'^1 A'as necessary, therefore, to hire a Vetturhio, who undertakes to transport your carriage, in a certain time, for a certain sum. Left Pisa at noon. Soon after our departure the 38 LEAVE nSA FOR FLORENCE. rain came down in torrents. The horses knocked up ; and the vetturino was half- drowned. The post- master refused to let us have horses ; — and as he had no beds to offer us, — there was every prospect of our passing the night in the carriage. S. who was with us, smoked his pipe ; — I swore in English; — and C. out- swore, out-argued, and out-joked the post-master and all his crew in their native tongue.- At last, by dint of his arguments and humour, for which the Ita- lians have a keen relish, the difficulties were got over; — though wc did not reach Florence till after midnight. 10th to 20th. Travellers generally exaggerate most outrageously ; — but they have hardly done jus- tice to Florence. It may well be called — Fair Flo- rence. — The Arno runs through it with a turbid, but rapid, and therefore cheerful, stream, forming as it were the middle of the principal street. Between the lines of houses and the river is a broad quay, serving for carriages and foot-passengers. Four bridges at short distances connect the two sides of the street, and add to its beauty. The absence of smoke, and the clearness of the atmosphere, enable you to see the siu'rounding country distinctly, from all parts of the town. The views up and down the river arc beautiful ; and the immediate environs are ornamented with undula- ting shrubberies and villas without number. The prospect from these environs is rich beyond FLORENCE SCHNEIDERF S HOTEL. 39 description. Florence is laid out at your feet, — and the Arno winds through a golden and fertile plain, till the scene is closed by the bold and rugged range of the Apennines. Such is the first view of Florence ; — and within its walls is all that can conduce to gratify the senses, or delight the imagination. The wonders of ancient and modern art are all around you, and furnish an inexhaustible field of occupation and amusement. Schneiderf s hotel is a magnificent establishment ; and though Florence may be better calculated for a summer residence, yet it is well provided with winter comforts ; — and the comforts of a place are as important to an invalid as the climate. The daily charge at Schneiderf's, if you have only one room, — which in Italy may serve for all pur- poses, — is seven pauls for lodging, ten pauls for dinner, and four pauls for breakfast, — altogether about ten shillings English. For this, you have a good room, an excellent dinner of two courses, with a dessert, and as much of the wine of the country as you like. — If a man wishes to drink genuine liquor, — let him always drink the common wine of the country in which he happens to be. Mould candles are also thrown into the bargain; — if you burn wax you pay for them, and an extra charge is made for fire. The dinner alone in England would cost more than the whole daily expenditure. The English abound so much in Florance, that a 40 FLORENCE GALLERY. traveller has little occasion for any other language. At all the hotels, there is some one connected with the house that can speak English. English shops abound with all sorts of nick-knacks, — from Reading sauce to Woodstock gloves ; — and the last new novels stare you in the face at the libraries. The first thing every man goes to see in Florence is— the Gallery. It is thrown open to the public every day except Sundays and hoiydays, which last by-the-bye, occur too often in Italy, to the great interruption of business. The attendants are always civil and obliging, and without any interested motive, for notices are affixed to the doors, to request that nothing may be given to them. Upon the same principle that a child picks out the plums, before he eats the rest of his pudding, — I hurried at once to the Sanctum Sanctorum of this Temple of Taste ; — the Tribune ; — a small octagon room, the walls of which are decorated with a select few of the best paintings of the best masters, and in the area of the apartment are five of the most admired pieces of ancient sculpture. First and foremost amongst these is — " the statue that enchants the world" — the unimitated, inimitable Venus. She has now resumed her old station after her second visit to Paris ; — for I am surprised the French did not argue that her adventure with the shepherd on Mount Ida, was clearly typical of her late trip to their metropolis. THE TRIBUNE VENUS DE MEDICIS. 41 One is generally disappointed after great expecta- tions have been raised, but in this instance I was delighted at first sight, and each succeeding visit has charmed me more. It is indeed a wonderful work in conception and execution, — but I doubt whether Venus be not a misnomer. Who can re- cognise in this divine statue, any traits of the queen of love and pleasure ? It seems rather intended as a personification of all that is elegant, graceful, and beautiful ; — not only abstracted from all human in- firmities, but elevated above all human feelings and affections ; — for, though the form is female, the beauty is like the beauty of angels, who are of no sex. I was at first reminded of Milton's Eve ; but in Eve, — even in her days of innocence, — before " she damned us all," — there was some tincture of humanity, of which there is none in the Venus ; — in whose eye there is no heaven, and in whose gesture there is no love. Immediately behind the statue, is the most famous of all the famous Venuses of Titian, who has represented the Goddess of Pleasure in her true character — the houri of a Mahometan paradise ; — and a most be- witching picture it is. But the triumph of the statue is complete ; — there is an all-powerful fascination about it that rivets the attention, and makes the spectator turn away from the picture, — like Hercules from the voluptuous blandishments of the Goddess of Pleasure, — to devote an exclusive adoration to 42 VENUS DE MEDICIS. the celestial purity of her rival ; — for celestial she certainly is. The peculiar attribute of her divinity is, not its ubiquity, but its individuality. — It seems impossible to transfer any portion of her " glorious beauty" to a copy. — None of the casts give any idea of the nameless grace of the original. — This incommunicable essence is always the criterion of transcendent ex- cellence. The arms are modern, and very inferior to the rest of the vv^ork. There is something finical and aflected in the turn of the fingers, wholly at variance with the exquisite simplicity of the rest of the figure. I must record, — though I would willingly forget, — the only traces of humanity in the Venus ; which escaped my notice in the first fervour of admiration. Her ears are bored for ear-rings, which probably once hung there ; and her arm bears the mark of having been compressed by a bracelet. This last ornament might perhaps be excused, but for the other barbarous trinkets, — what can be said? I would wish to think they were not the work of the original sculptor ; but that they might have been added by some later proprietor, in the same taste that the Squire in Smollett bestows full-curled periwigs, by the hand of an itinerant limner, at so much per head, on the portraits of his ancestors painted by Vandyke. Having said so much of the Venus ; — the others may be soon despatched. STATUES. 43 The Apollifio is a model of symmetry. The Wrest- lers are admirable ; but I should like them better if there were more contrast between the figures ; — for they are so alike, that they might be supposed to be twins. The arm of the vanquished is out of joint, from the violence of his overthrow. Tlie Knife Grinder, as it is called, may be any body. None of the suggestions that have yet been made, are completely satisfactory. The Faun is principally remarkable, as exhibiting the best instance of Michael Angelo's skill in restora- tion. He has added a new head, and I doubt if the original could have excelled the substitute. Besides these, which are in the Tribune ; — there is the Her- maphrodite ; — the attitude of which is an exquisite specimen of the skill of the ancients, in imitating the ease and simplicity of nature. The disposition of the reclining figure is so delightfully natural, that you feel afraid to approach it, lest you should disturb its sleep. This felicity in catching the postures of nature is still more happily illustrated in. The Shepherd extracting a thorn from his foot. The marble is actually alive. Venus rising from the sea, which is in one of the corridors, deserves a place in the Tribune. The head of Alexander is worthy of the son of Ammon, and the conqueror of the world. The figures in the group of the Niobe are of very un- equal merit. Perhaps the taste of the whole is rather 14. STATUES. too theatrical. — Niobe herself, and two of her children, are very superior to the rest. — The agony of maternal affection is beautifully expressed in the figure of Niobe. Did Ovid borrow his affecting description from the statue, or did the sculptor take his idea from Ovid ? Ultima restabat, quam toto corpore Mater, Tota veste tegens, unam, minimamque relinque ; De multis minimam posco, clamavit, et unam ! However this be, — the statue and the verses form an excellent commentary upon each other. Amongst the modern statues there are but few to admire. Michael Angelo's Bacchus will have no incense from me ; — and his mifinished Brutus has all the air of a blacksmith. By the way, this is not intended, as it has been ofteij supposed, for Marcus Brutus. It is a portrait of one of the Medici, who assassinated his uncle, and was called the Florentine Brutus ; but proving afterwards the oppressor, and not the liberator, of his country, M. Angelo laid aside his unfinished bust in disgust. The head of a Satyr, — his first essay in sculpture as a boy of fourteen, — is a truly wonderful performance ; but there is nothing of M. Angelo's in the Gallery, that will compare with the Rape of the Sabines, or the bronze Mercury of John of Bologna. The Mercury is standing on one leg, upborne by the breath of a Zephyr. It is a figure of ethereal lightness, and might — " bestride the gossamer, that idles in the wanton summer air." PAINTINGS, 4*5 So much for the sculpture of the Gallery ; — and it is equally rich in paintings. In addition to the two Venuses of Titian, which exhibit in the highest perfection all the glowing beauties of that painter, there are also in the Tribune some of the choicest works of Raphael. St. John in the Wilderness, and the portrait of Fornarina, are in his last and best manner, without any trace of that hard dry style, derived from his master Perugino, from which he so happily lived to emancipate himself. I must also mention a portrait of Cardinal Aguechia by Do- menichino, which is worthy of being compared with the noble picture of Charles Vth. on horseback, by Vandyke, that hangs opposite to it ; — and this is praise enough. There are some fine bold sketches of Salvator Rosa, in thev^iante-rooms of the Tribune, which will well repay the trouble of hunting them out ; — and the famous head of Medusa, by Leonardo da Vinci, must not be overlooked. These are the plums of the Gallery ; — I leave it to guides and catalogues to discuss the rest of the puddi?ig. Sunday 16ih. This evening, Sunday, I was pre- sented to the Grand Duke. The Pitti Palace was thrown open to receive the congratulations of the public on the marriage of the Grand Duke's eldest son to a Princess of Saxony. — Th6 bride, an elegant interesting girl of seventeen, paid her respects to the company with affability and grace ; — the Grand Duke and his family played at cards ; — and every thing 40 PITT I PALACE CANOVa's VENUS. went off very well ; — but for my part, I could not help thinking we were all de trop, — as the marriage had only taken place in the morning. The palace, spacious and splendid. The state- rooms were thrown open, and we roamed about without restraint, and were regaled with all kinds of refreshments. The boudoir, — in the centre of which stands Canova's Venus, — brilliantly illuminated, and lined with mirrors, reflected the beauties of her figure in all directions, and exliibited the statue to the highest advantage. This is the statue which occupied the pedestal of the Medicean Venus, during her flight to Paris : — but I can find nothing divine -ahout Canova's Venus. She is not worthy to officiate as chamber- . maid to the Goddess of the Tribune, It is simply the representation of a modest woman, who seems to shrink from exposure in such a dishabille ; while her Grecian prototype, in native innocence and simplicity, — scarcely conscious of nakedness, — seems to belong to an order of beings to whom the sentiment of shame was as yet unknown. The attitude of Canova's is constrained, and per- haps even awkward. This may arise from the manner in which she compresses that scanty drapery which the sculptor has given her, — intended, I sup- pose, — " to double every charm it seeks to hide." The symmetry too is by no means perfect. The head is manifestly too large. It is perhaps unfair to at- tribute to the sculptor the faults of the marble, but ITALIAN MASQUERADES. 47 it is impossible not to remark, that even if the work had been more perfect than it is, the mifortmiate flaws, just in those places where they are most 7nal-d-propos, must still have detracted much from its beauty. Many of the copies of this statue seem to me quite equal, if not superior to the original ; an infallible proof, if the remark be correct, of its mediocrity of merit. The Princess wished us good night at ten o'clock ; — and we were all bowed out, Monday, 17th, A long morning amongst the pictures in the Pitti Palace. A magnificent collec- tion. Their value may be estimated by the fact of the French, who certainly had the knack of finding out what was worth stealing, taking away no less than sixty-three to the Louvre. These are now returned. Tutsday, 18th, This evening the city of Florence gave a masked ball at the rooms of the Belle Arti, to which the Grand Duke, and all the Court were invited. The Italians have been celebrated for their masque- rading talents ; — but if this ball were taken as a sam- ple, a masquerade is a duller thing in Italy than in England. I believe it is never entertaining but in a novel, — and there very seldom. The young bride, in a room set apart for the purpose, opened a select ball ; and I was pleased that she chose our old-fashioned, well-behaved coun- try dance. 48 ITALIAN MASQUERADES. 19th. Another morning in the Pitti ; — but more of the pictures hereafter, — Lounged carelessly through the rooms, without any guide of any kind, trusting to first impressions. When one has thus, by two or three visits, become familiarized with what one hkes, and what one does not, it is useful to get a catalogue, and compare one's sensations with authority. Pro- tect me from the tiresome flippancy of a professed Cicerone, — who takes you round a gallery of pic- tures, like the showman of a collection of wild beasts. Thursday, 20th. In the evening, a masqued ball at the Cascine Rooms, to which the Court and the English were invited ; but as I have already had a peep at these gew-gaws, which I consider only as Lions to be seen with the other raree-shows of a foreign country, I prefer the " society of solitude" in my own arm-chair. 21st. This evening brought the news of the Princess Charlotte's death, creating a sensation which has seldom been produced by any public disaster. It seemed to be felt by all the English as a domestic calamity. The Chai'gS d'affaires w^rote to the Grand Duke, on the part of the English, to excuse their at- tendance at a ball and supper, which had been fixed for the ensuing Sunday at the Pitti Palace. The Duke, we are told, was much pleased with the feeling that give rise to this note, and exclaimed, '* Voild de Vesprit vraiment national ! — cela leur fait beaucoup dlwrineur." All the English put on deep COUNTESS OF ALBANY. 4i) mourning. Poor Charlotte! and poor Leopold! and poor England ! — but all public feelings are ab- sorbed in lamenting her fate as a woman, a wife, and a mother. 22nd. To the Laurentian library, which is one of the raree-shows of Florence ; — but a library is not a thing to be stared at. Here they show you the famous copy of the Pandects, for which you will not be a whit the wiser ; and one of the oldest manuscripts extant of Virgil, written in a very beautiful character, in which I neither found the culex, nor the four lines *' Ilk ego qui quondam,"' usually prefixed to the MneiA. There is a Petrarch, too, ornamented with portraits of the poet, and his Laura, taken, as it is said, from the life. — I looked with more interest at the finger of Galileo, which is here preserved under a glass case, — pointing with a triumphant expression to those heavens, which he was condemned to a dun- geon for having explored. Adjoining is the church of St. Lorenzo ; and the mausoleum of the Medici, — a splendid piece of non- sense which has never been completed. The church is full of the works of Michael Angelo ; — but it is no easy matter to comprehend allegorical statues. Countess of Albany's party in the evening. She still maintains the form and ceremony of Queen-Dow- ager, wearing the arms of England on her carriage, and receiving a circle every Saturday evening, with a strictness of etiquette exceeding that of the Grand 50 CHURCHES OF FLORENCE. Duke's court. She was almost the only person out of mourning. This was, to say the least of it, bad taste. If there is no alliance of blood, there is a pecuniary relationship between her and the English government, — from which she receives an annual pension of fifteen hundred pounds, — that might well have afforded a black gown. It would be difficult to trace in her present appearance, any remains of those charms, that could attract and attach the fiery and fastidious Alfieri. Swidai/ 23d. To mass in the cathedral. Of the churches of Florence I say little. The subject is endless, — and indeed Eustace has exliausted it. It is impossible not to admire the magnificence of their internal decorations ; — but it is a magnificence that fatigues, and perhaps disgusts a Protestant, unaccus- tomed to the pomp and pageantry of Catholic wor- ship. External modes however are after all mere matters of taste, about which there is no disputing ; — and the Italians seem to be attracted by splendour. One thing however, at least, must be remarked in favour of the churches ; — they are always open. Piety will never, in this country, find the church doors shut in her face. Service seems to be going on all day and every day. The favourite altar at this time, — for the altar itself is not exempt from the in- fluence of fashion, — is at the S. Nunziata. In asking my way to La Santa Nunziata, I was often corrected with " Caro lei la Santissima Nunziata^ di la" — REFLEenONS ON PAINTING, 51 as if the omission of the siiperlatice had given offenee ; — but the attraction even of an altar has its day. 24th. Again to the Pitti. A catalogue of pic- tures is a sad dull business, — and I must rather endea- vour to record my own sentiments and reflections. The cant of criticism, and the dogmatism of know- ledge, would confine all right of judgment upon paint- ing and sculpture to those alone who have been duly initiated in the mysteries of virtu ; whereas it seems to me, that it is with painting and sculpture, — as Johnson has pronounced it to be with poetry, — it is by the common sense of mankind, after all, that the claims to excellence must finally be decided. Painting, considered as a fine art, is principally valuable, as it is historical, or poetical ; by which terms I would not be understood to signify the ideas usually attached to them ; — but, by an historical picture, I mean one which represents the subject as it really was ; — by a poetical, — one which represents the sub- ject as it existed in the mind of the painter. Mere excellence of execution is, I think, the lowest claim a painter can advance to admiration. As well might a literary production rest its pretensions upon the mere beauties of the style. If the composition neither please the imagination, nor inform the understanding, to what purpose is its being written in elegant lan- guage? In the same manner, drawing and colours — the language of painting, — can as little, of them- selves, form a title to praise. E 2 52 REPLECTlONh ON PAINTINtf. When I visit collections of paintings, I go to have my understanding instructed, my senses charmed, my feelings roused, my imagination delighted or exalted. If none of these effects be produced, it is in vain to tell me that a picture is painted v^ith the most exact attention to all the rules of art. At such pictures I look without interest, and turn away from them with indifference. If any sensation be excited, it is a feeling of regret, that such powers of style should have existed, without any sparks of that Promethean heat, which alone confers upon them any real value. If this be wanting, it is in vain that a connoisseur descants upon the merits of the drawing, the correctness of the perspective, and the skill of the arrangement. These are mere technical beauties, and may be interesting to the student in painting ; but the liberal lover of the arts looks for those higher excellencies, which have placed painting in the same rank with poetry. For what, in fact, are the works of Michael Angelo, — Raphael, — Murillo, — Salvator Rosa, — Claude, — Ni- cholas Poussin, — and Sir Joshua Reynolds ; — but the sublime and enchanting, — the terrific and heart-rend- ing conceptions of — a Homer, — a Virgil, — a Shak- speare, — a Dante, — a Byron, — or a Scott, — " turned into shapes !" — They are the kindred productions of a congenial inspiration. Yet, I would not be understood to deny all merit to mere excellence of execution. I would only wish to ascertain its true place in the scale. The perfect PITTI COLLECTION RAPHAEL. 53 imitation of beautiful nature in the landscapes of Hobbima or Ruysdaal, — the blooming wonders that expand under the pencil of Van-Huysum, — and the exquisite finishing of Gerhard Douw's laborious pa- tience, — cannot be viewed with absolute indifference. Still less would I wish to deny the praise that is due to the humorous productions of Teniers, Hogarth, or Wilkie. These have a peculiar merit of their own, and evince the same creative powers of mind, which are exhibited by the true vis comica in the works of literature. The collection in the Pitti abounds in every variety of excellence. There are eight Raphaels. It is difficult to speak with moderation of Raphael. Those who undervalue him rate him by his worst pro- ductions, of which there are some to be found of a very ordinary merit; — those who admire him look only to his best, — and these are above all praise. The character of his genius was extraordinary. Most painters may almost be said to have been born so ; and I think Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mr. West have expressed something like a feeling of humiliation, upon finding, at threescore, how very little they could add to the first juvenile productions of their pencils. Raphael was a genius of a slower growth, and it would be difficult to discover, in the hard dry outlines of his first manner, any indication of that felicity of conception and execution which is so con- spicuous in his maturer works. His females are 54, PITTI COLLECTION — VANDYKE. beings of an exclusive species ; and if he painted from nature, he was fortunate in his acquaintance. The Madonna is a subject which he has appropriated and made his own : — it is only tolerable in his hands ; — or, at least, after seeing his, there is no tolerating any other; — Guido's sky-blue draperies notwith- standing. Raphael's Madonna della Seggiola unites the most opposite graces ; — there is a refined elegance, joined to a diffident simplicity, with a gentle tenderness pervading the whole expression of her figure, which realizes all one's conceptions of that mother, from whom the meek Jesus, — who, in the agonies of death, offered up a prayer for his executioners, — derived his human nature. His portraits too are excellent, com- bining the force and the richness of the Flemish and Venetian schools, and are second only to the happiest efforts of Vandyke. Vandt/kc must ever be the prince of portrait painters. He is at once historical and poetical. Any dauber may paint a sign-post likeness ; but a portrait must have spirit and character as well as resemblance. Vandyke seems to embody, in one transient ex- pression of the countenance, — which is all that a painter can give, — the whole character of his subject. The Bentivoglio is a magnificent specimen of his talent in this way. The subject is worthy of his pencil, and seems to have pleased him. It is a full length — dressed in a Cardinal's robes. The head in PITTI COLLECTION — SALVATOR ROSA. 55 Lavater was probably taken from this picture, but it has lost a great deal by being separated from the figure ; — the attitude and commanding air of which are admirable. Sahator Rosa is to me the most poetical of all painters ; by which I mean, not only that he possesses that mens dwinior, that mysterious power over the grand, the sublime, and the terrible, which constitutes the soul of a poet ; — but also, tliat he ministers more than any otlier painter to the imagination of the spectator. There is always a something more than meets the eye, in his wild and romantic sketches, which awakens a train of associations, and sets in motion the airy nothings of the fancy. You may look at his pictures for ever, without feeling the least satiety. There is a battle of his in the Pitti, which might serve as a study to all the poets who have sung of battles, — from Homer down to Walter Scott. What a picture he would have made of the witches in Macbeth, which Sir Joshua Reynolds has managed so unhappily ; — or of Meg Merrilies hurling her parting imprecations upon the Laird of Ellangowan ! He seems to be in painting what Byron is in poetry, or Kean in acting; — and it would be difficult to praise him more. There is a portrait of himself, by himself, that promises all the genius which is exhibited in his works. The Four Philosophers, — a splendid picture by Rubens — worthy of the master of Vandyke. 50 GABINETTO FISICO. The Fates, — one of the few oil paintings that Michael Angelo has given us, — are finely conceived — — — — " facies non omnibus una, Nee diversa tamen, qualem decet esse sororum." The features remind one of the portrait of Dante. There is something quite appalling in the solemn severity, — the terrible gravity of their demeanour. They might stand for the weird sisters of Shakspeare, if the witches be indeed sublime ; — but I fear that " moiinch't and mounch't and moiinch't" brings them down to the level of old women. Luther and Calvin, by Giorgioni, detained me a long while, though perhaps more from the interest of the subject than the merit of the painting. I fancied I read in the harsh lines of Calvin's countenance, that brutal spirit, which could enjoy the spectacle of the sufferings of his victim Servetus, and find materials for ridicule in the last afflicting agonies of affrighted nature. A St. John in the Wilderness, by Andrea del Sarto, in the last room, is the only picture I have seen, that might form an exception to Forsyth's character of that Painter ; who says, " He has neither poetry in his head, nor pathos in his heart." — But enough of pictures for the present. 25th. Visited the Gabinetto Fisico. This is a shockingly accurate imitation of dissected subjects, in wax. I went in immediately after breakfast, and was as much discomposed as I could have been by CHURCH OF SANTA CROCK. 57 so many real carcases. It is too horrible, and, it might be added, too indecent an exhibition for mis- cellaneous admission. Yet, all the world, men and women, lounge there; — though all that is revolting and disgusting in disease or deformity is laid bare and exposed, with a nakedness that can only be gratifying to the eye of science. The commencement and progress of the fatal plague at Florence is re- presented in miniature ; and, from the effect produced by looking at it, I am incHned to believe what is said, — that if it had been made as large as life, it would have been too horrible for exhibition. Gallery again. 2Gth. The most interesting church here is the S. Croce, — the Westminster Abbey of Florence ; — for here are the bones and the tombs of Galileo, Machiavelli, Michael Angelo, and Alfieri. Ma- chiavelli's epitaph is a good specimen of that brevity, which, when well managed, makes an epitaph so impressive — Tanto nomini nullum par elogium. Nicholaus Machiavelli. Michael Angelo is buried, according to his own desire, so that his grave might command a view of the cupola of the cathedral, — the work of Brun- nelleschi ; which suggested to him the idea of his own grander work at St. Peter's. The Florentines would gladly have recovered the bones of Dante, whom they exiled, to die at Ra- 58 RAPHAEL MORGHEN, venna; and they point with pride to an original picture of him in fresco on the wall of the ca- thedral. 27th. Bitterly cold. A Siberian wind from the Apennines cuts one to the heart. This is no place for the winter. The scene must be changed ; — but whither? Pisa will never do, after Florence. It is as well to die of consumption as of ennui. All the world is going to Rome, — and every body says that Rome is a charming place in the winter. What every body says must be true; -and I shall swim with the stream. 28th to 5th December. Very unwell. My sur- geon attributes my illness to the water, which, he says, is very noxious here. I believe it has more to do with the air, for it is more cold than ever I felt it in England, w^hatever the thermometer may say to the contrary. 6th. A long morning at Morghen's ; — the first engraver in the world. His Last Supper, from the picture of Leonardo da Vinci, is the triumph of engraving. It is pity that he did not engrave the Madomia della Seggiola at a later period, in his best and softest mamier. How could he throw away his time and his labour on the Madonna del Sacco J — the fresco daub of Andrea del Sarto? Gallery again. Met a fmieral procession with a military guard. Upon inquiry, I found the defunct was a Jew, and BERTOLINI — CHEAPNESS OF SCULPTURE. 59 that the precaution was necessary as a protection against the insults of the populace. Sundaij 7th. Bcrtolini's studio. There is no sculptor of eminence now at Florence. Bertolini is an excellent workman, and takes admirable like- nesses ; and if he were employed less in this way, might succeed in original composition. It is now the fashion among the English to sit to him ; — and you find all your acquaintance drawn up in fearful array, in hard marble ; — some at full length ! If this fashion hold, it will give posterity some trouble. Family pictures are easily put out of the way; but family statues would be sadly durable lumber, — unless indeed they found their way to the lime- kiln. The cheapness of sculpture here must injure our English artists. Casts have been imported from London of the busts of the King, Fox, Pitt, Nelson, Perceval, and many others. These Bertolini repro- duces in marble, and sends back to London, all expenses of carriage included, for twenty-two pounds each. Made a circuit of the palaces. The Covsini and Gerini have each of them a fine collection of pic- tures. I was particularly struck with two, by Carlo Dolci, whose productions are generally too cloying for my taste. The first is the figure of Poetry in the Corsini palace, — one of the most beautiful coun- tenances I ever saw ; — the charms of which are 60 MOZZl PALACE. lighted up by that indefinable expression, which makes the face the index of the mind, and gives the assurance, at the first glance, of intellectual supe- riority. The other is the Maii^rdom of St. Andrew in the Gerini palace; — a most affecting picture; the impression of which is aided by every excellence of arrangement, contrast, and colouring. At the Mozzi palace is Benvenuto's picture of the Saxons taking the Oath of Confederation, after the battle of Jena. The figure of Napoleon is ad- mirable ; and it is said to be one of the best portraits extant of that extraordinary being. Vespers at the Duomo ; — afterwards to the Cas- cine — the public drive and promenade, — in a word, — the Hyde-park of Florence. 61 CHAPTER III. Jmirney to Rome — The Forum — Palace of the CcBsars — Climate ^Tombs—The Tiber— Temple of Vesta — Cloaca Maxima — Baths of Caracalla — Fountain of Egeria. Monday, 8th Dec. LeFT Florence with a friend, who had a seat to let in his calhhe ; — and we agreed to travel together. Having met with a courier, who was working his way home and offered to serve us for his expenses, — we engaged him to accompany us ; — though nothing, but our complete inexperience of Italian travelling, would have re- conciled me to such an ostentatious piece of ex- travagance. This man's business is to ride on before you ; get the horses ready at the post-houses ; and pre- pare for your reception at the inns where you may be inclined to halt. Carlo, I believe, protects us from much imposition; and as he conducts all the disbursements and disputes on the road, which are in fact synonymous terms, — for wherever there is a disbursement there is a dispute; — what he saves us in breath and temper is incalculable. 62 JOURNEY TO ROME. The road to Sienna is hilly and tedious, and we did not arrive till after dark. 9th. Left Sienna long before it was light in the morning ; being in some anxiety about passing the Ricorsi, a mountain-torrent, which, at this season, is very liable to be swollen by the rains, and has some- times detained travellers on the road for many days. The Guide Book informs you, quaintly enough, that you will have to pass it four times, — if you are not swallowed up in either of the first three. Having safely forded this stream, we arrived, at the close of evening, at Acquapendente. The accommodations here were so uninviting, that we proceeded on to S. Lorenzo ; and as it was now quite dark, my compa- nion would insist upon taking a small escort of ca- valry. This I thought unwise ; — it was making sure of being pillaged by the soldiers ; — whereas, the dan- ger from robbers was only contingent. At S. Lorenzo, we found that we had fallen from the frying-pan into the fire. The inn had a most unfrequented appearance, and our arrival was the signal of destruction to some poor fowls, who were quietly at roost, — dreaming of that to-morrow which was never to come. 10th. We rose early again, and breakfasted at Bolsena, on the borders of the lake. The inhabitants bear ample testimony, by their pale and sickly ap- pearance, to the existence of the malaria. Through- out this day, the road was beautiful ; — commanding JOURNEY TO ROME. 63 every variety of prospect ; — hill and dale, wood and water. The environs of Viterbo — bold and beautiful. — Halted for the night at Baccano ; — the inn of which has been undeservedly denounced by Forsyth. What- ever may be said of the roast beef of old England, I think we might learn much from our neighbours, in the science of good living. The inns in Italy are ge- nerally better than those of an equal class in England. What can a traveller hope to find at a country-inn in England, but the choice of a beef-steak, a mutton- chop, or a veal-cutlet? For one of these, — with some bad beer, or worse wine, — he will be charged more than he will pay in Italy for an abundance and variety of dishes. The wines of the country are light, pleasant, and wholesome ; and in that great article of a traveller's comfort, — his bed, — Italy has again the advantage. Instead of the suffocating feather-beds of England, you find every where an elastic refresh- ing mattress, which will conduce to ensure a good night's sleep, in spite of the dreary unfurnished room in which it is placed. llth. We rose early in order to reach Rome in good time. It was a rainy day ; so that when we ascended the hill about two miles from Baccano, from which we ought to have seen Rome, — we saw nothing. The approach to Rome is, as all travellers have described it. You pass over miles of a barren com- mon, much like Hounslow Heath ; and when, at last. 64 ARRIVAL AT ROME. you arrive at the gate of the Eternal City, the first impression is, I think, a feehng of disappointment. But this, perhaps, may be referred to the exaggerated expectations, in which, till philosophy and experience have given sobriety to our views, we are all too prone to indulge. We have only to consider the limited powers of man, and to examine what he has been able to do, with a reference to his means of performance, and the tone of our expectations will be lowered to a just level. We were soon in the Piazza di Spagna, — the focus of fashion, and the general resort of the English. Some travellers have compared it to Gros- venor-square ; — but the Piazza di Spagna is little more than an irregular open space, a little less nasty than the other piazzas in Rome, because the habits of the people are in some measure restrained by the presence of the English. Still, there is quite enough left to make me believe the Romans the nastiest people in Christendom, — if I had not seen the Portu- guese. The English swarm every where. We found all the inns full. It seemed like a country town in England at an assizes. To look for lodgings was impossible, for it rained unmercifully. By the way, when it does rain here, it pours with a down-right vehemence that we are but little accustomed to in England. We got a resting-place for the night with some difficulty, at the Hotel de Paris. Dear and bad. ROME. 65 12th. Signed the articles of a triumvirate with two friends, who were on the same pursuit after lodgings with myself. Established ourselves at No. 43, Via degli Otto Cantoni, Corso. This situation is had. The Corso is the Bond-street of Rome; — but it is also the Billingsgate, There are two fish- stalls under my window, the people belonging to which commence their vociferations as soon as it is light. There is, however, at least, more variety in these cries than in the perpetual " All alive ho !" of London. The Italian fish-monger displays all the humour he is master of to get rid of his stock, and he will sometimes apostrophize his stale mullet with ludicrous effrontery ; — " Pesce ! cosa fate ? Pesce ! state chete .'" But the worst objection to our lodgings is their height. We are on the quarto piano ; — a hundred and four steps from the ground — though this objection relates only to convenience ; for it is by no means mauvais ton in Rome, to live in the upper story, which does not at all answer to our garret. Here, — your approach to heaven does not in the least detract from your gentility. Our lodgings consist of two sitting-rooms, three bed-rooms, servant's room, and kitchen ; for which we pay thirty sequins, — about fifteen pounds English — per month. The charge of a traiteur for supplying you with dinner at home, varies from six to ten pauls per head. We get Orvietto wine at something less than two pauls a bottle. This wine is pleasant, F 66 ROME. though it is said to be very imwholesome. But the wine of wines is Velletri, w^hich costs us little more than a paul a bottle ; and a bottle holds nearly two English quarts. The paul is something less than sixpence, forty-four being the value of a pound sterling, when the exchange is at par. December 13th to 25th. Sight-seeing. Of the sights of Rome it is impossible to say nothing,- — and it is difficult to say any thing new. What so many have told, who would tell again? — I must be content to record first impressions. There are two modes of seeing Rome, — the topograhical, — followed by Vasi ; who parcels out the town into eight divi- sions, and jumbles every thing together, — antiquities, churches, and palaces, — if their situation be contiguous ; — and the chronological, — w^hich would carry you regularly from the house of Romulus, to the palace of the reigning Pontiff. The first mode is the most expeditious, and the least expensive ; — for even if the traveller walk a-foot, the economy of time is worth considering ; — and, after all that can be urged in favour of the chronological order, on the score of reason, Vasi's plan is perhaps the best. For, all that is worth seeing at all, is w^orth seeing twice. Vasi's mode hurries you through every thing, but it enables you to select and note down those objects that are worthy of further examination, and these may be afterwards studied at leisure. Of the great majority of sights, it must be confessed, that all we obtain for ROME. 67 our labour is, — the knowledge that they are not worth seeing ; — but this is a knowledge that no one is willing to receive upon the authority of another, and Vasi's plan offers a most expeditious mode of arriving at this truth, by one's own proper experience. His plan is indeed too expeditious, for he \vould get through the whole town, with all its wonders, ancient and modern, — in eight days ! This might suit young Rapid exactly, but I am content to follow the course he has chalked out, at a more leisurely pace. As a guide to Rome, Vasi's book is worth all the books of travels put together. It is all that it professes to be, and no more, — a mere catalogue ; but it is com- prehensive and accurate. There is nothing to direct the taste or influence the judgment ; — but a traveller should observe for himself, and, it is much better that he should not see through the eyes of others. Forsyth's book is a mine of original remarks, expressed in the most forcible language ; but, one laments that the author did not live to complete a work, of which his present volume is little more than the Text-Book. Eustace, notwithstanding the many charms of his book, is not the most accurate of all travellers ; and one is sometimes led to doubt, whether he really ever saw the places he describes. If a book of travels must be taken as a guide, halandes is perhaps the best, which is full of lore and learning: but it is as dull and dry as Vasi's Catalogue, — and a great deal longer. V '2 GS ROME. Some remains of the Palatine, — the Capitoline, — the Cehan, — the Aventine, — the Quirinal, — the Vi- minal, — and the Esquihne Hills — are still to be dis- tinguished. The most interesting relics will be found on the two first, — the oldest establishments of Rome ; — for the first foundations of Romulus were limited to the Palatine Hill. Porta est, ait, ista Palati ; Hie stator, hoc primum condita Roma loco est. Ovid, The best view of the site of ancient Rome is from the tower of the modern capitol. The modern city has been so much elevated by the rubbish and dilapidation of centuries, that, it is matter of surprise, the shape and situation of the ancient hills still re- main so visible. The pavement of old Rome is often discovered at a depth of forty feet. Every thing is developed by excavation ; and the Coliseum itself loses much of its effect, by the mound of earth accumulated around it. One may judge of the great- ness of the wreck, from the effects thus produced by its overthrow. Still, however, we shall be at a loss to find room for the three millions, which is not the highest estimate that is given, as the amount of the ancient population. It is rather the quality of what remains, than the quantity, that impresses one with an idea of the grandeur and magnificence of ancient Rome. There is the fragment of a cor- nice, lying in the gardens of the Colonna Palace, ROME FORUM.. 69 which looks as if it had been brought from the land of Brobdingnag ; — for no pillars of present existence could support an entablature of such gigantic pro- portions, as that of which this cornice must have formed a part. One might imagine some great con- vulsion of nature had swallowed up the city, and left a few fragments to tell the tale of its existence to other times. One of my first excursions was to the Forum. It is difficult to conceive, and impossible to describe, the effect produced by the admonitus locorum of this memorable scene, — reduced as it now is again to something like the state which Virgil describes, in the days of Evander ; — Passimque arme|i^a videbant, Romanoque foro et lautis mugire Carinis. The Roman forum is now the Campo Vaccino — the papal Smithfield ; — but it is still the finest walk in the world ; and I doubt whether, in the proudest days of its magnificence, it could have interested a spectator more than it now does, — fallen as it is from its high estate. Nothing can be more striking, or more affecting, than the contrast between what it was, — and what it is. There is enough in the totter- ing ruins which yet remain, to recal the history of its ancient grandeur; — while its present misery and degradation are obtruded upon you at every step. Here Horace lounged; — here Cicero harangued; — and here now, the modern Romans count their beads, 70 HOME^ — THE COLISEUM. — kill their pigs, — cleanse their heads, — and violate the sanctity of the place, by every species of abo- mination. The walk from the Capitol to the Coliseum com- prises the history of ages. The broken pillars that remain of the Temple of Concord, the Temple of Jupiter Tonans, and the Comitium, tell the tale of former times, in language at once the most pathetic and intelligible; — it is a mute eloquence, surpassing all the powers of description. It would seem as if the destroying angel had a taste for the picturesque ; — for the ruins are left just as the painter would most wish to have them. The arches of the emperors scarcely appear in harmony with the rest M the scene, and do not accord with the magnificent scale of all around them. I doubt whether Tituss arch be wider or higher than Temple-Bar. The Duchess of Devonshire is excavating round Phocas's Pillar ; — re-making the gulf which Curtius closed. Criminals in chains are employed in this work, under the superintendence of a military guard ; — but, if patriotism and virtue be again necessary to fill up the chasm, where shall we find the ma- terials here? Of the Coliseum more hereafter ; — for the first im- pression of the Via Sacra is so overwhelming, that the mind is lost in its own reflections, and has no leisure for the examination of details. ROME PALACE OF THE CESARS. 71 Marius, in his exile, sitting amongst the ruins of Carthage, must have been an affecting spectacle. Napoleon, amongst the ruins of Rome, would per- haps afford as striking a picture : — but Napoleon never was in Rome : — if he had returned victorious from Russia, it is said, that he had intended to make a triumphal entry into the eternal city, and to be crowned in St. Peter's. The Palace of the Ccesars. The whole of this region, — comprehending all that remains of the re- sidence of the emperors, and the golden house of Nero, — is now a desert, full of ruins, and fragments of temples, and baths, — presenting an awful picture of fallen greatness. The spot is beautiful, and com- mands a fine view of Rome. The soil seems rich, if one may judge from the crops of cabbages and artichokes, which it is now made to produce. Great part, however, of this vast tract is covered with wild brush-wood, where you may easily lose yourself if you will. In my last stroll through this wilder- ness, I encountered a Fox, who paused for a moment to stare at me ; — as if he were doubting which of the two was to be considered as the intruder. This Fox seems to be the genius of the place, and delights to shew himself to all travellers. There are some remains of a terrace, overlooking the Circus Maximus , from which the emperors gave the signal for the commencement of the games. In another quarter are three rooms, — discovered 72 ROME — CLIMATE. about forty years ago. These chambers are in good preservation, and aftbrd a sample of the ancient Ro- man taste in the construction and proportions of their apartments. They seem to have received their hght, Hke the Pantheon, from a hole in the ceiling ; and, instead of the formal square which so much prevails in modern rooms, each of the four sides in these is broken into a circular recess or bow. The same ac- cumulation of soil seems to have taken place here, on the Palatine Hill, as elsewhere ; for these chambers which must have been once on the surface, are now thirty feet below ground. These rooms appeared to me to be models of proportion, and the effect of the loose flowing outline, produced by the hollowing out of the sides into recesses, is much more pleasing than the harsh angular preciseness of a parallelo- gram. Dec. 20th. The more I see of Italy, the more I doubt whether it be worth while for an invalid to encounter the fatigues of so long a journey, for the sake of any advantages to be found in it, in respect of climate, during the winter. To come to Italy, with the hope of escajmig the winter, is a grievous mis- take. This might be done by getting into the south- ern hemisphere, but in Europe it is impossible ; and, I believe, that Devonshire after all, may be the best place for an invalid, during that season. If the ther- mometer be not so low here, the temperature is more variable, and the winds are more bitter and cutting. ROME CLIMATE. 73 In Devonshire too, all the comforts of the country are directed against cold ; — here, all the precautions are the other way. The streets are built to exclude as much as possible the rays of the sun, and are now as damp and cold, as rain or frost can make them. And then, — what a difference between the warm carpet, the snug elbowed chair, and the blazing coal- fire of an English winter evening; — and the stone staircases, marble floors, and starving casements of an Italian house ! — where every thing is designed to guard against the heat of summer ; which occupies as large a proportion of the Italian year, as the winter season does of our own. The only advantage of Italy then is, that your penance is shorter than it would be in England ; for I repeat, that during the time it lasts, winter is more severely felt here, than at Sidmouth, where I would even recommend an Italian invalid to repair, from November till Febru- ary ; — if he could possess himself of Fortunatus's cap, to remove the difficulties of the journey. Having provided myself with a warm cloak, — which is absolutely necessary, where the temperature varies twenty degrees between one street and another, — I have been proceeding leisurely through the won- ders of Rome. In travelling round the circuit of the antiquities, it is curious to remark, how the scale of buildings gradually increases, from the little modest temple of Vesta, to the temple of Fortuna Virilis, and the other works of the republic ;-— till they swell 74f ROME — THE lOMBS — THE TIBER. out into colossal magnificence, in the vast works of Nero, Vespasian, and Caracalla. The same remark may be extended to the tombs ; and the same growing taste for ostentation may be traced, from the earlier days of the republic, to the tomb of Caecilia Metella, the wife of Crassus. Au- gustus carried this taste further in his mausoleum ; — though he was at least social enough to admit his family. Adrian, at last, outdid all former out- doings, and constructed that enormous pile, which is now the Castle of St. Angelo, — for the exclusive accommodation of his own single carcase. Dec. 21st, The Tiber has been very diiferently described by diiferent writers. Some have been able to find in it, nothing better than a muddy ditch ; while others have exalted it to an equality with the finest rivers in Europe. The first sight of it has, I believe, generally occasioned a feeling of disappoint- ment. But, when we come to admeasurement, we find, that at the Pons jElius, — now the Ponte S. Angelo, — the breadth is about 212 English feet. This is the narrowest point. At the Pons Milvius, — now the Ponte Molle, — the breadth increases ; and two miles above Rome, the river is nearly twice as broad as it is within the walls. This contraction of the stream within the town, will be a sufficient explanation of the destructive inundations, which have taken place at various periods. Some remains of the Sublician Bridge still exist ; ROME TLMPLE OF VEsTA. <0. — and your guide would wish you to believe, that this was the scene of Horatius Codes' gallantry. But, in travelling round the antiquities of Rome, there is, I fear, great occasion for scepticism, with respect to the propriety of the names that have been so confi- dently applied to many of them. The Temyle of Vesta, a pretty modest little build- ing, seems to belong to this doubtful order ; — though here, the doubt is, — not whether it is a temple of Vesta, — but the Temple of Vesta. Its situation on the bank of the river, seems to accord with Horace's Monumenla Vestce ; and its geography will agree with the ventum erat ad Ve.stoe, of the ninth satire, — where it is represented as lying in his w ay from the Via Sacra, to the gardens of Caesar, trans Tibenm ; — nor is Ovid's description at all unsuitable to it ; Hie locus exiguus qui sustinet atria Vestae, Jam fuit intonsi regia parva Numse. In this quarter of the town, you see a part of the Cloaca Maxima ; — this is one of the most curious and interesting remains of Roman magnificence ; and it has given rise to much difference of opinion, with respect to the period, when these works were con- structed. Ferguson has stated some historic doubts in a note to his Roman Republic, which are worth attention. " The common sewers were executed at a great expense. It was proposed, that they should be of sufficient dimensions to admit a waggon loaded 76 ROME — CLOACA MAXIMA. with hay, (PHn. hb. xxxvi. c. 15.) When these common sewers came to be obstructed, under the republic, the censors contracted to pay a thousand talents, or about 193,000 pounds for clearing and repairing- them. (Dionys. Hal. lib. iii. c. 67.) They were again inspected at the accession of Augustus ; and clearing their passages is mentioned amongst the great works of Agrippa. He is said to have turned the course of seven rivers into these subterraneous canals, to have made them navigable, and to have ac- tually passed in barges under the streets and buildings of Rome. These works are still supposed to remain; but as they exceed the power and resources of the present city to keep them in repair, they are con- cealed from the view, except at one or two places. They were, in the midst of the Roman greatness, and still are reckoned among the wonders of the world ; and yet they are said to have been the works of the elder Tarquin, a prince whose territory did not ex- tend, in any direction, above sixteen miles ; and, on this supposition, they must have been made to ac- commodate a city that was calculated chiefly for the reception of cattle, herdsmen, and banditti. " Rude nations sometimes execute works of great magnificence, as fortresses and temples, for the pur- poses of superstition or war; but seldom palaces, and still more seldom, works of mere convenience and cleanliness, in which for the most part, they are long defective. It is not unreasonable, therefore, to ques- ROME CLOACA MAXIMA, 77 tion the authority of tradition, in respect to this singular monument of antiquity, which exceeds what many well-accommodated cities of modern Eur ope have undertaken for their own conveniency. And as those works are still entire, and may continue so for thou- sands of years, it may be suspected that they existed even prior to the settlement of Romulus, and may have been the remains of a more ancient city, on the ruins of which the followers of Romulus settled, as the Arabs now hut or encamp on the ruins of Palmyra and Balbec, Livy owns that the common sewers were not accommodated to the plan of Rome, as it was laid out in his time ; they were carried in directions across the streets, and passed under the buildings of the greatest antiquity. This derangement, indeed, he imputes to the hasty rebuilding of the city, after its destruction by the Gauls ; but haste, it is probable, would have determined the people to build on their old foundations, or at least not to change them so much as to cross the direction of former streets. When the only remaining accounts of an ancient monument are absurd or incredible, it follows, of course, that the real account of the times in which it was erected, is not known." Such is the note of Ferguson, — which is well entitled to consideration; though it is difficult to reconcile the existence of a more ancient city, on the site of the city of Romulus, with the entire silence of history and tradition ; — unless, indeed, we carry it up 78 B\THS OF CARACALI.A. to a period so remote, as would throw an awfiil mystery over the first origin of the Eternal City, — connecting" it with times, of which there are no more traces, than of the Mammoth or the Mastodon, 22nd. Caracalld's Baths and Palace. The ruins of this palace are, next to the Coliseum, the most striking proof that remains of the grandeur of the Roman buildings. It was here that some of the finest pieces of sculpture were discovered ; — the famous Torso, the Hercules Farnese, the Flora, and the group known by the name of the Tore Farnese. This enormous pile of ruins has rather the appearance of the remains of a town, than of a single palace. From what is left, we may form some notion of the form and proportions of the splendid Cella Solearis, or the Hall of Sandals, of which we have such a superb description. " Cellam solearem architecti negant posse ulla imitatione qua facta est fieri." The baths are under ground ; one of the vaulted rooms remains entire, and sufficiently indicates how the rest were disposed. While the lower orders mixed in the same bath, rooms were provided for more fastidious per- sons, with bathing-vessels of granite, porphyry, and basaltes ; of which many are now in the Museum of the Vatican. It is said, that three thousand persons might bathe at the same time ; and besides the baths, there was every thing that could minister to the gra- tification of the people ; — theatres, — promenades, — gymnasia — Hbraries, — and magnificent porticoes, to FOL'NTAIN or EGF.RIA. t9 protect them from sun and rain ; — where philosophers walked, and talked, and taught. Such were the baths, or rather the Thernice of the Romans ; — for the baths did not include the same superb establishments as the Thermaj, — which have been well described as " Lavacra in modum provinciarum extructa."' Caracalla'6' Circus, as it is called, rests on very doubtful authority. There is a coin of Caracalla's, with a circus on the reverse side ; — here is a circus that wants an owner ; — how easy the inference then, that it must have been Caracalla's! It has suffered so little alteration from time, that the whole shape and extent, are as distinct as they could have been 1 ,500 years ago. By the way, the circus of the Romans is any thing but a circle. It is a narrow oblong, with rounded ends. Up the middle ran the spna, round which the chariots turned ; — and it must have required very delicate driving. The length of the circus is 1,630 French feet, the breadth 330. The walls of the two metcc are still standing ; — and the obeHsk, which now stands in the Piazza Navona, once stood in the middle of it. From hence, I drove to the Fountain of Egeria ; which is doubtful again ; and cannot well be recon- ciled with the description of Juvenal, as to its locality. It is, however, a pretty fountain in a pretty valley ; and, if it be the fountain of w^hich Juvenal speaks, time has at least realized his wish, and the water is now again inclosed, — viridi margine, — " with a border of 80 FOUNTAIN OF EGERIA. eternal green ; — and the only marble that profanes the native stone, is a headless statue, — but not of the Nymph Egeria ; for it is evidently of the male sex, and was probably intended for the god of the stream, which flowed from this spring. I can vouch for the excellence of the water, of which I took a copious draught. i SI CHAPTER IV. St. Peter's— Resemblance between Catholic and Heathen Ceremonies — Christmas Day — Baths of Dioclesian — Funeral Rites — Palaces — Fountains — Pantheon — Tarpeian Rock — Close of the Year. December 2Srd. A L ONG morning at St. Peter's ; — of which I have hitherto said nothing, though I have visited it often. All my expectations were answered by the first impression of this sublime temple. It may be true, that on first entering, you are less struck than might be supposed, with the immensity of the building. But this, I believe, is entirely the fault of our eyes ; — which are, indeed, the " fools of the senses ;" — and we are only taught to see, by reason and experience. In St. Peter's, so much attention has been paid to preserve the relative proportions of all the parts, that for some time you do not perceive the largeness of the scale. For example, the figures of the Evangelists, which decorate the inside of the cupola, do not appear to be larger than life, and yet the pen in St. Mark's hand is six feet long, from which one may calculate their real stature. The fact is, that nothing is great or little but by c 82 ST, PETER'S, comparison ; and where no familiar object exists to assist the judgment, the eye readily accustoms itself to any scale. Does not Gulliver say, that he lived with the Brobdingnagians, without being fully sensible of their stupendous size ; but that he was most forcibly im- pressed with it, on his return to England, by the contrast of his own diminutive countrymen? In the same manner it is, when you enter any other church, that you are most struck with the prodi- gious superiority of St. Peter's, in mag-nificence and grandeur. There is, indeed, one exception to the harmony of proportion in the inside of St. Peter's. The statue of the Apostle himself, which was changed from an old Jupiter Capitolinus, by a touch of the Pope's wand; — this famous St. Peter, is seated in an arm-chair, on the right hand of the altar, and is scarcely above the size of life. It was the contrast afforded by this statue, that first made me fully sensible of the magnitude of every thing else. It is to be lamented that Michael Angelo's plan was not adhered to, whose intention was, that the fiieure of the church should have been a Greek cross. The advantage of this form is, that it exhibits the whole structure at one coup d'oeil. In the Latin cross accompanied with aisles, — as is the case in St. Peter's — the effect is frittered away, and instead of ST, Peter's. 83 one great whole, there are, in fact, four churches under one roof. In spite, however, of all that the last architect has done to spoil it, St. Peter's stands beyond all comparison, the most magnificent temple ever raised by mortal hands to the worship of the Supreme Being. It is a spectacle that never tires ; — you may visit it every day, and always find something- new to admire. Then, — its temperature is delight- ful ; — after starving in the cold and comfortless galleries of the Vatican, it is a luxury indeed to enjoy the mild and genial air in the interior of St. Peter's ; and I am told, the church is as pleasantly cool in summer, as it is comfortably warm in winter. The fact is, the walls are so thick, and it is so wholly free from damp, that the air within is not affected by that without ; so that, like a well-built cellar, it enjoys an equability of temperature all the year round. Immediately under the glorious cupola, is the tomb of St. Peter, round v*^hich a hundred lamps are con- stantly burning ; and above, written in large charac- ters on the frieze in the inside of the cupola, is this obvious, but admirably appropriate, inscription : — Tu Es Petrus, et super hanc petram ^dificabo EcCLESIAM MEAM, ET TIBI DABO CLAVES C^ELORUM. Underneath, is the old church, upon which the present temple has been built; and it is here, that the re- mains of the Apostle are said to have been deposited ; G 2 84" ST. PETER'S. — though, many learned men have doubted whether St. Peter ever was at Rome at all. Here too you may read, what no person who has not descended into this subterraneous church, probably has read ; — the histories of the reigns of Charles III,, James IV., and Henry IX., — kings of England! — for so they are styled, in the royal chronicles, engraved on the tombs of the Pretenders ; which, brief as they are, contain almost all that is memorable in the histories of most princes ; — the dates of their births and their deaths. And yet, as if the present tomb were not sufficient to commemorate the last of the Stuarts, Canova is now employed in working a more costly monument to the memory of Cardinal York, — alias Henry IX. As there is one exception to the otherwise excel- lently-arranged proportions in the inside of the church, — in the statue of St. Peter, — which is insig-nificantly little ; so, there is also one on the outside, — in the height of the front, — which is extravagantly too great. Architecture is so much an art of the square and the rule, that mere uninstructed common sense ought perhaps to have no voice on the subject. But, all the world, learned and unlearned, unite in con- demning this barbarous front. There is a drawing, in the Vatican, of the facade, — as Michael Angelo intended it should have been, — which resembles closely the portico of the Pantheon. Maderno's frightful attic rises so high, that, to a spectator on the groimd, ST. PETER'S. 85 placed at the further extremity of the piazza of St, Peter's, the aiixihary cupolas are quite lost, and the great cupola itself is scarcely able to appear above its overgrown proportions. St. Peter's must not be judged of from engravings. The rage for embel- lishing has possessed more or less all the engravers of Rome. Piranesi, who had more taste, had per- haps less fidelity than any of his brethren. They have all endeavoured to correct the defects of Ma- derno's front, and have represented it as it never can be seen from the ground. So much for Maderno ; — whose performances at St. Peter's are thus appre- ciated by Forsyth: — " At last," says he, " a wretched plasterer came down from Como, to break the sacred unity of the master idea, and him we must ex- ecrate for the Latin cross, the aisles, the attic, and the front." The inscription on the front, which bears the name of Paul v., is conceived in the true papal taste ; and instead of dedicating the church at once to the Supreme Being, consecrates it, — hi honorem 'principis apostolorum. Adjoining St. Peter's is the Vestry ; — a vast pile, built at an enormous expense, by Pius VI., who was possessed with a rage for embellishing, and perpe- tuating his name by inscriptions. Over the principal entrance is the following : — Quod ad Templi Vatican! ornamentum publica vota ftagi- tabant, Pius VI., Pontifex maximus fecit, <^c. 86 ST. PETER'S. The Italian wits seldom lose an opportunity of venting their satire in epigram, and the following distich was soon found written underneath the in- scription : — Publica ! mentiris; — Non publica voia fuere, Seel tumicli ingenii vota fuere tui. Pius the Vlth's passion for recording his own glory, in the constant inscription, — Miinijicentia Pii Sexti, — was, perhaps, more wittily satirized, during a season of scarcity, when the pagnotta or little roll of two baiocchi, answering to our penny roll,- — which never varies in price, however its size may be affected by the price of corn, — had shrunk to a most lamentable littleness. One morning, one of these Lilliputian loaves was found in the hand of Pasquin's statue, with an appended scroll, in large characters — MUNIFICENTIA PII SEXTI. 24th. Another morning at St. Peter's. Nothing can be more grand than the approach to the church. Instead of being cooped up like our own St, Paul's, it forms the back-ground of a noble and spacious amphitheatre, formed by a spendid colonnade of a quadruple range of pillars. In the middle of this amphitheatre stands the Egyptian obelisk, brought to Rome by Caligula. This curious monument of the history of mankind adds great interest to the scene. Caligula brought it from Egypt ; and, after purifying ST. PETERS. 87 it from the abominations of Egyptian superstition, dedicated it with this inscription, which still remains : — Divo Caesari Divi Julii F. Augusto Ti. Cessari Divi Augiisti F. Augusto Sacrum. But all things in this world seem made for change : — the same obelisk has undergone fresh purifications, to cleanse it from the heathen abominations ; and it is now consecrated to Christianity. The following are the inscriptions on the four sides of its base : — Sixtus V. Pont : Max : Cruci invictse Obeliscum Vaticanum Ab impura superstitione Expiatum, justius Et felicius consecravit Anno MDLXXXVI, Pont. II. Sixtus V, Pont : Max : Obeliscum Vaticanum Dis gentium Impio cultu dicatum Ad apostolorum limina Operoso labore transtulit Anno MDLXXXVI. Ecce Crux Domini Fugite Partes adversoe Vicit Leo De tribu Judee Christus vincit Christus regnat Christus imperat Christus ab omni malo Plebem suam Defendat. The fountains are magnificent. Christina, Queen of Sweden, thought they were made to play in honour of her visit, and begged they might cease ; — at least so says the guide, — but this is the kind of story, which is told of every royal head down to 88 ST. PETER'S. PrhiCQ Leboo ; who, when he first entered London, thought it was lighted up, as a particular compliment to him. In giving the comparative admeasurements of St. Peter's and St. Paul's, Eustace seems to have heen resolved, at all events, to exalt the superiority of the Catholic church, above her heretical daughter. I know not from whence he took his dimensions ; but they do not accord with those on the cupola of St. Peter's ; which are given in every measure of Europe. The St. Paul's mark too on the pavement in the inside of the church— where the lengths of the principal cathedrals in Europe are distinguished — ought to have shewn him at once how much he was mistaken, in giving to St. Peter's 200 feet more in length, than St. Paul's. Eustace's dimensions are as follow ; — where he seems to have comprised the walls and portico of St. Peter's, and taken only the clear inside length of St. Paul's :— St. Peter's. St. Paul's. Feet. Feet. 700 Length 500 500 Transept 250 440 Height 340 90 Breadth of the Nave 60 154 Height of the Nave 120 Now the admeasurement of St. Peter's, taken from the record of the cupola, is very different ; and ST. Peter's 89 the dimensions of St. Paul's, as given in the descrip- tions of that chiu'ch, still less agree with Eustace. The account taken from these sources will stand thus : — St. Peter's. St. Paul's^. Feet. Feet. Extreme lengrth 510 673 444 448 88 146 . Transept 282 . Height to the top of the Cross outside. . . . 404 , Breadth of the Nave, 40 ; with the aisles, 107 . Height of the Nave 100 Such things are of little importance ; but when one finds the admeasurement of the " accurate Eustace'' quoted and followed by succeeding travellers, it is time to ascertain, whether he be acciu-ate, or not ; though this may not be so easily done with respect to St. Peter's ; for it is remarkable, that scarcely any two books agree in the statement of its dimensions, I was surprised to find on the bronze gates of the church, amongst the bas-relief representations of scriptural subjects, my old friends, — the Eagle and Ganymede, — and a very spirited, though not over- decent, group of Leda and her Swan. Some traces of the old heathen superstitions are indeed constantly peeping out from under their Catholic disguises. I believe it is Warburton who says, that to see variety in human nature, one must go farther than Europe, — the tour of which resembles the entertainment given to Pompey. There were many dishes, and a seeming variety, but when he 90 ST. PETEU'S. examined them closely, he fomid them all made out of one hog ; — nothing hut pork, — differently disguised. 1 helieve the remark might be extended farther. Human nature seems alike in all ages and countries. '* We cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall rehsh of it." If any thing could have improved the tree, one would have supposed it must have borne better fruit by being grafted with Christianity ; but, in many particulars, — at least as far as Italy is con- cerned, — all the change produced, has been a mere change of name. For instance, amongst the antiqui- ties of Rome, you are shewn the house, or, as it is called, the Temple of Romulus /—which you are told was built round the very house in which he lived, and has been fortified and repaired ever since. Need we go further to seek for the prototype of the tale of Loretto ? — though, in this instance, it must be con- fessed, that the moderns have " betteredthe instruction." What is the modern worshipping of saints and images, but a revival of the old adoration paid to heroes and demigods ; — or what the Nuns, with their vows of celibacy, but a new edition of the Vestal Virgins I — auctiores certainly, but whether emendatiores or no, — I will not undertake to determine. Wherever we turn indeed, " all is old, and nothing new." What are the tales we hear of images of the Virgin falling from Heaven, but a repetition of the old fable of the Palladium ; — which the ancients assure us was de- rived from the same celestial manufactory ? Instead ST. PETER'S. 01 of tutelary gods, — we find guardian angels; — and the canonisation of a saint, is but another term for the apotheosis of a hero. The processions * are closely copied from ancient patterns ; and the lustral water and the incense of the Heathen Temple remain, without any alteration, in the holy water and the censer of the Catholic Church. It was this spirit of imitation, seeking to continue the Pontifex of the temple, in the Priest of the church, which perhaps led to the doctrine of transubstantiation, and the daily sacrifice of the mass, — a ceremony w^iich seems to be copied from the victims and blood- offerings of the heathen ritual, and little consistent with that religion which was founded upon the aboli- tion of all sacrifices, — by the offering up of the great Atonement, as a full and complete expiation, — once for all, — for the sins of the whole world. Again ; — the mysterious ceremonial of Isis seems to have been revived in the indecent emblems, presented by women, as votive offerings at the shrine of S. Cosmo : nay, some would trace the Pope himself, with his * Middleton quotes an account of a pagan procession from Apuleius, which, as he says, " might pass quite as well for the description of a popish one " — Antistites sacrorum candido finteamine, — ad usque vestigia strictim injecti. Deum profere- bant insignes exuvias, quorum primus lucernam praemicantem claro porrigebat lumine, &c. — Eas amoenus lectissimse juven- tutis, veste nivea prgenitens seqiiebatur chorus, carmen venustum iterantes. Magnus prseterea sexus utriusquenumerus, lucernis, tsedis, cereis. 92 ST. Peter's. triple-crown on his head, and the keys of heaven and hell in his pocket, — to our old acquaintance Cerberus, with his three heads, who kept guard as the custos of Tartarus and Elysium. Be this as it may, — the pun of Swift is completely realized. The very same piece of brass, which the old Romans adored, now, with a new head on its shoulders, — like an old friend with a new face, — is worshipped with equal devotion by the modern Italians ; — and Jupiter appears again, with as little change of name as of materials, in the character of the Jew Peter. And, as if they wished to make theresemblance as perfect as possible, they have, in imitation of the — Centum aras posuit, vigilemque sacraverat ignem, — of his pagan prototype, surrounded the tomb of the Apostle with a hundred ever-burning lights. It is really surprising to see with what apparent fer- vour of devotion, all ranks, and ages, and sexes, kneel to, and kiss the toe of, this brazen image. They rub it against their foreheads, and press it against their lips, with the most reverential piety. I have sat by the hour to see the crowds of people, who flock in to perform this ceremony, — waiting for their turn to kiss ; — and yet the Ca- tholic would laugh at the pious Mussulman, who performs a pilgrimage to Mecca, to wash the holy pavement, and kiss the black stone of the Caaba ; — which, like his own St. Peter, is also a relic of heatlienism. Alas, poor human nature! — Tlie Ca- CHRISTMAS DAY. 93 tholic laughs at the Mussulman, — we do not scruple to laugh at the Catholic, — the Deist laughs at us, — and the Atheist laughs at all. What is truth ? We must wait for an answer. But though all must — wait the great teacher death, — to decide between them ; let us repose our hopes and fears with humble confi- dence, in the promises of Christianity, — not as it appears disfigured and disguised at Rome, — but as it is written and recorded in that sacred volume, — which in the words of Locke, has " God for its author, salvation for its end, and truth without any mixture of error for its matter." 25th. Christmas day. A grand ceremony in the the church of S. Maria Mas's:iore : — where mass was performed before the pope and the cardinals. The night preceding this day of Christian rejoicing, is passed in the exercises of religion. Every thing is in motion ; — processions of priests, and pilgrims, and women fill the streets ; — the world of fashion follows in the same track ; — while the peasantry from the country, arrayed in their holiday clothing, which, among the women particularly, is very showy and splendid, with much of scarlet and gold, flock into Rome ; — and the churches brilliantly lighted up, are crowded to excess during the whole of the night. It may perhaps be doubted, whether these mid- night meetings are not often perverted to less holy purposes ; — but, the great majority of those who attend seem to be animated bv a sincere and enthu- Q4i CHRISTMAS CEREMONIES. siastic spirit of devotion. It is difficult for a Protes- tant so far to overcome the prejudices of his educa- tion, as not to feel a sentiment of disgust at the the- atrical representations which are got up to comme- morate the Nativity. Some show of the kind is pre- pared at all the churches, and the people flock from one to the other, to gaze, admire, and leave their Christmas offerings. The most popular and attrac- tive spectacle is at the Araceli church ; — for the Bambino there is the production of a miracle, and is said to have been dropped from heaven. Part of the church is fitted up like a theatre, with canvass scenes, canvass clouds, and canvass figin'es of the Virgin, — the shepherds, — the wise men, — the ox, — and the ass; — all carefully painted with due attention to stage effect. The miraculous Bambino, splendidly ac- coutred, is placed in the centre of the stage, which is brilliantly illuminated, and offerings of fruit and nose- gays appear in great profusion. This disposition to represent every thing heavenly by sensible images, is the leading feature of the Ro- mish religion ; and the Roman Catholics would have us believe, that the distinction between the sign and the thing signified is never lost sight of. This, I fear, is only true of the enlightened few ; — between whom, to whatever sect or religion they may belong, there is but little real difference of opinion. For, even amongst the old heathens, the initiated were taught the existence of one Almighty Spirit, though BATHH OF DIOCLESIAN. 95 this doctrine was considered too sublime for the vulgar ; whose grosser feelings were thought to re- quire the interposition of some visible object of ado- ration. The Roman Catholic priests seem to take the same view of human nature at present. 2Cth. The Baths of Diodesian. This vast pile of building, situated on the Quirinal Hill, has not been buried by the same accumulation of rubbish that has overwhelmed most of the ancient remains. The whole of this establishment must have occupied a space of at least 400 yards square. All the rest of the baths have been entirely dismantled of their mag- nificent columns and splendid marbles ; but the great hall of these, the Pinacotheca, as it was called, — has been converted into a church by Michael Angelo ; and the superb granite columns, each hewn out of a single block, 43 feet in height, still remain as they stood in the days of Dioclesian ; supporting the an- cient entablature, which is very rich, and in the highest preservation. This magnificent hall is now the church of S. Ma- ria degli Angeli ; — the work of Michael Angelo. The form of the church is the Greek cross ; so much more favourable than the Latin, for displaying at one coup d'oeil all the grandeur of the building. This church shews what St. Peter's would have been, if Michael Angelo's plan had been followed ; and it is by far the finest church in Rome, — except St. Peter's, which must always be incomparable. 96 FUNERAL CEREMONIES. In this church is buried Salvator Rosa. In my way home I met a funeral ceremony. A crucifix hung with black, followed by a train of priests, with lighted tapers in their hands, headed the procession. Then came a troop of figures, dressed in white robes, with their faces covered with masks of the same materials. The bier followed ;^ — on which lay the corpse of a young woman, arrayed in all the ornaments of dress, with her face exposed, where the bloom of life yet lingered. The members of different fraternities followed the bier — dressed in the robes of their orders — and all masked. They carried lighted tapers in their hands, and chanted out prayers in a sort of mumbling recitative. I followed the train to the church, for I had doubts whether the beautiful figiu'e I had seen on the bier, was not a figure of wax ; — but I was soon convinced it was indeed the corpse of a fellow-creature ; — cut off in the pride and bloom of youthful maiden beauty. Such is the Italian mode of conducting the last scene of the tragi-comedy of life. As soon as a person dies, the relations leave the house, and fly to bury themselves and their griefs in some other retirement. The care of the funeral devolves on one of the fraternities, which are associated for this purpose in every parish. These are dressed in a sort of domino, and hood ; which, having holes for the eyes, answers the purpose of a mask, and completely conceals the face. The funeral of the very poorest is thus conducted, with quite as FUNERAL CEREMONir.s. 97 much ceremony as need be. This is perhaps a better system than our own, where the relatives are exliibited as a spectacle to impertinent curiosity, while, from feelings of duty, they follow to the grave the remains of those they loved. But, ours is surely an unphilosophical view of the subject. It looks as if we were materialists, and considered the cold clod, as the sole remains of the object of our affection. The Italians reason better, and perhaps feel as much as ourselves, when they regard the body, — deprived of the soul that animated and the mind that informed it, — as no more a part of the de- parted spirit, than the clothes which it has also left behind. The ultimate disposal of the body is perhaps conducted here with too much of that spirit, which would disregard all claims that this mortal husk can have to our attention. As soon as the funeral service is concluded, the corpse is stripped, and con- signed to those who have the care of the interment. There are large vaults, underneath the churches, for the reception of the dead. Those, who can afford it, are put into a wooden shell, before they are cast into one of these Golgothas; — but, the great mass are tossed in without a rag to cover them. When one of these caverns is full, it is bricked up ; and, after fifty years, it is opened again, and the bones are re- moved to other places, prepared for their reception. So much for the last scene of the drama of life ;— - with respect to the first act, — our own conduct of it, H 98 PALACES, is certainly more natural. Here they swathe and swaddle their children, till the poor urchins look like Egyptian mummies. To this frightful custom, one may attribute the want of strength and symmetry of the men, which is sufficiently remarkable, 27th, Made a tour of palaces ; — splendid and useless. The owners live in a few obscure rooms, and the magnificent galleries are deserted. One of the most superb saloons is at the Colonna Palace, — A fine picture of St. John preaching in the Wilder- ness, by S. Rosa, In another wing is poor Beatrice Cenci, by Guido ; — taken the night before her execu- tion. It is a charming countenance ; — full of sweet- ness, innocence, and resignation. Her step-mother hangs near her, by whose counsel, and that of her confessor, she was instigated to prevent an incest, by the " sacrifice" of her father ; — but that, which she thought a sacrifice, was converted by her enemies into a " murder ;" — and she lost her head, by the hand of the executioner, Doria Palace. Large collection of pictures ; — Gaspar Poiissin's green landscapes have no charms for me. The fact seems to be, that the dehghtful green of nature cannot be represented in a picture. Our own Glover has perhaps made the greatest possible exertions to surmount the difficulty, and give with fidelity the real colours of Nature ; — but I believe the beauty of his pictures is in an inverse ratio to their fidelity ; — and his failure affords an PALACES. 99 additional proof, that Nature must be stripped of her green Hvery, and dressed in the browns of the painters, or confined to her own autumnal tints, in order to be transferred to the canvass. Cam aiid Abel, by Salvator ; — Ruben's picture of his wife ; — a Magdalen, by Murillo ; — and a superb landscape, by Claude ; — are all excellent in their way. Corsini Palace. Here too is an excellent collection of pictures. An Ecce Homo, by Guercino ; — Pro- metheus, by Salvator Rosa ; — Herodias, by Guido ; — and Susannah, by Domenichino; — are all super- eminently good. This last is an exquisite picture ; but, it is in fact, one of the nymphs, transplanted from his famous Chace of Diana, with the beauties a little heightened and embellished. Here you see an old senatorial chair, which is a curi- ous sample of antiquity ; and resembles closely that low, round-backed chair, with a triangular seat, which we often see occupying a chimney-corner in England. Close to the Corsini Palace, is the Casino Fame- sine. Here is the famous Galatea of Raphael in fresco ; — but the more I see of fresco, the more I am inclined to believe, that to paint in fresco is to throw away time and labour. The ceilings are covered with the history of Cupid and Psyche, painted from the designs of Raphael, by his scholars ; — and, on one of the walls, is preserved a spirited sketch of a head in crayons, by Michael Angelo, Sciarra Palace. The collection small but good. H 2 100 MONTE ( AVALI.O. A portrait by Raphael ; — Titian's Family, by him- self; — and Modesty and Vamty^ by Leonardo da Vinci, are the most striking pictures. Da Vinci seems to have been desperately enamoured of the smile which he has given to Vanity ; — some traces of which will be found in almost all the female faces that he has painted. I ought not to forget two beautiful Magdalens, by Guido, standing opposite to each other, at full length, in the imiermost chamber. 28th. Another round of palaces. In the Spada^ there are some fine landscapes, by Salvator ; but the great curiosity here, is the colossal statue of Pompey ; which is said to be the very statue, at the base of which, — " Great Caesar fell ;" — though the objection to a naked heroic statue, as the represen- tative of a Roman senator, is, perhaps, fatal to its identity ; — and then, the holding the globe in his hand, is not in republican taste ; — this action speaks the language of a master of the \vorId, and brings the statue down to the days of the empire. But this does not solve the difficulty ; and if we determine that it cannot be Pompey, we shall be again at a loss to find an owner for it amongst the emperors. Palace of the Pope. The residence of the Pope is on Monte Cavallo ; — an immense pile of building; but the apartments of the Pope occupy a very small part of it. The gardens are delicious, with shady evergreen walks, that must be delightful in summer, as affording a complete protection against the sun. The v/hole circuit of the gardens is at least a mile. MONTE CAVALLO. lOl The wing of the palace through which we were shewn, had been fitted up for the King of Rome ;-— " Sic tos non vobis'' — and the furniture does credit to the taste and skill of Roman upholsterers. It is now set apart for the reception of the Emperor of Austria. The pictures are good. The Annunciation, by Guido, in the chapel, is in the sweetest style of this sweet painter; — but Guido's Mary, sweet as she is, will never do, after the Mary of Raphael ; — and then, the eternal blue mantle, in which Guido wraps his females, reminds one of the favourite " sky-blue attitude" of lady Pentweazle. A Resurrection, by Vandyke, affords ample proof that his excellence was not limited to portraits. In the square before the palace, are the marble horses with their attendant figures, which some sup- pose to be Castor and Pollux ; — while others tell you, that the one is a copy from the other, and that it is the representation of Alexander and Bucephalus. When there is so little to fix a story, it is more reasonable to suppose, that no story was intended. If we may believe the inscriptions, which are as old as Constantine, in whose baths these statues v^^ere found, they are the work of Phidias and Praxiteles. They are full of spirit and expression ;— but, are not the men out of proportion? They appear better able to carry the horses^ than the horses them. The Egyptian obelisk, which is placed between them, was brought hither, at an enormous 102 FALACES. expense, by Pius VI., from the mausoleum ot" Augustus ; and as this was done at a time, when the poor of Rome were suffering very much from distress, the following sentence, taken from Scripture, was placarded underneath the obelisk : " Di che queste pietre divengano pani." This was surely mal-d-propos ; for Pius VI. could not well have adopted a better mode of supplying the poor with bread, than by furnishing them with employment. Rospigliosi Palace. Here is the famous Aurora of Guido. There are no traces to confine the horses to the carriage. Apollo has the reins in one hand, and is laying fast hold of the back of the car with the other ; as well he may, — to prevent the horses dragging him from his seat. Barberini Palace. This is the residence of the Ex-King and Queen of Spain, and the Prince of the Peace ; whose influence is as omnipotent here, as in the palace of the Escurial. Large collection of pictures. But let the description of one suffice ; — Joseph and Potiphar's loife, — the most voluptuous of pictures. The expression of intense passion on the countenance of the female, is wonderful, and every limb is full of meaning ; " there 's language in the eye, the cheek, the lip, — nay, the foot speaks ;" — and such a foot! She has, in her struggles to detain Jose})h, planted one of her naked fe^t upon his, and FOUNTAINS — PANTHEON, 103 the painter has contrived to exhibit, in the tumultuous flusli of her figiu'e, the thrilling sensation communi- cated by this casual contact. 29th. Amongst the most striking ornaments of Rome, are the fountains ; — not only for the archi- tectural designs that embellish them, but for the prodigality of water, which they pour out in all parts of the town. The effect of these, in summer, must be delightfully refreshing, from the sensations of cool- ness which running water always communicates. The fountain of Trevi is, perhaps, the most magni- ficent. — It is here that Corinne came, to enjoy her own contemplations by moon-light, when she was suddenly startled by seeing the reflection of Oswald in the water. I doubt whether this could have hap- pened ; — it is certainly a glorious scene by moon-light, — but the basin of water is always in a ruffled, troubled state, from the cascades that tumble into it ; which prevent it from reflecting any object distinctly. The design of the fountain of Acqua Felice is admirable. Moses is striking the rock in the desert, and the water obeys his wand. The figure of Moses is colossal, and very spirited ; — and, if ever a colossal statue can be rendered pleasing, it is in some such situation as this. 30th. A morning in the Pantheon. — Whoever comes to the Pantheon, with expectations excited by engravings, will most assuredly be disappointed ; — and yet, it is a noble portico ; perhaps too grand 104 rVNTUEOX, for the temple, to which it leads. This is the most perfect of all the remains of antiquity. Formerly the temple of all the gods, it is now consecrated to all "the Saints ;" — and the great and invisible Spirit, — the source of all things, — is, perhaps, as little in the contemplation of the modern, as of the ancient wor- shippers of the Pantheon. The open sky-light, communicating at once with the glorious firmament, and letting in a portion of the great vault of the heavens, produces a sublime effect. It is as if it were the eye of the Divinity, — imparting light and life, — and penetrating the most secret thoughts of those that repair to his altar. The Pantheon has been stripped of every thing that could be taken away, to furnish materials for the embellishment of St. Peter's ; but it has been less deformed by what has been subtracted, than by the frightful addition of two ugly towers, — the work of Bernini, under the auspices of Urban VIII. It is now made the receptacle of monuments to those who have deserved well of their country, and con- tributed to sustain the reputation of Italy*. Raphael's • Most of these have been supplied by the chisel, or the purse of Canova; — whose enthusiasm for the arts, and whose munificent patronage of younger artists, are too well known, to need any praise from me. If I have presumed to question the supremacy of his merit as a sculptor, it is impossible not to admire the man. There seems to be something in the air of Rome that inspires TARI'LIAN ROCK. 105 bust is here, with the epitaph of Cardinal Bembo, of which Pope has availed himself so fully, in his Epitaph on Kneller ; Ille est hie Raphael, timuit quo sospite, vinci Rerum magna Parens, et moriente mori. in my way from the Pantheon, to explore the site of the Tai'peian Rock, I passed through the region of the Jews ; — who arc huddled together in one quarter of the town, and allowed to reside no where else. Here too, they are locked up every night ; but, — " suffering is the badge of all their tribe." In spite of these strict measures of con- finement, which, one would suppose, must tend still more to isolate the race, I thought the features of these Jews did not exhibit so strongly that peculiar and distinctive physiognomy, which is so striking in her artists with a portion of the old Roman feeling. Thor- waldson, on being applied to by the King of Prussia, to execute some considerable work, objected that there was at that time in Rome an artist of great merit, one of his majesty's own sub- jects, — Shadoff, since distinguished by his Spinyiing Girl, — who he humbly conceived would be a fitter object for the King's patronage. In the same taste, Camuccini purchased for fifty louis a picture, which a former pupil had brought to him as the first fruits of his pencil ; Camuccini then bade him take his picture to the Pope, knowing that he could not have afforded to pre- sent it unpaid for. The consequence of the present was, an appointment, and subsequent patronage, — in short, the makinf' of his pupil's fortune. 106 CATACOMBS. England, where they have every facihty of crossing the breed. It is not easy to determine the exact site of the Tarpeian Rock; — or, at least, of that part of it from whence criminals were flmig ; — and, when you have ascertained the spot, as nearly as it can be done, you will be more disappointed than by any thing else in Rome. Where shall we find any traces of Seneca's description of it? " Stat mohs abscissa in profundum, frequentibus exasperata saxis, qucB aut elidant corpus, aut de integro gravius impellant ; in- horrent scopulis enascentibus latera, et ijnmensw alti- tudinis aspectus." There is absolutely nothing at all of all this, — the only precipice that remains, is one of about thirty feet, from the point of a wall, where you might leap down on the dung-mixen in the yard below, without any fear of broken bones. It is not surprising, that the great wreck of old Rome should have so destroyed the features of the Capitoline Hill. Besides, the character of the ground below is completely changed ; and the Campus Martins, which was at the foot of the Tarpeian Rock, — into which the mangled bodies fell, — is now, like the rock itself, covered with the modern town. From hence we drove to the Catacombs. These dreary, and deserted regions, were once filled with thousands of martyrs. The ecclesiastical writers say that 170,000 were buried here ; and it is not in- credible; for the extent of these caverns is six miles. CLOSE OF THE YEAR. 107 But the Catacombs are now empty ; the bones have been carried all over Christendom, for the edi- fication of the pious ; — and there must have been enough, in this mine of martyrs, to furnish relics to the whole world. 31st. On this last day of the year, there was a grand ceremony at the church of the Jesuits; — to sing out the old year, — to offer up thanksgivings for all past blessings, — and to solicit a renewal of them in the year to come. The crowd w^as immense; and the ceremony very impressive. There is a prin- ciple of equality in Catholic congregations, more con- sonant with the spirit of that religion which teaches that God is no respecter of persons, than the practice which prevails in our own church ; — where the greatest distinction is made between the accom- modations of the rich and the poor. The former are carefully separated from the contamination of the latter, into pews ; where every thing is provided that luxury can suggest, to render the postures of public worship as little inconvenient as possible. In the Catholic congregations, there are no such invi- dious distinctions ; — the rich and the poor kneel down together, on the same marble floor ; — as children of the same Parent, — to ask the same blessings, from their common Benefactor. All the congregation joined in the chant of thanksgiving, and I was deeply impressed by the touching solemnity of the ceremony. There is always something affecting in a large con- 108 CLOSE OF THE YEAR. course of people, participating in the same emotion ; — the feeling is lieightcned by the contagion of sympathy, and wound up to enthusiasm by the in- fluence of numbers. And so much for the year 1817. It has been to me, like most of its predecessors, — " woven of a mingled yarn ;" — much time lost in unavailing hope, and more saddened with the gloom of disappointment. For the Future : — I leave it with humble confidence to the great Disposer of all things, in whose hands are the issues of life and death. 109 CHAPTER lY. New Year's Day — The Pope's Chapel — Italian Women— Michael Angelo— Modern Capitol— Ma- mertine Prisons — Canova — Thorwaldson — Vatican — Sculpture — Paintings. January 1st, 1818. 1 HE new year opened with a dark and dreary morning, — foreboding disaster and disappointment; — but, " we defy augury!" Went to mass in the private chapel of the Pope, in his palace on Monte Cavallo. The most striking trait in the appearance of the venerable Pius VII., is his black hair, wholly unmixed with grey. There is a piety and sincerity in his demeanour that conciliate respect, in spite of the mummery that surrounds him. But, let the character of the Pope be what it may, the part he is called upon to act must identify him with Lord Peter ; — of whom I was reminded in- cessantly ; particularly when the priest, who preached, previously to the delivery of his sermon, prostrated himself at the Pontiif's feet, to kiss the papal slipper.* * Eustace endeavours to furnish at once a reason and an ex- cuse for this strange ceremonial, by explaining, that it is to the Cross, embroidered on the slipper, that this homage is really 110 THE pope's chapel. It would be difficult to imagine such a scene as the Pope's chapel — " Never I ween " In any body's recollection, " Was such a party seen " For genuflection." If it were literally represented in a Protestant country, it would be regarded as a burlesque ; as far beyond nature, as King Arthur, with his cour- tiers Doodle and Noodle ; — but Noodle and Doodle, with all their bowing and head-shaking, would cease to be ridiculous in the Pope's chapel. Just two such personages were in attendance upon the Pope, during the whole of the ceremony, to arrange the diiferent changes in the order of his petticoats, and to take off and put on his tiara, as the service re- quired ; — for, it would be contrary to all etiquette, that the Pope should do any thing for himself ; and he paid. But we are naturally led to inquire, what business the Cross has in such a situation. The indefatigable Middleton, who traces up every popish cus- tom to some heathen original, contends that this observance was copied from the example of Caligula; who, according to Seneca, introduced this Persian fashion ; and, to the indigna- tion of all Rome, presented his foot to be kissed ; — " absolute ct gratias agenti porrexit osculandum sinistrum pedem" The excuse which Caligula's friends made for him is curious enough ; — and though not quite so good as Eustace's, is perhaps not very unlike it; — " Qui excusant, negant id insolentice causa factum; aiunt Socculum auratum, imo aureum, margaritis distinctum ostendere eum voluisse.'' Senec. de Benef. 1. 2. 12. THE pope's chapel. Ill cannot even blow his nose, without the help of one of his attendant cardinals. The whole of the conclave were present, each sup- ported by his train-bearer, or tail-twister : — and this office is no sinecure ; for on some occasions, the train of Lord knows how many ells, is to be spread out like a peacock's tail, and, at others, it is to be twisted up as close as a cart-horse's ; in order that their Eminences may take the corner under their arms, and move about at their pleasure. Cardinal * * sat among the rest — sleek and sly, — looking like a wolf in sheep's clothing. He was con- spicuous in the mummery of his part, and so expert in the posture exercise, that he might act as Flugel- man to the whole corps of cardinals. There was something in his demeanour, which, like an over- acted part, excited observation ; — a lurking devil in his eye, that seemed to peep out in spite of him. Pomp and mummery, in a civil or military dress, are fatiguing and ridiculous ; — but, when associ- ated with religion, they become disgusting. What a strange idea of the Deity must have first suggested this homage of postures and prostrations. If a Chi- nese had been present, he might well have concluded, that the Pope was the God of this strange worship ; — and indeed I doubt, whether on this occasion, the thoughts of many were elevated nearer to heaven, than the popedom. But I repeat, that it is impossible not to feel respect for the venerable Pius. The man 112 THE pope's <;hapel. who is in earnest, — especially in religion, — can never be an object of ridicule ; and far be it from me to judge another man's servant, or condemn the fashion of my neighbour's piety, in w^hatever shape it may dress itself. But, without ridiculing piety, the eccen- tricities and perversities of human nature have ever been fair game ; and I hope we may laugh at each other's absurdities, without giving offence, and with common benefit to all parties. Consahi, the Pope's prime minister ; — a shrewd, intelligent, well-looking man. — As he passed out of chapel, a well-dressed person in the court-yard, threw himself upon his knees before him, and Consalvi, as if he thought the man had some petition to present, advanced towards him ; but, when he found that his only object was to kiss his hand, he put him aside ; being, as it is said, very impatient of all such public demonstrations of homage. In the evening, we went to a party at Torlonia's, the banker ; — or as he now is, — the Duke of Brac- ciano. A suite of rooms was thrown open, in which a mob of people wandered about, without object or amusement. Such a scene could afford little insight into Italian manners, even if the mob were com- posed exclusively of Italians — but, at present, two- thirds at least of the company at every party, are English. Rooms hot; — Music miserable; — as to music, I have heard nothing tolerable, vocal or in- strumental, since I left England. ITALIAN WOMEN. US January 2nd. It is time to record my impres- sions of the manners, and general appearance of the people ; — but, I fear, I have but little to record. All the world knows that the Italians are a polite and civil people, and universally courteous and ob- liging to strangers. The education of the men is much neglected; and, I believe it would not be difficult to find a Roman prince who could neither read nor write ; — nor is it surprising, where there are no public objects of ambition to stimulate improve- ment, that the mere desire of knowledge should be insufficient to counteract the indolence so natural to man. The women are in the grandest style of beauty. The general character of their figure is the majes- tic ; — they move about with the inceding tread of Juno. The physiognomy of the Italian woman bears the stamp of the most lively sensibility, and explains her character at a glance. Voluptuousness is written in every feature ; but, it is that serious and enthusiastic expression of passion, — the farthest removed from frivolity, — which promises as much constancy, as ardour ; and to which Love is — not the capricious trifling gallantry of an hour of idleness — but the serious and sole occupation of life. There is an ex- pression of energy, and sublimity, which bespeaks a firmness of soul, and elevation of purpose, equal to all trials ; — but this expression is too often mingled with a look of ferocity, that is very repulsive. Black hair, and black sparkling eyes, with dark olive com- I 114. SISTINE CHAPEL — MICHAEL ANGELO. plexions, are the common characteristics of Itahan physiognomy. A blonde is a rarity ; — the black eye, however, is not always bright and sparkling ; it is sometimes set off with the soft melting languishment peculiar to its rival blue, and this, by removing all expression of fierceness, takes away every thing that interferes with the bewitching fascination of an Italian beauty. Much has been said of the laxity of their morals ; — however this be, there is so much attention paid to external decorum, that the Rvffiano is an officer in general use, throughout Italy, to arrange preliminaries, which in other places would not require any intermediate negotiation. It is, I believe, to the lying pretensions of these Mercuries, who have the impudence to offer themselves as the bearers of proposals to any woman, of any rank, that erroneous impressions have been received on this subject ; — as if it were possible to believe, that any woman, above the condition of absolute want, would surrender at discretion to the offers of a stranger. Still, however, the very lies of a Ruffiano must have some foundation ; and indeed the existence of such a degrading profession is a sufficient evidence of a lamentable state of society. January 3rd. Sat an hour in the Sistine Chapel, — before Michael Angelo's hast Judgment. The choice of the subject shews the nature of his genius, which nothing could daunt. The figure of Christ is sublimely conceived. If Forsyth had called this MICHAF.L ANGELO. 115 — The Apollo of Painting, — the expression would have perhaps been better applied, than to the St. Michael, of Guido, which Smollet describes, with some truth, as exhibiting, " the airs of a French dancing-master." The frightful calm of despair is admirably expressed in one of the condemned, lean- ing on his elbow, — who is so abstracted in mental suffering, as to be utterly unconscious of the daemons who are dragging him down to hell. Smollett, whose criticisms are often just, talks of the confusion of the picture, and calls it, " a mere mob without keeping, subordination, or repose ;" — repose in tlie last judgment ! — when the trumpet is sounding — the graves opening, — and the dead awakening ! I fear the confusion was in his mind, — especially, when, to illustrate the effect which the picture produced upon him, he confounds two things so different, — as a num- ber of instruments in a concert, — and a number of peo])le talking at the same time. The keeping of the picture is admirable, and all is in subordination to the figure of the Saviour. Nothing can be more sublime than the action of this figure, — delivering the dreadful sentence of condemnation — " Depart — ye accursed, into everlasting fire!" By the way; I am obliged to an artist for pointing out to me what, I think, would not easily be ])erceived ; — that the Saviour is sitting down. The picture has been so much injured by time and cleaning, that, as the light now falls on it, the figure appears fo be standing up. I 2 116 MICHAEL ANCELO. Every body has noticed the solecism of introducing into this picture a personage from the Heathen My- thology ; — Charon is employed, in ferrying over the bodies. Michael Angelo probably followed Dante, without thinking much about the matter : — " Caron, dimonio, con occhi di bragia, " Loro accennando, tutte le raccoglie, " Batte col remo qualunque s' adagia." The skeletons are refleshing themselves, which — in the representation at least — has something shock- ing, if not ridiculous. After all, however, — this famous picture is gone ; — it is a ruin ; — and what is the ruin of a painting? The soul of beauty may still linger, in the remains of architectural ruins, amidst broken entablatures, tottering pillars, and falling arches ; — but, when the colours of a painting are faded, — it is lost for ever ; — nothing is left but a remnant of canvass, or a few square feet of mortar. The Last Judgment is fast approaching to this state ; though it may still remain for some time, a school of technical excellencies to the artist, who is in pur- suit of professional instruction. — If there were no other argument for preferring oil painting to fresco, surely, this single circumstance of durability is suf- ficient to turn the scale ; — and yet Michael Angelo said, that oil painting was only fit occupation for boys, and women. It may be sacrilege to say any thing to depreciate the merit of Michael Angelo, — but, I suspect, his MICHAEL ANGELO. Il7 reputation was obtained, by the universality of his talents, rather than their separate excellence. He was an original genius, and his great merit seems to be, that he was the first to introduce a taste for the grand, and the sublime. He was, as Sir Joshua Reynolds describes him, the exalted father and founder of modern art; but, while he excelled in grandeur of style, and truth of design, he was, surely, too dis- dainful of the auxiliary ornaments of colouring, which are essential to the perfection of the art. If he is to be judged by his works, — can he be compared to Raphael in painting, or to John of Bologna in sculpture ? His Moses, which is considered his chef d'ccuvre, is to me any thing but sublime. I would propose these doubts to the consideration of those more learned than myself, — though with the fear of Quintilian's sentence before my eyes: — " Modeste tamen, et circumspecto judicio, de tantls viris pronwi- ciandum est, ne, quod plerisque accidit, damnent qiiw non ifitellimint.'' Notwithstanding the unbounded and almost extra- vagant praises, which Sij Joshua lavishes in his discourses, on the grand, chaste, severe style of Michael Angelo ; it is remarkable, that the doctrines he has inculcated by his pen are not supported by his pencil. It may therefore, perhaps, be doubted, whether the doctrines he laid down were not adopted from authority, rather than tlie real dictates of his own understanding ; — for the understanding may become 118 MICHAEL ANGELO. the slave of authority, almost without knowing it ; — • and the proof of it is, that his own taste and dis- cernment led him to depart from them in practice, and to indulge in all that witchery of colours, and exquisite management of chiaroscuro, which con- stitute so great a part of the charm of his pictures. In returning through the Pauline Chapel, I was shocked to see a picture to commemorate,— what the Catholics ought of all others to wish forgotten, — the horrible massacre of St. Bartholomew. 4th. Lounged through the Capitol; — the work of Michael Angelo, on the site of the ancient Capitol. It is opened to the public, as well as the Vatican, on Sundays and Thursdays. It contains an almost inexhaustible mine of antique curiosities. There is a very full and complete collection of imperial busts, which would furnish an amusing study to a physiog- nomist. The histories of their lives may be read in many of their faces, particularly in those of Nero, Caligula, Caracalla, and Maximin; Germanicus, Vespasian, and Titus. Nature has written these characters too plainly to be mistaken. There are some exceptions. In Julius Caesar, instead of the open generous expression, which the magnanimity and clemency of his character would lead you to expect; you find a narrow contraction of muscles, that woidd suit the features of a miser ; and in Heliogabalus, the swinish temperament, which is ge- nerally very strongly marked, does not appear. MODERN CAPITOL. 119 It will require repeated visits, to examine minutely all the treasures of the Capitol. Perhaps, there is nothing more curious or interesting than the maps of old Rome, engraved on stone, which served as the ancient pavement of the Temple of Remus. There is one fragment still extant,^ which is marked in these maps, just as it now stands, — the grand entrance to the Portico of Octavia, now called la Pcscluera. The front columns, which are Corinthian, and of beautifully white marble, with their entablature and inscription, are entire ; — but the iilth of a Roman fish-market makes it almost inaccessible. Amongst the statues in the Capitol, I was most struck with, a Cupid with his Bow, — The Hecuba, — Cupid and Psyche, — a head of Alexander, — a bust of Marcus Aurelius when a boy, — the famous i)^//ig- Gladiator, — and last, though it should have been placed first and foremost in beauty, — the beautiful Atitinous, — who is always hanging down his head as if he felt ashamed of himself — " Sed frons laeta parum et dejecto lumina vultu." This is a charming statue, and, considered merely as an exiiibition of the beauty of the male figure, superior perhaps to the Apollo itself. The Gladiator is another instance of M, Angelo's great skill in restoring ; — he has contributed an aim, a foot, the upper lip, and the tip of the nose. An- tiquaries dispute whether this is the representation 120 MODERN CAPITOL. of a dying warrior, or a dying gladiator ; — a question that can only be interesting to antiquaries ; — to me it is sufficient that it is a dying Man. The Palace of the Consertators forms part of the Capitol. Here is the famous bronze wolf, which has afforded so much discussion to antiquaries, to deter- mine what wolf it is. Those must have better eyes than mine, who can discover the marks of lightning, which seem to be necessary to identify it with Cicero's wolf; but, I think, one may safely say that there are the traces of gilding. Two brazen Ducks — for, the Roman geese, instead of being expanded into swans, dwindle to the size of wigeons — are also of high antiquity, and appear to be cackling as if the Gauls were again within hearing. A bronze bust of the elder Brutus exhibits in the most strongly written characters, the stern inexorable severity of his disposition. Amongst the modern sculpture, is a bust of Michael Angelo, by himself. If he were judged by the laws of physiognomy, it would go hard with him ; — but some allowance must be made for the accident of his nose, which, they tell you, was flattened by a blow from a rival's mallet. The collection of pictures has not much to boast of. There is a small picture by Salvator of a Sorceress, in his wildest and most romantic style. Michael Angelo has given us too a picture of him- self, which does not convey a more favourable idea of his countenance, than is aflbrded by the bust. CARDINAL FESCHS PICTURES. 12l 5th. An invitation from Prince Kaiinitz; — the Austrian Ambassador. Our valet de place tells us, that we owe this to him ; he says, that when an ambassador gives a f^te, his servants distribute tickets to all the valets de place who are in employment, as the readiest way of getting at the strangers who may happen to be at Rome ; — and the English in Rome are invited to every thing. 7th. Went to Cardinal Fesch's, who has the best and most extensive collection of pictures in Rome. His chaplain acted as Cicerone. The whole house was thrown open. Madame, Napoleon's mother, inhabits one floor. In the cardinal's bed-room is a splendid bust of Napoleon in porcelain, crown'd with a golden chaplct of laurel. Here, too, is the cream of the collection. A Magdalen, by Vandyke, is particularly striking. The Magdalen is generally a voluptuous woman, with just enough of grief to make her beauties more interesting; — but in this of Vandyke's, there is the most affecting contrition, and the eyes are red with weeping. St. Peter, in the high-priest's kitchen, by Hon- thorst, or, as the Italians call him, from an inability to grapple with such a cacophonous name, Gerardo delta Notte, is a splendid specimen of the skill of the Dutch school in the management of light and shadow. The flaring light of the torches has all the effect of reality. The whole collection amounts to 1,300 pictures, — far too many for a single morning. It 122 MAMERTINE PKISONS. is rich in the works of Rubens ; and if Rubens' powers of conception, and skill in execution, had been combined with taste, he would have deserved one of the highest pedestals in the temple of painting ; — but he cannot get out of Holland ; all his figures, particularly the females, savour strongly of a Dutch kitchen. Here is a superb assortment of Dutch pieces ; — and if painting consisted alone of high finishing and exactness of execution, the Dutch would deserve to be exalted above all their rivals ; — but, painting is as much an art of the mind, as of the hand, and the poetical qualifications are of quite as much importance as the mechanical. There is just enough of Guido and Carlo Dolci. The pictures of the first have been termed the honej/, and those of the last may perhaps be called the treacle of painting. — Too much sac- charine would be cloying. January 8th. Descended into the Mamertine prisons ; which consist at present of two small dungeons. This prison was built by Ancus Martins ; — " Career ad terrorem increscentis audacice, media urbe, imminensforo, oedificatur.''' The subterraneous part was added by Servius Tullius ; and thence called, Tidlianum. It was here, in these condemned cells, that, we learn from Sallust, the Catiline conspirators were confined and executed. Nothing can shew the difference between the ancient and modern systems of government more OPERA. 123 strongly, than the hmited size of this prison, compared with the innumerable jails that now abound in every quarter of Europe ; — and yet this was the only prison in old Rome : " Sub Rogibus atqiie Tribunis Viderunt uno contentam carcere Romam." A habeas corpus bill becomes, indeed, an object of importance, when the prisons of a kingdom contain accommodations for thousands of its inhabitants. St. Peter and St. Paul were confined in the same dungeon, where Lentulus had been before them ; — at least, so your guide will tell you, — and how can you refuse to believe him, when he shews you the remains of two miracles to confirm his testimony ? St. Peter it seems knocked his head against the wall, and instead of the usual consequence, — bruising his head, — he indented the wall ; and, in the solid rock, you now see a tolerable impression of his features. Again, — during his confinement, many converts came to be baptized, and Peter, being in want of water, caused a fountain to spring up in the centre of the dungeon, — which still remains. In the evening we went to the Italian comedy, which was so tiresome, that we could not endure more than one scene. We drove afterwards to the opera. The theatre large and handsome ; — six tiers oi boxes. The seats in the pit are numbered, and divided off separately with elbows ; — so that you 124* CANOVA. may take any one of them in the morning, and secure it for the whole evening. Some plan of this kind would surely be a great improvement in our own theatres. The dancing was bad, and the singing worse. A set of burlesque dancers amused us after- wards, by aping the pirouettes of the others. The dancing of the stage gives but too much foundation for such caricatures. It is daily becoming less elegant, as the difficult is substituted for the graceful. What can be more disgusting than to see the human figure twirling round with the legs at right angles? In such an attitude, *' Man delights not me nor woman neither." All postures to be graceful should be easy and natural, and what can be more unnatural than this ? 9th. Went for the third time to Canova's Studio; who has, perhaps, attained a reputation beyond his merits. There is much grace in his works, but the eftect is too often spoiled by an affected prettiness, or a theatrical display. There is a finical fashionable air about his female figures ; and his men are all at- titudinarians. He is too fond of borrowing from the ancients. This is to be lamented, for, it does not seem to be necessary for him to borrow ; and, his best works perhaps are those in which he has borrowed least ; as the Hercules and Li/chaces, Ddalus and Icarus, which he finished at 18, the Cujnd and Psyche, and the Venus and Adonis. But you can too often trace every limb and fea- CANOVA. 125 tiire, to its corresponding prototype in the antique. This is pitiful. It is no excuse to say that all the beautiful attitudes have been forestalled, and that re- petition is necessary. There certainly is nothing new under the sun ; but, invention is displayed in a new arrangement of the same materials ; and the human, figure may be varied, in its attitudes and contours, ad infinitum. Chloris awakened, is an exquisite performance ; — but it is plain that Canova's mind was full of the Hermaphrodite, when he modelled it. The intro- duction of the Cupid is well imagined, as a sort of excuse for the attitude. It is impossible to look at this recumbent nymph, without admiring the delicate finishing of the sculptor, but one cannot applaud the taste of the design. The expression of the whole is scarcely within the bounds of decency ; — for, it is the expression, and not the nudity of a statue, " the dis- position, and not the exposition of the limbs," upon which this depends ; and it is a prostitution of sculp- ture to make it subservient to the gratification of voluptuoasness. This criticism may however perhaps savour of squeamishness ; — for, while we were admiring the exquisite finishing of Canova's chisel, a young Italian lady with a party joined us, who was thrown into an ecstasy of admiration by the charms of Chloris's figure ; and she patted the jutting beauties with delight, exclaiming, — while she looked round to us for con- 196 CANOVA. firmation of her opinion, — Bella cosa f Bella cosaf O che bella cosa ! It is curious to see the progress of a statue, from the rough block of marble, to the last ad unguein finish; which is all that is done by the master hand. The previous labour is merely mechanical, and may be done by a common workman from the model of the sculptor. The Venus and Adonis is full of simplicity, grace, and tenderness. The Cupid and Psyche is a charming composition, but Psyche's hair looks as if it had been dressed by a French friseur. There is much to admire in the group of The Graces ; — but there is also much of that finical prettiness of which I complain. They are three pretty simpletons, — with the niminy-'piminy airs of a fashionable boarding school ; — there is silliness with- out simplicity ; — and no two qualities can be more opposite. Again — there is a trickery and quackery in the finishing of Canova's statues, which is below the dignity of a sculptor. The marble is not left in its natural state, — but it must be stained and polished to aid the effect. The other sculptors laugh at this, and well they • may ; — for these adventitious graces soon fade away, and are beside the purpose of sculpture, whose end was, and is, to represent /orwi alone. January 10th. With the most lively recollection of THORWALDSON. 1'27 Canova, I went this morning to examine the Studio of Thorwaldson, a Danish sculptor ; — whose works are much more to my fancy. There is a freshness and originahty in his designs, guided by the purest taste. What can be more elegant and beautiful than his Basso-Relievo of Night ? His Verms mctrix ap- proaches nearer than any modern statue, to the Venus de Medicis. There is a Shepherd too, which is a delightful specimen of simplicity and nature ; — and the charm of these statues is, that while they emu- late, they have not borrowed any thing from the works of the ancients. A bust of Lord Byron — a good likeness. Jmiuari/ 11th. Removed from the Via degli otto Cantoni, to the Piazza Mignanelli. The fatigue of moimting 104 steps after a morning's excursion, was intolerable ; — to say nothing of the fish-stalls, and the other noises of the Corso ; amongst which, I was not a little surprised by a daily morning serenade from the odious squeaking bag-pipe. Who could have expected to meet this instrument so far from Scot- land? — and yet it is indigenous in this land of music, that is, in the more southern part of it, — in Calabria. Walked on the Pincian Hill ; where the French constructed an excellent promenade. Here all the beauty and fashion of Rome resort, when the weather is fine, to parade, either in their equipages, or on foot, and discuss the gossip and tittle-tattle of the town. The day was beautiful, and the elastic purity of the 128 THE VATICAN. air has given me an agreeable foretaste of the charms of an Italian spring. Pauline, the Princess Borghese, was on the walk, with a bevy of admirers ; — as smart and pretty a little bantam figure, as can be imagined. She bears a strong resemblance to her brother Napo- leon; and her genius seems also to partake of the same character and to scorn the restrictions of or- dinary rules. The symmetry of her figure is very striking, and she once sat, if that be the phrase, to Canova ; who modelled her statue as a Venus victrir lying on a couch. This statue is now at the Borghese palace, but it is kept under lock and key, and cannot be seen without a special order from Pauline herself. January 12th. Sadden change in the weather. — Excessive cold. — Thermometer \\\ the shade at 29. — Passed the morning in the Vatican, of which I have as yet said nothing, for the subject is almost inex- haustible. The extent of this vast palace may be collected from the number of rooms contained in it, which are said to amount to eleven thousand. The library is one of the largest in the world ; but a stranger has no time to examine its treasures. Amongst the curiosities they show, is the famous treatise on the seven sacraments, in the hand-writing of Henry VIII,, which that orthodox prince sent to the Pope, with this distich ; — Anglorum Rex Henricus, Leo Decime, mittit Hoc opus, et fidei testem et amicitiae. OALLPRIES OK RAPHAEL, 120 Here also you see many curious relics of Roman fur- niture, with a sample of their household gods, which are the queerest little things in the world ; and if ^neas's were not on a larger scale, he might have carried away a hundred of them, — in his pocket. The galleries of Raphael are so called from the famous fresco ceilings, which were painted by him and his scholars. The whole history of the Bible is depicted on the ceilings of these galleries, beginning with the creation of the world. Such a subject must fail in any hands, — for what pencil can delineate the great Spirit? Raphael has done as much as painter could do, but it is impossible for a finite mind to imagine infinity, or give a suitable form to that Being who has neither beginning nor end. It is Fontenelle, I believe, who has said, that if every animal were to draw a picture of the Divinity, each would clothe him in its own figure ; and a negro painter would, I presume, certainly give him a black complexion. Such personifications and representa- tions would at once appear to us in the highest degree ridiculous ; but perhaps it is only one degree less so, to see him under the figure of an old man, with a long beard, as Raphael has done it, with all his limbs at work, separating the elements with bodily energy. Eustace finds fault with this figure, and points out the inferiority of this corporeal exertion, to the sublime description of Moses, No one will deny that the description of the Almighty fiat ; — " Let there be K I'iO THE VATrCAK. light, and there was Hght,"— conveys a more subHme idea to the mind, than the picture of the painter ; — but this is not the painter's fault ; he cannot speak to the mind by the alphabet. His language is in his brush, and he must represent, and not describe ; and I know not how he could I'epresent the action of the creation otherwise than by making the Creator cor- poreally at work. It would not do to place him in tranquil majesty, with a scroll appended to his mouth, as we see in some old pictures, inscribed with — ysvstr^u) (^(og, xai sysvsro — " Let there be light, and light was." The only fault then is the choice of the subject ; and for this Raphael is not answerable. He was ordered to represent the whole scripture history, and the creation was too important a part to be omitted. But, let future painters profit by Raphaers failure — and let no one hereafter venture to personify that great first Cause, which " passeth all under- standing." The Chambers of Raphael are those which were painted by him in fresco ; but these works are sharing the fate of all other frescos ; it is grievous to witness the progress of decay, — for the School of Athens de- serves to be immortal. There is now a small collection of oil paintings in the Vatican, composed of those which have been brought back from France ; but which have not been restored to the places from whence they were taken. Amongst these are the St. Jerome of Dominichino, RAPH.'VF.l.'s TRANSFIGURATION. 1-31 and the famous Tramjiguration of Raphael. Of this picture so much has been said, that it is almost im- possible to say more. But, I suspect this is a memorable instance of the disposition of mankind, to follow the leader, and echo the praise which they do not understand. Painters have exj)ressed more admiration than they felt, and the multitude have followed them, without feeling any admiration at all. The want of iiniti/ in the action is a fault that must strike every body, and SmoUet is for getting rid of this, by cutting the painting asunder, and thus making two pictures of it. The composition of the })icture, — by which I sup- pose is meant the conception of the subject and the arrangement of the figures,— is pointed out by artists as its chief merit ; — but this is an excellence rather to be felt by artists than common observers. It is the general eifect alone that strikes the latter ; and nothing can well be more disgusting than the figure of the possessed ; — who is, however, rather than the Saviour, the prominent figure of the piece. The colouring of the upper part of the picture, particularly in the countenance of the Saviour, is very defective ; — the head of Jesus has here none of that peculiar expression of benevolence, and more than human virtue, which are to be found in otlier pictures of him. The figure however is beautifully managed — con- K2 132 THE VATICAN. veying the impression of tliat supernatural lightness which we associate with the idea of a " glorified body ;" — but, it is impossible to extend this admira- tion to the opera-dancing attitudes of Moses and Elias, Januari/ 1 3th. Saw Camuccini's paintings, — a living artist. The death of Virginia, the labour of fifteen years, painted for Lord Bristol, is a splendid picture. The modern artists of Italy, however, though in general excellent draftsmen, delight too much in glaring colours, and strong contrasts of light and shadow, and their style of painting seems better calculated for the tea board than the canvass. Went in the evening with a large party, amongst whom was Thorwaldson, to see the Vatican by torch- light. This is absolutely necessary, if you wish to appreciate justly the merit of the statues. Many of them were found in baths, where light was not ad- mitted. They were created therefore for torch-light as their proper element ; and the variety of light and shade, which is thus produced, heightens the effect prodigiously. There is something of the same kind of difference between the statues by day and by torch- light, as between a rehearsal in the morning, and the lighted theatre in the evening. I have endeavoured in vain to admire the Apollo as much as I did the Venus ; — and yet, if it were the perfection of the male figure, one ought to admire it more : for sculptors agree, that the male figure is the most beautiful subject for their art. But, perhaps THE VATICAN. 133 it is impossible to divest oneself entirely of all sexual associations ; — and this may be the secret charm of the Venus. — The ladies, I believe, prefer the Apollo. '■ — By the way, I am surprised at the squeamislmess which has induced the ruling powers at Florence and Rome, to deface the works of antiquity by the ad- dition of a tin fig-leaf, which is fastened by a wire to all the male statues. One would imagine the Society for the Suppression of Vice had an affihated establishment in Italy. Nothing can be more ridicu- lously prudish. That imagination must be depraved past all hope, that can find any prurient gratification in the cold chaste nakedness of an ancient marble. It is the fig-leaf alone that suggests any idea of inde- cency, and the effect of it is to spoil the statue. I was complaining loudly of this barbarous addition, when an Italian lady of the party assented to my criticism, and whispered in my ear, — that I must come as:ain in the Autumn. This taste has however become so fixed, that Canova now cuts a fig-leaf out of the original block, and it thus becomes an in- tegral part of the statue. It is pity that Canova's works are placed in the Vatican. The Perseus might have attracted admira- tion while the Apollo was at Paris, — but Apollo is come back; — and who could ever tolerate a copy by the side of the original picture? His Boxers have more spirit and originality; — but is not Damoxenus's i)osture wrong ! Ought he not 1-11 Tin: VATICAN. to have his left leg foremost ? As he stiinds, his lunge is already made, whereas he is only preparing to lunge ; but I am confusing the terms of fencing with those of boxing, — and I leave this question to the decision of the fancy . January 14th. The more I see of the antique statues, the more I am struck with the nature and simplicity, which constitute their great charm. I have cited many instances, and it would be easy to add more ; — for example, Posidippus and Menander sit in their arm-chairs, as they might be supposed to have done in their own studies, without losing an atom of force or expression by this repose. Ease is the consummation of art, — " the last refinement of labour," — ttoXXtjj Trsipag to rsT^eoTaiov STriyswriixa.. Canova, on the contrary, seems to have studied too much in the school of Michael Angelo, His muscles are all in action. His figures are stuck out, as if they were conscious of the presence of spectators. There is always something in their attitude and expression, which there would not be, if it were not for this consciousness ; — just as it happens with second-rate actors, who are unable to preserve the simplicity of nature on the stage, but do every thing as if they were aware that an assembly of spectators were look- ing at them. The statue of Phocion, one of the greatest, because one of the best men of antiquity, is a charming instance of that quiet modesty and simplicity of attitude, so appropriate to his character. THE VATICAN. The head of Jupiter, and the noble statue of Nerva, in the ''Salle ronde,'' struck me much. Jove's head looks as if its nod might make Olympus tremble. Sublime divine majesty beams in every feature. By the way, it is impossible not to be struck with the strong likeness between the countenance of the mild Jupiter, — the JupilcrOplimus Maximtis of the Romans, — and that of Christ, as it is represented by the great majority of Italian painters ; whose pictures are so like one another, that they seem to have been copied from some conunon original. It was, perhaps, this beau ideal of the Greeks which furnished them with the idea of their Christ ; — and indeed, it would not be easy for the imagination of any painter, to put together a set of features, better adapted to the subject. While Jupiter looks the king of the gods, Nerva, with a laurel chaplet on his brow, realizes all one's ideas of what the emperor of men ought to be. If the statue of Nerva were not so admirable, that it would amount to high treason to remo\e it, this would clearly be the place for the Apollo. He is very ill placed where he is, cooped up as it were in a pen. For, as the size is above the standard of life, it should be seen from a distance ; — but this is impossible in the solitary cell where he is now confined. The group of the Laocoonhas no charms for me ; — and 1 am not at all more disposed to admire it, because Phny tells us that it was cut out of a single piece of 136 THE VATICAN. marble. Tliis may render it a greater curiosity, — but nothing more. Laocoon's sons too, are not boys, but little men; and there is something unhappy in the materials of which the group is composed, which have all the appearance of painted wood. Yet, we collect from Pliny that this was considered as superior to any work of art, in sculpture or painting*. As we find that these sculptors lived as early as the year of Rome 320, it is probable that Virgil took his description from this group ; and indeed he has hit off the expression of the statue exactly, in his com- parison of the cries of Laocoon to the bellowing of a bull — Clamores simul horrendos ad sidera tollit : Quales mugitus, fugit quum saucius aram Taurus, — The ancients were as perfect in their representation of animals, as of men ; and there are the most delight- ful specimens of this kind in the chambers of animals. But, it would be endless, and indeed hopeless, to attempt a description of the contents of the Vatican. Sculpture and painting, strictly speaking, do not perhaps admit of description. The ideas of beauty received by one sense, can hardly be transmitted by * Sicut in Laocoontc, qui est in Titi imperdtoris domo, opus, omnibus ct pictures et statuaries artis, antefercndum ; ex uno lapide, earn et lihfroi, draconumquc inirahiles iiexus, de consilii sententta, fecere sumtni artifices Agesander, et Polydorns, et Athenodorus Rhodii. THE VATICAN. 137 another. A man may give the exact proportions of the Venus de Medicis, with the projections of the nose and chin; — but all this, which is hterally de- scription, can never impart a single idea of the grace and dignity diffused over that divine statue, — and if he mention that grace, he describes his own sensations rather than the figure. He, who could by his de- scription place before the eyes of his reader the effect produced by the Venus ; — who could convey by words, the manly, resigned, patient suifering, of the dying Gladiator, conscious that he is breathing his last ; — or, that melancholy and terrible gloom, which at- tended the destruction of all things, as exhibited in the Deluge of Poussin, — with the heart-rending despair of the Husband and Father, who sees his wife perish- ing, and his child exposed to inevitable death; — who could shew him the glowing tints of sunset, or the moon-beams glistening on the scarcely-rippling ocean, as created by the pencil of Vernet ; — The man, I say, who could excite sensations similar to those which have been produced by these masters of the sublime and the beautiful, would cease to describe ; — he would be their equal in a different line ; — he would be himself — a poet. 138 CHAPTER V. Sacred Staircase — Robbers — Blessing of Horses — Festival in St. Peter's — Catholic Ceremonials— Carnival— Impromsatrice — Baths of Titus — Coli- seum — Masked Ball — End of the Carnival — Mgri Somnia. Januari/ 1 5th. IT is curious to observe how Pagan and Christian Rome are every where blended and incorporated; and how adroitly the papal capital has invested itself with the pomp of the Gentile city. Besides the Pantheon, now the church of All Saints ; the Theatre of Pompey has been converted into the church of S. Andrea della Valle ; the Temple of Isis has been dedicated to &. Marcello ; and the splendid columns of Trajan and Marcus Aurelius, now support the statues of St. Peter, and Sf. Paul. I looked on, this morning, at a curious religious exercise. Adjoining the church of S. Giovanni Late- rano, is a chapel, to which yoii ascend by the sacred staircase, which is said to have been brought from Pilate's House in Jerusalem, and is believed to l)e the very staircase which Christ ascended when he was carried to judgment. It would be considered sacrile- gious to mount this staircase by any other than a tiil: sa( uko stmkcase. 139 geuuHecting progression; and this has heen thought so meritorious an act, that there was some danger of the marble steps being worn away by the knees of the pious ; so that now, an external cov ering of wood has been added, which may be renewed, as occasion requires. The ascent is no easy task, as I can vouch from the experience of three or four steps, which I achieved myself. There is, of course, another way down; for it would amount to an act of martyrdom to descend in the same manner. January 16th. I was arrested in my way through the Campo Vaccino this morning, by an extraordinary sight. There was a large herd of about a hundred pigs, and I arrived just as three men were commenc- inff the work of death. Each had a stiletto in his hand, and they despatched the whole herd in a few minutes. The stab was made near the left leg, and seemed to go directly to the heart, for the animal fell without a groan or a struggle. This appears to be a less cruel, and is certainly a more quiet mode than our own; where the peace of a whole parish is disturbed by the uproar occasioned by the murder of a single pig. It is to be hoped that the stiletto may soon be con- fined to this use ; and indeed the practice of stabbing is becoming every day more rare. The French, by depriving the people of their knives, did much to put an end to this horrible custom ; and the abridgment that has been made in the indulgence of sanctuaries, to 140 ROBBERS, which an assassin used to fly, and laugh at the officers of justice, will do more towards abolishing it altogether. The administration of Cardinal Consalvi is calcu- lated to do all, that an honest, wise, and liberal-minded minister can do, to correct the evils of a bad consti- tution. But, in endeavouring to work for the public good, he is exposed to constant opposition, from the collision of private interests. Last year there was a scoundrel in the post-office, who committed wholesale depredations upon the let- ters, and all the world complained of the loss of re- mittances. This fellow was however protected by a powerful opposition Cardinal, and it seemed, that he could only be got rid of from the post-office, by the promise of an appointment of equal value in some other department. Nothing can shew in a stronger light the weakness of the government, than the regular system of robbers, established in open defiance of it, who push their attacks within eighteen miles of the Pope's palace. Scarcely a month has passed since a most outrageous attempt was made to seize Lucien Buonaparte, at his own villa at Frascati. He had the good fortune to make his escape through a secret and subterraneous door, but the robbers carried off a poor painter to the mountains, who was staying in the house, supposing him to be Lucien. It was with some difficulty, and after three days' detention, that the painter convinced them at last, by giving specimens of his art, that he I FESTIVAL OF ST. ANTHONY. 141 was really no prince; and they were not a little mor- tified at the discovery of their mistake; for their cus- tom is to demand an ad valorem ransom, and the price of the painter was nothing in comparison with what they would have exacted for the Prince of Canino himself. All endeavours to put down this barefaced system have failed. The military have been employed, but it seems the robbers can afford to pay them higher for being quiet, than the government can for being active. Much is expected from the present governor of Rome ; — but what can be done by a single man, where the great mass is corrupt ? When public spirit is extinct, and the people feel no interest in the pre- servation of the government, there is no longer any security for the fidelity of agents, or the execution of orders. January 17th. Festival of St. Anthony; who interpreted literally the injunction of the Scripture, — ■ " Go ye, into all the world, and preach the Gospel to every creature ;" — and who, according to the legend, like another Orpheus, charmed the beasts of the desert by his eloquence. On this day there was a general blessing of horses. A priest stands at the door of the church, and with a long brush, dipped in a consecrated vessel, scatters the holy water upon the horses as they are driven up to receive the benediction. All the equipages of the nobility, splendidly caparisoned with 142 BLESSING OF HORSFS. ribbons, were assembled to participate in the cere- mony. The best defence of such a ceremony will be found in the benefit likely to result to the objects of it, from its teaching that comprehensive charity, which includes even the inferior creatures in the great circle of Christian benevolence. There is something that takes a delightful hold on the imagination, in the simple creed of the untutored Indian, " Who thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company." Without attempting however to raise the mysterious veil, which is drawn over the lot of the lower animals in the scale of creation, it is difficult not to sympathize with any doctrines that inculcate kind and humane feelings towards them. The indolence of the Romans is a common theme of remark ; but I doubt whether it be well founded. Something must be allowed them, on the score of their climate, the natural effect of which is to produce listlessness and languor. Still more should be added on account of their government, in the spirit of which there is no encouragement ^iven to individual industry, by the diffusion of equal rights. The barrenness of the Campagna has been attributed to this national indolence, which will not be at the pains of cultivating it. But I believe it would be more correct to say, — not that the Campagna is barren, because it is not cultivated; — but, that it is not cultivated, because it is barren. The Roman soldiers, before the time of ROMAN AHT^i. 14-3 Hannihalj in comparing their own country with that of tlie Capuans, argued thus ; — " An ceqmon esse dedititios suos ilia fertilitate atqiie amceiiitate perfrui; se, militando fessos in pestilenli atqiie arida circa urbem solo liictari?" Li v. lib. 7. c. 38. In many particulars the modern Romans evince no want of ingenuity or industry. In the delicate and laborious workmanship of Mosaic ; in engraving in all its branches ; and in the elegant manufacture of cameos out of oriental shell ; they are very industrious. The demand for articles of this kind is constant, and as foreigners are the principal customers, I take it for granted that the profits are considerable, and that they flow directly into the pockets of the manufacturer. This is all that is necessary to promote industry ; namely, that there should be a demand for the pro- ductions of a man's labour, and that he shall have a security for the enjoyment of the fruits of his work. The Italians are admirable drivers, and go far beyond our whip-club. I have seen eight horses in hand trot up the Corso ; and have heard of twelve, arranged in three rows, of four a-breast. Their rule of the road is directly the reverse of ours ; they take the right hand in meeting, and the left in passing ; — and if two persons are in an open carriage, or on a coach-box together, he who drives will, in defiance of the eternal fitness of things, sit on the near side. 18th. A grand fete in St. Peter's. The Pope was borne into the church on the shoulders of men, seated 144 FESTIVAL IN ST. PETER's. in his chair of state, making continually, as he passed along, the sign of the cross in the air with the two fore-fingers of his right hand. Two pole-bearers, with splendid fans of ostrich feathers fixed on the top of their poles, preceded him, and reminded me of the chief mourner of Otaheite. The red flowing robes of the cardinals are much more splendid and becoming than the sovereign white satin of the Pope ; which, bespangled as it is with gold, has a dingy and dirty appearance, at a distance. The Guard Noble, or Pope's Body Guard, the very privates of which are composed of the nobility of Rome, mustered in the church in full uniform, and kept the ground. They did not take off their hats, and the only part they took in the worship was to kneel down at the word of command, in adoration of the Host, when the bell announced the completion of the miracle of transub- stantiation*. A strange attendance this, for the successor of St. Peter, — the apostle of the Prince of Peace ! — but I doubt whether the apostles, if they could return to this world, would be able to recognise their own religion, swelled out and swaddled, as it is, in the Papal Pontificals. * Middleton confesses, that, in this instance at least, he cannot find a parrallel in any part of the Pagan worship. The credulity of the ancients, great as it was, revolted at a doctrine like this, which was thought too gross even for Egyptian idolatry ; — " Ecquein tarn amentem esse putas, qui ilhid, quo iiescatvr, Deum crednt esse?" Cic. de. Nat. Deor. 3. CATHOLIC CEREMONIALS. 145 It is common to hear of the attraction and fascina- tion of the Catholic ceremonials ; — for my part I think mass a more tiresome business than a Quakers' meeting. There is something very unsocial in the whole transaction. The priest turns his back to the people, and mumbles the prayers to himself. There seems to be no community of worship, except in the general genuflection at the elevation of the Host. The people seem to have no functions to perform, but to look on at a spectacle, which is to me the most fatiguing office in the world. The vespers, of which music forms the principal part, are more attractive ; though one cannot listen to the chants of these " warbling wethei^," without feelings of indignation at the system which sanctions such a school of music ; but perhaps a government of celibacy may affect to believe the deprivation of virility a loss of small importance. January 19th. Lounged away the morning in the Capitol. This modern building is not worthy to crown the summit of the Capitoli immobile saxum, as the Romans in the pride of their national vanity delighted to call it. But what is now become of their eternal empire, with the fables of Juventiis, and Terminus, which were to them sacred articles of faith? — " The wind hath passed over it and it is gone !" — This devoted attachment to their country is perhaps the only amiable feature in the national L 146 REFLECTIONS ON THE OLD ROMANS. character of the Romans. With what spirit it breaks out in the invocation of Horace : — ■ Alme Sol corru nitido diem qui Promis et celas, aliusque et idem Nasceris; possis nihil urbe Roma Visere majus ! though in these very Hnes, there is a sufficient indication of that jealous hostihty towards all other nations, with which this love of their own country was com- bined. It may be very amusing to read their history, now that we are out of the reach of that grasping and in- satiable ambition, which must have rendered them deservedly hateful to their contemporaries. ♦ But, Heaven be thanked, the bonds of Roman dominion are broken ; and it is to be hoped, that any future attempt to revive their plans of universal conquest, may be as unsuccessful as the late imitation of them by the French, whose Jacobinical watch-word, of " War to the Palace and Peace to the Cottage," was closely copied — though more insidiously worded — from the favourite maxim of the Romans, — " Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos." This line of their favourite poet, contains a complete exposition of the spirit of their foreign policy ; — a truly domineering and tyrannical spirit, — which could not be at rest, while there was any other people on the face of the globe, that claimed the rights of national independence. ' PRINCESS PROSSEDI. 147 In the square of the Capitol is the famous equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius. The Horse is very spirited, and Michael Angelo's address to it, Cammina ! is still quoted. Went in the evening to the Princess Prossedi's. A select ball. — Lucien Buonaparte and his brother Louis, with their respective families, were present. Januari/ 20th. This morning the Princess's servant called for a fee. This is the custom of Italy, and wherever you make a visit, the domestics call the next day to levy a tax upon you. Called on the Princess Prossedi ;— an amiable and interesting woman. She is the eldest daughter of Lucien Buonaparte by a former wife ; and it was she who refused to be the wife of Ferdinand of Spain. This match was proposed to her, when she v^^as on a visit to the Emperor's court, during the disgrace and exile of her father ; but, though she was alone, and subjected to the solicitations of the whole court, and at last assailed by the menaces of Napoleon himself, she had the firmness and courage to adhere to her resolution. Her answer to an inquiry, whether she did not feel afraid of the consequences of irritating her uncle by a refusal, will explain her character ; — O que non! on craint pen cehii qu^on n'estme pas. The Buonaparte family muster strongly at Rome. Madame Mere is said to be immensely rich ; Louis has bought a large tract on the Palatine Hill ; and Lucien has a spacious palace in the Via Condotti. L o 148 LUCIEN BUONAPARTE THE CARNIVAL. Whatever his pohtical sins may have been, his domestic life is irreproachable. He lives in the bosom of his family, all the branches of which assemble in the evening at his house, which is open also to strangers, who have been properly introduced to him. His wife must once have been a most beautiful woman, and she still retains all that fascination of manner which is the best part of beauty. January 21st. The first day of the Carnival ; — or rather the first of the last eight days of the Carnival, which are the paroxysm of the fun and the folly of this season of rejoicing. But, as eight consecutive days of festivities might be too fatiguing, occasional resting days intervene, to give time for the spirits to rally ; — and then, when the season of indulgence is over, Lent and fasting begin. This is wisely con- trived, for after an excess of feasting, fasting succeeds as a relief, rather than a privation. Whatever Lent may be to the many, it is no light matter to the strict Catholics. The present Pope, who is most exemplary in all religious observances, keeps it with the most rigid abstemiousness. The usual exhibition has not been given this morn- ing in the Piazza del Popolo. It is customary that an execution should take place on this day, as an edifying prelude to the gaieties of the Carnival, but there is no criminal ready for the guillotine. January 22nd. Second day of the Carnival. The Corso is the grand scene of foolery. Here, two lines THE CARNIVAL. 149 of carriages, filled with grotesque figures in masks, drive up and down ; while the middle of the street is thronged with a multitude of masqueraders. I have seen little fun, and no humour, — except in a few English maskers. All that Corinne says of the skill and vivacity of the Italians in supporting characters of masquerade, I suspect to be greatly exaggerated. I doubt whether a May-day in England be not quite as amusing as the Carnival. All that the peo- ple do, is to pelt each other with sugar-plums, as they are called, though they are really made of lime. When a stoppage takes place amongst the carriages, which is frequently the case, those that are alongside of one another, might be compared to two ships in an en- gagement, — such is the fury of the fire. One can bear being pelted by the natives, for they throw these missiles lightly and playfully, — but the English pelt with all the vice and violence of school-boys, and there was an eye neaiiy lost in the battle of this morning. The conclusion of the day's entertainment is the horse-race. There is a discharge of cannon as a sig- nal for the carriages to quit the Corso. The street is soon cleared, and the horses are brought out. It is really surprising to see their eagerness and emulation ; indeed they seem to enjoy the scene as much as the spectators. To-day, one of them in its impatience to start, broke from its keeper, leaped the barrier, and set off alone. Five started afterwards, and, for the 150 THE CARNIVAL, first two hundred yards, they seemed to run against one another with thorough good-will ; but being with- out riders, they find out long before they get to the end of the Corso, which is a mile loner, that their speed is entirely optional. Many of them therefore take it very quietly; — the gi'eatest fool runs fastest, and wins the race. Every sort of stimulant is applied to supply the want of a rider. Little bells are tied about them, and a sort of self-acting spur is contrived, by suspending a barbed weight to a string, which, in its vibrations, occasioned by the motion of the horse, strikes con- stantly against his flanks. The people encourage them by shouts from all sides ; but the most efiicacious and the most cruel of the means employed, is the ap- plication of a squib of gunpowder to the poor animal's tail ; — or a piece of lighted touch-paper to some raw part of his hide. In the evening a masked ball ; — where I in vain endeavoured to find any thing like the well supported characters, which we occasionally see at a masque- rade in England. There were, in fact, no cha- racters at all; — nothing but a mob of masks and dominos. January 23d. A day's rest from the Carnival. — Drove to the Borghese villa. — The gardens and pleasure-grounds are on a larger scale, and in a better taste, than I have yet seen in Italy. The trees in the shrubberies are allowed to grow as nature prompts IMPROVISATRICE. 151 them, without being clipped and cut into all sorts of grotesque figures. The villa is deserted not only by its owner, but by the famous statues, — the Household Gods, — which it once possessed. Casts now occupy the pedestals of the original marbles, which were sold by the Prince Borghese to Napoleon, and still remain in the gallery of the Louvre. We went in the evening to one of the Theatres to hear an Improvisatrice. She was a young and pretty girl of seventeen. The subjects had been written by the audience on shps of paper, and put into an urn, to be drawn out as occasion required. She recited three poems. The subject of the first was, the Sacri- fice of Iphigenia ; — the next, the Cestus of Venus; — and the last, Sappho presents a wreath offloivers to Phaon, was rendered more difficult, by supplying her with the final words of each stanza, which she was to fill up with sense and rhymes. The final words, which were given by the audience, were all to end in ore; — some one suggested sartore, — -as a puzzling word for the conclusion of the last stanza; and, if one might judge from the laughter and applause of the au- dience, for I confess I could not follow her, she brought it in with a very ingenious turn. In thef intervals between the poems, she called upon the audience indiscriminately for a word, as the sub- ject of a stanza, which she immediately recited, making every line rhyme with the word proposed. She was 152 BATHS OK TITLS. seldom at a loss for a moment; and, when she did he- sitate, she got out of her difficulties most triumphantly. Drudo was the word that seemed to puzzle her most ; at least, she made an attempt to evade it; but it was pressed upon her by the audience. Upon the whole it was a wonderful performance ; — for though I could not catch all she said, one might judge of the merit of such a performance, by the effect produced upon the audience. Besides, though words may add a great deal, they are not absolutely neces- sary to the expression of sentiment; — the language of gestures, and features, and tones, is universal, and, by the aid of these, it was easy to follow the story of Iphigenia perfectly. After the subject of a poem was proposed, she walked about the stage for about ten minutes, and then burst out, with all the seeming fervour of inspi- ration, chanting her stanzas in a recitative tone, ac- companied by music. Her enunciation and action were a little too vehe- ment for an English taste, and conveyed an idea of vulgarity ; — but of this it is impossible to judge, with- out knowing more of the national standard of good- breeding. January 24th. Of the Palace and Baths of Titus there are still many interesting remains. — It was in the time of Raphael, that the group of Laocoon was discovered here, and that several subterraneous cham- bers were opened, containing very beautiful specimens BATHS OF TITUS. 153 of painted ceilings, in excellent preservation. Raphael is said to have borrowed all he could from these paint- ings, for his own designs in the Vatican, and then to have filled up the ruins again. This story is in every body's mouth, but, that Raphael, whose character ap- pears in other particulars, the essence of candour and ingenuousness, should have been actuated by such feelings of petty professional jealousy, is very impro- bable. If no care was taken to maintain the commu- nication with the ruins, time and accident would soon do that which is imputed to Raphael. However this may be, it is certain, that they were not again exca- vated till the year 1776 ; and, it is to the French, that we owe the interesting discoveries which have been made since that time. They set about the work in good earnest, and they have furnished ample materials for forming a judgment of the nature and extent of these imperial establishments. The colours on the ceilings are, in some instances, as fresh, as if they had been painted yesterday ; and the whole subject of the picture is often very intelligible ; — as is the case in the amours of Mars and Sylvia. There is a painting on the end wall of one of the passages, representing a continuation of the passage, which shews that the Romans were not so ignorant of linear perspective, as it has been supposed. In another passage, leading to the baths, which was excavated by the French, and which, as it would seem, had never before been ex- plored since the original wreck which buried it in ruins. 154 BATHS OF TITUS. was found this scrawl, which has all the appearance of an ancient inscription, and which, — under the veil of a learned language, — I shall venture to transcribe: DVODECIM DEOS, ET DIANAM, ET JOVEM OPTVMVM MAXVMVM, HABEAT IRATOS, QVISQVIS HIC MINXERIT AVT CACAVERIT. The baths seem to have been fitted up with the greatest magnificence. There are traces of Mosaic pavement ; and there was a coating of marble carried about ten feet high, probably to prevent the painted walls from being injured by the splashing of the water. In one of the rooms, the bath itself remains ; — it is a circular basin of about twenty-four feet in dia- meter. Here too they shew, what is said to be a part of the House of Mecaenas. It is a curious specimen of the perfection of Roman brick-work, in complete pre- servation; the pointing of which is as perfect, as if it had been just finished by the mason, and I doubt whe- ther any modern workmanship, of the same materials, would bear a comparison with it. The bricks are differently shaped from our own, and do not exceed two inches in thickness. The third day of the Carnival. — Went to see the horses come in, which was a very tame business. All the rivalry is in the start. — The reverse of an English horse-race.— 77zere the start is nothing, and the con- test is reserved for the goal. THE COLISEUM. 155 Jamiary 25. Another respite from the Carnival. — Drove at midnight to see the Cohseum by moon- hght; — but what can I say of the Cohsemn? It must be seen ; to describe it I should have thought impossible, — if I had not read Manfi'ed. To see it aright, as the Poet of the North tells us of the fair Melrose, one must " Go visit it by the pale moonlight." The stillness of night, — the whispering echoes, — the moonlight shadov.s, — and the awful grandeur of the impending ruins, form a scene of romantic sublimity, such as Byron alone can describe as it deserves. His description is the very thing itself; — but what cannot he do on such a subject, the touch of whose pen, like the w^and of Moses, can produce waters even from the barren rock ! A man should go alone to enjoy, in full perfection, all the enchantment of this moonlight scene ; and if it do not excite in him emotions, that he never felt before, — let him hasten home, — eat his supper, — say his prayers, — and thank Heaven that he has not one single grain of romance or enthusiasm, in his whole composition. If he be fo^hd of moralizing, — the Papal sentinels, that now mount guard here,- — the Cross, which has been set up, in the centre of the amphitheatre, to protect these imperial remains from further spohation, — in the very spot, where the Disciples of that de- spised Cross were most cruelly persecuted, — and the inscription which it bears, — Baciando la S. Croce si 156 THE COLISEUM. acqidstano diiecento giorni di indulgenza, — will furnish him with ample materials for reflection. Jamiaty 27th. Fifth day of the Carnival. — Tire- some repetition of the same foolery. — It may be however, that I find it dull, because I am dull myself, for the Italians seem to enjoy it vastly. Escaped, from the noisy crowd of the Corso, to the silent solitude of the Coliseum ; where you can scarcely believe that you are within five minutes' walk of such a scene of uproar. Considering the de- predations, which have for so many ages been com- mitted upon this pile, it is wonderful that so much remains. It is certain that Paul II. built the pa- lace of St. Mark, — Cardinal Ricario the Chancery, — and Paul III. the Farnese palace, — with materials from this mine. The Barberini palace is also said to have been derived from the same stock ; — " et quod non fecerunt Barbari, fecere Barbeiini/' I believe however, that this conceit is the only au- thority for the fact; — and truth has been often sacrificed to a conceit. At last, to prevent further depredations, it was consecrated. The present Pope is doing much to prevent dilapidation ; but, like his predecessors, he seems to have little reliance on the memory of man- kind, for he defaces all his works with an inscription ; though it is conceived in a more modest taste than former inscriptions ; and instead oi—Munificentia, — he is content with, — Cura Pii VII. THE COLISEUM. L57 Much has been written on the subject of the holes, which are scattered all over the building; but I think it is plain that they were made to extract the metal, used to fasten the stones together. In many of these holes, some small fragments of lead and iron are still remaining. It must have been a noble sight, to behold this vast Amphitheatre filled with spectators. — The very lowest computation allows that it would contain eighty thousand. There was an awning to protect them from the sun and the rain ; and that capricious tyrant, Caligula, is described by Suetonius as venting his spleen by ordering this canopy to be withdrawn: — " Gladiatorio munere, reductis interdum flagrantissimo Sole velis, emitti quenquam vetabat. The order and arrangement of the seats are still distinguishable, and nothing can be more admirably contrived than the vomitories, for facilitating the in- gress and egress of all classes, to and from their respective seats, without disorder or confusion. There was probably an upper gallery for the multitude, of which there are now no remains. Between the arches numbered xxxviii and xxxix, there is one, which is not only without any num- ber at all, but is also deficient in the entablature; whence it is concluded, that this was the entrance to the passage which led to the palace of Titus; by which the Emperor had his private approach to the amphitheatre. 158 THE CARNIVAL. Excavation has also discovered the subterraneous passage, by which the Emperors had a secret com- munication with the pahice of the Palatine ; — and it was here that Commodus was attacked by tlie conspirators. It was probably the sight of the Coliseum, the wonder of ancient Rome, as St. Peter's is of the modern city, that struck Poggio with the admira- tion he so well describes in his work De varietate Fortune: — '* Prcesenti vero, miriim dictu, nihil im- minuit, vere major fuit Roma, majoresque sunt reli- quice quam rebar. Jam non orbem ab hue urbe domitam, sed tarn sero domitam, mlror." By the way. Gibbon attributes these words to Petrarch ; but if they be his, Poggio has adopted them without ac- knowledgment. It is indeed a glorious ruin, and one may sympa- thize with the superstitious enthusiasm, that believed " Quamdiu stabit Colyseus, stabit et Roma ; quando cadet Colyseus, cadet Roma ; quando cadet Roma cadet et mundusy 28th. Sixth day of the carnival. — Sat an hour in the Borghese palace, before tlie charming sibyl of Dominichino, which is one of the very sweetest pictures in the v;orld. Afterwards to the Piazza Navona, the site of the ancient Circus Agonalis ; which, by an easy transition through Agona and Nagona, has become Navona. Near here is the ancient statue which has been called after the Tailor Pasquin, who lived near the place where it was THE CARNIVAL. 159 discovered ; and who, besides indulging himself in satirical raillery against all the world, has had the honour of giving his name to all subsequent effusions of the same kind. The floating capital of wit may- be estimated by the squibs and epigrams, which are still occasionally affixed to this statue *. 29th. Seventh day of the carnival. — The horses started with more animation than ever. — The instant they were off, one of the booths opposite to us fell in with a tremendous crash. There was something awfully terrific in the general scream of many him- dreds of people, who all sunk down in one heap of confusion. No lives lost. — The extent of the mischief was a few broken limbs. What a strange thing is luck, — as we call it ; but, do we not all too often, — " Call God's best providence a lucky hit !" — I had wished to take my place on this booth, and was with difficulty persuaded by my companion to prefer the opposite one, * A man called Csesar lately married a girl of the name of Roma — both common names in Rome. They lived in the Piazza Navona, close to Pasquin's statue, where was found next morn- ing the following advice : Cave, CcEsar, ne tua Roma respuhlica fiat ! The man replied the next day ; Ccesar imperat ! But his antagonist immediately rejoined ; Ergo coronabitur. Upon the late entry of the Emperor of Austria into Rome, the following squib appeared on Pasquin's statue : — Gaudhim urbisjjletus provinciarum, visits miindi. U)0 MASKED BALL. Masked ball in the evening at the Teatro Aliberti. I am quite amazed at the dullness of this sort of en- tertainment, in a country where the people are so distinguished for liveliness and wit in their common conversation. You would suppose, from the animation of feature, and vehemence of gesticulation, between two men in the street, that they were discussing some question of vital interest; but, upon inquiry, you find, they have been talking of the weather, or some such matter. At these balls there is little talking ; — perhaps some more serious business may be going on ;— for this is the great season of intrigue. Men and women assume the dresses and the characters of each other. The mask enables the lady to speak her mind freely, and whatever her fancy may be, if she fail of success, it is not through any backwardness on her part. The mask does away all distinctions of rank, as well as of sex, and the liberty and equality of the carnival seem to have a close affinity with the license of the Saturnalia, — or - High Life below Stairs, — of the ancient Romans. January 30th and 31st. English November weather. Cold rain. Confined to the house. February/ 1st. Passed the morning in the Vatican. There is an alabaster urn in the gallery of vases, which was found in the Mausoleum of Augustus, and is supposed to have contained his ashes. The busts of Cato and Portia, if indeed they have been rightly so called, are interesting portraits ; — but we have ENGLISH CHURCH. 10 1 been so arciistomed to associate Kcmble's noble physiognomy with our idea of Cato, that it is difficult not to feel a little disappointment at the first sight of this bust, which has not that strongly marked cast of features which we call Roman. The moral ex- pression, however, is that of the severe inflexible integrity, the esse quean videri, which Sallust describes, in his beautiful contrast between Cato and Cssar. Attended vespers at St. Peter's ; — the favourite lounge of the English ladies on Sunday evening. In the morning they attend the English church, which is now established with an eclat that scan- dalizes all orthodox Catholics. — The English pre- sumed so far upon their favour with the Pope, as to make an application to Consalvi, to authorize the in- stitution of a place of worship, according to the rites of the church of England. The Cardinal's answer might have been anticipated : " I (;annot authorize what would be directly in opposition to the principles of our rehgion, and the laws of the state, but the government will not interfere with any thing you do quietly amongst yourselves, as long as it is done with propriety." The English church has accordingly been set up, and boasts a very numerous congrega- tion. — The door is thronged with as many carriages, as a new fancy chapel in London ; but though the Pope and Cardinal Consalvi seem inclined to let the English do any thing, the multitude regard this per- mission as a sin, and an abomination. M 162 ENGLISH LADIES. Our fair country-women, not content with cele- brating the rites of an heretical church under the very nose of the Pope, go in the evening and elbow the Catholics out of their own chapel in St. Peter's. This attendance might at first have been attributed to devotional feelings ; but, as soon as the music is over, the ladies make their courtesy, and leave the priests to finish their prayers by themselves, while they parade up and down the Cathedral ; which then be- comes the fashionable promenade. After vespers, on Sundays, all the equipages in Rome are to be found in the Corso, which then an- swers to our own Hyde Park ; and perhaps there are few places in the world where so many splendid equipages are to be seen, as at Rome ; in the number and appearance of the horses, and in the rich liveries of the trains of domestics, and running footmen. February 2nd. Holy-day. Grand ceremony of the Pope blessing the candles ; — hence. Candlemas-day. After the blessing, each Catholic received his candle, and there was a procession from the church. — The second of February is a gloomy day in Rome ; it has a black mark in the calendar, and is memorable in the history of national calamities. — Ball at Lady N.'s. — It was to have commenced at nine o'clock, but, out of deference to the Catholic guests, it was postponed till midnight, that no infringement might be committed upon the Holy-day. The English ladies have metamorphosed Rome into END OF THE CARNIVAL. 163 a watering place. — One or other of them is " at home" every evening, and there are balls twice a week. — The number of English, at present in Rome, is esti- mated at about 2,000, and it is said, that the influx of wealth occasioned by their residence has so in- creased the supply of money, as to produce some abatement in the rate of interest. We are in high favour, — and Inglese is a passport every where, — The Pope seems to be one of the few sovereigns in Europe, who retain any sense of gratitude for the good offices of England. The difference of senti- ment, in the Roman and Neapolitan courts, towards us, was illustrated in the most marked manner, by their respective treatment of the naval officers who were sent by Lord Exmouth with the Italian slaves, redeemed at Algiers. The partiality of the Pope to the English excites the jealousy of the natives ; and perhaps with some reason. At all ceremonies and spectacles, the guard allow the English to pass over that line which is im- passable to the Italians ; and I have, more than once, heard a native plead, Inglese, as a passport to follow me. Seats are prepared for the ladies, of which they are not backward in availing themselves, and I have almost expected, on some occasions, to see them su- persede the Pope in his own Chair of State. February 3rd. Shrove Tuesday ; — the last day and winding up of the Carnival. It was formerly the custom to carry a funeral procession of dead harle- M 2 164 END OF THE CARNIVAL. quin, on this expiration of the Carnival. This how- ever is now discontinued ; but, at the conclusion of the horse-race on this day, every body carries a taper, and the great fun seems to consist in lighting your taper at your neighbour's candle, and then blowing out his flame ; — a practical joke, with which we may often trace an obvious analogy in the serious pastimes of Politics and Literature. So much for the Carnival of Rome ; of which one has heard tales of wonder, from the days of our nur- sery; — and indeed it is only fit for the nursery. Nothing can be imagined more childish, and there is very little mixture of wit or humour to make the childishness amusing. Februari/ 4th. Ash Wednesday. Ceremony in the Pope's chapel, — Sprinkling of ashes on the heads of the Cardinals. — Mass as usual. — I have declined being presented to his Holiness, thinking with the Duke of Hamilton, that, when the kissing the toe is left out, the ceremony is deprived of all its amusement. The Pope receives strangers, by six at a time, in his own private apartment, in the plain dress of his order, without any pomp or state. The Italians in general dislike perfumes, and the Pope has a particu- lar antipathy to musk. On the last presentation, one of the company was highly scented with this odour, and Pius was constrained to dismiss the party almost immediately. Februmy 5th. My health grows worse and worse ! ;egri soMNiA. 165 Constant irritation. — Day without rest, — night with- out sleep ; — at least, sleep without repose, and rest without recreation. If life, with health and wealth, and all " appliances and means to boot," be nothing but vanity and vexa- tion of spirit ; what is it, alas ! when deprived of all these embellishments ? February 6th. Beautiful day. — The sun shines upon every thing but me. — My spirits are as dark as November ; — but levius jit patictitia ! Went to the Borghese Palace, to see and admire again Domini- chino's Sibi/l. — His Chace of Diana too is a superb picture. — Raphael's Deposition from the Cross has too much of his first manner in the execution ; — though it is a noble work in conception and design. Here is a fine collection of Titians ; — but, with all their glowing beauties, I doubt, whether the Venetian painters ever give us more than the bodies, — either of women, or of men. February 7th and 8th. Very unwell ; — but De- mocritus was a wiser man than Hcraclitus. Those are the wisest, and the happiest, who can pass through life as a play ; whO; — vs^ithout making a farce of it, and turning every thing into ridicule, — or running into the opposite extreme of tragedy, — consider the whole period, from the cradle to the coffin, as a well- bred comedy ; — and maintain a cheerful smile to the very last scene. For, what is happiness, bat a ^Vill- o-the-whisp, a delusion; — a terra incognita, — in pur- 166 iEGRI SOMNIA. suit of which thousands are tempted out of the har- bour of trauquilHty, to be tossed about, the sport of the winds of passion, and the waves of disappoint- ment, to be wrecked perhaps at last on the rocks of despair; — unless they be provided with the sheet- anchor of religion, — the only anchor that will hold in all weathers. This is a very stupid allegory, but it was preached to me this morning, by a beautiful piece of sculpture, in the studio of Maximilian La- boureur. A female figure of Hope has laid aside her anchor, and is feeding a monstrous chimaera. The care and solicitude of Hope, in tending this frightful creature, are most happily expressed ; and, if all stones spoke as afFectingly as this, Shakspeare's phrase of Sermons in stones would be more intelligible than it is. 167 CHAPTER VI. Journey to Naples — Pontine Marshes — Si/stem of Robber}/ — Capua — Naples — Climate — People — Pompeii — Museo Borbonico — Italian Dinners — Evening Parties — Italian Honesty — Neapolitan Army. February 9th. W^HEN the mind is full of fret and fever, the best remedy is to put the body in motion, which, by estabhshing an equiHbrium be- tween the two, may perhaps restore something hke tranquilHty to the whole system. It was with this hope that I left Rome, before day-break, on my way to Naples, — as fast as four wheels and sixteen legs would carry me ; — and there is nothing like the rattling of wheels, to scare away blue devils. The road is excellent ; and the posting, however defective it may be in the appearance and appointments of the horses, is in point of celerity, equal to that on the best regulated road in England. The Pontine Marshes, of which one has heard such dreadful accounts, appeared to me to diifer but little from many parts of Cambridgeshire ; though the livid aspect of the miserable inhabitants of this region is a shocking proof of its unwholesome- ncss. — The short, but pathetic reply, made to an 1^8 SYSTEM OF ROBBERY. inquiring traveller, is well known. — " How do you manage to live here ?" said he, to a group of these animated spectres — " We die !" — The excellent road which runs through these marshes for twenty-five miles, in a direct line, as straight as an arrow, was the work of the late Pope Pius VI., for which he will receive the thanks of every traveller ; but this, like most of his other undertakings, exposed him to the satire of his contemporaries, and it became a proverb, when talking of sums expended in extravagance, to say, " — sono andate alle paludi Pontine." Early in the evening, we reached Terracina, — the ancient Anxiir of the Romans. Its situation is strikingly beautiful, at the foot of the Apennines, and on the shore of the Mediterranean ; and it is backed, as Horace has accurately described, " saxis late canden- tibus." We were induced to halt here, by the repre- sentations that were made to us of the dangers of travelling after dark. It seems, we are now in the strong hold of the robbers, where they commit the most barefaced outrages. The man, who had no money in his pocket, might formerly dismiss all fear of robbers ; — but in these days, an empty purse is no longer a security. These modern desperadoes carry men away even from their homes, for the sake of the ransom, which they think they may extort for their liberation. We are told that two men were lately kidnapped from this neigh- bourhood, and taken up into the mountains. The SYSTEM OF ROBBERY. 169 friends of the one sent up nearly the sum that was demanded; — the other had no friends to redeem him. The robbers settled the affair, in the true spirit of that cold-blooded savage disposition, that has leisure to be sportive in its cruelty. They sent the first man back without his ears ; detaining these, as a set-off against the deficiency in the ransom ; — and the other poor fellow was returned in eight pieces ! — So much for Italian government. An edict has been lately issued against ransoms, as operating to encourage kidnapping. This may be an excellent law for the public ; but it would require the patriotism of Regulus, in an individual falling into the hands of these ma- rauders, to consider the public interest, in preference to his own. February 10th. Soon after quitting Terracina, we entered the Neapolitan territory, where the road begins to wind among the Apennines ; and, for many miles, it is one continued pass through a wild and rugged country. It seems intended by nature for the region of robbers. The government of Naples has adopted the most vigorous measures for the protection of travellers. Small parties of soldiers are encamped, at half a mile's distance from each other, during the whole line of road, from Terracina to Capua. But, quis custodiet ipsos custodes ? — it is said that the sol- diers themselves, after dark, lay aside their military dress, and act as banditti. The richness and lux- uriance of the country, between Terracina and 170 PONDI. Naples, are very striking. Hedges of laurestinus, olives, and vineyards ; — orange and lemon groves, covered with fmit ; — myrtle, fig, and palm trees, give a new and softer character to the landscape. The orange-tree adds richness to the prospect, but its form is too clumpy, — too romid and regular — to be picturesque. The inhabitants seem to increase in misery, in pro- portion to the improving kindness of the climate, and fertility of the soil. I have never seen such shocking objects of human wretchedness, as in this smiling land of corn, wine, and oil. At Fondi, and Capua, the poor naked creatures seemed absolutely in a state of starvation, and scrambled eagerly for the orange peel which fell from our carriage. Though the greater part of this misery may be attributed to the faults of the government, yet some little seems to flow from the very blessings of a fine climate and rich soil, — for nothing will supply the want of industry. At Fondi we have a specimen of the old Appian way, and are jolted on the very pavement that Horace travelled over in his journey to Brundusium. There is too, in the Bureau of the Custom-House, just such a jack-in-office as Horace ridicules on the same occa- sion. The extortions of the various Custom-Houses are the most flagrant impositions, and I have always re- sisted them with success, when, from an unwillingness to submit to injustice, I have been foolish enough to \ CAPUA^NAPLES. 171 encounter the inconvenience of maintaining the rights of travellers ; but, I believe, it is a wiser plan to get rid of all trouble by a small gratuity ; for, though they have no right to make you pay any thing, they may detain and search you, if they please, and an ex- emption from such delays is cheaply bought by the sacrifice of a few pauls. In consequence of a detention of two hours at Capua, which all travellers must reckon upon, we did not reach Naples till after dark. February 1 Ith. First view of the bay of Naples ; — of which the windows of our lodging command a fine prospect. The weather is beautiful, and as warm as a June day in England. We sit at breakfast, without a fire, on a marble floor, — with the casements open, — en- joying the mild fresh breeze from the sea. The first view of Vesuvius disappoints expectation. You would not know that it was a burning mountain if you were not told so ; the smoke has only the appearance of that light passing cloud, which is so often seen hang- ing on the brow of a hill. Drove after breakfast to the Campo di Marte; where, to my great surprise, I found myself transported ten years backwards, into the middle of old school-fellows. There was a regular double-wicket cricket match going on ; — Eton against the world ; — and the world was beaten in one innings ! This disposition to carry the amusements of their own country along with them 172 NAPLES. is a striking characteristic of the English. One of them imports a pack of hounds from England to Rome, and hunts regularly during the season, to the great astonishment of the natives. — -At Florence, they esta- blish races on the Cascine, after the English manner, and ride their own horses, with the caps and jackets of English jockeys ; — and, everywhere, they make them- selves independent of the natives, and rather provide entertainment for themselves, than seek it from the same sources with the people amongst whom they may happen to be. What should we say in London, if the Turks, or the Persians, or the Russians, or the French, were to make Hyde Park the scene of their national pastimes ? It is this exclusively national spirit, and the undisguised contempt for all other people, that the English are so accustomed to express in their manner and conduct, which have made us so generally unpopular on the continent. Our hauteur is the sub- ject of universal complaint, — and the complaint seems but too well founded. The view of Naples, from the hill immediately above it, forms a magnificent coup d'ceil. It combines all the features of the grand and the splendid; — the town, — the Bay, — Vesuvius. — It woidd be complete, if the sea part of it were more enlivened with shipping. February 12th. Oh this land of zephyrs ! Yes- terday was as warm as July ; — to-day we are shivering, with a bleak easterly wind, and an English black frost. I find we are come to Naples too soon. It NAPLES. 173 would have been quite time enough three months hence. Naples is one of the worst climates in Europe for complaints of the chest ; and the winter is much colder here, than at Rome, notwithstanding the lati- tude. Whatever we may think of sea air in England, the effect is very different here. The sea-breeze in Devonshire is mild and soft, — here, it is keen and piercing ; and, as it sets in regularly at noon, I doubt whether Naples can ever be oppressively hot, even in summer. We are lodged in the house of a Bishop ; — by which term must not be understood, a personage bearing the slightest resemblance to the dignified character we mean by it in England, but a little dirty looking chocolate-coloured creature, with no single pretension to the appearance of a gentleman. We occupy the whole of his house, except one bed-room, in which Moiisignore lives like a snail in his shell. He will chatter for two hours, to extract a few carlini from our pockets ; and his great occupation and pleasure consist in scolding his servants ; — but some excuse may be made for this, as it is a duty which may seem to devolve upon him, from the law of celibacy. 13th, 14th, and 15th. Confined to the house ; — the little Bishop endeavours to amuse the hours of my confinement, by exhibiting all his episcopal trappings, which he has done with the same sort of fiddle-faddle vanity, that an old maid of three-score 174 NAPLES. would display the court-dresses of her youth. Nothing would please him but I must try on his mitres, while he stood by giggling and skipping, as if it has been the best joke in the world. He tells me, that he was in attendance upon the Pope during his captivity in France ; and was a witness of the scene between Napoleon and his Holiness, at which it had been erroneously stated, that Napoleon, in the heat of anger, was brutal enough to strike him. The Bishop describes it as an altercation ; in which Napoleon exiiausted all his efforts, in endeavouring to overcome the Pope's objections to signing the treaty, which he. Napoleon, had dictated. The Pope remained firm, declaring that he could sign no treaty but in his own palace at Rome. Irritated by this inflexible opposition, Napoleon burst out with a sacre Dieu ! at being thwarted par wi petit Pretre, and with ruffian violence, forgetting what was due to the age and character of the venerable Pius, he did, according to the Bishop's account, lay hold of the Pope's garments : — but without striking him. The little Bishop, it seems, had a great curiosity to see England, and begged hard of Napoleon, for per- mission to make a visit to London for a few weeks ; Napoleon, however, would never consent; but used to pull him playfully by the ear, and tell him, that he would be corrupted, and converted, in our Island of Heretics. 16th. Spring again. — Delightful lounging day. NAPLES. 1 ti) The noise of Naples is enough to drive a nervous man mad. It would be difficult to imagine the eternal bustle and worry of the streets ; — the people bawling and roaring at each other in all directions; — beggars soliciting your charity with one hand, while they pick your pocket of your handkerchief with the other ; — and the carriages cutting their way through the crowd, with which the streets are thronged, with a fearful rapidity. It requires the patience of Job to carry on any dealings with the people, who are a most unconscionable set ; every bargain is a battle, and it seems to be an established rule, to ask, on all occasions, three times as much as is just. An Englishman cannot shew himself with- out being immediately surrounded by a troop of clamorous applicants, as ravenous as birds of prey about a carcase ; — all anxious to have their share of the carrion. The Toledo is the principal street in Naples ; and a very splendid and showy street it is. The shops are gay and gaudy, and "the tide of human ex- istence" flows with almost as much volume, and a great deal more noise than at Charing-Cross ; but I think it cannot be compared with the solid and sub- stantial magnificence of the Corso at Rome. This street is the very paradise of pick-pockets ; I detected a ragged urchin this morning in the act of extracting my handkerchief, but he looked up into my face, with such an arch, though piteous expression, that my 176 NAPLES. resentment was disarmed, and he made his retreat, under a volley of eccelle?izas, which he showered upon me with a grateful profusion. Upon arriving at Naples, after a residence in Rome, one is immediately struck with the inferiority of taste, displayed in the architectural ornaments of the town. After Rome, every thing at Naples looks poor and paltry ; — show and glitter seem to be the great objects of admiration ; — and every thing, as Forsyth says, is gilded, from the cupolas of the churches, to the pill of the apothecary. 17th. The rate of living is much the same at Naples as at Rome. The ordinary price of lodgings, sufficient for the accommodation of two persons, is forty dollars a month, — about eight pounds English. Our dinner is supplied from the kitchen of a neigh- bouring archbishop, by his lordship's cook, at eight carlini per head ; — the carlino being about four-pence English. The wines of Naples are remarkably good, if care be taken to get them genuine, which is easily done where so many people make their own wine ; — but beware of the adulterations of the wine trade ! The lacryma Christi is not the rare precious liqueur, which it has been sometimes described, but a strong-bodied generous wine, which is made in great quantities. The vineyards, that supply this liquor, are situated at the foot of Vesuvius- It appears to be very well POMPEII. 177 calculated for the English taste, and it is said to bear the voyage without injury. The cost of a pipe, with all the expense of importing it to England, duty and freight included, would not amount to more than 80/. ; and Mr. Grandorges, the host of the Albergo del Sole, and the proprietor of a magazine of all sorts of English goods, tells me, that he has already sent many pipes to London. All sorts of English manufactures are to be found at the above-mentioned magazine, which can only be accounted for by the partiality of the English to the productions of their own country ; for the importation duty to the Neapolitan government is no less than 60 per cent. The Neapolitans seem to like us as little as the Portuguese, and the temper of the government is con- stantly breaking out in little spiteful exertions of power, directed against English subjects. Febriiarij 18th. Excursion to Pompeii. The re- mains of this town afford a truly interesting spectacle. It is like a resurrection from the dead ; — the progress of time and decay is arrested, and you are admitted to the temples, the theatres, and the domestic privacy of a people who have ceased to exist for seventeen centuries. Nothing is wanting but the inhabitants. Still, a morning's walk through the solemn silent streets of Pompeii, will give you a livelier idea of their modes of life, than all the books in the world. 178 POMPEII. They seem, like the French of the present day, to have existed only in public. Their theatres, temples, basilicas, forums, are on the most splendid scale, but in their private dwellings, we discover little or no attention to comfort. The houses in general have a small court, round which the rooms are built, which are rather cells than rooms ; — the greater part are without windows, receiving light only from the door. There are no chimneys ; — ^the smoke of the kitchen which is usually low and dark, must have found its way through a hole in the ceiling. The doors are so low, that you are obliged to stoop to pass through them.. There are some traces of Mosaic flooring, and the stucco paintings, with which all the walls are covered, are but little injured ; and upon being wetted, they appear as fresh as ever. Brown, red, yellow, and blue, are the prevailing colours. It is pity that the contents of the houses could not have been allowed to remain in the state in which they were found ; — but this would have been impossible. Travellers are the greatest thieves in the world. As it is, they will tear down, without scruple, the whole side of a room, to cut out a favourable specimen of the stucco painting. If it were not for this pilfering propensity, we might have seen every thing as it really was left at the time of this great calamity ; even to the skeleton, which was found with a purse of gold roMPEii, 179 in its hand, trying to run away from the impending- destruction, and exhibiting " the ruhng passion strong in death" in the last object of its anxiety. In the stocks of the guard-room, which were used as a mihtary punishment, the skeletons of four soldiers were found sitting ; but these poor fellows have now been released from their ignominious situation, and the stocks, with every thing else that was moveable, have been placed in the Museum ; the bones being consigned to their parent clay. Pompeii therefore exhibits nothing but bare walls, and the walls are without roofs ; for these have been broken in, by the weight of the shower of ashes and pumice stones, that caused the destruction of the town. The Amphitheatre is very perfect, as indeed are the other two theatres, intended for dramatic repre- sentations ; though it is evident that tliey had sus- tained some injury from the earthquake, which, as we learn from Tacitus, had already much damaged this devoted town, before its final destruction by the eruption of Vesuvius : '^ Et notu terrce celebre Campanice oppidum Pompeii, magna ex parte proruitJ" Tacitus, Ann. xv. c. 22. The paintings, on the walls of the Amphitheatre, represent the combats of gladiators and wild beasts, \he dens of which remain just as they were seven- teen hundred years ago. The two theatres for dramatics entertainments are N 2 180 POMPEII. as close together as our own Drury Lane, and Covent Garden. The larger one, which might have contained five thousand persons, like the amphi- theatres, had no roof, but was open to the light of day. The stage is very much circumscribed — there is no depth ; and there are consequently no side scenes : the form and appearance are like that of our own theatres, when the drop-scene is down, and forms the extent of the stage. In this back scene of the Roman stage, which, instead of canvass, is com- posed of unchangeable brick and marble, are three doors ; and there are two others on the sides, an- swering to our own stage doors. It seems that it was the theatrical etiquette, that the premiers roles should have their exits, and entrances, through the doors of the back scene, and the inferior ones through those on the sides. The little theatre is' covered, and in better pre- servation than the other ; and, it is supposed, that this was intended for musical entertainments. The Temple of Isis has suffered little injury. The statues alone have been taken away. — You see the very altar, on which the victims were offered; — and you may now ascend without ceremony the private stairs, which led to the sanctum sanctorum of the Goddess ; where those mysterious rites were celebrated, the nature of which may be shrewdly guessed from the curiosities discovered there, which are now to be seen in the Museo Borbonico. In a POMPEII. 181 niche, on the outside of the temple, was a statue of Harpocrates — the God of Silence — who was most ap- propriately placed here ; but " Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes." The streets are very narrow ; the marks of wheels on the pavement shew that carriages were in use ; but, there must have been some regulation to pre- vent their meeting each other ; for, one carriage would have occupied the whole of the street, except the narrow trottoir, raised on each side for foot pas- sengers, .for whose accommodation there are also raised stepping-stones, in order to cros^ from one side to the other. The distance between the wheel- tracks is four feet three inches. There is often an emblem over the door of a house, that determines the profession of its former owner. — The word, " Salve" on one, seems to de- note that it was an inn, as we have, in our own days, the sign of " The Salutation." — In the outer brick- work of another, is carved an emblem, which shocks the refinement of modern taste ; but which has been an object even of religious adoration, in many coun- tries, probably as a symbol of creative power. The same device is found on the stucco of the inner court of another house, with this intimation — Hie habitat Felicitas — a sufficient explanation of the character of its inhabitants. Many of the paintings on the walls are very 182 POMPEII. elegant in the taste and design, and they often assist us in ascertaining the ases for which the different rooms were intended. For example : — in the baths*, we find Tritoas, and Naiads : in the bed-chambers, Morpheus scatters his poppies : and in the eating- room, a sacrifice to /Esculapius teaches us, that we should eat, to live : — and not live, to eat. — In one of these rooms are the remains of a triclinium. A baker's shop is as plainly indicated, as if the loaves were now at his window. There is a mill for grinding the com, and the oven for baking ; and the surgeon, and the druggist have also been traced, by the quality of the articles found in their respective dwellings. But the most complete s])ecimen that we have of an ancient residence, is the villa, which has been discovered, at a small distance without the gate. It is on a more splendid scale, than any of the houses in the town itself, and it has been preserved with scarcely any injury. Some have imagined that this was the Pomptia- jii/fji — the Pompeian Villa of Cicero. Be this as it mav, — it must have belonged to a man of taste. Situated on a sloping bank, the front entrance opens, as it were, into the first floor; below which, on the garden side, into which the house looks — for the door is the only aperture on the road-side — is a * In one of the baths, which probably belonged to a female, is a prettv and well-preserved fresco of the story of Act?eon. poMi'i;ii. \HS ifnmnd floor, with spacious arcades, and open rooms, all facing the garden ; — and above, arc the sleeping rooms. Tile walls and ceilings of this villa are ornamented witii paintings of very elegant design, all whi(;h have a relation to the uses of the apart- ments in which they are placed. In the middle of the garden there is a reservoir of wjiter, surrounded by columns, and the ancient well still remains. Though we have many specimens of lioman glass, in their drinking vessels, it has heen doubted whether they wer(5 accpiainted with tlu^ use of it for windows. Swinhiirne however, in describing l*omi)eii, says "in the window of a bed-chamber some panes of glass are still remaining." This would seem to decide the (piestion ; — hut they remain no long(M'. The host was fond of conviviality, if W(^ may judge from the dimensions of his cellar, which extends under the whole of the house and tlu; areades also ; and many of the amp/iorcv remain, in which the wine was stowed. It was here that the sk(^letons of seven and twenty poor wretches were found, who took refuge in this place from the fiery shower that would have killed them at once, to suffer the lingering toiments of being starved to death. It was in one of the Porticos, leading to the outward entrance, that the skeleton, supposc^d to be that of the master of the house, was found ; with a key in one hand, and a. purse of gold in the (tther. So much lor Pompeii; — 1 lingered amongst its ISi POMPEII, ruins, till the close of evening ; and have seldom passed a day with feelings of interest so strongly excited, or with impressions of the transient nature of all human possessions so strongly enforced, as by the solemn solitudes of this resuscitated town*. February 19th. Passed the morning in the Museo Borbonico ; — a magnificent establishment, containing rich collections of statues, pictures, and books. — Here too, are deposited the greater part of the curiosities found at Herculaneum and Pompeii, which were formerly at Portici. When the King was obHged to fly from Naples to Sicily, he took with him, from Portici, every thing that could be easily packed up ; these articles have now been brought back, and are arranged in the Museo Borbonico. Here you see — " the ancient most domestic or- naments," — the furniture, — the kitchen utensils, — the surgical instruments, — the trinkets, <^c. ^c, of the old Romans. This collection illustrates Solomon's apophthegm, that there is nothing new under the sun. — Thei^ is much that, with a little scouring, would scarcely appear old fashioned at the present day. This is not surprising in many of the articles, considering that our makers of pottery, and tea urns, have been long * Roraanelli's hint is worth attention, who recommends tra- vellers to enter Pompeii, by the way of the tombs, that so the interest may be kept alive, by reserving the more important objects until the last. MUSEO BOUBONICO. 185 busied in copying from these ancient models. But it is the same with other things ; the bits of the bridles, the steel-yard and scales for weighing, the lamps, the dice, the surgeon's probe, are all very much like our own. We seem to have improved principally upon the Romans, in hardware and cutlery. Their locks and keys, scissors and needles, are very clumsy articles ; and their seals, rings, and necklaces, look as if they had been made at the blacksmith's forge. The toilets of the ladies, too, were not so elegantly furnished with knick-knacks in those days ; — we have specimens of the whole arrangement of their dressing tables, even to their little crystal boxes pf essences and cosmetics. Their combs would scarcely compare with those which we use in our stables ; and there is nothing that would be fit for a modern lady's dressing case. We find nothing like knives and forks. The weight of the steel-yard is generally the head of an Emperor. There is a sun-dial — the gnomon of which is the hinder part of a pig, with the tail sticking up, to cast the shadow. The tesserce, or tickets of admission to the theatres, are of ivory; and I remarked one, with the name of the poet .^schylus, written on it in Greek characters. The apparatus of the kitchen may be studied in all its details, through every variety of urn, kettle, and saucepan. The armory presents to us the very helmets, and breast-plates, and swords, with which the Romans gained the empire of the world ; in a word, every 180 MUSEO BORBONICO. thing here excites the hveUest interest, even to the tops, and play-things, which prove the antiquity of our own school-boy amusements ; but in these, as in other matters, the poverty of human invention is strikingly displayed ; — for, whether we ride upon sticks, or play at odd and even, we find that we are only copying the pastimes of children, who were wont two thousand years ago " Ludere par impar, equitare in arundine longa." In another quarter of the museum are collected those curiosities, which, interesting as they are, as throwing light upon the manners of ancient times, are justly offensive to modern delicacy. The most extraordinary of these are, the ornaments and decorations of the Temple of Isis, which will scarcely bear a detailed description*. * The phallic ornament, worn round the necks of the ladies, as a charm against sterility, appears in every variety of ma- terial, — gold, silver, and coral ; and invention seems to have been racked, to represent it under every variety of shape. Sometimes it is a snail peeping out of its shell ; — sometimes a Cupid astride, is crowning it with a chaplet ; — and sometimes it terminates in some frightful reptile, that turns round with an expression of rage ; — illustrating perhaps the passage of Horace ; — " mea cum conferhuit iray What can demonstrate more clearly, the coarseness and corruption of ancient taste ; unless it be the monstrous conjunctions, consecrated by their abomi- nable superstition, which are still more shocking evidences of thedepravity of their imaginations. There is an example of these, in a piece of sculpture, dug up at Herculaneum, now in this mu- seum, which exhibits great powers of expression and execution ; but, it had better have remained buried under the ruins of Her- culaneum. MUSEO BORBONICO. 187 February 20th. The weather is beyond measure severe and trying ; — with a hot sun, there is a winter wind of the most piercing bitterness. A pulmonary invahd had better avoid Naples at any time, but certainly during the winter, unless he wish to illus- trate the proverb, " Vedi Napoli e po' mo?i.'' It is not easy for such an invalid, if his case is notorious, to get lodgings, or at least he will on that account be asked a much higher price for them ; for consump- tion is here considered to be contagious, and in case of death, the whole of the furniture in the occupation of the deceased is burnt, and his rooms are fumi- gated and white-washed. Drove to Capo di Monte, a palace of the King, in the environs of the town, — Palaces, however, are the most tiresome things in the world, for one is just like another ; — all glitter and tinsel. Here are some of the best works of Camuccini. — There was one that pleased me much, representing Pericles, Socrates, and Alcibiades, brought by Aspasia to admire the works of Phidias. This has all the fidelity of an historical picture, for the faces have been closely copied from the antique marbles, 21st. Again to the Museo. — The library is said to contain 150,000 volumes, and it seems to be well furnished with the literature of all nations. Per- mission is easily obtained here, as at the British Museum, to enjoy the privilege of reading. Amongst the curious manuscripts, I was shewn the Aminla of 188 MUSEO BOKBONICO. Tasso, in his own hand-writing, which by the way was a vile scrawl. In another quarter, is a large collection of Etrus- can vases, in which the elegance of the form shames the badness of the painting. It is strange that a people, who seem to have had an intuitive tact for the elegant and the beautiful, in the form and shape of their vessels, should have had so little taste in the art of design. In the collection of pictures there is much that is curious, and much that is beautiful. In the former class, are the specimens of the first essays of the first founders of the art of painting in Italy. It is curious to trace its progress through the different stages of improvement, till it was at last brought to perfection, in the age of Raphael, In the same class, is an original picture of Colum- bus, by Parmeggianino ; and a portrait of Philip the Second of Spain, which looks the narrow-minded, cold-blooded tyrant, that he was in reality. And, lastly, here is the original sketch of the Last Judgment, by Michael Angelo, from which he afterwards painted his great picture. It has been coloured by a later hand. — It ought to be hung up in the Sistine chapel, as a key to make the fresco intelligible ; for, much is here seen distinctly, that is quite faded in the large picture. For instance, time has done for Cardinal Biagio, what he in vain asked of the Pope ; and it is only in this sketch, that MUSEO BORBONICO. 189 the bitter resentment of the painter is recorded, which placed him amongst the damned, in the gripe of a mahgnant daemon, — who is dragging him down to the bottomless pit, in a manner at once the most fero- cious and degrading. In the latter class, there are many that deserve enumeration. Two Holi/ Families by Raphael, are full of the almost heavenly graces with which he, above all other painters, has embellished this subject. There are two landscapes ; — and a wild witch, on a wilder heath, in the very wildest style of Salyator Rosa. Titian's Danae is all that is lovely and luscious ; and there are some charming pictures of Corregio ; — but, I believe, this collection altogether detained me less than it deserved ; for, after feasting the imagination, in the galleries of Florence, and Rome, in the contemplation of the very finest efforts of the pencil, it requires equal excellence to stimulate the languid attention, and satisfy the increasing fasti- diousness of the taste. This is a cruel deduction from the pleasure which is expected to be derived from famiharity with excellence, and improvement in knowledge ; so that, after all, it may be doubted, whether we grow happier, as we grow wiser ; and, perhaps, those who are at the most pains — to see the best that is to be seen — to read the best that is to be read — and to hear the best that is to be hea,i*d — 190 ITALIAN DINNERS. are only labouring to exhaust the sources of inno- cent gratification, and incapacitating themselves from future enjoyment, by approaching nearer to that state which has been so truly described as a state of " Painful pre-eminence ourselves to view, Above life's pleasures, and its comforts too !" February 22nd. Yesterday we had December's wind ; to-day we have November's rain ; and such is the climate of Naples. Dined with an Italian family, to whom I brought lettei's of recommendation from Rome. This was the first occasion that I have had of seeing an Italian dress dinner ; — but there was scarcely any thing strange to excite remark. The luxury of the rich is nearly the same throughout Europe. Some trifling particularities struck me, though I think the devia- tions from our own customs were all improvements. There was no formal top and bottom to the table, which was round, and the host could not be deter- mined from his place. All the dishes were removed from the table as they were wanted, carved by a servant at the side-board, and handed round. Each person was provided with a bottle of wine, and a bottle of water, as with a plate, and knife and fork. There was no asking to drink wine, nor drinking of healths ; no inviting people to eat, nor carving for them. All these duties devolved on the domestics ; and the conversation, which, in England, as long as dinner lasts, is often confined to the business of eating. ITALIAN DINNERS. 191 with all its important auxiliaries of sauces and season- ings, took its free course, unchecked by any interrup- tions arising out of the business in hand. This is surely the perfection of comfort — to be able to eat and drink what you please without exciting attention or remark ; — and I cannot but think, it would be a great improvement upon our troublesome fashion of passing the bottle, to substitute the Italian mode of placing a separate decanter to each person. Economy, in a country where wine is so dear as in England, can be the only objection ; for, though I have heard some persons argue, that the pleasure of drinking is increased by a common participation in the very same bottle ; such a notion can scarcely be founded in reason, unless it is allowed that this pleasure is still more exquisitely enjoyed in the tap- room, where each man partakes of the same mug, without even the intervention of glasses. For my part, I am for extending the privilege of Idomeneus's cup to every guest : £7*5%, ua'jrep f.jj,oi, ttieeii', ore Qviz-o^ avdjyot. Iliad, 4. 262. But, an invitation to dinner is a rare occurrence in Italy ; for dinner is not here, generally speaking, the social feast of elaborate enjoyment, which we are accustomed to make it in England, — occupying a considerable portion of the day, and constituting the principal object of meeting, — but a slovenly 192 EVENING PARTIES. meal, despatched in haste, and in dishabille; — and it is for this reason that an Englishman is rarely invited, except on extraordinary occasions, to partake of it. In the evening, to a conversazione, at the arch- bishop of Tarento's; — one of the finest and most respectable-looking old men I ever saw. The in- tercourse of society is perhaps managed better abroad than in England. The system of being at home in the evening, to those persons with whom you are desirous of associating, without the formality of send- ing a special invitation, facilitates that pleasant and easy society, which enlivens, without at all destroying, the retirement of domestic life ; — and it is carried on with no greater expense than a few additional cups of coffee, or glasses of lemonade. How much more rational is such a friendly intercourse, than the formal morning visits, or the heartless evening routs, of our own country. February 23rd. Again to the Museo. — Examined the ingenious machinery employed to unroll the manuscripts found at Herculaneum. These are re- duced to a state of tinder, but the writing is still legible. From the specimen that I saw, it seemed necessary, however, to supply at least a fifth, by conjecture. Curiosity is kept alive till the last, for the name of the author is inscribed on the beginning of the manuscript, and this of course cannot appear till the whole roll is umavelled. The collection of I MUSEO BORBONieO. 193 ■statues is very extensive, but I must repeat, of the statues, what I have said of the pictures. After the Tribune, — the Capitol, — and the Vatican, — what re- mains to be seen in sculpture? — and yet the Venus callipyge is a most beautiful creature; — but how shall we excuse her attitude ? The famous Faniese Hercules may be calculated to please an anatomist, but certainly no one else. This is the work of Glycon, and is perhaps the allusion of Horace, in his first epistle, where he mentions the " invicti membra Glyconis ;'' — a passage that does not seem to be satisfactorily explained. The Flora is generally admired; but a colossal statue is seldom a pleasing object, and never when it represents a woman. Gigantic proportions are absolutely inconsistent with female loveliness. February 24th to 28th. Confined to the house with a cough; — the effect of the bitter w^ind that has been blowing upon us from the mountains. — The Lord deliver me from another winter at Naples ! — Our episcopal landlord turns out a very caitiff. The last occupier of our lodgings — a young Englishman, who was confined to his bed by ill- ness — had occasion to send a bill to his banker's to be cashed; on which errand he employed the servant of Monsignore. As it has been imputed to Italian bankers, that they sometimes mis-count dollars, he took the precaution to examine immedi- ately the contents of his bag. Finding that there was 194 ITALIAN HONESTY. a deficiency of twenty dollars, he summoned the servant, and being unable to get any explanation, he was preparing a note to the banker to institute an inquiry, when the man confessed that his master had stopped him, upon his return, and taken twenty dollars out of the bag ; — trusting, as it seems, to the proverbial carelessness of our countrymen. If a bishop will do this, what might we not expect from the poorer classes of society ? and yet I must confess, I have never met with any such dishonesty in the lower orders, except amongst the pick-pockets in the Strada di Toledo. In an arbitrary government, like that of Naples, a stranger is surprised by the freedom of speech, which prevails on political subjects. The people seem full of discontent. In the coffee-houses, restaura- teurs, nay even in the streets, you hear the most bitter invectives against the government, and tirades against the Royal family. One would imagine, from such general complain- ings, that the government was in danger, — but all seems to evaporate in talk ; and indeed Gen. Church (an Englishman) at the head of a body of 5,000 foreign troops, is engaged in stopping the mouths of the more determined reformers ; which may probably explain the secret of the stability of the present system. It must be owned that the people have some grounds for complaint ; for, the King has not only I NEAPOLITAN ARMY. 195 retained all the imposts, which Murat, under the pressure of war, found it necessary to levy, but he has also revived many of the ways and means of the old regime. The property tax alone amounts to twenty-five per cent. ; and there is a sort of excise, by which every roll that is eaten by the beggar in the streets, is made to contribute a portion to the govern- ment purse. The military, both horse and foot, make a very respectable appearance. To the eye, they are as fine soldiers as any in Europe ; and the grenadiers of the King's guard, dressed in the uniform of our own guards, might be admired even in Hyde Park. But, it appears that they do not like fighting. The Austrian general Nugent married a Neapohtan Princess, and is now commander in chief of that very army, which under Murat, ran away from him like a flock of sheep. It is the fashion to consider soldiers as mere ma- chines, and to maintain, that discipline will make soldiers of any men whatever. This may be true as a general rule ; — but may not a slavish submission to a despotic government for a long period of years, and confirmed habits of effeminate indolence, on the part of any people, produce an hereditary taint in their blood, — gradually making what was habit in the parent, constitution in the offspring, — and so deterio- rate the breed, that no immediate management or discipline shall be able to endue such a race with the o 2 196 NEAPOLITAN ARMY. qualities necessary to constitute a soldier ? If this maxim need illustration, I would appeal to the con- duct of the Neapolitan army in Murat's last cam- paign. 197 CHAPTER VII. Virgil's Tomb — Puzzuoli — Baia: — Monte Nuovo — Avcrnus—Tomb of Scipio — Solfaterra — Grotta del Cane — Sirocco Wind — Gaming Tables — Quay — Burial of the Dead — Portici Museum — Murat — Vesuvius — Herculaneum — Lazzaroni — Opera. March 1st. 1 HE summer sun of to-day brings me again out of my hiding-place. — Explored the Grotto of Pausilippo ; and the Tomb of Virgil, — as it is called ; though there is little doubt, but that the poet was buried on the other side of the bay. The tomb contains the following inscription, which en- graved as it is, without any punctuation, presents a tough morsel of Latinity — QUI CINERES TVMVLI VESTIGIA CONDITVR OLIM ILLE H^C QVI CECINIT PASCVA RVRA DVCES. But, the addition of a note of interrogation after Vestigia, will clear away the difficulty. Eustace, in his account, gives us Virgil's own distich of Mantua me genuit, &c., but the real inscription is as I have transcribed it. How this came to be substituted for Virgil's, may be difficult to explain ; — but being there, it is more difficult to understand why Eustace should give an inscription that does not exist, when the true one was staring him in the face. 198 STRADA NUOVA. This tomb ought to yield a good revenue to the proprietor. The EngHsh pilgrims are the most nu- merous. A bay-tree did grow out of the top of it ; but the keeper told me, that the English had pulled off the leaves, as long as any remained ; in the same spirit, I suppose, which induced the ladies in England to pull the hairs out of the tail of Platoff' s horse. It has been since cut up altogether, and not a root is left to mark the spot. Beautiful drive along the coast, on the Strada Niiova. — This road was the work of Murat, who has done a vast deal to improve and embellish Naples. It was he, who enlarged and laid out the Villa Reale, in the English style of shrubbery, which forms a de- lightful promenade, between the quay and the sea. In the centre of this walk is the group of Dirce, commonly called the Toro Faniese. — Pliny tells us it was cut out of a single block — " Zetlms et Amphion, ac Dirce, et Taurus, vincii- lumque ex eodem lapide, Rhodo adveda, opera Apol- lonii et Taurlsci" But the integrity of the original block has been much invaded ; for, the head and arms of Dirce ; the head and arms of Antiope ; the whole of Am- phion and Zethus, except the bodies and one leg ; and the legs and rope of the bull, are modern. March 2d. Excursion to Puzzuoli and Ba'ue ; where all is fairy ground. — Here you may wander about, with Virgil and Horace in your hand, and PUZZUOLI. — BAl^. 199 moralize over the changes that time has produced. — How are the mighty fallen! — Here the great ones of the earth retired, from the noise and smoke of Rome, to their voluptuous villas. Baiae was the Brighton, the Cheltenham, — or, perhaps, with more propriety, the Bath of Rome ; — for it was a winter retreat. The rage for building was carried to an extent that made it necessary to encroach upon the sea : — " Contracta pisces aequora sentiunt Jactis in altum molibus. Hue frequens Caementa demittit redemptor." But their redemptors built with more solid materials than our modern builders, whose structures will never endure to afford the remnant of a ruin, seventeen hundred years hence, to our curious posterity, as a sample of the style of building of their ancestors. One might fancy that Horace had been gifted with a prophetic sight of the changes that have taken place, when he wrote " Debemur morti nos nostraque ; sive receptus Terra Neptunus classes Aquilonibus arcet Regis opus :" Who can recognise, in the present appearance of the Liicrine Lake, any vestiges of the superb descrip- tion of Virgil ? " An memorem portus, Lucrinoque addita elaustra : Atque indignatum magnis stridoribus sequor, lulia qua ponto longe sonat undo refuso, Tyrrhenusque fretis immittitur sestus Avernis ?" 800 MONTE NUOVO. But, it is thus that the fashion of this world passeth away. The lovely Jjucrine, — the scene of imperial Regattas^ — is now a mere morass, covered with grass and rushes. It was curtailed of its fair proportions, and indeed almost filled up, by the monstrous birth of the Monte Nu&co — the offspring of a volcano — which burst out in 1538 with a fearful eruption of flames and fire; the ashes of which, after being shot up into the air to an im- mense height, in their descent formed this prodigious mountain of cinders. Avernus has no longer any thing diabolical about it. The axe of Agrip})a, by levelling the woods that enveloped it in impenetrable gloom, and mysterious dread, long ago deprived the lake of all its terrors. Silius Italicus describes the change which had already taken place in his time : — " Ille, olim populis dictum Styga, nomine verso,. Stagna inter celebrem nunc mitia monstrat Avernum." Popular superstition might well fix upon such a spot, situated in the midst of volcanoes, and sup- posed to be of unfathomable depth, as the mouth of hell: Homer probably followed the real belief of his time, in sending Ulysses thither; — and Virgil followed Homer. But if Italy has furnished the helk of the poets, it has also supplied them with the scenery of Elysium. Milton seems to have culled the flowers of his delicious garden of Eden, from the soft and sublime scenery of Tuscany ; and the charming re- AVERNUS TOMB OF SCIPIO. 201 treats in the neighbourhood of Averniis, were pro- bably the prototypes of Virgil's habitations of the blessed; though he could scarcely intend to fix the geographical position of his Elysium, which, by the concluding words, seems evidently transferred to another world — " Solemque suum sua sidera norunt." From hence we made a pilgrimage to Torre di Patria, — the ancient Literniim ; — the retreat and the tomb of Scipio. The word " Patria,'' is still legible in the wall of a watch-tower, which, you arc told, is all that remains of the angry epitaph which he dic- tated himself: — " Ingrata Patria, Jieque enhn inea ossa Imbebis" It is evident however, that this tower is of modern construction, and therefore, the inscrip- tion on it only affords evidence of the tradition, that this was the place of Scipio's interment. And this tradition is at least as old as Pliny, who tells as there was a notion, that a dragon watched over the manes of Scipio, in a cavern at Liternum. — Plin. Nat. Hist., lib. xvi. cap. 44. Such traditions have usually some foundation in truth. But it is extraordinary that the memory of so great a man should not have outlived his grave long enough to enable history to record where he was buried. All that we gain from Livy however on this point, rests on the same vague tradition: — " Silentium deinde de Africano fuit. Vitam Litenii egit, sine desiderio urbis. Morientem riire eo ipso loco sepeliri se jussisse ferunt, momimentumqiio ibi 202 SOLFATERRA. wdificari, nefunus sibi in ingrata patriafieret" A heap of stones is all that remains of the ruins of Liternum ! We hurried rapidly over the ruins of Piizsuoli, in our way home. A peasant shewed us a tomb con- taining three Sarcophagi, which he had lately dis- covered in his vineyard. He complained bitterly that the King had sent a party of soldiers to remove one of these to his Museo, without giving him any remuneration. Further excavation might lead to the discovery of curious remains of antiquity ; — but who will excavate on such terms? The bones in the Sarcophagi were in perfect preservation. Solfaterra is well worth seeing. — Murat carried on sulphur works here, for his domestic manufacture of gun-powder. — Three pounds of stone yield one pound of sulphur. Solfaterra is the crater of an extinguished volcano, — it is a fearful spot ; — the smoke now bursts out in many places ; — the whole area is hollow ; — and the ground vibrates when you stamp with your foot. Water is found at the depth of thirty feet. Alum works are also carried on here. Earth and water are put into a large earthen vessel, which is sunk up to the brim in the soil, the heat of which causes the water to boil, and, as this evaporates, the alum is deposited in a crystallized state on the sides of the vessel. It is from the waters of Solfaterra, that the baths of Puzzuoli are supplied ; which are said to GHOTTA DEL CANE. 203 be very efficacious in cutaneous and rheumatic dis- orders. March 3rd. The weather continuing fine, we drove to the lake of Agnano ; situated in a dehght- fully retired valley, surrounded by hills. On the border of this lake, is the Grotta del Cane. Tra- vellers have made a great display of sensibility, in their strictures upon the spectacle exhibited here ; but, to all appearance, the dog did not care much about it. It may be said with truth of him, that he is iised to it ; for he dies many times a day, and he went to the place of execution wagging his tail. He became insensible in two minutes; — but upon being laid on the grass, he revived from his trance in a few seconds, without the process of immersion in the lake, which is generally mentioned as ne- cessary to his recovery. From the voracity with which he bolted down a loaf of bread which I bought for him, the vapour does not appear to injm'e the animal functions. Addison seems to have been very particular in his experiments upon the vapour of this cavern. He found that a pistol would not take fire in it ; but, upon laying a train of gun-powder, and igniting it beyond the sphere of the vapour, he found, " that it could not intercept the train of fire when it had once begun flashing, nor hinder it from running to the very end," He subjected a dog to a second 204^ GROTTA DEL CANE. trial in order to ascertain whether he was longer in expiring the first, than the second time ; and he found there was no sensible difference. A viper bore it nine minutes the first time he put it in, and ten minutes the second ; — and he attributes the prolonged duration of the second trial, to the large provision of air that the viper laid in after his first death, upon which stock he supposes it to have existed a minute longer, the second time. March 4th. Read the Italiaii in a French trans- lation; and afterwards explored the church of S. Nicolo, where Mrs. Radcliffe has laid the scene of that admirable interview between the Marchesa and Schedoni, at Vespers ; during which they plot the death of Ellena. I went afterwards to the church of jS. Severo, where there are some statues of great celebrity. One represents a female covered with a veil, which is most happily executed in marble, and has all the effect of transparency. This new effect of sculpture was the invention and the work of Corradini, a Venetian. There is another statue of the same kind, in the same church, by the same workman ; — a dead Christ, — covered with the same marble imitation of a thin gauze veil, which appears as if it were moist with the cold damp of death. There is also a statue of a figure in a net, the celebrated work of Queirolo, a Genoese ; which is a model of pains and patience It is cut out of a SIROCCO WIND. 205 single block ; yet the net has many folds, and scarcely touches the statue. March 5th. Explored the scenery of the Italian. Went to vespers at the church of S. Spirito ; but the places themselves are as different from Mrs. Rad- cliffe's romantic descriptions, as the fat unmeaning faces of the present monks are from the sublime portrait of her stern and terrible Schedoni. But it is ever thus. Life is only tolerable in a romance, where all that is common-place and disgusting is kept out of sight ; — for, what is the reality, but, as as Mr. Shandy says, to shift about from side to side, and from sorrow to sorrow, — to button up one vex- ation, only to unbutton another ! March 6th. Seized with an acute pain in the side. 9th. Decided pleurisy — Summoned an English surgeon to my assistance. High fever. — Copious bleeding. — Owe my life, under Heaven, to the lancet ; whose repeated application was necessary to relieve me from the intolerable distress under which I had been gasping for some days. I find pleurisy is the endemic of Naples. March 14th. ^gri somnia — If a man be tired of the slow lingering progress of consumption, let him repair to Naples ; and the denouement will be much more rapid. The sirocco wind, which has been blowing for six days, continues with the same vio- lence. 206 THE POPE AND KING OT NAPLES. The eifects of this south-east blast, fraught with all the plagues of the deserts of Africa, are immediately felt in that leaden oppressive dejection of spirits, which is the most intolerable of diseases. This must surely be the "■ plumb ciis Austef of Horace. Neapohtan gossips. — It seems there is a great dispute at present between the Pope and the King of Naples. His Holiness claims feudal superiority over the kingdom, as a fief of the Popedom ; and, indeed, it would appear that he has always exercised the right of investiture to every sovereign of Naples, since the foundation of the monarchy by Roger the Norman. Murat, who, in the days of his prosperity, laughed at the papal pretensions, after the downfall of Na- poleon, thought it prudent to make his submission to his Holiness, and was about to obtain the papal investiture. It is incontestable that a certain tribute has always been paid annually by the King to the Pope. The Pope receives this as an acknowledgment of his feudal superiority ; the King would fain consider it as a charitable contribution of Peter's Pence. The question is still left open, and here the matter rests. In another branch of the dispute, the King has gained his point, and established his claim to ap- point his own Bishops ; — subject to the papal con- firmation. GAMING TABLE. 207 The King of Naples is the oldest reigning sove- reign in Europe, having ascended the throne in 1759. Though a devotee in religion, he is so fond of field sports, that, he cannot give up the pleasures of the chasse, for a single day ; and he has actually obtained a dispensation from the Pope to permit him to shoot on Sundays ! It must be remembered, however, in his excuse, that he is seventy and odd years old, and has therefore no time to lose. March 15th. Convalescence. — Crawled to the Archbishop of Tarento's — Small collection of pic- tures ; — three by Murillo excellent. First day of Passion week. — There is a strange mixture of straining and swallowing in the observance of Lent here. The opera, and the theatres, have been open; but the ballet has been suppressed. Dancing, it would seem, is more unholy than singing, or gambling ; for, the gaming-hell, under the same roof with the opera, and under the sanction of govern- ment, has been allowed to go on without inter- ruption. " Noctes atque dies patet atvi Janua Ditis." This is a very large establishment ; it holds its daily session in a house in the Corso ; and adjourns in the evening to a splendid suite of rooms in the upper part of the opera house. The Neapolitans are devoted to play, and they pursue it with a fatal energy, that hurries many of them to the last stage of the road to ruin. — The relaxation of morals, as you 208 GAMING TABLE. advance towards the south, is very striking. — I am afraid to believe all that I hear of the licentiousness of Naples ; but I see enough to make me think nothing impossible. The plain-speaking of the Neapolitan Ladies is truly surprising ; — they call every thing by its right name, without any circumlocution ; — and in the re- lation of a story, whatever be the character of the incidents, there is nothing left to be collected by in- ference, but the facts are broadly and plainly told, with the most circumstantial details. March 16th. The gaming table is permitted to go on even during the present week ; and the only restraint imposed upon this den of destruction, is a short inter- dict, from Thursday next to Sunday ; when the doors will be re-opened. Strange infatuation ! that men should thus devotedly pursue a fancied good by means which, — occupying all their time and absorbing all their interest, — must take away the power of pro- fiting by its acquisition ; — et propter nummos, nummorum perdere causas — for, it almost universally happens, that the means at last become the end ; — money being seldom, I believe, the object of any but the selfish calculating gamester. The true children of play, are delighted with the pursuit, and care as little for the object, as the sports- man does for the fox. — They find, in the vicissitudes of play, that strong excitement of the soul, which fur- nishes a constant succession of deep and agitating GAMING TABLE, 209 emotions. There are minds so unhappily constituted, ■ that, to them, the innocent and peaceful pleasures of tranquil security are as insipid and disgusting, as milk and water would be to the lover of brandy. Ennui is too light a term for that heaviness of spirit, and weariness of soul, which find all the uses of the world stale, flat, and unprofitable. The stagnant puddle of existence then must be stirred and freshened, by the torrent, tempest, and whirlwind of the passions ; and this stimulant is sought in the dangers of war, the fever of ambition, or the hopes and fears of love. But love, and war, and ambition, are not within the reach of all ; — while the gaming table is ever at hand. The passion for play is universal, and seems to have its root in the very heart of man ; — no rank, or age, or sex, is exempt from its influence. The silken baron of civilization, and the naked savage of the desert, shew how nearly they are related, in the common eagerness with which they fly to gaming, for relief for the same tcedium vitce, the same oppressive void of occupation, which is of all voids, that which nature, — at least human nature, — abhors the most. I was a witness, this morning, of the effect of the procession of the Host upon these orgies. At the sound of the bell, — the groom-porter suspended the work of dealing ; — and there was a half-solemn, half- sneering pause, till the bell was out of hearing. All England would exclaim against the government that could be accessary to the corruption of the morals of 210 QUAY OF NAPLES. its subjects, by the encouragement of gaming-tables, for the sake of the revenues, derived from such un- hallowed practices ; but there are too many of us, who cannot, because they will not, see, that evils of the same kind, — though it is to be hoped in a less degree, — are produced by our own system of state lotteries. March 17th. At this pious season, the strangest dramatic representations are prepared for the edifica- tion of the people. — There is no disputing about taste ; — if a man, in London, were to get up a puppet show, to represent the ministry, passion, cru- cifixion, and ascension of the Saviour ; he would probably receive an intimation, the next day, from the Attorney General, and have to defend himself against a charge of blasphemy. All this however I saw this morning for three half-pence, very fairly re- presented in a theatre on the quay, by puppets of three feet high, to a crowded and admiring audience. The opposition theatre held out the temptation of a grand spectacle, — representing Lord Exmouth's ex- ploits at Algiers ; but I ought to record, that the sacred piece seemed to be the most attractive. The quay of Naples affords a scene, such as I think can scarcely be equalled in the world. Tom Fool is there in all his glory, — with such a motley train at his heels, and with such a chorus of noise and nonsense, — wit and waggery, — fun and foolery, — all around him ; that, however a man may be dis- BURIAL OP THE DEAD. 211 gusted at first, the effect in the end is like that of Munden's face in a stupid farce, — where that admira- ble actor condescends to buffoonery, to save the author of his piece ; — you are constrained to laugh in spite of yourself. March 18th. Spring has once more returned in good earnest. Visited the Albergo del Poveri ; a sort of Foundling Hospital, and House of Industry. Here we saw 1,500 men and boys ; and about as many women and girls. From whence we drove to the Campo Santo, — the great Golgotha of Naples. It is situated on a rising ground behind the town ; about a mile and a half from the gate. AVithin its walls, are 365 caverns ; one is opened every day for the reception of the dead, the great mass of whom, as soon as the rites of religion have been performed, are brought here for sepulture. There were fifteen cast in, while we were there ; men, women, and children, — without a rag to cover them ; literally fulfilling the words of scripture : — " As he came forth out of his mother's womb, naked shall he return, to go as he came!" I looked down into this frightful charnel-house ; — it was a shocking sight, — a mass of blood and garbage ; — for many of the bodies had been opened at the hospitals. Cock-roaches, and other reptiles, were crawling about in all their glory. " We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat our- selves for maggots : that's the end !" We made' the sexton of this dreary abode, who, P 9 212 BURIAL OF THE DEAD. by the way, had been employed in this daily work for eleven years, open the stone of the next day's grave, which had been sealed up for a year. The flesh was entirely gone ; for, in such a fermenting mass, the work of corruption must go on swimmingly. Quick lime is added to hasten the process, and nothing seemed to remain but a dry heap of bones and skulls. What must be the feelings of those, who can suffer the remains of a Friend, a Sister, a Mother, or a Wife, to be thus disposed of? Indifferent as I feel to the posthumous fate of my own remains, Heaven grant, that I may at least rest and rot alone ; — with- out being mixed up in so horrible a human hash as this! There were some women saying Ave Marias^ within the square, for the departed souls of their friends ; but our arrival took them from this pious work, and set them upon some calculations, — con- nected with us, and our carriage, and the number of it, — to direct them in the selection of lucky numbers in the lottery, upon their return to Naples ! March 19th. The king waited upon a company of beggars at their meal ; and afterwards, washed their feet. This day is observed with the greatest solem- nity. No carriages have been allowed to move about the streets. All the higher classes have put on mourn- "ing, and the soldiers have paraded, with arms reversed, and muffled drums. In the evening, the king, at- tended by his whole court, walked in procession. CATHOLIC CEREMONIALS. 213 bareheaded, through the Toledo ; visiting the churches in his route, and kneeling before the images of the Virgin, who, on this occasion, is dressed in deep mourning. March 20th. Good Friday. — Continuation of the mourning of yesterday. — It must be confessed, that there is much more of religious observance in Catholic, than in Protestant countries. Then comes the ques- tion, to what extent is it wholesome to encourage these outward observances ? If too much importance be given to them, there is danger that religion will stop there, and degenerate into a mere homage of rites and ceremonies, in the place of that homage of our hearts and lives, which the Christian religion requires of us. And this is the objection which we make against the Catholics. Again, if there be no attention paid to forms, there is danger that the sub- stance may be lost sight of: and that a religion with- out any rites, M^ill soon become no religion at all ; and this, I apprehend, is the objection that the Catholics make against the Protestants. Both sides agree, that some ceremonial is necessary, and it is only a ques- tion of degree between them after all. In determin- ing this question of degree, it is not easy to lay down a rule that would be universally applicable, for it must vary with the different characters and habits of different nations ; and perhaps climate would not be without its influence, in regulating the standard of propriety. For example, the natives of the south 214 POUTICI MUSEUM. seem to have an intuitive love of show and spectacle, which forms a strong contrast with the plain and simple habitudes of the northern nations. And this consideration ought perhaps to have made me more to- lerant in my remarks on Catholic ceremonies abroad ; — for I believe that they may be less characteristic of the religion itself, than of the taste of the people. 21st. The Paschal Lamb, which I have observed in many of the houses, as a sort of pet during Lent, appears no more. The knife is at work for to-mor- row's feast. Drove to Portici. — The museum consists princi- pally of specimens of the paintings found at Pompeii. These remains are very interesting, as illustrative of the state of the art amongst the Romans ; but it would be ridiculous to take the paintings on the walls of the houses of a provincial town as the standard of their skill. It is fair to suppose, that the taste of the ancients was as refined and fastidious in painting, as in the sister art of sculpture ; and that the praises which they have lavished upon Zeuxis and Apelles, would have been supported by their works, if these works had come down to us. All tfaces of these great masters are lost ; but, we know some of the most admired pieces of the latter were brought by Augustus to Rome ; and Pliny's descriptions, which do remain, seem to demonstrate that they must have been executed in a much higher I PORTICI MUSEUM. 215 style of finishing, and with a technical knowledge, that will in vain be sought in the painted walls of Herciilaneiim and Pompeii. Many of these, however, are designed with great taste, grace, and feeling ; and, if we suppose that the works of Zeuxis and Apelles were as superior to these, as the Last Judg- ment, and the School of Athens, are to the painted walls of a modern Italian room, we shall probably not form too high an estimate of the excellence of the great masters of ancient art. One of the most elegant figures in this museum, is the picture of a female, with a pencil and tablets in her hand, which they call Sappho. The story of the picture is often plain, as in that of Orestes, Pylades, and Iphigenia, in the temple of Diana. — In another, there is an old woman selling Cupids to a young female, behind whom stands a sort of Duenna, in the attitude of advice and caution. The old retailer of loves holds a fluttering Cupid by the wings, and has another in her cage. We have also a specimen of their taste in carica- ture. A little delicate chariot, that might have been made by the fairies' coachmaker, is drawn by a parrot, and driven by a grasshopper. This is said to be a satirical representation of Nero's absurd pretensions as a Singer and a Driver ; for, Suetonius tells us he made his debut on the Neapolitan theatre : — " Et prodiit Neapoli primum : ibidem swpius et per com- plures cantavit dies." 216 PORTICI MUSEUM. Here is a curious picture of a school-master's room, with an unhappy culprit horsed on the back of one of his fellows ; precisely as the same discipline is admi- nistered in many parts of England at present. Many articles, even of food, are to be seen pre- served in a charcoal state. There is a loaf of bread on which the baker's name is still visible. It is easy to recognise the different fruits and ve- getables, corn, rice, figs, almonds, walnuts, beans, lentils, S^'c. They shew you also the remains of a woman, found among the ashes, the skull of which is still perfect ; with the necklace and bracelets of gold, which she must have had on. Time has hardened the liquid shower which overwhelmed her, recording that she perished in the prime of youth, by the im- pression that remains of her beautiful bosom. The only relic of the Temple of Isis, is a priapic goblet ; from the spout of which it is plain that the votaries must have quaffed the wine. We adjourned afterwards to the royal palace, which was fitted up by Murat. Every thing re- mains in the state he left it, except that the family pictures of himself, and his wife, and her two brothers. Napoleon, and Joseph, have been taken down from their high places, and thrust into a garret, " amongst the common lumber." He is represented in a fancy dress, which is almost ridiculously fantastic, with ear- rings in his ears, but, though a fine handsome man, I doubt whether he has not a little the air of Tom MURAT. 217 Errand, in Beau Clincher's clothes. Madame Murat's room and adjoining bath are strikingly elegant and luxurious. In her dressing-room is a small library ; in which I observed that the majority of the books, were translations of English authors ; — Gibbon, Fielding, Hume, Thomson, Coxe's House of Austria, Mrs. RadclifFe, and a long train of novels. In Joachim's room, almost every article of furniture is ornamented with the head of his favourite Henry IV., — the royal model which he is said to have proposed to himself, — but he was not fortunate enough to meet with a Sully for his minister ; and, he lived to learn, that the " divinity which used to hedge a King," was to be no protection to him, though he had won a crown by his valour, and worn it with the consent and acknowledgment of all Europe. That man must have the feelings of humanity strangely perverted by political enmities, who can read the story of his igno- minious death without pity. The leading feature in his character seems to have been, that gallant generous bravery so becoming a soldier, which he displayed on all occasions. In his very last retreat, he is said to have risked his life, to save the son of one of his nobility, who wanted the courage to do it himself. They were crossing the river, under the fire of the Austrians ; the horse of the young man was wounded, and his situation appeared hopeless. Joachim, moved by the distress of the father, plunged into the stream, and brought the son 218 MURAT. in safety to the bank, where the father had remained a helpless spectator of the whole transaction. But peace be to his ashes. — I am no advocate for the scum, to which the fermentation of the French Revo- lution has given such undue elevation ; but there are always exceptions ; — and Joachim, however he might be tainted with the original sin of the school in which he was bred, had deserved too well of mankind, by his own conduct in power, not to merit more compas- sion than he found, in the hour of his adversity. In the gardens of Portici is a Fort, built to teach the present King the art of fortification, during his childhood ; and in the upper apartment is a curious mechanical table, which is made to furnish a dinner, without the attendance of domestics. In the centre of the table is a trap-door. The din- ner is sent up by pulleys from the kitchen below. Each person has six bell-handles attached to his place, which ring in the kitchen, inscribed with the articles most in request at dinner. These are hoisted up by invisible agents, something after the fashion of the en- tertainment, in Beauty and the Beast ; — or to compare it with something less romantic, and nearer home, Mr. O.'s establishment at Lanark, where dinner is served up by steam ! A double chain, arranged like the ropes of a draw-well, sends up the dinner on one side, and carries down the dirty plates, ^c, on the other. March 22nd. Easter Sunday. — Grand holiday. — VESUVIUS. 219 A feast at Portici, which reminded me of Greenwich fair. — The dress of the peasantry gaudy and glitter- ing ; — Crimson satin gowns, covered with tinsel. Excursion to Vesuvius. — My surgeon warned me against this ascent, but I was resolved to go. To leave Naples, without seeing Vesuvius, would be worse, than to die at Naples, after seeing Vesuvius. The ascent was laborious enough, but no part of the labour fell upon my shoulders. When we arrived at the foot of the perpendicular steep, where it was ne- cessary to leave our mules ; while my companions toiled up on foot, I got into an easy arm-chair, and was carried on the shoulders of eight stout fellows, to my own great astonishment, and to the greater amuse- ment of my friends, who expected every moment to see us all roll over together. I certainly should not have thought the thing practicable, if T had not tried it ; for the ascent is as steep, as it is well possible to be ; the surface however is rugged ; and this enabled the men to keep their footing. It was not the plea- santest ride in the world ; for, without pretending to any extraordinary sensibility, there is something dis- agreeable in overcoming difficulties by the sweat of other men's brows, even if they are well paid for it. The men however seemed to enjoy it vastly. When you arrive at the top, it is an awful sight, more like the infernal regions, than any thing that human imagination could suggest. As you approach the great crater, the crust upon which you tread be- 220 VESUVIUS — HERCULANEUM. comes so hot, that you cannot stand long on the same place ; — your progress is literally "per ignes siippositos cineri doloso ;" — if you push your stick an inch below the surface, it takes fire, and you may light paper by thrusting it into any of the cracks of the crust. The craters of the late eruption were still vomiting forth flames and smoke, and when we threw down large stones into these fiery mouths, one might have thought they were replying to Lear's imprecation-- " Rumble thy belli/ full! — Spit fire!'' — Altogether, it was a most sublime and impressive scene, and may be classed amongst the very few things in the world that do not disappoint expectation. The look down, into the great crater at the summit, is frightfully grand ; and when you turn away from the contemplation of this fearful abyss, you are pre- sented with the most forcible contrast, in the rich and luxuriant prospect of Naples, and the surrounding- country ; where all is soft and smiling as far as the eye can see. In our way home, we explored Herculaneum ; which scarcely repays the labour. This town is filled up with lava, and with a cement caused by the large mix- ture of water, with the shower of earth and ashes that destroyed it; and it is choked up, as completely as if molten lead had been poured into it. Here there- fore the work of excavation was so laborious, that all which could he done, has been to cut a few passages. Besides, it is forty feet below the surface, and another \ LAZZARONI. ^21 town is now built over it ; so that you grope about under ground by torch-light, and see nothing. Pompeii, on the contrary, was destroyed by a shower of cinders, in which there was a much less quantity of water. It lay, for centuries, only twelve feet below the surface ; and, these cinders being easily removed, the town has been again restored to the light of day. In the evening the Theatre of S, Carlo re-opened with a new opera, and a splendid ballet. March 23d. The finest-looking men in Naples are the Lazzarojii ; the lowest class in the order of so- ciety ; answering to the Lazzi in the old Saxon divi- sion of classes in our own island: " Dividebantur an- tiqui Saxones in tres ordhies ; Edilingos, Filingos, et Lazzos ; hoc est, nobiles, iJigeiiuos, serviles. Restat antiquce appellationis commemoratio. Ignavos enhn lazie hodie dicimus.'' — (Spelman). But, if Lazzaroni be at all connected with laziness, the term has little application to the bearers of burdens in Naples ; unless it be explained in the same manner as lucus a non lucendo. If they are fond of sprawling in the sun, they are enjoying the holiday of repose, which they have earned by their own industry ; and which they have a right to dispose of according to their own taste. There is an amphibious class of these fellows, who seem to live in the water. I have stood watching a boat for hours, which I had at first ima- gined was a-drift, without an owner ; to which one of 222 TEATRO NUOVO. these fishermen would occasionally mount out of the water with an oyster, and then, down he went again, in search of another. They appear to be a merry joyous race, with a keen relish for drollery, and endued with a power of feature, that is shewn in the richest exhibitions of comic grimace. Swinburne says well, that Hogarth ought to have visited Naples, to have beheld the '^sublime of caricature." I know few sights more ludicrous, than that which may be enjoyed by treating a Lazzarone to as many yards of macaroni as he can contrive to slide down his throat, without breaking its continuity. Their dexterity is almost equal to that of the Indian Jugglers, and much more entertaining. March 24th. In ascending the scale of society, we do not find progressive improvement in informa- tion, as we mount to the top. The ignorance of the higher classes has long been proverbial. Murat had instituted a female school of education, on a large scale, which was well attended by the principal families in Naples ; and a taste for knowledge was beginning to spread very rapidly ; — but Murat is dead, and this institution has fallen with its founder. The most thriving profession is the law ; — and almost every tenth man is a lawyer. March 25th. Went in the evening to the Teatro Nuovo, where Italian tragedies and comedies are performed ; and which is attended, particularly by the WHY RUINS ARE INTERESTING. 223 younger classes of the Neapolitans, as a school of pronunciation, and a lesson in language. Nothing can be more barbarous, than the Neapolitan dialect. There was but little vis comica in the performance; and indeed the piece was a suspirious, lacrymose, white- handkerchief business, translated from a sentimental German comedy. The rustic, who seems to be the same — at least in the stage representation of the character — all the world over, was well done, and reminded me of Emery. March 26th. Intended excursion to Paestum. Pre- vented by a fresh attack of pleurisy. — Perhaps there is no great cause for regret, for, however fine the ruins may be, there is no story of the olden time to make them particularly interesting. If ruins are sought out as mere objects to please the eye, I doubt if there be any thing in Italy that could be put in comparison with Tintern Abbey. But, it is the deeds that have been done, and the men that did them, — the Scipios, and the Catos, and the Brutuses, — that invest the ruins of Rome with their great charm and interest. Independently of these recollections, there is perhaps nothing to be seen in Italy, so beautiful, as the light, elegant and graceful ruins of a Gothic Abbey. This associating principle seems to operate, and give an interest, even to places, where the adventures which make them memorable, are notoriously ficti- tious ; for, to no other cause can I attribute the pains I have taken to identify the scenery of the Italian ; and 224 OPERA. I experienced serious disappointment, at being unable to find the ruined archway, in which Vivaldi was intercepted by the mysterious monk, in his visits to the villa of Signora Bianca ; — which had probably never any existence, except in the imagination of Mrs. RadclifFe. . The vicissitudes of the weather here are beyond every thing I have ever felt. During Easter week, it was intensely hot. On the 28th of March, Vesu- vius was covered with snow, and the four succeeding days have been as cold and comfortless as wind, sleet, and hail, could make them. April 2d. Convalescence. — Visited the opera for the first time. Of all the stupid things in the world, a serious opera is perhaps the most stupid, and tlie opera of to-night formed no exception to this observa- tion. The theatre is, I believe, the largest in Europe, and it is certainly too large for the singers, whose voices sound like penny trumpets on Salisbury Plain*. * It ought to excite little wonder, that there are so few good singers in Italy, for she is unable, from her poverty, to retain those whom she has herself formed. As soon as they become eminent, they are enticed away to foreign countries, and often return to Italy, after years of absence, enriched with the spoils of half the provinces of Europe. Besides, the Italians of the present day have no taste for the higher kinds of music, — for full and grand harmonies, — or for instrumental music in general. If you talk to them of Haydn, Mozart, or Beethoven, they shrug up their shoulders, and tell you — " E Musica Tedesca, — non ci ahhiamo gusto." Cherubini, their only really great composer, OPERA. 295 The pit contained 674 elbowed seats, in 19 rows ; and there is standing room for at least 150 persons. might perhaps be cited as an exception, — ^but he is in fact a most striking confirmation of their want of taste ; — for his works are almost unknown, and he seems to be himself aware of the in- ability of his countrymen to appreciate his merits, by residing at a distance, and composing for foreign theatres. What the Ita- lians like, is an easy flowing melody, unincumbered, as they would call it, with too much harmony. Whatever Corinne may say to the contrary, they seem to have little or no relish for im- passioned music. Take an example of the taste of the times from the Opera of to-night — Armida — the composition of their favourite Rossini. His operas are always easy and flowing ; — abounding in prettinesses and melting cadenzas, but he never reaches, nor, apparently, does he attempt to reach, the sustained and elevated character which distinguishes the music of Mozart. But Rossini's works ought not to be too severely criticised ; for the continual demand for new music is greater than any fertility of head could supply. The Italians never like to go back ; — with- out referring so far as their own great Corelli, — Cimarosa, Pai- siello, and others of equally recent date, are already become an- tiquated ; and as Rossini is almost their only composer, he is obliged to write an opera in the interval of a few weeks, between the bringing out of the last, and its being laid on the shelf. It is a sad tantalizing thing to hear music in Italy which you may wish to carry away with you ; for they have no printed music ! — ^This alone is sufficient to indicate the low state of the art. From Naples to Milan, I believe, there is no such artist as an Engraver of Music, and you never see a Music shop. You must therefore go without it, or employ a Copier, whose trade is regulated by the most approved cheating rules. He charges you according to the quantity of paper written on, and therefore takes care not to write too closely. Q 226 OPERA. The ballet of Gengis Khan was splendidly got up. The dancing was admirable, for though excellence must necessarily be confined to a few, all were good. These spectacles are better managed here than in England. I am afraid there is always something lumpish and awkward in the general effect of our corps de ballet ; but here the groups are so picturesque, their motions so graceful, there is such a general expertness in the most complicated movements of the dance, and such a lightness and perpetual motion in all the figures, that the whole spectacle has the effect of phantasma- goria. 3d. The ex-king of Spain arrived, accompanied by his brother the present king of Naples, who had gone to Mola di Gaeta, to meet him. It is said that they now met for the first time after a separation of sixty years. '227 CHAPTER VIII. Returned to Rome — Criminal guillotined — Tivoli — Claude Lorraine — Roman Politics — Computation of Time — Preachers — Music — Paganini — Depar- ture from Rome — Falls of Terni — Return to Florence. April 5th. JLEFT Naples, in a fit of spleen and disgust at the continued inclemency of the weather, and slept at Capua ; where we found none of those seducing luxuries, which enervated the soldiers of Hannibal. 6th. This day's journey brought us to Velletri. It was nearly dark when we left Terracina to pass over the Pontine Marshes. During the last stage, our postilion was constantly stopping, upon some pretence of the harness wanting repair; at other times he pleaded that his horses were knocked up, and could not go beyond a foot's pace, on which occasion he would set up a loud song. All this was so like the common prologue to a robbery scene in romance, that we suspected the fellow must be a confederate with the banditti. At last we lost all patience, — my companion produced his pistols, and swore that the next time he relaxed from a trot, he Q 2 228 ROMF.. would blow out his brains. This seemed to have its effect, and we rattled on to Velletri, without clearing up the mystery. 7th. Reached Rome to breakfast. — Went to bed in a high fever. — Summoned a Roman surgeon to open a vein, which he did very tolerably ; but their practice is much more timid than our own, for as soon as he had taken a large thimble full of blood, he was for binding up the arm again, and protested, in the most urgent manner, against the madness of my proceeding when he saw me determined to lose ten ounces. 11th. Emerged from the confinement of a sick room, to enjoy again the genial air of Rome. How delightful is the calm tranquillity of this fallen capital, after the din and clatter of Naples ! There is some- thing so soft and balmy in the air, that I feel every mouthful revive and invigorate me ; — and it is now as warm as midsummer in England. Went to the church of S. Maria del Popolo, where there is a great curiosity in sculpture ; — a statue by Raphael. It is Jonas, in the moment of his deliver- ance from the jaws of the great Leviathan of the Deep. The figure is beautifully elegant, and displays the same delicate skill in outline, for which Raphael is so distinguished in his pictures. It is doubted whether Lorenzetto executed this statue from Ra- phael's design, or whether it received the finishing strokes from Raphael himself As no other works of CANOVA AND THORWALnsON. siSO Loreiizetto display the same powers, it is fair to suppose the latter ; and indeed there is a masterly touch in the expression, that seems in itself sufficient to decide the question. 12th. Lounged through the Studii of Canova and Thorwaldson. — Confirmed in my former opinions of their respective merits. — A statue of Washmgton^ for the United States, just moulded by Canova ; — in which there is the same want of repose and simplicity, that is so often observable in his works. Thorwald- son had just finished the model of a Mercury, putting Argus to sleep with his pipe ; a figure of exquisite grace, archness, and spirit, — the veritable son of Maia. Some traces of antiquity are continually meeting you in your walks through Rome ; for instance, the white robes of the modern Italian Butchers, which are strikingly neat and cleanly, seem to be the cast- off dresses of the priests, who performed the act of sacrifice. April 13th. An execution in the Piazza del Po- polo. The culprit was a " Fellow with a horrid face," who had murdered his father. The murder was detected in a singular manner, affording an ex- traordinary instance of the sagacity and faithful attachment of the dog to its master. The disappear- ance of the deceased had given rise to inquiry, and the officers of police went to his cottage, where, on examining his son, they learned that his father had 230 PUBLIC EXECUTION. gone out to work as usual, a few days before, and had not been seen since. As the officers were con- tinuing their search in the neighbourhood, their at- tention was excited by observing a dog lying in a lone place ; who seemed to endeavour to attract their notice, by scratching on some newly-turned earth. Their curiosity was excited, by something peculiar in his action and manner, to examine the spot ; — where they found the body. It would seem that the dog must have been an unobserved witness of his master's murder, and had not forsaken his grave. On re- turning to the cottage with the body, the son was so struck with the discovery made by the officers by means which he could not divine, that, concluding it must have been by supernatural intimation, he made a full confession of his guilt ; — that he had beaten out his father's brains with a mallet, at the instigation of his mother, that he had dragged him to this bye-place, and there buried him. The mother was condemned to imprisonment for life ; — the son to the guillotine. He kept us waiting from ten o'clock till almost three ; for the execution is delayed till the culprit is brought to a due state of penitence. At last the bell rang, the Host was brought from a neighbouring church, that he might receive the last sacrament ; and soon afterwards the criminal was led out. Inglese was a passport on this as on other occasions. The guards that formed in a square round the guillotine, made way for me to pass ; and I was PUBLIC EXECUTION. 231 introduced, almost against my will, close to the scaffold. A crucifix, and a black banner, with death's heads upon it, were borne before the culprit, who advanced between two priests. He mounted the scaffold with a firm step, and did not once flinch till he stooped to put his head into the groove prepared to receive it. This is the trying minute ; the rest is the affair of less than a moment. It appears to be the best of all modes of inflicting the punishment of death ; com- bining the greatest impression on the spectator, with the least possible suffering to the victim. It is so rapid, that I should doubt whether there were any suffering; but from the expression of the countenance when the executioner held up the head, I am inclined to believe that sense and consciousness may remain for a few seconds after the head is off. The eyes seemed to retain speculation for a moment or two, and there was a look in the ghastly stare with which they glared upon the crowd, which implied that the head was aware of its ignominious situation. And indeed there is nothing improbable in this supposition ; for in all injuries of the spine whereby a communi- cation with the sensorium is cut off, it is the parts below the injury which are deprived of sensation, while those above retain their sensibihty. And so, in the case of decapitation, the nerves of the face and eyes, may for a short time continue to convey im- pressions to the brain, in spite of the separation from the trunk. 232 GAME OF MORUA, Apjil 14fA. JEgina Marbles ; — these belong to an earlier age of sculpture than that of Phidias, and are curious specimens of the infancy of the art amongst the Greeks. The symmetry is very defective ; and there is a sort of sardonic smile in the expression of all the faces that is unintelligible, without knowing the his- tory of the group. Amongst the amusements of the people, there is nothing more striking than the energy and interest which they exhibit in the common game of Morra. This game is played by two persons ; they both hold out their right hands, with the fingers extended ; then, each contracts or shuts one, or as many of his fingers as he pleases ; calling out at the same time the number which he guesses will be the whole amount of his own and his adversary's contracted fingers ; this they both do, at the same moment, and very rapidly. Wliichever guesses rightly, scores one, which is done by holding out one finger of the left hand ; — the game may be five or ten, or more, at pleasure. The vivacity with which they pursue this game is extraordinary. As may be supposed, from the nature of the game, it often creates disputes and quarrels, and in the days when every man carried his stiletto, these quarrels but too often ended in blood. 15th to 20th. There is now scarcely a stranger in Rome. The ceremonies of Easter being over, all the world is gone to Naples ; and the best lodgings TivoLi. 233 arc now to be had for half the price that would have been asked two months ago. Accidentally encountered some old friends and school-fellows. What a delightful thing it is to laugh and talk over the almost forgotten days of boyhood; when all was fun and frolic. For a moment one escapes from the present to the past, and becomes a boy over again. 22nd. Excursion to Tivoli. — We rose before the sun, and reached Tivoli to breakfast. — The morning- was beautiful, and the morning is the spring of the day, when all nature is fresh and joyous, and man is fresh to enjoy it. It is the custom of the Cicerone to lead you a long round of some miles, to see the cascatelle, and other things which are not worth seeing ; and I regretted that I had not rather re- mained the whole morning, in the charming environs of the temple of Vesta. The great cascade is artificial, — the work of Ber- nini ; but I prefer much the natural fall which the waters have worked for themselves through the fissures of the rock; which is seen with such ad- mirable effect, from the hollow cavern called Grotto of Neptune. A pretty and intricate shrubbery covers the precipice, through which a path has been cut to enable you to descend to this spot; and I have seldom looked upon a scene, which unites at once so much of the sublime and the beautiful ; — but I will not attempt to describe it. A cascade is one of 234- CLAUDE LORRAINE. those things that bids defiance to the pen or the pencil ; for the noise and the motion, which constitute, in fact, ahiiost all that is grand and graceful in a real waterfall, are lost in a picture ; and when these are taken away, what remains, — hut an unseemly patch of white paint? If the imagination is to supply the loss, it might as well represent the whole scene. Horace may well be justified for his partiality to the prceceps Anio et Tiburni lucus. It is an exquisite spot ; and well calculated to suggest the idea of a retreat from the world, with the calm pleasures of a life of rural retirement : Tibur Argeo positum colono Sit meae sedes utinam senectae ! Sit modus lasso maris, et viarum Militiseque ! It was in the scenery of Tivoli that Claude de- lighted to study nature, and in most of his landscapes there may be traced some features of the soft and beautiful combinations of the elements of landscape, which the scenery of Tivoli affords in such abund- ance. But the pictures of Claude represent nature rather as she might be, than as she is. His pictures are poetic nature; nature abstracted from all local defects ; — by which I mean, that though all the se- parate features of his pictures are true to nature, yet, that he has compounded them in a manner, to form a general whole, such as will never be found existing together in a real landscape. Thus he has LUNATIC ASYLUM. 235 done in landscape, what the Greek artists have done in sculpture, who, from the separate excellencies of different individuals, have combined perfect figures, far superior in grace and beauty to any single living model. April 23d. Visited the lunatic asylum. — I should have been inclined to suppose, in a country where the natives display so much vivacity and energy in the ordinary and healthy state of their minds, that their mad-houses would have exhibited a strange scene of violent excitement. But I was surprised to find every thing calm and tranquil. There were no raving patients ; and only two whom it was ne- cessary to confine, by a slight chain, to the wall of their apartment. I was much struck by the appear- ance and expression of two unfortunates labouring under the most opposite symptoms. — The one was a captain in the army, who had been driven mad by jealousy. — He was walking up and down a long room, with a quick and agitated step, and, I was told, he had been occupied in the same way for ten years ; except during the few hours of sleep. He seemed to be suffering the pains of the damned, as they have been described to proceed from the worm that never dieth. The other was a melancholy ma- niac, lying in the sun; so utterly lost in vacancy, that I endeavoured in vain to rouse him from his revery. He had a cast of countenance so cynic, that he might have furnished a painter with an ad- mirable study for a Diogenes. 236 ROMAN POLITICS. April 24rtli. The politicians of Rome look to the future with gloomy apprehension. The general opi- nion seems to be, that the temporal power of the Pope will end with Pius VII. ; and that Austria will lay her paw upon the ecclesiastical dominions. Connected as the House of Austria is with the reigning families of Tuscany, and Naples, such an attempt might have little opposition to fear in the rest of Italy ; and indeed as to the Papal States, even if there were any national feding to keep them together, which I believe there is not, the people seem too much disposed to rely upon the interposition of miraculous assistance from above, to do any thing for themselves. When the French were advancing in 1798 — how was it that the Papal Government prepared to resist them? By a levy en masse? No — but by a pro- cession of three of the most sacred relics in the possession of the church. — These relics were — II santo Volto, a miraculous portrait of the Saviour ; — and a Santa Maria, a portrait of the Virgin, sup- posed also to be painted by supernatural agency ; — and the chains which St. Peter wore in prison, from which the angel liberated him. This procession was attended by nearly the whole population of Rome, comprehending all ranks and ages and sexes, the greater part of them bare-footed. — Satisfied with this, they remained in a state of inactivity, in the hope that Heaven would interpose ITALIAN COMEDY. 237 / in their favour, by some miraculous manifestation of its power. Such is ever the effect of superstition, which substitutes rites for duties, and teaches men to build their hopes of divine favour upon any other rather than the only true and rational foundation of such hopes, — the faithful and exemplary discharge of their own duties. The Italians now make a triumphant appeal to the late restoration of the Pope, as a visible inter- ference of Providence, which ought to convince a heretic that it is decreed by the counsels of Heaven, that the Pope shall endure for ever ; and they hail ' this return as an omen and security for the same mi- raculous assistance in the time to come, forgetting the admirable doctrine of the Trojan patriot, In the evening went to the theatre. — An Italian comedy, or rather a German play, translated into Italian. — German sentiment seems to please all the world, in spite of its stupidity ; else, why do we all pilfer from Kotzebue ? Vestris, the great comic actor of Italy, played the part of a valet, with consider- able archness and humour ; but he is a " tun of man ;" and a fat man is fit to act nothing but a fat man ; — for perhaps there is no character but Falstaff, of which fat is an essential attribute. But, when I speak shghtingly of Vestris, I forget his Tale-bearer in the Bottega di Cafe, and his Biirbero benefico, — both admirable pieces of acting. 2-38 GAME OF PALLONE. April 25th. I looked on this morning at a game at Pallone. This is a great improvement upon our jives. It is played by parties of a certain number on each side, generally six against six. The pallone is a ball filled with air, about as big as a foot- ball. The players wear a sort of wooden guard, called Bracciale, into which the right hand is intro- duced ; this instrument, which is in shape not unlike a muff, reaches half way up to the elbow, and is studded with short wooden points. The player, grasping firmly a bar fixed in the inside of the Brac- ciale, to keep it steady, takes the ball before the bound, and vollies it, according to the tennis term, with amazing force. The object of the players is to prevent the ball falling within their lines. The weight of the Bracciale, placed as it is at the extremity of the arm, must require great muscular strength to support it, during a long game. It is a truly athletic exercise, and though it is said to be the oncient follis of the Romans, it must have undergone some alteration ; — for the line, " Folle decet pueros ludere, folle senes" has no application to the modern game of the Pallone. Joined Lucien Buonaparte's domestic circle in the evening. April 26th. Nothing is more perplexing in Italy, than the computation of time. It is pity that the Italians will not reckon their hours in the same manner with their neighbours. The ancient Romans divided COMPUTATION OF TIME. 239 the day into twenty-four hours. Twelve of these, from the rising to the setting of the sun, composed their day, and the other twelve, from sun-set till sun-rise, made up the night. Hence, as the seasons changed, there must have been a proportionate variation in the length of their hours. They had however two fixed points ; mid-day and mid-night, which they called the sixth hour. • The modern division of the Italians differs from this ; they divide the day and night into twenty-four hours, which are all of an equal' length, in every season of the year. Perhaps it may be more simple to reckon twenty- four hours in one series, than by our double series of twelve and twelve. But the perplexity arises from their not beginning to reckon from some fixed point, that shall not vary ; as, for instance, from twelve o'clock at noon, — when the sun crosses the meridian every day in the year. The Italians call half an hour after sun-set the twenty- fourth hour ; and an hour and a half after sun-set, the first hour, or one o'clock. Hence the nominal hour of mid-day constantly changes with the season ; in June it is sixteen, and in December nineteen o'clock. April 27th. I ought to say something of the pulpit eloquence of Italy, of which I have heard many specimens both here and at Naples. Lent is the great season of preaching. — There is scarcely a day, during that period, when you will not find some 240 ITALIAN PREACHING. listening congregation, and on Wednesdays and Fri- days, all the principal churches are crowded. At the Church of the Capuchins near the Piazza Barberini, there is a preacher who delivers his discourses with the most graceful action — not theatrical but appro- priate — studied no doubt, but so studied as to remove all appearance of constraint; — no abruptness — no distortion — but every motion elegant and flowing, like the language it accompanied. At the church of the Jesuits also, there is an excellent preacher for the middle and lower classes, — plain, earnest, and affec- tionate, — ^just what we should desire in a parish priest in England. His sermons are practical, and his favourite topic repentance, which he enforces in the most powerful manner, though he is too fond of illustrating by examples taken from the Madonna and the Apocryphal Saints. But let me attempt a sketch of the great Preacher of all — the Frate Pacijico — a Franciscan. Pacijico is a ruddy, robust, portly man, with a physiognomy, denoting good sense and strength of intellect ; and a voice, sonorous, flexible, and commanding. His manner is earnest, even to vehemence, but wanting in that tenderness of appeal, which is the most winning talent of a Preacher. He is most successful in the use of indignation, or irony, of which latter weapon perhaps he is too fond ; — dramatising the sinner's part, with a humour peculiar to himself. He carries tliis often to the verge, and sometimes beyond the I ITALIAN PREACHING. 241 verge, of the ridiculous ; — but then, recovering him- self in a moment with admirable address, he will fulminate in a dignified and terrific strain, that strikes conviction to the hearts of his hearers. Like most other extempore preachers however, he does not know when to have done, and seldom concludes till he has exhausted himself, as well as his subject. AVhat this exhaustion must be, cannot be estimated without remembering that Pacifico preaches in the cli- mate of Rome, dressed in the coarse Franciscan habit, — which does not comprehend the luxury of a shirt. I was astonished at the fearless freedom with which he treated his audience, careless whom he might offend, in a late sermon ; the leading drift of which was, the utter worthlessness of mere ceremonies, and the hypocrisy and folly of placing our reliance, or endeavouring to make others place reliance, on a scrupulous, Pharisaical, observance of outward de- votional acts ; — and all this in the presence of sundry Cardinals ! There is no one to whom I could compare him, amongst our own preachers, — except perhaps Dr. Chalmers, — of whom he reminds me by his devoted earnestness, his entire absorption in his subject, and the fertility of his invention ; — but he has not Chalmers's splendour of language or variety of illustration, — his learning being apparently confined to his own pro- fession. But then, his voice, with its deep rich double-bass, makes up for these deficiencies. R 249 ITALIAN PREACHING. In a country where there is so much preaching, and where ahnost all preaching is extempore, or at least memoriter, there must necessarily be many bad preachers, — but there are scarcely any Brawlers ; there is nonsense enough, but not that lifeless dull monotony of topic, style, and voice, which so often sets our own congregations to sleep. Some of them, particularly at Naples, are very ridiculous, from the vehemence of their gesticulations ; and there is always a crucifix in the pulpit, which often leads to the introduction of a dramatic style. There is a practice too, common to all, which, at first, is apt to excite a smile. The Preacher pronounces the sacred name without any particular observance, but as often as he has occasion to mention la santissima Madonna, he whips off his little scull-cap, with an air, that has as much the appearance of 'politeness, as of reverence. But lest my preaching article should grow into a Ser- mon, I conclude it abruptly — as most of the Italian Preachers do their sermons — who hurry down the stairs of the pulpit, without doxology, prayer, or blessing. April 28. Visited again and again the relics * * It is a remarkable circumstance that the whole Palatine Hill is now, with the exception of one small portion, in the pos- session of the English, — of that people whom the Romans used contemptuously to designate as " penitus toto divisos orbe Bri- tannos." Sir W. G. has purchased the Villa Spada, with a large tract of garden and vineyard, and almost all the remainder is the property of the English College. TREATMENT OF ROBBERS. 24-3 of *• Almighty Rome." At this delightful season you are tempted to pass the whole night in wandering among the ruins, which make a more solemn im- pression, than when hghted up by the " garish eye" of day. I have never encountered any obstruction in these midnight rambles, nor seen any robbers, except the other evening, in the castle of St. Angelo. I had ascended to the roof to enjoy the view, when I observed a party drinking wine on the leads, who very courteously invited me to partake of their good cheer. I found that these fellows were the leaders of a gang of robbers, for whose apprehension a large reward had been offered. As the robbing trade was becoming slack, they hit upon the ingenious expedient of surrendering themselves, in order to obtain it ; and it is not a little extraordinary that the Government should have consented to these terms, so that these fellows will, after a confinement of a year in the castle of St. Angelo, be let loose again upon society. In the mean time, they seem to live pleasantly enough ; the English go and talk to them about the particulars of their robberies, and I am told that one of our countrywomen has made them a handsome present. This is a strange mode of putting down robbers, but, if it were not to see strange things, who would be at the pains of travelling — for, after all, I believe Madame de Stael is right, when she calls it a " triste plaisir.'' April 29. Amongst the charms of an Italian R2 244 SERF.NADING. evening, I ougM to mention the street-singing and serenading. Tliat has happened to music in Italy, which happens to language and style, to poetry and painting, and indeed to every thing else in this world. When a certain point of perfection has been attained, the progress afterwards is in a contrary direction ; and a corruption of taste is introduced by the very attempt to pursue improvement beyond that line, which limits all human exertion by the irreversible fiat ; — " thus far shalt thou go, and no farther." But though music must be considered as on the decline in Italy, there is, notwithstanding, a general diffusion of musical taste and musical talent, extending to the lowest ranks. I have often set my window open at night to listen to the " dying falls" of a favourite air, distributed into parts, and sung by a party of me- chanics returning home from their work, with a degree of skill and science that would not have dis- graced professional performers. The serenade is a compliment of gallantry, by no means confined to the rich. It is customary for a lover, even of the lowest class, to haunt the dwelling of his mistress chanting a rondo, or roundelay, during the period of his court- ship. One of these swains infested our neighbourhood, and my Italian master * caught the words, which were * I am sure every stranger going to Rome will thank me for pointing out to his notice Signor Armellini ; — a man, whose mind is richly stored with the treasures of ancient and modern PAGANINI. 245 pretty enough ; — though, as he says is generally the case, they are not reducible to the rules of Syntax: — " Fiori d' argento Che per amare a voi Ci ho pianto tanto Poveri pianti miei Gettati al vento." In saying "that the Italians have no taste for in- strumental music in general," I do not mean to assert that they have not individual performers of consum- mate talent, among whom it would be injustice not to mention the celebrated Paganini*. He is a man of eccentric character, and irregular habits. Though generally resident at Turin, he has no fixed engage- literature, and of such pleasing manners, and such variety of in- formation, that the study of a grammar, which is usually an irksome task, becomes, in his hands, an agreeable recreation. * I subjoin the spirited description of a friend, whose musical science and acknowledged taste enable him to speak with much more authority than myself. " Paganini's performance bears the stamp of the eccentricity of his character. As to mechanism, it is quite perfect; his tune and the thrilling intonation of his double stops are electric ; his bow moves as if it were part of himself, and endued with life and feeling ; his staccato is more strongly marked than I ever knew, and, in the smoother pas- sages, there is a glassiness, if one may so say, which gives you the notion of the perfection of finish, and the highest refinement of practice. Though, in general, there is an ambition to display his own talents, by an excess of ornament, yet he can, if he will, play with simplicity and pathos, and then his power over the passions is equal to that of any orator or actor." 240 pope's blessing. ment ; biit, as occasion may require, makes a trading voyage through the principal cities of Italy, and can always procure a theatre, upon the condition of equal participation in the receipts. Many stories are told of the means by which he has acquired his astonishing style ; — such as his having been imprisoned ten years with no other resource, — and the like. But, however this may be, his powers over the violin are most ex- traordinary. April 30. A grand ceremony at the church of St. John Lateran ; at the conclusion of which the Pope, from the balcony, gave his blessing to the people, who were assembled in thousands in the large square below. As soon as the Pope appeared, there was a dis- charge of artillery ; the bands of military music struck up ; and the people sunk on their knees, un- covered. A solemn silence ensued, and the blessing- was conferred. All seemed to receive this with reverential awe, and it was impossible not to imbibe a portion of the general feeling. In my way home I encountered his Holiness's equipage, and had an opportunity of observing the Roman mode of testifying respect to the Sovereign. All ranks take off their hats and fall on their knees, till the carriage has passed. But, this is in harmony with the titles which are conferred upon the Pope * • Let me here record the compliment with which the Pope lately received a. party of English, upon their presentation to LEAVE ROME FOR FLORENCE. ^17 at his coronation ; when the Senior Cardinal puts the tiara on his head, and addresses him in these words : Accipe Tiaram, tribus coronis omatam, et scias Patrem te esse, Principum et Regum, Redorem orbis, in terra Vicarium Sahatoris nostri Jesu Christi. May 4th. Left Rome at sun-rise. — My carriage is a sort of buggy on fom' wheels, drawn by a single horse. — My bargain with my voiturier is, to be taken to Florence in six days, and to be fed and lodged on the road ; for which I am to give him twenty dollars The pace is tiresome enough at first ; for the horse seldom quits his walk, even for an equivocal amble ; but if you have no particular object in getting on, you soon become reconciled to this. Besides, it af- fords ample leisure for surveying the country, and gratifying your curiosity at any particular point, where you wish to deviate from the road ; for you may easily overtake your carriage. We halted for the night at Civita Castellana, — the ancient Veil*, — as him ; — " Ho sempre gran piacere nelvidere gV Inglesi, tanto hanno fatto per la causa di tutto il mondo.^' * The real Veii has been discovered at Isola Barberini, — about a mile and a half from La Storta, and ten from Rome. This discovery is not a doubtful one, but is authenticated by nume- rous inscriptions, which, with several marble pillars, fragments of temples, and statues, have been lately found here. What a mean opinion does this give of the prowess of the Romans, who, in so advanced a period of their history, could only sub- due a city, situated thus at their Gates, by a lucky stratagem, and after a ten years' siege. — 24B t;iVITA CASTELLANA. it is said, — and it saves a great deal of trouble to believe every thing that is said. The town is beau- tifully situated ; and old Soracte, under the modern disguise of St. Oreste, stands up boldly by himself in the middle of the plain, at a short distance from the town. May 5th. Left Civita Castellana before day-light, in order to reach Terni in good time. — Nothing can be more beautiful than the views on entering the vale of Terni, through which the road and the river Nera meander. This day's journey was delightful. — It was a May morning, such as you may read of in England, in Isaac Walton's description. The scenery is always rich, and sometimes romantic. The features of an Italian landscape are very peculiar. The bold and the grand are constantly blended with the soft and the beautiful. Thus, amongst the rugged rocks of Terni, the ilex, the cypress, and the fir, with the spring leaves of the other trees of the forest, refresh the eye with every variety of green; while the moun- tain-ash, the acacia, the laburnum, and the pink- flowered Judas tree — all in full blossom — add a richness, which never belongs to the English landscape. Of the falls of Terni I will only say, that I enjoyed this charming scene, with all the embellishments that a lovely May evening could add to it. The day has its seasons like the year, and evening — rich in every variety of tint — is its autumn, to me the most delight- ful of all the seasons, whether of the day or the year. FALLS OP TERNI. 249 The rays of the setting sun, playing on the light foam of the cascade, created innumerable rainbows ; and the thrush, whose note is more grateful to my ear, than that of the nightingale herself — though I believe this preference must be traced to the all-powerful principle of association, for I have listened to her song in some of the happiest hours of my life — gave me a concert, in harmony with all around it. There is however, always something to disgust in reality ; — and much of the pleasure of my walk was destroyed by a troop of clamorous beggars, who beset me on every side ; and the more money I gave, the more beggars I had. This was villanous ; — for if ever there were a walk which " silence" ought to " accompany," and with which she might be " pleased," — it is a still evening's walk in the vale of Terni. The cascade has been often described ; but perhaps no description can give a more lively idea of the im- pression which the first sight of it makes upon the spectator, than the exclamation of Wilson the painter, overheard by Sir Joshua Reynolds, who happened to be on the spot. Wilson stood for a moment in speech- less admiration, and then broke out, with, — " Wdl done. Water, by G — .'" May 6th. I am more reconciled every day to my mode of travelling. — The weather is beautiful. Thirty-five miles is the average of a day's journey. By starting at sun-rise, one half of this is accomplished by ten o'clock. It is then usual to halt till two, which 250 JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. affords time for a siesta during the heat of the day, and tlie remainder of the journey is concluded about seven in the evening. To me, whose object in life seems unhappily confined to the task of killing time — till time shall kill me — no mode of travelling could be better suited ; and, the day, thus filled up, slips away imperceptibly. But, time is a sad antagonist to contend against ; kill him as you may, day after day, you find him up again fresh and revived — more pertinacious than Sindbad's old man — to renew the battle with you in the morning. Again ; — I doubt, all things considered, whether it be not better to travel by yourself, than with a companion. It is true, you may not always please yourself, but you may at least bear with your own ill humour. If you could select the very companion you would wish, it might alter the case ; — though it seems fated that all travelling companions should fall out; — and history is full of instances, from Paul and Barnabas, down to Walpole and Gray. — So I jog on, contented at least, if not happy, to be alone; — though not perhaps, without often feeling the truth of Marmontel's observation : " II est triste de voir une belle campagne, sails pouvoir dire a quelqu'un, Voild une belle campagne .'" Breakfasted atSpoleto, — which held out successfully against Hannibal, after the battle of Thrasymene ; the inhabitants of which still pride themselves on the prowess of their ancestors, and shew the Poi'ta d'A7i- nibale. In digging the foundation of a new bridge. JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. 251 the remains of an old Roman bridge have lately been discovered here. Near Foligno, I encountered a troop of pilgrims, on their way home from Loretto to Naples, dressed in picturesque uniform, and chanting the evening hymn to the Virgin, in very beautiful harmony. May 7th. Debated for some time whether I should pursue my route to Florence ; or proceed by way of Loretto and Ancona, to Bologna ; but our Lady, when put into the scale against the heathen Goddess of the Tribune, immediately kicked the beam, — so I turned to the left, and continued my way to Perugia. Here my voiturier contrived to take up another pas- senger's luggage, without my perceiving it, and soon after we got out of the town, he overtook his fare, to whom he assigned a place on the outside, in spite of my remonstrances ; arguing, that I had only taken the inside of the carriage to myself, and that he had the patronage of the spare seat on the box. The shortest road to redress would have been to take the law into my own hands ; but the appeal to force is the worst, and therefore should be the last resort, especially in this case, where the issue was doubtful, — for the odds were two to one. On arriving at Passignano, I ap- plied to the police, and brought my voiturier to his senses. By the bye, a written contract, with a voiturier, to be valid, ought to be signed by two witnesses, and stamped by the police; but when the merits of the 252 JOURNEY TO FLORENCE. case are plain, a stranger will generally find redress, in spite of informalities. If, however, you wish to secure the good behaviour of your voiturier, — keep the command of the purse in your own hands. You must make occasional advances on the road, but let these always be less than the fare. 8th. Passignano is a miserable hamlet, on the brink of the lake of Perugia ; and the wretched inha- bitants bear witness, by their pallid appearance, to the pestilent air in which they live. Near this place is the scene of the memorable battle of Thrasymene. It requires no lights of generalship to perceive the egregious error of Flaminius, in march- ing his army down into a trap ; where Hannibal, by taking possession of the heights, completely check- mated, or rather, to preserve the analogy of the game, stale-mated him. Took my morning rest at Castiglioni Fiorentiiio, a beautiful village, in the Tuscan dominions. The change in the appearance of the country, or rather of the in- habitants, as you leave the dominions of the Pope, and enter the Grand Duke's territories, is very much in favour of the latter. In the Papal States all is slovenly and squalid ; there seems to be no middle link in the chain of society between the cardinal and the beggar. In Tuscany, the very cottages are neat and orna- mental ; and there is in the dress and the appearance of the peasantry something which bespeaks a sense of I AGRICULTURE, 253 self-respect, and a taste for comforts, which will never be found where the peasantry is in a state of hopeless vassalage. It was now the hay-making season, and the women, in their neat picturesque dresses, and tasteful straw- hats, handled their rakes with an elegance of manner that would have suited a scene in Arcadia. After a long drive through a delightful country, I arrived two hours after dark at Rimaggio. The night was beautiful ; the air cool and sweet, and the night- ingales singing all round us. A meagre supper. — Mine host said it was the positive order of the govern- ment, and that he should be exposed to a fine, if he allowed any meat to be dressed in his house on a Friday ; so that it was in vain I pleaded my heretical right to eat what I pleased. The cheapness of living in Italy, and the imposition practised upon travellers, may be collected from the price a voiturier pays for the supper at the table d'hote, and the lodging of his passengers, which I have ascer- tained to be four Pauls per head ; — something less than two shillings. The common charge to an Eng- lishman travelling post, who does not fare a whit bet- ter, is ten Pauls for dinner, and as many more for lodging. May 9th. This day*s journey carried me through a poorer country than I have yet seen. I conversed a good deal with the peasants, but found them too ig- norant to explain much of their own economy. Their 254 A,GRICTTI.T[THF. farms seemed to be very small, — seldom exceeding thirty acres. There is no such thing as capital amongst them ; the landlord finds implements of all kinds, seed, and manure ; and divides the produce with the tenant, after the manner of the French Metayers. In their mode of cultivation, manual labour appears to bear a much greater proportion to the other means of pro- duction than in ours. For certain crops, the ground is broken entirely with the spade. I observed no farm servants, but the peasant's whole family, male and fe- male, mustered in the field. Their fare seemed to be very poor ; a mess of lupini boiled up in a little broth, and washed down with a very weak sour wine, was the dinner, of which they invited me to partake. In the richer parts of Tuscany, large farms and rich farmers are not uncommon. The breed of cattle is large and fine, and invariably of a grey dove colour. At Incisa, to-day, I saw a calf being led to the slaughter-house ; adorned about the head and horns, like a victim in an ancient sacrifice. Other ancient customs still linger in the mountainous parts of this country, where the people still believe and practise the mysteries of augury, a science in which their Etruscan ancestors were so deeply learned. Indeed, it was from them that the Romans derived it : — " Quo circa ben^ apud mqjores nostros Senatiis turn, cicmfo- rebat Imperiwn, decreut, ut de principum filiis sex sin- gulis Etrurice populis in disciplinam Iraderentur, ne ars tanta propter temiitafem homimim, a religiorm aiicto- AGRICTTI.TTTRE. 255 ritate abdticerettir, ad mercedem atqiie qiiwstum.'" Cic. de Div. However we may now laugh at such a pre- tended science, we need not wonder, when we remem- ber to how late a period the behef in witchcraft has continued in our own country, that it was made the subject of a controvery in the age of Cicero, whether there was any real power of divining to be collected from the flight of birds ; and the supporter of this opi- nion dedicated his book to Cicero himself. Two years ago, when the scarcity of provisions was so severely felt throughout Italy, the inhabitants of the Tuscan Apennines, who rely very much upon chestnuts for their support, would have been almost ex- terminated, from the complete failure of that crop, had they not been persuaded, the year before, into the more general cultivation of the j)otatoe. The preju- dice against it was so great, that it was only by offer- ing a reward to each peasant, for a certain quantity of his own cultivation, that the government succeeded in the attempt. It is to the credit of the Tuscan cha- racter, that numbers, who in the time of famine had felt the benefit and importance of this vegetable, when they produced certificates of their being entitled to the government bounty, declined accepting it ; de- claring that they no longer wanted bribing into the belief of the great utility of a plant, to which they owed the preservation of their lives. After a broiling day's journey, I caught a view of fair Florence, from the top of the last hill, with all its 25C) FLORENCE. domes and towers glittering in the last rays of the setting sun. Thinking the character of my equipage little suited to the magnificence of Schneiderfs hotel, I established myself at the Pelican ; a good house, and much better adapted than Schneiderfs to the finances of a man who does not travel en o-rand Seigneur. I 257 CHAPTER IX. Stale of Society in Italij — Cavaliere Servente Sj/stem — Italian Language — Bologna — Journei/ to Venice — St. Mark's Place — Fall of Venice — Gondolas — Rialto — Journey to Milan — Verona — Napoleon Buonaparte — Austrian Dominion — Plain of Lom- bardi/. May Wth. AfTER six days of continued tra- velling, a short season of repose succeeds as an agreeable vicissitude. Let me employ a portion of it, in recording my impressions of the moral and political state of the country, in which I have been sojourning. The discontent of the people, particularly in the Papal and Neapolitan states, is loud and open; — for, though the liberty of the press is unknown, they indulge in the fullest freedom of speech, in canvassing the conduct of their rulers. There is indeed am})le cause for discontent ; — the people seem every day more impatient of the civil and ecclesiastical op- pressions, to which they are subjected ; — and a re- volution is the common topic of conversation. If there were any rational hope of revolution bringing improvement, it would be difficult not to wish for a revolution in Italy. 258 STATE OF SOCIETY IN ITALY. A revolution, however, to be productive of be- nefit, ought to be effected by the quiet operation of pubhc opinion; that is, of the virtuous and well informed part of the public ; — and this would be, not revolution, but reform — the best way of pre- venting a revolution, in the modern sense of that term. But, where shall we look, in Italy, for the elements of such a reform ? There can be little hope of its political amelioration, till some improve- ment has taken place in its moral condition. How can any thing great or good be expected from a people, where the state of society is so depraved, as to tolerate the cavaliere servente system ? — a system, which sanctions the public display of apparent, if not real, infidelity to the most important and religious engagement of domestic life. And yet, constituted as society is in Italy, this system ought perhaps to excite little surprise. For, marriage is here, for the most part, a mere arrangement of convenience ; and tlie parties often meet, for the first time, at the foot of the altar. An Italian does not expect from such an union, the happiness of home, with the whole train of domestic charities which an Englishman associates with the marriage -state ; the spes animi credula niutui is certainly not the hope of an Italian husband, — and the Cavaliere robs him of nothing, which he is not quite content to spare. It is indeed, nine times in ten, to the fault of the husband, that the infidelity of the wife is to be as- CAVALIERE SERVENTE SYSTEM, l^.jJ) cribed. This is a reflection I have often made to Italian men, who have always seemed disposed to admit the truth of it ; but the truth is better attested by the exemplary conduct of those women, whose husbands take upon themselves to perform the offices of affection, that arc ordinarily left to the Cavaliere. An Italian said to me one day, " Una donna ha sempre bisogno d'appoggiarsi ad un uomo /" — If she cannot repose her cares and her confidence in the bosom of her husband, is it very surprising that she should seek some other support ? Consider the cha- racter of the Italian woman. Ardent and impassioned, — ^jealous of admiration, — enthusiastic alike in love or in resentment, — she is tremblingly alive to the pro- vocations which she has so often to endure from the open neglect and infidelity of the man, who has sworn to love and protect her. The spretce injuria formce is an insult which has provoked colder constitutions than the Italian, to reta- liate. What indeed is there to restrain her ? — a sense of duty ? — there is no such sense. An Italian woman is accustomed to consider the conjugal duties as strictly reciprocal, and would laugh to scorn, as tame and slavish submission, the meek and gentle spirit which prompted the reply of the " divine Des- demona" — " Unkindness may do much ; And his unkindness may defeat my life, But never taint my love." And while there is so little to restrain, the effect S 2 •260 CAVAI.IF.RF, SERVENTF SYSTEM. 4 of example is to encourage her to follow tlic bent of her inclinations ; and she is attended by a licensed seducer, privileged to approach her at all hours, and at full liberty to avail himself of all the aid that importunity and opportunity can lend him, for the accomplishment of his purpose. These observations can only be meant to apply to the higher classes of society, to which the Cavalier e system is confined ; and it must not be supposed, even amongst these, that there are not many examples of domestic virtue and domestic happiness ; — or that husbands and wives may not be found in Italy, as in other places, fondly and faithfully attached to each other. Nor is it always a criminal connexion that subsists between a Lady and her Cavaliere, though it is generally supposed to be so ; but, many instances might be cited, where it is well known that it is not. There is indeed a sort of mysticism in the tender passion, as it seems always to have existed in this country, which it is difficult to understand or exj)lain. Platonic love, in the verses of Petrarch, if indeed Petrarch's love were Platonic, glows with a rapturous warmth, which often speaks the very language of a grosser feeling ; while the most depraved of all pas- sions has been clothed with a tenderness and delicacy of sentiment and expression, which would seem to belong only to our purest affections. Witness Ho- race's address to Ligurinus : — CAVALIERE SERVENTE SYSTEM. 261 c7 Sed cur lieu Ligurine, cur, Manat rara meas lacryma per genas Cur facunda parum decoro, Inter verba cadit liiignia silentio ? What can be more tender, unless it be Pope's beautiful imitation — But why ah ! tell me ah ! too dear ! Steals down my cheek th' involuntary tear ? Why words so flowing-, thoughts so free, Stop or turn nonsense at one glance of thee ? But to return ; — the Cavaliere system must ever remain the great moral blot in the Italian character ; — and yet, this system, foimded as it is in the viola- tion of all laws and feelings, has its own peculiar I'egulations, which it would be an unpardonable breach of etiquette to transgress. The Lady must not have children by her Paramour ; — at least, the notoriety of such a fact would be attended with the loss of repu- tation. What can be said of a state of society that can tolerate such things, but, — " Reform it alto- gether." I am afraid the morals of England will not derive much benefit from familiarizing our countrywomen to hear these connexions talked of, as they constantly are, without censure or surprise. It would be inv possible, however, to introduce the system into England, as it exists here. Few Englishmen would be found to bear the yoke that is here imposed on a Cacaliere. An Italian, 262 CAVALIERE SERVENTK SYSTEM. without pursuit or profession, may find in this phi- landering drudgery a pleasant mode of employing his time ; but in England, politics and field-sports, would, if no better feelings or principles should op- pose its introduction, be in themselves sufficient to interfere with such a system of female supremacy. But, though much may be feared from familiarity with vice, I would rather hope, that a nearer con- templation of its evil consequences will induce them to cling with closer affection to the moral habits and institutions of their own country, where the value of virtue and fidelity is still felt, and appreciated as it ought to be ; — and to cultivate with increasing vigilance all those observances, which have been wisely set up as bulwarks to defend and secure the purity of the domestic sanctuary. I remember, Fuller says — " Travel not beyond the Alps. Mr. Ascham did thank God, that he was but nine days in Italy ; wherein he saw in one city more liberty to sin, than in London he had ever heard of in nine years. That some of our gentry have gone thither and returned thence, without in- fection, I more praise God, than their adventure." If he entertained apprehensions for the " travel- tainted" gentry of his time, we may well feel anxiety for the ladies of our own ; feeling as we must, that it is to the female virtues of England we should look, not only for the hap])iness of our homes, — but also for the support of that national character, which THE VENUS. 263 has led to all our national greatness ; — for the cha- racter of a nation is ever mainly determined by the institutions of domestic life ; — and it is to the in- fluence of maternal precept and maternal example upon the mind of childhood, that all the best virtues of manhood may ultimately be traced. May 17th. The Venus pleases me more than ever. There is nothing in Rome, or elsewhere, that can be compared with her. There is that mysterious some- thing about her, quod nequeo monstrare, et sentio tantum, impressed by the master-touch, which is as inexplicable as the breath of life. It is this in- communicable something, which no copy or cast, however accurate, is able to catch. I doubt whether the same thing can be observed of the Apollo ; whence I am inclined to believe the notion, which, it is said, was first started by Flaxman, — that the Apollo itself is but a copy. The style of the finish- ing has certainly not the air of an original work ; — it possesses little of that indefinable spirit and free- dom, which are the characteristics of those pro- ductions, in which the author follows only the con- ceptions of his own mind. The form and disposition of the drapery are said to afford technical evidence of the strongest kind, that the statue must have been originally executed in bronze ; and the materials of which the Apollo is composed, which, it seems, are at last determined to be Italian marble, favour the same opinion. 264' ITALIAN LANGUAGE, iV/rty ISth. The Tuscan dialect sounds harshly, and almost unintelligibly, after the soft and sonorous cadence of the Roman pronunciation. However piu:e the lingua Toscana may be, the hocca Romana seems necessary to give it smoothness. It is delightful to listen to the musical flow of the words, even inde- pendently of their sense. Then how pretty are their diminutives ! What answer could be invented more soothing to impatient irritability than — " mome?itmo Signorc?''' The Romans however are too apt to fall into a sort of sing-song recitative, while the Tuscans — that is, the lower orders — offend you with a guttural rattle, not unlike the Welsh. There is perhaps no country where the dialects vary more, than in the different provinces of Italy. The lan- guage of Naples and the Milanese is a sort of Babylonish jargon, little better than gibberish. The origin of the Italian language has long been a subject of discussion. The literati of Florence are fond of tracing it up to Etruscan antiquity. We know that Etruria had a language of its own, distinct from the Latin. This was the language in which the Sibyl was supposed to have delivered her oracles, and in which the augurs interpreted the mysteries of their profession. Livy says, " Habeo auctores, vidgo turn Romanos piieros, skiit nunc Grcecis, ita Etruscis liteiis erudiri solitos." This language is by some sup- posed to have continued to exist during the whole time of the Romans, as the sermo vulgaris — the ITALIAN LANGUAGE. 265 patois — which was in common use amongst the peasantry of the country ; while the Latin was con- lined to the higher classes, and the capital ; — to the senate, the forum, the stage, and to literature. This opinion does not seem entirely destitute of ])robability. We have living evidence in our own island of the difficulty of changing the language of a people. In France too, till within the last half century, the southern provinces were almost utterly ignorant of French ; and, even at present, the lower classes of the peasantry never speak French, but continue to make use of a patois of the old Pro- vencal language. In like manner it is supposed by many, that pure Latin was confined to the capital and to high life ; while the ancient Etruscan, which had an additional support in being consecrated to the service of re- ligion, always maintained its ground as the colloquial patois of the greatest part of Italy. Thus, when Rome fell, the polished language of the capital fell with it; but the patois of the common people re- mained, and still remains, in an improved edition, in the language of modern Italy. For, if this be not so, we must suppose, first, that the Etruscan was rooted out by the Latin, and that the Latin has again yielded in its turn to a new tongue. But inno- vations in language, are the slowest of all in working their way ; and if the pure I^atin of the classics had ever been the colloquial language of the common 266 ITALIAN LANGUAGE. people, some living evidence of it would surely have been discovered, as we now find the ancient language of the Britons lingering in the fastnesses of Wales and Cornwall ; — but no information is handed down to us by which we can ascertain when Latin was the common spoken language of Italy, or at what period it ceased to exist. Still however, on the other hand, it is perhaps equally extraordinary, that we should meet with no traces of this colloquial patois, in the writings of the ancients. Some allusion indeed is made, by Quinti- lian, to the sermo militaris — a dialect in use among the soldiery ; — but if the language of the common people was so distinct, as it is supposed, it is strange that we do not find more direct mention of it ; espe- cially in the plays of Plautus, who with his love of broad humour, might naturally have been expected, after the example of Aristophanes, to have availed himself of such a source of the ridiculous. And when one reads in modern Italian, such lines as the follow- ing, the parent language seems to stand confessed in the identity of the resemblance ; In mare irato, in sxibita procella Invoco te nostra benigna stella. Or, again. Vivo in acerba pena, in mesto orrore, Quando te non imploro, in te non spero : Purissima Maria, et in sincere Te non adoro, et in divine ardere. ■ v^ ITALIAN LANGUAGE. 267 These lines however were probably studiously composed in this indiscriminate character ; — and they might be counterbalanced by examples of early Ro- man inscriptions, which certainly bear more affinity to the modern Italian, than to the Latin ; — and this would seem to shew that the two languages might have existed and gone on progressively together. After considering therefore all that is urged by oppo- site writers on this subject, one is reduced to the conclusion of Sir Roger de Coverlcy, of happy me- mory ; — that much may be said on both sides. Thus much is certain ; that at least the guttural accent of Tuscany is as old as Catullus ; who has ridiculed it in one of his epigrams : — Chommoda dicebat, si quando commoda vellet Dicere, et hinsidias, Arrius insidias. 3Iai/ 19th. An evening at Fiesole, — which is situated on a commanding eminence, about three miles distant from Florence. The country is now in the highest beauty. Spring is the season for Italy. We have little Spring or Summer in England, — except in Thomson's Seasons. Climate, if it do not constitute the happiness, is a very important ingre- dient in the comfort, of life. An ev ening or night, in an Italian villa, at this season of nightingales, and moonlight, is a most dehcious treat. How could Shakspeare write as he has done, without having been in Italy t Some of his garden scenes breathe 268 ITALIAN SPRING. the very life of reality. And yet if he had been here, I think he would not have omitted all allusion to the fire-fly, a little flitting insect, that adds much to the charm of the scene. The whole garden is illuminated by myriads of these sparkling lights, sprinkled about with as much profusion as spangles on a lady's gown. There is something delightfully pleasant in the vo- luptuous languor, which the soft air of an Italian evening occasions ; — and then the splendour of an Italian sun-set ! I shall never forget the impression made upon me by a particular evening. The sun had just gone down, leaving the whole sky dyed with the richest tints of crimson, — wiiile the virgin snows of the distant mountains were suffiised with blushes of *' celestial rosy red ;" when, from an opposite quar- ter of the heavens, there seemed to rise another sun, as large, as bright, and as glowing, as that which had just departed. It was the moon at the full ; — and the illusion was so complete, that it re- quired some few moments to convince me*that I was not in Fairy Land. But one season is v/anting ; — there is no interval between day and night, and the " sober livery" of grey twilight is here unknown. Night however, of which we know little in England, but as it is con- nected with fire and candle, is now the most charm- ing period of the whole twenty-four hours ; and there are no unwholesome dews, no sore-throat bringing BOLOGNA. 269 (lamps, to disturb your enjoyment with fears of to- morrow's consequences. 20th, Left Florence at day-break, travelling as before in a voiturier's carriage ; indeed, little would be gained in point of speed by travelling post, be- tween this place and Bologna : for the road is so hilly, that you must necessarily be limited to a foot- pace. I was stopped at the custom-house on re-en- tering the Papal dominions, where they obliged me to pay the full value of a parcel of Italian books, that I had with me, giving me an order to receive the same again at the frontier custom-house, when I should quit the Pope's dominions. It was explained to me that this was merely intended as a necessary precaution ; — for it might be that I was a book-mer- chant, and wished to sell these books in the Pope's territories, without paying the entrance duties. As there seemed no help for it, I was obliged to comply with the demand ; and take the officer's word, that the scrap of paper he gave me, would reproduce my money at the opposite extremity of his Holiness's territories. We slept at the half-way house between Florence and Bologna. Ma?/ 21st. Wild romantic road over the Apen- nines ; — recalling the descriptions of Mrs^ Radcliffe in her Romance of Udolpho. Reached Bologna early in the morning. Grand fete of Corptis Christi. All the streets were hung with satin, and covered in 270 ROLOGNA. with splendid awnings, which on this occasion were of more use against the rain than the sun. One of the most striking ornaments of the town is John of Bologna's bronze Neptune, who presides over a fountain in the great square ; but there is a poverty of water, and Neptune seems here — out of his element. Mail/ 22d. The more you travel, the less you will rely upon the descriptions of guides and itine- raries. There are no degrees in their descriptions, and all you collect from them, in general, is, the ignorance of the compilers. One of these compares the leaning lump of brick at Bologna, which looks like the chimney of a steam engine blown a little out of the perpendicular, to the graceful and elegant tower of Pisa. Bologna is very rich in paintings ; — the works of Guido, collected here, have shewn him to me in a new light ; and have convinced me that I had not hitherto formed a just estimate of his merit. There is a force and grandeur, in some of these, of which the generality of his pictures evince little indi- cation. The Crucifixion, and the Massacre of the Innocents, are specimens of the highest excellence of composition and execution*. It is necessary to come to Bologna, to appreciate properly the excellence of Guido, Dominichino, and the fraternity of Caracci. The Persecution of the AlbigensGs, by Dominichino, — a magnificent picture. * The St. Peter and St. Paul, which is at Milan, is another specimen of Guide's best manner. BOLOfJNA. 271 A Madonna, by Ludovico Caracci, — exquisitely ele- gant ; — but then it is the elegance and refinement of a woman of fashion. She is not the Madonna, such as Raphael has represented her, and such as she will ever exist personified in the imagination of him who has seen Raphael's pictures. A Transfiguration, by the same painter, — an admirable conception of a subject which, with reverence to Raphael be it spoken, does not seem adapted to painting. The Cecilia of Raphael has, I suspect, been re- touched, and spoilt, at Paris. Bologna is a clean and well-built town ; though the arcades, which project in front of the houses, give it a heavy appearance. The fish-market is excellently arranged, with streams of water running through it, securing cleanliness. This is a country famous for the excellence of its frogs, though the French alone bear the reproach of eating them ; — if reproach there be in eating a very excellent dish. The reproach might, perhaps, with more reason, be directed against the prejudice that prevents us from availing ourselves of the plentiful provision which nature has put within our reach. But I suppose nothing would induce the lower classes in England to have resource to such means of subsistence, however wholesome and nutritious. The fish-market was full of frogs, ready prepared for dressing, and trussed upon skewers ; in the manner 272 JOURNEY TO VENICE. described in a simile of Ariosto, where he says, that Orlando spitted his enemies upon his spear, — Hke frogs upon a skewer. After a long morning of picture gazing and sight- seeing, I contrived to reach Tedo in the evening, on my way to Venice, Ma?/ 23rd, Halted at noon at Ferrara, — a large dull dilapidated town; which contains nothing to interest or detain you, unless you can derive pleasure from visiting the prison in which Tasso was confined, and expectorating a few imprecations against the tyranny of his oppressor ; though, perhaps, after all the more recent opinion may be better founded ; — that Alphonso confined the insane poet out of pure good will. Reached Ponte Lago-scuro early in the evening, the last town of the Papal territory ; where I was agreeably surprised by the recovery of my deposit money, without deduction or difficulty; — and so good bye to the Pope and the Cardinals ! — with whom I wish to part in charity and good humour ; though it is difficult to preserve those feelings towards them, amidst the constant vexations to w^hich one is subjected in travelling through their dominions. Quitted my carriage at Lago-scuro ; and crossing the Po — which is here much like the Thames at Putney — agreed with the Venetian courier for a place in his boat to Venice, The fare is 17 francs 25 cents ; and for this he not only conveys yourself and VENICE. '273 your baggage a distance of 80 miles, but also pro- vides a table for you on the way. Excellent boat ; — the cabin fitted up with a settle on each side the table, in which a seat was elbowed in, for each person. Mai/ 24th. On mounting the deck this morning, at sun-rise, I found we had glided about forty miles down the stream in the course of the night, and were at the gate of the lock, where we were to quit the Po, to enter a canal, which connects this river with the Adige, From the height of the Po, it was judged unsafe to open the gate of the lock, for fear of inundating the whole country ; so that we were obliged to wait, till the courier from Venice arrived with his boat on the other side of the gate. This occasioned a delay of five hours ; and when he did come, we had to shift passengers and baggage on both sides. We soon got into the Adige ; after floating down which for a few miles, we entered another canal, which brought us into one of the lagune that lead to Venice. The accommodations of the passage boat must be greatly improved since Arthur Young's time, whose description had almost deterred me from venturing the experiment. Every thing was well managed ; our courier gave us an admirable dinner ; and at sun- set, we caught a glimpse of the domes of Venice, rising out of the sea. T 274 ST. mark's place. It was midnight before we reached the post-office. May 25th. Breakfasted at a cafe in the Piazza of St. Mark. After threading a narrow hne of alleys, not half the width of that of Cranbourne, I came mi- expectedly upon this grand square, the first sight of which is very striking. It would be difficult to compare it with any thing. It is unique ; rich, venerable, magnificent. The congregation of all nations, in their various costumes, who lounge under the purple awnings of the caf^s — smoking, playing at chess, and quaffing coffee — add much to its em- bellishment, and are in character with the buildings ; where all orders of architecture seem jumbled to- gether. The cathedral certainly belongs to no single one ; — it is of a mixed breed, between a Mahometan mosque, and a Christian church ; but, when it was built, the imaginations of the Venetians were full of Constantinople, and the glorious exploits of Dandolo. The famous horses which he brought in triumph to Venice, as the trophies of his conquest of Constan- tinople, have again resumed their place over the portal of the cathedral. In this age of scepticism, it is doubted whether these are indeed the famous horses of Lysippus which have made so much noise in history, connected with the names of Nero, Trajan, and Constantine ; and a passage is quoted from the Byzantine Fathers, to prove that they were cast at Chios, so late as the fourth century. However this be, I think they are ST. mark's place. 275 scarcely worth the trouble that has been taken about them, that is, for any merit they have as repre- sentations of horses ; — though, if their identity be made out, they are great curiosities, as historical memorials of the rapacity of conquerors, and the in- stability of fortune. The fashion of hogging the mane, ugly as it is, may plead the example of these horses in its favour. They were reinstated in their former place at Venice, with great pomp and cere- mony ; and the Emperor Francis has recorded in a golden inscription, the robbery of the French, and his own triumph : QUATUOR EQUORUM SIGNA A VENETIS BYZANTIO CAPTA, AD temp: d: mar: a, r. s. mcciv posita — QVJE HOSTILIS CUPIDITAS A. MDCCIIIC ABSTULERAT franc: I. imp: pacis orbi dat^ troph^um a. MDCCCXV VICTOR REDUXIT. I rejoice that the horses have been restored, and that France has been made to disgorge all her plunder ; but they should not throw stones who live in a house of glass. The French had surely as much right to take them from Venice, as Dandolo had to bring them thither ; — in both cases, it was but the right of the strongest. Before the door of the cathedral stand three bare poles, where formerly the flags of Crete, Cyprus, and the Morea, the three vassal kingdoms of the haughty republic, floated in the wind. Mai/ 26th. Though there is enough in the his- torical recollections of Venice, to invest it with 276 DUCAL PALACE. great interest, yet there is a further and more power- ful fascination in its scenery, which is derived from the magic illusions of poetry. At least, in my own case, I confess that I thought more of Shakspeare, and Otway — Othello and Shy- lock — Pierre and JafRer — than of Dandolo and all his victories. It is wonderful how much place aids the effect of poetry. Went over the Ducal Palace, and sat in the seat of the Doge. The hall, where the senate used to assemble, remains in its ancient state. The chamber, in which the famous Council of Ten held their meetings, was converted by Napoleon into a Court of Cassation. The hall of the general assembly is now a library ; where there are some beautiful remains of ancient sculpture. The rape of Ganymede is an exquisite little morsel, and is thought to be the work of Phidias himself. Leda and her Swan is a bijou in the same taste. It is surprising that the French, who knew so well what to steal, should have overlooked two articles that might have been so easily carried away. The famous- lion's mouth is destroyed. The bridge of Sighs — il Ponte dei Sospiri — connects the ducal palace with the state-prison. Criminals were brought through a covered way over this bridge, from their dungeons, to the tribunal of the Council of Ten. Cri- minal proceedings are still carried on in secret, and I saw to-day a man being conducted back to prison FALL OF VENICE. 277 after trial, through the covered passage over the bridge of Sighs. It is impossible to walk through these splendid chambers, decorated with pictures commemorating the most brilliant achievements, and the most signal examples, of the ancient power and glory of the Ve- netian republic, without feeling sorrow for its present condition. The only consolation the people seem to feel is something like king Arthur's in Tom Thumb, who congratulates himself that he has at least out-lived all his neighbours ; " Thus all our pack upon the floor is cast, And my sole boast is, that I die the last." Thus, the Venetians appeal with triumph to their fourteen centuries of power ; — a longer duration than that enjoyed by any other people on record. Four- teen centuries were indeed a pretty long reign ; but, in fact, the republic had ceased to exist before the in- vasion of the French. Napoleon gave the coup de grace, but the life of the commonwealth was already extinct. The government had degenerated into an oligarchical tyranny, of all tyrannies the most detest- able ; and the people had nothing left to fight for. It is ever thus ; for it seems, that there is in all govern- ments a tendency to abuse, and it ought perhaps rather to excite surprise, that Venice endured so long, than that she fell at last. The Doge, and his Privy Council, yielded without a struggle at the first approach of the enemy ; and in- 278 FALL OF VENICE. stead of dying " with harness on their backs," they betrayed the interests of their country, to make fa- vourable terms for themselves with the conqueror. Junot delivered Buonaparte's threatening letter to the Doge himself in council ; — thus insulting him to his face by the grossest breach of the laws of the repub- lic. In the last scene of all, the Doge had the base- ness to propose, and the Grand Council had the base- ness to consent to a still more disgraceful compliance with the demands of Buonaparte ; who insisted, as a preliminary condition to a treaty, that the three State Inquisitors, and the naval commander, who had alone evinced courage to do their duty in the defence of their country, should, for this very performance of their duty, be arrested and brought to trial. A few days afterwards, the Doge and the Council in full assembly, with pusillanimous unanimity, voted their own abdication. Such was the last inglorious act of a republic, that had endured for fourteen hun- dred years. " Oh lame and impotent conclusion!" Thus fell the Republic of Venice ; and when a re- public does fall, — she falls like Lucifer, never to rise again. If there had been no hostility on the part of the great ones of the world to the re-establishment of her free government, I believe, it would have been impossible to find in Venice that life-blood of public spirit, which is necessary to restore animation and energy to the body politic of a commonwealth. A republic indeed cannot be restored ; it is a constitu- CHURCHES. 270 tion that must be claimed, and won, by the spirit and courage of the people themselves ; and where these qualities are wanting, a republic would not be main- tained if it were restored. It is not every people that is fit to be free ; and Machiavel has long ago pro- nounced, that to make a servile people free, is as diffi- cult a task, as to make a free people slaves. Mai/ 27th. Established myself at the Albergo Fav- retti, near the grand ducal palace, commanding a fine view of the sea. I should prefer this in all respects to either of the two great hotels, even if it it had not many recommendations on the score of economy. I give my landlord seven francs per day ; for which I have an excellent room, with breakfast and dinner, both good of their kind. Venice abounds in all sorts of fish ; — mullet, thunny, an excellent variety of the sturgeon, and the S. Pietro, or, as it is sometimes called — II Janitore — from which is derived our own corruption of John Dorj/. A tour amongst churches and palaces ; but I am tired of churches as curiosities to be stared at ; and having seen St. Peter's, I shall content myself with tlie maxim of omne majus continet in se minus, and be satis- fied with my own parish church, for the rest of my life. Venice is rich in the works of her own Titian ; his two most celebrated pictures are the Martyrdom of a St. Peter, not the apostle St. Peter, in the church of St. Paul, and the Assumption of the Virgin, in the academy. 280 TITIAN AllSENAL. Connoisseurs have lavished encomiums upon these productions of Titian in the grand style of composition, but I confess, I Hke him better when he confines him- self to " the primrose path of dalliance ;" for, it is in the representation of the soft and the beautiful, em- bellished with all the rich and glowing varieties of colour, that he seems to follow the bent of his genius, and to paint con amove. There are also many splen- did works of Paul Veronese, and of Tintoretto. Visited the arsenal ; where there were accommo- dations for building six and thirty ships of war, under cover ; — but, the ships, and the commerce of Venice have vanished with its freedom. There is now scarcely a cock-boat in the harbour. The vulgar are taught to believe, that England abstained from exer- cising her influence in procuring the restoration of the Republic, from feelings of commercial jealousy. Nobody seems to doubt our power to have effected this good work, both in the case of Venice, and of Genoa. But, if it really were in our power, it is in- deed difficult to account for our supineness. All commercial considerations would have prompted us to further this measure ; for, excluded as our ma- nufactures are from the Continental States, at least, as far as the governments can exclude them, it would have been greatly to the advantage of England, that free commercial states should have been established at Venice and Genoa, which would have afforded chan- nels of communication for the introduction of English ' Galileo's tower, 281 goods to the whole south of Europe. Austria would willingly, if she could, exclude all English manufac- tures ; but the effect of her rigorous prohibitions, is to put that money into the pockets of the custom- house officers, which she would otherwise receive herself, in the shape of duties. The bribery of the custom-house has been.reduced to a regular system, and the insurance of the safe arrival of goods at Vienna, is negotiated upon an accurate calculation of these expenses. In the evening, I mounted to the top of St. Mark's tower, where Galileo used to hold commerce with the skies. It commands a fine panoramic view of Venice, and shews you all the details of this wonderful town, which rises out of the waters like the ark of the deluge. The height of the tower is about 330 feet, and when you look down to the busy crowds below, in St, Mark's Place, they look like bees in a hive, or ants in a molehill, crawling about, without any appa- rent object. Mai/ 28th. The gondolas afford a pleasant loung- ing mode of moving about Venice. These light sharp-beaked boats glide along with great rapidity. In the middle of them is a sort of tented cabin, covered with a black cloth awning, which gives them a very funereal appearance. This universal black colour was imposed by a sumptuary law of the Re- public, to check the extravagant expense in which it had become the fashion to indulge, in fitting up these 282 GONDOLAS. — THE RIALTO. vessels. At night, they carry lanterns attached to the prow and stern, and the effect of these lights, scudding along in all directions, while the vessels that carry them are invisible, is very pleasing. There are only eight horses in Venice ; four are of brass, over the gate of the cathedral ; and the other four are alive in Lord Byron's stable. The little island of Lido affords room for a short canter. The Venetian women are superb ; — there is something, peculiarly bewitching in their air and gait : but, I believe, they are but little changed since the time of lago, who tells us, " In Venice they do let Heaven see the pranks " They dare not shew their husbands." Walked upon the Rialto ; — if no more were included under this name, than the single arch across the canal, the congregation of merchants before whom Anthonio used to rate Shylock must have been a small one, and Pierre could not well have chosen a worse place for " his evening walk of meditation." The fact is, however, that the little island which formed the cradle of Venice, where the first church was built by the fugitives from the persecution of Attila, was called Riva-alta, or Rialto. Here too was the Exchange where the merchants met. In process of time the bridge leading to this island was called the Rialto, and has at last become the sole proprietor of the name. In the evening to the opera. Venice is the land GOLD CHAIN MANUFACTURE. 283 of late hours ; the scene in St. Mark's Place at midnight, is more gay and animated, than at any hour of the day ; and it is after the opera, that evening parties and conversazioni commence. The Gondoliers no longer sing the verses of Tasso ; but you are frequently regaled with beautiful music, from parties of dilettanti musicians. I ought to record, as an instance of the obliging civility of the Italians, that I met a serenading party in a Gondola to-night, singing very beautifully to their guitars, the songs of a favourite opera. Supposing they were professional people, and under the idea that I was to make them a recompense, I detained them half an hour ; and it was not till they explained their refusal of any remunera- tion, that I found it was a nobleman's family returning from an excursion to Padua. The cafes in the place of St, Mark are brilliantly lighted, and you might fancy when you see it for the first time, that it was a gala night of extraordinary occurrence. The shops under the arcades are very handsome, particularly those of jewellery. One of the principal manufactures is that of gold chain, which is brought to the greatest perfection. The price of the chain is in proportiou to its diminutive- ness. I gave twenty francs for a small specimen, not more than an inch and a half long, of the ne plus ultra of this manufacture ; it is worked with the aid of microscopic glasses, and seems to be the absolute minimum of all that is little. 284 ARMENIAN CONVENT. Mai/ 29, I was awakened from my dreams of poetry this morning by a sharp east wind from the Adriatic ; bringing with it, as usual, to me, cough and fever, attended with a most oppressive defluxion upon the lungs. What a miserable thing it is to depend upon the wind for the power to breathe ! — especially at Venice, where you are not allowed to take what physic you please, without the assistance of a physician. I sent a prescription to a druggist, and though the strongest ingredient in it was pare- goric elixir, the answer he returned was, that he might not sell so potent a potion without medical sanction. I thought of Romeo's apothecary ; but my friend was less compliant than his, for he persisted in his refusal ; and as I was equally resolute not to comply with his condition ; I must have gone without my draught, which perhaps would have been the best course of all, if my friend the Vice-Consul had not supplied me from the consular medicine chest. Passed the morning at the Armenian Convent ; — a very interesting establishment, where, as long as the present librarian, a man of great learning, very extensive knowledge of the world, and most amiable manners, continues in office, a few hours may be passed most agreeably. Went afterwards to the Piazza S. Maria Famosa to see the house of the " proud Priuli ;" which still belongs to the family of that name. The east wind continues with such biting severity, that I feel I can- LEAVE VENICE FOR MILAN. 285 not stay here, and so, to-morrow — " I must away toward Padua." May 30th. Left Venice in the courier's boat, and arrived at Padua in the evening. The voyage is dull and uninteresting. The banks of the Brenta are just high enough to prevent your view of the comitry, without possessing any beauty in themselves, to render them interesting. I found the apothecaries at Padua more accom- modating than at Venice, and if I had been inclined to swallow poison, I should have met with no ob- struction. May 31st. Engaged with a vetturino for a place in his carriage to Milan. I should have, as usual, engaged a small carriage to myself, but the pleasure of this mode of travelling depends much upon the state of the weather, and the character of the scenery through which you pass. In the present case, the rain is pouring down in torrents ; and the plain of Lombardy offers no great promise of picturesque beauty ; so that I prefer studying life and manners, in the inside of a vetturino's coach. By the way, these vetturini are the greatest scoundrels upon earth ; excepting perhaps the jackals ox finders*, who hunt * The Italian designation of \he.Jinder, is Sensale. He fleeces the Vetturino without mercy, and in some of the petty states, the latter is obliged to have recourse to him, and not allowed to make his bargain for himself; — the Sensale being the agent of the Police, who must also have their share of the plunder. 286 JOURNEY TO MILAN, down their prey for them. This is a regular pro- fession in all the towns of Italy, and a tribe of these fellows is constantly on the look-out for travellers, whom they cheat of course as much as they can ; — for their own profit consists of so much per cent, upon the bargain they make in behalf of their employers. My companions are a ci-devant captain of infantry, in the army of the kingdom of Italy ; who had served in Spain for many years, and who retired in disgust when his coimtry was subjected to the government of Austria; and two Italian ladies of the negoziante class. We halted in the evening at Vicenza. The rain prevented my attempting to see any thing, but I console myself with hoping, that there was nothing to see. June 1st, Another day of rain. My military com- panion is a very intelligent man, and we have had much friendly discussion on all subjects, except poli- tics, — or I should rather say, except military topics. It is truly provoking, after the achievements of the English at Waterloo, that their countrymen should have to fight the battle over again, as one ever has to do, when the subject is canvassed, out of England, The truth in this, as in most cases, will be found to lie in the middle ; between the exaggerated pre- tensions of the English, who insist upon having gained a complete victory, and the ridiculous extravagancies of the French, who would wish to talk themselves and all the world into a belief, that ?/ the Prussians had VERONA. 287 not robbed them of their prey, they should have anni- hilated the English. A calm retrospect of the objects that the two leaders proposed to themselves will I think shew clearly how the question really stands be- tween the English and the French, without embar- rassing it with the Prussian co-operation. Napoleon's object was to sleep at Brussels ; — he pointed out the road to his soldiers with exultation — he triumphed by anticipation in the idea, that at last, he had got the English within his gripe ; — " Ah ! pour le coup je les tiens done, ces Anglais ;" — and so confident was he of success, that he had prepared printed proclamations, dated from the royal palace at Brussels. The Duke of Wellington's object was simply, to prevent him. This is all that the Duke of Wellington proposed to himself to do, and this is what he did do most completely and triumphantly, proprio marte. It is to the having repulsed the enemy, and defeated his object, that the claims of the English should be li- mited ; — and this is claim enough. Then come the Prussians, and convert this repulse, into a rout ; and now, those who ran away would fain hope, that be- tween the English and the Prussians — as in the old fable of the stools — the glory of the day may rest upon neither. The evening cleared up as we approached Verona, the environs of which are beautiful ; and the town itself has a gay and pleasing appearance. 288 VERONA. The amphitheatre has suffered little from the lapse of centuries, and it serves as an explanatory key to the great Coliseum at Rome. I have observed here again, that the mind is more impressed with the grandeur of what it has seen, by a subsequent com- parison of its recollections with smaller objects of the same kind, than by the actual contemplation of the objects themselves. Thus, the amphitheatre of Ve- rona has made me more sensible of the prodigious scale of the Coliseum, than I was, when within the walls of the Coliseum itself. I went in the evening to the theatre ; but the house was dull, dark, and dirty ; and the audience seemed to come with any other object rather than to hear the play ; for, they talked amongst themselves, as loud as the actors on the stage. When there is no sympathy between the actor and the audience, nothing can be more tiresome than a play. The re-action is wanting, to give it spirit ; for when a play goes off well, it is, I believe, be- cause the audience bring at least one half the enter- tainment along with them, June 2nd. Halted to breakfast at Desenzano ; on the bank of the Lago di Gar da. On the island in the lake are the remains of Catullus 's villa. We were now passing over the scenes of Buonaparte's Italian campaigns, and my military companion was very eloquent in the praise of the ci-devant Emperor. It is truly surprising, to witness the enthusiasm of NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 289 feeling which this man lias excited in his favour amongst those who have served under him. My companion spoke of the effect of his appearance on the field of battle, in its influence upon the spirits of his army, as something supernatural. No man could ever act the hero better, when it suited his purpose ; and no man ever attained in greater perfection the art of gaining that ascendency over his followers, which constitutes the spell that strong minds hold over weak ones. He seems to have had a very happy knack in speaking as well as acting the sublime. The captain gave me two instances of this kind. At the battle of Lodi, there was a battery of the enemy, which was making dreadful havoc amongst the French ranks ; and repeated attempts had been made to storm it, in vain. An officer came to Buonaparte to represent to him the importance of making another effort to silence it ; when he put himself at the head of a party, exclaiming. Quelle se taise ! and carried it by storm. On another occasion, he was giving some impracticable orders, which were humbly re- presented to him to be impossible ; when he burst out — Comment? ce mot n'est pas Francais. The most remarkable feature in the character of this strange being, is his inconsistency ; displaying as he does at different times, the most opposite extremes of great and little, — magnificence and meanness. This incon- sistency, however, is sufficiently explained by his u 290 NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. utter want of fixed principles of right and wrong. What can be expected from him, who laughs at religion, and does not even possess a sense of honour, to keep him steady in the path of greatness ! Selfish- ness seems to have been the foundation of his sys- tem, the only principle which he acknowledged ; and this will reconcile all the apparent inconsistencies of his conduct. Every thing was right to him, that conduced to his own interest, by any means however wrong ; and as his mind seems to have had the power of expanding with his situation, so it had an equal power of contracting again ; and he could at once descend from the elevation of his throne, to the pettiest considerations connected with his altered con- dition; accommodating himself in a moment to all the variations of fortune. In a word, he was the Garrick of the great stage of the world, who could play the leading part in imperial Tragedy — carrying terror and pity into all bosoms — and re-appear in the part of Scrub in the after-piece, with equal truth and fidelity of representation. We might admire the equanimity of such a temperament, if we did not find it associated with such a selfish and exclusive attention to his own personal safety, as robs it of all claims to our applause. After all, he is a truly ex- traordinary being, — a wonderful creature, furnishing the most curious subject for examination, to those, who, abstractedly from all the national and political feelings of the present time, can consider him merely N.\PO[,EON BUONAPARTE. '291 as a singular phaenomenoii, an anomalous variety, in the strange history of human nature. Whatever we may think of him in England, he is the great idol of adoration in this country. The people carry a little bronze image of him — like a Roman household God — in their waistcoat pockets, v^^hich they kiss with every mark of affection: and yet this very people helped to pull down the statues of the Emperor at his abdication. How is this to be explained, and what could have been the charms of Napoleon's dominion ? Is it the natural fickleness of mankind? or is it that the people were taught to believe, when Napoleon should be put down, a better order of things would be established; but finding now, that though he has lost every thing, thei/ have gained nothing, a re-action has taken place in public opinion, and the sentiment in his favour is increased, by mixing up their own disappointment along with it. The Austrians rule Italy with a rod of iron ; or as the Italians say, they rule it as if tliey were to be turned out of possession to-morrow. The con- scription, the taxes, the rigid exclusion of English manufactures, are all continued ; and the manner in which their oppressors exercise their rule is as offen- sive to the Italians as its spirit. They are utterly without the suaviter in modo, which made the French individually popular, in spite of their oppressions ; U 2 292 XAPOI.EON BUONAPARTE. and the Italians always talk of the Tedeschi, as la brutta sente"^'. It is impossible not to sympathize with the Italians in their complaints ; but, the domestic jealousy of one another, that exists amongst the different States, will stand in the way of any general effort to throw off the foreign yoke, which galls them so severely ; to say nothing of that softness of character, approach- ing to imbecility, which seems to incapacitate them from sustaining the perils of such a struggle. Though there is much more firmness of tone in the character of the northern, than of the southern inhabitants of Italy, yet my companion inveighed with vehement bitterness against the apathy of his countrjTnen ; and his constant prayer vras, that the Austrians might carry their tyranny so far, as to inflict daily a hun- dred blows of the bastinado upon every Italian ; ex- pressing his willingness to be the first to submit to this discipline. Upon my asking him what he meant, * The popular sentiment was strongly manifested, during the late visit of the Emperor of Austria to his Lombardo- Ve- netian dominions. The Emperor was at the opera at Venice, with Maiia-Louisa the wife of Napoleon. The audience were clamorous in their applause, and so particular in directing it to the Ex-Empress, that, as the best way of appeasing the tumult, Maria-Louisa quitted the theatre. The audience how- ever rose with her, and accompanied her home, leaving the Emperor of Austria, " With a beggarly account of empty boxes ! " AUSTRIAN DOMINION. 29S he explained, that he thought this, and nothing less than this, might rouse his countrymen to a general insurrection, to free Italy from the intolerable op- pression of their German masters. The spirit of the Austrian government was signally displayed, in conferring upon a German, the Arch- bishopric of Milan, the highest ecclesiastical prefer- ment in their Italian territory, and worth about 8,000/. per annum. We have had some taste of the rigour of their pohce, in the vexatious examination of our passports and baggage at every town through which we have passed. The captain replies to all my sallies of impatience, by a significant shrug, adding with a sort of sarcas- tic submission to his lot — Vcevlctis! and then ex- claiming with an indefinable expression, " Exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor !" We arrived late in the evening at Brescia, June 3rd. Off again at sun-rise. It perhaps may be reckoned among the advantages of travelling with a voiturier, that it soon accustoms you to rise at day- break without effort or fatigue. Nothing can be more uninteresting than the dull flat plain of Lom- bardy, where there is little to please any eye, but the eye of the agriculturist. The land indeed is as rich and fat as land can be, yielding four hay- harvests in the year. Besides, the whole plain is almost one continued vineyard, and the vine is not 291. PLAIN OF LOMBARDY. here the little dwarfish plant, that it is in other places, but is trained to hang from tree to tree in rich fes- toons, as it is described by Virgil. The mulberry is the common tree of the soil, which is cultivated rather for the sake of the leaves than the fruit. These are stripped off, as soon as they arrive at maturity, to feed the silk-worms. This operation had just been performed, and the poor naked trees looked wofully out of fashion, at this season, when every scrub of a bramble is dressed out in a new suit of green livery ; but, nature soon provides another set of leaves, and the silk-worms get a second harvest. Our vetturino crawled along more sluggishly than usual, and we had nothing to interest us in the way of novelty, but occasional fields of rice, which were a new sight to me. Halted for the night at Caravaggio. June 4th. Vive le Roi ! — My female companions talked a great deal to-day of England, and of English manners. They made the same charge against us, which is made by all the world, of pride and hauteur. In the course of our route to-day, we saw a chariot at a distance advancing towards us. The ladies clapped their hands together and cried out, Eccolo ! Eccolo ! Inglesi! Liglesi ! I asked them how they knew at such a distance to what nation the carriage be- longed, when they laughingly pointed to the female domestic on the box. They cannot see the propriety MILAN. 295 of the distance which is preserved between EngHsh masters and their domestics, — especially female do- mestics. The sight of 'a female posted on the out- side of the vehicle shocked their notions of the deference and courtesy due to the sex — all considera- tions of rank out of the question — and was con- sidered by them as an unpardonable act of high- treason against the divine right of womanhood ; nor could I make them understand that the Abigail was probably better pleased to accompany her fellow servant on the box, than to be admitted inside, sub- ject to the constraint arising out of unequal association. 296 CHAPTER X. Milan — JLalc& of Como — Liago Maggiore — Borro- mean Isles — Simplon Road — Goitres — Cretins — Clarens — Ckillon — Inundation at Martigny — Mont St. Bernard — Lake of Geneva — Lausanne. 1 HE approach to Milan is very grand ; as soon as }'ou pass the gate, you enter a noble street, as broad as Piccadilly, with a wide trottoir on each side for foot passengers. All this is the work of the French, Established myself at the Albergo Imperiale ; where I have engaged to give nine francs per day, for my rooms, breakfast, and dinner. There is something disagreeable at first to Eng- lish feelings, in making a previous bargain for your entertainment at an inn ; but it is the only way of securing yourself from a greater evil — a final dispute. Those, to whom economy is an object, will find their advantage in this practice ; for if the inn-keeper is made to understand that you do not travel e?i grand Seigneur, as the great mass of English are supposed to do, he will moderate his demands to your own terms, rather than allow you to seek another inn. Amongst the minor mortifications of a limited purse, there are few more disagreeable, than the necessity MILAN. 297 it imposes of attending to considerations, from which the rich man is exempt. What's to pay? is the only question he need ask upon his travels, — and the answer to him is of small importance. June 5th. The Cathedral ; — a ntio cathedral, es- pecially if it be built of white marble, as is the case at Milan, is an ugly staring tiling. In the inside there is a curious subterraneous chapel, in which the body of the Patron Saint, Charles of Borromeo, is deposited. He was one of the best and most amiable men of his time, and was committed quietly to the peace of the grave, amidst the respect and regret of his contemporaries. Some twenty years after his death however, his canonization took place ; upon which, his body was removed from its former tenement, and deposited in state in this splendid tomb ; where he is now exhibited as a spectacle to every curious stranger, at so much a head. This little chapel is all gold and silver, and the saint himself, arrayed in splendid robes, is laid in a case of trans- parent crystal. The face is visible — " grinning hor- ribly a ghastly smile," — as if he felt the bitter sar- casm conveyed by the contrast of his present situation with the motto of his life, — Humilitas ! Went to the Mint ; where you may see in a few minutes the whole process of coining, from the rough bar of silver, to the finished piece of money. The whole of the machinery is worked by water ; that part of it which stamps the impression, works 298 MILAN. 1 ,500 pieces in an hour. The last act of the process is verifying the coin. The bahmce used for this purpose is so dehcately constructed, that the eight- hundredth part of a grain is sufficient to turn the scale. Napoleon certainly excelled all the world in money- making. His Italian coin is perfect — at once hand- some, commodious, and intelligible — and this last article is of great use to a stranger. In our own imitation of this coinage, how is a stranger to know that a shilling is a shilling, — except by inspiration? In the Italian mint, the coin speaks for itself, and the value is inscribed on it in legible characters. They still continue to stamp the gold pieces of forty and twenty francs, and the silver pieces of five francs, with the image of Napoleon. The coinage of the smaller money is discontinued. June 6th. Drove to the Piazza Castello ; where there was a review of Austrian troops. The Ge- neral rode on the ground, attended by his staff most sumi)tuously caparisoned. The infantry were all padded out about the chest, and skrewed in about the waist ; according to the fashion that has sprung up, of improving nature's model. — " Heaven has given us one shape and we make ourselves another." From hence I went to the Amphitheatre of Napo- leon, capable of containing 40,000 persons ; the seats are cut out of the shelving bank, and are covered with living turf. Here were given, in imitation of the MILAN. 299 games of antiquity, splendid f^tcs, with liorse and chariot races, and naumachia. There are channels constructed, for filling the area of the Amphitheatre with water. A grand gala is now in preparation, to celebrate in this same place, the birth-day of the present Yice- Roy, an Archduke of Austria. At the further ex- tremity of the town, at the commencement of the Simplon route, is the unfinished arch of Triumph ; which was to have recorded the glory of Napoleon. The bas-relief ornaments were all finished, repre- senting his victories over the Austrians ; — the sur- render of General Mack, and his own triumphal entry into Milan ; and these things still remain, as if Austria thought the piece was not over, and that there might yet be " A rare fifth act to crown this huffing play ;" when these decorations would be called for. Leonardo da Vinci's famous picture of The Last Supper, in the refectory of the convent of the Ma- donna dellc Grazie, is almost gone. The magnifi- cent copy of it in mosaic, which was undertaken under the auspices of Napoleon, is finished ; but it has been sent olfto Vienna! the excellencies of this great work however will still live in the admirable engraving of Morghen. Lounged in the evening to the public gardens, which form an agreeable promenade. Here is a the- 1 300 MILAN. )i atre without a roof, open to the heavens, where an Italian tragedy was performed. One is so accustomed to stage lights, that a play by day-light strikes one as a monstrous performance. And indeed, all prejudice out of the question, day- light destroys entirely the illusion of the scene ; — at least as long as the scenes are made of painted canvass, and the actor's dresses of tags and tinsel. If the stage were indeed the marble palace that it is made to represent — as was probably the case in the ancient theatres if we may judge from the mar- ble of the proscenium that still remains — and if every other decoration " savoured equally of the reality" — the hght of day and of truth might be safely ad- mitted. The play was dreadfully dull, and the actors imi- tated nature most abominably. In the evening I went to the theatre of Marionettes, a very clever exhibition, where puppets of four feet high, moved about, and performed all the action of the scene with great spirit and propriety, while the voices were supphed by persons from behind the scene ; — so that of the two entertainments it would be fair to say, that in the one the puppets acted like men, and in the other the men acted like puppets. June 7th. Cold wet day. Itahan gossips. Uni- versal outcry against the " yaternal govermneiit '* of Austria. By the way this cant phrase seems to be appropriated, as if in a spirit of mockery, to the MILAN. 301 very worst governments in Europe ; unless indeed it be taken from the old adage of " he who spareth the rod spoileth the child," which seems to be the lead- ing maxim of the paternal governments, in their conduct to their subject states. — Engaged a vetturino for twenty francs a day, to carry me to Lausanne, by any route I should choose, and to pay my board and lodging expenses on the road. June 8. Rose at day-break ; — but my vetturino shewed the caitiff so strongly at the very first step, by a breach of his agreement, that I was obliged to determine my contract with him at once. Breakfasted at a cafe adjoining my hotel. Some hours afterwards, in an opposite quarter of the town, I missed my purse, containing about seventy Na- poleons, which was all the money I had in the world. Remembering that I had taken it out at breakfast, I immediately set out on my return to the caf6 ; though with very little expectation of recovering it. — As I walked along I bethought me of the physiognomy of the waiter, and drew the most unfavourable conclu- sions from the knavish expression which I began to recollect in it ; and then I arranged the best mode of conducting my queries, with a view to arrive at the truth, in spite of the lies which I took it for granted I should have to encounter. Upon entering the caf6 however, before I had spoken a word, he advanced towards me, with my purse in his hand, saying — Ekco, Signore ! uf^/^- 302 LEAVE MILAN FOR LAUSANNE. •^^ • I record this, as one of the many but perhaps the strongest instance that I have met with, of the honesty of the ItaHan people. This lad might have taken my purse without the possibility of detection, and almost without suspicion ; for, numbers of per- sons were then breakfasting in the room, and many others must have entered it during the time of my absence ; and the confusion and crowd of an Italian cafe would have made it the easiest thing in the world for any one to have taken up the purse with the newspaper, that I left with it on the table. Went in the evening to the theatre ; where Alfieri's tragedy of Mirra was performed. The subject is revolting; but Alfieri has managed it with great skill, and in the representation there is nothing to disgust. On the contrary, I have seldom seen a tragedy where the distress is more affecting. The actress, w^ho played Mirra, did it to the life ; — her first entrance told the whole story of the play ; and the part is so managed, as to excite pity and sympathy for Mirra, in spite of the odious passion of which she is the victim. If terror and pity be the objects of tragedy, the part of Mirra is admirably contrived to excite both these feelings in the highest degree ; for while you shudder at the terrible workings and fearful energy of her passion ; the struggles of her own native innocence of mind, and the horror w^th which she regards herself, make the strongest appeal to your compassion. LAKE OF COMO, 303 They manage their Theatres better, in one respect at least, than we do in England. The hour of com- mencement, instead of being the same all the year round, varies with the season, — and the curtain does not rise, till the sun has set. Jime 9th. Having accidentally encountered a voiturier, whose carriage and appointments are better than usual, I have engaged him to carry me, and me alone, whithersoever I will, for twenty francs a day ; which is to include the common expenses on the road. My first stage has been to Como ; and I have passed the day on the lake, enjoying all the pleasure that a fine landscape can give. What that pleasure is would perhaps be more difficult to describe, than the land- scape itself, difl^ering so much as it does, in different people ; for, how much more will one person see in a landscape than another, and even the same person than himself, at different times ? He certainly made a notable discovery, who first laid it down, that beauty does not reside in things themselves, but in the eye that sees it ; and every eye sees a different beauty. I have heard a man argue, that there was nothing in nature equal to the scenery of Covent-Garden; Dr. Johnson used to say there was nothing like Fleet- street; and every man, I believe, thinks the finest prospect in the world, is that which commands a view over his own land. But he is little to be envied, who is dead to the enthusiasm of nature; whose heart and feelings are SOif LAKE OF COMO. out of the reach of her influence, and who is insensible to the tranquil enjoyment, which is derived from the contemplation of such charming pictures as the lake of Como will present to him. The spot from which this noble lake is seen to most advantage, is from a point immediately oppo- site the Fiume di Latte, a romantic httle waterfall, which forms a succession of miniature cascades, from a height of several hundred feet, amongst the vine- yards with which the side of the mountain is planted. There is a spot opposite to this waterfall from which you command a prospect of the whole scene, without the disadvantage of a bird's-eye view. You have the three branches of the lake under your eye at once. The principal one extends northward, in the direction of Chiavenna ; with the mountains of ValTellina, and the Julian Alps, for its more distant boundary. Full in front is the Monte Legnone ; which though not ranking, as Eustace ranks it, amongst the highest Alps, nor retaining its snows in summer, is yet, from its bold rugged form, and its insulated position, one of the grandest and most commanding of them. To the south you look upon the other two branches, leading to Lecco, and to Como. This branch of the lake, from Menagio to Como, is of a very different cha- racter from the northern branch ; and though it is very beautiful, and at once wild and highly cultivated — with its banks studded with villas and villages — yet it wants the grander features of the northern prospect. 1 LAGO MAG a I ORE. 305 At the villa Pliniana, the well with its rustic masonry, is apparently in much the same state as in Pliny's time, whose descriptive epistle is engraven on a tablet in the wall. The lake abounds with fish. I came up with the boats of a party of fishermen, as they were hauling in their nets, in which was a fine trout of fourteen pounds. The inhabitants of the country about Como have a rage for seeing the world. They traverse all coun- tries, with pictures and barometers for sale, and when they have scraped together a little money, they return from their wanderings to pass the evening of their days, and lay their bones in their own country, — a desire that seems to be natural to all mankind, " dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos.'* The itinerant Italians who carry on this traffic in England will nine times in ten be found to come from Como. Wednesday 10th. Passed through Varese, to La- veno ; where I embarked my carriage to pass over the hago Maggiore to Baveno ; while I put myself into another boat to make a wider survey of the scenery of the lake. There is nothing in this, nor perhaps in any other lake, that can be put in competition with the view from that point of the lake of Como, which I have before alluded to ; but the Lago Maggiore is, I think, more interesting than the southern branch of the Como lake, because with the same soft features in the -30() BORROMEAN ISLES, bosom scenery, there is in the character of the hills immediately on its brink, a boldness and grandeur, which heighten the impression of the whole, by the powerful aid of contrast. Amongst this bosom scenery, if the expression may be allowed, are the Borromean Islands ; — Isola Bella, and Isola Madre ; — the magic creation of labour and taste. Originally barren rocks, they have been fur- nished with soil, and planted with groves of cedar, cypress, citron, and orange trees, and decorated with gardens, grottoes, and terraces. In the midst of this fairy land, which might serve as the model for a description of the island of Calypso, is the Palace, as it is called ; which is not the stately comfortless pile usually designated by that name ; but a delight- ful villa, combining elegance with comfort. I observ- ed here, what I have not seen elsewhere ; — the statues have a drapery of real gauze thrown about them, w^hich does not in fact conceal any thing, though it seems to do so. The effect is not unpleasing ; and if it be the result of prudery, it is a much better expe- dient than a fig-leaf. I could have lingered at Baveno a month, during this delicious season ; and I was on the point of dis- missing my voiturier ; but, something is constantly whispering in my ear, to hasten to Lausanne, where I expect letters from England. How are we to ex- plain that presentiment of what is to come, or of what has already happened at a distance from us, whether SIMPLON ROAD. 307 of good or evil, — though chiefly I beHeve of the latter, — which every body has felt more or less ? It may be doubted how much, or even whether any deference should be paid to these secret intimations. For my own part, I am not prepared to disregard them al- together. If it be a delusion, it is as old as Socrates, and may rank him amongst its victims. There is something strange and inexplicable in it ; but so there is in all the links of that mysterious chain of attraction and repulsion, affinity and hostility, sympathy and an- tipathy, by which all the parts of nature are united and separated. Second-sight^ as it is called, by which, according to some, the fate of the absent has been often so unaccountably communicated, may be but one of the many phaenomena of this mysterious system, of which we know so little. There may be nothing really more surprising in this, — though we are less able to explain it, — than in the common fact, of striking upon the cord of a violin, which produces a corre- sponding vibration in another that is in unison with it ; — unless indeed, we are prepared to decide that the human heart-strings are made of less susceptible stufl', than the strings of a fiddle. Jufie 11th. Baveno is on the grand Simplonroad, which I now entered upon for the first time. It is lined on both sides with short granite pillars, about the size of a common English mile-stone, placed in regular succession at very short intervals — scarcely more than six feet apart — which, on the edge of a 308 srMPLON ROAD. precipice, are also surmounted with a wooden rail. The scenery soon becomes interesting ; but it is not till you pass Domo d' Ossola, and begin to wind up the Val Vedro, that you are introduced into the heart and core of the Alpine recesses. Near Crevola, where you begin to ascend, there lies on one side of the road, a vast column of granite, wrought from a neighbouring quarry ; which was on its way to Milan to form a part of Napoleon's tri- umphal arch, when the news of his reverses arrested its progress. It is perhaps, in its present situation, a more striking monument of fallen greatness, than it would have been at Milan of prosperous ambition. In passing through the stupendous and sublime scenery of this part of the Alps, Napoleon will have no inconsiderable share in exciting your wonder ; es- pecially if you are a disciple of that sect, which sees nothing sublime or beautiful that is not founded on utility. For, while you gaze with astonishment at the mon- strous masses, which nature has here heaped one upon another, in every mode of shapeless desolation ; and feel that sensation of awe, which it is the effect of such scenery to produce, by impressing the mind with a vague but overwhelming idea of the power of the mighty Master of nature ; it is impossible not to be filled with admiration of the man, who had the bold- ness to undertake, and the genius to accomplish, a complete triumph over such fearful obstacles. In this. SIMPLON ROAD. 309 as in many other instances, he has far exceeded all former achievements. Hannibal, it is true, passed the Alps at the head of his army ; but Napoleon not only did this, but, as a lasting record of his contempt of all impediments, physical as well as moral, that stood in the way of the execution of his purpose, he has left this " royal 7vad ;" by which every puny whipster may do the same, without the precaution even of dragging the wheel of his carriage. This great work does, I think, eclipse all the fabled exploits which Grcecia mtndax, or Roma hiendacior, have handed down to us. Xerxes's adventure with Mount Athos was nothing to it. Napoleon has burst through solid rocks, that would have defied Hannibal with all his vinegar ; he has abridged rivers — in a word — he has played the very devil. The rocks frown at you and seem, " To wonder how the Devil you got there ;" while they hang over your head, as if preparing every moment to come thundering down with a tremendous " rn-soovSs jcuXjvSsto," to punish you for daring to in- vade their secret and solemn solitudes, and make " At once your murder and your monument." In fact, Napoleon has so catamaranned the foun- dations that more than one ecroulement has already taken place. It is remarkable that he never traversed this road himself. It was begun and finished in five -310 SIMPLON ROAD. years; but it is to be feared, from the negligence evinced in repairing it, that the indolence or the po- licy of the present rulers may suffer it to fall into decay. Austria, it is said, does not view with the same ad- miration that a traveller does, the facility of ingress into Italy, which is afforded by this, and the Mont Cenis road, — the sister work of Napoleon. She would much rather increase*, than diminish the diffi- culty of access, from that quarter of Europe ; being quite content with her own approach through the Tyrol, by way of Trent and Verona. This is very natural, and in this spirit it is said, she has exercised her influence with Sardinia to prevent the farther completion of the road from Genoa to Leghorn, which had been begun by Napoleon. I lingered so long on the way, that darkness came upon us before I was aware, and I was obliged to halt at a wretched hovel at Isella. June 12th. I was glad to rise as soon as it was light, and escape from the filth and vermin of the cock- loft in which I had passed the night, to the fine fresli morning air of the mountains. * As an illustration of this I might notice the vexatious requi- sition of an Austrian signature, to the passports of all strangers entering the Lombardo-Venetian territory, which has delayed or sent back so many travellers approaching from Switzerland ; who, m ignorance of this regulation, often omit to get their pass- ports countersigned by the Austrian Minister at Bern. SIMFLON ROAD. 311 80011 after leaving Isella, we passed the Swiss frontier, and after a long ascent, reached the village of the Simplon. This part of the Valais was incor- porated into the French empire, but has now returned to its ancient connexion with the Swiss confederacy. At the top of the hill is the unfinished hupital, which was intended for the residence of the Capuchin monks ; whose business and occupation it is to assist and pro- vide entertainment for travellers, and who are now stationed in a less convenient situation. The new building is on a very large and handsome scale, but the progress of it has been arrested, like that of the granite column, by the downfall of Napoleon. There is now little hope of its ever being completed ; at least the poverty of the state, to which it at present belongs — the Valais — is confessedly unequal to such works. The zig-zag ascent and descent are so skilfully managed, that you may trot up and down, without difficulty or danger. The character of the scenery, on the Swiss side, is much less bold and grand than on the Italian. The Val Vedro contains every in- gredient of the sublime that can be found in natural scenery — Mountain — Rock — Precipice — Torrent — Water-fall — Forest — in all their wildest forms; — but when you arrive at the summit of the Simplon, you are presented with a softer scene, and look down upon the verdant green valleys of Switzerland. The first impression of this land of liberty is very favour- 3X2 SIMPLON ROAD. able. The little cottage inns, if I may judge from this of Br^g where I have concluded the journey of to-day, are neat even to elegance, and there is in every thing an attention to comfort and cleanliness, which will remind an Englishman of his own mother country. June 13th. Intensely hot. Pursued my course through the Valais ; — but I must cease to " babble of green fields." As for natural scenery, even sketches convey but a faint idea; — and descriptive sketches are ten times worse. The poverty of lan- guage is never so apparent, as when you seek to represent by words the infinite varieties of nature. Descriptions, to be of any value, should be peculiar and appropriate ; but how general and indefinite are the terms which you must use, if you are obliged to paint in words; and how httle is conveyed by the whole catalogue of phrases which the most fertile imagination can supply ! If, indeed, by mixing up these phrases like colours on a pallet, you could pro- duce the same variety of tints, it might be as easy to represent a landscape with the pen, as the pencil. All however that the pen can do, I believe, is to give the poetical part of the picture ; by which I mean that part of it which appeals to the eye of the imagination, in the associations which the mind connects with the contemplation of the scene described ; and in this, the pen may perhaps have t!ie advantage. But, as to pre- senting a clear and intelligible 'picture of a com- I GOITRES, 313 plicated landscape by verbal description, I believe it to be impossible. The best, and most picturesque representations of this kind, are perhaps to be found in the writings of the inimitable author of Waverley ; but, I doubt whether even his sketches ever present a distinct image to the mind of the reader. I do not deny that his charming descriptions of nature, in her loveliest and boldest aspects, afford the greatest pleasure in the perusal ; — all I contend for is, that the pleasure is of a vague and general character, and not derived from a clear perception of the particular features of the scene described. — Slept at Sion. June 14th, There is a great sameness in the views in the Vale of the Rhone. The road runs along the bank of the river the whole way ; both pursuing their course in nearly a straight line. The Cretins are sad disgusting objects. I was prepared to expect the goitre : — " Quis tumidum guttur xahoX-wx in Alpibus? — Juv, It would seem as if nature in these regions could not help breaking out into excrescence, as well in the animate, as in the inanimate part of her creation. This loathsome appendage has been attributed to many causes. It has been supposed, though without foundation, that it is peculiar to those valleys which run from east to west ; and that it is not found in those that run from north to south. A more general notion has been, thai it arises from the qualities of the 314 CKETINS. Welter, which is here little more than melted snow. But, the more probable supposition is, that it is the consequence of breathing the damp foggy air which is condensed in valleys, situated between the ranges of high mountains ; — for the same disease is found in mountainous regions where no snow exists. This is the suggestion of Marsden, who, in his Histori/ of Sjifnatra describes a similar disease in the hilly districts of that country ; where the valleys are exposed to the caboot or thick fog, to the in- fluence of which cold vapour, he very rationally attributes the tumours in the throats of the inlia- bitants. Cretinage seems also to be peculiar to mountainous regions, though the cause and connexion is, in this case, still more inexplicable. It is found in the Pyrenees ; and also, according to Sir G. Staunton, in the mountainous parts of China ; and, in these cases, there is no common similarity of situation or climate, to indicate a common cause, — except the single cir- cumstance of hilliness. It is well for these poor helpless creatures, that the superstition of the country causes them to be regarded with more than common affection, as the peculiar favourites of Heaven ; for, being incapable of criminal intention, they are considered as exempt from the obligations of moral responsibility, and as privileged exceptions from the common lot of mankind, who are doomed to be born in sin. ! THE PISSE-VACHE. 315 But Switzerland is not the only paradise of fools *. In Egypt an idiot is held in still higher estimation, and even worshipped as a saint : — " If ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise." I have been much struck to-day with the neatness and personal beauty of the female peasantry, dressed in their Sunday costume. They still deserve the praises which St. Preux bestows upon them in his letter to Julie, describing the Ilaut-Valais, and they still retain " hiirs petites coiffures noires, et le reste de leiir qjustemejit, qui ne manque ni de simplicite, ni d' elegance." After leaving Martigni/, I stopped to examine the pisse-vache ; a cascade, of which Coxe says, that " he had seen higher waterfalls, but none more beautiful." Since his time — forty years ago — its beauties have been diminished by the operations oT a miller ; who, having built a mill under the fall, found it convenient to break away much of the projecting rock, to pre- vent the dispersion of the stream. The mill exists no longer ; the mischief remains ; but it is still a * Sir Robert Wilson, in his Expedition to Egypt says, " In Egypt a fool is worshipped as a saint, and at Cairo they have many particular privileges ; but the most singular is the su- perstition which favours them so as to make their children considered the peculiar favourites of Heaven ; therefore, in the public streets the most virtuous women have no scruples to them, and passengers, instead of disturbing, pray over their union. A woman so with child is highly esteemed amongst her own sex." 316 CLARENS. beautiful waterfall. Situated as it is by the roadside, and therefore accessible without any trouble, it is perhaps for that very reason less valued and less visited. For, there is a stimulant in difficulties to be over- come ; and indeed it is certain, that retirement of situation would give an additional charm to the beau- ties of the pisse-vache. Arrived early in the evening at Bex, where there is one of the very best inns in the world, and truly characteristic of the neat and elegant simplicity of Switzerland. In Italy all the domestics of an inn are men, who perform the offices of waiters and chambermaids ; here it is directly the reverse ; and while attended by the Swiss Hebes of Bex, you may feel the force of St. Preux's remark ; — *' avec la figure des ValaisaneSy des servantes memes rendroient leurs services embar- rassants.'' June 15th. At Villeneuve I came in full view of the lake of Geneva. From Villeneuve to Vevay the road is beautiful, and every step of it passes through the fairy land of poetry and romance. The " snow-white battlement" of Chillon — the " sejour charmanV of Clarens — and " Lake Leman with its crystal face," beautiful as they are in reality, speak to us with more than the dumb voice of nature, through the glowing periods of Rousseau, and the immortal verse of Byron. At Clarens, the shrubberies, and walks, and the bosquets, so minutely described in Rousseau, exist no LAUSANNE. 317 longer ; they have long since given way to plantations of potatoes, corn, ^-c. ; for, as my honest host at Vevay observed, in allusion to the Nouvelle H^loise; — " Romances are good things, but bread is better.'' From Vevay to Lausanne you pass through one continued vineyard all the way. The landscape is very pleasing, but it scarcely deserves the raptures of St. Preux ; who, on his return from his tour round the world with Lord Anson to his native Pays de Vaud, describes it as " ce pai/sage unique — le plus beau dont I'ceil humain fut jamais frappe, ce sejour' charmant auquel je n'avais lien trouve d'egal dans le tour du monde.'" In arriving at Lausanne, I drove immediately to the house of M. de Seigneux, to whom I had been recommended, who receives strangers into his house en pension. My first inquiry was for my letters ; — which quieted all my anxieties. Those only who have experienced them, can form an idea of the feelings with which a traveller retires to his own room, to enjoy alone and at leisure, the luxury of long-expected letters from home. June 17th. Paid a visit to the house in which Gibbon resided, which is within a few doors of us. Paced his terrace, and explored the summer-house, of which he speaks in relating, with so much interest- ing detail, the conclusion of his historical labours : — " It was on the day, or rather night of the 27th of June 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, 318 INUNDATION AT MARTIGNy. that I wrote the last Hnes of the last page, in a summer- house, in my garden. After laying down my pen, 1 took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waves, and all nature was silent." Gibbon's library still remains, but it is buried and lost to the world. It is the property of Mr. Beckford, and lies locked up in an uninliabited house at Lausanne. June 18th. Went to Martigny ; — to witness the dreadful effects of the late inundation. The cause of this calamity was as follows. Some months ago a glacier had fallen down in the valley of Baii,ne, choking up the course of a small river, and forming the head of what in time became a very extensive lake. The inhabitants, fearing that as the warm weather advanced this dam might thaw and give way, had cut a gallery through the ice to let off the water ; by w^hich, if the dam had remained firm a few days longer, the whole lake would have been emptied without causing any damage. But, on Tuesday the 1 6th the head of the lake gave way, — and down came the waters with a prodigious rush, sweeping all before them. lapides adesos, Stirpesque raptas, et pecus, et domos Volventis una; ^ If it had happened in the night, all Martigny INUNDATION AT MAHTIGNV. 319 must have perished. Four liundred houses were washed away in a moment, as you knock down a building of cards. The poor host of the Swan inn, who j)resided at the table d'hote where I dined on^ Sunday the 14th, was on Tuesday swallowed up in an instant, in his own garden ; — and away went stables, carriages and horses, in all directions. Per- haps it was my good genius that whispered me so constantly, to hasten to Lausanne ; and who pre- vented my halting at Martigny, as I had once thought of doing, in order to go from thence to Chamouny. If it were, I fear I am not so grateful to him as I ought to be ; for I would willingly have been a spectator of this dreadful visitation, even at the risk of being its victim. A poor painter was in the valley of Bagne, sketching this lake, at the time the dam gave way, and his escape was little less than a miracle. He has made a drawing of the perils that surrounded him. If he were a man of talent, such a scene ought to fiirnish him with materials for a picture of the Deluge, which has probably never been painted from nature. The scene at Martigny beggars description ; — ruin and havoc are every where. Water seems to be a more dreadful agent even than fire, in the work of destruc- tion. The operation of fire is at least gradual, and affords some chance of escape ; but water is a radical destroyer, and jumps at once to the conclusion. A single fact will be sufficient to convey an idea of the rapidity with which the work of demolition was 320 MONT ST. BERNARD. effected ; — the water travelled at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The loss of lives is great, and the loss of property still greater. Those who have escaped with life — and only life— are perhaps most to be pitied. They have not only lost their all ; but the very ground upon which their houses and crops stood, is a desert, covered with a coat of gravel and rubbish, and ren- dered utterly unfit for future cultivation. The despair of the poor creatures is very affecting, they rub their eyes— like the King in the Fairy Tale when he no longer saw Aladdin's Palace— as if they doubted the evidence of their senses. What a passing world this is ! and how foolish it is to fret and worry ourselves about the petty vexations of such a transient existence ;— at least such is the lesson which the contemplation of a scene like that of Martigny preaches, with more than the eloquence of words. 20th. Excursion to Mont St. Bernard. The con- vent is situated about 8,000 feet above the level of the sea; and is the highest habitable spot in Europe. The approach to it, for the last hour of the ascent, is steep and difficult. The convent is not seen till you arrive within a few hundred yards of it. It breaks upon the view all at once, at a turn in the rock. Upon a projecting crag near it, stood one of the cele- brated dogs, baying at our advance, as if to give notice of strangers. These dogs are of large size. CONVENT OP ST. BERNARD. 321 particularly high upon the legs, and generally of a milk-white, or of a tabby colour. They are most extraordinary creatures, — if all the stories the monks tell you of them are true. They are used for the purpose of searching for travellers, who may be buried in the snow ; and many persons are rescued annually from death by their means. During the last winter, a traveller arrived at the convent in the midst of a snow storm, having been compelled to leave his wife, who was unable to proceed further, at about a quarter of a mile's distance. A party of the Monks immediately set out to her assistance, and found her completely buried under the snow. The sagacity of the dogs alone was the cause of her deliverance, for there was no visible trace ; and it is difficult to under- stand how the scent can be conveyed through a deep covering of snow. It is stated that the Monks themselves, when out upon search for travellers, have frequently owed their preservation to their dogs, in a manner, — which would seem to shew that the dogs are endued with a presen- timent of danger. Many stories of this kind have been told, and I was anxious to ascertain their truth. The monks stated two or three cases, where the dogs had actu- ally prevented them from returning to the convent by their accustomed route ; when, it afterwards turned out, that if they had not followed the guidance of their dog in his deviation, they would have been 322 CONVENT OF ST. BERNARD. overwhelmed by an avalanche. Whether the dog- may be endued with an intuitive foreboding of danger — or whether he may have the faculty of detecting symptoms not perceptible to our duller senses — must be determined by philosophers. Be this as it may, — even the dogs are sometimes deceived, and with their masters are overwhelmed in the avalanches that are frequently falling in the spring of the year. About eighteen months ago, two of the domestics of the convent, with two or three dogs, and a party of travellers who had been waiting with the courier from Italy, were lost in an avalanche. The bodies of these unfortunate persons may now be seen in the Charnel-house of the Convent of St. Bernard ; where they are preserved, in order that there may be chance of their being identified by their friends. The coldness of the climate tends to retard putrefac- tion ; but at this time, no feature is distinguishable. Buonaparte crossed this mountain with 60,000 men, with whom he afterwards fought the battle of Marengo. He halted for two hours at the convent with a few of his staff, and took some refreshment ; but forbad the soldiers to enter or disturb the retreat of the Monks. I saw the spot where his life was saved by his guide. Buonaparte passed on without noticing the obligation at the time ; but upon his return from the victory of Marengo, he sent for the man, and presented him a purse of sixty Napoleons, The guide still lives and is called Buonaparte. CONVENT OP ST. BERNARD. 323 21st. We left the convent deeply impressed with the hospitable and kind manners of the superior and his brethren. The support of the establishment is greatly dependant on charitable conti'ibutions ; but it has lately suffered considerable loss, by the swindling device of some impostors, who — assuming the garb of the missionaries which the convent is in the habit of sending annually round the country to solicit support — contrived to levy very extensive contributions. In descending the hill, I looked into a sort of sheep-cot, about two miles below the convent. Here lay the skeleton of a man, in the garb in which he was originally deposited. The hat still remained on the skull, and his great coat lay spread beneath his bones. June 24th. In my way back to Lausanne, I halted at Vevay, took a boat with three watermen, and crossed the lake to Meillerie ; but I sought in vain for the secluded spot so romantically described by Rousseau, where St. Preux is described as having led Madame de Wolmar, after their escape from the storm. Rousseau's description however of the view from the lake is as accurate as possible ; and I was now in the track of St. Preux — Nous avanif ames en pleine eau ; je dirigeai telle- ment au milieu du lac que nous nous trouvames bientot a plus d'une lieue du rivage. La, j'expliquais a Julie V 2 3^24 LAUSANNE. toutes les parties du superbe horizon qui nous entouroit. Je lui montrois de loin les embouchures du Rh6ne, dont j'imp^tuex cours s'arrete tout-^-coup au bout d'un quart de lieue, et semble craindre de souiller de ses eaux bourbeuses le crystal azure du lac. Je lui faisois observer les redans des montagnes, dont les angles correspondants et parall^les forment, dans I'espace qui les s^pare, un lit digne du fleuve qui le remplit. En I'^cartant de nos c6tes, j'aimois k lui faire admirer les riches et charmantes rives du Pays de Vaud, oii la quantity des villes, I'innombrable foule du peuple, les coteaux verdoyants et pares de toutes parts, forment un tableau ravissant ; oii la terre partout cultiv^e & partout feconde, oiFre au laboureur, au patre, au vigneron, le fruit assur^ de leurs peines, que ne devore point I'avide publicain. Puis, lui montrant le Chablais sur la c6te oppos^e, (pays non moins favorise de la nature, et qui n'ofFre pour- tant qu'un spectacle de mis^re) je lui faisois sensible- ment distinguer les diff^rents efFets des deux gou- vernements, pour la richesse, le nombre, et le bonheur des hommes. C'est ainsi, lui disois-je, que la terre ouvre son sein fertile, et prodigue ses tr^sors aux heureux peuples qui la cultivent pour eux-m^mes. The contrast between the coast of Chablais, and that of the Pa^s de Vaud, still remains in full force ; and, by way of commentary upon the text of Rous- seau, I might cite the decrees and regulations stuck up in all the inns of Savoy, since the late changes ; where, among other arbitrary articles, there is one LAUSANNE. 325 which strictly forbids any person to be seen in the streets after ten at night; and the other prohibits all assemblies for dancing in public. Private balls in private families are graciously allowed, provided however, that it be done, " sans rumeur et avcc decence.'' Conversing with an inhabitant of the country, I asked him whether the people were con- tented and hapi)y under the government of Sardinia ; " Oh yes," said he, " we are as happy as fish in a frying pan." June 26th to August 15th. A life of idleness. M. de Seigneux's establishment combines every thing that can make a guest comfortable. Monsieur S. is a gentleman, in the whole extent of that term ; and Madame has every quality that a guest would most desire in the mistress of such an establishment. Amongst all her attractions, there is perhaps none more remarkable, than that active well-informed common sense, which is awake at all times and on all subjects. This is the most companionable of all qua- lities ; especially when, as in this case, it is joined with great good-nature, and unmixed with a single grain of affectation. The house opens into a garden, and on this side of it, we are completely in the coun- try ; looking upon a fine expanse of water, backed by the hills of Savoy, with a rich fore-ground of meadows and vineyards descending to the lake, which is about a mile distant from us. By opening the street-door we are in the town, and in the best part 326 LAUSANNE. of it. If a man wish to be alone, his own room is his castle ; if he wish to mix with society, he will find the best company of Lausanne in M. de Seig- neux's parlour. Perhaps society is never so free and unconstrained as in an estabhshment of this kind ; — there can be no lurking mistrust in the mind of either host or guest, to poison the pleasure of their asso- ciation. This assurance of welcome is well worth buying, at any price ; and, if either party be dis- satisfied, the account is demanded or presented, — and there is an end of the matter. Sterne says, if he were in a condition to stipulate with death, he should wish to encounter him at an inn ; — but perhaps Sterne had never lived in such a pension as this ; which is the very place for a man to live or die, in the most quiet and comfortable manner. The Pays de Vaud, of which Lausanne is the capital, was for two centuries and a half under the dominion of Bern, if such a term can be applied to so mild a system of government. For, during the whole of this period, it would appear that no tax whatever was levied by the sovereign state, upon the dependant province. Bern, in possessing itself of the Pays de Vaud, took possession also of the estates, which the Dukes of Savoy and the Bishops of Lausanne held in this little territory ; and the produce of these was sufii- cient to defray the expenses of the administration of the government. LAUSANNE. :327 Things were in this state, when the French re- volution broke out. Switzerland was too near not to catch the infection ; and the contest between the have-somethings and the have-nothings — the two great parties into which Sancho divides mankind — ended, as usual in such contests, in a complete revolution of the government; which had hitherto been con- fined to the aristocracy, but which was now vested in a Landmann, and a representative council, chosen by the people at large. But, it perhaps may be doubted, whether the Pays de Vaud have not lost more than she has gained by this revolution. She has, it is true, thrown off the yoke of Bern ; she has gained the rank of an in- dependent state ; and she has obtained a free con- stitution; but, the public property, which used to defray the expenses of the state, has been somehow or other lost in the scramble ; and the acquirement of cantonal independence has been saddled with the imposition of taxes, which may lead the people to doubt, whether their old robes did not sit easier than their new. Much attention is paid in this, as in the other republics of Switzerland, to repress the growth of luxury ; and to check by the interference of the police all fashionable innovations, which may seem to threaten the corruption of the simplicity of re- publican manners. An English gentlenran lately gave a private ball, 328 LAUSANNE. at which the ladies of course continued dancing, long after the hours prescribed by the plebeian laws of Lausanne. The police made some attempts to fine all tlie persons concerned ; but finding it difficult to establish the proof, they contented themselves with imposing the usual fine upon the master of the house. He refused to pay it ; and the issue of this question was expected with some interest, when it was set at rest by some friend of peace, who, as it would ap- pear, secretly paid the penalty on behalf of the de- fendant. He was however so indignant, at being supposed to have complied with a demand which he considered unjust, that he offered a reward, by public advertisement in the Gazette of Lausanne, for the discovery of the person who had thus in- terfered. The religion of Lausanne is Calvinistic; — but tliough we are so near the head-quarters of ** Brother Jack" — there are no symptoms of that mortifying and ascetic spirit, which so often distinguishes the followers of Calvin. To instance, for example, the observance of Sun- day. Every body goes to church ; and so sacred is the period considered which is consecrated to public worship, that it would be an offence of which the police would take cognizance, to disturb the streets, even by driving your carriage through the town, during the time of divine service. But, the offices of vvorship at an end, the leisure LAUSANNE. 329 hours of the day, are devoted to rational recreations ; — and if Sunday be distinguished at all, it is by a more than ordinary cheerfulness and gaiety. Music and the common domestic amusements proceed as usual, without any apprehensions that the recording angel is noting these things down as abominations. Sunday, in short, is kept without any of that gloomy formality, which seems to be thought by some, es- sential to piety ; — it is regarded rather as a feast than a fast, — being the day, dedicated to the preaching of that gospel, which brought " glad tidings of great joy to all people." The difficulty in tliis, as in other cases, is to pre- serve a just medium ; to remember the purposes for which the Sabbath was instituted and " made holy," without falling into the sour severities which were first introduced by the Puritans, — a sect that seems to have borne some affinity to the Pharisees of old, who reproached even the Saviour of the world, with being *' a Glutton and a Wine-bibber." 3^0 CHAPTER XI. Tour of Switzerland — Bern — Swiss Constitulion — Lake of Thun — hauterbrunn — Grindelwald — Brienz — Giesbach — Lucerne — Schwt/tz — Vallei/ of Golclau — Falls of the Rhine — Zurich — Zug — Bigi — Return to Lausanne. August 15th. 1 HE tour of Switzerland might well furnish occupation for a whole summer ; but, if the object of the traveller be confined to the pic- turesque, a fortnight will perhaps suffice to survey the finest features of this interesting country, and skim the cream of the landscape. With this limited object in view, I left Lausanne, with my friend D. in a one-horse Char, for which we agreed to pay 13g francs per day ; this was to include the keep of the driver and his horse on the road, and indeed all the current expenses of the equipage, except the bonne- main to the driver ; which should always be contingent, and made to depend upon his good-conduct. There is nothing between Lausanne and Payerne, our first day's journey, to excite observation. 16th. This day's drive brought us to Bern, the environs of which have an air of magnificence, that announces the approach to a capital. The situation BERN. 331 of Bern is very striking. It is built upon a bold eminence, at the foot of which runs the Aar — clear and rapid — and in the distance, is a bold range of the Alps, covered with eternal snows. The town is well-built, of handsome stone, but the arcades on each side of the street, with their projecting but- tresses, give it a heavy and gloomy appearance. The leading feature of the place is cleanliness ; nothing- can be neater than the streets, which are freshened by streams of water, that flow down the middle of them, in channels prepared for their reception. The Bear is the patron of Bern, and Bruin's portrait, as at the mansion of the worthy Laird of Bradwardine, meets you at every corner. A couple of these animals are entertained at the expense of the government, in a court in the town-ditch, where a fir-tree has been planted, that they may exercise themselves in climbing ; and perhaps there is not much in Bern that will amuse a stranger more, than the gambols of this ponderous but active pair. The costume of the women — for the men seem to be laying aside that distinctive dress which used to characterize the different cantons — is any thing but graceful. Nothing can be more absurd than the cap of a Bernoise, for it answers no purpose of uti- lity, with a broad, starched, black lace frill standing up all round it, in which she flits about, as with the wings of a dragon-fly ; though this is a very bad comparison, for the rest of her dress gives her figure 332 BERN. such a heavy Dutch look, that no wings could support it. The character of the Bernoise beauty might be given in the description which Henry the Eighth com- plainingly made of Anne of Cleves. With a delicacy of complexion that rivals the fair faces of England, there is a robustness almost amounting to clumsiness in their figures, which is irreconcileable with the graces. Madame Roland in characterizing the beauty of the women of Bern, says wittily enough; — " C'est le rosbifdes Anglais pour les estomacs a toute epreuve.'' The ancient government of Bern, was an absolute aristocracy ; — but an aristocracy that furnished the singular example of exercising its power for the ad- vantage of its subjects. The French revolution, however, and its conse- quences, have deprived Bern of the rights of so- vereignty, which it formerly exercised over its de- pendant states, and reduced it to the condition of a single canton in the new federal compact ; in deter- mining the principles of which, there was much opposition between the aristocratic and democratic parties, which might have led to serious <;onsequences, if the Swiss had not received a pretty strong hint, that if they could not settle their constitution amongst themselves, quietly and peaceably, the Allied Powers would be obliged to step in and do it for them. Such an intimation from without, had a wonderful eifect in mo- derating the violence of party animosity within; and in 1814, the new constitution was concluded at Zurich. SWISS CONSTITUTION. 333 The leading principle of this constitution was, the equalization of rights, not only amongst the different states composing the confederation, but also amongst the citizens of each state. The first step towards this, was the abolition of the name of subject in Switzer- land ; and accordingly, the same rights were given to the vassal districts, hitherto called subjects, as to the cantons to which they belonged. This principle was strongly opposed by the canton of Bern, which hoped to recover its ancient dominion over the Pays de Vaud and Argovie ; but it was fully established by the eighth article of the constitution ; — which also pro- vides that the Diet, in whom the government of the confederacy is vested, shall consist of nineteen de- puties, one from each canton, who shall vote ac- cording to their instructions, each canton having a voice by its deputy. By the seventh article, the equalization of rights amongst individuals was established, by the abolition of all exclusive privileges belonging to any particular class ; — and thus the triumph of liberty and equality, in the only intelligible meaning of those words, was complete. Since 1814, Geneva, Neufchatel, and the Valais, have been added to the confederacy ; and liberty is thus again re-established in her strong- hold ; and here at least, amidst storms and whirlwinds, and poverty and precipices, she may hope to maintain her sanc- tuary. S34 SWISS CONSTITUTION, 17th. The road from Bern to Thun passes through a beautiful country, which exhibits comfortable symp- toms of the general distribution of property. There are no splendid chateaus ; but the cottages are neat and elegant, and have all the appearance of plenty. Every village has its public walk ; and wherever there is a fine view or a shady tree, you will find a public walk, and a public bench ; where you may rest and enjoy yourself, without being afraid of an action of trespass. In short, you see every where a striking attention to the wants and comforts of the many. At Bern and Zurich, you may find equipages, and even liveries ; — but these last are held in general abomina- tion, throughout this land of equality, as base badges of servitude. Bern and Zurich, however, are large and wealthy towns, and it seems to be the natural effect of wealth and luxury, to destroy the true re- publican spirit. At Thun we sent our carriage to the right-about to give us the meeting at Zug ; while we made a boat- ing and riding detour, through the lakes and valleys that lie between Thun and that place ; and hiring a boat for eleven francs, we embarked for Neuhaus. The home scenery of the lake of Thun is picturesque and pleasing, and the range of the Oberland Alps in the distance, furnishes a grander background to the picture, than perhaps can be seen from any other lake in Switzerland. At Neuhaus, you find people with the waggons of the country, on the look-out for pas- LAKE OF THUN. 335 sengers to Interlaken. Interlaken is a charming village, situated in a retired and romantic spot, com- bining all that painters love to delineate, and poets to describe. The view from the hill behind the village, commanding the lakes of Thun and Brienz, is superb. 18th. Morning's drive to Lauterbrunn. Nothing can well be imagined more grand and sublime than the scenery of the valley of Lauterbrunn. Mountains rise on each side of you, ten thousand feet high, and a torrent roars at the feet of them, tearing its course through the valley, with a gurgling noise, that alone disturbs the solemn silence of this profound retreat. Occasionally, you encounter the summer cabin of a cow-herd, perched like an eagle's nest among the rocks ; — which seem inaccessible to any animal with- out wings, except the chamois. At last, the valley widens a little, and you arrive at the village of Lauterbrunn. Here you see the cas- cade of the Staubach, which comes down at one fall from a perpendicular, rock 800 feet high ; — nearly twice the height of St. Paul's. This cascade would be the grandest in the world, if the body of water were greater ; but it is composed of so small a rivulet, that it is dispersed into thin spray before it reaches the ground. Instead, therefore, of the tremendous thunder of a raging cataract, the Staubach " droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven," and presents a pic- ture of .enchanting softness and beauty, which I should 336 FALL OP THE STAU^ACH. be loth to exchange for any more subhme and terrible display of the power of nature. Madame Roland, in comparing the fall of the Staubach with the fall of the Rhine, has expressed in a beautiful illustration, the different impression which nature produces upon the imagination, as we contemplate her in her grand and fearful aspects, or in those soft and sunny spots, which, like an oasis in the desert, derive additional beauty from the horrors that surround them, in the sequester- ed seclusion of Lauterbrunn. " II semble, " says she " qu'une divinite imposante et paisible, ouvre une cataracte du ciel, et en fasse couler le Staubach de- vant soi pour s'annoncer aux mortels : — on dirait, de la chiite du Rhin, que le maitre des enfers, voulant effrayer la terre, la soul^ve avec le fleuve pour mani- fester son courroux." While we sat at the foot of the rock within reach of this refreshing shower-bath, admiring the rainbows produced by the morning sun in the falling spray, we were surprised by the sound of music, which seemed to be a duet of two hautboys ; and the echoes of the surrounding rocks produced the most pleasing effect. But here again, the evil genius of reality appeared to dispel the illusion ; — for the enchantment was at once dissolved, on discovering the cause of this music in the persons of two dirty old women. Their singing was from the throat, and the sounds resembled closely the tones of a flute. It is in the same manner that the famous Ktireiholen, or Ranz GRINDELVVALD. 337 des Vaches, the national air of the Swiss, is sung ; which does not consist of articulated sounds, nor is it accompanied by words ; but is a simple melody, formed by the same kind of guttural intonations. After lingering many hours in this romantic solitude, we retraced our steps for some way, and then turned to the right, into the valley of Grindelwald. The wooden cabins of the peasantry are in appearance just what Goldsmith describes, " Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms." In Grindelwald there is less of sublimity than in the valley of Lauterbrunn ; though the absence of wood, of which there is abundance in Lauterbrunn, gives a more wild and savage character to the scenery, 19th. We had arrived at Grindelwald in a Char with two horses, with an intention of pursuing our course with the horses alone — there being no road for a carriage any farther — over the Scheidegg to Mey- ringen. But to avoid the unprofitable toil of climb- ing up one side of a hill, merely to descend the other, we determined to return to Interlaken, and proceed by water to Brienz. All that is worth seeing, may thus be seen, almost without quitting your carriage, or the high road. Grindelwald is surrounded by the mountains of Eiger, Mettenberg, and Wetterhorn; but neither of these will compare with the Jungfrau, and Picvierge, — so called, from its inaccessible height — which are seen from Lauterbrunn. It is between the Metten- z 338 THE GLACIERS. berg and Wetterhorn that the glaciers descend. These stupendous masses of ice, while they command our as- tonishment, afford additional proofs of the wisdom and goodness of the Author of Nature. They have been well described " as performing the most important offices of utility, and while they serve as magazines which nature keeps in reserve, to replenish the rivers in Switzerland, the partial thaw, which takes place in summer, maintains the freshness and moisture neces- sary to promote the vegetation of those mountain pas- tures, which in this country constitute the chief wealth of the inhabitants. As the snow disappears, the flocks ascend the mountains, following the productions of the spring, which rise to life under their feet, from day to day, until the snows of autumn compel them to retire again into the valleys." The life of the Senn, or cow- keeper, is thus a life of constant migration. He sus- pends bells of different sizes to the necks of his cattle, in proportion to the merit of the cows, and it is said that these animals are so susceptible of feelings similar to our own, that if the leading cow fall into disgrace and be deprived of her honours, she exhibits all the mortification of wounded pride, and of angry jealousy, at the promotion of a rival ; — and the question of pre- cedence excites as much bitterness in the pastures of the Alps, as it can do in the drawing-room of the Thuilleries, or St. James's. The greatest affection is described as subsisting be- tween the Senn and his flock, which he is said to re- INTERLAKEN. 339 gard as a part of his family ; and the bells of his cows are made to harmonize with the Ranz des Vaches, which is his constant strain. It is from the same icy mountains, that Switzerland derives its mineral waters, its hot springs, its crystal mines, and its cold baths ; which have been found so efficacious iwt the cure of various diseases. On our return to Interlaken, we had a dispute with the voiturier of whom we hired our horses. "We had bargained for a journey of three days, intending to go to Meyringen ; but as we abandoned this plan, and brought him his horses back the second day, we thought ourselves entitled to some abatement. He argued that it w^as our own fault, that we had not proceeded to the end of our journey, — and stuck to his bond. As it was a rainy day, and we could not continue our route to Brienz immediately, we resolved to try the temper of Swiss law, and adjourned with the voiturier to the Bailli of the village. He ruled the case between us with ability and impartiality, and I was delighted at the quickness with which he seized the real gist of the question. The cause was soon over, and — what seldom, I believe happens — both parties retired perfectly satisfied with his arbi- tration. Having first brought us tp an agreement as to the terms of our bargain ; — he decided, — that we were bound by our contract, and must pay the voiturier for three days ; but he also kept the voi- turier to his part of the contract, and ordered, that Z2 340 LAKE OF BRIENZ. if we chose to stay at Interlaken, we might ride his horses as much as we pleased, till those three days were expired. This produced a compromise between the litigants ; and we wished the honest Bailli good morning, and a long possession of the judgment-seat of Interlaken. We paid six francs for a boat to carry us to Brienz. The upper part of the lake of Brienz is superior to any thing I have seen in Switzerland. It is a perfect picture, and completely satisfies the imagination ; — approaching nearer to the gaiety which is the character of the Italian lakes, as opposed to those of Switzerland, which have for the most part a sombre and gloomy air. The Italian lakes are, as Eustace says, " on the right side of the Alps," — in a land of wine and oil, instead of milk and water, — where you have vineyards, instead of pine forests, and the villages, instead of being buried in holes, and thrust into corners, as in Switzerland, are hung out in the boldest and most prominent situations. Opposite to the village of Brienz, is the fall of the Giesbach ; which has been less celebrated, though it is I think beyond all com- parison the most magnificent cascade in Switzer- land, and second only to Terni. And even when compared with Terni, its inferiority is confined to the volume of water ; for perhaps there is more variety in the falls of the Giesbach, which comes foaming down with furious impetuosity, through magnificent forest scenery; the effect of which is, to break the usual FALLS OF THE GIESBACH, 341 uniformity of a cascade view. The view from the Alpine bridge, which has been constructed half way up the steep, commanding at once the look up, and the look down, is perhaps unrivalled. It is in a spot like this, that we feel the impossibility of conveying by words any idea of the sublime imagery of nature. At Brienz, a party of female choristers offered their services to enliven our evening, by singing their national airs. Many of these were delightfully simple and plaintive, and they '* warbled their wood-notes wild" so sweetly, that perhaps science and instruction could have added nothing to improve the harmony. 20th. We hired a couple of horses to cross the Brunig to Sarnen, the road being impassable for a carriage ; and for this day's journey we paid thirty- six francs ; for in Switzerland, they always charge you for their horses' journey back, as well as for the journey you perform. Sarnen is the capital of the little canton of Unterwalden. If, as it has been ob- jected, there is any natural connexion between the Roman Catholic religion and the doctrine of passive obedience, it would seem that the character of this religion is changed by the climate of Switzerland ; — and here, it loses even its intolerance. For the canton of Unterwalden was one of the first to assert and maintain the rights of liberty ; yet it was, and is, firmly attached to the church of Rome ; though this has not prevented it from extending the hand of good fellowship to the Protestant inhabitants of Upper- .31-2 CANTONAL GOVERNMENTS. walden ; and these two cantons have long been incorporated together. They sit in the same council, administer the same laws, and intermarry with one another, without at all disturbing their political or domestic harmony. It is pleasant, amidst the wild and savage recesses of the Alps, to find a moral scene of such a character ; — where the bitterness of religious differences is sof- tened by the kindly feelings of human brotherhood ; and every sect enjoys a full and complete participation in all the privileges of society. The costume of the peasantry in this canton is grotesque, but not unpleasing. The women walk about in flat straw hats, which bear the same pro- portion to their figure, that the head of a large mushroom does to its stalk. 21st. The government of a pure democracy may still be contemplated amongst some of the little can- tons of Switzerland ; where the people meet en masse in the plain, to legislate and choose their magistrates. Here too may be seen the singular spectacle of a government without taxes ; the government lands paying all the expenses of the state ; and this will not appear extraordinary, where we find that the salary of the Landmann, or chief officer of the state, is limited to eight pounds per annum. In this minia- ture shape, such a government may be conducted with moderation and justice; but the history of democracies has too fatally proved, that it is perhaps of all forms CANTONAL GOVERNMENTS. 343 of government the worst, when tried upon a large scale. Cruelty and injustice may disgrace the best formed constitutions ; but it would seem that they must be the characteristics of c nocracies. The history of Athens, the seat of arts and sciences, the country of historians, poets, and philosophers, teaches us, in the banishment of Aristides, the condemnation of Socrates, and the death of Phocion, that the intellectual and moral character of a people affords no security against their abuse of power ; while the annals of the French Revolution will record in its true colours, the savage spirit of a democracy acting under the blind impulse of ignorance and vice. This detestable spirit is completely explained in the de- claration of a favourite demagogue of that day — " that true republicans ought not to bear even the aristocracy of virtue," — a sentiment which seems to be lineally descended from the Athenian, who employed Aristides to inscribe his own name on the shell that was to send him into exile. It is plain that these observations are not meant to apply to such mixed governments as have been founded on the representative system, — the effect of which is, to counteract the inherent vices of demo- cracy ; though it may well be doubted, whether this beneficial effect would not be completely neutralized, if the right of suffrage were made universal, with a new election every year. After a long conversation on Swiss politics with 34i4< LAKE OF LUCERNE. — GERSAU. our worthy host at Sarnen, — who held an important office in the magistracy of the canton, and who delighted us at once by his good humour, and the strong resemblance he bore to the gallant Fluellen, of Welsh memory, — we proceeded in a char to Alpnach, where we hired a boat to take us to Lu- cerne, and afterwards to Gersau, for fifteen francs. There was a good deal of wind, and the boatman hoisted a sail ; but this is a dangerous practice ; for the boats are flat-bottomed, and the men very bad sailors, so that you run the risk of being overturned by those puffs of wind, to which you are constantly exposed on the lakes of Switzerland, from the nature of the surrounding mountains and valleys. There is little in Lucerne to detain you, except the model of the four cantons by General PfifFer, which should not be omitted. The scenery of the lake in the neighbourhood of Lucerne is rather tame, but as you advance towards Gersau, it assumes a loftier character, and the view towards Altorf is full of rugged magnificence. The little republic of Gersau, consisting of a terri- tory of two leagues in length, and one in breadth, was incorporated into the canton of Schwytzin 1798. There is an anecdote told by a French traveller, to shew how completely, in so small a community, the conduct of every individual is under the eye of the public ; — upon entering the inn at this place, he found an advertisement posted up, prohibiting all persons SCHWYTZ. SiS from playing at any kind of game, or drinking, with two citizens of the republic, specified by name ; and the reason assigned for this prohibition was, that one of them was addicted to drunkeimess, and the other to choler. 22nd. We proceeded up the lake, and disem- barked at Brunen ; from whence it is a short drive to Schwytz, — the cradle of Switzerland. The inha- bitants of this canton displayed the same enthusiastic courage at the battle of Montgarten, against the French, in 1799, which their ancestors had done on the same spot, against the Austrians, in 1315, in the memorable battle which established their liberty. The interval between these battles — nearly 500 years — was an interval of peace and prosperity ; but the havoc and devastation committed by the contending armies of Russians, Austrians, and French in 1799, reduced the poor Schwytzers to beggary and ruin. The town of Schwytz is situated in a charming green valley, backed by the sharp and rugged heights of the Mythen. The Cerf at Schwytz, is a perfect inn ; so dehghtfully comfortable, that I should have been well contented to remain there for some time ; if the time had permitted it. It is necessary to penetrate into the core of Switzerland, to recognise the traces of that honest simplicity of character, which has been considered as pecuHar to the Swiss people. In those places which are situated on the great high roads, the influx of travellers has produced the usual work of 346 ECROULEMENT OF THE ROSSBERG. demoralization ; and the only competition seems to be who shall cheat the traveller most. The, female cap of this canton seems to be fashioned with still less attention to utility than that of Bern ; and is, in fact, nothing but a stiff frill of muslin, disposed uprightly on the top of the head, like the comb of a cock. In our route from Schwytz to Art, we passed over the valley of Goldau, the fatal scene of the terrible ecroidement of the Rossberg ; a mountain which in the year 1806, slipped from its foundations, literally fulfilling the emphatic description of the Psalmist, — *' The mountains skipped like rams." — This over- whelming catastrophe swallowed up in a moment five of the most industrious villages in Switzerland, with some hundreds of their inhabitants, and a party of unfortunate travellers. The moving masses which came thundering down, are described as being a league in length, 1,000 feet in breadth,*and 200 feet high ; which in a few minutes converted this once cheerful and populous valley into a shapeless chaos of rocks and desolation. The weather was so bad when we arrived at Art, that we resolved to postpone our intended ascent of the Rigi till our return, and proceed at once to Schaffausen, the ultimate object of our tour. After a boisterous voyage along the lake from Art, we arrived at Zug, where we found our carriage; and as the rain prevented us from seeing any thing of that place, we pushed on to Thalwyl to sleep. FALLS OF THE RHINE. 347 23rd. We proceeded as rapidly as possible, with- out making any halt at Zurich, in order to see the falls of the Rhine before sun-set. It had continued to rain during the whole day, but a short time before our Char stopped at the foot-path, which leads to the falls, the weather suddenly cleared, and we were fortunate enough to contemplate this splendid pros- pect lighted up by the rays of the setting sun. As the morning is the most favourable season for seeing the Staubach, so, from the difference of the aspect, the evening is the best period for looking at the falls of the Rhine. The impression of the first cowp d'ceil perhaps disappoints expectation, and it seems to re- quire a longer survey, to take in the whole mag- nificence of the scene. The best point of view is, I think, from the room of an artist immediately opposite to it ; in which he has constructed a camera obscura, which transfers the whole scene with all its lights, and colours, and motion, upon the table of his apartment. One of the defects, which are incident to repre- sentations of cascades, is thus supplied, and the effect of this moving picture is very pleasing; the want of sound, however, is a defect, which seems irremediable, for, though in this instance you have the roaring of the real water-fall in your ears, you cannot, by any cheating of the senses, connect it with the mimic imagery of the picture. Twilight came upon us while we were yet gazing with undiminished admiration at the awful majesty of I 348 FALLS OF THE KlllNE. the scene before us. I find that we have delayed our tour too long. The beginning of July is perhaps the best period for an excursion in Switzerland ; for it is very important to have the evening as long as ^ possible. At present it is night at eight o'clock, and the thermometer, which was a fortnight ago at 85 in the shade, was this evening as low as 52. We found shelter for the night at a wretched inn at lestetten. 24th. There is nothing interesting in the country between SchafFausen and Zurich, and it is upon a road like this, that one is tempted to complain of the want of post horses in Switzerland. The Diet seem to consider, that the establishment of posting would be too great an encouragement of luxury; and ac- cordingly a traveller is doomed to the snail's pace of a voiturier's team, whether he will or no. It is impossible not to wish well to any regulations that have a tendency to promote and maintain un- corrupted the simple manners of the peasantry ; and, it is, I fear, a serious deduction from the advantages of good roads, and mail coaches, that, while they promote the diffusion of knowledge, they circulate the poison of immorality, and contaminate the simple manners of the country with the vices and licen- tiousness of the capital. Travellers have certainly done no good to Switzerland ; but perhaps she has more to fear from the mistaken policy of the Diet, in encouraging the growth of manufactures. SWISS MANUFACTURES, 349 To say nothing of the absurdity of manufacturing at home, cottons and musHns, which she might pur- chase cheaper and better from England ; the profits of these establishments will be a poor compensation for the evil effects which they must produce upon the morals of the people. The only hope of duration that a democratical government can entertain, must be founded upon the moral qualities of the great body of its population. It would surely be happier for Switzerland, that her population was confined to the honest and hardy followers of pasturage and agriculture, than that she should, by the establishment of manufactures, breed up an excessive population in particular places, depending for support and subsistence upon the fluc- tuating prices of commerce, and infected with the vicious propensities which seem to be the necessary consequence of any system, that confines large num- bers of human beings together in sedentary employ- ments. The Swiss, and particularly the inhabitants of the neighbouring canton of Appenzell, have always been celebrated for their skill in mechanics. A re- markable instance of their mechanical genius was furnished by Ulrich Grubenman. This man, who was a common carpenter, was the inventor of that sort of wooden bridge, which is in German called hceiig- werk. In consequence of the repeated washing away of 350 ZURICH. the bridges at SchafFausen, a committee was appointed to consider of a plan for anew structure. Grubenman, in order to avoid the force of the stream, proposed to erect a bridge which should consist of a single arch. The idea of throwing an arch across a width of 300 feet, was treated with ridicule ; and the plan was about to be dismissed, as the project of a visionary ; when Grubenman, as the story runs, an- swered the objections by jumping with his whole weight upon the miniature model of his intended work, which bore him up triumphantly, and his plan was in the end adopted. Zurich is celebrated for the literary characters it has produced, and has been called the Athens of Switzerland. Gessner and Lavater are amongst the names of which they are most proud. The last fell by the bayonet of a French ruffian, when Zurich was taken by storm, during those ter- rible times which made the peaceful retirement of Switzerland the theatre of war and carnage ; and presented the awful spectacle of contending armies of French and Russians fighting hand to hand upon the Devil's Bridge. The public library is large and curious ; but a tra- veller has seldom time to do more than look at the outsides of books. They shew you an original manu- script of Quintilian, and a collection of original letters in Latin, from our Lady Jane Gray to Bullinguer. In the evening we proceeded to Zug, along the banks zuG. 351 of the lake of Zurich, which are gay and cheerful, though entirely without any of the higher charac- teristics of the sublime and the beautiful. 25th. The little canton of Zug, like Schwytz and many others, proves, that there is no necessary hos- tility between the Catholic Rehgion, and liberal prin- ciples of government. We embarked for Art at day- break, in order to ascend the Rigi. The lake of Zug is famous for the variety and abundance of its fish. The season of carp fishing is drawing to a close. I am told they are sometimes caught of the prodigious weight of ninety pounds ; and frequently of twenty pounds' weight. But the fish in greatest estimation is the 7'cetele, a sort of salmon-trout, v/hich is found under different names in most of the lakes of Switzer- land. The day had promised a fine sun-set, but, as is often the case, these expectations were disappointed. There are four different routes by which you may ascend the Rigi ; but that from Art is perhaps, on the whole, the best ; not only as regards the road itself, but because the views by the way are confined, and the grand panorama is reserved till you arrive at the summit. It took four hours and a half of good walking to reach the top. The evening was extremely cold ; the wind at north-west, and Fahrenheit's thermometer stood at 40. 26th. We rose soon after four o'clock in order to see the sun rise, which he did in the fullest splendour ; 352 RiGi. gilding the white summits of the Swiss Alps, of which you command a view from the Sentis in Appenzell, to the Gemmi in the canton of the Valais. Ebel says, that fourteen lakes are visible, but I could only make out eleven. It was a magnificent spectacle. A sun- rise upon the Rigi, — the Regina Mont'mm, — forms an epoch in one's life, which can never be forgotten. No man can help feeling on such an occasion some of those sensations, which Rousseau so eloquently de- scribes as the effect of the air of high mountains, though it perhaps may be doubted whether the cause be not altogether moral, rather than physical. " Ce fut la, — on the top of the Rigi for instance,-— ce fut la, que je dem^lai sensiblement, dans la purete do I'air ou je metrouvais, la veritable cause du change- ment de mon humeur et du retour de cette paix inte- rieure, que j'avais perdue depuis si long tems. En efFet, c'est une impression gen^rale, qu'eprouvent tous les hommes, — quoiqu'ils ne I'observent pas tous, — que sur les hautes montagnes, ou I'air est pur et subtil, on se sent plus de facility dans la respi- ration, plus de leg^ret6 dans le corps, plus de s^r^nite dans I'esprit; les plaisirs y sont moins ardens, les passions plus mod^r^es. Les meditations y prennent je ne sais quel caractere grand et sublime, proportionn6 aux objets, qui nous frappent, — je ne sais quelle volupte tranquille, qui n'a rien d'acre et de sensuel. II semble qu'en s'6levant au dessus du s^- jour des hommes, on y laisse tous les sentimens bas Rior. 353 et terrestres, et qu'a mesure qu' on approchc des re- gions etherees, I'ame contracte quelque chose de leur inalterable puret^. On y est grave sans melancolie, paisible sans indolence, content d'etre et de penser ; tons les d6sirs trop vifs s'^moussent, ils perdent cette pointe aigue qni les rend douloureux; ils ne laissent au fond du cceur qu'une Amotion legere et douce; et c'est ainsi qu'un heureux climat fait servir a la felicity de rhomme les passions qui font d'ailleurs son tour- ment." Such is the description of Rousseau, of which every man has, more or less, felt the truth ; and it is, no doubt, to enjoy in platonic perfection such seraphic raptures, that a lady of Switzerland has fixed her residence on the summit of the Rigi during the summer ; where she receives and entertains such pilgrim visitors as may be thought worthy to parti- cipate in them. In descending, we took the road to Wegghis, which is the shortest and the steepest. Here we em- barked to cross the lake of Lucerne where we re- joined our carriage. 27th and 28th. The road from Lucerne to Bern, by way of Zofingen, passes through the most fertile and best cultivated part of Switzerland. The views are of a softer and richer character, and the land- scape is constantly enlivened by herds of grazing cattle: a feature which is often wanting, especially in the Pays de Vaud ; where the favourite system, is 2 A 354 MANAGEMENT OF CATTLE. to confine the cattle to the house. In the neighbour- hood of Lausanne, there is a large gi'azing farm ; where no less than a hundred cows are thus kept in the confinement of the stall, during the whole year. The advantages of this mode, in a farming point of view, seem to be considerable. The grass which supplies them with food during the summer, instead of being wastefully trodden under foot, and daintily picked, is regularly and fairly cut, — fat and lean to- gether, — and is thus made to go much further ; while the vast quantity of manure which is accumulated from so large a stock is sufficient to support the pas- tures under the constant exhaustion of the scythe. The Swiss are very attentive to the dressing of their pastures, and to the preservation of the means of doing so, particularly to the urinary part of ma- nure, by far the richest and most valuable, of which they collect and treasure up every drop with scrupu- lous care. The animals on the other hand give more milk than if they were at liberty ; and are in much better condition, in the grazier's sense of the word; — that is, they are always ready for the butcher. The only objections to this mode arise out of considerations for the happiness of the animals themselves, to whom we are disposed to attribute human feelings and sen- timents, and to imagine, that they derive the same pleasure from browzing freely in the sunshine of the meadow, or reposing in the protecting shade of the MANAGEMFNT OF CATTLE. S55 wood-land, surrounded by the beauties of nature, which we should ourselves feel, if similarly situated. But it may I think be fairly concluded, that ani- mals, though they may seem to participate with man, to a certain extent, in the faculty of reason, are utterly insensible to all the pleasures of taste and imagination. The beautiful has no charms for the brute creation ; for even in the passion of sexual desire, where, if any where, it might be supposed to have some influence, we do not perceive that youth, beauty, and cleanliness, make a more forcible appeal to their feelings, than age, dirt, and deformity. And it may be doubted whether the tranquillity and pro- tection from flies during the summer afforded by the stall, be not sources of greater gratification to these animals, with whom " To live well means nothing but to eat," than any which they coifld find in the enjoyment of liberty, or the contemplation of the landscape. 29th. After again exploring the beauties of Bern, and its promenades, we retraced our steps to Pay- erne. 30th. Returned to Lausanne ; — the more one sees of Switzerland, the more one is pleased with the country, and the less one is pleased with the inha- bitants. Point d'argent •point de Suisse, is a maxim of which every day's experience demonstrates the truth. 2 A 2 356 LAUSANNE, Our bill last night, was just twice as much as it was a fortnight ago at the same place ; and our host was somewhat confused, when we produced his former account, in opposition to his charge. Swiss honesty is a phrase that is much used, and it may have some application — out of Switzerland ; but it is an article that seems to be cultivated solely for exportation, and none is retained for home consumption. September 6th. Packing up. Farewell visits. Last drive round the environs of Lausanne, which are studded with pretty villas ; amongst which La Chabliere is conspicuously beautiful, — the residence of Mr. Canning, the British Minister, whose cour- teous and hospitable attentions will not be forgotten by any of his countrymen who have resided at Lau- sanne. LAUSANNK. 357 CHAPTER XII. Departure from Lausanne — Geneva— Fernei/ — Cha- rnouni — Mont Blanc — Mer de Glace — Aix — Chani- berry — Lyons — Journey to Montpellier — Scenery of the Rhone — HannibaVs Passage — Revolutionary Horrors — Nismes. September 8th. JLiEFT Lausanne in a voiturier's carriage, consuming eight hours in the journey to Geneva. There is a metropolitan appearance about Geneva ; and it would seem that the people had ac- quired a taste for military fo})pery, during their long connexion with France. The town is fortified ; — and there is as much pomp and circumstance in the examination of your passport at the gate, as if you were entering the capital of a military despot. In the lower and trading part of the town, the houses, which are very high, have arcades of wood supported by pillars carried up to the roofs, something after the manner of Chester. The upper part of the city, which is built on a gentle ascent, is clean and handsome ; the houses are of fine stone, and the views from the public walks, towards the lake and neighbouring mountains, are magnificent. The Rhone issues out of the lake in two rapid streams of dark and transparent blue, which unite soon after- wards, before they join the muddy Arve. It is sur- 358 GENEVA. prising how the notion could ever have prevailed, that the Rhone passed through the lake without mixing with its waters ; but, there is this very extraordinary fact, — at its going out, it resembles neither the muddy colour of its former stream, nor the crystal clearness of the lake through which it has passed, but is of as deep an indigo as the stream that runs from a dyer's furnace. September 9th, Drove to Les Delices ; — the re- sidence of Voltaire, before he fixed himself at Ferney ; biit there was nothing to be seen. Afterwards to Ferney. His bed-room and salon remain precisely in the state in which they were when he occupied them. Under the canopy of his bed is a portrait of Le Kain ; on one side of the hangings, a portrait of the King of Prussia, — and on the other, one of Voltaire himself. On another side of the room is the Marquise de Cha- telet, his mistress. On the third wall are. the Empress of Russia ; Clement XIV, better known by the name of Ganganelli ; Voltaire's Sempstress ; and his Little Savoyard Boy. On the remaining side are a collec- tion of prints. The family of Galas — De Lille — Diderot — Sir Isaac Newton — Franklin — Racine — Milton — Corneille — Antoine Thomas — Leibnitz — De Mairan — Helvetius — Washington — D'Alembert — Marmontel. — All these remain as he had placed them. Here too is a model of the monument which he prepared for the reception of his own heart, with this, inscription : FERNEY. 359 Mes manes sont consoles Puisque mon coeur Est au milieu de vous. All the prints are very poor performances, of small size. The Sempstress and Savoyard Boy are beau- tiful subjects, and very prettily done in crayons. 1 could not hear that there was any tale of scandal relating to either. The portrait of Frederic is a vile daub in oil colours, which an ale-house in England would scarcely accept as a sign. That of the Mar- quise de Chatelet is not much better, though her countenance apparently deserved an abler artist. Ca- tharine of Russia's portrait is executed in embroidery. Le Kain's is a wretched performance in crayons ; and if it was like him, there never was an actor who had to contend against greater disadvantages of person. Voltaire's portrait is by far the best of the collection ; the face is full of vivacity and spirit. It must have been done when he was a very young man ; and placed here, it looks as if he had been the god of his own idolatry. The portrait of Clement XIV, should have been inscribed with his memorable repartee to Voltaire, which has still higher merit than its wit to recom- mend it. The Baron of Gleichen, in his way to Italy, stopped at Ferney, and inquired of Voltaire what he should say from him to the Pope? — " His Holiness,"' replied Voltaire, " favours me with presents of medals, and of .3()0 VOLTAIRE. indulgences, and even sends me his blessing : but I would rather that Ganganelli would send me the ears of the Grand Inquisitor." — The Baron delivered the message: — " Tell him," replied Clement, " that, as long as Ganganelli is Pope, the Grand Inquisitor shall have neither ears nor eyes." The whole town of Ferney was of Voltaire's creation. His estate consisted of about 900 acres. I talked with an old pair, who spoke of him with the greatest affection, and told me tales of his va- rious charities ; — of his portioning the poor to enable them to marry, — and of the kind interest which he took in all their concerns. He was very fond of rifle shooting, and encouraged popinjay contests amongst them, in which he himself took a part. An old domestic produced two relics of his master ; — the cap which he used to wear in his study made of white silk embroidered with tinsel, — and a curious book, in which Voltaire had made a collection of the seals of all his correspondents. The seals were pasted in, and underneath each, he had written the address of the writer. It seems, that it was his practice when he received a letter, to examine and verify the seal, by referring to his book; and if it came from a quarter he did not like, he refolded it in an etiveloppe, and returned it unopened to the writer. He built the church of Ferney close to his own gate, as if he had a mind to illustrate the VOLTAIRE. -i61 old saying, — the nearer the church, the further from G— . So much for Voltaire, whose merits as^ an author seem to have been over-rated. Johnson's praise of Goldsmith might with some limitation be applied to him, — nullum fere scribendi genus non tetigit, nullum quod tetigit non oi^iuivit ; but though he sparkled in almost every style of writing, he did not perhaps shine pre-eminently in more than one. He had more wit than genius, — and his forte rather lay in cooking up the thoughts of others, with his own sauce piquante, than in producing new sources of knowledge. He is perhaps only maximus in minimis ; an exquisite writer of a satiric tale ; unrivalled in wit, raillery, and sarcasm ; — and inimitable in " exposing knaves and painting fools." Beyond this, there is little to say. His epic poetry, his tragedies, and his histories are only extraordinary, in their combination. Separately considered ; — his epic poetry would be placed by all but Frenchmen in the very lowest class of epic poems, all that Lord Chesterfield says to the con- trary notwithstanding ; — his tragedies are inferior in force and grandeur to those of Corneille, and in sensibility and pathos to those of Racine. Of his history much is romantic ; and the Age of Louis XIV, upon which his claims as an historian are foimded, is, rather a collection of materials for a history, than an historical work. On many su])jects, it is plain he had but a smattering. Pcrha])s a 362 VOLTAIRE. stronger instance could not be given of the difference between a mouthful and a belly-full of knowledge, than would be afforded by a comparison of Vol- taire's preface to CEdipe, with Johnson's preface to Shakspeare. His physiognomy, which is said to have been a combination of the eagle and the monkey, was il- lustrative of the character of his mind. If the soar- ing wing and piercing eye of the eagle opened to him all the regions of knowledge, it was only to collect materials for the gratification of that apish disposition, which seems to have delighted in grinning, with a malicious spirit of mockery, at the detected weaknesses and infirmities of human nature. Though a man may often rise the wiser, yet, I believe none ever rose the better, from the perusal of Voltaire. The short but admirable epitaph on him may well conclude his character — " a git Venfant gate du monde qiCil gdta." On our return to Geneva we had as usual a battle to fight with the voiturier — a kind of animal, of all others the most nefarious — and perhaps the Swiss species is the worst. The dispute ended, as most disputes do, — by the fool submitting to the knave. I paid the rascal his demand, and proceeded to Bonneville, to sleep ; — and the next day brought us to St. Martin. September 11th. Rainy morning; — nothing to be VALLEY OF CHAMOIJNI. S6S seen. On entering the valley of Chamouni it cleared up. Stopped to examine the glacier of Bossons, which is perhaps the brightest glacier in Switzer- land. But all glaciers look like frozen snow, rather than frozen water ; and in fact they are all covered more or less with a thin coat of snow. Some of the pillars, or rather spires, of ice in this glacier are above a hundred feet high. Arrived at Chamouni before dusk ; — but Mont Blanc was invisible — enveloped in mist and clouds. It is now nearly a century since Pococke ex- plored this valley, which was till then as little known as the interior of Africa. There are now two well appointed inns ; and, during the summer season, it has become the fashionable resort of all the idle tourists of Europe. September 12th. Beautiful day ; — but before the sun appeared above the horizon, which it did not do till nine o'clock, it was bitterly cold. I had now for the first time, a fine clear view of Mont Blanc, soaring snow-clad through its native sky, In the wild pomp of mountain majesty — with the whole range of needles; some of which appear higher to an unpractised eye, than Mont . Blanc itself. But the eye is of all witnesses the most inaccurate, and it is some time before it can be taught to distinguish which is really the summit of Mont Blanc. Rode to the cross of the Flegere ; a height on the '364 CHAMOUNI. opposite side of the valley to Mont Blanc. The best point of view to look at a mountain is from an opposite elevation, and not from the plain. From the height of the Flegere, we enjoyed the prospect in full perfection ; — Below, as Johnson would say, was " immeasurable profundity," and above, " inacces- sible altitude." The needles now sunk to a level with ourselves, while the round head of Mont Blanc rose higher than ever. After having inscribed our names on the cross of the Flegere, we prepared to descend, and in our way down stopped to refresh ourselves and our mules, on the mossy bank of a clear spring, from whence the prospect on every side was superb ; — " and all was rudeness, silence, and solitude." A tranquil and happy hour ! — I was reminded of Johnson's hour of rest on a " bank such as a writer of romance would have delighted to feign" in his tour to the Hebrides. A full view of Mont Blanc at midnight, by the light of a glorious moon. September 13th. Ascended Montanvert, to go to the Mer de Glace. It is impossible to describe this scene better, than in the words of Coxe, who com- pares it to "a raging sea suddenly frozen in the midst of a violent storm." The glaciers which ter- minate the Mer de Glace debouch fairly into the valley of Chamouni, in enormous masses, overturn- ing trees, protruding forward vast blocks of granite, and threatening to advance, notwithstanding the MER DE GLACE. S65 crosses which have been set up to check their pro- gress ; many of which the Glaciers have actually overturned, in spite of the religious processions, which the superstition of the people leads them to hope will interrupt the course of nature. Vast pyra- mids of ice, of all forms and sizes, are constantly giving way, as they are pushed forward by those behind, or rather by the insensible movement of the whole mass, and they fall down with the noise of a peal of thunder. The Mer de Glace, or Valley of Ice, is one of those things which, like Vesuvius, does not disappoint ex- pectation. As that represents " the fiery floods" of the place of punishment, so this is the other extreme, — the " thi'illing region of thick ribbed ice." No- thing can be more awfully sublime ; and there is just enough of danger, in the chasms that yawn under your feet, and the occasional cracking of the surface, to impress the mind in a manner that disposes it to feel in its full force all the grandeur of the scene. Amongst other effiisions in the Albion at Montanvert, the Empress Josephine had written a quatrain, with her own hand ; but some unprincipled collector of autographs has torn out the leaf in which it had been inscribed. The registrar, however, retained the verses in his memory, and has re-written them in the book : " Ah je sens qu'au milieu de ces grand phenomenes, De ces tableaux touchans, de ces terribles scenes, Tout el^ve I'esprit, tout occupe les yeux ; Le coeur seul, un moment, se repose en oes lieux." 1810. S(}6 >10NTANVERT. An imperial quatrain is too great a curiosity to be within the reach of criticism ; but how shall we ex- plain a sentence inscribed by Madame de Stael ! " Si les passions n'aneantissait — (probably aneantis- saient) — la sensibility du cceur, on verroit les hommes s'abstenir des choses impures, et que le sentiment reprouve, mais I'ame inclin^ vers sa perfection ne saurait composer avec ses principes, et jetter dans la vie une autre vie, qui conduirait a un avenir sans avenir." De Stael Holstein, IT Aoiit 1815. I own I am not CEdipus enough to understand what the Sphinx would be at here ; though I have faithfully transcribed the sentence — even to a fault. If the author of the Rejected Addresses had visited Cha- mouni, one might almost suspect it was a quiz. It is certainly very like the style of the lady in question, par- ticularly, when — as it often happens to her — she does not seem to understand her own meaning. This, I suspect, is frequently the case, in the mystical and metaphysical parts of her writings ; which continually remind us of our old friend the Vicar of AVakefield, with his " anarchon ara Jcai ateleutaion to pan."' I record one more effusion in the Album, which is more intelligible, and perhaps applies as strongly to the foregoing, as to any other piece of galimatias in the whole collection. " J'ai pens6," says the writer, " que les grandes impressions que Ton re^oit ici donneraient de grandes i MONT BLANC. .367 pensees ; que la purete, la leg^rete de Tail" qu'on y respire les feroit rendre avec nettete ; parsuite j'ai donne en Juillet 1809 un registre au Montanvert, pour que les Yoyageurs y consignassent leurs reflex- ions : — Je m'en repens. Ce que j'y ai lu, — ce queje lis ici, me desespere. On a du bon sens quandon se determine a voir la Vallee de Chamouni, mais je vois qu'on le perd en y arrivant." My guide was one of ten who a few weeks ago attended a Polish count in an expedition to the summit of Mont Blanc. They pitched their tent the first night in a sheltered spot, about two thirds of the way up ; the second day they succeeded in reach- ing the top, and rested again at night in the same spot ; and the third day they returned to Chamouni. This was a mere excursion of pleasure and curi- osity, unconnected w^ith scientific observ ation, which made great part of the object of M. de Saussure's expedition in 1787. It was a short time before this, that M. Paccard, the apothecary of Chamouni, and Jaques Balma the Guide — ever afterwards called Balma Montblanc — went up without any other com- panions, and had the glory of being the first to explore the maiden snow of these uninhabited regions of frost and silence, which had never been disturbed by the tread of any living thing. M. de Saussure gives one caution to pedestrian travellers, which may be found of use. He advises you, before you enter upon a dangerous path, to familiarize your eye with 368 AIX. the precipice beneath ; lest the sight of it should break upon the view unexpectedly, and occasion a dizziness, that might be fatal. The guides on the contrary, always recommend you, when you are passing the brink of a precipice, to turn your eyes away from it. This may be the best rule, when it can be done ; but sometimes the precipice will ob- trude itself upon you, whether you will or no, and then it is certainly as well to be previously pre- pared for it. September 14th. Returned to Geneva. — As the weather was fine, I had an opportunity of seeing all that is to be seen between Chamouni and St. Martin. Though the scenery is occasionally very grand, yet it cannot be compared with Lauterbrunn and Inter- laken. Mont Blanc improves as one recedes from him. A mountain like a hero loses much from juxta- position. I was disappointed in the impression he made upon me when I was face to face with him at Chamouni ; but at the Torrent-noir, or on the bridge of St. Martin, he might, — addressing me as the ghost of Banquo, — say with Macbeth, — " Why so, — being gone, — I am myself again!" September 15th. Arrived at Aix — a small town in Savoy. The hot springs are much celebrated for their effects in removing all chronic pains. The baths are well built, and the expense of bathing is very trifling. It is a sulphurated water, so hot, that the thermometer stands at 110. The general mode LYONS. 369 of bathing is the douche, as it is called ; — the water is made to fall from a height of some feet, and is con- ducted by a pipe, so as to play with considerable force upon the part affected. After being parboiled in this manner for twenty minutes, they wrap you up in a blanket, and carry you back to bed. The douche is very fatiguing. After a trial for ten days, the only effects it produced on me were nausea, head- ach, and general debility ; so I resolved to change the scene. 26th. Drove to Chamberry ; — passed the day in strolling with Rousseau's Confessions in my hand to LiCS Charmettes, the quiet retreat in which he lived w^ith his Maman, Madame de Warens. His descrip- tion of her person, is one of the most animated pic- tures of grace and beauty that ever was penned ; and her gentle and benevolent character is still more interesting than her beauty. The house is situated in a valley, surrounded by mountains ; but scarcely a vestige remains of the garden, which he tells us he cultivated with his own hands. 27th. I once more consigned myself to a voi- turier, to be conveyed to Lyons. The road across the mountains is romantic. This road is the work of Charles Emanuel, second Duke of Savoy, who has recorded his achievement in an inscription as — ''Ro- manis mtentatum cceteris desperatwii" — but it has been thrown into the shade by the imperial road-maker of ■2B 370 LYONS. the Simplon ; who has here also cut his way in a straight line through the mountain, by a subterraneous tunnel of many hundred yards long. — At Pont-de-Beanvoisin, our baggage was strictly searched. The custom-house is in the habit of in- stituting a very rigorous examhiation on this frontier, for the ostensible purpose of preventing the intro- duction of Geneva goods, particularly watches and jewellery ; but it is notorious that cases of watches are carried over the mountains, by men on foot, in large quantities ; and the rate of insurance is so low, that it would lead one to suppose there must be a secret understanding between the custom-house and the smuggler. The first impression of France is favourable, but as you approach Lyons, the country becomes more bleak and open. 28th. Arrived at Lyons before sun-set. — Lyons is the Manchester of France ; filled with a manu- fiicturing, money-getting tribe, who wear their hearts in their purses. The sight of an Englishman is worm- wood to them ; and well it may, — for we seem to be travelling fast towards surpassing them even in their own staple manufacture. The first view of Lyons is grand; the Rhone and the Saone flow through it in parallel lines, and the broad-paved quays of the Rhone are magnificent. First sight of French soldiery ; — fine stout looking men ; but their pale livery has a bad effect. LYONS. '371 29th, There are several interesting Roman an- tiquities in the neighbourhood of Lyons ; and the aqueducts of Marc Anthony still remain on the moun- tain Fourvieres, At the Hotel de Ville are the celebrated bronze tablets which record a memorable speech of the Emperor Claudius. Made a tour of the principal silk manufactories ; and, without professing to be a very accurate judge, I thought not only their pocket-handkerchiefs, but their silk stockings, very inferior to our own. The price of a handkerchief is five francs ; a pair of silk stockings of the best quality costs twelve francs. In al their stuffs, the inferiority of the French taste in the pattern is very conspicuous ; at least it is generally what we should call staring, flaunting, and vulgar, — but perhaps there is no disputing about taste in the patterns of silk. Lyons seems to be full of Buonapartists. They received him with enthusiasm on his return from Elba; and yet one might have thought that the recollections of the reign of terror, — of Collot d' Herbois, Fouche, and ChMier, — would have given a bias to the Lyonese politics, against this child and champion of the Revo- lution. 30th. Nothing can be more evident than the hos- tile feeling towards England and Englishmen, which manifests itself here on every occasion. Nor is it surprising, when we consider that the Lyonese regard 2B2 372 LYONS. us as the causes of the decline of their commerce; for the dullness of trade is as much the suhject of com- plaint here as every where else, at the present mo- ment ; and the od'mm mercatormm is perhaps, next to the odium theologicum, one of the deadliest sources of enmity. The Valets de Place point out with precision the spot where Hannihal crossed the Rhone ; though Whittaker, who acts as moderator between Polybius and Livy, and occasionally sets them both right, would wish to make it quite clear that he crossed the river at Loriol in Dauphiny ; and that he marched up the course of the Rhone, keeping the river on his left, all the way to Geneva. The accounts I hear of the climate of this place, dissuade me from thinking of passing the vv'intcr here. No place is more subject to sudden changes from heat to cold. There is also a great deal of rain, and the winter is cold and long. Besides, it is not pleasant to reside in a town where the public feeling is so hostile to you; and amongst a people who look daggers at yo.u, though they may use none. October 1st. The great hospital at Lyons is a noble establishment, and all the arrangements arc calculated to promote the comfort of the patients. It is attended by the Swurs de la charite, who officiate as nurses, with a kind spirit of benevolence that must be as beneficial to the minds as to \he bodies of their patients. JOURNEY TO MONTPELLIER. 373 One cannot look without respect and admira- tion at these devoted sisters of Christianity, whose profession of vows has been made with a view to enlarge rather than to contract the sphere of their utility. None of the common objections to monastic in- stitutions have any application to this order of nuns, which is founded on a practical imitation of the con- duct of their Divine Master ; — who, according to the simple narrative of the Evangelist, " went about doing good." October 2nd. While I was deliberating into what quarter of the world I should move, I stumbled on a voiturier, who was on the point of setting out for Montpellier. When you have no decided will of your own, the best way, I believe, is, to commit yourself to the tide of events, and let them carry you quocunque ferat tenipcstas. — At least, it was in this disposition of mind that I hurried back to my hotel to collect my packages, — and before I had time to consider whether I had done well or ill, I found myself at Vienne, where we slept. At this place, there are some relics of the Romans ; and the people shew you a house which they tell you belonged to Pontius Pilate, and in which they would have you believe that he died. It was here that Pius VI. the late Pope, breathed his last, who confirmed by the misfortunes of his reign, the presentiment to which his title had given riisc ; for, 374 SCENERY OF THE RHONE. the number six has always been considered at Rome as ominous. Tarquinius Sextiis, was the very worst of the Tar- quins, and his brutal conduct led to a revolution in the government ; — it was under Urban the sixth, that the great schism of the west broke out ; — and Alexander the sixth outdid in crime all that his predecessors amongst the Tarquins, or the Popes, had ventured to do before him. It was during his papacy, that the line was written, which in after times was applied to the election of his successor Pius VI. " Semper sub sextis perdita Roma fuit." In Pius VI. 's life, *' nothing became him like the leaving of it ;" and he attracted more respect by the piety and resignation with which he bore the insults heaped upon him by the French during his captivity, than he could ever have commanded in the palace of the Vatican. October 3d. I should have embarked in the Coche (Veau at Lyons, and descended the Rhone to Avignon ; but the pleasure of this scheme depends entirely upon the state of the wind. If this ' be adverse, as in the present case, you may be detained many days, and there is no certainty of arriving at any habitable inn, to rest at night. The views of the river, with the surrounding scenery, have to-day been very pleasing ; but it would be profanation to compare them with the lovely Wye, and " the dear blue hills of my own country." I TAIN. 375 The more I see of France, the less am I able to understand how it has gained the title of La belle France. The phrase cannot certainly refer to pic- turesque beauty, of which no country has less to boast. Perhaps this deficiency may in some measure account for the utter want of taste for the beauties of nature, in the English sense of that phrase, which is so re- markable a featiu'e in the French character. A Frenchman cannot understand the feeling that is delighted with the contemplation of picturesque beauty ; it is as unintelligible to him, as the pleasure of music to a man who has no ear. His beau ideal of landscape is that which produces the greatest quantity of corn, wine, and oil. He will indeed chatter about les belles horreurs of a Swiss scene ; but, the very terms he uses prove how inca- pable he is of communing with nature, and interpret- ing the language she speaks, in the subhme scenes which she there addresses to the imagination. 4th. La belle France grows dirtier and dirtier. Sunday is no sabbath here. All the shops are open, and every thing goes on as usual. Even the butchers are at work, elbow-deep, in their horrid occupation. We halted in the middle of the day at the little town of Tain, near which are the vineyards so famous for their red and white hermitage. This tract, however, cannot supply a tithe of the wine which is sold under that name. It is a small black grape, rough and un- pleasant upon the palate. It would seem that all the 376 VALENCE. —MILITARY MANIA. good wine is exported, for the sample which was given me as the best, was but ordinary stuff. The end of our day's journey brought us to Valence. It was at the mihtary school of this place that Napoleon was educated, and he practised the first lessons of the art of war on the Champ de Mars of Valence. There is a story current here, that, from want of means, he was reduced to the necessity of leaving his boarding-house, without paying his pension. 5th. As you advance towards the south, the coun- try becomes richer, and begins to wear an Italian ap- pearance. Encountered a large troop of deserters. In Eng- and, it requires three guards to prevent one deserter from running away. Here, fifty deserters are con- ducted by three gens d'armes^ like so many beasts being driven to a fair. They were most of them mere boys, and apparently in great misery. The military spirit seems to have evaporated ; or the white flag has not the same fascination that the tri-coloured possessed. Under Napoleon, the military were every thing ; and the only road to honour and power was through the profession of arms. The airs of consequence which the army assumed, and the tyranny which they exercised over all the rest of the world, to whom they applied the contemptuous appel- lation of pequins, were almost as intolerable as the old grievances of which the Roturicrs complained agahist the Nobles, LORIOL. 377 This is no longer the case. The prestige of mili- tary glory received its death's blow at Waterloo ; and the army feel now, that they no longer enjoy that paramount weight and consideration in public opinion, upon which their insolence was founded ; Fortuna ssevo Iseta negotio, et Ludum insolentem ludere pertinax, Transmutat incertos honores — Fame and honour are now to be gained by fighting the battles of the Senate, towards which the public attention and public interest are almost exclusively directed. I deviated from the road at Loriol, to examine the banks of the river at this point, where Whittaker would demonstrate that Hannibal passed with his army. He relies much upon a passage in Livy, de- scribing Hannibal's course after he had passed the river: " Poster die, profectus adversa ripa Rhodani, mediterranea Gallice petit, non quia rectior ad Alpes via esset, sed, quantum a mari recessisset minus obvium fore Romanwn credeus, cum quo priusquam in Italiam ventum foret, noji erat in animo, manus conserere. Quartis castris, ad insulam pervenit ; ibi Arar Rho- danusque amnes, conjluunt in imum.'* So far so good. — Loriol would certainly be about four days' march from Lyons, where the Rhone and the Arar, (now the Saone) unite, and where they once formed an island. 378 LORIOL. But, if the authority of Livy is to be relied on, how shall we reconcile what he says afterwards, with the supposition of Hannibal's having marched up the Rhone to Lyons ? — Livy says, that after leaving this island ; — " qimmjam Alpes peteret, non recta regione iter iiistitidl sed ad Iceram in Tricastinos fexit, indc per extremam oram Vocontiorum agri tetendit in Tricorios, hand usquam impedita via priiisquam ad Druentiam fiumen pervenit." Now, the Tricastini were to the south of Loriol ; and how he could have passed per extremam oram Vocontiorum, to ari'ive at the Tricorii, will puzzle any one who will examine the map. But, the last is the greatest riddle of all ; what could bring him to the Druenlia, now ha Durancel Again if Livy be correct, Hannibal passed the river in Volcarum agriim, which can hardly be made to extend to Loriol. But I believe we must conclude from reading Livy's account of this matter, which is throughout so incon- sistent with itself, that he wrote it without his map of Gaul before him, or else, that our map of Gaul is very different from his*. We halted at night at Montelimart. * Since writing the above, I have read an ingenious treatise, by M. de Luc of Geneva ; who takes the text of Polybius for his guide, and gives very satisfactory reasons for setting Livy aside, wherever their authorities differ. M. de Luc makes Hannibal cross the Rhone lower down than Loriol, in the neigh- bourhood of Avignon. His four days' march then brings him to the here, at the point where it falls into the Rhone. This river which in the different Editions of Polybius is called Iscar^ CHATEAU DE GRIGNAN. 379 6th. Near Montelimart was the Chateau cle Grig- nan ; where Madame de Sevign6 fell a victim to ma- ternal anxiety, and was buried in the family vault. The Chateau was destroyed during the fury of the Revolution, and the leaden coffins in the vaults pre- sented too valuable a booty to be spared, by the brutal ruffians of those days. The body of Madame de Sevign6 had been embalmed, and was found in a state of perfect preservation, richly dressed ;-— but no respect was paid to virtue even in the grave ; every thing, even to the dress she wore, was pillaged and taken away ; and the naked corpse left to mingle, as it might, with its native dust. or Scoras, by a corruption of the Latin text which puzzled the Commentators, has been converted by the Editors of Livy, from Bisarar, into Avar. If, instead of three letters, they had been content with removing one, it would have left Isarar, which is very nearly its modern name. This then is the Insula at which Hannibal arrives ; — viz. that tract of country insulated on all sides but one, by the Rhone and the Isere. He then makes for the Alps, but not directly, on account of the mountains of les Echelles, over which there was no road at that time. He turns therefore ad Icevam ; — that is, instead of due east, he marches north-east round these mountains, until he comes to the Druentia, which is not the Durance, — but the Drance. This river runs through Chamberry, and falls into the Rhone near Yenne — the ancient Ejanna. M. de Luc, whose reasoning is for the most part clear and convincing, conducts Hannibal from the Drance to the pass of the little St. Bernard, and so down the valley of Aoste to Ivree. Here Hannibal is obliged to deviate from his direct road, in order to take Turin — the capital of the ancient 380 REVOLUTIONARY HORRORS. This unnatural war with the dead is one of the most revolting features of the French revolution. What must be the character of that people who could find gratification in rifling the sanctuary of the tomb; and who, carrying their enmity beyond the grave, could glut their brutal and cowardly re- venge in offering insults to the defenceless remains of the most illustrious characters in the history of their country? No respect was paid to rank, or sex, or virtue ; and this was not a solitary outrage, committed at a single place, but the general practice throughout France. A fellow passenger tells me that he saw the body of Laura, the mistress of Petrarch, exposed to the most brutal indignities in the streets of Avignon. It had been embalmed, and was found in a mummy state, of a dark brown colour. It was the same every where ; — the best and the worst of the Bourbons — Henry IV. — and Louis XI. were exposed to equal indignities, nor could the deeds of Turenne himself protect his corpse from the profanation of these ferocious violators. All the cruelties committed upon the living, during the reign of blood and terror, will not stamp the French name with so indelible a stain, as these unmanly outrages upon the dead. The first may ^ find some palliation, Taurini, whose alliance he had been unable to conciliate ; after which he marches with all haste to encounter Scipio on the banks of the Tidiuis — now the Tesino ; — and there M. de Luc leaves; him. REVOHTTIONARY HORRORS. 381 weak as it is, in the party rage, and political ani- mosity, of an infuriated populace ; — but what can be urged in extenuation of the last? it is worse than the fury of the beasts ; for of the Lion at least we are told, — that he *' preys not upon carcases." I blush, in venting my indignation against the French, at the recollection of the indignities that were offered in my own country, to the remains of Cromwell and of Blake, who were both taken from Westminster Abbey — the first, to be hanged at Tyburn and buried under the gallows — and the last, to be cast into a pit in St. Margaret's church ; but I console myself with thinking, that this was done by the " express com- mand" of the government of that day, in which the people had no share, and by which, I trust, our cha- racter as a nation cannot be affected. We crossed the Rhone at the Pout de St. Esprit, which is 3,000 feet long, being nearly three times the length of the bridge at Westminster. It is turned against the stream with a point, like a bastion. From the road, you command a view of the PoTit du Gard, a splendid relic of Roman architecture, built to con- nect the ranges of an aqueduct, which extends for seventeen miles ; — fragments of which are still re- maining, in various parts of the hills. The first entrance into Languedoc is not prepos- sessing; as you travel to the souths you find all the comforts of civilization decrease, and dirt and wretchedness flourish. — Slept at Bagnols. 389 LANGUEDOC KITCHEN. 7th, The kitchen of a village inn in Languedoc is enough to damp the strongest appetite. I wished for the pencil of Wilkie at Remoulins, a little village where we breakfasted this morning. While the host, who played as many parts as Buskin in the farce, was killing the devoted fowl, his cat ran away with the sausages intended to garnish it. Poor Chanticleer was laid down to finish his death-song as he could, while the host pursued puss to her retreat, which was so well chosen, that a third of the sausages were gone before he discovered her. Puss however paid dearly for it in the end ; — for in endeavouring to make her escape under a door, the aperture was so small that her hinder legs and tail were left on the hither side of it, upon which mine host wreaked his ven- geance, by stamping most unmercifully. At last we sat down to Grimalkin's leavings ; and though the land- lord had no " appliances and means" to help him, nor scarcely a stick of wood with which to make a fire, he did contrive, somehow or other, to furnish a very tolerable breakfast ; and this seems to be the great merit of French cookery — that it can make something out of nothing. Moliere observes that any body can dress a dinner with money and ma- terials ; and if a professed cook cannot do it without, his art is not worth a farthing. This part of Languedoc may be very rich and productive, but nothing can be less pleasing to the eye — stone-walls instead of hedges — no meadows — NISMES. 383 no cattle — and no trees, but the olive ; which adds little to the beauty of the landscape. A poor Carmelite nun joined our party, who had been driven out of her convent in Spain by the French, and was now seeking an asylum. The rigid austerities practised in her convent had not however extinguished entirely the vanity of her sex, some remains of which still lurked under her coarse black hood, breaking out in the delight with which she traced up the antiquity of her order, higher than all other monastic institutions, to Elijah, and mount Carmel. Nismes, where we arrived in the evening, is full of Roman antiquities. There is an amphitheatre in good preservation ; — and the Maison Qiiarree, as it is called, is one of the most beautiful relics of ancient architecture that have come down to us. It has been supposed that this temple was built in the reign of Augustus ; and Monsieur Seguier has contrived to de- cipher an inscription which contains the names of Marcus Agrippa and his sons ; — but this inscription is not very satisfactorily made out; and those ar- guments seem to be the strongest, which, from a comparison of the minuteness and profusion of orna- ment of the Maison Quarree, with the more simple architecture of the Augustan age, would fix its date at a later period. ' 8th. My first impression of the French character is, that it must be greatly changed from that gay and 381 NISMES. lively frivolity, of which we used to hear so much. My fellow-passengers are serious and reserved ; each man seems to suspect his neighbour ; and, at the Table d'HSte, where I have dined and supped during my route, the company could not have been more silent and sombre, if the scene had been laid in England during the month of November. There is a crest-fallen look about them, and they shake their heads and shrug their shoulders when they talk of the Congress, in gloomy apprehension of the future. This seventh day's journey brought us at last to Montpellier ; where, being heartily tired of the jumb- ling of the carriage, I was well disposed to make a halt. 1 I 385 CHAPTER XIII. Montpellier — Climate — Parti/ Spirit — Conscription — Bicffon — Iron Mask — Rousseau — Journey to Tou- louse — Beziers — Canal of Languedoc. October 9th. 1 HE situation of Montpellier is very fine ; and the environs are pretty. The view from the Place de Peyroii, where from one spot you see the Mediterranean to the south, and on a fine day may command the Pyrenees to the west, and the Alps to the east, is superb. All the statues which once ornamented this place were destroyed during the iconoclastic fury of the revolution. 10th, Engaged a lodging in a clean protestant family on the Boulevard de la Comedie ; and for two rooms am to pay sixty francs per month, I would rather have established myself in a maison de pension ; but there is no such thing in Montpellier ; so that one is forced to dine at a restaurateur's, which to an invalid, in winter-time, is a serious inconvenience. There is a custom amongst the restaurateurs in this part of France, which to a resident is worth knowing. If you dine regularly at the same house, you may, by paying a certain sum in advance, have credit for one-fifth more than you have paid. 2 c .386 MONTPELLIER. CUM ATE. nth to 18th. A week of severe iUness. It is difficult to conceive how MontpeUier ever obtained a name for the salubrity of its climate. For pectoral complaints it is probably one of the worst in the world. It is true, there is almost always a clear blue sky ; but the air is sharp and biting, and you are constantly assailed by the bise, or the marin ; — and it is difficult, to say which of these two winds is the most annoying. The one brings cold, and the other damp. The climates of Europe are but little understood in England, nor indeed is it an easy thing to ascertain the truth, with respect to climate. Travellers ge- nerally speak from the impression of a single season, and we all know how much seasons vary. I believe that Pisa is the very best place on the continent, during the winter, for complaints of the chest ; and Nice, of which I speak from good au- thority, is perhaps the very worst. The air of the first, which is situated in a low plain, is warm, mild, and muggy ; that of the second is pure, keen, and piercing. The air of MontpeUier is of this latter character ; — it is as different from Pisa, as frisky cider from milk and water, and every mouthful of it irritates weak lungs, and sets them coughing. If there be any climate preferable to Pisa, it may per- haps be Rome ; where the air is pure, without being piercing; and, if one might illustrate it by a compari- son with a liquor, I should compare it to cowslip wine. 19th. Nothing can be more dull than MontpeUier PARTY SPIRIT, 387 is at present. There is nothing going on in the shape of amusement or instruction. It is vacation, and the lecture-rooms are shut. There is but little society ; and the good people here, as if civil dud- geon were not enough to set folks together by the ears, have seasoned their dissensions with the sauce, 'piqiiante of religious hatred, — and are with difficulty restrained from cutting each other's throats. While the present king lives, things may continue quiet ; but the protestants seem to fear lest under his more orthodox brother the tragedy of St. Bartholomew might be revived. Nor do these fears seem to be wholly without foundation. The scenes that took place here and at Nismes, in 1815, after the second abdication of Napoleon, were dreadful. The triumph of a party in France is something more than a change of mi- nistry ; for the re-action that it produces amongst the inflammable inhabitants of the southern provinces, is followed by proscriptions and massacres. The party that is uppermost cannot be content without cutting the throats of their opponents. This they proceeded to do in 1815, but the king interposed to check the outrageous zeal of his ultra-adherents ; and this is likely to happen again at any time, if, instead of endeavouring to be the common protector of all his people, the king, by the formation of an ultra-royalist ministry, were content to be the head of a faction. •388 CONSCRIPTION. The way in which the election of deputies for the department of Gard was conducted in the year 1815, shews the means by which the ruHng party in this part of the world would wish to maintain its ascen- dency ; — no less than thirteen protestant electors were assassinated in their way to the electoral college. One is astonished by the amount of the popula- tion in the French towns ; Nismes is said to contain forty thousand souls, and Montpellier five-and-thirty thousand ; and you wonder where they can be stowed. I am surprised to find at this place, which has been so long the resort of well-informed people, such a lamentable inattention to the most indispensable com- forts and decencies of life. It would require the pen of Winifred Jenkins herself to describe some of the miserable expedients of la belle France ! Attended at the theatre, which was crowded to excess, to witness the drawing for the Conscription. This law, which was held up as the great motive for resisting the tyranny of Napoleon, is nevertheless still continued by his successors. The drawing was an amusing scene and truly French, The people assemble in a sort of amphi- theatre. The Prefet presides. The names of all those of the prescribed age are called over ; and every man of whatever rank, high or low, answers to his name, and draws his lot. If he is absent, the Prefet draws it for him. When any one drew a number above the complement required, thereby en- CONSCRIPTION. 389 suring his own exemption, his antics of joy were in the highest degree comic ; and when the number was within the complement, the exultation of the spec- tators, whose own prospects were thereby bettered, were expressed by the loudest applause, without any consideration for the feelings of the drawer. The present assessment is light enough, as may be collected from the price of a substitute, who may now be pro- cured for 500 francs, whereas, in Napoleon's time, the price has been as high as 14,000 francs. There needs but one law more — a property tax, which is a conscription of money, as the other is of men — the one operating on the purses, as the other does upon the persons of men — to complete a perfect system of despotism. Wherever these two laws are thoroughly esta- blished, and the people trained to submit to them, the rights of personal security, and private property, are annihilated. If governments would never raise more men or more money than the public interest required, both these laws are perhaps the best, because the simplest, the fairest, and the cheapest, in arriving at their object. But constituted as human nature is, none but an essentially popular government could be trusted with such a tremendous engine, which would place at its disposal every man, and every shilling that he has, — incase of necessity ; — a plea which was never yet wanting to justify any exercise of power. 3i)0 PROPERTY TAX. Napoleon did in fact take away the wliole popula- tion at one fell swoop, and there is no saying where a property tax might stop, on this side of ninety-nine per cent. For the principle of the tax once ad- mitted, the Sorites argument would never be wanting, to furnish the minister of finance with a pretence for plucking out one more hair ; " Utor permisso, caudaeque pilos ut equinae Paullatim vello : et demo unum demo etiam unum ; Dum cadat elusus ratione ruentis acervi." Still, however, there are so many arguments in favour of a property tax, properly modified, that in a free government like England, where the people, through their representatives, exercise a control over the national expenditure, there seems but one condi- tion wanting to make it the best, as it is unquestionably the fairest and cheapest mode of raising money, which is, that it should be the o/j/y tax. In this case, it might safely be trusted to the feelings of the repre- sentatives themselves, to take care, that a tax, which came home so immediately to their own business and bosoms, was not unnecessarily increased. If this had been the system of raising the supplies in England during the last century, it may well be doubted w^hether such vast sums would have been expended; — sums which are easily voted, when it is proposed that they shall be raised by an increase of duty of a halfpenny upon this, and a penny on that article ; — ^a proposal that is agreed to, as a matter of PROPERTY TAX. 391 course, and nobody thinks it worth while to pause, and consider from whose pocket the money is to come. If then, all other taxes were abolished, the property tax might be hailed as a security for economy of expenditure, as it is in itself the least expensive of all taxes in the collection. It has been calculated that a man already pays at least the half of his income, in some shape or other, to the support of government. If this be so, he would surely not fare the worse, by paying the same sum openly as a 50 per cent, duty upon property ; which would then reach the ex- chequer, without being subjected to the enormous deductions that are now made from it by all the various charges of collection. This would then be the only shape in which the tax-gatherer would appear, and England might hope to become again, beyond all others, the land of cheapness and plenty. But if the property tax be brought forward only when all other means fail ; for there is a limit to in- direct taxation—when two and two no longer make four — when increase of duty only produces decrease of consumption — if it be introduced as the pincers, to extract those sums which will not yield to the common turn-screw of taxation, — it must then be regarded as an additional weight to the already enormous burden, under the pressure of which, the agriculture, the trade, and the prosperity of the country are now languishing. 392 PROPERTY TAX. It would not be one of the least advantages of such a system of taxation, that it would take away the ar- guments of those who, for their own purposes, seek to persuade the labouring classes that the principal part of the taxes, as at present imposed, is paid by them. These arguments, however, have manifestly no foundation ; for, no axiom of political economy seems more clear, than that the taxes upon the neces- saries of life, are not, in point of fact, paid by the la- bouring classes themselves ; and that by increasing or diminishing the duty of any article of their necessary consumption, little more is done, as it regards them, than eventually to increase or diminish the rate of their wages. They do indeed feel all taxes, but it is remotely, and in the same way that they would really feel the property tax ; — namely, by the operation of that and every other tax upon capital, in abridging the means of employing them. One of the conscripts behaved so riotously, that the gens d'armes took him into custody ; but, as they were conducting him through the streets, his mother raised a mob in his favour, who, after a sharp struggle, suc- ceeded in rescuing the prisoner from his keepers, and bore him off in triumph. 20th. While sitting at breakfast this morning, I saw my hero of yesterday with his mother, tied back to back in a cart, escorted by a large party of cavalry, who lodged them safely in the prison of the town. Attended the drill of the recruits, which is con- BUFFON. 393 stantly going on, as if France were preparing for an immediate campaign. The dishabille of the soldiers, especially of the cavalry, is very slovenly. The in- fantry march to the sound of the drum alone, for there are no fifers amongst them. The troops in this quarter are small, slight, and scraggy ; and if I am not mistaken, there is more of muscle and sinew in one Englishman than in half a score of them. I speak only of the infantry ; for there is a great contrast be- tween them and the cavalry, who seem to be picked men. Went to the theatre for the first, and for the last time. The actors were worse than I ever saw in England. 21st to 28tli. Confined to the house. Rambled through BufFon's — Discours sur la Nature cles Ani- maux — which is very ingenious and clever, excepting his blasphemy against love, of which he seems to have had a very low opinion. He seems to think that love and friendship cannot be identified, and felt for the same object. Did he judge from his experience of French women ? BufFon, with all his eloquence, is a remarkable in- stance of that national coarseness, and grossness of feeling, which is so much the characteristic of the French. They are eminently deficient in sensibility, imagination, and enthusiasm ; when they attempt to be sentimental, they do but talk it, — and cannot even talk it well. I doubt whether the Pleasures of Ima- giiuition could be made intelligible to them by any 394< BUFFON. translation. Every man thinks he knows the mean- ing of sentiment ;— and yet, it is a difficult word to define, without determining its application ; but I be- lieve it is commonly used in opposition to mere ani- mal sense, which is all that the French word sentiment often signifies. For instance, the sentiment of love, in our use of the word, is something very different from the animal sense, which may be perhaps the foundation of the passion between the sexes. It is sense, refined and exalted, through the influence of mind, by purer thoughts, and higher considerations ; which, while they strip the passion of its grossness, increase its intensity and energy, and by expanding its views, convert the transitory enjoyment of animal desire, into a feeling as durable and lasting as the mind itself. But, let us hear Buffon on this subject. " Amour ! Desir inne ! Ame de la Nature ! Source feconde de tout plaisir, de toute volupte, pourquoi fais-tu I'etat heureux de tons les etres, et le malheur de I'homme ? " C'est qu'il n'ya que la physique de cette passion qui soit bon, c'est que malgre ce que peuvent dire les gens 6pris, le moral n'en vaut rien. Les animaux guides par le sentiment seul leurs desirs sont tou- jours proportionn^s a la puissance de jouir, ils sentent autant qu'ils jouissent, et ils ne jouissent qu'autant qu'ils sentent. " L'homme au contraire en voulant inventer des plaisirs, n'a fait que gater la Nature. — — BUFFON. 395 " Tout ce qu'il-y-a de bon dans I'amour appartient done aux animaux tout aussi bien qu'a nous." Who but a Frenchman could have written thus ? but a Frenchman cannot rise out of the mire of sen- suaHty ; — and their literature is full of sneers and ri- dicule of that entliusiasm of heart, and elevation of soul, which seek to improve our nature, " And lift from earth our low desire." 29th. Inspection of soldiers, and grand field-day. Nothing can be less showy than the appearance of the infantry. They have no feathers or tufts in their caps, nor fifers in their band. In going through the manual exercise, the French seem to be much quicker than any soldiers I have seen. For instance— present arms — and — order arms — are performed at two mo- tions ; which in our own drill, I beheve, employ three distinct acts. The soldiers are as rapid in executing manoeuvres, as in going through the exercise. But the word of command is much more noisy than with us ; and it is repeated and vociferated by the officers, from the colonel downwards, so as to resemble the hallooing of cattle-drivers. 30th. Crawled round the botanical garden;— the pleasantest promenade in Montpellier. It was here that Young, the poet, buried his daughter. The longer I stay at Montpellier, the less I like it. The inhabitants are characterized in the proverbs of their 396 THE IRON MASK. own country. — Pound seven Jews in a mortar, says one of these, and the juice will make one Mont- pelHard. — Proverbs must always be understood with some grains of allowance ; though they have gene- rally a foundation in truth. But, it would be unfair to judge of Montpellier during the vacation. It is a celebrated school of medicine, and the lectures, in that liberal spirit which distinguishes the public in- stitutions of this country — and I am glad of an op- portunity of speaking in favour of France — are open to all that choose to attend, without any expense. 31st. Stumbled " in the course of my reading," upon an account of the taking of the Bastile, in which there is an attempt to clear up the mystery of the man in the iron mask. It is stated, that a paper was found, recording the arrival of Fouquet in the Bastile, from the island of St. Marguerite, in an iron mask. This suggestion receives some corroboration from the history of Fouquet's disgrace and punishment ; in which there are such remarkable coincidences with the story of the Iron Mask, that I am surprised Voltaire, who, in his age of Louis XIV., relates Fouquet's fall, immediately after his account of the mysterious prisoner, was not struck with them. For, he tells us that Fouquet was sent to the Isle of St. Marguerite, and that the Iron Mask was brought from the Isle of St. Marguerite ; and, in concluding Fouquet's history, he adds this remarkable circum- THE IRON MASK. 397 stance, — that while the smallest action of his life was celebrated with the most minute detail, nobody knew when or where he died. Voltaire is unable to explain, and indeed there is something unaccountable, in the mystery and i)re- caution which were thought necessary in the arrest and detention of Fouquet. The same reasons, what- ever they were, might have suggested the continued concealment of his person in the iron mask, which has given rise to so much speculation. Fouquet was arrested in 1661, — the precise date of the Iron Mask's arrival in the Island of St. Marguerite. We know that, after an imprisonment of twenty-nine years, the Iron Mask was removed from St. Marguerite, by the keeper of the prison in that island, to the Bastile, upon his appointment to the governorship of that fortress. Now, Voltaire tells us, that though nothing certain was known with respect to Fouquet's end, yet, there was a notion amongst his friends, that he had quitted the Island of St. Marguerite before his death. These are remarkable coincidences ; nor is there any thing in Fouquet's age to make the identity of these two persons impossible. The removal of the Iron Mask to the Bastile took place in 1690, and he died in 1703, after a captivity of forty -two years. Fouquet was born in 1615, and was Intendant General of the Finances in 1643; at the age of wenty-eight. In 1661, the date of his arrest, he 398 ROUSSEAU. was forty-six, and forty-two years of captivity will make him eighty-eight, at the time of his death ; — that is, if he were indeed the Iron Mask, who died in 1703. November 1st to 8th. A week of confinement. Rambled through Voltaire, Bayle, and Rousseau. Rousseau's " Confession of a Savoyard Curate," though written, as it would seem, to invalidate the authority of Christianity, leaves behind an impression in its favour, stronger perhaps than is produced by most works written purposely to defend it. And indeed, Bishop Porteus has not disdained to quote it from the pulpit, to advocate the cause of religion. It is one of the most splendid specimens of eloquence extant in any language, and the whole tone of the sentiments illustrates a passage in one of Voltaire's letters to Hume. " You are mistaken, says he, in Rousseau ; he has a hankering after the Bible, — and is little better than a Christian after a fashion of his own." After all, what is there that can be urged against Christianity, which may not be directed with equal force against Deism. The doubts of the Atheist, considered as a question of abstract reasoning, can only perhaps be answered — as Berkeley's reasoning against the existence of the material world was an- swered — by boldly begging the question at issue, and resolving the cause of our belief into an original principle of our constitution. For, the existence of ROUSSEAU. 399 an infinite first Cause can never be made a matter of demonstration. The physical proof, derived from the order and arrangement of the universe, is mani- festly inconclusive. The intelligence of the work may prove an intelligent contriver ; — but it cannot therefore follow, that the contriver is Eternal — Almighty — Infinite — all, in a word, that we include under the sacred name. Again, the metaphi/sical proof, as it is called, which, from the consciousness of our own existence, would trace it up to some necessarily existing first cause, is not a jot more satisfactory. The sum and substance of the whole argument amounts to this. I exist — therefore some- thing exists. If something exists — something must have existed from all eternity ; for " Nothing cafi come of nothing ;" — and this something is the first cause, of which we are in search. But the axiom on which this argument is founded, ex nihilo nihil ft, will cut both ways ; and it is perhaps more in- comprehensible to human faculties, to conceive an uncaused first cause, than to meet the difficulty in the first stage ; — and consider the world itself as uncaused and eternal. The Atheist indeed neither affirms nor denies ; but suggests, that the existence of a Deity is an arbitrary hypothesis, to account for the phenomena of the universe. Can the Deist con- fute him by argument? Must he not at last be brought to acknowledge that his own belief is founded upon faith? — and the speculative Atheist will pro- 400 ROUSSEAU. bably not deny that it is a faith, which we all feel impelled, by the very constitution of our nature, to admit, intuitively, as soon as we can comprehend the terms of the proposition ; — for Atheism is a doc- trine which, however the head may be amused with its subtleties, the heart rejects. But does the faith of the Deist go far enough ? Will Deism satisfy the head, or administer consolation to the heart? Is it not a cold and comfortless creed, alike unsatis- factory to both? — unless indeed we could return again to Paradise. Adam might have been a Deist, and contentedly a Deist ; — but fallen man has need of something more. The world is no longer a happy garden. Evil assaults us on every side ; — and we need not look further than our own hearts, for evidence of the continued existence of that rebel- lious opposition to sense of duty, which we are taught was the cause of its introduction into the world. But, be the cause what it might — the existence of evil, in every appalling form, cannot be denied ; here it is; — and how will the Deist reconcile these phenomena with his abstract idea of a Deity, with- out having recourse to the Revelation that he de- nies? — which not only explains the fearful mystery of our present situation, but at the same time points out the remedy ; and furnishes us with assurances, which unassisted reason could never have suggested, by which we are enabled to look forward Math faith and hope, to a better state of existence hereafter. JOURNEY TO TOULOUSE. 401 9th. Left Montpellicr in the diligence at night ; and arrived at Beziers to breakfast next morning. The French dihgcnccs have been very much im- proved of late years, but there is still room for fur- ther progress. The carrying six inside, which is the usual complement, is detestable. The conducteur answering to our guard, rides in the cabriolet ; while the vehicle is driven by a postilion, who manoeuvres his five horses, which are marshalled, two at wheel and three leaders a-breast, with admirable dexterity, riding on the near side wheel-horse. The horses seem to be trained with great care, and obey the word of command like a troop of soldiers. In Italy and France, the voice is much more used than the whip, in the government of horses ; indeed, it is, I believe, with beasts as with men, mild treat- ment will often reclaim tempers, that kicks and blows would only tend to make more brutal and vicious. My companions in the diligence were all on the qui vive, for the carriage had been stopped and robbed, two evenings before, by a single foot-pad. This fellow had practised a most ingenious stratagem to effect his purpose. He manufactured ten men of straw, and drew them up in the road, in battle array ; — then, having taken his post a little in ad- vance, he ordered the diligence to stop ; threatening if the least resistance was offered, to call up his com- panions, and put all the passengers to death. In this manner, he laid the whole party under contribution, 2D 402 BEZIERS. amongst whom were two Spanish merchants, whose jiurses were heavily laden. 10th. Beziers is situated on a commanding emi- nence, from whence there is a beautiful view of the river Orbe, and a rich and cultivated valley, for many miles. Its situation would have tempted me to make some stay, but the streets were so dirty, and the appearance of the people so miserable, that I despaired of finding a decent residence. There is a coche cVeau, which goes every day from Beziers, at twelve o'clock, by the famous canal of Languedoc, to Toulouse, Finding that this passage boat w ould be four days in making the voyage, as the weather was very bad, I decided to continue in the diligence. In fine weather the boat offers a pleasant and most economical mode of traversing this country. The fare of each day's passage is 30 sous, and the universal price throughout France, regulated by law, for supper at the table d'hote and lodging, is three francs and a half ; though an Englishman is generally charged as much again ; but if he travels by a public conveyance, he need never pay more than the above named sum. This canal was the work of Paul Riquet under the auspices of Louis XIV, and has been of more use to France than all his victories, and a more splendid monument of his glory, than all his plaything water- works at Versailles. It connects the Atlantic and the Mediterranean ; near this town it is carried through CANAL OP LANGUEDOC. 403 ii mountain by means of a tunnel, which, however common now, was an extraordinary enterprise then. Fn some places it is conveyed by aqueducts over bridges, under which other rivers pursue their course. In order to secure a supply of water in dry seasons, a basin has been constructed at St. Ferreol, which is perhaps the most extraordinary part of the whole undertaking. This immense reservoir, built of gra- nite, is an English mile in length, and about half that distance in breadth, and contains an area of 595 acres, — collecting the waters of the various springs that rise in the Black Mountain. The road from Beziers offers little worthy of ob- servation. Lauguedoc is very different in reality from the charming pictures which Mrs. RadclifFe has drawn of it in her " Mysteries of Udolpho." The people have a miserable look, denoting po- verty and wretchedness. Shoes and stockings are very generally dispensed with ; or if shoes are worn, it is the wooden sabot, which is a sad clumsy contri- vance. Manure seems an article in great request in this province. Boys run after the diligence, for a mile after changing horses, to catch the first fruits of ex- ercise upon a full stomach ; and I observed that a handful of this precious commodity was a common stake set between two lads, in playing at quoits. The country improves as you approach Toulouse ; a neatly painted cottage occasionally meets the eye, 2 D 2 404< TOULOUSE. and something like an attention to comfort is observ- able. After two nights and two days in the dili- gence, we arrived at Toulouse. I remember the time when the very idea of two days and two nights in a stage-coach, carrying six inside, and full all the way, would have made me ill. But, travelling " brings us acquainted with strange bed-fellows," and is the best receipt I know for curing a fine gentleman. 405 CHAPTER XIV. Toulouse — Jean Galas — Battle of Toulouse — French Politics — La Fontaine — Law of Elections — L'ecole RoT/ale — French Cookery — French Cleanliness — Criminal Jurisprudence, November 1 2th. 1 HE first impression of Tou- louse is favourable, though it has a deserted appear- ance. It has lost much of its consequence by the Revolution, which has swept away its Parliament ; grass now grows in some of the streets ; and the population which was formerly as high as 80,000, is now not computed at more than 55,000. It is built of brick, and this gives it a warmer look, than the cold white stone of Montpellier. The bold line of the Pyrenees forms a noble back-ground to the view from the bridge, which is one of the chief ornaments of the town ; the Garonne being here above 800 feet wide. Established myself in a pleasant lodging, in the Hue des Cordeliers, looking due south, into a large garden. Two rooms — 30 francs per month. 13th. Explored the town. In the great square is the capitol, containing the apartments in which the estates general of Languedoc used to hold their ses- sions. There are two public libraries, one or other 406 TOULOUSE. JEAN GALAS. of which is open to the public every day, containing large and valuable collections of ancient and modern books, in all languages, with every accommodation for reading. At Toulouse there is an University containing at least 1,500 students, and there are daily lectures in chemistry, botany, and all branches of natural philosophy ; and these, like the libraries, are thrown open to all, who have an inclination to benefit by them, gratis. These are resources, which make Toulouse a more agreeable residence than most provincial towns ; but, a provincial town is bad at best. If one must live in a town, it should be in a capital ; — provincial politics, and parish scandal are intolerably tiresome. The promenades here are extensive and pretty; though the beauty of these is sadly defiled, by the abominably filthy habits of the people. But this is the case throughout France ; the streets, and the public walks, are scarcely passable, owing to the disgraceful and disgusting practices of a people, who set themselves up as models of politeness and bie?i- seance. 14th to 18th. Rain. My neighboiu*, in my lodging house, is a fine old veteran of seventy -two, whose history would furnish the materials for a novel. He tells me he was present at the execution of poor Galas, in the square of St. George in this town. The successful efforts of Voltaire, to establish his innocence, and to save his family from sharing his JEAN CALAS. 107 fate, have given notoriety to the tragic history of this venerable victim of bigotry and injustice ; who, at the age of 65, was condemned to be broken alive on the wheel, for the supposed murder of his son, without a shadow of proof. It was urged against him, that he had conspired with the rest of his family to put his son to deaths to prevent him from becoming a convert from the protestant to the catholic religion, as one of his brothers had become before him. The truth seems to have been, that the son, who was of a melancholy temperament, had hanged himself. Poor Calas supported the agonies of his punishment, which lasted two hours, with the most patient resigna- tion ; and while he calmly protested his own inno- cence, spoke with charity and forgiveness of his judges. Nor were the blows of the executioner all that he had to endure, during these two dreadful hours ; for he was also subjected to the mental racking of a catholic priest, who was torturing him with exhor- tations to confess his guilt. At last the signal was given to the executioner, to to inflict the coup de grace ; when the priest himself, convinced by the calm and steady denial of the dying father, addressed the surrounding })opulace in the following words, which seem to have been rivetted in the memory of my old friend, — " Voila tame du juste qui s'envole," 19th. Went over the scene of the Battle of Tou- louse. Soult's position seems to have been admirably 4-08 BATTLE OF TOULOUSE. chosen, and as strong as nature and art could make it. The difficulty of ascertaining the truth upon any point, makes one doubt of all the details of history. The French, with their usual hardihood of assertion, would fain persuade you that the Duke of Welling- ton was informed of the events that had happened at Paris, when he attacked Soult's position and fought the battle of Toulouse ; but that he was anxious to gather one more wreath of laurel. Napoleon abdi- cated on the 4th of April, and the battle of Toulouse was fought on the 10th. It has however been clearly proved, in this case, that the officers despatched from Paris, to inform the Duke of Wellington of the revolution in the government, were arrested and detained at Montauban by Bouvier Dumoulart, Pre- fect of the district ; and they did not reach the Duke, till the evening of the 12th ; — and hence this fruitless effusion of blood, six days after the abdication of Napoleon, which in fact put an end to the war. 20th. I find I have committed a great mistake in coming to Toulouse. I ought to have returned to Italy from Chamberry ; for I see that a winter in France will be intolerable, after dear delightful Italy ; but it is now too late to correct this error, — and so I must e'en make the best of it. The English are regarded here with an evil eye, and it is not sur- jirising that there should exist a soreness of spirit in this quarter, where the national vanity received so bitter an humiliation. I have heard my old neigh- BATTLE OP TOULOUSE. 400 hour describe the horror, indignation, astonishment, and shame, that he felt, on seeing an army of Enghsh- men, profaning " the sacred territory " and marching into Toulouse en maitres ; though history might have furnished him with sufficient examples of similar in- vasions to diminish his surprise; — and even here, our Wellington was pursuing the very track which our Black Prince had traversed as a conqueror, before him. But, a Frenchman reads no history that does not furnish gratification to his national vanity ; and to talk to him of any thing anterior to the reign of Louis XIV., is to talk of what he knows as little, as of what happened before the Deluge. Though the French cannot forget or forgive the battle of Toulouse, yet they speak in terms of the highest praise of the good conduct of individuals, and with admiration of the discipline of the army. It seems, that they had been so accustomed to asso- ciate war with plunder and contribution, that the good old-fashioned mode which the English have never forsaken, of softening as much as possible the evils of war by paying for the supplies they demand- ed, struck them as something new and unheard of ; — though I doubt whether this admiration be not gene- rally accompanied with a suspicion of the motive, or a sneer at the folly, of such conduct. " Few people," says Fielding, " think better of others than of themselves, nor do they readily allow the existence of any virtue, of which they perceive no traces in their own minds ; 410 FRENCH POLITICS. for which reason, it is next to impossible to persuade a rogue, that you are an honest man ; nor would you ever succeed, by the strongest evidence, was it not for the comfortable conclusion which the rogue draws, that he who proves himself honest, proves himself a fool at the same time." And yet, the French ought to have learned, if nations could learn any thing from experience, — that honesty, in the end, is the best policy, and that the policy of wisdom, is the policy of virtue. 21st. Napoleon is not in the south of France the idol of that blind adoration, which the Itahans still pay him. His character seems here to be very cor- rectly appreciated, and every body is fully aware of the enormous evils which he inflicted upon France by his return from Elba. The king is denounced by the Ultra-Royalists as a Jacobin ; but the Jacobins do not recognise him as a true brother ; still I believe, he has the great mass of the people on his side. United with the Charte, he will always have the ma- jority with him; but then he must not use the Charte like an umbrella, which is only brought out in foul weather, to ward off the pelting storm ; — for the people consider it equally necessary, as a parasol, to shelter them in fair weather from the scorching rays of royalty. If the king have not a greater majority now, it is because there are some who see, or fancy they see, in the first acts of his reign, a disposition to establish principles, tending to invalidate the very FRENCH POLITICS. 411 existence of the compact between king and people, — which they were certainly justified in believing had been solemnly accepted as the terms of his restora- tion. Thus, his dating his reign from the death of Louis XVII., his abandonment of the national colour which he had himself worn as Monsieur in 1780, and his second restoration at the point of foreign bay- onets, have raised a spirit against him, which nothing but time, and the most prudent conduct on his part, can soften. Mr. Fox has pronounced, that of all revolutions, a restoration is the worst. Generally speaking, it must be so, for the restored family, bred up in ancient prejudices, can seldom forget the power which they once enjoyed ; and the people will be for ever sus- pecting them of forming designs to recover it, whether they have such intentions or not. This want of good understanding between king and people, must be greatly increased, when, as in France, the restoration has taken place by foreign interference; and when the people must feel, that they have sinned beyond the bounds of forgiveness. It is indeed im- possible, that there should be a cordial union between revolutionised France, and the legitimate claims of the Bourbons. Who can expect that the King, or the Comte d'Artois should divest themselves of all fra- ternal feelings ; or who can be surprised that the Duchess d'Angouleme should shudder with horror at the sight of the murderers of her father, and at the 412 FRENCH POLITICS. recollection of the sufFerings of her brother and her- self? On the other side, it is equally natural that the French people, according to the maxim which lays it down that we never forgive those whom we have in- jured, should entertain a strong prejudice against the Bourbon family. The leading feature in the national character is vanity ; — now their national vanity has been humbled in the dust, and this humiliation is, un- fortunately for the Bourbons, inseparably connected with their restoration. The feeling against them was so strong on their second restoration, that proposals, it is said, were made to the Allies, offering rather to receive the King of Saxony, or the Prince of Orange, or any other King that the Allies would have vouch- safed to give them. The throne of the Bourbons seems then to be placed upon a barrel of gun-powder ; nothing but consum- mate prudence can reconcile the people to their sway, and prevent a fatal explosion. It is a common notion, and the enemies of the Bour- bons are at the greatest pains to strengthen it, that the Comte d'Artois disapproves entirely of the system of the king ; and that he is determined to restore the ancient regime in church and state, and to be aid Ccssar aid nullus. It matters little whether this be true, or not; the effect is the same, — if the people can be persua- ded to believe it. Accordingly, you hear a revolu- tion talked of as a thing of course at the death of the king ; and there is no saying what might happen if he FRENCH POLITICS. 413 were to die immediately. But if he should continue to live a few years, the system which he has com- menced, will so have established itself ; and the peo- ple will be so sensible of the advantages which they have obtained from the Charte, that the future king, be he who or what he may, will be compelled to pursue the same course, and will be without the power, whatever his inclination may be, to disturb the order of the machine of government, or endanger the tran- quillity of the nation. 22nd. Attended the church of the French Pro- testants. Heard a most excellent sermon, on the text — *' Je laverai mes mai?is dans Nwioceiice, et je rrCapprocherai a ton autel, o EterrieL" The service consisted of a lesson from the Old Testament, a few prayers, a good deal of psalmody, and a sermon, which was preached memoriter. But in the prayers, and the sermon, there was a little too much onction for my taste. The priest pitched his voice in a re- citative key, which must become tiresome in a long service. The congregation was numerous ; each person had a chair ; and there was no kneeling down. The church was cold, and the men wore their hats without ceremony. 23rd. I am pleased to hear, in attending the lec- tures in chemistry and experimental philosophy, the constant mention of English names, and English im- provements, and discoveries, with the highest eulo- 414 LA FONTAINE. giums upon those of our countrymen, from Newton downwards, who have advanced the progress of knowledge. In the library to-day I discovered an ^schylus and Euripides, which had belonged to Racine, with marginal notes, in his own hand-writing ; but the notes were rather curious than valuable. In the evening to the theatre ; which is newly built, and very handsome. Le parti de Chasse de Henri IV., was well acted. The air of Vive Henri Quatre, which was introduced in the supper scene, was very feebly applauded. 24th to 30th. Confined at home by severe in- disposition. — Amused myself with La Fontaine. Charming style ; — " He seems to produce without labour, what no labour could improve." This fa- cility of production is essential to poetry, and per- haps gave rise to the maxim — Poeta nascitur ; for if there be any appearance of effort or labour, — if the numbers come from the brains like bird-lime from frieze — the whole charm is destroyed. Poetry has been well defined to be " Thoughts that voluntary move Harmonious numbers." This definition is well enough as far as it goes ; but to thoughts should also perhaps be added feelings, for brains alone without heart, will never make a poet. For example. Pope, with all the requisite qualities of mind, wanted the deep and fervid feelings which are necessary to the perfection of the poetical character ; LA FONTAINE. 415 without which, the poet can never ascend the brightest heaven of invention. The character of his poetry may be well illustrated by one of his own lines. It " Plays round the head but comes not near the heart." He delights us by the fertility of his fancy, the elegance of his imagination, the point and playfulness of his wit, the keen discrimination of his satire, and the moral good sense of his reasoning ; — but he is seldom pathetic, and never sublime. If Eloisa to Abelard be an exception to this observation, it is a solitary one, — and exceptio probat regulam ; and even in that poem the sentiment seems rather to be adopted, than to be the genuine offspring of the poet's heart. What that soul of feeling is, that poetical verve, by which alone the poet can rise to sublimity, and which Pope wanted, will be understood at once, by comparing his ode on music with Dryden's divine effusion on the same subject. His merit even in versification seems to have been over-rated. Pope may perhaps be said to have done for verses, what Arkwright did for stockings, by the invention of a sort of mechanical process in their composition. His couplets are as regular, as if they had been made with the unerring precision of a spinning-jenny. The effect of this has been to supersede the necessity of much skill in the individual workman ; and accordingly, we see every day how easy it is to imitate the versification of Pope, — for the me- 4KJ LA FONTAINE. chanism was too simple to elude discovery ; but where shall we look for the freedom and variety of Dryden ? But to return to La Fontaine ; — what can be more affecting than his tale of the " Tico Pigeons ?" It breathes the very soul of tenderness ; and there are throughout his writings touches of pathos and sensi- bility that will rarely be found in French poetry. What heart there is in the lines beginning with Qu'un ami veritable est une douce chose ! And his love of rural retreat, is expressed with almost the force and feeling of Cowper : — " Solitude ou je trouve une douceur secrete Lieux que j'aimai toujours, ne pourrai-je jamais Loin du monde et du bruit, gouter I'ombre et le frais? Oh ! qui m'arretera dans vos sombres asiles?" Sfc. 8fc. December 1st. Now that the Congress has broken up, and the Allied troops are withdrawn, the atten- tion of all parties is directed to the meeting of the Chambers. The Upper Chamber consists of 150 Peers; the Chamber of Deputies, of 250 Repre- sentatives ; one fifth of which is dissolved every year. The qualification for a deputy is the payment of direct taxes, to the amount of 1,000 francs, per annum; and it is also required, that he should be 40 years of age. The qualification of an elector is the an- nual payment of taxes to the amount of 300 francs, and the ftill age of 30 years. And yet this is the new law of elections, which the iiltra royalists have denounced as being too democratic al ! LAW OF ELECTIONS. 417 The chamber, which was dissolved by the king in 1815 for its ultra royalism, had been elected under the imperial system of electoral colleges ; — the people electing in the first instance the electors, and the electors then nominating the representatives. The abuses which had crept into this system, so utterly unfitted for its purpose, — for it seems absolutely es- sential to a popular assembly that it should emanate immediately from the people, — threw the whole power of election into the hands of the government ; but it is to this system that the Ultras wish to return, for the result of the late elections has been very much in favour of the liberal party. That this should have been the case is sufficiently extraordinary, if we con- sider the very limited number of the whole body of electors in France, which is said not to exceed 100,000 ; — a number so small, that it might be sup- posed — from the experience of what hapj)ens in England where the right of suffrage extends so much more widely — the influence of power and patronage would have been brought to bear against it with overpowering success. Though the popular spirit of the electors may be partly explained from the infancy of their institutions, which corruption has scarcely yet had time to contaminate ; yet perhaps the real secret of their conduct may be found in their mode of voting by ballot. It is true that where the voting is secret, bribery may continue to be carried on, to a certain extent, by the reliance, which will always be 2E 4il8 ELECTIONS — RECRUITS. placed in the performance of promises ; but the more pernicious influence of intimidation is effectually anni- hilated. It is this voting by ballot indeed, which is the only saving virtue in the French law of elections, and to which they ought to cling as the sheet anchor of their liberties ; for without this, a system which vests the right of electing deputies for a nation of thirty millions in so small a body as 100,000 electors, can afford no security for a real representation of the people. The other subjects of contention between the Ultras and the Liberaux, are the laws of recruiting ; public instruction ; and the appointment of mayors. The law of recruiting has been passed to continue the conscription ; but it must be confessed, that it is no longer the same terrible warrant of death and de- struction which formerly bore that name. On the restoration of the king, an attempt was made, but made in vain, to fill up the ranks of the army by vo- luntary enlistment. It was decided that France must have an army, and the present law was passed. This law subjects all the male population, who shall have attained their twentieth year, to the operation of the conscription. But it limits the period of their service to five years, when they have a right to their dis- charge ; and it throws open to the lowest ranks the hope of advancement. The eqiialit?/ of this law, in the obligation to serve, and the right to promotion, is very distasteful to the Ultras ; who can think only of MAYORS — PREFECTS. 419 the glorious privileges which the Nobles enjoyed in the army of the ancient regime. With respect to public instruction, the Ultras wish to return to the old system of Frtres Chretiens ; while the Liberaux patronise the Enseignement mittuel, or system of Bell and Lancaster, The crown at present appoints the Mayors. The Liberaux would wish to introduce the systtme munici- pal, by which the people would elect their own Mayors. There is a very general cry also against the extra- vagant emoluments of the Prcfets, who are the cre- ation of the Consular government. This officer is the head of his department, and is in himself, what the Lord Lieutenant and the Sheriff are in our counties. The Prefets were of great use to Buonaparte in oil- ing the wheels of despotism, and their salaries were in proportion to their utility. The Prefecture of Toulouse is said to be worth 40,000 francs per annum. Went in the evening to the theatre. The play was Turcaret, an admired comedy of Le Sage ; — but it is a comedy of the old school, and the bags and swords of the ancient bon-ton will not make the modern canaille of the theatre look like gentlemen. I am surprised to see the waiting maids, in the French comedy, as well or perhaps better dressed than their mistresses. " This is o'er doing termagant." 2nd. Went over Vecole royah de Toulouse. The establishment consists of, the Proviseur, who is the Chef de la Malson ; the Censmr, who is second 2E2 420 l'ecole royale. in authority ; eleven professors of Latin ; three of mathematics ; one of Latin and French hterature ; one of natural history ; one of natural and experi- mental philosophy ; one of history ; and seven Mai- tres delude, or assistant masters. L'Aumonier, with a long train of assistants, tradesmen, and servants, from the surgeon to the shoeblack — complete the establishment. The whole number of eleves is 400. Those within the walls amount to 160. The terms of the school are, 650 francs per annum, — about 27/. For this the boy is lodged and fed in sickness and in health, clothed, and instructed in all that the above-named professors can teach him. The dress is a miiform of dark blue. Each boy has a bed-room to himself, by night; and a desk in the school-room by day. Their breakfast is bread and water ; dinner, — bread, soup, meat, and wine ; — supper, — bread, cold ' meat and wine ; — bread always d discretion. Nine hours per day are devoted to application. There are two months of vacation — September and October. With the exception of this vacation, the boys are kept under lock and key during the whole year, within the walls of the college ; beyond which they cannot stir without express permission. Their play-ground is within the walls, and to break these bounds without leave would be punished by expulsion. The internal discipline is conducted without having recourse to that bmtal and degrading punishment, l'ecole royale. 421 which, to the common disgrace of those that inflict and those who receive it, is still practised upon lads of all ages, in the public schools of England. There is a sense of self-respect in every rational being, that revolts at the insult of being subjected to blows ; and this sense is recognised and encouraged in the French schools, where no sort of corporal punishment is allowed; nor do I believe it is ever necessary, — except perhaps in early childhood, before the rational faculty has begun to develope itself. But blows present so easy a mode of carrying on the business of school government, that it is not wonderful school- masters should be desirous to retain their birchen sceptre, in defiance of decency and common sense. But it is surprising, when the systems of Pcstalozzi and others have been explained to all Europe, that the public opinion of England should not have operated some change in this, as well as in some other parti- culars of school govermnent. The common means in the hands of the Professors of Toulouse for maintaining order, are impositions of tasks ; paiii-sec, i. e. bread and water; Siud penitence, which is confinement to the school-room under the surveillance of a Maitre d'Etude. Solitary impri- sonment, the heaviest of their punishments, cannot be inflicted without the sanction of the Proviseur, or tbe Ceyiseur. Some disorders have lately broken out in many of the French schools, but these seem to have arisen from temporary causes. Party-spirit, 422 FRENCH COOKERY. which has so convulsed the pohtical world, has not been entirely shut out of schools ; where Bourbon, and Buonaparte, have been words of discord, and the question Qui vive ? has given rise to many a ju- venile battle. Dame Religion too, who is seldom idle when discord is abroad, has not been without her share in these disturbances, some of which have originated in the jealousies between Catholic and Protestant. 3rd. Toulouse is the land of cheap living, and all sorts of provisions are excellent of their kind. Bread is at two-pence a pound ; — wine, that is, the vin du pai/s, of very good quality, four-pence a bottle ; — meat from two-pence to three-pence. The poultry is very fine ; you may buy a good turkey for 35. 6d. ; — a capon for Is. 9d. ; — a fowl for a shilling ; — and a goose for 2,?. 6d. Servants' wages are also very low ; — I hire the attendance of a female servant to officiate as bed-maker, at half-a-crown per month. They have a custom here of fostering a liver com- plaint in their geese, which encourages its growth to the enormous weight of some pounds ; and this dis- eased viscus is considered a great delicacy. You get an excellent dinner at the table d'hote of either of the hotels, of two courses, dessert and wine, a dis- cretion, for 2s. 6d. I have established myself e?i pen- sion with a family next door ; where I have my breakfast, dinner, wine, cafe, and liqueur, for 80 francs a month. FRENCH COOKERY, 423 In comparing French and English cookery, I think the balance is greatly in favour of the former. We may beat them in a few dishes, but they excel us in fifty. We have the advantage in soup, — though they are fond of saying that our soups are nothing but hot water and pepper ; and we beat them in fish, because most fish cannot be dressed too simply. But they have an infinity of good things ; and if hap- piness consisted in good-eating, I should recommend a man to live in France. It is quite a mistake to suppose that roast beef is confined to Old England, though the French do not present it in such enormous masses as we do. Nor indeed is there any great treat in sitting down to a huge limb hacked off its parent carcase, with an intimation, that " You see your dinner ;" — always excepting however a haunch of venison, or a round of corned beef, which are two of those morceaux peculiar to England, that constitute a dinner in themselves. When you laugh at a Frenchman for eating frogs, he retaliates upon you, for breakfasting upon warm water and sugar. Nothing can be more incorrect than to suppose that the French live upon soup maigre ; — the lower orders indeed, I believe, are very tem- perate, and seldom taste meat; but, amongst the higher classes, one might almost parody one of our national maxims, and say, — that one Frenchman would eat three Englishmen. Their dejeuner a la fourchcUc, when well served 424 FRENCH COOKERY. up, is, as they term it, superbe, magnifique ; and wants only the addition of tea, to rival the excellence of a Scotch breakfast. In comparing the cookery of the two nations, it is the general excellence of the French, that is so much beyond our own. The best cooks in the various countries in Europe, are nearly the same, for they are formed more or less after the French model ; — but, in France, all are good. Man has been defined to be- — a cooking, supersti- tious, self-killing animal. I know not whether the outward signs of these inward propensities have yet been discovered, in cranial protuberances peculiar to the human head ; but when they are, the organ of superstition will probably be found to predominate in the Spanish, as that of suicide may perhaps prevail in the English, whilst, if there be any truth in crani- ology, — the organ of cookery must be the leading feature of the French skull. So much for cookery. With respect to cleanliness ; • — the balance here will incline very much in favour of England ; though in many particulars, the obser- vances of the French evince a greater niceness of feeling than our own. A napkin is as indispensable to a Frenchman at dinner as a knife or a fork. In the lowest inn you will always find this luxury, and, though it may be coarse, it is always clean ; nor is it confined to the parlour, — all ranks must have their napkin, and all classes are equally nice in the use of FRENCH CLEANLINESS. 423 a separate drinking glass. The silver fork too is almost universal, but their knives are villanous ; and the use, which even the ladies make of their sharp points in performing the office of a toothpick, is worse. The ablutions of the bath are perhaps more ge- nerally practised in France than in England ; though you seldom see a Frenchman with his face cleanly shaved, or his hands well washed. With regard to the ladies of the two nations ; — their pretensions to superiority in this respect were submitted to an emigre bishop, as an experienced judge of both countries, who answered, — " Les Anglaises sont plus propres aux yeux des hommes — et les Frangaises aux yeux de Dieu" — in which answer there seems to be more included than meets the eye. But though in some few instances, the French seem to shew a more delicate sense of personal com- fort than ourselves ; yet in the general estimate, they will be found far behind us. Their houses would shock our neat and tidy house-wives; and their attached and detached offices are too filthy for de- scription. In their persons too, — though the bath may be used, the tooth and nail brush seem to be forgotten; and they are always either smart or slovenly, as you see them in their evening dress, or in their morning dishabille. Lastly ; some of their habits must be condemned as shockingly offensive; — what shall we say of the 426 FRENCH CLEANLINESS. spitting about the floor, which is the common prac- tice of women as well as men, at all times and seasons, not only in domestic life, but also upon the stage, in the characters of heroes and heroines, even in high imperial tragedy? — to say nothing of the manoeuvres of a French pocket-handkerchief — called expressively by Young — " a flag of abomination" — which would disgust the feelings of any English- man, without supposing him a fastidious elhe of Lord Chesterfield. In conversation too, though there is much of what may be cafled moral delicacy, which is shewn in little attentions to oblige, and a nice tact in avoid- ing whatever can give offfence ; yet, there seems a total want of phi/sical delicacy on the part of the French. This will perhaps explain what has been much remarked upon by travellers ; — that the French rarely smile at the blunders of foreigners. An English- man feels his muscles irresistibly moved, when a foreigner unwittingly touches in conversation upon forbidden ground ; — but here, where there is scarcely any forbidden ground, similar mistakes cannot of course have the same effect. Feast of Sainte Barbe; — military fete. The re- giments of artillery had a feast, and the soldiers in the evening cried, Vive I'Etnpereiir, in the great square. They were drunk, to be sure ; — but in vino Veritas. The name of Napoleon is made to stand for THEATRE. 427 any thing. In the mouths of the army, it is only another word for a mihtary government, and a mi- litary chief, without much individual attachment to him; and in politics, if the cry of Vive Buonaparte have any influence, it can only be because it is considered as the badge of the Revolution, and the changes which the Revolution has effected ; in oppo- sition to the powers and privileges of the ancien rigime. 5th. The more I see of France and Frenchmen, the more I am struck with the serious and sombre complexion of their manners, so different from the pictures of other times. Nothing can be more dull than their theatre ; that is, than the theatre of Toulouse. There seems to be no sympathy of feel- ing, no connecting link, between the audience and the actors. The laughter of the scene produces no correspondent emotion in the house. There is no applause, and scarcely any attention; — the spectators sit by in sullen silence. But, it must be owned, that the actors are not the best in the world. The young students of the University, with little respect to the well-behaved part of the audience, throw bouquets of flowers on the stage, to their favourite actresses. 6th. The dullness of the theatre has been ex- plained to me. The audience is constantly made uj) of the same persons, and they are of course too 428 THEATRE. familiar with the pieces and the actors to take much interest either in the one or the other. In the provincial towns of France, every body subscribes to the theatre. The spectacle, is abso- lutely necessary to fill Up the evening of a French- man; for neither conviviality, nor social domestic parties are the fashion of the country. The theatre therefore is open every night, without excepting Sunday ; on which day indeed, it is most crowded. Economy is the object of many of those who attend ; for it is cheaper to subscribe and pass the evening from dinner till bed-time at the play, than to bum fire and candle at home. The subscription to the military who are quartered here is one day's pay per month ; — this was a regu- lation introduced by Napoleon. The students are admitted for eleven francs, and all other persons for fifteen francs, per month. For this, you have a free admission to all parts of the house. The actors seem to be tolerably well paid, for a provincial theatre. There are none who have less than 1,200 francs per annum; and the leading actors have as much as 8,000 francs. But then, the premiers roles in France are saddled with the ex- pense of finding their own dresses. 23d. Attended the assizes. A prisoner was brought up for horse-stealing. The president of the court, and three other judges were present, dressed in robes of scarlet; but without any flowing horse- CRIMINAL PROCEDURE. 429 hair on their heads. The Procureur General, or pubhc accuser on the part of the crown, in tlie same costume, sat at the same table with the judges ; so close to the jury, that he was continually commu- nicating with them in an undertone, and even during the defence, he from time to time suggested some- thing aside to them, as it seemed, to do away the impression of what was urged in the prisoner's fa- vour. The jury consisted of the principal inhabitants of Toulouse, and of the professors of the university. The whole court seemed to consider themselves as pitted against the poor devil at the bar. The pre- sident acted throughout as counsel against him ; and even his manner, in the frequent cross-examination to which he made the prisoner submit, was what in England would be called unfeeling and indecent. Though the charge involved so serious a punishment ; the judges, and Monsieur le Procureur, seemed to think it a very facetious circumstance, and laughed heartily, — when the culprit aided his own conviction by some ill-considered answer. Even the jury, and the spectators, seemed to be without any feelings of sympathy for the accused, and the address of his counsel was not listened to with a decent attention by any body ; — though it ought to be added in their excuse, that the address was a vil- lanously stupid one Still it was impossible not to be shocked at the apparent want of fair play in the whole procedure. 430 CRIMINAL PROCEDURE, The spirit of equaliti/, which pervades every thing in France since. the revolution, seems to have found its way into the courts of Justice, in some of their observances ; and in these instances at least, we cannot condemn its influence. The prisoner and the witnesses are accommodated with seats, not as mat- ter of favour, but as matter of right : and the wit- nesses give their evidence sitting. This is surely nothing more than just ; it is a sufficient evil that a man, without any fault of his own, should be liable to the inconvenience of attending as a witness, with- out being subjected to the additional punishment of standing up in a witness-box, during an examination of as many hours as it may please the counsel to inflict upon him. The witness is not sworn upon the Bible ; but he holds up his hand, and to the charge of the president, — Vous jurez, sans haine, et sans crainte, de dire la verite, et rien que la verite, — he answers, — Je le jure. No evidence was taken down; and the summing up of the judge was only a recapitulation of the proofs against the prisoner. The jury retire to deliberate, and bring in their verdict in writing. The prisoner was found guilty, and sentenced to five years' imprisonment. 29th. Assizes again. — A very interesting trial of a man for shooting at another, with an intent to CRIMINAL PROCEDURE. 431 kill him. Before the commencement of a trial, the names of the witnesses are called over ; and they are then sent out of court, that one may not hear the evidence of the other. The President opened the case to the jury. The proof was defective ; at least, it was a very nice case as to the identity of the man ; — and yet, one of the questions of the Prociireur Ge- neral to the prisoner, in a cross-examination in aid of the proof against him, was — Are you possessed of a gun ? ! ! ! No evidence was taken down. When the evidence closed, the Procureur General spoke in support of the prosecution ; the prisoner's counsel then spoke in his defence, and lastly the Presi- dent summed up, remarking, in this instance, upon what had been advanced on both sides ; but still it was the speech of an advocate against the pri- soner, in which character the French judge seems to consider himself. In the course of this trial, the President examined the witnesses ybr the prosecution, as to the character of the prisoner, in this sort of way :— " Do you know any thing of the prisoner's cha racter ?" " Have you ever heard any thing against him?" "Do you think it likely from what you know of him, that he would commit the crime with which he is charged ?" In another trial, the judge, in his opening of the case, in order to influence the jury against the pri- 432 CRIMINAL PROCEDURE. soner, commenced his speech by telUng them, — that the same culprit had very lately appeared at the bar, and had been acquitted by the jury on the score of his youth, as he was only one day beyond the age which made him liable to legal penalty ; and that, in addition to this lenity, the jury had made a subscrip- tion for him, in order that he might have something with which to begin the world again. This was the opening statement of the judge, unsupported by a tittle of evidence. So much for the criminal jurisprudence of the French ; of the very first principles of which they seem to be utterly ignorant. The golden maxim of the English law, which pre- sumes that every man is innocent till it has been proved that he is guilty, and which shields the ac- cused from the obligation of replying to any question lest he should criminate himself, has no influence in their criminal procedure. The prisoner, though not absolutely stretched upon the rack, is subjected to the terrible screic of cross-examination; and a most powerful engine it is for extracting the truth. But, it may sometimes confound the innocent, as well as convict the guilty. If indeed a prisoner be really innocent ; and if he have coolness and good sense enough to adhere strictly to the truth; he may have nothing to fear from the legal inquisition of the French, — which is certainly well adapted for un- ravelling the intricacies of a complicated case. But, CRIMINAL TROCEDURE, 433 as it is surely better that many guilty should escape rather than one innocent man should suffer, the spirit of the English system is infinitely preferable, in spite of the facilities it affords to the clever rascal of es- caping from justice. 2F 434 CHAPTER XV. Neiv Years-Dai/ — Parti/ Spirit — Mass for Louis XVI. — Missionaries — Law of Elections — Profes- sion of a Novice — Racine — French Drama — De- parture from Toulouse. January 1st, 1819. 1 HE weather for the last ten days has been bitterly cold ; the thermometer has been below the freezing point, with snow, and sleet, and fog. This is a day of great bustle in France. All the equipages in Toulouse are rattling about, leaving cards of congratulation ; for it would be a breach of politeness amongst acquaintance, not to exchange visits on this day. — New year's gifts seem more in vogue in France than in England. 16th. The agitation of the public mind pro- duced by the late reports of changes in the ministry, seems at last to be tranquillized, by the appointment of M. de Cazes and his friends. The heat and irri- tation produced here by the rumour of the appoint- ment of an ultra-royalist ministry, which was believed for four-and-twenty hours, was excessive. The ultra- royalist party awaited the arrival of the next courier with the most intense anxiety ; and if it had brought a confirmation of their hopes, there is no saying PARTY SPIRIT. 435 what outrages and excesses might not have been committed. The ultra-royalist party in the south of France is characterized by the spirit which mas- sacred the protestants at Nismes ; the green cockade is its ensign, and this party is more royalist than the king himself; who is regarded by them as an apostate from the old principles of the ancient regime. These then say, as the friends of our second Charles said, that Louis has interpreted the oubli and pardon of his brother's dying injunctions, into an act of amnesty to his enemies, and an act of oblivion of his friends. On the other hand, the anxiety of those who have be- nefited by the Revolution, — that is, the great mass of the people — was equally evident ; for they are taught to regard the appointment of an ultra-royalist minis- try, as synonymous with a re-establishment of the tithes of the clergy, and the feudal rights of the seigneur, and a resumption of all the property which has been purchased under edicts of confiscation. This last is the tenderest point of all ; and it is certainly a hard case, that a man who was obliged either to fly his country or lose his head, should upon his return find his estate in the possession of one of his own servants ; who perhaps purchased it for almost nothing during the troubles of the Revo- lution. But this, it is to be feared, is one of those •instances of injustice, which, by being committed and defended by numbers, is placed beyond the reach of punishment; for it is impossible to " indict ■i 1" 2 436 prefect's ball. mass for LOUIS XVI. a whole nation." The sentence of Fiat justitia would be accompanied with a popular convulsion, equivalent to the ruat ccelum of the original maxim ; which however true in morals, will not always hold good in politics, of which expediency is the basis : and in which, I believe, we must be contented with what is practicable, when we cannot attain what is desirable. 18th. he Prefet's ball. The Prefect who is con- sidered, like our Lord Lieutenant, as the represen- tative of the sovereign in the department over which he presides, keeps up a certain state, and amongst other entertainments gives a ball every Monday. The ball was but a shabby business ; — three fiddlers, and no supper. Cotillions and quadrilles are so soon over, and the ladies are pledged so many deep, that every French beau is armed with his pencil and tablets to record his engagements, which he claims by presenting his partner with a bouquet of flowers. There is a very striking contrast between the fashion of the English and French ladies' dress, in disposing the drapery of the neck ; and the advantage is for once so much on the side of the latter, in decorum and propriety, that I am surprised our countrywomen are not shamed into an imitation of it. 21st. Solemn service at the cathedral for the repose of the soul of Louis XVI. — The Prefect and the municipality, and the whole body of the profes- sors of the university, attended this mourning cere- MASS FOR LOUIS XVI. THEATKK. 437 monial in grand costume. The church was hung with black, and the funeral anthem was beautiful. The king's will was read from the pulpit ; but, as far as it is possible to judge of the tone and senti- ment of a public assembly, it did not appear to me that the impression produced upon the multitude was such as the authors of the ceremony must have con- templated. It might have been different at the first celebration of the anniversary of his murder ; and perhaps it would have been better to have limited the mourning to one single occasion ; for such feelings must in their nature be transient, and in time pass away altogether. What for instance, can be more ridiculous, than the pretended mournful observance of the 30th of January in England ? By the way, it is rather a singular coincidence, that January was the month fatal alike to Louis and Charles, as May was the common month of the restoration of their successors ; — It will be for the Comte d'Artois to take care that the parallel between the families does not continue further. 22d. In the evening to the theatre. The play was Edoiiard en Ecosse ; founded on the adventures of the Pretender in England, the work of M. Duval, who is fond of dramatising English story. The part of Charles Edward was admirably played by Beau- champ. His face and appearance, when he first comes in, pale and worn out with fatigue, presented a striking resemblance of Napoleon. The political allusions, with 438 THEATRE. which the play abounds, were eagerly seized through- aut, and applied to the Ex-Emperor. — " Je n'aifait que des iiigrats'' was long and loudly applauded. In the last act of the play, the air of " God save the King" was incidentally introduced ; which afforded the audience an opportunity of manifesting their feeling towards England, which they did not neglect, — and an universal hiss broke out. A pantomime followed, but a very faint imitation of the inimitable entertain- ment which is called by that name in England. The first dancer is Harlequin, without his wand or his tricks ; the first female dancer is Columbine ; and the unfortunate Pantaloon, in addition to his own part, is Clown also ; so that besides the kicks on the breeches which he receives in quality of the first character, he has also to endure the slaps of the face which fall to the lot of the second. His mock dance was excellent; and his animated sack, for he jumps into a sack and displays wonderful locomotive powers therein, was worthy of Grimaldi himself. February 1st, It is a subject of great complaint, that the time of the carnival should have been selected by the missionaries, who have lately made their ap- pearance at Toulouse, for the period of their visit; as their arrival and preaching have cast a gloom over the usual festivities of this season of the year. There is a sort of mystery in the institution and appointment of these peripatetic preachers, who traverse France from one end to the other, as if there were no local MISSIONARIES. 439 clergy to provide for the religious instruction of their flocks. They preach twice a day, at the prin- cipal churches in the town ; and in order that this may not interfere with the labouring pursuits of the lower classes, the morning hour is as early as five, and the evening as late as six o'clock. There seems to be a great craving after religion, at present, as if there were a re-action after the long reign of infidelity during the Revolution. The churches are filled long before the service begins, and the receipts at the rate of three sous a chair will amount to a considerable sum, if the zeal of the congregations should continue. The missionaries are represented in the most op- posite colours, by the two parties of the state ; if you listen to the royalists, they work nothing but good, and only excite the jealousy of the opposite party, because it is feared, that they will restore the tone of the public mind, and bring back the people to " fear God and honour the king;" while the liberal party represent them as the preachers of fanaticism, and the promoters of domestic dissension. For myself I must say, that I have attended the missionary who preaches at the cathedral, and have heard the best and purest precepts of Christianity, enforced by very extraordi- nary eloquence ; but, a friend has told me that he heard at one of the minor churches, a sermon on the doctrine of transubstantiation, in which the missionary preacher related the following story, in confirmation of his doctrine. " There was a woman/' said he, 440 MISSIONARIES. " who being in want of a decent attire to go to communion, went to a Jew to hire a dress ; and the Jew would only consent to let it, upon condition that she would bring him back a piece of the consecrated wafer. After much difficulty, his terms were granted. The Jew, as soon as he had got possession of the wafer, trampled it under his feet ; when, to his great surprise, he perceived drops of blood to issue from it. Astonished at this, he put it into a saucepan and boiled it upon the fire ; — when the surface of the water be- came covered with fat. This second miracle so wrought upon him, that he was convinced and con- verted, and forthwith became a Christian." If such is the mode of expounding the mysteries of Christi- anity, in the nineteenth century ; it is no wonder that the enlightened part of the nation condemn missions, and refuse to listen to missionaries. 5th. In the evening to the theatre. M. Huet from the Opera Comique of Paris, drew a full house. He played Adoljihe, and Jean de Paris, in the ori- ginals, from which Matrimony, and John of Paris, have been translated ; but I thought him very tame and insipid after the delightful spirited performance of Elliston in the same parts ; — who is so happy in the combination of heart and feeling, with vivacity and whim and inimitable in the management of dry humour, and playful raillery. 10th. The French seem to carry politics farther even than ourselves. Who ever heard in England of LAW OF ELECTIONS. 441 inquiring the politics of an actor? Yet here, the arrival of M. Huet, who it seems is recognized as a staunch royalist, has been sufficient to throw the town of Nismes into a state of agitation. The royalist party made a point of attending the theatre to support their champion ; in the same party spirit which had been shewn by the opposite faction, upon a late visit of Talma; whose intimate friendship with the Ex-Emperor is well known. A spark is suf- ficient to kindle the flame of civil war between parties composed of such inflammable materials, and nothing but the prudence of the police prevented an explosion. March 16th. The coup d'etat of creating fifty new peers, has at last quieted the apprehension and anxiety, which had been occasioned by the success of the Marquis Barthelemy's motion in the Chamber of Peers. The object of the motion was, to con- sider the propriety of altering the law of elections ; and it was carried by a majority of thirty-four voices against the ministry. This new creation of peers, which amounts almost to a revolution in the govern- ment, ought to convince all parties of the king's sincerity and good faith ; and of his determination to oppose by any means the over-heated zeal of his own adherents. The friends of M. Barthelemy affect to consider the public alarm as unfounded and un- reasonable, since his motion was confined to a mere consideration of the propriety of making an alteration in the law. But it is surely not surprising that a 442 FRENCH REVOLUTION. people just entering upon the enjoyment of political privileges, should be tremblingly alive to any at- tempt to tamper with a law which they are taught to consider as the great security of their rights. How for example would the king feel, if a member of the Chamber of Deputies were to succeed in a motion for considering the propriety of making some alteration in the settlement of the crown ? There are certain fundamental points, in all constitutions, which ought not, and cannot be made the subjects of debate, without disturbing the stability of the whole edifice. It is only necessary to consider what the French have gained by the Revolution, to sympathize with the alarm excited by any measure that seems to in- dicate a disposition to return to the principles of the ancient government. Liberty and equality was a cry peculiarly calcu- lated to produce an effect in France ; and however it might have been afterwards abused, its original im- port meant a liberation from the intolerable grievances of feudal oppression, and an abolition of the injurious privileges of the nobles ; — who not only possessed an exclusive claim to all the honours and emoluments of the army and the church, but were also exempt from taxation ; and even in the article justice, were placed above the level of their inferiors ; for, there was one tribunal and one measure of justice for the high, and another for the low. FRENCH REVOLUTION. hhS The direct power of the monarch was the least evil of which the French had to complain, and the rule of a single despot, in the person of Napoleon, must have seemed light to those, who remembered all the grievances of the a?icien regime ; — namely, the partial and oppressive imposts of the taille and the corvee ; and the capitaineries, by which a sort of free-warren was conferred over the lands of others, taking away the rights of the proprietors themselves, and vesting the game of a whole district — with the power of preserving deer and wild boars — in any single Nimrod whom the king might appoint. Last, and worst of all, were the feudal claims, and oppressive expedients — for an account of which see Arthur Young — by which the Seigneur might extort money from his vassals. But these and all the other sufferings of the people seem to be for- gotten by all but themselves ; and nothing is now remembered of the French Revolution, but the crimes and excesses by which the cause of liberty was disgraced. This Revolution teaches indeed an awful lesson. But while we learn from it the dangers of popular excess, and the impossibility of effecting a beneficial reform, by the agency of the mob ; we shall derive but little profit from it, if it do not also teach us the necessity of accommodating the institutions of go- vernment to the progress of information, so that they may be always kept in unison with public opinion. W4 PROFESSION OF A NOVICE. If such had been the conduct of the French govern- ment, we should never have heard of the French Revolution. The rulers who refuse to make those alterations which the progress of the age demands, seem to act as imprudently as the debtor who neg- lects to pay the interest of his debt. It is true he may delay paying any thing for a certain time, but in the mean time the arrears go on accumulating at compound interest, and when the day of reckoning does come, as come it must, sooner or later, it comes with a vengeance, and brings ruin along with it. Those who have the direction of the machine of go- vernment, would do well to watch the signs of the times, and by a regular payment of the claims of society, maintain a constant good understanding be- tween debtor and creditor ; — for this is the sort of relation in which the government and the people seem to stand towards each other. March 25th, The annunciation. Attended the ceremony of professing a novice, in the chapel of the Benedictine Convent. The victim was a young and pretty girl, who had been on the point of marriage, for which the preparations had been made, and the day fixed. The destined bride however suddenly changed her mind, without any assignable reason ; and, in spite of the entreaties of her friends, resolved to renounce the world ; and, according to the French phrase, epouser le bon Dieu. She was arrayed in a superb dress of satin, with a pro" PROFESSION OF A NOVICE. 445 fusion of lace, and wore a wreath of flowers upon her head. The service was long and tedious. After receiving the communion, and hearing a sermon particularly addressed to her, which was dull and unfeeling be- yond belief, the ceremony began. She was asked, in the face of the congregation, whether it was from her own sincere and unbiassed inclination, that she sought the seclusion of a convent ; and having an- swered in the affirmative, the cierge and crucifix were delivered to her. She was then led out of the chapel by her two bride-maids, and re-appeared within the grate of the convent. Here her hair was cut oft*; and quitting her worldly dress and worldly orna- ments, she was invested with the coarse uniform of the order to which she was to belong. The novice then gave the kiss of peace all round to the sisters of the convent, and the ceremony concluded. At the expiration of a year, she repeats her vows and takes the black veil ; it is then that the convent be- comes her tomb ; and, being considered as dead to the world, she is wrapped in a black shroud, and the funeral service is performed over her. The father of the novice attended the ceremony, and seemed to be overwhelmed with affliction. It was a melancholy scene ; but less affecting than it would have been, if the profession of vows were now, as in former times, an irrevocable sentence of perpetual seclusion. This is no longer the case ; for, as the law at present I 446 MISSIONARIES. i stands, no vows are binding for more than a year ; so that if a nun, availing herself of the privilege of her sex, should think fit to change her mind, she may have her cage-door opened, and return to the world. 27th. There was an intention of concluding the mission to Toulouse by a grand ceremony, and pro- cession ; in which the missionaries were to have walk- ed barefoot, and a cross was to have been planted in one of the squares of the town ; but it has been pre- I vented by the interference of the police, and post- poned sine die. It is difficult to form a judgment of the general effect of these missions, from the opposite representations of their friends and enemies. The only fact that has come under my own knowledge, speaks in their favour. As we were sitting at dinner one day, the host of my pension was called out to speak to a young woman, who desired particularly to see him alone. Upon his return, he recounted his in- terview to us. It seems, that the woman had formerly Hved in his service, and the object of her visit was, to confess to him sundry petty acts of theft, and to make him restitution of their amount. This, she said, she was led to do, from the representations of one of the missionaries, to whom she had confessed, and who had convinced her that repentance and absolution were of no avail, unless founded upon sincere resolutions of amendment ; and that the best pledge of future good conduct would be, the atonement and reparation of RACINE. 447 past sins, as far as it could be done. My kind-hearted host forgave his contrite domestic, and she had all the merit of good intention, without making any pe- cuniary sacrifice. 30th. Finished a course of Racine. The delinea- tion of female characters seems to be his forte. Ph^dre, Ilermione, Agrippine, and Clytemnestre, are I think master-pieces in their way. All the faults of Racine must be attributed to the taste of his age and nation ; and considering the tight stays in which the tragic muse is confined upon the French stage, Racine has done wonders. His heroes to be sure, whether taken from Greek or Roman story, are all Frenchmen. This is the common fault of all the French tragic writers ; and it is exquisitely ridiculed by Grimm. *' Le c^l^bre Hogarth, connu par le g6nie et I'esprit de ses compositions, a ecrit un oeuvrage sur le beau, rempli d'idees extraordinaires. On y voit entre autres une estampe ou un maitre de danse Fran^^ais est vis- a-vis la belle statue Antinoiis ; il s'occupe alui relever la tete, a lui efFacer les 6paules, a lui placer les bras et les jambes, a la transformer, en un mot, en petit maitre elegant et agreable : cette satire est aussi fine qu'originale. Je doute cependant que notre cel^bre Marcel eut touche a la contenance d' Antinoiis ; mais mettez a la place d' Antinoiis la statue de Melpomene TAthenienne, et nommez les maitres de danse Cor- neille et Racine, et le symbole ne s'ecartera pas trop de la verite." 448 RACINE. His heroines are less national, the reason of which perhaps may be, that there is less national distinction amongst women, who have, as Pope has said, " no characters at all ;" a remark, which, though Pope meant it for satire, need not I think offend the sex ; on the contrary, it is, perhaps, the highest merit in a woman, that she is without those strongly marked peculiarities which constitute what is called charac- ter in man ; — for in her, to he prominent is to be offensive ; and her most engaging quahties are of that unobtrusive kind, which belong rather to the sex than to the individual. Racine's women are the women of high life. We must not look for the charming effusions of natural feeling which Shakspeare has given, in Juliet, Imo- gen, Cordelia, and the divine Desdemona. Such characters as these the French poet had not the head to conceive ; nor if he had, would a French audience have the heart to feel their beauty ; but Racine has given most powerful and affecting delineations of the frailties and passions of the factitious beings amongst whom his scene is laid. It is to the distresses of such beings that the sympathy of a French audience seems confined. It would appear as if there were only a r^oyal road to their hearts, for the idea of a tragedie bourgeoise is to them ridiculous ; and not satisfied with confining tragedy to the great, they have also prescribed such rigorous rules of bienseancc, that all the mighty play of the passions, which form % FRENCH DRAMA. 449 form the elements of tragedy, are limited in their ex- pression by the arbitrary laws of poetic diction, and the strict modes of politeness, as they happened to exist in the time of Louis XIV. Grimm, in his correspondence, has pointed out with great discrimination the defects of French tragedy ; but a few sentences of Rousseau compre- hend the substance of all that can be said on the subject, " Communement tout se passe en beaux dia- logues, bien agencies, bien ronflans, oii Ton voit d'abord que le premier soin de chaque interlocuteur, est toujours celui de briller. Presque tout s'6ionce en maximes generales. Quelques agites qu'ils puis- sent etre, ils songent toujours plus au public qu'^ eux-memes. Il-y-a encore une certaine dignity mani^r^e dans le geste et dans le propos, qui ne permet jamais a, la passion de parler exactement son langage, ni a I'auteur de revetir son personnage, et de se transporter au lieu de la sc^ne." We English contend that Shakspeare is the re- verse of all this ; that his plays, instead of being poetical descriptions, are genuine expressions of the passions ; that his characters do not talk like poets, but like men ; that he has the faculty which Rousseau says the French poets want ; and that he does, to use Schlegel's illustration, after the maimer of a ven- triloquist, transport his imagination out of himself, 2G 450 FRENCH DRAMA. and successively animate every personage of his scene ; that his characters speak in the very language in which their living prototypes might he supposed to have spoken ; so that in fact it appears as if he had stood by an eye-v^^itness of the scenes he de- scribes, and had taken down in writing what actually jmssed between the parties ; that instead of the cold generalities which arc bandied about by the " in- tellectual gladiators" of the French stage, there is an individuality in Shakspeare's characters which gives to his scenes almost the effect of reality, and makes us regard the actors in them rather as real personages, than as the mere fictions of his imagination. It is thus that we praise Shakspearc, — and for the most part justly ; though perhaps we may over do it a little. If the French have too much bien- seance, Shakspeare had too little ; and it may be doubted whether Johnson was not right, when he boldly said, that no one of his plays, if now pro- duced as the work of a living author, woidd be heard to a conclusion; but, his faults are as " dew-drops on the lion's mane," and may be easily shaken off. Again; — when we challenge for him so peremp- torily and exclusively the claim of the poet of na- ture ; — is he always natural ? Does he never make his characters speak rather like poets, than like men ? The language of highly-excited passion will often rise into poetry ; and I will not question the pro- priety of the figurative imagery in which he delights FRENCH DRAMA. 451 to clothe the effusions of grief and despair. But, to give one instance out of many, let us turn to the dagger scene of Macbeth. The air-drawn dagger is a grand conception, and the execution is a mighty proof of the genius of Shakspeare. The scene is awfully sublime, — yet, verging as it does on the border of extravagance, in any other hands it would probably have been ridiculous ; but, what shall we say to the description of night, which follows ? As a PoeVs description of night, admirably adapted to the circumstances of the scene, it is excellent, and in a descriptive poem it would be strictly in place ; but, what is the condition of Macbeth's mind ? Is it natural that his imagination should be at leisure to furnish the terrible accompaniments of a murderer's night, which are there enumerated with a somewhat laboured detail? To shew how a Frenchman's mind is impressed by Shakspeare, let me record the sentiments of my friend Mons. B. C, to whom I gave this scene to read aloud, as a sample of Shakspeare's best manner. He read the dagger speech with great admiration, and though a little shocked at the coarseness of Lady Macbeth's language, while she is waiting for the re-appear- ance of her husband, he went on very well till he came to, " I heard the Owl scream and the Cricket cry." — The cricket was too much for his risible nerves ; — here he threw down the book, and fairly laughed out. 2G2 452 FRENCH DRAMA. He considered the introduction of so ignoble an I image, as a high misdemeanor against the gorgeous | dignity of tragedy, to say nothing of the absurdity i of allowing Lady Macbeth to have leisure to listen j to it. What would he have said to " not a mouse stirring V' The whole scene that follows, which I have always thought at once so natural and so ^ terrible, he considered as utterly out of nature, and childishly ridiculous. Figures-vous, said he, an ambitious chieftain, w^ho has, under the impulse of that passion, conceived and perpetrated the murder of his sovereign ; yet, — in the very moment of its accomplishment, instead of being engrossed with those aspiring thoughts and antici- pations natural to his situation, he has no better employment than to entertain his wife with the conversation and cries of the drunken domestics, who had been disturbed from their sleep by his pro- Jr ceedings. " One cried God bless us ! and Amen ! the other." was to his ears the very acme of the ridiculous. Such was the impression made upon an intelligent Frenchman, who understood English very well, by j one of the finest scenes in Shakspeare. Racine would * certainly have managed the whole business very dif- ferently. It would have been much less terrible, but much more polite and well-bred ; and Monsieur and Madame Macbeth, would have rhymed it away FRENCH DRAMA. 4*53 through some scores of fine verses. Racine however is full of beauties, and, though he sinks into insigni- ficance when compared with Shakspeare, may perhaps challenge a comparison with any other English tragic writer, excepting Otway. His knowledge of human nature too is consider- able ; though it is not the knowledge of Shakspeare, who was profoundly intimate with the heart of man, in all its passions and affections, as it exists in all times and all countries, and who painted with the nicest discrimination all tempers and dispositions ; — the gay and the joyous — the generous and the gallant — the serious and the sorrowful — the moody and the mad — the drunken and the desperate. The know- ledge of Racine is more like that which has been displayed by Pope, and seems to be confined to factitious nature ; but this is beautifully and faithfully delineated. His distress is often very affecting ; and when the heart is not affected, the mind may gene- rally find amusement and instruction in the beauty of his verses and the force of his reasoning. Though we generally begin by preferring Voltaire's tragedies, the beauties of which are more showy, Racine will in the end establish his superiority. Racine seems to have been fitted for the strict rules of the French drama, and he writes con amore. Voltaire who understood English, had a taste for something better. Though he abuses Shakspeare, he was not above stealing from him very copiously ; 454 FRENCH DRAMA. and then, as Steevens wittily remarked, like a mid- night thief, he sets fire to the house he has robbed, in the hope of preventing the detection of his guilt. There is something in Voltaire's tragedies which seems to show that his genius was embarrassed by the cramp and confinement of the French literary laws ; of which indeed he himself complains : — " Je rcgrettais cettc heureuse liberte que vous avez d'^crire vos tragedies en vers non rimes ;" though he maintains elsewhere that rhyme is absolutely ne- cessary to the French verse, and gives, by way of example and proof, a very fine passage, which, by being stripped of these appendages, loses all its pretensions to poetry. If this be so, what more severe could be urged in the way of sarcasm against French poetry ? for in fact, it amounts to this, — that there is so little of the soul and spirit of poetry in their writers, that poetry would be converted into prose by Person's receipt of removing the final syl- lable of each line. Voltaire is the last man who ought to have depre- ciated Shakspeare ; for if his Zaire be superior in animation and energy to his" other tragedies, the superiority will be due to Shakspeare, from whose fire he has caught a few sparks. But his thefts are not always turned to so good account. He sometimes meddles with materials beyond his strength. The bow of Ulysses would have been of no use to a vul- gar thief. The Ghost of Hamlet's Father, under FRENCH DRAMA. 455 Sliakspearc's management, is awful, and sublime ; but bis counterpart in Semiramis is almost ridiculous. The question of the unities — so differently treated in the theatres of the two nations — has been nearly set at rest by Johnson, in his admirable preface to Shakspeare. None will deny the necessity of unity of action ; and the unity of time cannot obviously admit of much latitude of interpretation, without violating probability, and destroying the closeness of imitation, upon which much of the merit of a dra- matic piece depends. The French contend, that their rigid adherence to the unity of place rests upon the same ground of closeness of imitation ; — but it is evident that this is founded upon a mistaken idea of illusion. For the fact is, that the imitation is not at all closer by the preservation of this miity, — but the contrary. For instance, would not the imagination of the spectator be more easily reconciled to occa- sional shifting of the scene, in the tragedy of Cato, than to the monstrous absurdity of bringing all sorts of people, on all sorts of errands, to talk of love, and treason, in the same public hall ? The only effect of this practice has been, to change the drama — from a representation of an action — into a series of con- versations. The difference, says Grimm, between the English and French stage is ; that, in England, " On fait courir le spedateur aprhs les ivhiemejis ; in France, cc sont Its cctiwmens qui courmt api'hs les 456 FRENCH DRAMA. spectateiirs" In this, as in most other instances, the truth will lie somewhere between the two ex- tremes. Change of scene may surely take place without any violation of the illusion, if there be no objection on the score of time ; — and, with all due deference to Dr. Johnson, it is rather the intervention of time, than the change of place, that ought to sepa- rate one act from another ; — and this, however small, should always make a pause in the drama. If there could exist any real doubt of the dramatic superiority of the English muse, what strong proof might be adduced from the practice of the French actors themselves ! Why is it that Talma prefers Hamlet and Manlius, to Orestes and Ninias, and other characters of the same kind, which are con- fessedly the chef d'oeuvres of the French theatre ; while Hamlet and Manlius are poor imitations of our own Hamlet and Pierre ? Is it not that Talma has studied these characters in their native language, and contrived to impart to the cold copy some portion of the life and spirit of the divine originals ? But more of French acting hereafter. 31st. Bancal, the woman concerned in the mur- der of Fualdes, was brought before the court of assize, to hear her pardon read. When this was over, she was exhibited as a spectacle to the gentle- folks of the town, French and English. She conversed on the subject of the murder, and persisted in maintaining the guilt of Yence, and DEPARTURE FROM TOULOUSE. 4<57 Bessi^re Veysac, who were lately rescued from the hands of justice by a host of perjuries. Packing up ; — this is the melancholy part of a traveller's life — to arrive and hear no welcome — to depart and hear no farewell — or if he remain sta- tionary for a time, to be called away just as he is beginning to form new connexions. Farewell visits ; — to Dr. Thomas, from whose medical skill, and friendly attentions, my health has derived the greatest benefit ; — and to Mr. Kemble, to whom I have been indebted for many pleasant evenings of social intercourse. It is delightful to see the father of the English stage enjoying the evening of life in the tranquillity of literary leisure ; a man to whose public exertions we have all been indebted for the highest intellectual gratification; who, by the charm of his art, has become so iden- tified in our imaginations with the ideal characters of Shakspeare, that those who have seen him can scarcely think of Macbeth — King John — Wolsey — Hotspur — Brutus— or Coriolanus, without embodying them in the form and features of — John Philip Kemble. 4^68 CHAPTER XVI. Voyage down the Garonne — Bourdeaux — Theatre — f Talma — French Wines — Journey to Paris — Tours — Scenery of the Loire — State of Society in France — Law of Inheritance — Orleans — Versailles. April 1st. V OYAGE down the Garoiine to Bourdeaux. — The length of this voyage depends entirely upon the state of the river. During floods it may be done in two days ; but the ordinary time required is four. There is little in the scenery of the banks to demand notice. In so long a course, it is impossible that there should not be a few pic- turesque spots, but there are very few. It is but a comfortless voyage ; — there is no regular passage- boat, and the only vessels are small flat-bottomed barges, without any deck, or other protection from the weather, than such a tent as you may be able to construct. Again — if the water be low, you are constantly liable to get a-ground ; and it can never be a matter of certainty where you may halt for the night. Still, if the weather is fine, it is well enough. There is a sort of mill for grinding corn in use on the Garronne, which might perhaps be introduced BOURDEAUX. 459 with advantage on our own rivers. It is a simple wooden structure, containing also the miller's house, built upon a solid flat-bottomed boat, which is moored on the stream by means of strong iron chains. The streams are very rapid, and the Garonne is subject to sudden and violent floods ; nevertheless, these mills stand their ground ; and there is scarcely a stream in the river without one between Toulouse and Bour- deaiix. There are some fine points of view ; particularly at the embouchure of the Lot, where you command a prospect of the town and chateau of Aiguillon ; and again at La Reole, where there is an ancient Bene- dictine convent, of late turned into the residence of the Prefect, which, with the surrounding scenery, forms a beautiful picture. But these points are of rare occurrence. It was not till the evening of the fifth day that we arrived within sight of Bourdeaux. The character of the scenery improves as you de- scend the river, and the approach to Bourdeaux is magnificent. I doubt whether it be not equal to Lisbon ; the river, which is rather an arm of the sea, is nearly as broad again as the Thames at London. It takes a bend at this point, and the town and the quays form a splendid crescent on the left bank, the whole circuit of which is taken in at one coup d'wil, while the opposite bank is rich with woods, and vineyards, and villas. The piers of a stone bridge arc finished ; and the superstructure will soon be 460 BOURDEAUX. completed, which will form a magnificent feature in the prospect. The execution of this project, the possibility of which was long contested, is a splendid proof of the genius and ability of the archi- tect. Such is the approach to Bourdeaux. The town itself will be by far the handsomest town in France, if the new buildings in the faubourg of Chartron are carried on upon the scale which is at present designed. The Chapeau-Rouge is already, as far as it goes, one of the finest streets in Europe. Here is the theatre, the facade of which is a model of architectural beauty ; and the bottom of the street terminates in the ex- change, the quay, the river, and the shipping. Vessels of any size can come up to Bourdeaux ; a frigate and two brigs have been lately built for Ferdinand of Spain, and are now fitting out for the grand expedi- tion to South America. 10th. Every thing at Bourdeaux is on a grand scale ; the promenades are beautiful, and the public buildings are numerous and splendid. The cathedral, as is the case with many of the handsomest Gothic buildings in France, was the work of the English, during the time they occupied this country as masters. The price of lodging and provisions is something dearer here than at Toulouse. The ordinary price of Si pension at Bourdeaux, including board and lodging, is eight francs per day. 17th. Attended the theatre — which is splendid. TALMA, 461 The boxes project like hanging balconies, in a manner that I have seen no where else, which brings out the company as it were in alto relievo, and gives a very pleasing effect. Talma played Nero, in the Britanni- cus of Racine. The part is not a very prominent one, but he made the most of it. His style of acting is more like Kean's, than any other of our actors ; that is, he deals in electric shocks, which come flashing through the sublimity of the storm. His concluding words *' Narcisse ! — suivez moi!" were given with tremendous effect. His voice is magnificent, though perhaps none of his cadences are superior to the quiet low tones of Kean, when he is in his saddest mood, as in parts of Othello, and Hamlet. Upon the whole, I was much delighted. He is a great actor, — in spite of the French tragedy. He does all he can to bring it down to nature ; and it is a proof of the charm of nature, to witness the effect which his delivery of the text produces, relieved as it is by occasional touches of nature and feeling, when compared with the tedious and tiresome uniformity of that declamatory recitative, which is the general practice of the French stage. But great taste and discretion are necessary in the introduction and management of this familiar tone, which certainly may be carried too far — for nothing is worse than the affectation of being natural. Hear Voltaire on this subject: — " On s'est piqu6 de reciter des vers comme de la prose ; on n'a pas consid^re qu'un langage 402 TALMA. aii-dcssus (111 langage ordinaire, doit ^tre d6bit6 d'un ton au-dessus du ton familiar." 19th. Saw Talma again in Oreste, in the Andro- maque of Racine. He has in an extraordinary manner the faculty of altering his appearance, and one could scai'cely recognise him as the same person who had played Nero, till he spoke ; but his voice is not to be mistaken, — it is divine, and possesses every variety of expression; — his whisper is wonderfully impressive. There is something unhappy in the contour of his countenance. A thick double chin encumbers his physiognomy, and injures its expression, when the features are at rest ; but, when his face is agitated by the tempest and whirlwind of the passions, or, when all expression is as it were annihilated by the wild vacancy of despair, the effect is overwhelming. His action is overdone to an English taste ; the constant shaking of the arms, and then slapping them violently against the thighs, has something ridiculously vehe- ment in it to us ; but those modes of expression are different in different countries, and it would be pre- judice to assume our own as the standard of propriety. Still, till you are habituated to this gesticulation, it looks like tearing a passion to tatters, and has some- thing of the effect of burlesque. His management of soliloquy is admirable. It is just what it ought to be, — thinking aloud. It is impossible to conceive any thing more awfully terrible, than his mad scene in the fifth act. Raving TALMA. 463 madness is generally disgusting on the stage; shock- ing the feelings hy an exliibition of frightful bodily writings, and nothing more, — " the contortions of the Sibyl without her inspiration." But, there is a dread- ful reality in Talma's fury ; and the ghastly changes which affect his features seem to arise from the internal agonies of his soul. He made the blood run cold, and one might have fancied it was indeed Orestes furiis agitatus, the victim of divine ven- geance, that was on the scene. Though Talma is very fond of contrast, and puts forth his whole strength in particular passages, which resemble Kean's bursts of passion; yet, he is also more attentive to the general effect of the character than our own actors are. From the moment of his entrance he seems to forget that he is Talma. No look or motion ever escapes him that betrays a con- sciousness that he is acting to an audience. This complete identification with his part is the great charm of his style. Nothing destroys this identity more, than the appearance of any consciousness of the presence of an audience, on the part of an actor. Yet, on our own stage the illusion is dispelled, at his very first entrance, by the acknowledgments which custom compels him to make to the plaudits of the specta- tors ; — a frightful solecism in our theatrical practice, which we should do well to reform, from the example of our neighbours. 24th. Voyage in the steam-boat to Pavillac, ten 464 FRENCH WINES. leagues down the river. The banks are tame and uninteresting. At the junction , of the Dordogne and the Garonne, the confluence takes place in such a manner that it is difficult to say which river it is that runs into the other ; and their magnitude is nearly the same. Hence, it is said, arose a great contro- versy between the partizans of the Garonne and the Dordogne, which of the two should give its name to the united stream. This was at last decided by the adoption of La Giroiide, the name of the territory common to both rivers. House rent in the neighbourhood of Bourdeaux is low enough ; a ready furnished house, containing every suitable accommodation for a small family, with five acres of vineyard yielding fruit enough to make a considerable quantity of wine, was offered me to-day for 500 francs per annum ; and there was a peasant residing on the estate, who for half the produce would have undertaken the care and management of the whole. It is more difficult to bui/ claret of the best quality at Bourdeaux than in London. The fact is, that all the produce of the vineyards is in the hands of a few merchants ; and it would scarcely answer their pur- pose to seU the very best quality, unadulterated, at any price, — necessary as it is to them to leaven their whole stock. For, the increasing demand for the wines of Bordeaux, occasioned by the growing con- sumption of Russia and the East Indies, augments the FRENCH WINES. 405 proportion of inferior wine which is mixed up in the general mass. The common wine of the pays de Medoc — whence by the way comes our cherry whose name we have corrupted into Mat/ Duke — is Hght, and pleasant, and may be bought for about ten pence a bottle ; but it has little resemblance to our English claret, which derives its peculiar flavour from being seasoned with a mixture of a strong wine of Bur- gundy. One of the best wines of the south of France is the wine of Cahors, which is rich and strong, and well calculated to please the English taste ; but unfortu- nately the system of commerce which we have so long acted upon, has transferred the wine trade to Portugal, where we buy worse liquor at a higher price. " There are few Englishmen — said Hume eighty years ago — who would not think their country absolutely ruined, were French wines sold in England so cheap and in such abundance, as to supplant in some measure all ale and home-brewed liquors. But, would we lay aside prejudice, it would not be difficult to prove that nothing could be more innocent, perhaps advantageous." The misfortune is, that now, when the true principles of commerce are generally under- stood and acknowledged, it is difficult to introduce them into practice, on account of the long establish- ment of the old system of restraints and prohibitions ; the effect of which has been well described by Hume — as serving no purpose but to check industry, and 2 H 4()() TALMA. to rob ourselves and our neighbours of the common benefits of art and nature. Mai/ 1st. Talma's Hamlet is a chef d'ceuvre ; — in his hands it is the most affecting picture of filial piety that can be imagined. His power of expressing grief is beyond every thing I ever witnessed on the stage, or in real life. As Hamlet, there is an ap- pearance of concentrated sorrow impressed upon his features and figure, which never leaves him from beginning to end. He is — like the Niobe of whom his prototype speaks — " all tears" — to the utter exclu- sion of that " antic disposition," which the English Hamlet assumes, to the prejudice perhaps of our sympathy with his sorrows. The other alterations are chiefly these ; Ducis makes Ophelie the daughter of Claudius, who is not brother to the murdered king, but only premier Prince du Sang ; and this certainly heightens the embarras of the French Hamlet, who is as much in love with Ophelie as the English ; — Immoler Claudius, — punir cet inhumain, C'est plonger a sa fille un poignard dans le sein ; C'est la tuer moi-meme ! The madness and death of Ophelie are also avoided. The lovers however quarrel violently ; the lady being determined to save her father, and Hamlet equally bent upon his destruction. Then for Gertrude, — she does not marry Claudius ; the infidelity has preceded the murder of the king, and she is thenceforward all penitence and horror. The Hamlet of Ducis too is TALMA. 467 fonder of his mother than the Hamlet of Shakspeare ; and the French hobgoblin is a much bloodier fellow than the English ghost: — he insists upon it that Hamlet shall not only speak daggers, but use them also ; and his bloody commission extends to the punishment of both the guilty parties. It is in vain however that Hamlet attempts the assassination of his mother, — his hand and heart fail him; — ultimately however she saves him the trouble, and the Spirit is appeased and satisfied. The stage effect of the invisible speechless spectre of Ducis — which is seen only in the expressive eye of Talma — is certainly su- perior to the " too soHd flesh" of the " honest ghost" of Shakspeare. The moment the English ghost en- ters with his " martial stalk," — the illusion is over. But perhaps the finest part of the French play is the scene where Hamlet relates to his friend Norceste his interview with his father's spirit ; — this is the ne plus ultra of acting. Instead of Shakspeare's expedient of the play " to catch the conscience" of the guilty parties, Hamlet causes Norceste to announce to them, as news from England, a similar story of treason and murder, perpetrated there. Ducis makes the conscience of Claudius immove- able ; "2/ jVest point trouble " exclaims Norceste in doubt ; " Non ! replies Hamlet, " Non ! — tnais re- garde ma mhe .'" the effect of these words as de- livered by Talma was truly astonishing. At the end of the play, the hostile approach of Claudius is 'J H V 4i68 TALMA. announced to Hamlet, while he is engaged in a most affecting eclaircissement with his mother: he starts up, exclaiming, — Lid! cemonstre! — qu'il vienne! — and then, after a pause, and a long start, a la Kean ; — Qu'il menne ! je ['attends ! — ma vengeance, est cer- taine ! This burst — quHl vienne ! je ['attends ! is perhaps the most electrifying thing on any stage ; — and then the voice of Talma! — non hominem sonat! There is a supernatural impressiveness about it, that affects the soul in the most awful manner, while it can melt in a moment into tones of the truest and most touch- ing pathos. Talma stands alone upon the French stage, with no rival near the throne, at an im- measurable elevation above all competitors. It is a common, and I believe, in general a just notion, that actors are stimulated by mutual excellence, and play better for being " acted up to," — as the phrase is. But though this may be true of the superior actor in rela- tion to the inferior, I doubt whether it be ever true vice versa ; and it is easy to perceive that the powers of the inferior actors are paralyzed as they approach the " intolerable day" which Talma sheds around him, and " 'gin to pale their ineffectual fire." In a word Talma's Hamlet is *' the thing itself ;" and may be classed with the Coriolanus of Kemble — the Queen Catherine of Siddons — the Othello of Kean ; and though last not least — the Sir Pertinax Macsycophant of Cooke. LEAVE BOURDEAUX FOU PARIS, 469 Mai/ 6th. Left Bourdeaux in a Voiturier's car- riage, in which we had not proceeded far before we discovered that one of the mules had ahnost the agihty of Tickle-Toby's mare in curvetting with her heels, and that our driver was a pro venial brute, of the true Marseillois breed ; — much more vicious and headstrong than the beast he drove. There is little in the route from Bourdeaux to Tours, to make one wish to linger on the way ; and I had often occasion to wish that I had adopted a more rapid conveyance. The public walk at Angou- leme commands a fine prospect ; and the view from Poitiers is superb, independently of the historical recollections which make it interesting to an Eng- lishman. Every town of France seems to have its promenade. The public walk at Poitiers is delightful ; and its situation on a lofty height affords facilities, which have not been neglected, in laying it out to the best advantage. On the sixth day of our journey we made a halt at Ormes, in order to see the chateau of M. d'Ar- genson. This is the only chateau I have seen in France that can bear any comparison with the country residence of an English nobleman. It is situated on the bank of the Vienne ; and the disposi- tion and laying out of the ground, from the back of the house to the river, which is within 200 yards, is in the true style of English gardening ; — and I could have almost fancied myself on the banks of my own native Wye. 470 TOURS. 12th. We this morning reached Tours, chietiy remarkable for a very handsome well-built street, which is a rarity in France. The view from the hill before you arrive at Tours commands the greater part of the Tourraine. The character of the scenery is made up of that calm kind of beauty consistent with fertility, without any pretensions to the grand or the romantic. Soon after leaving Tours, our kicking mule had nearly played us a jade's trick. The road lies on the bank of the Loire, under a range of rocks on one side, and with a shelving steep descending to the river on the other ; from which the road is protected by a low wall. Our mule, being on the side furthest from the river, seemed to think this a favourable oppor- tunity for venting its malice ; and after a desperate effort, succeeded in forcing its companion over the wall. Our situation was one of great danger; for the struggles of the poor animal, who remained suspended in the air by the harness, nearly dragged carriage and all over together. We succeeded however in cutting the traces, and the beast, thus set free, rolled down the steep without suffering any material injury ; — and here we left our voiturier and his mule to settle their affairs as they pleased. We might have had some difficulty in arranging our own affairs with him, but for that ready assistance which the law affords to every one who wants its aid in France. The mayors are invested with powers which have a much wider range than those of our own magistrates ; and in all petty AMBOISE. 171 disagreements, you may at once summon your ad- versary, and have an immediate and summary decision of the matter in dispute. This, to travellers at least, is a very great comfort, for to them, a delay of justice would amount to a refusal. 13th. At Amboise there is a castle, the prin- cipal curiosity of which is a tower, by which they say the king used to ascend into the castle in his carriage. Here are the horns of a stag, eight feet long ; and there is a joint of the same animal's neck, as large round as a man's body. This stag, whose horns are, if I remember rightly, still larger than those in Warwick Castle, is said to have been killed in the time of Charles VIII. The chateau of Chanteloup ought to be seen, as affording a superb specimen of the wretchedness of French taste. There is however an artificial rock there, which, if it were not crowned with a Chinese temple, would be worthy of an English garden. It is impossible not to be disappointed with the boasted scenery of the Loire. The road and the river as far as Blois are well enough; and the views are occasionally very striking ; but, after you leave Blois, nothing can well be more uninterest- ing. The peasantry too do not realize the pictures which the imagination would draw of the " festive choir," whom Goldsmith describes as having led " With tuneless pipe beside the inmin'iing Loue." 472 SCENERY OF THE LOIRE. I have in vain looked for any specimens of female beauty amongst the lower classes ; — and indeed, the hard labour and exposure to the sun, to which they are subject, will sufficiently account for the want of symmetry of form, and beauty of complexion, so ob- servable in the female peasantry of France. Blois is well calculated for an English residence. The people are said to be better disposed towards us, than in most other parts of France, and it is parti- cularly rich in all the productions of the soil. The price of a pension, including all the comforts of board and lodging, does not exceed 90 francs per month. This too is a part of France which seems to have suffered less than most other places from the fury of the Revolution. And this is a great consideration ; for, whatever political advantages France may have derived from the Revolution, it will require a long time to repair the havoc and confusion which that tremendous explosion has made in the strata of so- ciety, — elevating the lower, depressing the higher, and disturbing all. The axe of equality has levelled every thing in France, and to look for a gentleman, is to lose your labour. All the distinctions of rank have been cut down, like the old trees of the forest, and the new generation that have sprung up, like the coppice, are all on a level ; by which the social scene is as much disfigured, as the landscape would be by a similar process. You will seek in vain for STATE OF SOCIETY IN FRANCE. 473 that high-bred polish of manners which has been so much the boast, as pecuHar to the haid-ton of France. The young men have, generally speaking, a roue, rake-helly demeanour ; — the officers in the army are only to be distinguished by their epaulets ; and there is throughout society a coarseness of manners, which savours strongly of sans-culotism. In losing the ex- ternal simagrees of the old school, the French have lost the greater part of their politeness ; for if polite- ness consist, as Fielding has beautifully defined it, in an extension of the great rule of Christian conduct to be- haviour — so as to behave to all as you would they should behave to you — the French had never at any time more of this true benevolence in trifles, than their neighbours. True politeness indeed can only be associated with principle and honour ; for it must be founded as well on self-respect, as on a sense of respect for others; and this can scarcely be expected in a country where it has been long a favourite maxim, that every man has his price, and that every woman — is no better than she should be. The decline of morals has indeed been greater than the decline of manners ; and the whole history of France since the Revolution exhibits a lamentable picture of the most degrading- want of principle. The French were formerly dis- tinguished, if by no very strict principles of religion, at least, by a high sense of honour. But the age of chivalry is gone ; France is no longer the country of 4^ v.r ' •If. w^ ---^ ^^[ ^ ^^..