is beautiful. I remarked one female figure in the act of entering a half-open door : she is represented with pencils and a palette of colors in her hand, similar to those which artists now use : another very graceful female holds a lyre of pecu- liar construction. These, I presume, were two of the muses : the rest remained hidden. There were two small panels occupied by sea-pieces, with galleys ; and two charming landscapes, so well colored, and drawn with such knowledge of per- spective and effect, that, if we may form a com- parative idea of the best pictures from these speci- mens of taste and skill in mere house-painting, the ancients must have excelled us as much in painting as in sculpture. I remarked on the wall of an entrance or corridor, a dog starting at a wreathed and crested snake, vividly colored, and full of spirit and expression. AVhile 1 lingered here a 230 little behind the rest, and most relueuint to depart, a ragged lazzarone boy came up to me, and seizing my dress, pointed to a corner, and made signs that he had something to show me. I followed him to a spot where a quantity of dust and ashes was piled against a wall. He began to scratch away this heap of dirt with hands and nails, much after the manner of an ape, every now and then looking up in my face and grinning. The impediment being cleared away, there appeared on the wall behind, a most beautiful aerial figure with floating drapery, representing either Fame or Victory : but before I had time to examine it, the little rogufe flung the earth up again so as to conceal it completely, then pointing significantly at the other workmen, he nodded, shrugged, gesticulated, and held out both his paws for a recompense, which I gave him will- ingly ; at the same time laughing and shaking my head to show I understood his knavery. I re- warded him apparently beyond his hopes, for he followed me down the street, bowing, grinning, and cutting capers like a young savage. The streets of Pompeii are narrow, the houses are very small, and the rooms, though often deco- rated with exquisite taste, are constructed without any regard to what ive should term comfort and convenience ; they are dark, confined, and seldom communicate with each other, but have a general communication with a portico, running round a central court. This court is in general beautifully 231 paved with mosaic, having a fountain or basm in the middle, and possibly answered the purpose of a drawing-room. It is evident that the ancient inhabitants of this lovely country, lived like their descendants mostly in the open air, and met to- gether in their public walks, or in the forums, and theatres. If they saw company, the guests probably assembled under the porticos, or in the court round the fountain. The houses seem con- structed on the same princij)Ie as birds construct their nests ; as places of retreat and shelter, rather than of assemblage and recreation : the grand ob- ject was to exclude the sunbeams ; and this, which gives such gloomy and chilling ideas in our northern climes, must here have been delicious. Hurried on by a hungrj% noisy, merry party, we at length reached the Caserna, (the ancient bar- racks, or, as Forsyth will have it, the prsetorium.) The central court of this building, has been con- verted into a garden : and here, under a fl^eeping willow, our dinner-table was spread. Wh«re Eng- lishmen are, there will be good cheer if possible ; and our banquet was in truth most luxurious. Be- sides more substantial cates, we had oysters from Lake Lucrine, and classically excellent they were ; London bottled porter, and half a dozen different kinds of wine. Our dinner went off most gayly, but no order was kept afterwards : the purpose of our expedition seemed to be forgotten in general rairth : many witty things were said and done, and 232 NAPLES. many merry ones, and not a few silly ones. We visited the beautiful public walk and the platform of the old temple of Hercules ; (I call it old, be- cause It was a ruin when Pompeii was entire :) tho Temple of Isis, the Theatres, the Forum, the Basi- lica, the Ampliitheatre, which is in a perfect state of preservation, and more elliptical in form than any of those I have yet seen, and the School of Elo- quence, where K, * * mounted the rostrum, and gave us an oration extempore, equally pithy, classical, and comical. About sunset we got into the car- riages, and returned to Naples. Of all the heavenly days we have had since we came to Naples, this has been the most heavenly; and of all the lovely scenes I have beheld in Italy, what I saw to-day has most enchanted my senses and imagination. The view from the eminence on which the old temple stood, and which was an- ciently the public promenade, was splendidly beau- tiful : the whole landscape was at one time over- flowed with light and sunshine ; and appeared as If seen through an impalpable but dazzling veil. Towards evening the outlines became more dis- tinct : the little white towns perched upon the hills, the gentle sea, the fairy island of Rivegliano with its old tower, the smoking crater of Vesuvius, the bold forms of Mount Lactarlus and Cape Minerva, stood out full and clear under the cloudless sky : as we returned, I saw the sun sink behind Capri, which appeared by some optical illusion like a NAPLES. 233 glorious crimson transparency suspended above the horizon : the sky, the earth, the sea, were flushed ■with the richest rose-oolor, whii'h gradually soft- ened and darkened into purple : the short twilight faded away, and the full moon, rising over Ve- suvius, lighted up the scenery with a softer radi- ance. Thus ended a day which was not without its pleasures ; — yet had I planned a party of pleasure to Pompeii, methinks I could have managed better. Par exemple, I would have deferred it a fortnight later, or till the vines were in leaf; I would have chosen for my companions two or at most three persons whom I could name, whose cultivated minds and happy tempers would have heightened their own enjoyment and mine. After spending a few hours in taking a general view of the whole city, we would have sat down on the platform of the old Greek Temple which conmiands a view of the mountains and the bay ; or, if the heat were too powerful, under the shade of the hill near it. There we would make our cheerful and elegant repast, on bread and fruits, and perhaps a bottle of Malvoisie or Champagne ; the rest of the day should be devoted to a minute examination of the principal objects of interest and curiosity: we would wait till the shadows of evening had begun to steal over the scene, purpling the mountains and the sea; we would linger there to enjoy all the eplendors of an Italian sunset; and then, with 234 minds softened and elevated by the loveliness and solemnity of the scenes around, we would get into our carriage, and drive back to Naples beneath the bright full moon ; and, by the way, we would " talk the flowing heart," and make our recollections of the olden time, our deep impressions of the past, heighten our enjoyment of the present : and this would be indeed a day of pleasure, of such pleasure as I think I am capable of feeling — of imparting — of remembering with unmixed delight. Such was not yesterday. ***** M * * brought with him this evening for our amusement, an old man, a native of Cento, who gains his livelihood by a curious exhibition of his peculiar talents. He is blind, and plays well on the violin : he can recite the whole of the Gerusa- lemme from beginning to end without missing a word : he can repeat any given stanza or number of stanzas either forwards or backwards : he can repeat the last words one after another of any stanza or stanzas : if you give him the first word and the last, he can name immediately the paiticu- lar line, stanza, and book : lastly, he can tell instantly the exact number of words contained in any given stanza. This exhibition was at first amusing ; but as I soon found that the man's head was a mere machine, that he was destitute of imagination, and that far from feeling the beauty of the poet, he did not even understand the mean- 23» Ing of the lines he thus repeated up and down, and backwards and forwards, it ceased to interest me, after the first sensations of surprise and curiosity were over. ***** After I had read ItaUan with Signior B * * this evening, he amused me exceedingly by detailing to me the plan of two tragedies he is now writing or about to write. He has already produced one piece on the story of Boadicea, which is rather a drama than a regular tragedy. It was acted here with great success. After giving his drama due praise, I described to him the plan and characters of Fletcher's Bonduca ; and attempted to give him in Italian some idea of the most striking scenes of that admirable play : he was alternately in enchantment and despair, and I thought he would have torn and bitten his Boadicea to pieces, in the excess of his vivacity. The subject of one of his tragedies is to be the Sicilian Vespers. Casimir de la Vigne, who wi-ote Les Vepres Siciliennes, which obtained some years ago such amazing popularity at Paris, and in which the national vanity of the French is flattered at the expense of the Italians, received a pension from Louis XVin. B * * spoke with contempt of Casimir de la Vigne's tragedy, and witli indignar tion of what he called " his wilful misrepiesentation of history." He is determined to give the reverse of the p'cture : the French will be represented as 236 ** gente crudeli — tiranni — oppression seuza fede '" Giovanni di Procida, as a hero and patriot, a Vantique, and the Sicilians as rising in defence of their freedom and national honor. The other tragedy is to be founded on the history of the famous Conijiura dei Baroni in the reign of Ferdi- nand the First, as related by Giannone. The simple facts of this history need not any ornaments, borrowed from invention or poetry, to form a most interesting tale, and furnish ample materials for a beautiful tragedy, in incident, characters, and situations. B * * is a little man, dwarfish and almost deformed in person ; but flill of talent, spirit, and enthusiasm. I asked him why he did not immediately finish these tragedies, which ap- peared from the sketches he had given me, so admirably calculated to succeed. He replied, that under the present regime, he dared not write up to his own conceptions ; and if he curbed his genius, he could do nothing ; " besides," added he mourn- fully, " I have no time ; — I am poor — poverissimo ! I must work hard all to-day to supply the wants of to-morrow : I am already survellle by the police, as a known liberal and literato." " Davvero" added he gayly, " I would soon do, or say, or write something to attract the honor of their more par- ticular notice, if I could be certain they would only imprison me for a couple of years, and ensure me during that time a blanket, bread, and water, and the use of pen and ink : then I would write 1 237 I would write ! dalla mattina alia sera ; and thank my jailers as my best friends : but pens are poig- nards, ink is poison in the eyes of the present government ; imprisorment for life, or banishment, is the least I could expect. Now the mere idea of imprisonment for life would kill me in a week, and banishment ! — Ah lunfji dalla mia hella Patria, come cantare ! come scrivere ! come vivere ! moriro ic anzi nell' momenlo di partire ! " ***** I drove to-day, tete-k-tete with Laura, to the Lago d'Agnano ; about a mile and a half beyond Pausilippo. This lovely fair lake is not more than two miles in circuit ; and embosomed in romantic woody hills : innumerable flocks of wild fowl were skinuning over its surface, and gave life and motion to the beautiful but quiet landscape. Wliile we were wandering here, enjoying the stillness and solitude, so delightfully contrasted with the unceas- ing noise, bustle, and crowd of the city, the charm was rudely broken by the appearance of the king ; who, attended by a numerous party of his guards and huntsmen, had been wild boar shooting in the neighbouring woods. The watel'-fowl, scared by the report of fire-arms, speedily disappeared, and the guards shouted to each other, and galloped round the smooth sloping banks; cutting up the turf with their horses' hoofs, and deforming the whole scene with uproar, confusion, and affright. Devoutly iid I wish them all twenty miles off. The famous 238 Grotto del Cane is on tlie south bank of the lake, a few yards from the edge of the water. We saw the torch, when held in the vapor, instantaneously extinguished. The ground all round the entrance of the grotto is hot to the touch ; and when I plunged my hand into the deleterious gas, which rises about a foot or a foot and a half above the surface of the ground, it was so warm I was glad to withdraw it. The disagreeable old woman who showed us this place, brought with her a wretched dog with a rope round his neck, bleared eyes, thin ribs, and altogether of a most pitiful aspect. She was anxious to exhibit the common but cruel ex- periment of suspended animation, by holding his head over the mephitic vapor, insisting that he was accustomed to it, and even hked it : of course, we would not suffer it. The poor animal made no resistance ; only drooped his head, and put his tail between his legs, when his tyrant attempted to seize him. Though now so soft, so lovely, and so tranquil, the Lago d'Agnano owes its existence to some ter- rible convulsion of the elements. The basin is the crater of a sunken volcano, which, bursting forth here, swallowed up a whole city. And the whole region round, bears evident marks of its volcanic origin. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ This morning we visited several churche3, not one of them worthy of a remark. The architec- "39 ture IS invariably in the vilest taste ; and the interior decorations, if possible, still worse : wnite- wasliing, gilding, and gaudy colors, every where prevail. We saw, however, some good pictures. At the San Gennaro are the famous frescos of Domenichino and Lanfranco : the church itself is hideous. At the Girolomini there is no want of magnificence and ornament ; but a barbarous mis- application of both as usual. The church of the convent of Santa Chiara was painted in li-esco by Ghiotto : it is now white-washed all over. The tomb of the murdered Queen Joanna, who was buried here, is one of the most interesting objects in Naples. At this church, which I first visited during the merry days of the carnival, I saw a large figure of our Saviour suspended on the cross, dressed in a ciimson domino, and blue sash. To what a pitch, thought T, must the love "of white- washing and masquerading be carried in this strange city, where the Deity himself is burlesqued, and bad taste is carried to profanation ! The church of San Severo is falling to ruins, owing to some defect in the architectui-e. It is only remarkable for containing three celebrated statues. The man enveloped in a net, and the Pudicitk, draped from head to foot, pleased me only as specunens of the patience and ingenuity of the sculptor. The dead Christ covered with a veil, by Corradini, has a merit of a higher class: it is most painful to look upon ; and afi'ected me so 240 Btrongly, that I was obliged to leave the church, and go into the air. I went to-day with two agreeable and intelhgent friends, to take leave of the Studio and the Museum. I have often resolved not to make my Uttle journal a mere catalogue of objects, which are to be found in any pocket guide, and bought for a few pence ; but I cannot resist the temjotation of making a few notes of admiration and commemoration, for my own peculiar use. The Gallery of Painting contains few pictures ; but among them are some master-pieces. The St. John of Leonardo da Vinci, (exquisite as it is, considered as a mere painting,) provoked me. I am sick of his eternal simpering face : the aspect is that of a Ganymede or a young Bacchus ; and if instead of Ecce Agnux Dei, they had written over it, Ecce Vinum bonum, all would have been in character. How I coveted the beautiful " Caritk," the Capo d'Opera of Schidone ! — and next to it, Parniegiano's mistress — a delicious picture. A portrait of Colum- bus, said to be by the same master, is not like him, I am sure ; for the physiognomy is vacant and dis- agreeable. Domenichino's large picture of the Angel shielding Innocence from a Demon, pleases me, as all his pictures do — but not perfectly : the devil in the corner, with his fork, and hoofs, and horus, shocks my taste as a ludicrous and vulgar idea, far removed from poetry ; but the figure of the angel sti-etching a shield over the infant, ia NAPLES. 241 charming. There are also two fine Claudes, two Holy Families, by Raffaelle, in his sweetest style ; and one by Corregglo, not less beautiful. The Gallery of Sculpture is so rich in chef- d'oeuvres, that to particularize would be a vain a':tempt. Passing over those which every one knows by heart, the statue of Aristides struck me most. It was found in Herculaneum ; and is marked with ferruginous stains, as if by the action of fire or the burning lava ; but it is otherwise uninjured, and the grave, yet graceful simplicity of the figure and attitude, and the extreme elegance of the drapery, Are truly Grecian. It is the union of power with, repose — of perfect grace with perfect simplicity, which distinguishes the ancient from the modern style of sculpture. The sitting Agrippina, for example, furnished Canova with the model for his statue of Madame Letitia ; the two statues are, in point of fact, nearly the same, except that Ca- nova has turned Madame Letitia's head a little on one side ; and by this single and trifling altera- tion has destroyed that quiet and beautiful sim- plicity which distinguishes the original, and given his statue at once a modern air. The Flora Farnese is badly placed, in a space too confined for its size, and too near the eye : so that the exquisite harmony and deHcacy of the figure are partly lost in its colossal proportions : it should be placed at the end of a long gallery or vista. There is here a statue of Nero when he was 16 242 NAPLES. ten years old ; from which It would seem that he was not by nature the monster he afterwards became. The features are beautiful ; and the expression all candor and sweetness. One statue struck me exceedingly — not by the choice of the subject, nor the beauty of the work- manship, but from its wonderful force of expres- sion. It is a dying gladiator ; but very difierent from the gladiator of the capitol. The latter declines gradually, and sickens into death; but memory and feeling are not yet extinct ; and what thoughts may pass through that brain while life . is thus languishing away ; what emotions may yet dwell upon the last beatings of that heart! it is the sentiment which gives such profound pathos to that matchless statue ; but the gladiator . of the Studii has only physical expression : it is sudden death in all its horrors : the figure is still erect, though the mortal blow has been given : the sword has dropt from the powerless hand : the limbs are stiffening in death ; the eyes are glazed ; the features fixed in an expression of mortal agony ; and in another moment you expect the figure to fall at your feet. The Venus, the Hercules, the Atlas, the An- tinous, (not equal to that in the capitol,) the Gany- mede, the Apollo, the equestrian statues of the two Balbi, &c. are all familiar to my imagination, from the numerous copies and models I have seen : but the most interesting department of the Mil- 243 seum is the collection of antiques from Hercu- laneum and Pompeii, which have lately been removed hither fi-om Portiei. One room contains specimens of cooking utensils, portable kitchens, tripods, instruments of sacrifice, small bronze Lares and Penates, urns, lamps, and candelabras of the most elegant forms, and the most exquisite workmanship. Another room contains specimens of ancient armor, children's toys, &c. I remarked here a helmet which I imagine formed part of a trophy ; or at least was intended for ornament rather than use. It is exceedingly heavy ; and on it is represented, in the most exquisite relievo, the War of Troy. Benvenuto Cellini himself never produced any thing eciual to the chased work on this helmet. In a third room is the paraphernalia of a lady's toilet; mirrors of dilierent sizes, fragments of combs, a small crystal box of rouge, &c. Then follow flutes and pipes, all carved out of bone, surgical instruments, moulds for pastry, sculptors' tools, locks and keys, bells, &c. The room containing the antique glass, astonished me more than any thing else. I knew that glass was an ancient invention ; but I thought that its apphcation to domestic purposes was of modem date. Here I found window panes, taken from the Villa of Diomed at Pompeii ; bottles of every size and fonn, white and colored ; pitchers and vases ; oeck laces ; imitations of gems, &c. 244 NAPLES. Tliere is a little jeu d'esprit of Voltaire's "La Toilette de Madame de Pompadour," in which he wittily exalts the moderns above the ancients, and ridicules their ignorance of the luxuries and com- forts of life : but Voltaire had not seen the museum of Portici. We can add few distinct articles to the list of comforts and luxuries it contains ; though it must be confessed that we have improved upon them, and varied them ad infinilum. In those departments of the mechanics which are in any way connected with the fine arts, the ancients appear to have attained perfection. To them belongs the invention of all that embellishes life, of all the graceful forms of imitative art, varied with such exquisite taste, such boundless fertility of fancy, that nothing is left to us but to refine upon their ideas, and copy their creations. With all our new invented machines, and engines, we can do little more than what the ancients pep- formed without them. I ought not to forget one room containing some objects, more curious and amusing than beautiful, principally from Pompeii, such as loaves of bread, reduced to a black cinder, figs in the same state, grain of diiferent kinds, colors from a painter's room, ear-rings and bracelets, gems, specimens of mosaic, &c. &c. ***** March 7. — Frattino brought me to-day the last omnbers of the Edinburgh and Quarterly Re- NAPLES. 245 views : a great treat so far from home. BotK contain some clever essays : among them, an article on prisons, in the Edinburgh, Interested me most. Methlnks these two Reviews stalk through the literary world, like the two giants in Pulci's Mor- gante Maggiore : the one pounding, slaying, man- gling, despoiling with blind fury, Hke the heavy orthodox club-armed Morgante ; the other, like the sneering, witty, half-pagan, half-baptized Mar- gutte, slashing and cutting, and piercing through thick and thin: k tort et a travers. Truly the simile is more Apropos than I thought when it first occurred to me. I went the other day to a circulating library and reading-room kept here by a little cross French woman, and asked to see a catalogue. She showed me, first, a fist of all the books, Italian, French, and English, she was allowed to keep and sell : it was a thin pamphlet of about one hundred pages. She then showed me the catalogue of prohibited books, which was at least as thick as a good-sized octavo. The book to which I wished to refer was the second volume of Robertson's Chai-les the Fifth. After some hesitation, Madame P * * led me into a back room; and opening a sUding paael, discovered a shelf let into the wall, on which were arranged a number of forbidden au- ihors, chiefly English and French. I was not smprised to find Rousseau and Voltaire among 246 NAPLES. them ; but am still at a loss to guess what Robertson has done or written to entitle him to a place in Buch select company. Sth. — Forsyth might well say that Naples has no parallel on earth. Viewed from the sea it appears like an amphitheatre of palaces, temples and castles, raised one above another, by the ■wand of a necromancer : viewed within, Naples gives me the idea of a vast Bartholomew fair. No sti-eet in London is ever so crowded as I have seen the streets of Naples It is a crowd which has no pause or cessation • early in the morning, late at night, it is ever the same. The whole population seems poured into the streets and squares; all business and amusement is carried on in the open air : all those minute details of domestic life, which, in England, are confined within the sacred precincts of home, are here dis- played to pubUc view. Here people buy and sell, and work, wash, wring, brew, bake, fry, dress, eat, drink, sleep, &c. &c., all in the open streets. AVe see every hour such comical, indescribable, ap- palling sights ; such strange figures, such wild physiognomies, picturesque dresses, attitudes and groups — and eyes — no ! I never saw such eyes before, as I saw to-da}', half languor and half fire, in the head of a ruffian Lazzarone, and a ragged Calabriau beggar girl. They would have emhrase half London or Paris. I know not whether it be incipient illness, or the 247 enervating effects of tliis soft climate, but T feel unusually weak, and the least exertion or excite- ment is not only disagreeable but painful. While the rest were at Capo di IMonte, I stood upon my balcony looking out upon the lovely scene before me, with a kind of pensive dreamy rapture, which if not quite pleasure, had at least a power to banish pain : and thus hours passed away insen- sibly — " As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene. On which we gazed ourselves away." * All my activity of mind, all my faculties of thought and feeling and suffering, seemed lost and swallowed up in an indolent delicious reverie, a sort of vague and languid enjoyment, the true ^^ dolce far niente" of this enchanting climate. I stood so long leaning on my elbow without mo^'ing, that my arm has been stiff all day in consequence. " How I wish," said I this evening, when they drew aside the curtain, that I might \dew the sunset from my sofa, and sky, earth, and ocean, seemed to commingle in floods of glorious light — " how I wish I could transport those skies to England ! " Cruelle ! exclaimed an Italian behind me, otez nous notre beau del, tout est jjerda pout notis ! K: * * * * * Wordsworth. 248 VELLETRI. THE LAST EVENING AT NAPLES. Yes, Laura ! draw the shade aside And let me gaze — while yet I may, Upon that gently-heaving tide, Upon that glorious sun-lit bay. Land of Eomance ! enchanting shore ! Fair scenes, near which I linger yet ! Never shall I behold ye more, Never this last — last look forget ! What though the cloiids that o'er me lour Have tinged ye with a mournful hue. Deep in my heart I felt your power, And bless ye, while I sigh — Adieu ! Velletri, March 13. It is now a week since I opened my little book. Ever since the 9th I have been seriously ill ; and yesterday morning I left Naples still low and much indisposed, but glad of a change which should substitute any external excitement, how- ever painful, to that unutterable dying away of the heart and paralysis of the mind which I have suffered for some days past. When we turned into the Strada Chiaja, and I gave a last glance at the magnificent bay and the shores all resplendent with golden light, I could almost have exclaimed like Eve, " must I then leave thee Paradise ! " and dropped a few natural tears — tears of weakness, rather than of grief; for what do I leave behind me worthy one emotion of regret ? Even at Naples, VELLETRI. 249 even in'^Ms all-lovely land, " fit haunt for gods," has it not been with me as it has been elsewhere ? as long as the excitement of change and novelty lasts, my heart can turn from itself " to luxuriate with indifferent things : " but it cannot last long : and when it is over, I suffer, I am ill : the past returns with tenfold gloom ; interposing like a dark shade between me and every object: an evil power seems to reside in every thing I see, to tor- ment me with painful associations, to perplex my faculties, to irritate and mock me with the percep- tion of what is lost to me: the very sunshine sickens me, and I am forced to confess myself weak and miserable as ever. O time ! how slowly you move ! how little you can do for me ! and how bitter is that sorrow which has no relief to hope but from time alone ! Last night we reached Mola di Gaeta, which looked even more beautiful than before, in the 3yes of all but one, whose senses were blinded and dulled by dejection, lassitude, and sickness. When I felt myself passively led along the shore, placed where the eye might range at freedom over the living and rejoicing landscape — when I heard myself repeating mechanically the exclamations ^f others, and felt no ray of beauty, no sense of pleasure penetrate to my heart — shall I own, even to myself, the nuxture of anguish and terror with which I shrunk back, conscious of the waste within aae ? The conviction that now it was all over. 250 VELLETRI. that the lat,t and only pleasures hitherto left to me had jierlshed, that my mind Avas contracted by the selfishness of despondency, and my quick spirit of enjoyment utterly subdued into apathy, gave me for a moment a pang sharper than if a keen knife had cut me to the quick ; and then I relapsed into a kind of torpid languor of mind and frame which I thought was resignation, and as such indulged it. From my bed this morning I stepped out upon my balcony just as the sun was rising. I wished to convince myself whether the beauty on which I had lately looked with such admiration and delight, had indeed lost all power to touch my heart. The impression made upon my mind at that instant I canionly compare to the rolling awa) of a palpable and suffocating cloud: every tiling on which I looked had the freshness and bright- ness of novelty: a glory beyond its own was again diffused over the enchanting scene from the stores of my own imagination : the sea breeze which blew against my temples new-strung every nerve ; and I left Mola with a heart so lightened and so grateful, that not for hours afterwards, not till fatigue and hurry had again wearied down my spirits, did that impression of happy thankfulnesa pass away. I am sensible I owed this sudden renovation of health solely to the contemplation of Nature ; and a true feeling for all the " maggior pompa " she has poui'ed forth over this glorious region. The VELLETRI. 251 ehores of Terracina, the azure sea, dancing in the breeze, the waves rolling to our feet, the sublime cliffs, the fleet of forty sail stretching away till lost in the blaze of the horizon, the Circcan promon- tory, even the picturescjue fishei'man, whom we saw throwing his nets from an insulated rock at some distance from the shore, and whom a very trifling exertion of fancy might have converted into some sea divinity, a Glaucus, or a Proteus, formed altogether a picture of the most wonderful and luxuriant beauty. In England, there is a pe- culiar charm in the soft aerial perspective, which, even In the broadest glare of noonday, blends and masses the forms of the distant landscape ; and in that mingling of colors into a cool neutral grey tint so grateful to the eye. Hence it has happened that in some of the Italian pictures I have seen in England, I have often been struck by Avhat ap- peared to me a violence in the coloring, and a sharp decision in the outline, o'erstepping the modesty of nature — that is, of English nature : but there is in this climate a prismatic splendor of tint, a glorious all-embracing light, a vivid distinctness of outline, something in the reality more gorgeous, glowing, and luxuriant, than poetry could dare to exprtiss, or painting imitate. " Ah, that such beauty, varying in the light Of living nature, cannot be portrayed By words, nor by the pencil's silent skill; 852 VELLETRI. But is the property of those alone Who have beheld it, noted it with care, And in their minds recorded it with love.' ' * And now we have left the enchanting soutl: ; myrtle-hedges, palm-trees, orange-groves, bright Mediterranean, all adieu ! How, under other cir- cumstances, should I regret you, with what reluc- tance should I leave you, thus half explored, half enjoyed ! but now other thoughts engross me, the hard struggle to overcome myself, or at least to appear the thing I am not. LINES. Quenched is our light of youth ! And fled our days of pleasure, When all was hope and truth. And tnisting — without measure. Blindly we believed Words of fondness spoken — Cruel hearts deceived, So our peace was broken ! What can charm us more ? Life hath lost its sweetness ! Weary lap;s the hour — " Time hath lost its fleetness! * Wordsworth. VELLETRI. 25S A8 the buds in May Were the joys we cherished, Sweet^but frail as they, Thus they passed and perished ! And the few bright hours Wintry age can number. Sickly, senseless flowers. Lingering thi-ough December ! Man has done what he can to deform this lovely region. The most horrible places we have yet met with are Itri and Fondi, which look like recesses of depravity and dirt, and the houses more Uke the dens and kennels of wild beasts, than the habita- tions of civilized human beings. In fact, the pop- ulace of these towns consists chiefly of the families of the brigantl. The women we saw here were bold coarse Amazons ; and the few men who appeared had a slouching gait, and looked at us from under their eyebrows with an expression at once cunning and fierce. We met many begging friars — hor- rible specimens of their species : altogether, I never beheld such a desperate set of canaille as appear to have congregated in these two wretched towns. At Mola, I remarked several beautiful women. Their headdress is singularly graceful : the hair being plaited round the back of the head, and there fastened with two silver pins, much in the manner of some of the ancient statues. The costume of the peasantry there, and all the way to Kome, is very 254 striking and picturesque. I remember one woman whom I saw standing at her door spinning with her distaiF: her long black hair floating down from its confinement, was spread over her shoulders ; not hanging in a dishevelled and slovenly style, but in the most rich and luxuriant tresses. Her attitude as she stood suspentling her work to gaze at ?ne, as I gazed at her with open admiration, was graceful and dignified ; and her form and features would have been a model for a Juno or a Minerva.* Rome, March 15. AVe arrived here yesterda}' morning about one, after a short but delightful journey from Velletri. We have now a suite of apartments in the Hotel d'Europe ; and our accommodations are In all re- spects excellent, almost equal to Schneiderf's at Florence. On entering Rome through the gate of the Lat- eran, I Avas struck by the emptiness and stillness of the streets, contrasted with those of Naples ; and still more by the architectural grandeur and beauty • Beyond Fondi, I remarked among the wild myrtle-covered hills, a wreath of white smoke rise as if from under ground, and I asked the postilion what it meant? lie replied with an expres- sive gesture, " Signora — i briganti! " I thought this was a mere trick to alarm us; but it was truth: within twenty hours after we had passed tlie spot, a carriage was attacked ; and a desperate struggle took place between the banditti and the sentinels, who Bre placed at regular distances along the road, and within hear- ing of each other. Several men were killed, but the robbers at leni^h were obliged to fly. 255 which every where met the eye. This is as it should be : the merry, noisy, half-naked, merry- andrew set of ragamuffins whic-h crowd the streeta and shores of Naples, would strangely misbecome the desolate majesty of the " Eternal City." Though we now reside in the most fashionable and fre- quented part of Rome, the sound of carts and car- riages is seldom heard. After nine in the evening a profound stillness reigns ; and I distinguish nothing from my window but the splashing of the Fountain della Barehetta. The weather is lovely ; we were obliged to close our Venetian blinds against the heat at eight this morning, and afterwards we drove to the gardens of the Villa Borghese, where we wandered about in search of coolness and shade. ^ ^ ^ ^ 26. — I must now descend to the common occur- rences of our every-day life. For the last week we have generally spent the whole or part of the morning, in some of the gal- leries of art ; and the afternoon in the gardens of the neighbouring villas. Those of the Villa Medici have their vicinity to our inn, and their fine air to recommend them. From the Villa Lanti, and the !RIonte Mario, we have a splendid view of the whole city and Campagna of Rome. The Pope's gardens on the Monte Cavallo, are pleasant, accessible, and v/!ry private : the gardens of the Villa Pamfili, are enchanting ; but our usual haunt is the garden of 256 the Villa Borghese. In tliis delightful spot we find shade and privacy, or sunshine and society, as we may feel inclined. To-day it was intensely hot ; and we found the cool sequestered walks and alleys of cypress and ilex, perfectly delicious. I spread my shawl upon a green bank carpeted with violets, and lounged in most luxurious indolence. I had a book with me, but felt no inclination to read. The soft air, the trickling and murmuring of innumer- able fountains, the urns, the temples, the statues — the localities of the scene — all dispose the mind to a kind of vague but delightful reverie to which we " find no end, in wandering mazes lost." In these gardens we fi'equently meet the Princess Pauline ; sometimes alone, but oftener surrounded by a cortege of gentlemen. She is no longer the " Venere Vincitrice " of Canova ; but her face, though faded, is pretty and intelligent ; and she still preserves the " andar celeste," and all the dis- tinguished elegance of her petite and gracefiil figure. Of the stories told of her, I suppose one half maij be ti'ue — and that half is quite enough. She is rather more famous for her gallantries than for her bon-gout in the choice of her favorites ; but it is justice to Pauline to add, that her native benevolence of heart seems to have survived all her fi'ailties ; and every one who speaks of her here, even those who most condemn her, mention her in a tone of kindness, and even of respect. She Is still in deep mourning for the Emperor. 257 The Villa Pamfili is about two miles from Rome on the other side of the Monte Gianicolo. The gardens are laid out in the artificial stj'le of Italian gardening, a style -which in England would horiify me as in the vilest and most old-fashioned taste — • stifl", cold, unnatural, and altogether detestable. Through what inconsistency or perversity of taste is it then, that I am enchanted with the fantastic eleo-ance and the picturesque gayety of the Pamfili gardens ; where sportive art revels and inins wild amid the luxuriance of nature ? Or is it, as I would rather believe, because these long arcades of ver- dure, these close walls of laurel, pervious to the air, but imper^-ious to the sunshine, these broad umbrageous avenues and marble terraces, these paved grottos and ever-trickling fountains, these gods, nymphs, and urns, and sarcophagi, meeting us at every turn with some classical or poetical as- sociation, hannonize with the climate and the coun- try, and the minds of the people ; and are comfort- able and consistent as a well-carpeted drawing- room and a warm chimney-corner Avould be in England ? "But it is all so artificial and unnatural" — Agreed ; — so are our yellow unsheltered gravel- walks, meandering through smooth-shaven lawns, which have no other beauty than that of being dry when every other place is wet; our shapeless flower-beds so elaborately irregular, our clumps and dots of trees, and dwai-fish shrubberies. I have 258 seen some over-dressed grounds and gardens in England, the perpetrations of Capability Brown and his imitators, the landscape gardeners, quite as bad as any thing I see here, only in a different style, and certainly more adapted to England and English taste. I must confess, that in these en- chanting gardens of the Villa Pamfili, a little less " ingenuity and artifice " Avould be better. I hate mere tricks and guncrackery, of ■which there are a few instances, such as their hydraulic music, jets- d'eau — water-works that play occasionally for the jistonishment of children and the profit of the gar- deners — but how different, after all, are these Ital- ian gardens to the miserable grandeur, and sense- less, tasteless parade of Versailles ! In these gardens an interesting discovery has just been made ; an extensive burial-place, or co- lumbarium, in singular preservation. The skele- tons and ashes have not been removed. Some of the tombs are painted in fresco, others floored with very pretty mosaic. The disposition of the urns is curious : they are imbedded in the masonry of the wall with movable Hds. On a tile, I found the name of Sextus Pompeius, in letters beautifully formed, and deeply and distinctly cut, and an in- scription which I was not Latinist enough to trans- late accurately, but from which it appeare that these coliunbaria belonged to a branch of the Pom- pey family. 27. — To-day, after English Chapel, I took a walk 259 to the San Gregorio, on the other side of the Pala- tine, wliich since I first came to Rome has been to me a lavorite and chosen spot. I sat down on the steps of the church to rest, and enjoy at leisure the fine view of the hill and ruins opposite. Arches on arches, a wilderness of desolation ! and mingled •nath massive fragments of the halls and towers of the Caesars, were young shrubs just putting on their brightest green, and the almond-trees covered with their gay blossoms, and the cloudless and resplend- ent skies bending over all. T tried to sketch the scene before mo, but could not form a stroke. I cannot now take a short walk without feeling its ill effects ; and my hand shook so much from nervous weakness, that after a few vain efforts to steady it, I sorrowfully gave up the attempt. On returning home by the CoUseum, and through the Forum and Capitol, I met many things I should wish to remember. After all, what place is like Rome, where it is impossible to move a step without meeting with some incident or object to ex- cite reflection, to enchant the eye, or interest the imagination ? Rome may yield to Naples or Flor- ence in mere external beauty, but every other spot on earth, Athens perhaps alone excepted, must j-ield to Rome in interest. ***** '/8. — This morning we walked down to the studio of M. Wagenal, to see the ^glna marbles ; which IS objects of curiosity interested me extremely 2G0 ROME. These statues are on a smaller scale than I ex- pected, being not much more than half the size of life, but of better workmanship, and in a style of sculpture altogether different from any thing I ever saw before. They formed the ornaments of the pediment of the temple of Jupiter in the island of ^-Egina, and represented a group of fighting and dying warriors, with an armed Pallas in the centre : but the subject is not known. The execution of these statues must evidently be referred to the earliest ages of Grecian art ; ^o a period when sculpture was confined to the exact imitation of natural forms. Several of the figures are extremely spirited, and very correct both in design and execution ; but there is no attempt at grace, and a total deficiency of ideal beauty : in the Pallas, especially, the drapery and forms are but one remove from the cold formal Etruscan style, which in its turn is but one remove from the yet more tasteless Egyptian. I think it was at the Villa Albani, I saw the singular Etruscan basso-relievo which I was able to compare mentally with what I saw to-day; and the resemblance in manner struck me immediately. Thorwaldson is now restoring these marbles in the most admirable style for the King of Bavaria, to whom they were sold by Messrs. Cockerell and Linkh (the original discoverers) for 8000/. Gibson, the celebrated EngHsh sculptor, joined us while looking at the .S^gina marbles, and accom- ROME. 261 panied us to the studio of Pozzi, the Florentine statuary. Here, I saw several instances of that affected and meretricious taste which prevails too much among the foreign sculptors. I remembei one example almost ludicrous, a female Satyr with her hair turned up behind and dressed in the last Parisian fashion ; as if she had just come from under the hands of Monsieur HyppoUte. By the same hand which committed this odd solecism, I saw a statue of Moses, now modelling in clay, which, if finished in marble in a style worthy of its concep- tion, and if not spoiled by some affected niceties in the execution, will be a magnificent and sublime work of art. Gibson afterwards showed us round his own stu- dio : his exquisite group of Psyche borne away by the Zephyrs enchanted me. The necessity which exists for supporting all the figures, has rendered it impossible to give them the same aerial lightness I have seen in paintings of the same subject, yet they are all but aerial. Psyche was criticized by two or three of our party ; but I thought her faultless : she is a lovely timid girl ; and as she leans on her airy supporters, she seems to contemplate her flight down the precipice, half-shrinking, though secure. Mr. W* * told me that, in the original design, the left foot of one of the Zephyrs rested upon the ground : and that Canova, coming in by chance while Gibson was working on the model, lifted it up, and this simple and masterly alteration has im- 262 parted the most exquisite lightness to the atti- tude. Gibson was C'anova's favorite pupil : he has quite the air of a genius: plain features, but a countenance all beaming with fire, spirit, and intel- li tenance. Andrea del Sarto had, in his profession, great talents rather than genius and enthusiasm. He was weak, dissipated, unprincipled ; without eleva- tion of niind or generosity of temper ; and that hia moral character was utterly contemptible, is proved by one trait in his life. A generous patron who had relieved him in his necessity, afterwards en- trusted him with a considerable sum of money, to be laid out in certain purchases ; Andrea del Sarto perfidiously embezzled the whole, and turned it to his own use. This story is told in his life, with the addition that " he was persuaded to it by liis wife, as profligate and extravagant as himself." Carlo Dolce's gentle, delicate, and melancholy temperament, are strongly expressed in his own portrait, which is in the Gallerj' of Paintings here. All his pictures are tinged by the morbid delicacy of his constitution, and the refinement of his char- acter and habits. They have exquisite finish, but a want of power, degenerating at times into cold- ness and feebleness; his JNIadonnas are distinguished by regular feminine beauty, melancholy, devotion or resigned sweetness : he excelled in the Mater Dolorosa. The most beautiful of his Virgins is in the PItti Palace, of which picture there is a dupli- cate in the Borghese Palace at Rome. Carlo Maratti, without distinguished merit of any kind — unless it was a distinguished merit to be the 810 FLORENCE. father of Faustina Zappi, — owed liis fortuae, lus title of Cavaliere, and the celebrity he once enjoyed, not to any superiority of genius, but to his success- ful arts as a courtier, and his assiduous flattery of the great. Wliat can be more characteristic of the man, than his simpering Virgins, fluttering in taste- less, many-colored draperies, with their sky blue backgrounds, and golden clouds ? Caravaggio was a gloomy misanthrope and a profligate ruffian : we read, that he was banished from Rome, for a murder committed in a drunken brawl ; and that he died at last of debauchery and want. Caravaggio was perfect in his gamblers, robbers, and martyrdoms, and should never have meddled with Saints and Madonnas. In his famous Pieta in the Vatican, the Virgin is an old beggar- woman, the two Maries are fish-wives, in " maudlin sorrow," and St. Peter, and St. John, a couple of bravoes, burying a murdered traveller : dipiuse ferocemente sempre, pei-cke feroce era il suo carral- tere, says his biographer: an observation by the way in supj)ort of my hypothesis. Rubens, with all lils transcendent genius, had a coarse Imagination ; he bore the character of an honest, liberal, but not very refined man. Rubena painted Virgins — would he had let them alone! fat, comfortable farmers' wives, nursing their chubby children. Then follows Vandyke in the opposite extreme. Vandyke was celebrated in his day, for his personal accomphshments : he was, say his biog- FLORENCE. 311 raphers, a complete scholar, courtier, and gentle- man. His beautiful Madonnas are accordingly, what we might expect — rather too intellectual and lady-like : they all look as if they had been polished by education. The grand austere genius of Michel Angelo was little calculated to portray the dove-like meekness of the Verglne dolce e pia, or the playfulness of infantine beauty. In his Mater Amabilis, sweet- ness and beauty are sacrificed to expression ; and dignity is exaggerated into masculine energy. In the Mater Dolorosa, suffering is tormented into agony : the anguish is too human : it is not suffi- ciently softened by resignation ; and makes us turn away with a too painful sympathy. Such is the admirable head in the Palazzo Litti at Milan ; such his sublime Pieta in the Vatican — but the last, being in marble, is not quite a case in point. I will mention but two more painters of whose lives and characters I know nothing yet, and may therefore fairly toake their works a test of both, and judge of them in their Madonnas, and after- wards measure my own penetration and the truth of my hj'pothesis, by a reference to the biographi- cal writers. In the few pictures I have seen of Carlo Cig- nani, I have been struck by the predominance of mind and feeling over mere external form : there is a picture of his in the Rospigliosi Palace-^or rather, to give an example which is nearer at hand. 812 FLOKEXCE. and fresh in my memory, there is in the gallery here, his Madonna del Rosario. It represents a beautiful young woman, e^Hdently of plebeian race : the form of the face is round, the features have nothing of the beau-ideal, and the "whole head wants dignity : yet has the painter contrived to throw into this lovely picture an inimitable expres- sion which depends on nothing external, which in the living prototype we should term countenance ; as if a chastened consciousness of her high destiny and exalted character shone through the natural rusticity of her features, and touched them with a certain grace and dignity, emanating from the mind alone, which only mind could give, and mind per- ceive. I have seen within the last i^yj days, three copies of this picture, in aU of them the charming simplicity and rusticity, but in none the exquisite expression of the original : even the hands are ex- pressive, without any particular delicacy or beauty of form. An artist who was copying the picture to-day while I looked at it, remarked this; and confessed he had made several unsuccessful at tempts to render the fond pressure of the fingers as she clasps the child to her bosom. Were I to judge of Carlo Clgnani by liis works, I should pronounce him a man of elevated charac- ter, noble by instinct, if not by descent, but simple in his habits, and a despiser of outward show and ostentation. The other painter I alluded to, is Sasso Ferrato, FLORENCE. 3tS a great and admired manufacturer of Virgins, but a mere copyist, without pathos, power, or origin- ality : sometimes he resembles Guido, sometimes Carlo Dolce ; but the graceful harmonious delicacy of the fonner, becomes coldness and flatness in his hands, and the refinement and sweetness of the latter, sink into feebleness and insipidity. Were I to judge of his character by his Madonnas, I should suppose that Sasso Ferrato had neither original genius nor powerful intellect, nor warmth of heart, nor vivacity of temper ; that he was, in short, a mere mild, inoifensive, good sort of man, studious and industrious in his art, not without a feeling for the excellence he wanted power to attain.* I might pursue this subject further, but my mem- ory fails, my head aches, and my pen is tired for to-night. ***** Both here and at Rome, I have found consider- able amusement in looking over the artists who are usually employed in copying or studying from the celebrated pictures in the diiferent galleries; but I have been taught discretion on such occasions by a ridiculous incident which occt^rred the other day, as absui'dly comic as it was unlucky and vexatious. A friend of mine observing an artist at work in the Pitti Palace, whom, by his total silence and inatr * Forsyth complains of some celebrated Madonnas being unim- passioned : with submission to Forsyth's taste and acumeu— 'Ugh' they to be mipassiontd ? 314 FLORENCE. tention to all around, she supposed to be a native Italian who did not understand a word of Enghsh, •went up to him, and peeping over his shoulder, ex- claimed with more truth than discretion, " Ah ! what a hideous attempt ! that wUl never be like, I'm sure ! " "I am very sorry you think so, ma'am ! " replied the painter, coolly looking up in her face. He must have read in that beautiful face an expression which deeply avenged the cause of his affronted picture. We have been twice to the opera since we ar rived here. At the Pergola, Bassi, though