UNIVERSITY OFi ILLINOIS LIBRARY . urbana-champaign; BOOKSTACKS which h latest Date stamped below. Tk.a. I tbpij ^ my eye for the more general features ’ ^^^^rpen the first Gentiana near the WalchensU it ^ met with was always near the water that I bar! new plants ’ hitherto noticed any observed that the growth of the old ^ altered While in tblT • ,°“®® materially intervals and +a« i me Duds were at greater immats and the leaves thinner and more lanceolate T noticed this in the ease of a Willow and of a T®, • ^ But as irregular strata occur, and the rock in geTeral doe; ^de'""''^ i® ®^''f y the influence of the ?Ser the m^ted granitic species which approxi- mated to gneiss, as is in the district of Ellbogen Here at tne top, and opposite the Inn, the rock is miLeous Z£ GEOLOGY.-MY FELLOW TEAVELLEK8. 13 The streams which come from the mountains leave deposits of nothing but this stone, and of the grey limestone. Not far from here must be the granitic base on which all rests. The maps show that one is on the side of the ti*ue great Brenner, from which the streams of a wide surrounding district take their rise. The following is my external judgment of the people. They are active and straightforward. In form they are pretty generally alike: hazel, well-opened eyes; with the women brown and well-defined eyebrows, but with the men light and thick. Among the grey rocks the green hats of the men have a cheerful appearance. The hats are generally orna¬ mented with ribbons or broad silk-sashes, and with fringes which are prettily sewn on. On the other hand, the women disfigure themselves with white, undressed cotton caps of a large size, very much like men’s nightcaps. These give them a very strange appearance; but abroad, they wear the green hats of the men, which become them very much. I have opportunity of seeing the value the common class of people put upon peacock’s feathers, and, in general, how every variegated feather is prized. He who wishes to travel through these mountains will do well to take with him a lot of them. A feather of this kind produced at the proper moment will serve instead of the ever-welcome “ something to drink.” . . Whilst I am putting together, sorting, and arrangmg these sheets, in such a way that my friends may easily take a review of my fortunes up to this point, and that I may, at the same time, dismiss from my soul all that I have lately thought and experienced, I have, on the other hand, cast many a trembling look on some packets of which I must give a good but brief account. They are to be my fellow travellers; may they not exercise too great an influence on my next few ^'"^Fbrought with me to Carlsbad the whole of my MSS. in order to complete the edition of my works, which Goschen has undertaken. The unprinted ones I had long possessed in beautiful transcripts, by the practised hand of Secretary Vogel. This active person accompanied me on this occasion, in order that I might, if necessary, command his dexterous services. By this means, and with the never-failing co-ope- 14 LETTEKS ERUM ITALY, the same with the last four ThrTatter conskte^ J most p^t of mere unfinished sketches, indeed of fragments • for, in truth my perverse habit of beginning many pE and Ses ^ increasing years, occupations, and ihe'^rejuits rf°’^he^^®®® me, I readily listened to to tSS thaVw Carlsbad, and read out to tnem all that before had remained unknown to the world with wHchit hld^ ‘'f complaints that much with which It had entertained itself still remained unfinished The celebration of my birthday consisted mainly in sendins me seijral poems in the name of my commenced S un^ fhetes^t'^°It^was‘^“n distinguished above to found at once and establish the kingdom so long Saked mv otoer uni 'T playful were the afCons to my other unfinished pieces, so that, all at once, they again possessed a living interest for me, and I related to my friends • ^ formed, and the entire plans. Tlis gave rise to the expression of wishes and urgent requests, and fave the game entirely into Herder’s hands, while he attem|ted bes otTportheV?® I’.ack these papers, and, above a^ to bestow yoB the Iphigema the pains it well deserved The fragment which lies before me is rather a sketch than a stnaut which occa- sionaUy faUs into a sort of lambical rhythm, and even nnitates other syUabic metres. This, indLd doTs lel fu-torns to' "ff unless, byS fm turns, this defect is carefully concealed. He pressed this from ^ he belled Tt? extent of my intended tour, and as Le believeu I had nothing more in view than a mountain trio and as he was always ridiculing my geographical and minp' sludie., he ! eh^Sd S „„h , 1.”“' instead of breaking stones, I would put my hand to this work man"yandVell.meantreron- strances, but, as yet, I have had no opportunity to turn my TKENT. 15 attention to these matters. I now detach IpMgenia from the bundle and take her with me as my fellow-traveller into the Deautiful and warm country of the South. The days are so long, and there will be nothing to disturb reflection, while the glorious objects of the surrounding scenery by no means depress the poetic nerve; indeed, assisted by movement and the free air, they rather stimulate and call it forth more quickly and more vividly. FROM THE BRENNER TO VERONA. Trent^ morning of the Wih Sept. After full fifty hours, passed in active and constant occupa¬ tion, I reached here about 8 o’clock yesterday evening, and soon after retired to rest, so that I now find myself in condi¬ tion to go on with my narrative. On the evening of the 9th, when I had closed the first portion of my diary, I thought I would try and draw the inn and post-house on the Brenner, just as it stood. My attempt was unsuccessful, for I missed the character of the place; I went home therefore in somewhat of an ill-humor. Mine host asked me if I would not depart, telling me it was moon-light and the best travelling. Although I knew perfectly well that, as he wanted his horses early in the morning to carry in the after-crop {Grummet)., and wished to have them home again in time for that purpose, his advice was given with a view to his own interest, I nevertheless took it, because it accorded with my own inclination. The sun reappeared, the air was tolerable, I packed up, and started about 7 o’clock. The blue atmosphere triumphed over the clouds, and the evening was most beautiful. The postilion fell asleep, and the horses set ofi* at a quick trot down-hill, always taking the well-known route. When they came to a village they went somewhat slower. Then the driver would wake up, and give them a fresh stimulus, and thus we descended at a good pace with high rocks on both sides of us, or by the banks of the rapid river Etsch. The moon arose and shed her light upon the massive objects around. Some mills, which stood between primaeval pine- trees, over the foaming stream,. seemed really everlasting. When, at 9 o’clock, I had reached Sterzingen, they gave me clearly to understand, that they wished me off again. Arriving in Mittelwald, exactly at 12 o’clock, I found everybody asleep 16 XETTEKS mOM ITALY. except the postilion, and we were obliged to go on to Brixen where I was again taken ofFin like manner, so that at the danm ot day I was in Colman. The postilions drove so fast that there WM neither seeing nor hearing, and although I could not help oeing sorry at travelUng through this noble country with such frightM rapidity; and at night, too, as though I was flying the place, I nevertheless felt an inward joy, that a favorable wind blew behind me, and seemed to hurry me towards the object of my wishes. At day-break I perceived the first vineyard. A woman with pears and peaches met me,^ and thus we went on to Teutschen, where I arrived at 7 o clock, and then was again hurried on. After I had again travelled northwards for a while, I at last saw in the bright sunshine the valley where Botzen is situated. Sur¬ rounded by steep and somewhat high mountains, it is open towards the south, and sheltered towards the north by the Tyr^ese range. A mild, soft air pervaded the spot. Here the Etsch again winds towards the south. The hills at the foot of the mountain are cultivated with vines. The vinestocks are trained over long but low arbourwork; the purple grapes are gracefully suspended from the top, and ripen in the warmth of the soil, which is close beneath them. In the bottom of the valley, which for the most part consists of nothing but meadows, the vine is cultivated in narrow rows of sirm'lar festoons, at a little distance from each other, while between grows the Indian corn, the stalks of which at this time are high. I have often seen it ten feet high. The fibrous’ male blossom IS not yet cut oflP, as is the case when fi-uctification nas ceased for some time. I came to Botzen in a bright sunshine. A good assem¬ blage of mercantile faces pleased me much. Everywhere one sees the liveliest tokens. An existence full of purpose, and ighly comfortable. In the square some fruit-women were sitting with round flat baskets, above four feet in diameter, in which peaches were arranged side by side, so as to avoid pressure. Here I thought of a verse, which I had seen written on the window of the inn at Ratisbon: Comme les peches et les melons Sont pour la bouche d un Baron, Ainsi les verges et les batons Sont pour les fous, dit Salomon. BOTZEN-TRENT. 17 It is obvious that this was written by a northern baron, and no less clear is it that if he were in this country, he would alter his notions. At the Botzen fair a brisk silk-trade is carried on. Cloths are also brought here, and as much leather as can be procured from the mountain districts. Several merchants, however, came chiefly for the sake of depositing their money, taking orders, and opening new credits. I felt I could have taken great delight in examining the various products that were collected here; but the impulse, the state of disquiet, which keeps urging me from behind, would not let me rest, and I must at once hasten from the spot. For my consolation, however, the whole matter is printed in the statistical papers, and we can, if we require it, get such instructions from books. I have now to deal only with the sensible impres¬ sions, which no book or picture can give. In fact, I am again taking interest in the world, I am testing my faculty of obser¬ vation, and am trying how far I can go with my science and my acquirements, how far my eye is clear and sharp, how much I can take in at a hasty glance, and whether those wrinkles, that are imprinted upon my heart, are ever again to be obliterated. Even in these few days, the circumstance that I have had to wait upon myself, and have always been obliged to keep my attention and presence of mind on the alert, has given me quite a new elasticity of intellect. I must now busy myself with the currency, must change, pay, note down, write, while I formerly did nothing but think, will, reflect, command, and dictate. From Botzen to Trent the stage is nine leagues and runs through a valley, which constantly increases in fertility. All that merely struggles into vegetation on the higher moun¬ tains, has here more strength and vitality; the sun shines with warmth, and there is once more belief in a Deity. A poor woman cried out to me to take her child into my vehicle, as the hot soil was burning its feet. I did her this little service out of honour to the strong light of heaven. The child was strangely decked out, but I conld get nothing from it in any way. The Etsch flows more gently in these parts, and it makes broad deposits of gravel in many places. On the land, near the river and up the hills, the planting is so thick and close, that one fancies one thing will suffocate the other. It c 18 LETTERS FROM ITALY. is a regular thicket of vineyards, maize, mulberry trees, apples, pears, quinces, and nuts. The danewoH ( thrives luxu¬ riantly on the walls. Ivy with solid stems runs up the rocks, on which it spreads itself; the lizards glide thi'ough the interstices, and whatever has life or motion here, reminds one of the most charming works of art. The braided top-knots of the women, the bared breasts and light jackets of the men, the fine oxen which you see driven home from market, the laden asses,—all combine to produce one of Heinrich Roos's animated pictures. And when evening draws on, and through the calmness of the air, a few clouds rest upon the mountains, rather standing than running against the sky, and, as imme¬ diately after sunset, the chirp of the grasshoppers begins to grow loud, one feels quite at home in the world, and not a mere exile. I am as reconciled to the place as if I were born and bred in it, and had now just returned from a whaling expedition to Greenland. Even the dust, which here as in our fatherland often plays about my wheels, and which has so long remained strange to me, I welcome as an old friend. The bell-like voice of the cricket is most piercing, and far from unpleasant. A cheerful effect is produced, when playful boys whistle against a field of such singers, and you almost fancy that the sound on each side is raised by emulation. The evening here is perfectly mild no less than the day. If any one who lived in the South, or came from the South, heard my enthusiasm about these matters, he would consider me very childish. Ah, what I express here, I long ago was conscious of, while ruffling under an unkindly sky; and now I love to experience as an exception the happiness which I hope soon to enjoy as a regular natural necessity. Trent^ the evening of the \0th Sept. I have wandered about the city, which has an old, not to say a very primitive look, though there are new and well-built houses in some of the streets. In the church there is a picture in which the assembled council of the Jesuits is represented, listening to a sermon delivered by the general of the order. I should like to know what he is trying to palm upon them. The church of these fathers may at once be recognised from the outside by pilasters of red marble on the facade. The doors are covered by a heavy curtain, which serves to keep off the dust. I raised TRENT. 19 it, and entered a small vestibule. The church itself is parted off by an iron grating, but so that it can be entirely overlooked, An was as silent as the grave, for divine service is no longer performed here. The front door stood open, merely because aU churches must be open at the time of Vespers. While I stood considering the architecture, which was, I found, similar to other Jesuit churches, an old man stepped in, and at once took off his little black cap. His old faded black coat indicated that he was a needy priest. He knelt down before the grating, and rose again after a short prayer. When he turned round, he said to himself half-aloud: “ Well, they have driven out the Jesuits, but they ought to have paid thein the cost of the church. I know how many thousands were spent on the church and the seminary.” As he uttered this he left the spot, and the curtain fell behind him. I, however, lifted it again, and kept myself quiet. He remained a while standing on the topmost step, and said: “The Emperor did not do it; the Pope did it.” With his face turned towards the street, so that he could not observe me, he continued: “ First the Spaniards, then we, then the French. The blood of Abel cries out against his brother Cain!” And thus he went down the steps and along the street, still talking to him¬ self. I should conjecture he is one who, having been main¬ tained by the Jesuits, has lost his wits in consequence of the tremendous fall of the order, and now comes every day to search the empty vessel for its old inhabitants, and, after a short prayer, to pronounce a curse upon their enemies. ^ A young man, whom I questioned about the remarkable sights in the town, showed me a house, which is called the Devil’s house,” because the devil, who is generally too ready to destroy, is said to have built it in a single night, with stones rapidly brought to the spot. However, what is really remarkable about the house, the good man had not observed, namely, that it is the only house of good taste that I have yet seen in Trent, and was certainly built by some good Italian, at an earlier period. At 5 o’clock in the evening I again set off. The spectacle of yesterday evening was repeated, and at sun-set the grasshoppers again began to sing. For about a league the journey lies between walls, above which the grape-espaliers are visible. Other walls, which are not high enough, have been eked out with stones, thorns, &c., to prevent passengers from plucking off the grapes. Many c 2 20 LETTERS FROM ITALY. owners sprinkle the foremost rows with lime, which renders the grapes imeatable, but does not hurt the wine, as the pro¬ cess of fermentation drives out the heterogeneous matter. Evening of September 11 . I am now at Roveredo, where a marked distinction of lan¬ guage begins; hitherto, it has fluctuated between German and Italian. I have now, for the first time, had a thoroughly Italian postilion, the inn-keeper does not speak a word of German, and I must put my own linguistic powers to the test. How delighted I am that the language I have always most loved now becomes living—the language of common usage. Torhole, \2th September {after dinner'). How much do I wish that my friends were with me for a moment to enjoy the prospect, which now lies before my eyes. I might have been in Verona this evening but a magnificent natural phenomenon was in my vicinity—Lake Garda, a splen¬ did spectacle, which I did not want to miss, and now I am nobly rewarded for taking this circuitous route. After 5 o’clock I started from Roveredo, up a side valley, which still pours its waters into the Etsch. After ascending this, you come to an immense rocky bar, which you must cross in descending to the lake. Here appeared the finest calcareous rocks for pictorial study. On descending you come to a little village on the northern end of the lake, with a little port, or rather landing- place, which is called Torbole. On my way upwards I was con¬ stantly accompanied by fig-trees, and, descending into the rocky atmosphere, I found the first olive-tree full of fruit. Here also, for the first time, I found as a common fruit those little white figs, which the Countess Lanthieri had promised me. A door opens from the chamber in which I sit into the court-yard below. Before this I have placed my table, and taken a rough sketch of the prospect. The lake may be seen for its whole length, and it is only at the end, towards the left, that it vanishes from our eyes. The shore, which is inclosed on both sides by hill and mountain, shines with a countless number of little hamlets. After midnight the wind blows from north to south, and he who wishes to go down the lake must travel at this time, for a few hours before sunset the current of air changes, and moves northward. At this time, the afternoon, it blows strongly sun. Volkmann teaches me that this lake was formerly called “ Benacus,” and quotes from Virgil a line in which it was mentioned: “ Fluctibus et fremiter resonans, Benace, marino.” This is the first Latin verse, the subject of which ever stood visibly before me, and now, in the present moment, when the wind is blowing stronger and stronger, and the lake casts loftier billows against the little harbour, it is just as true as it was hundreds of years ago. Much, indeed, has changed, but the wind still roars about the lake, the aspect of which gains even greater glory from a line of Virgil’s. The above was written in a latitude of 45° 50'. I went out for a walk in the cool of the evening, and now I really find myself in a new country, surrounded by objects entirely strange. The people lead a careless, sauntering life. In the first place, the doors are without locks, but the host assured me that I might be quite at ease, even though all I had about me consisted of diamonds. In the second place, the windows are covered with oiled paper instead of glass. In the third place, an extremely necessary convenience is want¬ ing, so that one comes pretty close to a state of nature. When I asked the waiter for a certain place, he pointed down into the court-yard: “ Qui, abasso puo servirsi!” “Dove?” asked I. “Da per tutto, dove vuol,” was the friendly reply. The greatest carelessness is visible every¬ where, but still there is life and bustle enough. During the whole day there is a constant chattering and shrieking of the female neighbors, all have something to do at the same time. I have not yet seen an idle woman. The host, with Italian emphasis, assured me, that he felt great pleasure in being able to serve me with the finest trout. They are taken near Torbole, where the stream flows down from the mountains, and the fish seeks a passage upwards. The Emperor farms this fishery for 10,000 gulden. The fish, which are large, often weighing fifty pounds, and spotted over the whole body to the head, are not trout, properly so called. The flavour, which is between that of trout and salmon, is delicate and excellent. f > 22 LETTERS FROM ITALY. But my real delight is in the fhiit.^in the figs, and in the pears, which must, indeed, be excellent, where citrons are already growing. Evening of September 13. At 3 o'clock this morning I started from Torbole, with a couple of rowers. At first the wind was so favorable that we put up a sail. The morning was cloudy but tine, and perfectly calm at day-break. We passed Limona, the mountain-gar- dens of which, laid out terrace-fashion, and planted with citron-trees, have a neat and rich appearance. The whole garden consists of rows of square white pillars placed at some distance from each other, and rising up the mountain in steps. On these pillars strong beams are laid, that the trees planted between them may be sheltered in the winter. The view of these pleasant objects was favored by a slow passage, and we had already passed Malsesine when the wind sud- denly changed, took the direction usual in the day-time, and blew towards the north. Bowing was of little use against this superior power, and,^ therefore, we were forced to land in the harbour of Malsesine. This is the first Venetian spot on the eastern side of the lake. When one has to do with water we cannot say, “ I will be at this or that particular place to¬ day. ’ I will make my stay here as useful as I can, especially by making a drawing of the castle, which lies close to the water, and is a beautiful object. As I passed along I took a sketch of it. ^ Sept. Wth. The wind, which blew against me yesterday, and drove me into the harbour of Malsesine, was the cause of a perilous adventure, which I got over with good humour, and the re¬ membrance of which I still find amusing. According to my plan, I went early in the morning into the old castle, which having neither gate nor guard, is accessible to everybody. Entering the court-yard, I seated myself opposite to the old tower, which is built on and among the rocks. Here I had selected a very convenient spot for drawing;—a carved stone seat in the wall, near a closed door, raised some three or four feet high, such as we also find in the old buildings in our own country. AN INCIDENT AT MALSESINE. 23 T had not sat long before several persons entered the yard, and walked backwards and forwards, looking at me. The mul¬ titude increased, and at last so stood as completely to surround me. I remarked that my drawing had excited attention; however, I did not allow myself to be disturbed, but quietly continued my occupation. At last a man, not of the most prepossessing appearance, came up to me, and asked me what I was about. I replied that I was copying the old tower, that I might have some remembrance of Malsesine. He said that this was not allowed, and that I must leave off. As he said this in the common Venetian dialect, so that I under¬ stood him with difficulty, I answered, that I did not understand him at all. With true Italian coolness he took hold of my paper, and tore it, at the same time letting it remain on the pasteboard. Here I observed an air of dissatisfaction among the by-standers; an old woman in particular said that it was not right, but that the podesta ought to be called, who was the best judge of such matters. I stood upright on the steps, having my back against the door, and surveyed the assembly, which was continually increasing. The fixed eager glances, the good humoured expression of most of the faces, and all the other characteristics of a foreign mob, made the most amusing impression upon me. I fancied that I could see before me the chorus of birds, which, as Treufreund, I had often laughed at, in the Ettersburg theatre. This put me in excellent humour, and when the podesta came up with his actuary, I greeted him in an open manner, and when he asked me why I was drawing the fortification, modestly replied, that I did not look upon that wall as a fortification. I called the attention of him and the people to the decay of the towers and walls, and to the generally defenceless position of the place, assuring him that I thought I only saw and drew a ruin. I was answered thus: ‘‘ If it was only a ruin, what could there be remarkable about it?” As I wished to gain time and favour, I replied very circumstantially, that they must be well aware how many travellers visited Italy, for the sake of the ruins only, that Rome, the metropolis of the world, having suffered the depredations of barbarians, was now fiill of ruins, which had been drawn hundreds of times, and that all the works of antiquity were not in such good preservation as the. amphitheatre at Verona, which I hoped soon to see. 24 LETTERS PROM ITALY. podesta, who stood before me, though in a less elevated position, was a tall man, not exactly thin, of about thirty years of age. The flat features of his spiritless face perfectly accorded with the slow constrained manner, in which he put his questions. Even the actuary, a sharp little fellow, seemed as if he did not know what to make of a case so new, and so unexpected. I said a great deal of the same sort; the people seemed to take my remarks good naturedly, and on turning towards some kindly female faces, I thought I could read assent and approval. ^en, however, I mentioned the amphitheatre at Verona, which in this country, is called the “ Arena,” the actuary’ who had in the meanwhile collected himself, replied, that this was ^ very well, because the edifice in question was a Roman building, famed throughout the world. In these towers, how¬ ever, there was nothing remarkable, excepting that they marked the boundary between the. Venetian domain and Austrian Empire, and therefore espionage could not be allowed. I answered by explaining at some length, that not only the Great and Roman antiquities, but also those of the Middle- Ages were worth attention. They could not be blamed, I granted, if, having been accustomed to this building from their youth upwards, they could not discern in it so many picturesque beauties as I did. Fortunately the morning sun, shed the most beautiful lustre on the tower, rocks, and walls, and I began to describe the scene with enthusiasm. My audience, however, had these much lauded objects behind them, and as they did not wish to turn altogether away from me, they all at once twisted their heads, like the birds, which we call^ “wry necks” (Wendehalse), that they might see with their eyes, what I had been lauding to their ears. Even the podesta turned round towards the picture I had been describ¬ ing, though with more dignity than the rest. This scene appeared to me so ridiculous that my good humour increased, and I spared them nothing—least of all, the ivy, which had been suffered for ages to adorn the rocks and walls. The actuary retorted, that this was all very good, but the Emperor Joseph was a troublesome gentleman, who certainly entertained many evil designs against Venice; and I might probably have been one of his subjects, appointed by him, to act as a spy on the borders. AN INCIDENT AT MALSESINE. 25 “Far from belonging to the Emperor,” I replied, “lean boast, as well as you, that I am a citizen of a republic, which also governs itself, but which is not, indeed, to be compared for power and greatness to the illustrious state of Venice, although in commercial activity, in wealth, and in the wisdom of its rulers, it is inferior to no state in Germany. I am a native of Frankfort-on-the-Main, a city, the name and fame of which has doubtless reached you.” “Of Frankfort-on-the-Main!” cried a pretty young woman, “then, Mr. Podesta, you can at once see all about the foreigner, whom I look upon as an honest man. Let Gre- gorio be called; he has resided there a long time, and will be the best judge of the matter.” The kindly faces had abeady increased around me, the first adversary had vanished, and when Gregorio came to the spot, the whole affair took a decided turn in my favor. He was a man upwards of fifty, with one of those weU-known Italian faces. He spoke and conducted himself like one, who feels that something foreign is not foreign to him, and told me at once that he had seen service in Bolongari’s house, and would be delighted to hear from me something about this family and the city in general, which had left a pleasant impression in his memory. Fortunately his residence at Frankfort had been during my younger years, and I had the double advan¬ tage of being able to say exactly how matters stood in his time, and what alteration had taken place afterwards. I told him about all the Italian families, none of whom had remained imknown to me. With many particulars he was highly delighted, as, for instance, with the fact that Herr Alessina had celebrated his “golden wedding,”* in the year 1774, and that a medal had been struck on the occasion, which was in my possession. He remembered that the wife of this wealthy merchant was by birth a Brentano. I could also teU him something about the children and grand-children of these families, how they had grown up, and had been provided for and married, and had multiplied themselves in theb des¬ cendants. When I had given the most accurate information about almost everything which he asked, his features alternately ♦ The fiftieth anniversiwy of a wedding-day is so called in Germany. TaANo 26 LETTERS FROM ITALT. expressed cheerfulness and solemnity. He was pleased and touched, while the people cheered up more and more, and could not hear too much of our conversation, of which—-it must be confessed—he was obliged to translate a part into their own dialect. At last he said: “Podesta, I am convinced that this is a good, accomplished, and well-educated gentleman, who is trpelling about to acquire instruction. Let him depart in a friendly manner, that he may speak well of us to his fellow- countrymen, and induce them to visit Malsesine, the beautiful situation of which is well worthy the admiration of foreigners I gave additional force to these friendly words by praising the country, the situation, and the inhabitants, not forgetting to mention the magistrates as wise and prudent personages. This was well received, and I had permission to visit the place at pleasure, in company with Master Gregorio. The lancUord, with whom I had put up, now joined us, and was dehghted at the prospect of the foreign guests, who would crowd upon him, when once the advantages of Malsesine were properly known. With the most lively curiosity he examined my various articles of dress, but especially envied me the pos¬ session of a little pistol, which slipped conveniently into the pocket. He congratulated those who could carry such pretty weapons, this being forbidden in his country under the severest penalties. This friendly but obtrusive personage I sometimes interrupted to thank my deliverer. “Do not thank me,” said honest Gregorio, “for you owe me nothin". If the Podesta had understood his business, and the Actual had not been the most selfish man in the world, you would not have got off so easily. The former was still more puzzled than you, and the latter would have pocketed nothing by your arrest, the information, and your removal to Verona. This he rapidly thought over, and you were already free, before our dialogue was ended.” Towards the evening the good man took me into his vine¬ yard, which was very well situated, down along the lake. We were accompanied by his son, a lad of fifteen, who was forced to climb the trees, and pluck me the best fruit, while the old man looked out for the ripest grapes. While thus placed between these two kindhearted people, both strange to the world, alone, as it were, in the deep soli- LA GO 1)1 GARDA. 27 tude of tbe earth, I felt, in the most lively manner, as I reflected on the day’s adventure, what a whimsical being Man is_how the very thing, which in company he might enjoy with ease and security, is often rendered troublesome and dan¬ gerous, from his notion, that he can appropriate to himselt the wld and its contents after his own peculiar fashion. Towards midnight my host accompanied me to the barque, carrving the basket of fruit with which Gregorio had presented me and thus, with a favorable wind, I left the shore, which had promised to become a Laestrygonicum shore to me. And now for my expedition on the lake. It ended happily, after the noble aspect of the water, and of the adjacent shore of Brescia had refreshed my very heart. On the western side, where the mountains cease to be perpendicular, and near the lake, the land becomes more flat, Garignano, Bojaco, Cecma, Toscolan, Maderno, Verdom, and Salo, stand all in a row, and occupy a reach of about a league and a half; most of them being bunt in long streets. No words can express the beauty of this richly inhabited spot. At 10 o’clock in the morning I landed at Bartolino, placed my luggage on one mule and my¬ self on another. The road went now over a ridge, which separates the valley of the Etsch from the hollow of the lake. The primeeval waters seem to have driven against each other from both sides, in immense currents, and to have raised this colossal dam of gravel. A fertde soil was deposited upon the gravel at a quieter period, but the labourer is constantly aimoyed by tbe appearance of the stones on the surface. Every enoit is made to get rid of them, they are piled in rows and layers one on another, and thus a sort of thick waU is formed along the path. The mulberry-trees, from a want of moisture, have a dismal appearance at this elevation. Springs there are none. From time to time puddles of collected rain-water may be found, with which the mules and even their drivers quench their thirst. Some wheels are placed on the river beneath, to water, at pleasure, those plantations that have a lower situa¬ tion. , . _ The magnificence of the new country, which opens on you as you descend, surpasses description. It is a garden a mile long and broad, which lies quite flat at the fcot of tall moun¬ tains and steep rocks, and is as neatly laid out as possible. 28 LETTERS FROM ITA.LT. fz ^ 10th of September, I ZftS 1 write this, finish, and put toge- hZZJ^f 77 diary, and indulge in the ^easing hope of seeing the amphitheatre in the evening ^ ^ Concerning the weather of these days I have to make the following statementThe night from the 9th to the 10th was alternately clear and cloudy, the moon had always a halo round it. Towards 5 o’clock in the morning all the sky was overcast wiA gray not heavy clouds, which vlnished with the advance of day. The more I descended the finer was the weather. As at Botzen the great mass of the mountains took a sitimtion, the air displayed quite another quahty. hrom the diflPerent grounds in the landscape, which were separated from each other in the most picturesque manner, by warfnO^he atmosphere was fuU of vapors equaUy distributed, which it was able to sustain, and which, therefore, neither fell in the shape of dew nor were collected in the form of clouds. As I descended th^*B^^t^ n all tlie exhalations from valley, and aU the streaks of cloud which ascended trom the more southern mountains, moved towards the higher 1”"* celled wfrh a kind of yellow fog. In the remotest distance, over the moun- tains, I could observe what is called a “ water-gull ” To the south of Botzen they have had the finest weather aU the sum¬ mer, only a little water (they say aqua to denote a light rain) from time to time, and then a return of sunshine. Yesterday a few di-ops occasionaUy feU, and the sun throughout continued ining. They have not had so good a year for a long while* everything turns out weU; the bad weather they have sent I mention but slightly the mountains and the species cf stone, since Berber’s travels to Italy, and Racquet’s journey along the Alps, give sufficient information respecting this district. A quarter of a league from the Brenner, there is a marble quairy, which I passed at twilight. It may, nay, must he upon mica-slate as on the other side. This I found near Colman, just as it dawned; lower down there was an appear¬ ance of porphyry. The roeks were so magnificent, and the leaps were so convemently broken up along the highway, that a Voigt cabmet might have been made and packed up at FROM BRENNER TO TERONA. 29 once. Without any trouble of that kind I can take a piece, if it is only to accustom my eyes and my curiosity to a small quantity. A little below Colman, I found: some porphyry, which splits into regular plates, and between Brandrol and Neu- mark some of a similar kind, in which, however, the lamina separated in pillars. Berber considered them to be volcanic productions, but that was fourteen years ago, when all the world had its head on fire. Even Hacquet ridicules the notion. Of the people I can say but little, and that is not veiy favorable. On my descent from the Brenner, I discovered, as soon as day came, a decided change of form, and was particularly displeased by the pale brownish complexion of the women. Their features indicated wretchedness, the chil¬ dren looked equally miserable;—the men somewhat better. I imagine that the cause of this sickly condition may be found in the frequent consumption of Indian corn and buck¬ wheat. Both the former, which they also call “ Yellow Blende,” and the latter, which is called “ Black Blende,” is ground, made into a thick pap with water, and thus eaten. The Germans on this side, pull out the dough, and fry it in butter. The Italian Tyrolese, on the contrary, eat it just as it is, often with scrapings of cheese, and do not taste meat throughout the year. This necessarily glues up and stops the alimentary channels, especially with the women and children, and their cachectic complexion is an indication of the malady. They also eat fruit and green beans, which they boil down in water, and mix with oil and garlic. I asked if there were no rich peasants. “ Yes, indeed,” was the reply. “ Don’t they indulge themselves at all? don’t they eat anything better?” “No, they are used to it.” “What do they do with their money then? how do they lay it out?” “Oh, they have their ladies, who relieve them of that.” This is the sum and substance of a conversation with mine host’s daughter at Botzen. I also learned from her, that the vine-tillers were the worst off, although they appeared to be the most opulent, for they were in the hands of commercial towns-people, who advanced them enough to support life in the bad seasons, and in winter took their wine at a low price. However, it is the same thing eveiynvhere. 30 liETTERS FROM ITALY. My opinion concerning the food is confirmed by the fact, lat the women who inhabit the towns appear better and better. They have pretty plump girlish faces, the body is somewhat too short in proportion to the stoutness, and the size of the head, but sometimes the countenances have a most agreable expression. The men we already know through the wandering Tyrolese In the country their appearance is less tiesh than that of the women, perhaps because the latter have more bodily labour, and are more in motion, while the former sit at home as traders and workmen. By the Garda Lake I lound the people very brown, without the slightest tinge of red in their cheeks; however they did not look unhealthy, but quite fresh and comfortable. Probably the burning sun¬ beams, to which they are exposed at the foot of their moun- tains, are the cause of their complexion. PROM VERONA TO VENICE. Verona, Sept. IQth. Well then, the amphitheatre is the first important monu¬ ment of the old times that I have seen—and how well it is preserved! When I entered, and still more when I walked round the edge of it at the top, it seemed strange to me, that I saw something great, and yet, properly speaking, saw nothing Besides I do not Hke to see it empty, I should like to see it tuU ot people, just as, in modern times, it was filled up in honour of Joseph I. and Pius VI. The Emperor, although Ills eye was accustomed to human masses, must have been astonished. But it was only in the earliest times, that it produced its full effect, when the people was more a people than It IS now. For, properly speaking, such an amphitheatre is constructed to give the people an imposing view of itself__ to cajole itself. When anything worth seeing occurs on the level ground, and any one runs to the spot, the hindermost try by every means to raise themselves above the foremost; thev get upon benches, roll casks, bring up vehicles, lay planks in every direction, occupy the neighbouring heights, and a crate»* is lormed in no time. TERONA. 31 If the spectacle occur frequently on the same spot, light scaffoldings are built for those who are able to pay, and the rest of the multitude must get on as it can. Here the problem of the architect is to satisfy this general want. By means of his art he prepares such a crater, making it as simple as possible, that the people itself may constitute the decoration. When the populace saw itself so assembled, it must have been astonished at the sight, for whereas it was only accustomed to see itself running about in confusion, or to find itself crowded together without particular rule or order, so must this many-headed, many-minded, wandering animal now see itself combined into a noble body, made into a definite unity, bound and secured into a mass, and animated as one form by one mind. The simplicity of the oval is most pleasingly obvious to every eye, and every head serves as a measure to show the vastness of the whole. Now we see it empty, we have no standard, and do not know whether it is large or small. The Veronese deserve commendation for the high preserva¬ tion in which this edifice is kept. It is built of a reddish marble, which has been affected by the atmosphere, and hence the steps which have been eaten, are continually restored, and look almost all new. An inscription makes mention of one Hieronymus Maurigenus, and of the incredible industry, which he has expended on this monument. Of the outer wall only a piece remains, and I doubt whether it was ever quite finished. The lower arches, which adjoin the large square, called “ II Bra,” are let out to workmen, and the reanimation of these arcades produces a cheerful appearance. Verona^ Sept, 16. The most beautiful gate, which, however, always remains closed, is called “ Porta stupa,” or “ del PaUio.” As a gate, and considering the great distance from which it is first seen, it is not well conceived, and it is not till we come near it, that we recognise the beauty of the structure. All sorts of reasons are given to account for its being closed. I have, however, a conjecture of my own. It was manifestly the intention of the artist to cause a new Cor so to be laid out from this gate, for the situation, or the present street, is com¬ pletely wrong. On the left side there is nothing but barracks; 32 LETTERS FROM ITALY. and the line at right angles from the middle of the gate leads to a convent of nuns, which must certainly have come down This was presently perceived, and besides the rich and highei classes might not have liked to settle in the remote quarter The artist perhaps died, and therefore the door was closed and so an end was put to the affair. Verona, SepL 16. The portico of the theatre, consisting of six large lonu columns, looks handsome enough. So much the more puny is the appearance of the Marchese di Maffei’s bust, which as large as life, and in a great wig, stands over the door, and in front of a painted niche, which is supported by two Corinthian columns. The position is honorable, but to be in some degree proportionate to the magnitude and solidity of the columns the bust should have been colossal. But now placed as it is on a corbel, it has a mean appearance, and L by no means in harmony with the whole. The gallery, which incloses the fore-court, is also small, and the channelled Doric dwarfs have a mean appearance by the side of the smooth Ionic giants. But we pardon this dis¬ crepancy on account of the fine institution, which has been founded among the columns. Here is kept a number of antiqui¬ ties, which have mostly been dug up in and about Verona. Something, they say, has even been found in the Amphi¬ theatre. There are Etruscan, Greek, and Homan specimens, down to the latest times, and some even of more modern date. The bas-reliefs are inserted in the walls, and provided with the numbers^ which Maffei gave them, when he described them in his work: “ Verona illustrata,'' There are altars, fragments of columns, and other relics of the sort; an ad¬ mirable tripod of white marble, upon which there are genii occupied with the attributes of the gods. Baphael has imitated and improved this kind of thing in the scrolls of the Farnesina. The wind which blows from the graves of the ancients, comes fragrantly over hills of roses. The tombs give touching evidences of a genuine feeling, and always bring life back to us. ^ Here is a man, by the side of his wife, who peeps out of a niche, as if it were a window. Here are father and mother. VERONa.. with their son between them, eyeing each other as naturally as possible. Here a couple are grasping each other’s hands. Here a father, resting on his couch, seems to be amused by his family. The immediate proximity of these stones was to me highly touching. They belong to a later school of art, but are simple, natural, and generally pleasing.^ Here a man in armour is on his knees in expectation of a joyful resurrection. With more or less of talent the artist has produced the mere simple presence of the persons, and has thus given a perma¬ nent continuation to their existence. They do not fold their hands, they do not look towards^ heaven, but they are here below just what they were and just what they are. They stand together, take interest in each other, love one another, and this is charmingly expressed on the stone, though with a certain want of technical skill. A marble pillar, very richly adorned, gave me more new ideas. Laudable as this institution is, we can plainly perceive that the noble spirit of preservation, by which it was founded, is no longer continued. The valuable tripod will soon be ruined, placed as it is in the open air, and exposed to the weather towards the west. This treasure might easily be pieserved in a wooden case. The palace of the Proveditore, which is begun, might have afforded a fine specimen of architecture, if it had been finished. Generally speaking, the nobili build a great deal, but unfor¬ tunately every one builds on the site of his former residence, and often, therefore, in narrow lanes. Thus, for instance, a magnificent facade to a seminary is now building in an alley of the remotest suburb. While, with a guide, whom I had accidentally picked up, I passed before the great solemn gate of a singular building, he asked me good-humourdly, whether I should not like to step into the court for a while. It was the palace of justice, and he court, on account of the height of the building, looked only like an enormous wall. Here, he told me, all the crimi¬ nals and suspicious persons are confined. I looked around? and saw that round all the stories there were open passages, fitted with iron balustrades, which passed by numerous doors. The prisoner, as he stepped out of his dungeon to be led to D 34 LETTERS FROM IT4LT. trial, stood in the open air, and was exposed to the gaze of all passers, and because there were several trial-rooms the chains were rattling, now over this, now over that pas’ sage, m every story. It was a hateful sight, and I do not f humour, with which I had dispatched mv -Dirds, might here have come into a strait. I walked at sunset upon the margin of the crater-like am¬ phitheatre, and enjoyed the most splendid prospect over the town and the surrounding country. I was quite alone, and multitudes of people were passing below me on the hard stones of the Bra; men of all ranks, and women of the middle ranks were walking. The latter in their black outer garments lookj in this bird’s-eye view, like so many mummies. The Zmdale and the Veste, which serves this class in the place of an entire wardrobe, is a costume completely fitted for a people that does not care much for cleanliness, and yet always likes to appear in public, sometimes at church, some¬ times on the promenade. The Veste is a gown of black taffeta, which is thrown over other gowns. If the lady has a clean white one beneath, she contrives to lift up the black one on one side. This is fastened on so, as to cut the waist, and to cover the lappets of a corset, which may be of any colour. I he Zmdale is a large hood with long ears; the hood itself t kept high above the head by a wire-frame, while the ears are fastened round the body like a scarf, so that the ends fall down behind. Verona, Sept. 16. ’^en I again left the Arena to-day, I came to a modern public spectacle, about a thousand paces from the spot, h our noble Veronese were playing ball against four people of Vicenza. This pastime is carried on among the Veronese toemselves all the year round, about two hours before night. On this occasion there was a far larger concourse of people than usual, on account of the foreign adversaries. The specta¬ tors seem to have amounted to four or five thousand. I did not see women of any rank. W^en, a little while ago, I spoke of the necessities of the multitude in such a case, I described the natural accidental VERONA. 35 anipliitheatre as arising just in the manner, in which I saw the people raised one over another on this occasion. Even at a distance I could hear the lively clapping of hands, which accompanied every important stroke. The game is played as follows: Two boards, slightly inclined, are placed at a con¬ venient distance from each other. He who strikes off the ball stands at the higher end, his right hand is armed with a broad wooden ring, set with spikes. While another of his party throws the ball to him, he runs down to meet it, and thus increases the force of the blow with which he strikes it. The adversaries try to beat it back, and thus it goes back¬ wards and forwards till, at last, it remains on the ground. The most beautiful attitudes, worthy of being imitated in marble, are thus pioduced. As there are none but well- grown active young people, in a short, close, white dress, the parties are only distinguished by a yellow mark. Particularly beautiful is the attitude into which the man on the eminence falls, when he runs down the inclined plain, and raises his arm to strike the ball;—it approaches that of the Borghesian gladiator. It seemed strange to me that they carry on this exercise by an old lime-wall, without the slightest convenience for specta¬ tors; why is it not done in the amphitheatre, where there would be such ample room ? Verona, September 17. What I have seen of pictures I wiU but briefly touch upon, and add some remarks. J do not make this extraordinary tour for the sake of deceiving myself, but to become acquainted with myself by means of these objects. I therefore honestly confess that of the painter’s art—of his manipulation, I under¬ stand but little. My attention, and observation, can only be directed to the practical part, to the subject, and the general treatment of it. S. Georgio is a gallery of good pictures, aU altar-pieces, and all remarkable, if not of equal value. But what subjects were the hapless artists obliged to paint? And for whom? Perhaps a shower of manna thirty feet long, and twenty feet l^h, with the miracle of the loaves as a companion. What could be made of these subjects ? Hungry men falling on little grains, D 2 36 LETTERS FROM ITALY. and a countless multitude of others, to whom bread is handed. The artists have racked their invention in order to get some¬ thing striking out of such wretched subjects. And yet, stimulated by the urgency of the case, genius has produced some beautiful things. An artist, who had to paint S. Ursula with the eleven thousand virgins, has got over the difficulty cle¬ verly enough. The saint stands in the foreground, as if she hal conquered the country. She is very noble, like an Amazonia • virgin, and without any enticing charms; on the other hand, her troop is shown descending from the ships, and moving in procession at a diminishing distance. The Assumption of the Virgin, by Titian, in the dome, has become much blackened, and it is a thought worthy of praise that, at the moment of her apotheosis, she looks not towards heaven, but towards her friends below. In the Gherardini Gallery T found some very fine things by Orbitto, and for the first time became acquainted with this meri¬ torious artist. At a distance we only hear of the first artists, and then we are often contented with names only; but when we draw nearer to this starry sky, and the luminaries of the second and third magnitude also begin to twinkle, each one coming forward and occupying his proper place in the whole constellation, then the world becomes wide, and art becomes rich. I must here commend the conception of one of the pictures. Sampson has gone to sleep in the lap of Dalilah, and she has softly stretched her hand over him to reach a pair of scissors, which lies near the lamp on the table. The execu¬ tion is admirable. In the Canopa Palace I observed a Danae The Bevilagua Palace contains the most valuable things. A picture by Tintoretto, which is called a “Paradise,” but which, in fact, represents the Coronation of the Virgin Mary as Queen of Heaven, in the presence of all the patriarchs, prophets, apostles, saints, angels, &c., affords an opportunity for displaying all the riches of the most felicitous genius. To admire and enjoy all that care of manipulation, that spirit and variety of expression, it is necessary to possess the pic¬ ture, and to have it before one all one's life. The painter’s work is carried on ad infinitum ; even the farthest angels’ heads, which are vanishing in the halo, preserve something of cha¬ racter. The largest figures may be about a foot high; Mary, and the Christ who is crowming her, about four inches. Eve VERONA. 37 if!, however, the finest woman in the picture; a little volup¬ tuous, as from time immemorial. A couple of portraits by Paul Veronese have only increased my veneration for that artist. The collection of antiquities is very fine; there is a son of Niobe extended iij death, which is highly valuable; and the busts, including an Augustus with the civic crown, a Caligula, and others, are mostly of great interest, notwithstanding the restoration of the noses. It lies in my nature to admire, willingly and joyfully, all that is great and beautiful, and the cultivation of this talent, day after day, hour after hour, by the inspection of such beau¬ tiful objects, produces the happiest feelings. In a land, where we enjoy the days but take especial delight in the evenings, the time of nightfall is highly impor¬ tant. For now work ceases; those who have gone out walk¬ ing turn back; the father wishes to have his daughter home again; the day has an end. What the day is we Cimmerians hardly know. In our eternal mist and fog it is the same thing to us, whether it be day or night, for how much time can we really pass and enjoy in the open air ? Now, when night sets in, the day, which consisted of a morning and an evening, is decidedly past, four and twenty hours are gone, the bells ring, the rosary is taken in hand, and the maid, entering the chamber with the lighted lamp, says, “ felicissi- ma notte.” This epoch varies with every season, and a man who lives here in actual life cannot go wrong, because all the enjoyments of his existence are regulated not by the nominal hour, but by the time of day. If the people were forced to use a German clock they would be perplexed, for their own is intimately connected with their nature. About an hour and a half, or an hour before midnight, the nobility begin to ride out. They proceed to the Piazza della Bra, along the long, broad street to the Porta Nuova out at the gate, and along the city, and when night sets in, they all return home. Sometimes they go to the chm’ches to say their Ave Maria della sera; sometimes they keep on the Bra, where the cava¬ liers step up to the coaches and converse for a while with the ladies. The foot passengers remain tiU a late hour of night, but I have never stopped till the last. To-day just enough rain had fallen to lay the dust, and the spectacle was most cheerful and animated. 38 LETTERS FROM ITALY. That I may accommodate myself the better to the custom of the country I have devised a plan for mastering more easily the Italian method of reckoning the hours. The accompaning diagram may give an idea of it. The inner circle denotes our four and twenty hours, from midnight to midnight, divided into twice twelve, as we reckon, and as our clocks indicate. The middle circle shows how the clocks strike at the present season, namely, as much as twelve twice in the twenty-four liours, but in such a way that it strikes one, when it strikes eighty with us, and so on till the number twelve is complete. At eight o’clock in the morning according to our clock it again strikes one, and so on. Finally the outer circle shows how the four and twenty hours are reckoned in actual life. For example, I hear seven o’clock striking in the night, and know that midnight is at five o’clock; I therefore deduct the latter number from the former, and thus have two hours after midnight. If I hear seven o’clock strike in the day-time, and know that noon is at five, I proceed in the same way, and thus have two in the afternoon. But if I wish to express the hour according to the fashion of this country, I must know that noon is seventeen o’clock; I add the two, and get nine¬ teen o’clock. When this method is heard and thought of for the first time, it seems extremely confused and difficult to manage, but we soon grow accustomed to it and find the occupation amusing. The people themselves take delight in this perpetual calculation, just as children are pleased with easily surmounted difficulties. Indeed they always have their fingers in the air, make any calculation in their heads, and like to occupy themselves with figures. Besides to the inhabitant of the country the matter is so much the easier, as he really does not trouble himself about noon and mid¬ night, and does not, like the foreign resident, compare two clocks with each other. They only count from the evening the hours, as they strike, and in the day-time they add the number to the varying number of noon, with which they are acquainted. The rest is explained by the remarks appended to the diagram COMPARATIVE TABLE of GERMAN AND ITALIAN TIME, WITH THE HOURS OF THE ITALIAN SUN-DIAL FOR THE LATTER HALF OF SEPTEMBER. MIDDAY. The night lengthens half an hour every fortnight. The day lengthens half an houi every fortnight. Month. Day. Time of night Midnight Time of night as shewn by Midnight as shewn by consequently Month. Day. consequently German clocks. falls about. German Ciocks falls about. August '"T 8i ' Febr. ^ 1- O 2 — 15 8 4 — 15 6 6 Sept. 1 n 4i March 1 H — 15 ■ 1 5 — 15 7 5 October 1 H April 1 7i H — 15 6 6 — 15 8 4 Nof. 1 64 May 1 8^ 3 — 15 5 7 — 15 9 3 From this date the time remains From this date the time remains constant and it is :— constant and it is:— NIGHT. MIDNIGHT. NIGHT. MIDNIGHT. Dec. 1 Jan. j 5 7 June July 1 9 3 40 LETTERS FROM ITALY. ™ , Verona, Sept. 17 . Ine people here jostle one another actively enough" the narrow streets where shops and workmen’s stalls are thickly crowded together, have a particularly cheerful look. There is no such thing as a door in front of the shop or workroom; the whole breadth of the house is open, and one may see all that passes m the interior. Half-way out into the path, the tailors are sewing; and the cobblers are pulling and rapping- indeed the work-stalls make a part of the street. In the live^y"^' lights are burning, the appearance is most The squares are very full on market days; there are fruit and vegetables without number, and garlic and onions to the heart s desire. Then again throughout the day there is a ceaseless .screaming, bantering, singing, squaUing. huzzaing and laughing. The mildness of the air, and the cheapness of the food, make subsistence easy. Everything possible is done in the open air. «singing and all sorts of noises begin. The ballad of Marlbroor is heard in every street;—then comes a dulcimer, toen a violin. They try to imitate all the birds with a pipe. Ihe strangest sounds are heard on every side. A mild climate can give this exquisite enj'oyment of mere existence, even to poTCrty, and the very shadow of the people seems respectable. Ine want of cleanliness and convenience, which so much strikes us in the houses, arises from the following cause:_^the inhabitants are always out of doors, and in their light-hearted- imss think of nothing. With the people all goes right, even the middle-class man j'ust lives on from day to day, while the rich and genteel shut themselves up in their dwellings, which aie not so habitable as in the north. Society is found in the open streets. Fore-courts and colonnades are all soiled with filth, for things are done in the most natural manner. The people always feel their way before them. The rich man mity be rich, and build his palaces; and the nohile may rule, but if he makes a colonnade or a fore-court, the people will make use of it for their o^ occasions, and have no more urgent wish than to get rid as soon as possible, of that which they have taken as often as possible. If a person cannot bear this, he must not play the great gentleman, that is to say, he must act as if a part of his dwelling belonged to the public. He VERONA—VICENZA. 41 may shut his door, and all will be right. But in open build¬ ings the people are not to be debarred of their privileges, and this, throughout Italy, is a nuisance to the foreigner. To-day I remarked in several streets of the town, the customs and manners of the middle-classes especially, who appear very numerous and busy. They swing their arms as they walk. Persons of a high rank, who on certain occa¬ sions wear a sword, swing only one arm, being accustomed to hold the left arm still. Although the people are careless enough with respect to their own wants and occupations, they have a keen eye for everything foreign. Thus in the very first days, I observed that every one took notice of my boots, because here they are too expensive an article of dress to wear even in winter. Now I wear shoes and stockings nobody looks at me. Particularly I noticed this morning, when all were running about with flowers, vegetables, garlic, and other market-stuff, that a twig of cypress, which I carried in my hand, did not escape them. Some green cones hung upon it, and I held in the same hand some blooming caper-twigs. Everybody, large and small, watched me closely, and seemed to entertain some whimsical thought. I brought these twigs from the Giusti garden, which is finely situated, and in which there are monstrous cypresses, all pointed up like spikes into the air. The Taxus, which in northern gardening we find cut to a sharp point, is probably an imitation of this splendid natural product. A tree, the branches of which, the oldest as well as the youngest, are striving to reach heaven,—a tree which will last its three hundred years, is well worthy of veneration. Judging from the time when this garden was laid out, these trees have already attained that advanced age. Vicenza^ Sept. 19 . The way from Verona hither is very pleasant: we go north-eastwards along the mountains, always keeping to the left the foremost mountains, which consist of sand, lime, clay, and marl; the hills which they form, are dotted with villages, castles, and houses. To the right extends the broad plain, along which the road goes. The straight broad path, which is 42 LETTERS FROM ITALY. m good preservation, goes through a fertile field; we look into deep avenues of trees, up which the vines are trained to a considerable height, and then drop down, like pendant branches. Here we can get an admirable idea of festoons! The grapes are ripe, and are heavy on the tendrils, which hang down long and trembling. The road is filled with people of every class and occupation, and I was particularly pleased by some carts, with low solid wheels, which, with teams of fine oxen, carry the large vats, in which the grapes from the vineyards are put and pressed. The drivers rode in them when they were empty, and the whole was like a triumphal procession of Bacchanals. Between the ranks of vines the ground is used for all sorts of grain, especially Indian com and miUet (Sorrel). As one goes towards Vicenza, the hills again rise from north to south and enclose the plain; they are, it is said, vol¬ canic. Vicenza lies at their foot, or if you will, in a bosom which they form. Vicenza, Sept. 19 . Though I have been here only a few hours, I have already run through the town, and seen the Olympian theatre, and the buildings of Palladio. A very pretty little book is published here, for the convenience of foreigners, with copper-plates and some letter-press, that shows knowledge of art. When once one stands in the presence of these works, one immediately perceives their great value, for they are calculated to fill the eye with their actual greatness and massiveness, and to satisfy the mind by the beautiful harmony of their dimensions, not only in abstract sketches, but with all the prominences and distances of perspective. Therefore I say of Palladio: he was a man really and intrinsically great, whose greatness was out¬ wardly manifested. The chief difficulty with which this man, like all modern architects, had to struggle, was the suitable application of the orders of columns to buildings for domestic or public use; for there is always a contradiction in the com¬ bination of columns and walls. But with what success has he not worked them up together! What an imposing efiect has the aspect of his edifices: at the sight of them one almost forgets that he is attempting to reconcile us to a violation of VICEJ^ZA. 43 the rules of his art. There is, indeed, something divine about his designs, which may be exactly compared to the crea¬ tions of the great poet, who, out of truth and falsehood elaborates something between both, and charms us with its borrow’cd existence. The Olympic theatre is a theatre of the ancients, realized on a small scale, and indescribably beautiful. However, com¬ pared with our theatres, it reminds me of a genteel, rich, well-bred child, contrasted with a shrewd man of the world, who, though he is neither so rich, nor so genteel, and well- bred, knows better how to employ his resources. If we contemplate, on the spot, the noble buildings which Palladio has erected, and see how they are disfigured by the mean filthy necessities of the people, how the plans of most of them exceeded the means of those who undertook them, and how little these precious monuments of one lofty mind are adapted to all else around, the thought occurs, that it is just the same with everything else; for we receive but little thanks from men, when we would elevate their internal aspira¬ tions, give them a great idea of themselves, and make them feel the grandeur of a really noble existence. But when one cajoles them, tells them tales, and helping them on from day to day, makes them worse, then one is just the man they like; and hence it is that modern times take delight in so many absurdities. I do not say this to lower my friends, I only say that they are so, and that people must not be astonished to find everything just as it is. How the Basilica of Palladio looks by the side of an old castellated kind of a building, dotted all over with windows of different sizes (whose removal, tower and all, the artist evidently contemplated),—it is impossible to describe—and besides I must now, by a strange effort, compress my own feelings, for, I too, alas! find here side by side both what I seek and what I fly from. Sept, 20. Yesterday we had the opera, which lasted till midnight, and I was glad to get some rest. The three Sultanesses and the Rape of the Seraglio have afforded several tatters, out of which the piece has been patched up, with very little skill. Tlie 44 LETTERS FROM ITALY. music IS agreeable to the ear, but is probably by an amateur- tor not a single thought struck me as being new. The hallets on the other hand, were charming. The principle pair of dancers executed an Allemande to perfection. The theatre is new, pleasant, beautiful, modestly magnifi¬ cent, un^orm throughout, just as it ought to be in a provincial town Every box has hangings of the same color, and the one belonging to the Capitan Grande, is only distinguished lon^er^^^ hangings are somewhat The prinm donna, who is a great favorite of the whole peo- P W^^tremendously applauded, on her entrance, and the gods are quite obstreperous with their delight, when she does anything remarkably weU, which very often happens, rler manners are natural, she has a pretty figure, a fine voice, a pleasing countenance, and, above all, a really modest emeanour, while there might be more grace in the arms. However, I am not what I was, I feel that I am spoiled, I am spoiled for a “god.” Sept, 21. To-day I visited Dr. Tura. Five years ago he passionately devoted himself to the study of plants, formed a Lrharium of the Imian flora, and laid out a botanical garden under the superintendence of the former bishop. However, all that has come to an end. Medical practice drove away natural j nerhanum is eaten by worms, the bishop is dead, and the botanic garden is again rationally planted with cab¬ bages and garhc. Dr. Tura is a very refined and good man. He told me his history with frankness, purity of mind, and modesty, and altogether spoke in a very definite and a£Pable manner. At the same time he did not like to open his cabinets, which per¬ haps were in no very presentable condition. Our conversa¬ tion soon came to a stand-still. Sept, 21. Evening, I called upon the old architect Scamozzi, who has published an edition of Palladio's buildings,, and is a diligent artist, pas¬ sionately devoted to his art. He gave me some directions, VICENZA. 45 being delighted with my sympathy. Among Palladio’s build¬ ings there is one, for which I always had an especial predi¬ lection, and which is said to have been his own residence IVhen it is seen close, there is far more in it than appears in a picture. I should have liked to draw it, and to illuminate it with colors, to show the material and the age. It must not, however, be imagined that the architect has built himself a palace. The house is the most modest in the world, with only two windows, separated from each other by a broad space, which would admit a third. If it were imitated in a picture, which should exhibit the neighbouring houses at the same time, the spectator would be pleased to observe how it has been let in between them. Canaletto was the man who should have painted it. To-day I visited the splendid building which stands on a pleasant elevation about half a league from the town, and is called the “Rotonda.” It is a quadrangular building, enclo¬ sing a circular hall, lighted from the top. On all the four sides, you ascend a broad flight of steps, and always come to a vestibule, which is formed of six Corinthian columns. Pro¬ bably the luxury of architecture was never carried to so high a point. The space occupied by the steps and vestibules is much larger than that occupied by the house itself; for every one of the sides is as grand and pleasing as the front of a temple. With respect to the inside it may be called habitable, but not comfortable. The hall is of the finest pro¬ portions, and so are the chambers; but they would hardly sufiice for the actual wants of any genteel family in a sum¬ mer-residence. On the other hand it presents a most beau¬ tiful appearance, as it is viewed on every side throughout the district. The variety which is produced by the principal mass, as, together with the projecting columns, it is gradually brought before the eyes of the spectator who walks round it^ is very great; and the purpose of the owner, who wished to leave a large trust-estate, and at the same time a visible monument of his wealth, is completely obtained. And while the building appears in all its magnificence, when viewed from any spot in the district, it also forms the point of view for a most agreeable prospect. You may see the Bachiglione 46 LETTERS FROM ITALF. flowing along, and taking vessels down from Verona to the &enta, while you overlook the extensive possessions which the Marquis Capra wished to preserve undivided in his familv. The mscriptions on the four gable-ends, which together con- stitute one whole, are worthy to be noted down: Marcus Capra Gabrielis filius Qui sedes has Arctissimo primogeniturac gradui subjecit Una cum omnibus Censibus agris vallibus et collibus Citra viam magnam Memoriae perpetuae mandans haec Dum sustinet ac abstinet. The conclusion in particular is strange enough. A man who has at command so much wealth and such a capacious will, still feels that he must hear and forbear. This can be learned at a less expense. Sept. 22. This evening T was at a meeting held by the academy ot the “Olympians.’’ It is mere play-work, but good in its way, and seems to keep up a little spice and life among the people. ^ There is the great ^ hall by Palladio’s theatre, hand- somely lighted up; the Capitan and a portion of the nobility are present, besides a public composed of educated persons, and several of the clergy; the whole assembly amounting to about five hundred. The question proposed by the president for to-day’s sitting was this: “ Which has been most serviceable to the fine arts, invention or imitation.^ ” This was a happy notion, for if the alternatives which are involved in the question are kept duly apart, one may go on debating for centuries. The acade¬ micians have gallantly availed themselves of the occasion, and have produced all sorts of things in prose and verse,—some very good. Then there is the liveliest public. The audience cry bravo, and clap their hands and laugh. What a thing it is to stand thus before one’s nation, and amuse them in person! We must set down our best productions in black and white; every as he cau. It may be imagined that even on this occasion Palladio would be continually appealed to, whether the discourse was in favour of invention or imitation. At the end, which is always the right place for a joke, one of the speakers hit on a happy thought, and said that the others had already taken Palladio away from him, so that he, for his part, would praise Fran- ceschini, the great silk-manufacturer. He then began to show the advantages which this enterprising man, and through him the city of Vicenza, had derived from imitating the Lyonnese and Florentine stuffs, and thence came to the conclusion that imitation stands far above invention. This was done with so much humour, that uninterrupted laughter was excited. Generally those who spoke in favor of imitation obtained the most applause, for they said nothing but what was adapted to the thoughts and capacities of the multitude. Once the public, by a violent clapping of hands, gave its hearty approval to a most clumsy sophism, w^hen it had not felt many good—^nay, excellent things, that had been said in honour of invention. I am very glad I have witnessed this scene, for it is highly gratifying to see Palladio, after the lapse of so long a time, still honoured by his fellow-citizens, as their polar-star and model. Sept, 22. This morning I was at Tiene, which lies north towards the mountains, where a new building has been erected after an old plan, of which there may be a little to say. Thus do they here honour everything that belongs to the good period, and have sense enough to raise a new building on a plan which they have inherited. The chateau is excellently situated in a large plain,^ haying behind it the calcareous Alps, without any mountains intervening. A stream of living water flows along the level causeway from each side of the building, towards those who approach it, and waters the broad fields of rice through which one passes. I have now seen but two Italian cities, and for the first time, and liave spoken with but few persons, and yet I know my Italians pretty well. They are like courtiers, who consider 48 LETTERS FROM ITALY. themsGlvGS tliG first pGoplG in tliG world, and who, on the stiGngth of cGrtain advantagGS, which cannot be denied them, can indulge with impunity in so comfortable a thought. The’ Italians appear to me a right good people. Only one must see the children and the common people as I see them now, and can see them, while I am always open to them,_nay’ always lay myself open to them. What figures and faces thGTG ai’G ! It is Gspecially to bo commonded in tho VicGntians, that with thorn onG onjoys the privilogGS of a largo city. What¬ ever a person does, they do not stare at him, but if he addresses them, they are conversable and pleasant, especially the women, who please me much. I do not mean to find fault with the Veronese women; they are well made and have a decided pupil, but they are, for the most part, pale, and the Zendal is to their disadvantage, because one looks for something charming under the beautiful costume. I have found here some very pretty creatures, especially some with black locks, who inspire me with peculiar interest. There are also fairer beauties who, however, do not please me so well. Padua^ Sept. 26 . Evening, In four hours I have this day come here from Vicenza, crammed luggage and all into a little one-seated chaise, called, a Sediola.^' Generally the journey is performed with ease in three hours and a half, but as I wished to pass the delightful day-time in the open air, I was glad that the Vet- turino fell short of his duty. The route goes constantly south¬ wards over the most fertile plains, and between hedges and trees, without further prospect, imtil at last the beautiful mountains, extending from the east towards the south, are seen on the right hand. The abundance of the festoons of plants and fruit, which hang over walls and hedges, and dowr^ the trees, is indescribable. The roofs are loaded with gourds, and the strangest sort of cucumbers are hanging from poles and trellises. From the observatory I could take the clearest survey pos¬ sible of the fine situation of the town. Towards the north are the Tyrolese mountains, covered with snow, and half hidden by clouds, and joined by the Vicentian mountains on PADUA. 49 the north-west. Then towards the w’est are the nearer moun¬ tains of Este, the shapes and recesses of which are plainly to be seen. Towards the south-east is a verdant sea of plants, without a trace of elevation, tree after tree, bush after bush, plantation after plantation, while houses, villas, and churches, dazzling with whiteness, peer out from among the green. Against the horizon I plainly saw the tower of St. Mark’s at Venice, w:th other smaller towers. Padiia^ Sept. 17. I have at last obtained the works of Palladio, not indeed the original edition, which I saw at Vicenza, where the cuts are in wood, but a fac-simile in copper, published at the expense of an excellent man, named Smitli, who was formerly the English consul at VeniceT" -We must give the English this credit, that they have long known how to prize what is good, and have V a magnificent way of diffusing it. On the occasion of this purchase I entered a book-shop, which in Italy presents quite a peculiar appearance. Around it are arranged the books, all stitched, and during the whole day good society may be found in the shop, which is a lounge for all the secular clergy, nobility, and artists who are in any way connected with literatoe. One asks for ^book, opens it, and amuses^himself fas pne can.,.j^Thus I found a knot of half a dozeft^all of whoiftr became attentive to me, when 1 asked for the woiks of Palladio. While the master of the shopiooked for the/book, they commended it, and gave tne infor¬ mation respectingjthe original and the copy; they were well acquainted with the work itself and with the merits of the author. Taking me for an architect they praised me for having recourse to this master in preference to all the rest, saying that he was of more practical utility than Vitruvius himself, since he had thoroughly studied the Ancients and antiquity, and had sought to adapt theY^tter to the wants of our own times. I con¬ versed for a long time, with these friendly men, learned some¬ thing about the reiharkable objects in the city, and took my leave. Where men have built churches to saints, a place may some¬ times be found in them, where monuments to intellectual men may be set up. The bust of Cardinal Bembo stands K 50 LETTERS FROM ITALY. bctwesn Ionic columns. It is a handsome face, strongly drawn in, if I may use the expression, and with a copious beard. The inscription runs thus: ‘‘Petri Bembi Card, imaginem Hier. Guerinus Ismeni f. in publico ponendam curavit ut cujus ingenii monumenta aGterna sint, ejus corporis ouooue memoria ne a posteritate desideretur.” With all its dignity the University gave me the horrors, as a building. I am glad that I had nothing to learn in it. One cannot imagine such a narrow compass for a school, even though, as the student of a German university, one may have suffered a great deal on the benches of the Auditorium. The anato mical theatre is a perfect model of the art of pressing students together. The audience are piled one above another in a tall pointed funnel. They look down upon the narrow space where the table stands, and, as no daylight falls upon it, the Professor must demonstrate by lamplight. The botanic gar¬ den is much more pretty and cheerful. Several plants can remain in the ground during the winter, if they are set near the walls, or at no great distance from them. At the end ot October the whole is built over, and the process of heating is carried on for the few remaining months. It is pleasant and instructive to walk through a vegetation that is strange to us. With ordinary plants, as well as with other objects that have been long familiar to us, we at last do not think at all, and what is looking without thinking? Amidst this variety which comes upon me quite new, the idea that all forms of plants may,, perhaps, be developed from a single form, becomes more lively than ever. On this principle alone it would be possible to define orders and classes, which, it seems to me, has hitherto been done in a very arbitrary manner. At this point I stand fast in my botanical philosophy, and I do not see how I am to extricate myself. The depth and breadth of this business seem to me quite equal. The great square, called Prato della, Valle, is a very wide space, where the chief fair is held in June. The wooden booths in the middle of it do not produce the most favourable appearance, but the inhabitants assure me that there will soon be fiera of stone here, like that at Verona. One has hopes of this already, from the manner in which the Prato is sur¬ rounded, and which affords a veiy beautiful and imposing view A huge oval is surrounded with statues, all representing PADUA, 61 celebrated men, who have taught or studied at the Univer¬ sity. Any native or foreigner is allowed to erect a statue of a certain size to any countryman or kinsman, as soon as the merit of the person and his academical residence at Padua are proved. A moat filled with water goes round the oval. On the four bridges which lead up to it stand colossal figures of Popes and Doges; the other statues, which are smaller, have been set up by corporations, private individuals, or foreigners. The King of Sweden caused a figure of Gustavus Adolphus to be erected, because it is said he once heard a lecture in Padua. The Archduke Leopold revived the memory of Petrarch and Galileo. The statues are in a good, modern style, a few of them rather affected, some very natural, and all in the costume of their rank and dignity. The inscriptions deserve commendation. There is nothing in them absurd or paltry. At any university the thought would have been a happy one (and here it is particularly so), because it is very delight¬ ful to see a whole line of departed worthies thus called back again. It will perhaps form a very beautiful Prato, when the wooden Fiera shall be removed, and one built of stone, accord¬ ing to the aforesaid plan. In the consistory of a fraternity dedicated to S. Anthony, there are some pictures of an early date, which remind one of the old German paintings, and also some by Titian, in which may be remarked the great progress which no one has made oil the other side of the Alps. Immediately afterwards I saw works by some of the most modern painters. These artists, as they could not hope to succeed in the lofty and the serious, have been very happy in hitting the humorous. The decol¬ lation of John by Piazetta is, in this sense, a capital picture, if one can once allow the master's manner. John is kneeling, with his hands before him, and his right knee on a stone, looking towards heaven. One of the soldiers, who is binding him, is bending round on one side, and looking into his face, as if he was wondering at his patient resignation. Higher up stands another, who is to deal the fatal blow. He does not, however, hold the sword, but makes a motion with his hands, like one who is practising the stroke beforehand. A third is drawing the sword out of the scabbard. The thought is happy, if not grand, and the composition is striking and produces the best 52 LETTERS FROM ITALV. In the church of the Eremitani I have seen pictures by Mantegna, one of the older painters, at which I am astonished. ^Vhat a sharp, strict actuality is exhibited in these pictures! It is from this actuality, thoroughly true, not apparent, merely and falsely effective, and appealing solely to the imagination, but solid, pure, bright, elaborated, conscientious, delicate, and circumscribed — an actuality which had about it something severe, credulous, and laborious; it is from this, I say, that the later painters proceeded (as I remarked in the pictures by Titian), in order that by the liveliness of their own genius, the energy of their nature illumined at the same time by the mind of the predecessors, and exalted by their force, they might rise higher and higher, and elevated above the eartli. produce forms that were heavenly indeed, but still true. Thus was art developed after the barbarous period. The hall of audience in the town-house, properly designated by the augmentative “ Salone,” is such a huge inclosure that one cannot conceive it, much less recall it to one’s imme¬ diate memory. It is three hundred feet long, one hundred feet broad, and one hundred feet high, measured up to the roof, which covers it quite in. So accustomed are these people to live in the open air, that the architects look out for a market¬ place to over-arch. And there is no question that this huge vaulted space produces quite a peculiar effect. It is an inclosed intinity, which has more analogy to man’s habits and feelings than the starry heavens. The latter takes us out of ourselves, the former insensibly brings us back to ourselves. For the same reason 1 also like to stav in the Chureh of S. Justina. This church, which is 485 feet in length, and high and broad in proportion, is built in a grand and simple style. This evening I seated myself in a corner, and indulged in quiet contemplation. Then I felt myself truly alone, for no one in the world, even if he had thought of me for the moment, would have looked for me here. Now everything ought to De packed up again, for to-mor¬ row morning I set off by water, upon the Brenta. It rained to-day, but now it has cleared up, and I hope I shall be able to see the lagunes and the Bride of the Sea byr beautiful day- liglit, and to greet my friends from her bosoml! VENICE. 53 Venice, September 28, 1786. Now it stood written on my page in the Book of Fate, that on the evening of the 28th of September, by 5 o'clock, German time, I should see Venice for the first time, as I passed from the Brenta into the lagunes, and that, soon afterwards, 1 should actually entea' and visit this strange island-city, this beaver-like republic. So now. Heaven be praised, Venice is no longer to me a bare and a hollow name, which has so long tormented me,— me, the mental enemy of mere verbal sounds. As the first of the gondoliers came up to the ship (they come in order to convey more quickly to Venice those passen¬ gers who are in a hurry), I recollected an old plaything, ot which, perhaps, I had not thought for twenty years. My father had a beautiful model of a gondola which he had brought with him \_from Italy ]; he set a great value upon it, and it was considered a great treat, when I was allowed to play with it. The first beaks of tinned iron-plate, the black gondola-cages, all greeted me like old acquaintances, and I experienced again dear emotions of my childhood which had been long unknown, I am well lodged at the sign of the Queen of England, not far from the square of S. Mark, which is, indeed, the chief advantage of the spot. My windows look upon a narrow canal between lofty houses, a bridge of one arch is immedi¬ ately below me, and directly opposite is a narrow, bustling alley. Thus am I lodged, and here I shall remain until I have made up my packet for Germany, and until I am satiated with the sight of the city. I can now really enjoy the soli¬ tude for which I have longed so ardently, for nowhere does a man feel himself more solitary than in a crowd, where he must push his way unknown to every one. Perhaps in Venice there is only one person who knows me, and he wiU not come in contact with me all at once. A few words on my journey hither from Padua. The pas¬ sage on the Brenta, in the public vessel, and in good company, is highly agre#^able. The banks are ornamented with gardens and villas, little hamlets come down to the water’s edge, and 54 LETTERS FROM ITALY. the animated highroad may be seen here and there. As the descent of the river is by means of locks, there is often a little pause, which may be employed in looking about the country, ana in tasting the fruits, which are offered in great abundance. You then enter your vessel again, and move on through a world, which is itself in motion, and which is full of life and fertility. To so many changing forms and images a phenomenon was added, which, although derived from Germany, was quite in its place here—I mean two pilgrims, the first whom I have seen closely. They have a right to travel gratis in this public conveyance; but because the rest of the passengers dislike coming into contact with them, they do not sit in the covered part, but in the after-part beside the steersman. They were stared at as a phenomenon even at the present day, and as in former times many vagabonds had made use of this cloak, they were but lightly esteemed. When I learned that they were Germans, and could speak no language but their own, I joined them, and found that they came from the Paderborn territory. Both of them were men of more than fifty years of age, and of a dark, but good-humoured physiognomy. They had first visited the sepulchre of the Three Kings” at Cologne, had then travelled through Germany, and were now together on their way back to Borne and Upper Italy, whence one intended to set out for Westphalia, and the other to pay a visit of adoration to St. James of Compostella. Their dress was the well-known costume of pilgrims, but they looked much better with this tucked up robe, than the pilgrims in long taffeta garments, we are accustomed to exhibit at our masquerades. The long cape, the round hat, the staff and cockle (the latter used as the most innocent drinking- vessel)—all had its signification, and its immediate use, while a tin-case held their passports. Most remarkable of all were their small, red morocco pocket-books, in which they kept all the little implements that might be wanted for any simple necessity. They took them out on finding that something wanted mending in their garments. The steersman, highly pleased to find an interpreter, made me ask them several questions, and thus I learned a great deal about their views, and especially about their expedition. They made bitter complaints against their brethren in the THE PASSAGE TO TENICE. 55 faith, and e^en against the clergy, both secular and monastic. Piety, they said, must be a very scarce commodity, since no one would believe in theirs, but they were treated as vagrants in almost every Catholic country, although they produced the route which had been clerically prescribed, and the passports given by the bishop. On the other hand, they described, with a great deal of emotion, how well they had been received by protestants, and made special mention of a country clergyman in Suabia, and still more of his wife, who had prevailed on her somewhat unwilling husband to give them an abundant repast, of which they stood in great need. On taking leave, the good couple had given them a “ convention’s dollar,”^ which they found very serviceable, as soon as they entered the Catholic territory. Upon this, one of them said, with all the elevation of which he was capable: “ We include this lady every day in our prayers, and implore God that he will open her eyes, as he has opened her heart towards us, and take her, although late, into the bosom of the Catholic Church. And thus we hope that we shall meet her in Paradise hereafter.” As I sat upon the little gang-way which led to the deck, I explained as much as was necessary and useful to the steers- man, and to some other persons who had crowded from the cabin into this narrow space. The pilgrims received some paltry donations, for the Italian is not fond of giving. Upon this they drew out some little consecrated tickets, on which might be seen the representation of the three sainted kings, with some prayers addressed to them. The worthy men entreated me to distribute these tickets among the little party, and explain how invaluable they were. In this I succeeded perfectly, for when the two men appeared to be greatly em¬ barrassed as to how they should find the convent devoted to pilgrims in so large a place as Venice, the steersman was touched, and promised that, when they landed, he would give a boy a trifle to lead them to that distant spot. He added to me in confidence, that they would find but little welcome The institution,” he said, “ was founded to admit I don’t know how many pilgrims, but now it has become greatly con¬ tracted, and the revenues are otherwise employed.” ♦ A “convention's dollar" is a dollar coined in consequence of an agreement made between several of the German states, in the year 1750 when the Viennese standard was adopted.— Trans. 56 -LF.TTERS FROM ITALY. During this conversation we had gone down the beautiful Brenta, leaving behind us many a noble garden, and many a noble palace, and casting a rapid glance at the populous and thriving hamlets, which lay along the banks. Several gon- dolas wound about the ship as soon as we had entered the lagunes. A Lombard, well acquainted with Venice, asked me to accompany him, that we might enter all the quicker, and escape the nuisance of the cnstom-house. Those who endeavoured to hold us back, he contrived to put off with a little drink-money, and so, in a cheerful sunset, we floated to the place of our destination. ; ^ 29 {Michaelmas-Day^, Evening. bo much has already been told and printed about Venice, that I shall not be circumstantial in my description, but shall only say how it struck me. Now, in this instance again, that 'which makes the chief impression upon me, is the people,_a great mass, who live an involuntary existence determined by the changing circumstances of the moment. It was for no idle fancy that this race fled to these islands- It was no mere whim which impelled those who followed to combine with them; necessity taught them to look for security m a highly disadvantageous situation, that afterwards became most advantageous, enduing them with talent, when the whole imrthern world was immersed in gloom. Their increase and their wealth were a necessary consequence. New dwellings arose close against dwellings, rocks took the place of sand and marsh, houses sought the sky, being forced like trees inclosed in a narrow compass, to seek in height what was denied them in breadth. Being niggards of every inch of ground, as having been from the very first compressed into a narrow compass, they allowed no more room for the streets than was just neces- SMy to separate a row of houses from the one opposite, and to afford the citiz ns a narrow passage. Moreover, water sup¬ plied the place of street, square, and promenade. The Vene¬ tian was forced to become a new creature; and thus Venice can only be compared with itself. The large canal, winding like a serpent, yields to no street in the world, and nothing can be put by the side of the space in front of St. Mark s square—I mean that great mirror of water, which is encompassed by Venice VENICE. 57 Proper, in the form of a crescent. Across the watery surface you see to the left the island of St. Georgio Maggiore, to the right a little hirther oflP the Guidecca and its canal, and still more distant the Dogana (Custom-house) and the entrance into the Canal Grande^ where right before us two* immense marble temples are glittering in the sunshine. All the views and prospects have been so often engraved, that my friends will have no difficulty in forming a clear idea of them. After dinner I hastened to fix my first impression of the whole, and without a guide, and merely observing the car¬ dinal points, threw myself into the labyrinth of the city, which though everywhere intersected by larger or smaller canals, is again connected by bridges. The narrow and crowded appearance of the whole cannot be conceived by one who has not seen it. In most cases one can quite or nearly measure the breadth of the street, by stretching out one’s arms, and in the narrowest, a person would scrape his elbows if he walked with his arms a-kimbo. Some streets, indeed, are wider, and here and there is a little square, but comparatively all may be called narrow. I easily found the grand canal, and the principal bridge— the Hialto, which consists of a single arch of white marble. Looking down from this, one has a fine prospect,—the canal full of ships, which bring every necessary from the con¬ tinent, and put in chiefly at this place to unload, while between them is a swarm of gondolas. To-day, especially, being Michaelmas, the view was wonderfully animated; but to give some notion of it, I must go back a little. The two principal parts of Venice, which are divided by the grand canal, are connected by no other bridge than the Rialto, but several means of communication are provided, and the river is crossed in open boats at certain fixed points. To-day a very pretty effect was produced, by the number of well-dressed ladies, who, their features concealed beneath large black veils, were being ferried over in large parties at a time, in order to go to the church of the Archangel, whose festival was being solemnised. I left the bridge and went to one of the points of landing, to see the parties as they left the boats. I discovered some very fine forms and faces among them. After I had become tired of this amusement, I seated mysel/ 58 LETTERS FROM 1TA.L7 in a gondola, and, quitting the narrow streets with the inten¬ tion of witnessing a spectacle of an opposite description, went along the northern part of the grand canal, into the lagunes, and then entered the canal della Guidecca, going as far as the square of St. Mark. Now was I also one of the birds of the Adriatic sea, as every Venetian feels himself to be, whilst re¬ clining in his gondola. I then thought with due honour of my good father, who knew of nothing better than to talk about the things I now witnessed. And will it not be so with me likewise? All that surrounds me is dignified—a grand venerable work of combined human energies, a noble monument, not of a ruler, but of a people. And if their lagunes are gradually filling up, if unwholesome vapours are fioating over the marsh, if their trade is declining and their power has sunk, still the great place and the essen¬ tial character will not for a moment, be less venerable to the observer. Venice succumbs to time, like everything that has a phenomenal existence. Sept. 30. Towards evening I again rambled, without a guide, into the remotest quarters of the city. The bridges here are all pro¬ vided with stairs, that gondolas, and even larger vessels, may pass conveniently under the arches. I sought to find my \Yay in and out of this labyrinth, without asking anybody, and, on this occasion also, only guiding myself by the points of the compass. One disentangles one’s self at last, but it is a \vonderful complication, and my manner of obtaining a sen¬ sible impression of it, is the best. I have now been to the remotest points of the city, ard observed the conduct, mode of life, manners, and character of the inhabitants; and in every quarter they are different. Gracious Heaven!—What a poor good sort of animal man is, after aU! Most of the smaller houses stand immediately on the canals, but there are here and there quays of stone, beautifully paved, along which one may take a pleasant walk between the w^ater, and the churches, and palaces. Particularly cheerful and agreeable is the long stone quay on the northern side, from which the islands are visible, especially Murano, which is a TENICB, 59 Venice on a small scale. The intervening lagunes are all alive with little gondolas. Sept. 30. Evening. To-day I have enlarged my notions of Venice by procuring a plan of it. When I had studied it for some time, I ascended the tower of St. Mark, where an unique spectacle is presented to the eye. It was noon, and the sun was so bright that I could see places near and distant without a glass. The tide covered the lagunes, and when I turned my eyes towards what is called the Lido (this is a narrow strip of earth, which bounds the lagunes), I saw the sea for the first time with some sails upon it. In the lagunes themselves some gallies and frigates are lying, destined to join the Chevalier Emo, who is making war on the Algerines, but detained by un¬ favorable winds. The mountains of Padua and Vicenza, and the mountain-chain of Tyrol, beautifully bound the picture between the north and west. October 1. I went out and surveyed the city from many points of view, and as it was Sunday, I was struck by the great want of cleanliness in the streets, which forced me to make some reflections. There seems to be a sort of policy in this mat¬ ter, for the people scrape the sweepings into the corners, and I see large ships going backwards and forwards, which at several points lie to, and take ofi* the accumulation. They belong to the people of the surrounding islands, who are in want of manure. But, however, there is neither consistency nor strictness in this method, and the want of cleanliness in the city is the more unpardonable, as in it, as much provi¬ sion has been made for cleaning it, as in any Dutch town. All the streets are paved—even those in the remotest quarters, with bricks at least, which are laid down lengthwise, with the edges slightly canting: the middle of the street where neces¬ sary is raised a little, while channels are formed on each side to receive the water, and convey it into covered drains. There are other architectural arrangements in the original well-considered plan, which prove the intention of the ex¬ cellent architects to make Venice the most cleanly, as well as 60 LETTERS FROM ITALY. the most singular of cities. As I walked along I could not refrain from sketching a body of regulations on the subject, anticipating in thought some superintendent of police, who might act in earnest. Thus one always feels an inclination to sweep one’s neighbour’s door. Oct, 2, 1786. Before all things I hastened to the Carita, I had found in Palladio’s works that he had planned a monastic building here, in which he intended to represent a private residence of the rich and hospitable ancients. The plan, which was excellently drawn, both as a whole and in detail, gave me infinite delight, and I hoped to find a marvel. Alas! scarcely a tenth part of the edifice is finished. However, even this part is worthy of that heavenly genius. There is a complete¬ ness in the plan, and an accuracy in the execution, which I had never before witnessed. One ought to pass whole years in the contemplation of such a work. It seems to me that I have seen nothing grander, nothing more perfect, and I fancy that I am not mistaken. Only imagine the admirable artist, horn with an inner feeling for the grand and the pleasing, now, for the first time, forming himself by the ancients, with incredible labour, that he may be the means of reviving them. He finds an opportunity to carry out a favorite thought in building a convent, which is destined as a dwelling for so many monks, and a shelter for so many strangers, in the form of an antique private residence. The church was already standing and led to an atrium of Corinthian columns. Here one feels delighted, and forgets all priestcraft. At one end, the sacristy, at another, a chapter- room is found, while there is the finest winding stair-case in the world, with a wide well, and the stone-steps built into the wall, and so laid, that one supports another. One is never tired of going up and down this stair -case, and we may judge of its success, from the fact that Palladio himself declares that he has succeeded. The fore-court leads to the large inner-court. Unfortunately, nothing is finished of the build¬ ing which was to surround this, except the left side. Here there are three rows of columns, one over the other; on the ground-floor are the halls, on the first story is an archway in VENICE. 61 front of the cells, and the upper storj consists of a plain wall with windows. However, this description should be illus¬ trated by a reference to the sketches. I will just add a word about the execution. Qjily the capitals and bases of the columns, and the key-stones of the arches, are of hewn stone; all the rest is —I will not say of brick, but—of burned clay. This de¬ scription of tile I never saw before. The frieze and cornice are of the same material, as well as the parts of the arch. All is but half burnt, and lastly the building is put together with a "^ery little lime. As it stands it looks as if it had been produced at one cast. If the whole had been finished, and it had been properly rubbed up and coloured, it would have been a charming sight. However, as so often happens with buildings of a modern time, the plan was too large. The artist had pre-supposed not only that the existing convent would be pulled down, but also that the adjoining houses would be bought,^ and here money and inclination probably began to fail. Kind Destiny, thou who hast formed and perpetuated so much stupidity,'why didst thou not allow this work to be completed! OcL 3. The church II Eedentore is a large and beautiful work by Pal- ladio, with a facade even more worthy of praise than that of S. Giorgio. These works, which have often been engraved; must be placed before you, to elucidate what is said. I will only add a few words. Palladio was thoroughly imbued with the antique mode of existence, and felt the narrow, petty spirit of his own age, like a great man who will not give way to it, but strives to mould all that it leaves him, as far as possible, into accord¬ ance with his own ideas. From a slight perusal of his book I conclude that he was displeased with the continued practice of building Christian churches after the form of the ancient Basilica, and, therefore, sought to make his own sacred edifices approximate to the form of the antique temple. Hence arose certain discrepancies, which, as it seemed to me, are happily avoided in II Eedentore, but are rather obvious in the S. Giorgio. Yolckmann says something about it, but does not hit the nail on the head. 62 LETTERS FROM ITALY. The interior of II Redentore is likewise admii-able. Every, thing, including even the designs of the altars, is by Palladio. Unfortunately, the niches, which should have been filled with statues, are glaring with wooden figures, flat, carved, and painted. October 8. In honour of S. Francis, S. Peter’s capuchins have splendidly adorned a side altar. There was nothing to be seen of stone but the Corinthian capitals; all the rest seemed to be covered with tast^ul but splendid embroidery, in the arabesque style, and the effect was as pretty as could be desired. I particu- larly admired the broad tendrils and foliage, embroidered in gold. Going nearer, I discovered an ingenious deception. All that I had taken for gold was, in fact, straw pressed flat and glued upon paper, according to some beautiful outlines, while the ground was painted with lively colours. This is done with such variety and tact, that the design, which was probably worked in the convent itself, with a material that was worth nothing, must have cost several thousand dollars, if the material had been genuine. It might on occasion be advantageously imitated On one of the quays, and in front of the water I have often remarked a little fellow telling stories in the Venetian dialect, to a greater or less concourse of auditors. Unfortunately I cannot understand a word, but I observe that no one laughs, though the audience, who are composed of the lowest class, occasionally smile. There is nothing striking or ridiculous in the ma,n s appearance, but, on the contrary, something very sedate, with such admirable variety and precision in his ges¬ tures, that they evince art and reflection. October 3. With my plan in my hand I endeavored to find my way through the strangest labyrinth to the church of the Mendi- canti. Here is the conservatorium, which stands in the high¬ est repute at the present day. The ladies performed an oratorio behind the grating, the church was filled with hear- ers, the music was very beautiful, and the voices were magui- VElflCE. 63 ficent. All alto sung the part of King Saul, the chief per¬ sonage in the poem. Of such a voice I had no notion what¬ ever ; some passages of the music were excessively beautiful, and the words, which were Latin, most laughably Italianized in some places, were perfectly adapted for singing. Music here has a wide field. The performance would have been a source of great enjoy¬ ment, if the accursed Maestro di Capella had not beaten time with a roll of music against the grating, as conspicuously as if he had to do with school-boys, whom he was instructing. As the girls had repeated the piece often enough, his noise was quite unnecessary, and destroyed all impression, as much as he would, who, in order to make a beautiful statue intelligible to us, should stick scarlet patches on the joints. The foreign sound destroys all harmony. Now this man is a musician, and yet he seems not to be sensible of this; or, more properly speaking, he chooses to let his presence be known by an impropriety, when it would have been much better to-allow his value to be perceived by the perfection of the execution. I know that this is the fault of the French, but I did not give the Italians credit for it, and yet the public seems accustomed to it. This is not the first time that that which spoils enjoy¬ ment, has been supposed to belong directly to it. October 3. Yesterday evening I went to the Opera at the S. Moses (for the theatres take their name from the church to which they lie nearest); nothing very delightful! In the plan, the music, and the singers, that energy was wanting, which alone can ilevate opera to the highest point. One could not say of any part that it was bad, but the two female actresses alone took pains, not so much to act well, but to set themselves off and > 0 please. That is something, after all. These two actresses have beautiful figures, and good voices, and are nice, lively, compact, little bodies. Among the men, on the other hand, there^ is no trace of national power, or even of pleasure, in working on the imaginations of their audience. Neither is there among them any voice of decided brilliancy. The ballet, which was wretchedly conceived, was con¬ demned as a whole, but some excellent dancers and danseuses. 64 LETTERS FROM ITALY. the latter of whom considered it their duty to make the tutors acquainted with all their persox^al charms, were hea applauded. ho ds- im October “I To-day, however, I saw another comedy, which gave^^ more pleasure. In the ducal palace I heard the public di^ ^ ^ sion of a law case. It was important, and, happily for was brought forward in the holidays. One of the advor^^ had all the qualifications for an exaggerated hiffo. His was short and fat, but supple; in profile his features monstrously prominent. He had a stentorian voice, and a vehemence as if everything that he said came in earnest from the very bottom of his heart. I call this a comedy, because, probably, everything had been already prepared when the public exhibition took place. The judges knew what they had to say, and the parties what they had to expect. How¬ ever, this plan pleases me infinitely more than our hobbling law affairs. I will endeavor to give some notion of the par- ticulars, and of the neat, natural, and unostentatious manner in which everything takes place. In a spacious hall of the ])alace the judges were sitting on one side, in a half circle. Opposite to them, in a tribune which could hold several persons, were the advocates for both par¬ ties ; and upon a bench immediately in front of them, the plantiff, and defendant in person. The advocate for the plaintiff had descended from the tribune, since there was to be no controversy at this day’s sitting. All the documents, on both sides, were to be read, although they were already printed. A lean clerk, in a black scanty govm, and with a thick bundle in his hand, prepared to perform the office of a reader. The hall was completely crammed with persons who came to see and to hear. The point of law itself, and the persons whom it concerned, must have appeared highly im¬ portant to the Venetians. Trust-estates are so decidedly secured in Venice, that property once stamped with this character, preserves it fo ever, though it may have been divested ages ago by appro priations or other circumstances, and though it may hav( TENICE. 65 ked through ever so many hands. When the matter kies into dispute the descendants of the first family recover fir right, and the property must be delivered up. P3n this occasion the discussion was highly important, for I action was brought against the doge himself, or rather [inst his wife, who veiled by her zendal, or little hood, only at a little distance from the plaintiff. She was a y of a certain age, of noble stature, and with well-formed [ tures, in which there was something of an earnest, not to fretful character. The Venetians make it a great boast Jt the princess in her own palace, is obliged to appear "ore them and the tribunal. When the clerk began to read, I for the first time clearly discerned the business of a little man who sat on a low stool behind a small table o.pposite the judges, and near the advocates. More especially I learned the use of an hour-glass, \yhich was placed before him. As long as the clerk reads, time is not heeded, but the advocate is only allowed a cer¬ tain time, if he speaks in the course of the reading. The clerk reads, and the hour-glass lies in a horizontal position, with the little man’s hand upon it. As soon as the advocate opens his mouth, the glass is raised, and sinks again, as soon as he is silent. It is the great duty of the advocate to make remarks on what is read, to introduce cursory observa¬ tions in order to excite and challenge attention. This puts the little Saturn in a state of the greatest perplexity. He is obliged every moment to change the horizontal and vertical position of the glass, and finds himself in the situation of the evil spirits in the puppet-show, who by the quickly-varying “Berliche, Berloche” of the mischievous Hanswursf^^ are puzzled whether they are to come or to go. Whoever has heard documents read over in a law-court, can imagine the reading on this occasion,—quick and mono¬ tonous, but plain ana articulate enough. The ingenious advo¬ cate contrives to interrupt the tedium by jests, and the public * An allusion to the comic scene, in the puppet-play of Faust, from jwhich Goethe took the subject of his poem. One of the two magic words (Berliche, Berloche) summons the devils, the other drives them away, ^and the Hanswurst (or buffoon), in a mock-incantation scene, perplexes the fiends, by uttering one word after the other, as rapidly as possible. Trans. F 66 LEXTERS FROM ITALY. shows its delight in his jokes by immoderate laughter I ^ mention one, the most striking of those I could understa: Ihe reader was just reciting the document, by which, one, was considered to have been illegally possessed of it, had posed of the property in question. The advocate bade . lead more slowly, and when he plainly uttered the words; . give and bequeath,” the orator flew violently at the clerk ai cried: “What wiU you give? What will you bequeat you poor starved-out devil, nothing in the world belongs you? ” “However,”—he continued, as he seemed to coUj himself—“the illustrious owner was in the same predi ment. He wished to give, he wished to bequeath that wh: belonged to him no more than to you.” A burst of inextim guishable laughter followed this sally, but the hour-glass at once resumed its horizontal position. The reader went mumbling on, and made a saucy face at the advocate; but all these jokes are prepared beforehand. Oc(. 4. I was yesterday at the play, in the theatre of S. Luke, and was highly pleased. I saw a piece acted extempore in masks, with a great deal of nature, energy, and vigour. The actors are not, indeed, aU equal; the pantaloon is excellent, and one of the actresses, who is stout and well-built, speaks admirably, and deports herself cleverly, though she is no extraordinary actress. The subject of the piece is extra¬ vagant, and resembled that which is treated by us under the name of Der Verschlag (the partition). With inexhaustible variety it amused us for more than three hours. But even here the people is the base upon which everything rests, the spectators are themselves actors, and the multitude is melted into one whole with the stage. All day long the buyer and the seller, the beggar, the sailor, the female gossip, tlie advo¬ cate and his opponent, are living and acting in the square and on the bench, in the gondolas and in the palaces, and make it them business to talk and to asseverate, to cry and to offer for sale, to sing and to play, to curse and to brawl. In the I evening they go into the theatre, and see and hear the life of the day artificially put together, prettily set off, interwoven ! with a story, removed from reality by the masks, and brought i VENICE. 67 near to it by manners. In all this they take a childish delight and again shout and clap, and make a noise. From day to night,—nay, from midnight to midnight, it is always the same. i have not often seen more natural acting than that by these masks. It is such acting as can only be sustained by a remarkably happy talent and long practice. While I am writing this, they are making a tremendous noise on the canal under my window, though it is past mid¬ night. Whether for good or for evil, they are always doing something. October 4. I have now heard public orators; viz., three fellows in the square and on the stone-bench, each telling tales after his fashion, two advocates, two preachers, and the actors, among whom I must especially commend the pantaloon. All these have something in common, both because they belong to one and the same nation, which, as it always lives in public, always adopts an impassioned manner of speaking, and because they imitate each other. There is besides a marked language of gesticulations, with which they accompany the expressions of their intentions, views, and feelings. This day was the festival of S. Francis, and I was in his church Alle Vigne. The loud voice of the capuchin was accompanied by the cries of the salesmen in front of the church, as by an antiphone. I stood at the church-door between the two, and the effect was singular enough. Oct, 5. This morning I was in the arsenal, which I found interest¬ ing enough, though I know nothing of maritime affairs, and visited the lower school there. It has an appearance like that of an old family, which still bustles about, although its best time of blossom and fruit has passed. By paying atten¬ tion to the handicraftsmen, I have seen much that is remark¬ able, and have been on board an eighty-four gun ship, the hull of which is just completed. Six months ago a thing of the sort was burned down to the water’s edge, off the Riva dei Schiavoni. The powder-room was E 2 68 LETTERS EROM ITALY. not very full, and when it blew up, it did no great damage. The windows of the neighbouring houses were destroyed. I have seen worked the finest oak from Istria, and have made my observations in return upon this valuable tree. That knowledge of the natural things used by man as materials, and employed for his wants, which I have acquired with so much difficulty, has been incalculably serviceable in explaining to me the proceedings of artists and artisans. The knowledge of mountains and of the stone taken out of them has been to me a great advance in art. Oct. 5. To give a notion of the Bucentaur in one word, I should say that it is a state-galley. The older one, of which we still have drawings, justified this appellation still more than the present one, which, by its splendour makes us forget its original. I am always returning to my old opinions. When a genuine subject is given to an artist, his productions will be something genuine also. Here the artist was commissioned to form a galley, worthy to carry the heads of the Bepublic, on the highest festivals in honour of its ancient rule on the sea; and the problem has been admirably solved. The vessel is all ornament; we ought to say, it is overladen with ornament; it is altogether one piece of gilt carving, for no other use, but that of a pageant to exhibit to the people its leaders in right noble style. We know well enough that a people, who likes to deck out its boats, is no less jdeased to see their rulers bravely adorned. This state-galley is a good index to show what the Venetians were, and what they considered themselves. Oct. 5. Night. I came home laughing from a tragedy, and must at once make the jest secure upon paper. The piece was not bad, the author had brought together all the tragic matadors., and the actors played well. Most of the situations were well known, but some were new and' highly felicitous. There are two fathers, who hate each other, sons and daughters of these VENICE. 69 pevered families, who respectively are passionately in love with each other, and one couple is even privately married. Wild and cruel work goes on, and at last notliing remains to render the young people happy, but to make the two fathers kill each other, upon which the curtain falls amid the liveliest applause. Now the applause becomes more vehement, now “ fuora” was called out, and this lasted until the two principal couples vouchsafed to crawl forward from behind the curtain, make their bow, and retire at the opposite side. The public was not yet satisfied, but went on clapping and crying: “i morti!” till the two dead men also come forward and made their bow, when some voices cried “ bravi i morti!” The applause detained them for a long time, till at last they were allowed to depart. The effect is infinitely more droll to the eye-and-ear-witness, who, like me, has ring¬ ing in his ears the “bravo! bravi!” which the Italians have incessantly in their mouths, and then suddenly hears the dead also called forward with this word of honour. We of the north can say “ good night” at any hour, when we take leave after dark, but the Italian says: “Felicissima notte ” only once, and that is when the candles are brought into a room. Day and night are thus divided, and something quite different is meant. So impossible is it to translate the idioms of any language! From the highest to the lowest word all has reference to the peculiarities of the natives, in character, opinions, or circumstances. Oct, 6. The tragedy yesterday taught me a great deal. In the first place, I have heard how the Italians treat and declaim their Eleven-syllable iambics, and in the next place, I have under¬ stood the tact of Gozzi in combining masks with his tragic personages. This is the proper sort of play for this people, which likes to be moved in a rough fashion. It has no ten¬ der, heart-felt sympathy for the unfortunate personage, but is only pleased when the hero speaks well. The Italians attach a great deal of importance to the speaking, and then they like to laugh, or to hear something silly. Their interest in the drama is like that in a real event. When the tyrant gave his son a sword and required him to 70 LETTERS FROM ITALY. kill his own wife, who was standing opposite, the people began loudly to express their disapprobation of this demand, and there was a great risk that the piece would have been interrupted. They insisted that the old man should takci his sword back,in which case all the subsequent situations in the drama would have been completely spoiled. At last, the dis¬ tressed son plucked up courage, advanced to the proscenium, and humbly entreated that the audience would have patience foi a moment, assuring them that all would turn out to their entire satisfaction. But even judging from an artistical point of view, this situation was, under the circumstances, silly and unnatural, and I commended the people for their feeling. I can now better understand the long speeches and the frequent dissertations, pro and con, in the Greek tragedy. The Athenians liked still more to hear speaking, and were still better judges of it, than the Italians. They learned something from the courts of law, where they spent the whole day. Oct, 6. In those works of Palladio, which are completed, I have found much to blame, together with much that is highly valuable. While I was thinking it over in my mind how far I was right or wrong in setting my judgment in opposition to that of so extraordinary a man, I felt as if he stood by and said, “I did so and so against my will, but,nevertheless, I did it, because in this manner alone was it possible for me, under the given circumstances, to approximate to my highest idea.” The more I think the matter over, it seems to me, that Pal¬ ladio, while contemplating the height and width of an already existing church, or of an old house to which he was to attach fa 9 ades, only considered: “How will you give the greatest form to these dimensions? Some part of the detail must from the necessity of the case, be put out of its place or spoiled, and something unseemly is sure to arise here and there. Be that as it may, the whole will have a grand style, and yoii will be pleased with your work.” And thus he carried out the great image which he had within his soul, just to the point where it was not quite suit¬ able, and whore he was obliged in the detail to mutilate or to overcrowd it. YEN ICE. 71 On the other hand, the wing of the Caritd. cannot be toe highly prized, for here the artist’s hands were free, and he could follow the bent of his own mind without constraint. If the convent were finished there would, perhaps, be no work of architecture more perfect throughout the present world. How he thought and how he worked becomes more and more clear to me, the more I read his works, and reflect how he treated the ancients; for he says few words, but they^ are all important. The fourth book, which illustrates the antique temples, is a good introduction to a judicious examination of ancient remains. Oct. 6. Yesterday evening I saw the Electra of Crebillon—that is to say, a translation—at the theatre S. Crisostomo. I cannot say, how absurd the piece appeared to me, and how terribly it tired me out. The actors are generally good, and know how to put off the public with single passages. Orestes alone has three narratives, poetically set off, in one scene. Electra, a pretty little woman of the middle size and stature, with almost French vivacity, and with a good deport¬ ment, delivered the verses beautifully, only she acted the part madly from beginning to end, which, alas! it requires. How¬ ever, I have again learned something. The Italian lambic, which is invariably of eleven syllables, is very inconvenient for declamation, because the last syllable is always short, and causes an elevation of the voice against the will of the declaimer. Oct. 6. This morning I was present at high mass, which annually on this day the Doge must attend, in the church of St. Justina, to commemorate an old victory over the Turks. When the gilded barks, which carry the princes and a portion of the nobility approach the little square, when the boatmen, in their rare liveries, are plying their red- painted oars, when on the shore the clergy and the religious fraternities are standing, pushing, moving about, and waiting with theii lighted torches fixed upon poles and portable silver chandeliers; then, when the 72 LEl'TEES FBOM ITALY. gangways covered with carpet are placed from the vessels to the shore, and first the full violet dresses of the Savii, next the ample red robes of the Senators are unfolded upon the pave¬ ment, and lastly when the old Doge adorned with his golden Phrygian cap, in his long golden talar and his ermine cloak, steps out of the vessel—when all this, I say, takes place in a little square before the portal of a church, one feels as if one were looking at an old worked tapestry, exceedingly well designed and coloured. To me, northern fugitive as I am, this ceremony gave a great deal of pleasure. With us, who parade nothing but short coats in our processions of pomp, and who conceive nothing greater than one performed with shouldered arms, such an affair might be out of place. But these trains, these peaceful celebrations are all in keeping here. The Doge is a well-grown and well-shaped man, who, perhaps, suffers from ill health, but, nevertheless, for dignity’s sake, bears himself upright under his heavy robe. In other respects he looks like the grandpapa of the whole race, and is kind and affable. His dress is very becoming, the little cap, which he wears under the large one, does not offend the eye, resting as it does upon the whitest and finest hair in the world. About fifty nohili, with long dark-red trains, were with him. For the most part they were handsome men, and there was not a single uncouth figme among them. Several of them were taU with large heads, so that the white curly wigs were very becoming to them. Their features are prominent; the flesh of their faces is soft and white, without looking flabby and disagreeable. On the contrary, there is an appearance of talent without exertion, repose, self-confidence, easiness of existence, and a certain joyousness pervades the whole. When all had taken their places in the church, and mass began, the fraternities entered by the chief door, and went out at the side door to the right, after they had received holy water in couples, and made their obeisance to the high altar, to the Doge, and the nobility. Oct. 6. This evening I bespoke the celebrated song of the mariners, who chaunt Tasso and Ariosto to melodies of their own. This TENICE. 73 must actually be ordered, as it is not to be heard as a thing, of course, but rather belongs to the half forgotten traditions of former times. I entered a gondola by moon-light, with one singer before and the other behind me. They sing their song, taking up the verses alternately. The melody, which we know through Kousseau, is of a middle kind, between choral and recitative, maintaining throughout the same cadence, with out any fixed time. The modulation is also uniform, only varying with a sort of declamation both tone and measure, according to the subject of the verse. But the spirit—^the life of it, is as follows:— Without inquiring into the construction of the melody, suffice it to say that it is admirably suited to that easy class of people, who, always humming something or other to them¬ selves, adapt such tunes to any little poem they know by heart. Sitting on the shore of an island, on the bank of a canal, or on the side of a boat, a gondolier will sing away with a loud penetrating voice—the multitude admire force above every¬ thing—anxious only to be heard as far as possible. Over the silent mirror it travels far. Another in the distance, who is acquainted with the melody and knows the words, takes it up and answers with the next verse, and then the first replies, so that the one is as it were the echo of the other. The song continues through whole nights and is kept up without 1‘atigue. The further the singers are from each other, the more touch¬ ing sounds the strain. The best place for the listener is halfway between the two. In order to let me hear it, they landed on the bank of the Guidecca, and took up different positions by the canal. I walked backwards and forwards between them, so as to leave the one whose turn it was to sing, and to join the one who had just left off. Then it was that the effect of the strain first opened upon me. As a voice from the distance it sounds in^ the highest degree strange—as a lament without sadness: it has an incredible effect and is moving even to tears. I ascribed this to my own state of mind, but my old boatsman said: “e singolare, como quel canto intenerisce, e molto piu quando e piu ben cantato.” He wished that I could hear the women of the Lido, especially those of Mala- ■mocco, and Pelestrina. These also, he told me, chaunted Tasso 74 LETTEKS FROM ITALY, and Ariosto to the same or similar melodies. He went on: “in the evening, while their husbands are on the sea fishing, they are accustomed to sit on the beach, and with shrill-pene¬ trating voice to make these strains resound, until they catch from the distance the voices of their partners, and in this way they keep up a communication with them.” Is not that beautiful? and yet, it is very possible that one who heard them close by, would take little pleasure in such tones which have to vie with the waves of the sea. Human, however, and true becomes the song in this way: thus is life given to the melody, on whosp dead elements we should otherwise have been sadly puzzled. It is the song of one solitary, singing at a distance, in the hope that another of kindred feelings and sentiments may hear and answer. Venice, Oct. 8, 1786. I paid a visit to the palace Pisani Moretta, for the sake of a charming picture by Paul Veronese. The females of the family of Darius are represented kneeling before Alexander and Hephaestion; his mother, who is in the foreground, mis¬ takes Hephaestion for the king;—turning away from her he points to Alexander. A strange story is told about this painting; the artist had been well received and for a long time honorably entertained in the palace; in return he secretly painted the picture and left it behind him as a present, rolled up under his bed. Certainly it well deserves to have had a singular origin, for it gives an idea of all the peculiar merits of this master. The great art with which he . manages by a skilful distribution of light and shade, and by an equally clever contrast of tlie local colors, to pro¬ duce a most delightful harmony without throwing any same¬ ness of tone over the whole picture, is here most strikingly visible For the picture is in excellent preservation, and stands before us almost with the freshness of yesterday.— Indeed, whenever a painting of this order has sufiered from neglect, our enjoyment of it is marred on the spot, even before we are conscious what the cause may be. Whoever feels disposed to quarrel with the artist on the score of costume has only to say he ought to have painted a scene of the sixteenth century; and the matter is at an end. VENICE. 75 The oradation in the expression from the mother through the wife°to the daughters, is in the highest degree true and happy. The youngest princess, who kneels behind all the rest, is a beautiful girl, and has a very pretty, but somewhat independent and haughty countenance. Her position does not at all seem to please her. October 8, 1786. My old gift of seeing the world with the eyes of that artist, whose pictures have most recently made an impression on me, has occasioned me some peculiar reflections. It is evident that the eye forms itself by the objects, which, from youth up, it is accustomed to look upon, and so the Venetian aitist must see all things in a clearer and brighter light than other men. We, whose eye when out of doors, falls on a dingy soil, which, when not muddy, is dusty,—and which, always colourless, gives a sombre hue to the reflected rays, or at homo spend our lives in close, narrow rooms, can never attain to such a cheerful view of nature. As I floated down the lagunes in the fuU sunshine, and observed how the figures of the gondoliers in their motley costume, and as they rowed, lightly moving above the sides of the gondola, stood out from the bright green surface and against the blue sky, I caught the best and freshest type possible of the Venetian school. The sunshine brought out the local colours with dazzling brilliancy, and the shades even were so luminous, that, comparatively, they in their turn might serve as lights. And the same may be said of the reflection from the sea-green water. All was painted “chiaro neli chiaro, so that foamy waves and lightning flashes were necessary to give it a grand finish {um die Tupfchen auf sie zu setzen), Titian and Paul have this brilliancy in the higher^ degree, and whenever we do not hnd it in any of their works, the piece is either damaged or has been touched up. The cupola and vaulting of St. Mark’s, with its side-walls, - are covered with paintings—a mass of richly colored figures on a golden ground; all in mosaic work: some of them very good, others but poor, according to the masters who furnished the cartoons. Circumstances here have stran^^ely impressed on my mmd 76 LETTEKS FROM ITALY. how everything depends on the first invention, and that this I constitutes the^ right standard—the true genius—since with i little square-pieces of glass (and here not in the soberest ^ manner), it is possible to imitate the good as weU as the bad. The art whmh furnished to the ancients their pavements, and to the Christians the vaulted cielings of their churches, fritters t itself away in our days on snuff-box lids and bracelets-clasps. ( The present times are worse even than one thinks. ( Venice, October 8, 1786. In the Farsetti palace there is a valuable collection of casts from the best antiques. I pass over all such as I had seen > before at Mannheim or elsewhere, and mention only new acquaintances. A Cleopatra in intense repose, with the asp coiled round her arm, and sinking into the sleep of death;— a Niobe shrouding with her robe her youngest daughter from I the arrows of Apollo;—some gladiators;—a winged genius, testing in his flight;—some philosophers, both in sitting and standing postures. They are works from which, for thousands of years to come, the world may receive delight and instruction, without ever being able to equal with their thanks the merits of the artists. Many speaking busts transported me to the old glorious times. Only I felt, alas, how backward I am in these studies; however, I will go on with them—at least I know the way! Palladio has opened the road for me to this and every other art and life. That sounds probably somewhat strange, and yet not so paradoxical as when Jacob Bohme say® that, bv seeing a pewter platter by a ray from Jupiter, he was ’en- lightened as to the whole universe. There is also in this collection a fragment of the entablature of the temple of An¬ toninus and Faustina in Rome. The bold front of this noble piece of architecture reminded me of the capitol of the Pantheon at Mannheim. It is, indeed, something very different from our queer saints, piled up one above the other on little consoles after the gothic style of decoration,—something different from our tobacco-pipe-like shafts,—our little steeple-crowned towers, and foliated ter¬ minals,—from all taste for these—I am now, thank God, set free for ever! VENICE. 77 I will further mention a few works of statuary, which, as I passed along these last few days, I have observed with asto¬ nishment and instruction: before the gate of the arsenal two huge lions of white marble,—the one is half recumbent, rais¬ ing himself up on his fore-feet,—the other is lying down: noble emblems of the variety of life. They are of such huge proportions, that all around appears little, and man himself would become as nought, did not sublime objects elevate him. They are of the best times of Greece, and were brought here from the Piraeus in the better days of the Republic. From Athens, too, in all probability, came two bas-reliefs which have been introduced in the church of St. Justina, the conqueress of the Turks. Unfortunately they are in some degree hidden by the church seats. The sacristan called my attention to them on account of the tradition that Titian modelled from them the beautiful angel in his picture of the martyrdom of St. Peter. The relievos represent genii who are decking themselves out with the attributes of the gods,— so beautiful in truth, as to transcend all idea or conception. Next I contemplated with quite peculiar feelings the naked colossal statue of Marcus Agrippa, in the court of a palace; a dolphin which is twisting itself by his side, points out the naval hero. How does such a heroic representation make the mere man equal to the gods! I took a close view of the horses of S. Mark’s. Looking up at them from below, it is easy to see that they are spotted: in places they exhibit a beautiful yellow-metallic lustre, in others a coppery green has run over them. Viewing them more closely, one sees distinctly that once they were gilt all over, and long streaks are still to be seen over them, as the bar¬ barians did not attempt to file ofi* the gold, but tried to cut it off. That, too, is well: thus the shape at least has been pre¬ served. A glorious team of horses,—I should like to hear the opinion of a good judge of horse-flesh. What seemed strange to me was, that closely viewed, they appear heavy, while from the piazza below they look as light as deer. 78 LETTERS FROM ITALY. October 8, 1780. Y esterday I SGt out early with my tutelary genius for the Lido, the tongue of land which shuts in the lagunes, and divides them from the sea. We landed and walked straight across the isthmus. I heard a loud hollow murmur,—it was the sea! ^ I soon saw it: it crested high against the shore, as it retired,—it was about noon, and. time of ebb. I have then at last seen the sea with my own eyes, and followed it on its beautiful bed, just as it quitted it. I wished the children had been there to gather the shells; child-like I myself picked up plenty of them; however, I attempted to make them useful; I tried to dry in them some of the fluid of the cuttle fish, which here dart away from you in shoals. On the “Lido,” not far from the sea, is the burial place of Englishmen, and a little further on, of the Jews: both alike are refused the privilege of resting in consecrated ground. I found here the tomb of Smith, the noble English consul, and of his ^ first wife. It is to him that I owe my first copy of Palladio; I thanked him for it here in his unconsecrated grave. And not only unconsecrated, but half buried is the toinb.^ The “Lido” is at best but a sand-bank {daune): The sand is carried from it backwards and forwards by the wind, and thrown up in heaps is encroaching on every side. In a short time the monument, which is tolerably high, will no longer be visible. ’ • But the sea —it is a grand sight! I will try and get a sail upon it some day in a fishing-boat: the gondolas never venture out so far. Oct. 8, 1786. On the sea-coast I found also several plants, whose charac¬ ters similar to others I already knew, enabled me to recognize pretty well their properties. They are all alike, fat and strong—full of sap and clammy,—and it is evident that the old salt of the sandy soil, but still more the saline atmosphere, gives them these properties. Like aquatic plants they abound in sap, and are fleshy and tough, like mountainous ones; those whose leaves shew a tendency to put forth prickles, after the manner of thistles, have them extremely sharp and strong. I found a bush with leaves of this kind. It looked very much V'ENICE. 79 ' like our harmless coltsfoot, only here it is armed with sharp weapons,—the leaves like leather, as also are the seed-vessels, and the stalk very thick and succulent. I bring with me seeds and specimens of the leaves. (^Eryngium maritimum.) The fish-market, with its numberless marine productions, afibrded me much amusement. I often go there to contem¬ plate the poor captive inhabitants of the sea. Venice^ Oct. 9, 1786. A delicious day from morning to night! I have been towards Chiozza, as far as Pelestrina, where are the great structures, called Murazzi., which the Republic has caused to be raised against the sea. They are of hewn stone, and pro¬ perly are intended to protect from the fury of the wdld ele¬ ment the tongue of land called the Lido, which separates the lagoons from the sea. The lagunes are the work of old nature. First of all, the land and tide, the ebb and fiow, working against one another, and then the gradual sinking of the primal waters, were, together, the causes why. at the upper end of the Adriatic, we find a pretty extensive range of marshes, which, covered by the flood-tide, are partly left bare by the ebb. Art took pos¬ session of the highest spots, and thus arose Venice, formed out of a groupe of a hundred isles, and surrounded by hundreds more. Moreover, at an incredible expense of money and labour, deep canals have been dug through the marshes, in order that at the time of high water, ships of war might pass to the chief points. What human industry and wit contrived and executed of old, skill and industry must now keep up. The Lido, a long narrow strip of land, sepa¬ rates the lagunes from the sea, which can enter only at two points—at the castle and at the opposite end near Chiozza. The tide flows in usually twice a-day, and with the ebb again carries out the waters twice, and always by the same channel and in the same direction. The flood covers the lower parts of the morass, but leaves the higher, if not dry, yet visible. The case would be quite altered were the sea to make new ways for itself, to attack the tongue of land and flow in and out wherever it chose. Not to mention that the little villages 80 LETTERS FROM ITALY. on the Lido, Pelestrina, viz., S. Peter’s and others would be I overwhelmed, the canals of communication would be choked I up, and while the water involved all in ruin, the Lido would | be changed into an island, and the islands which now lie I behind it be converted into necks and tongues of land. To guard against this it was necessary to protect the Lido as far ^ as possible, lest the furious element should capriciously attack i and overthrow what man had already taken possession of, and I with a certain end and purpose given shape and use to. ' In extraordinary cases when the sea rises above measure, it is especially necessary to prevent it entering at more than two i points. Accordingly the rest of the sluice-gates being shut, ! with all its violence if is unable to enter, and in a few hours i submits to the law of the ebb, and its fury lessens. Otherwise Venice has nothing to fear; the extreme slow- I ness with which the sea-line retires, assures to her thousands i of years yet, and by prudently deepening the canals from time | to time, they will easily maintain their possessions against the | inroads of the water. I could only wish that they kept their streets a little cleaner:—a duty which is as necessary as it is easy of per- formance, and which in fact becomes of great consequence in the course of centuries. Even now in the principal thorough¬ fares it is forbidden to throw anything into the canals: the sweepings even of the streets may not be cast into them. No measures, however, are taken to prevent the rain, which here falls in sudden and violent torrents, from carrying off the dirt which is collected in piles at the corner of every street, and washing it into the lagunes—nay, what is still worse, into the gutters for carrying off the water, which consequently are often so completely stopped up, that the principal squares are in danger of being under water. Even in the smaller piazza of S. Marks, I have seen the gullies which are well laid down there, as well as in the greater square, choked up and full of water. When a rainy day comes, the filth is intolerable; every one is cursing and scolding. In ascending and descending the bridges one soils one’s mantle and great coat ( Taharro), which is here worn all the year long, and as one goes along in shoes and silk stockings, one gets splashed, and then scolds, for it is not common mud. but mud that adheres and VENICE. 81 stains that one is here splashed with. The weather soon becomes line again, and then no one thinks of cJeaning the streets. How true is the saying: the public is ever complain¬ ing that is ill served, and never knows how to set about getting better served. Here if the sovereign-people wished ft, it might be done forthwith. Venice, Oct, 9, 1786. Yesterday evening I ascended the tower of S. Mark’s: as I had lately seen from its top the lagunes in their glory at flood time, I wished also to see them at low water; for in order to have a correct idea of the place, it is necessary to take in both views. It looks rather strange to see land all around one, where a little before the eye fell upon a mirror of waters. The islands are no longer islands—^merely higher and house-crowned spots in one large morass of a gray-greenish colour, and intersected by beautiful canals. The marshy parts are overgrown with aquatic plants, a circumstance which must tend in time to raise their level, although the ebb and flow are continually shaking and tossing them and leave no rest to the vegetation. I now turn with my narrative once more to the sea.—I there saw yesterday the haunts of the sea-snails, the limpets, and the crab, and was highly delighted with the sight. What a precious glorious object is a living thing!—^how wonder¬ fully adapted to its state of existence, how true, how real {seyend). What great advantages do I not derive now from my former studies of nature, and how delighted am I with the opportunity of continuing them! But as the present is a matter that admits of being communicated to my friends, I will not seek to excite their sympathy merely by exclamations. The stone-works which have been built against the inroads of the sea consist first of all of several steep steps; then comes a slightly inclined plane, then again they rise a step, which is once more succeeded by a gently ascending surface, and last of all comes a perpendicMaf wall with an overhanging coping—over these steps—over these planes the raging sea rises until in extraordinary cases it even dashes over the high¬ est wall with its projecting head. The sea is followed by its inhabitants;—^little periwinkles G 82 LETTERS FROM ITALY. good to eat, monovalve limpets, and whatever else has the power of motion, especially by the pungar-crabs. But scarcely have these little creatures taken possession of the smooth walls, ere the sea retires again, swelling and crest¬ ing as it came. At first the crowd knows not where they are, and keep hoping that the briny flood will soon return to them —but it still keeps away; the sun comes out and quickly dries ^ them up, and now begins the retreat. It is on these occasions that the pungars seek their prey. Nothing more wonderful or comical can be seen than the manoeuvres of these little creatures, with their round bodies and two long claws (for the other spider-feet are scarcely worth noticing). On these stilted fore-legs, as it were, they stride along watching the limpets, and as soon as one moves itself under its shell on the rock, a pungar comes up and inserting the point of his claw in the tiny interstice between the shell and the rock turns it over, and so manages to swallow the oyster. The limpets, on the other hand, proceed cautiously on their way, and by suction fasten themselves firmly to the rocky surface as soon as they are aware of the proximity of their foe. In such cases the pungar deports himself amusingly enough; round and round the pulpy animal who keeps himself safe beneath his roof will he go with singular politeness; but not succeeding with all his coaxing and being unable to overcome its powerful muscle, he leaves in despair this intended victim, and hastens after another who may be wandering less cau¬ tiously on his way. I never saw a crab succeed in his designs, although I have watched for hours the retreat of the little troop as they crawled down the two planes and the intermediate steps. Venice, Oct. 10, 1786. At last I am able to say that I have seen a comedy; Yes¬ terday at the theatre of St. Luke, was performed “ Le Baruffe- ChiozotteV which I should interpret the Frays and Feuds of Chiozza. The “ dramatis personce,'^ are principally seafaring people, inhabitants of Chiozza, with their wives, sisters, and daughters. The usual noisy demonstrations of such sort of people in their good or ill luck—their dealings one with another, their vehemence, but goodness of heart, common-place YENICE, 83 remarks and unaffected manners, their naive wit and humour_ all this was excellently imitated. The piece, moreover, is Goldoni’s, and as I had been only the day before in the place itself, and as the tones and manners of the sailors and people of the sea-port still echoed in my ears and floated before my eyes, it delighted me very much, and although I did not understand a single allusion, I was, nevertheless, on th-e whole, able to follow it pretty well. I will now give you the plan of the piece:—it opens with the females of Chiozza sit¬ ting, as usual, on the strand before their cabins, spinnin^^, mending nets, sewing, or making lace; a youth passes by and notices one of them with a more friendly greeting than the rest. Immediately the joking begins—and observes no bounds; becoming tarter and tarter, and growing ill-tempered it soon bursts out into reproaches; abuse vies with abuse; in the midst of all one dame more vehement than the rest, bounces out with the truth; and now an endless din of scoldino*, rail¬ ing, and screaming; there is no lack of more decided outrage, and at last the peace-officers are compelled to interfere. The second act opens with the Court of Justice. In the absence of the Podesta (who as a noble could not lawfully be brought upon the stage) the Actuarius presides. He orders the women to be brought before him one by one. This gives rise to an interesting scene. It happens that this official personage is himself enamoured of the first of the combatants who is brought before him. Only too happy to have an opportunity of speaking with her alone, instead of hearing what she has to say on the matter in question, he makes her a declaration of love. In the midst of it a second woman, who is herself in love with the actuary, in a fit of jealousy rushes in, and with her the suspicious lover of the first damsel—who is followed by all the rest, and now the same demon of confusion riots in the court as a little before, had set at loggerheads the people of the harbour. In the third act the fun gets more and more boisterous, and the whole ends with a hasty and poor denouement. The happiest thought, however, of the whole piece, is a character who is thus drawn,—an old sailor who from the hardships he has been exposed to from his childhood, trembles and falters in all his limbs, and even in his very organs of speech, is brought on the scene to serve as a foil to this restless, screaming, and jabbering crew. Before G 2 84 LETTERS FROM ITALY. he can utter a word, he has to make a long preparation by a slow twitching of his lips, and an assistant motion of his hands and arms; at last he blurts out what his thoughts are on the matter in dispute. But as he can only manage to do this in very short sentences, he acquires thereby a sort of laconic gravity, so that all he utters sounds like an adage or maxim; and in this way a happy contrast is afforded to the wild and passionate exclamations of the other personages. But even as it was, I never witnessed anything like the noisy delight the people evinced at seeing themselves and their mates represented with such truth of nature. It was one continued laugh and tumultuous shout of exultation from beginning to end. I must, however, confess that the piece was extremely well acted by the players. According to the cast of their several parts, they had adopted among them the dif¬ ferent tones of voice which usually prevail among the inhabit¬ ants of the place. The first actress was the universal favorite, more so even than she had recently been in an heroic dress and a scene of passion. The female players generally, but especially this one, in the most pleasing manner possible imitated the twang, the manners, and other peculiarities of the people they represented. Great praise is due to the author, who out of nothing has here created the most amusing divertissement. However, he never could have done it with any other people than his own merry and lighthearted countrymen. The farce is written throughout with a practised hand. Of Sacchi’s company, for whom Gozzi wrote (but which by-the-by is now broken up), I saw Smeraldina^ a short plump figure, full of life, tact, and good humour. With her I saw Brighella —a slight well-made man and an excellent actor, especially in pantomime. These masks which we scarcely know except in the form of mummings, and which to our minds possess neither life nor meaning, succeed here only too well as the creation of the national taste. Here the most distinguished characters, persons of every age and condition, think nothing of dressing themselves out in the strangest costumes, and as for the greater part of the year they are accustomed to wander about in masks, they feel no surprise at seeing the black visors on the stage also. VENICE. 85 Venice, October 11, 1786. Since solitude, in the midst of a great crowd of human beings, is after all not possible, I have taken up with an old Frenchman, who knows nothing of Italian, and suspects that he is cheated on all hands and taken advantage of, and who, with plenty of letters of recommendation, nevertheless, does not make his way with the good people here. A man of rank, and living in good style, but one whose mind cannot go beyond himself and his own immediate circle—he is perhaps full fifty, and has at home a boy seven years old, of whom he is always anxious to get news. He is travelling through Italy for pleasure, but rapidly—in order to be able to say that he has seen it, but is willing to learn whatever is pos¬ sible as he hurries along. I have shewn him some civilities, and have given him information about many matters. While I was speaking to him about Venice, he asked me how long I had been here, and when he heard that this was my first visit, and that I had only been here fourteen days, he replied: parait que vous n avez pas perdu votre tempsT This is the first “testimonium” of my good behaviour that I can furnish you. This is the eighth day since he arrived here, and he leaves us to-morrow. It was highly delicious to me, to meet in a strange land with such a regular Versailles’-man. He is now about to quit me! It caused me some surprise to think that any one could ever travel in this temper without a thought for anything beyond himself, and yet he is in his way a polished, sensible, and well conducted person. Venice, Oct. 12, 1786. Yesterday at S. Luke’s a new piece was acted:— L'Inglu cismo in Italia (the English in Italy). As there are many Englishmen living in Italy, it is not unnatural that their ways and habits should excite notice, and I expected to learn from this piece what the Italians thought of their rich and welcome visitors. But it was a total failure. There were, of course, (as is always the case here,) some clever scenes between buf¬ foons, but the rest was cast altogether in too grave and heavy a mould, and yet not a trace of the English good sense; plenty of the ordinary Italian commonplaces of morality, and those, too, upon the very commonest of topics. 86 LETTERS FROM ITALY. And it did not take: indeed, it was on the very point of being hissed off the stage. The actors felt themselves out of their element—not on the strand of Chiozza. As this was the^ last piece that I saw here, my enthusiasm for these national representations did not seerd likely to be increased by this piece of folly. As I have at last gone through my journal and entered Bome occasional remarks from my tablets, my proceedings are now enrolled and left to the sentence of my friends. There is, I am conscious, very much in these leaves which I might qualify, enlarge upon, and improve. Let, however, what is written, stand as the memorial of first impressions, which, if not always correct, will nevertheless be ever dear and precious to me. Oh that I could but transmit to my friends a breath merely of this light existence! Verily to the Italian, “ultramontane” is a very vague idea; and to me even—“beyond the Alps,” rises very obscurely before my mind, although from out of their mists friendly forms are beckoning to me. It is the climate only that seduces me to prefer awhile these lands to those ; for birth and habit forge strong fetters. Here, however, I could not live, nor indeed in any place where I had nothing to occupy my mind; but at present novelty fur¬ nishes me here with endless occupation. Architecture rises, like an ancient spirit from the tombs, and bids me study its laws just as people do the rules of a dead language, not in order to practise or to take a living joy in them, but only in order to enable myself in the quiet depths of my own mind to do honor to her existence in bygone ages, and her for ever departed glory. As Palladio everywhere refers one to Vitruvius, I have bought an edition of the latter by Galiani; but this folio sufiers in my portmanteau as much as my brain does in the study of it. PaUadio by his words and works, by his method and way, both of thinking and of executing, has brought Vitruvius home to me and interpreted him far better than the Italian translator ever can. Vitruvius himself is no easy reading; his book is obscurely written, and requires a critical study. Notwithstanding I have read it through cursorily, and it has left on my mind many a glorious impression. To express my meaning better: I read it like a breviary: more out of devo¬ tion, than for instruction. Already the days begin to draw in and allow more time for reading and writing. VENICE. 87 God be praised! whatever from my youth up appeared to me of worth, is beginning once more to be dear to nle. How happy do I feel that I can again venture to approach the ancient authors. For now, 1 may dare tell it—and confess at once my disease and my folly. For many a long year I could not bear to look at a Latin author, or to cast my eye upon any¬ thing that might serve to awaken in my mind the thoughts of Italy. If hj accident I did so, I suffered the most horrible tortures of mind. It was a frequent joke of Herder’s at my expense, that I had learned all my Latin from Spinoza, for he had noticed that this was the only Latin work I ever read; but he was not aware how carefully I was obliged to keep myself from the ancients—how even these abstruse generalities were but cursorily read by me, and even then not without pain. At last matters came to that pitch that even the perusal of Wieland's translation of the Satires made me utterly wretched; scarcely had I read two of them, before I was compelled to lay the book aside. Had I not made the resolve, which I am now carrying into effect, I should have been altogether lost—to such a degree of intensity had the desire grown to see these objects with my own eyes. Historical acquaintance with them did me no good;—the things stood only a hand’s-breadth awky from me; but still they were separated from me by an impene¬ trable wall. And, in fact, at the present moment, I somehow feel as if this were not the first time that I had seen these things, but as if I were paying a second visit to them. Al¬ though I have been but a short time in Venice, I have adapted myself pretty well to the ways of the place, and feel confident that I shall carry away with me, though a very incomplete, yet, nevertheless, clear and true idea of it. Venice^ Oct. 14, 1786. 2 o’ clocks morning. In the last moments of my stay here: for I am to start almost immediately with the packet-boat for Ferrara. I quit Venice without reluctance; for to stay here longer with any satisfaction and profit to myself, I must take other steps which would carry me beyond my present plan. Besides everybody is now leaving this city and making for the beau- 88 LETTERS FROM ITALY. tiful gardens and seats on the Terra-Firma, I, however, go away well-loaded, and shall carry along with me its rich, rare, and unique image. FROM FERRARA TO ROME. Oct, 16, 1786. Early and on hoard the packet. My travelling companions, male and female alike, are all still fast asleep in their berths. For my part I have passed the two nights on deck, wrapped up in my cloak. It was only towards morning that I felt it at all cold.. I am now actually in latitude forty-five, and yet go on repeating my old song: I would gladly leave all to the inhabitants of the land, if only, after the fashion of Dido, I could enclose enough of the heavens to surround our dwellings with. It would then be quite another state of existence. The voyage in this glorious weather has been most delightful, the views and prospects simple but agreeable. The Po, with its fertilizing stream, flows here through wide plains; nothing, however, is to be seen but its banks covered with trees or bushes;—you catch no distant view. On this river, as on the Adige, are silly water-works, which are as rude and ill-constructed as those on the Saab Ferrara, Oct. 16, 1786. At night. ^ Although I only arrived here early this morning (by 7 o’clock, German time), I am thinking of setting off again* to¬ morrow morning. For the first time since I left home, a feeling of dissatisfaction has fallen upon me in this great and beautiful, but flat and depopulated city. These streets, now so desolate, were, however, once kept in animation by a bril¬ liant court. Here dwelt Ariosto discontented, and Tasso unhappy, and so,^ we fancy, we gain edification by visiting such scenes. Ariosto’s monument contains much marble— ill arranged; for Tasso’s prison, they shew you a \^'ood-house or coalhouse where, most assuredly, he never was kept. Moreover, the people pretend to know scarcely anything you ifEllRARA.—CENTO. 89 may ask about. But at last foi: “something to drink” they manage to remember. All this brings to my mind Luther’s ink-spots, which the housekeeper freshens up from time to time. Most travellers, however, are little better than our Handwerkshurschen^^ or stoUing journeymen, and content themselves with such palpable signs. For my part I became quite sulky, and took little interest even in a beautiful insti¬ tute and academy, which a cardinal, a native of Ferrara, founded and endowed; however, some ancient monuments, in the Ducal Palace, served to revive me a little; and I was put in perfect good humor by a beautiful conception of a painter, John the Baptist before Herod and Herodias. The prophet, in his well-known dress of the wilderness, is pointing indignantly at Herodias. Quite unmoved, she looks at the prince, who is sitting by her side, while the latter regards the prophet with a calm but cunning look; a white middle-sized greyhound stands before the king, while from beneath the robe of Herodias, a small Italian one is peeping — both giving tongue at the prophet. To my mind, this is a most happy thought. Cento^ Oct, 17, 1786. In a better temper than yesterday, I write you to-day from Guercino’s native city. It, however, is quite a different place: an hospitable well-built little town, of nearly 5000 inhabitants, flourishing, full of life, cleanly, and situated in a well cul¬ tivated plain, which stretches farther than the eye can reach. According to my usual custom, I ascended the tower. A sea of poplars, between which, and near at hand, one caught glimpses of little country-houses, each surrounded by its flelds. A rich soil and a beautiful climate. It was an autumn evening, such as we seldom have to thank even sum¬ mer for. The sky, which had been veiled all day, has cleared up, the clouds rolling off north and south towards the moun¬ tains, and I hope for a bright day to-morrow. Here I first saw the Apennines, which I am approaching. The winter in this region lasts only through December and January: April is rainy—for the rest of the year beautiful weather, according to the nature of the season. Incessant rain is unknown. September here, to tell you the truth, was 90 LETTERS FROM ITALY. finer and warmer than August with you. The Apennines in the south have received a warm greeting from me, for 1 have now had enough of the plain. To-morrow I shall be writing at the foot of them. Guercino loved his native town : indeed, the Italians.almost universally cherish and maintain this sort of local patriotism, and it is to this beautiful feeling that Italy owes so manv of its valuable institutions and its multitude of local sanctuaries. Under the management of this master, an academy of paint¬ ing was formed here. He left behind him many "paintings, which his townsmen are still very proud of, and which,' indeed, fully justify their pride. , Guercino is here a sacred name, and that, too, in the mouths of children as weU as of the old. ^ Most charmed was I with his picture, representing the risen Lord, appearing to his mother. Kneeling before Him, she looks upon Him with indescribable affection. Her left hand is touching His body just under the accursed wound which mars the whole picture. His hand lies upon her neck; and in order the better to gaze upon her, his body is slightly bent back. This gives to His figure a somewhat strange, not to say forced appearance. And yet for all that it is infinitely beautiful. The calm and sad look, with which He contem¬ plates her, is unique and seems to convey the impression that before His noble soul there still floats a remembrance of His own sufierings and of hers, which the resurrection had not at once dispelled. Strange has engraved the picture. I wish that my friends could see even his copy of it. After it a Madonna won my admiration. The child wants the breast; she modestly shrinks from exposing her bosom. Natural, noble, exquisite, and beautiful. Further, a Mary, who is guiding the arm of the infant ^rist, standing before her with His face towards the people, in order that with uplifted fingers He may bestow His bles¬ sings upon them. Judged by the spirit of the Roman Catho¬ lic legends, this must be pronounced a very happy idea. It has been often repeated. Guercino is an intrinsically bold, masculine, sensible pain¬ ter, without roughness. On the contrary, his pieces possess fi certain tender moral grace, a reposeful freedom and gran- BOLOGNA. 91 '‘deur, but with all that, a certain mannerism, so that when the eye once has grown accustomed to it, it is impossible to mis¬ take a piece of his hand. The lightness, cleanness, and finish of his touch are perfectly astonishing. For his draperies he is particularly fond of a beautiful brownish-red blend of colours. These harmonize very well with the blue which he loves to combine with them. The subjects of the other paintings are more or less un¬ happily chosen. The good artist has strained all his powers, but his invention and execution alike are thrown away and wasted. However, I derived both entertainment and profit from the view of this cycle of art, although such a hasty and rapid glance as I could alone bestow upon them, affords but little, either of gratification or instruction. Bologna^ Oct. 18, 1786. Night. Yesterday I started very early—before daybreak—from Cento, and arrived here in pretty good time. A brisk and well-educated cicerone having learned that I did not intend to make a long stay here, hurried me through all the streets, and into so many palaces and churches that I had scarcely time to set down in my note-book the names of them, and I hardly know if hereafter, when I shall look again at these scrawls, I shall be able to call to mind all the particulars, I will now mention, however, a couple or so of objects which stand out bright and clear enough as they afforded me a real gratification at the time. First of all the Cecilia of Raphael! It was exactly what I had been told of it; but now I saw it with my own eyes. He has invariably accomplished that which others wished in vain to accomplish, and I would at present say no more of it than that it is by him. Five saints, side by side, not one of them has anything in common withws; however their existence, stands «o perfectly real that one would wish for the picture to last through eternity, even though for himself he could be content to be annihilated. But in order to understand Raphael aright, and to form a just appreciation of him, and not to praise him as a god or as Melchisedec “ without descent” or pedigree, it is necessary to study his masters and his predecessors. Thesej 92 LETTERS FROM ITALY. too, had a standing on the firm soil of truth; diligently, not to say anxiously, they had laid the foundation, and vied with each other in raising, step by step, the pyramid aloft, until, at last, profiting by all their labors, and enlightened by a heavenly genius, Eaphael set the last stone on the summit, above wliich, or even at which, no one else can ever stand. Our interest in the history of art becomes peculiarly lively when we consider the works of the old masters. Francesco Francia is a very respectable artist. Pietro Perugino, so bold a man that one might almost call him a noble German fellow. Oh that fate had carried Albert Diirer further into Italy. In Munich I saw a couple of pieces by him of incredible gran¬ deur. The poor man, how did he mistake his own worth in Venice, and make an agreement with the priests, on which he lost weeks and months! See him in his journey through the Netherlands exchanging his noble works of art for parrots, and in order to save his “ douceur,” drawing the portraits of the domestics, who bring him—a plate of fruit. To me the history of such a poor fool of an artist is infinitely touching. Towards evening I got out of this ancient, venerable, and learned city, and extricated myself from its crowds, who, pro¬ tected from the sun and weather by the arched bowers which are to be seen in almost every street, walk about, gape about, or buy, and sell, and transact whatever business they may have. I ascended the tower and enjoyed the pure air. The view is glorious! To the north we see the hills of Padua; beyond them the Swiss, Tyrolese, and Friulian Alps; in short, the whole northern chain, which, at the time, was enveloped in mist. Westward there stretched a boundless horizon, above which the towers of Modena alone stood out. Towards the east a similar plain reaching to the shores of the Adriatic, whose waters might be discerned in the setting sun. Towards the south, the first hills of the Apennines, which, like the Vicentine Hills, are planted up to their summits, or covered with churches, palaces, and summer-houses. The sky was perfectly clear, not a cloud to be seen, only on the horizon a kind of haze. The keeper of the tower assured me that for six years this mist had never left the distance. Otherwise, by the help of a telescope, you might easily discern the hills of Vicenza, with their houses and chapels, but now very rarely, even on the brightest days. And this mist lay chiefly BOLOGNA. 93 on the Northern Chain, and makes our beloved Fatherland a regular Cimmeria. In proof of the salubrity of the situation and pure atmosphere of the city, he called my notice to the fact, thac the roofs of the houses looked quite fresh, and that not a single tile was attacked by damp or moss. It must be confessed that the tiles look quite clean, and beautiful enough, but the good quality of the brick-earth may have something to do with this; at least we know that, in ancient times, excellent tiles were made in these parts. The leaning tower has a frightful look, and yet it is most probable that it was built so by design. The following seems to me the explanation of this absurdity. In the disturbed times of the city every large edifice was a fortress, and every powerful family had its tower. By and bye the possession of such a building became a mark of splendour and distinc¬ tion, and as, at last, a perpendicular tower was a common and every-day thing, an oblique one was built. Both architect and owner have obtained their object; the multitude of slen¬ der, upright towers are just looked at, and aU hurry to see the leaning one. Afterwards I ascended it. The bricks are all arranged horizontally. With clamps and good cement one may build any mad whim. Bologna^ Oct. 19, 1786. I have spent this day to the best advantage I could in visit¬ ing and revisiting; but it is with art as with the world : the more we study it the larger we find it. In this heaven new stars are constantly appearing which I cannot count, and which sadly puzzle me; the Carracci, a Guido, a Dominichino, who shone forth in a later and happier period of art, but truly to enjoy whom requires both knowledge and judgment which I do not possess, and which cannot be acquired in a hurry. A great obstacle to our taking a pure delight in their pictures, and to an immediate understanding of their merits, is the absurd subjects of most of them. To admire or to be charmed with them one must be a madman. It is as though the sons of God had wedded with the daughters of men, and out of such an union many a monster had sprung into existence. No sooner are you attracted by the gusto of a Guido and his pencil, by which nothing but the most excel- 94 LETTERS FROM ITALY. lent objects the eye sees are worthy to be painted, but you, at once, withdraw your eyes from a subject so abominably stupid that the world has no term of contempt sufficient to express its meanness; and so it is throughout. It is ever anatomy—an execution—a flaying scene—always some sufier- ing, never an action of the hero—never an interest in the scene before you—always something for the fancy—some excitement accruing from without. Nothing but deeds of horror or convulsive suflerings, malefactors or fanatics, along side of whom the artist, in order to save his art, invariably slips in a naked boy or a pretty damsel as a spectator, in every case treating his spiritual heroes as little better than lay-flgures {gliedermanner)^ on which to hang some beautiful mantle with its folds. In all there is nothing that suggests a human notion! Scarcely one subject in ten that ever ought to have been painted, and that one the painter has chosen to view from any but the right point of view. Guido’s great picture in the Church of the Mendicants is all that painting can do, but, at the same time, all that absurdity could task an artist with. It is a votive piece. I can well believe that the whole consistory praised it, and also devised it. The two angels, who were fit to console a Psyche in her misery, must here .... The S. Proclus is a beautiful figure, but the others— bishops and popes! Below are heavenly children playing with attributes. The painter, who had no choice left him, laboured to help himself as best he could. He exerted himself merely to show that he was not the barbarian. Two naked figures by Guido; a St. John in the Wilderness; a Sebastian, how exquisitely painted, and what do they say? the one is gaping and the other wriggling. Were I to contemplate history in my present ill humor, I should say. Faith revived art, but Superstition immediately made itself master of it, and ground it to the dust. After dinner, seeming somewhat of a milder temper and less arrogantly disposed than in the morning, I entered the fol¬ lowing remarks in my note-book. In the palace of the Tanari there is a famous picture by Guido, the Virgin suckling the infant Saviour—of a size rather larger than life—the head as if a god had painted it,—indescribable is the expression with v/hich she gazes upon the sucking infant. To me it seemcs a BOLOGNA, 95 calm, profound resignation, as if she were nourishing not the child of her joy and love, but a supposititious, heavenly changeling; and goes on suckling it because now she cannot do otherwise, although, in deep humility, she wonders how she ever came to do it. The rest of the canvass is filled up with a mass of drapery which connoisseurs highly prize. For my part I know not what to make of it. The colours, too, are somewhat dim; the room and the day were none of the brightest. Notwithstanding the confusion in which I find myself I yet feel that experience, knowledge, and taste, already come to my aid in these mazes. Thus I was greatly won by a “ Cir¬ cumcision” by Guercino, for I have begun to know and to understand the man. I can now pardon the intolerable sub¬ ject and delight in the masterly execution. Let him paint whatever can be thought of, everything will be praiseworthy and as highly finished as if it were enamel. And thus it happened with me as with Balaam the over¬ ruled prophet, who blessed where he thought to curse; and I fear this would be the case stiU oftener were I to stay here much longer. And then, again, if one happens to meet with a picture after Raphael, or what may with at least some probability be ascribed to him, one is soon perfectly cured and in good tem¬ per again. I fell in yesterday with a S. Agatha, a rare picture, though not throughout in good keeping. The artist has given to her the mien of a young maiden full of health and self-possession, but yet without rusticity or coldness. I have stamped on my mind both her form and look, and shall mentally read before her my “ Iphigenia,” and shall not allow my heroine to express a sentiment which the saint herself might not give utterance to. And now when I think again of this sweet burden which I cany with me throughout my wanderings, I cannot conceal the fact that, besides the great objects of nature and art, which I have yet to work my way through, a wonderful train of poetical images keeps rising before me and unsettling me. From Cento to this place I have been wishing to continue my labors on the Iphigenia, but what has happened? inspiration has brought before my mind the plan of an “ Iphigenia at 'Delphi,” and I must work it out. I wiU here set do>vn the argument as briefly ab possible, 96 LETTEKS FROM ITALY. Electra, confidently hoping that Orestes will bring to Delphi the image of the Taurian Diana, makes her appearance in the Temple of Apollo, and as a final sin-ofiering dedicates to the god, the axe which has perpetrated so many horrors in the house of Pelops. Unhappily she is, at this moment, joined by a Greek, who recounts to her how, having accompanied Pylades and Orestes to Tauris, he there saw the two friends led to execution, but had himself luckily made his escape. At this news the passionate Electra is unable to restrain her¬ self, and knows not whether to vent her rage against the gods or against men. In the mean time Iphigenia, Orestes, and Pylades have arrived at Delphi. The heavenly calmness of Iphigenia con¬ trasts remarkably with the earthly vehemence of Electra, as the two sisters meet without knowing each other. The fugi¬ tive Greek gains sight of Iphigenia, and recognizing in her the priestess, who was to have sacrificed the two friends, makes it knovm to Electra. The latter snatching the axe from the altar, is on the point of killing Iphigenia, when a happy incident averts this last fearful calamity from the two sisters. This situation, if only I can succeed in working it out weU, will probably furnish a scene unequalled for grandeur or pathos by any that has yet been produced on the stage. But where is man to get time and hands for such a work, even if the spirit be willing. As I feel myself at present somewhat oppressed with such a flood of thoughts of the good and desirable, I cannot help reminding my friends of a dream which I had about a year ago, and which appeared to me to be highly significant. I dreamt forsooth, that I had been sailing about in a little boat and had landed on a fertile and richly cultivated island, of which I had a consciousness that it bred the most beautiful pheasants in the world. I bargained, I thought, with the people of the island for some of these birds, and they kiUed and brought them to me in great numbers. They were phea¬ sants indeed, but as in dreams all things are generally changed and modified, they seemed to have long, richly coloured tails, like the loveliest birds of Paradise, and with eyes like those of the peacock. Bringing them to me by scores, they arranged them in the boat so skilfully with the heads inwards, the long variegated feathers of the tail hanging outwards, as BOLOGNA. 97 to form in the bright sunshine the most glorious pile conceivable, and so large as scarcely to leave room enough in the bow and the stern for the rower and the steersman. As with this load the boat made its way through the tranquil waters, I named to myself the friends among whom I should like to distribute those variegated treasures. At last, arriving in a spacious harbour, I was almost lost among great and many masted vessels, as I mounted deck after deck in order to discover a place where I might safely run my little boat ashore. Such dreamy visions have a charm, inasmuch as springing from our mental state, they possess more or less of analogy with the rest of our lives and fortunes. But now I have also been to the famed scientific building, called the Institution or “Gli Studj.” The edifice is large, and the inner court especially has a very imposing appearance, although not of the best style of architecture. In the stair¬ cases and corridors there was no want of stuccoes and fres¬ coes : they are all appropriate and suitable, and the numerous objects of beauty, which, well worth seeing, are here collected together, justly command our admiration. For all that, however, a German, accustomed to a more liberal course of study than is here pursued, will not be altogether content with it. Here again a former thought occurred to me, and I could not but reflect on the pertinacity which in spite of time, which changes all things, man shows in adhering to the old shapes of his public buildings, even long after they have been applied to new purposes. Our churches still retain the form of the Basi¬ lica, although probably the plan of the temple would better suit our worship. In Italy the courts of justice are as spacious and lofty as the means of a community are able to make them. One can almost fancy oneself to be in the open air, where once justice used to be administered. And do we not build our great theatres with their offices under a roof exactly similar to those of the first theatrical booths of a fair, which were hurriedly put together of planks ? The vast multitude of those in whom, about the time of the Beformation, a thirst for knowledge was awakened, obliged the scholars at our universities to take shelter as they could in the burghers 98 LETTERS FROM ITALY. houses, anti it was very long before any colleges for pupils •( Waisenhduser), were built, thereby facilitating for the poor youths the acquirement of the necessary education for the world. Bologna^ Oct. 20. Evening. I have spent the whole of this bright and beautiful day under the open heaven: scarcely do I ever come near a moun¬ tain, but my interest in rocks and stones again revives. I feel as did Antseus of old, who found himself endued with new strength, as often as he was brought into fresh contact with his mother earth. I rode towards Palermo, where is found the so-called Bolognese sulphate of Barytes, out of which are made the little cakes which, being calcined, shine in the dark, if previously they have been exposed to the light, and which the people here call shortly and expressively “ fosfori.” On the road, after leaving behind me a hilly track of argil¬ laceous sandstone, I came upon whole rocks of selenite, quite visible on the surface. Near a brickkiln a cascade precipi¬ tates its waters, into which many smaller ones also empty themselves. At first sight the traveller might suppose he saw before him a loamy hill, which had been worn away by the rain; on a closer examination I discovered its true nature to be as follows:—the solid rock of which this part of the line of hills consists is schistous, bituminous clay of very fine strata, and alternating with gypsum. The schistous stone is so intimately blended with pyrites that, exposed to the air and moisture, it wholly changes its nature. It swells, the strata gradually disappear, and there is formed a kind of pot¬ ter’s clay, crumbling, shelly, and glittering on the surface like stone-coal. It is only by examining large pieces of both (I myself broke several, and observed the forms of both), that it is possible to convince oneself of the transition and change. At the same time we observed the sheUy strata studded with wnite points, and occasionally also variegated with yellow particles. In this way, by degrees, the whole surface crumbles away, and the hill looks like a mass of weather¬ worn pyrites on a large scale. Among the lamina some are harder, of a green and red color. Pyrites I very often found disseminated in the rock. BOLOGNA—LEGANO. 99 I now passed along the channels which the last violent gullies of rain had worn in the crumbling rock, and to my great delight found many specimens of the desired barytes, mostly of an imperfect egg-shape, peeping out in several places of the friable stone, some tolerably pure, and some slightly mingled with the clay in which they were imbedded. That they have not been carried hither by external agency any one may convince himself at the first glance; whether they were contemporaneous with the schistous clay, or whe¬ ther they first arose from the swelling and dissolving of the latter, is matter calling for further inquiry. Of the specimens I found, the larger and smaller approximated to an imperfect j the smallest might be said to verge upon irregular crystalline forms. The heaviest of the pieces I brought away weighed seventeen loth (8|- oz.) Loose in the same clay, I also found perfect crystals of gypsum. Mineralogists will be able to point out further peculiarities in the specimens I bring with me. And I was now again loaded with stones! I have packed up at least half a quarter of a hundred-weight. Night. How much should I have still to say, were I to attempt to confess to you all that in this beautiful day has passed through my mind. But my wishes are more powerful than my thoughts. I feel myself himried irresistibly forward; it is only with an effort that I can collect myself sufficiently to attend to what is before me. And it seems as if heaven heard my secret prayer. Word has just been brought me that there is a vetturino going straight to Home, and so the day after to¬ morrow I shall set out direct for that city; I must, therefore, to-day and to-morrow, look after my affairs, make all my little arrangements, and despatch my many commissions. Legano on the Apennines., Oct. 21, 1786. Whether I have^ to-day left Bologna, or whether I have been driven out of it, I cannot say. Enough that I eagerly availed myself of an earlier opportunity of quitting it. And so here I am at a wretched inn, in company with an officer of the Pope s army, who is going to Perugia, where he was born. H 2 100 LETTERS FROM ITALY, In order to say something as I seated myself by his side in the two-wheeled carriage, I paid him the compliment of remarking, that as a German accustomed to associate with soldiers, I found it very agreeable to have to-travel with an officer of the Pope. “Pray do not,” he replied, “be offended at what I am about to answer—^it is all very well for you to be fond of the military profession, for, in Germany, as I have heard, everything is military; but with regard to myself, although our service is light enough, so that in Bologna, where I am in garrison, I can do just as I like, still I heartily wish I were rid of this jacket, and had the disposal of my father’s little property. But I am a younger son and so must be content.” Oct. 22, 1786. Evening. Here, at Ciredo, which also is a little paltry place on the Apennines, I feel myself quite happy, knowing that I am advancing towards the gratification of my dearest wishes. To-day we were joined by a riding party—a gentleman and a lady—an Englishman and a soi-disant sister. Their horses are beautiful, but they ride unattended by any servants, and the gentleman, as it appears, acts the part both of groom and valet de chambre. Everywhere they find something to com¬ plain of—to listen to them is like reading a few pages out of Archenholz’s book. To me the Apennines are a most remarkable portion of the world. The great plains of the basin of the Po are followed by Q, hilly tract which rises out of the bottom, in order, after running between the two seas, to form the southern extremity of the Continent. If the hills had been not quite so steep and high above the level of the sea, and had not their direc¬ tions crossed and recrossed each other as they do, the ebb and flow of the tides in primeval times might have exercised a greater and wider influence on them, and might have washed over and formed extensive plains, in which case this would have been one of the most beautiful regions of this glorious clime—somewhat higher than the rest of it. As it is, however, it is a strong net of mountain ridges, interlacing each other in all directions—one often is puzzled to know whither the waters will find their vent. If the valleys were FliORENCB.-PERUGIA, 101 better filled up, and the bottoms flatter and more irrigated, the land might be compared to Bohemia, only that the moun¬ tains have in every respect a different character. However, it must not for one moment be thought of as a mountainous waste, but as a highly cultivated though hilly district. The chestnut grows very fine here; the wheat excellent, and that of this year’s sowing, is already of a beautiful green. Along the roads are planted ever-green oaks with their small leaves, but around the churches and chapels the slim cypress. Perugia^ October^ 25, 1786. Evening, For two evenings I have not written. The inns on the road were so wretchedly bad that it was quite useless to think of bringing out a sheet of paper. Moreover, 1 begin to be a little puzzled to find anything, for since quitting Venice the travelling bag has got more and more into confusion. Early in the morning (at 23 o’clock, or about 10 of our reckoning) we left the region of the Apennines and saw Flo¬ rence in an extensive valley, which is highly cultivated and sprinkled over with villas and houses without end. I ran rapidly over the city, the cathedral, the baptistery. Here again a perfectly new and unknown world opened upon me, on which, however, I will not further dwell. The gar¬ dens of the Botoli are most delightfully situated. I hastened out of them as fast as I had entered them. In the city we see the proof of the prosperity of the gene¬ rations who built it; the conviction is at once forced upon us that they must have enjoyed a long succession of wise rulers. But above all one is struck with the beauty and grandeur which distinguish all the public works, and roads, and bridges in Tuscany. Everything here is at once substantial and clean; use and profit not less than elegance are alike kept in view, everywhere we discern traces of the care which is taken to preserve them. The cities of the Papal States on the contrary only seem to stand, because the earth is unwilling to swallow them up. The sort of country that I lately remarked, the region of the Apennines, might have been, is what Tuscany really is. As it lies so much lower the ancient sea was able to do its duty properly, and has thrown up here deep beds of excellent marl. 102 LETTERS FROM ITALY. It is a light yellow hue and easily worked. They plough deep, retaining, however, most exactly the ancient man¬ ner. Their ploughs have no wheels, and the share is not moveable. ^ Bowed down behind his oxen the peasant pushes It down into the earth, and turns up the soil. They plough over a field as many as five times, and use but little dung, which they scatter with the hands. After this they sow the corn. Then they plough together two of the smaller ridges into one, and so form deep trenches of such a nature that the rain-water easily runs ofi* the lands into them. When the corn is grown up on the ridges, they can also pass along these trenches in order to weed it. This way of tilling is a very sensible one, wherever there is a fear of over-moisture; but why it is practised on these rich, open plains I cannot understand. This remark I just made at Arezzo, where a glorious plain expands itself. It is impossible to find cleaner fields anywhere, not even a lump of earth is to be seen; all is as fine as if it had been sifted. Wheat thrives here most luxuriantly, and the soil seems to possess all the qualities required by its nature. Every second year beans are planted for the horses, who in this country get no oats. Lupins are also much cultivated, which at this season are beautifully green, being ripe in March. The flax, too, is up; it stands the winter, and is rendered more durable by frost. ^ The olive-trees are strange plants. They look very much like willows; like them also they lose the heart of the wood and the bark splits. But still they have a greater appearance of durability; and one seesj&rom the wood, of which the grain is extremely fine, that it is a slow grower. The foliage, too, resembles that of the wiUow, only the leaves on the branches are thinner. All the hills around Florence are covered with olive-trees and vines, between which grain is sown, so that every spot of ground may be made profitable. Near Aiezzo and farther on, the fields are left more free. I observed that they take little care to eradicate the ivy which is so injurious to the olive and the vine, although it would be so easy to destroy it. There is not a meadow to be seen. It is said that the Indian com exhausts the soil; since it has been introduced, agriculture has suffered in its other crops. I can well believe it with their scanty manuring. Yesterday I took leave of my Captain, with a promise of visiting him at Bologna on my return. He is a true however, I would record a peculiarity which personally dis- III tinguished him. As I often sat quiet and lost in thought he T once exclaimed “ Che pensa? non deve mai pensar Vuomo^ pensando s’invecchia which being interpreted is as much as to t say, “ What are you thinking about; a man ought never to I- think; thinking makes one old.” And now for another ^ apophthegm of his; ‘‘ Non deve fermarsiVuomo in una sola Jt cosa^ perche allora divien matto; hisogna aver mille cose, una confusione nella testa in plain English, “A man ought not “ to rivet his thoughts exclusively on any one thing, otherwise ^ he is sure to go mad; he ought to have in his head a ^ thousand things, a regular medley.” j* Certainly the good man could not know that the yqtj thing ^ that made me so thoughtful was my having my head mazed ^ by a regular confusion of things, old and new. The following 5 anecdote will serve to elucidate still more clearly the mental character of an Italian of this class. Having soon discovered that I was a Protestant, he observed, after some circumlocu¬ tion, that he hoped I would allow him to ask me a few ques¬ tions, for he had heard such strange things about us Protest¬ ants that he wished to know for a certainty what to think of us. “ May you,” he said, ‘4ive with a pretty girl without being mar¬ ried to her? do your priests allow you to do that? To this I renlied, that our priests are prudent folk who take no notice oi uch trifles. No doubt if we were to consult them upon such a matter they would not permit it.” “Are you not then obliged to ask them ?” He exclaimed; “ Happy fellows! as they do not confess you, they do not of course find it out.” Hereupon he gave vent, in many reproaches to his discontent with his ovm priests, uttering at the same time loud praises of our liberty. “ But,” he continued, “ as regards confession; how stands it with you ? We are told that all men, even if they are not Christians, must confess; but that inasmuch as many, from their obduracy, are debarred from the right way, they never¬ theless make confession to an old tree; which indeed is impious and ridiculous enough, but yet serves to show that, at least, they recognize the necessity of confession.” Upon this I explained to him our Lutheran notions of confession, and our practice concerning it. All this appeared to him veiy easy; for he expressed an opinion that it was almost the same 104 LETTERS FROM ITALY. as confessing to a tree. After a brief hesitation, he begged of me very gravely to inform him correctly oi another point. He had, forsooth, heard from the mouth of his own confessor (who, he said, was a truthful man,) that we Protestants are at liberty to marry our own sisters, which assuredly is a “ chose un peu forte. As I denied this fact, and attempted to give him a more favourable opinion of our doctrine, he made no special remark on the latter, which evidently appeared to him a very ordinary and every-day sort of a thing; but turned aside my remarks by a new question. “We have been acssured, he observed, that Frederick the Great, who has won so many victories, even over the faithful, and filled the world with his glory—that he whom every one takes to be a heretic is really a Catholic, and has received a dispensation from the Pope to keep the fact secret. For while, as is well known, he never enters any of your churches, he diligently attends the true worship in a subterranean chapel, though with a broken heart, because he dare not openly avow the holy religion, since were he to do so, his Prussians, who are a brutish people and furious heretics, would no doubt murder him on the instant;—and to risk that would do no good to the cause. On these grounds the Holy Father has given him permission to worship in secret, in return for which he quietly does as much as possible to propagate and to favour the true and only saving faith. I allowed all this to pass, merely observing, as it was so great a secret no one could be a witness to its truth. The rest of our conversation was nearly of the same cast, so that I could not but admire the wise priests who sought to parry, and to distort whatever was likely to enlighten or vary the dark outline of their traditional dogmas. I left Perugia on a glorious morning, and felt the happi¬ ness of being once more alone. The site of the city is beau¬ tiful, and the view of the lake in the highest degree refreshing. These scenes are deeply impressed on my memory. At first the road went downwards, then it entered a cheerful valley, enclosed on both sides by distant hills, till at last Assisi lav before us. ^ Here, as I had learned from Palladio and Volckmann, a noble temple of Minerva, built in the time of Augustus, was still standing in perfect repair. At Madonna del Angelo, therefore, I quitted my vetturino, leaving him to proceed by himself to ASSISI. TEMPLE OF M1NER7A. 105 Foligno, and set off in the face of a strong wind for Assisi, for I longed for a foot journey through a country so solitary for me. I left on my left the vast mass of churches, piled Babel-wise one over another, in one of which rest the remains of the holy S. Francis of Assisi,—with aversion, for I thought to myself, that the people who assembled in them were mostly of the same stamp with my captain and travelling companion. Having asked of a good-looking youth the way to the della Minerva^ he accompanied me to the top of the town, for it lies on the side of a hill. At last we reached what is properly the old town, and behold before my eyes stood the noble edifice, the first complete memorial of antiquity that I had ever seen. A modest temple, as befitting so small a town, and yet so perfect, so well conceived, that anywhere it would be an ornament. Moreover, in these matters, how grand were the ancients in the choice of their sites. The temple stands about half way up the mountain, where two hills meet on the level place, which is to this day called the Piazza. This itself shghtly rises, and is intersected by the meeting of four roads, which make a somewhat dilated S. Andrew’s Cross. In all proba¬ bility the houses which are now opposite the temple, and block up the view from it, did not stand there in ancient times. If they were removed, we should have a south prospect over a rich and fertile country, and at the same time the temple of Minerva would be visible from all sides. The line of the roads is, in all probability, very ancient since they foUow the shape and inclination of the hill. The temple does not stand in the centre of the flat, but its site is so arranged that the traveller approaching from Borne, catches a fine fore¬ shortened view of it. To give an idea of it, it is necessary to draw not only the building itself but also its happily- chosen site. Looking at the facade, I could not sufficiently admire the genius-like identity of design which the architects have here, as elsewhere, maintained. The order is Corinthian, the inter- columnar spaces being somewhat above two modules. The bases of the columns and the plinths seem to rest on pedes- tale, but it is only an appearance. The socle is cut through in five places, and at each of these, five steps ascend between the columns, and bring you to a level, on which properly the columns rest, and from which also you enter the temple. The bold idea of cutting through the socle was happily 106 HETTEKS FflOM ITALY. hazarded; for, as the temple is situated on a hill, the flight of steps must otherwise have been carried up to such a height as would have inconveniently narrowed the area of the temple. As it is, however, it is impossible to determine bow many steps there originaUy were; for, with the exception of a very few, they are aU choked up with dirt or paved over Most reluctantly did I tear myself from the sight, and deter¬ mined to call the attention of architects to this noble edifice m order that an accurate draught of it may be furnished’ For what a sorry thing tradition is, I here again find occasion to remark. Palladio, whom I trust in every matter, gives indeed a sketch of this temple, but certainly he never can have seen it himself, for he gives it real pedestals above the OTea, by which means the columns appear disproportionately and the result is a sort of unsightly Palmyrene mon- stiosity, whereas, in fact, its look is so full of repose and bea,uty as to satisfy both the eye and the mind. The impression which the sight of this edifice left upon me is not to be expressed and will bring forth imperishable fruits. It was a beautifui evenmg, and I now turned to descend the mountain. As I was proceeding along the Roman road, calm and composed, suddenly I heard behind me some rough voices in dispute; I fancied that it was only the Sbirri, whom I had previously noticed in the town. I, therefore, went on without care, but stiU with my ears listening to what they might be saving behind me. I soon became aware that I was the object of their remarks. Four men of this body (two of whom were armed with gxms,) passed me in the rudest way possible, muttering to each other, and turning back, after a few steps, suddenly surroimded me. They demanded my name, and what I was doing there. I said that I was a stranger,’ and had travelled on foot to Assisi, while my vetturino had gone on to Foligno. It appeared to them very improbable, that any one should pay for a carriage and yet travel by foot.’ They asked me if I had been visiting the “ Gran Convento.” I answered “ no;” but assured them that I knew the build¬ ing of old, but being an architect, my chief object this time was simply to gain a sight of the Maria della Minerva, which they must be awaie was an architectural model. This they could not contradict, but seemed to take it very ill that I had not paid a visit to the Saint, and avowed their suspicion that ASSISI—AN ADVENTUBK. 107 my business in fact was to smuggle contraband goods. I pointed out to them how ridiculous it was that a man who walked openly through the streets alone, and without packs and with empty pockets, should be taken for a contrabandist. However, upon this I offered to return to the town with them, and to go before the Podesta, and by showing my papers prove to him that I was an honest traveller. Upon this they muttered together for a while, and then expressed their opinion that it was unnecessary, and, as I behaved throughout with coolness and gravity, they at last left me, and turned towards the town. I looked after them. As these rude churls moved on in the foreground, behind them the beautiful temple of Minerva once more caught my eye, to soothe and console me with its sight. I turned then to the left to look at the heavy cathedral of S. Francisco, and was about to continue my way, when one of the unarmed Sbirri, separating himself from the rest, came up to me in a quiet and friendly manner. Saluting me, he said, Signior Stranger, you ought at least to give me something to drink your health, for I assure you, that from the very first I took you to be an honourable man, and loudly maintained this opinion in opposition to my comrades. They, however, are hot-headed and over-hasty fellows, and have no knowledge of the world. You yourself must have observed, that I was the first to allow the force of, and to assent to, your remarks. I praised him on this score, and urged him to protect all honourable strangers, who might henceforward come to Assisi for the sake either of religion or of art, and especially all architects, who might wish to do honour to the town, by measuring, and sketching the temple of Minerva, since a correct drawing or engraving of it had never yet been taken. If he were to accompany them, they would, I assured him, give him substantial proofs of their gratitude, and with these words I poured some silver into his hand, which, as exceed¬ ing his expectation, delighted him above measure. He beg¬ ged me to pay a second visit to the town, remarking that I ought not on any account to miss the festival of the Saint, on which I might with the greatest safety delight and amuse myself. Indeed if, being a good-looking fellow, I should wish to be introduced to the fair sex, he assured me that the prettiest and most respectable ladies would willingly receive me or any stranger, upon his recommendation. He took his 108 LETTERS FROM ITALY. remember me at vespers before the tomb ot the baint, and to offer up a prayer for my safety throughout my travels. Upon this vve parted, and most delighted was I to be again alone with nature and myself. The road to Foligno was one of the most beautiful and agreeable walks that I ever took. For four full hours I walked along the side of a mountain, having on my left a richly cultivated valley It IS but sorry travelling with a vetturino, it is always best to tollow at one_s ease on foot. In this way had I travelled from Ferrara to this place. As regards the arts and mechanical in¬ vention, on which however the ease and comforts of life mainly depend, Italy, so highly favoured by nature, is very far behin^d all other countries. The carriage of the vetturino, which IS still called sedia, or seat, certainly took its origin from the ancient litters drawn by mules, in which females and aged persons, or the highest dignitaries, used to be car¬ ried about. Instead of the hinder mule, on whose yoke the shafts used to rest, two wheels have been placed beneath the carriage, and no further improvement has been thought of In this way one isstill jolted along, just as they were centuries ago; it IS the same with their houses and everything else. If one wisnes to see realised the poetic idea of men in pri¬ meval times, spending most of their lives beneath the open heaven, and only occasionally, when compelled by necessity, retiring for shelter into the caves, one must/visit the houses hereabouts, especially those in the rural districts, which are quite in th’e style and fashion of caves. Such an incredible absence of care do the Italians evince, in order not to grow old by thinking. With unheard of frivolity, they neglect to make any preparation for the long nights of winter, and in consequence, for a considerable portion of the year, suffer like dogs. Here, in Foligno, in the midst of a perfectly Homeric household, the whole family being gathered together in a large hall, round a fire on the hearth, with plenty of run¬ ning backwards and forwards and of scolding and shouting, while supper is going on at a long table like that in the picture of the Wedding Feast at Cana, I seize an opportunity of writ¬ ing this, as one of the family has ordered an inkstand to be brought me,—a luxury which, judging from other circum- stances, I did not look for. These pages, however, tell too plainly of the cold and of the inconvenience of my writing table. 109 In fact I am now made only too sensible cf the rashness of travelling in this country without a servant, and without pro¬ viding oneself well with every necessary. What with the ever-changing currency, the vetturini, the extortion, the wretched inns, one who, like myself, is travelling alone, for the first time in this country, hoping to find uninter¬ rupted pleasure, will be sure to find himself miserably disappointed every day. However, I wished to see the country at any cost, and even if I must be dragged to Rome on Ixion’s wheel, I shall not complain. Terni, Oct, 27, 1786. Evening. Again sitting in a ‘‘ cave,” which only a year before suf¬ fered from an earthquake. The little town lies in the midst of a rich country, (for taking a circuit round the city I explored it with pleasure,) at the beginning of a beautiful plain which lies between two ridges of lime-stone hills. Terni, like Bologna, is situated at the foot of the mountain range. Almost ever since the papal ofiicer left me I have had a priest for my companion. The latter appears better contented with his profession than the soldier, and is ready to enlighten me, whoin he very soon saw to be an heretic, by answering any question I might put to him concerning the ritual and other matters of his church. By thus mixing continually with new characters I thoroughly obtain my object. It is absolutely necessary to hear the people talking together, if you would form a true and lively image of the whole country. The Italians are in the strangest manner possible rivals and adversaries of each other; everyone is strongly enthusiastic m the praise of his own town and state; they cannot bear with one another, and even in the same city the different ranks nourish perpetual feuds, and all this with a profoundly vivacious and most obvious passionateness, so that while they expose one another’s pretensions, they keep up an amusing comedy all day long; and yet they come to an under¬ standing again together, and seem quite aware how impos¬ sible it is for a stranger to enter into their ways and thoughts. I ascended to Spoleto and went along the aqueduct, which ^rves also for a bridge from one moimtain to another. The ten 110 LETTEKS FROM ITALY. brick arches which span the valley, have quietly stocxl there through centuries, and the water stiU flows into Spoleto, and reaches its remotest quarters. This is the third great work of the ancients that I have seen, and still the same grandeur of conception. A second nature made to work for social objects, —such was their architecture; and so arose the amphitheatre, the temple, and the aqueduct. Now at last I can understand the justice of my hatred for all arbitrary caprices, as, for instance, the winter casts on white stone—a nothing about nothing—a monstrous piece of confectionary ornament—and so also with a thousand other things. But all that is now dead; for whatever does not possess a true intrinsic vitality cannot live long, and can neither be nor ever become great. What entertainment and instruction have I not had cause to be thankful for during these eight last weeks, but in fact it has also cost me some trouble. I kept my eyes continually open, and strove to stamp deep on my mind the images of all I saw; that was all—judge of them I could not, even if it had been in my power. San Crocefi&so, a singular chapel on the road side, did not look, to my mind, like the remains of a temple which had once stood on the same site ; it was evident that columns, pillars, and pediments had been found, and incongruously put together, not stupidly but madly. It does not admit of description; however, there is somewhere or other an en¬ graving of it. And so it may seem strange to some that we should go on troubling ourselves to acquire an idea of antiquity, although we have nothing before us but ruins, out of which we must first painfully reconstruct the very thing we wish to form an idea of. With what is called “ classical ground'"’’ the case stands rather different. Here, if only we do not go to work fanci¬ fully, but take the ground really as it is, then we shall have the decisive arena which moulded more or less the greatest of events. Accordingly I have hitherto actively employed my geological and agricultural eye to the suppressing of fancy and sensibility, in order to gain for myself an unbiassed and distinct notion of the locality. By such means history fixes itself on our minds with a marvellous vividness, and the efiect is utterly inconceivable by another. It ia something of thk KOAD-SIDE FANTASIES. Ill sort that makes me feel so very great a desire to read Tacitus in Kome. I must not, however, forget the weather. As I descended the Apennines from Bologna the clouds gradually retired towards the north, afterwards they changed their course and moved towards Lake Trasimene. Here they continued to hang, though perhaps they may have moved a little farther southward. Instead, therefore, of the great plain of the Po, sending as it does, during the summer, all its clouds to the Tyrolese mountains, it now sends a part of them towards the Apennines,—^from thence perhaps comes the rainy season. They are now beginning to gather the oHves. It is done here with the hand, in other places they are beat down with sticks. If winter comes on before all are gathered, the rest are allowed to remain on the trees till spring. Yesterday I noticed, in a very strong soil, the largest and oldest trees I have ever yet seen. The favour of the Muses, like that of the daemons, is not always shown us in a suitable moment. Yesterday I felt inspired to undertake a work which at present would be ill- timed. Approaching nearer and nearer to the centre of Romanism, surrounded by Roman Catholics, boxed up with a priest in a sedan, and striving anxiously to observe and to study without prejudice true nature and noble art, I have arrived at a vivid conviction that all traces of original Christianity are extinct here. Indeed, while I tried to bring it before my mind in its purity, as we see it recorded in the Acts of the Apostles, I could not help shuddering to think of the shapeless, not to say grotesque, mass of Heathenism which heavily overlies its benign beginnings. Accordingly the “Wandering Jew” again occurred to me as having been a witness of all this wonderful develop¬ ment and envelopment, and as having lived to experience so strange a state of things, that Christ himself, when He shall come a second time to gather in His harvest, will be in danger of being crucified a second time. The Legend, “ Venio iterum crucijigi'' was to serve me as the material of this catastrophe. Dreams of this kind floated before me ; for out of impa¬ tience to get onwards, I used to sleep in my clothes; and I know of nothing more beautiful than to wake before dawn. 112 LETTERS FROM ITALY. Wid between sleeping and waking, to seat oneself in one’s car, and travel on to meet the day. Citta Castellana, October 2 %, XIM. ^ I will not fail yon this last evening. It is not yet eight o’clock, and all are already in bed; so I can for a good “last time” think over what is gone by, and revel in the anticipa¬ tion of what IS so shortly to come. This has been through¬ out a bright and glorious day; the morning very cold, the day clear and warm, the evening somewhat windy, but ’very beautiful. •' It was very late when we set off from Terni, and we reached Narni before day, and so I did not see the bridge. Valleys and lowlands;—now near, now distant prospects;_a rich country, but all of limestone, and not a trace of any other formation. Otricoli lies on an alluyial grayel-hill, thrown up by one of the ancient inundations; it is built of lava brought from the other side of the river. As soon as one is over the bridge one finds oneself in a volcanic region, either of real lava, or of the native rock, changed^ by the heat and by fusion. You ascend a moun¬ tain, which you might set down at once for gray lava. It contains many white crystals of the shape of garnets. The causeway from Ae heights to the Citta Castellana is likewise composed of this stone, now worn extremely smooth. The city is built on a bed of volcanic tufa, in which I thought I could discover ashes, pumice-stone, and pieces of lava. The view from the castle is extremely beautiful. Soracte stands out and alone in the prospect most picturesquely. It is pro- bably a limestone mountain of the same formation as the Apennines. ^ The volcanic region is far lower than the Apen¬ nines, and it is only the streams tearing through it, that have formed out of it hiUs and rocks, which, with their over¬ hanging ledges, and other marked features of the landscape, furnish most glorious objects for the painter. To-morrow evening and I shall be in Eome. Even yet I can scarcely believe it possible; and if this wish is fulfilled, what shall I wish for afterwards ? I know not, except it be that I may safely stand in my little pheasant-loaded canoe, and may find all my friends well, happy, and unchanged. EOME. Rome, November 1, 1786. At last I can speak out, and greet my friends with good humour. May they pardon my secrecy, and what has been, as it were, a subterranean journey hither. For scarcely to myself did I venture to say whither I was hurrying—even on the road I often had my fears, and it was only as I passed under the Porta del Popolo that I felt certain of reaching Rome. ^ And now let me also say that a thousand times—aye, at all times, do I think of you, in the neighbourhood of these objects which I never believed I should visit alone. It was only when I saw every one bound body and soul to the north, and all longing for those coimtries utterly extinct among them; that I resolved to undertake the long solitary journey, and to seek that centre towards which I was attracted by an irresistible impulse. Indeed for the few last years it had become with me a kind of disease, which could only be cured by the sight and presence of the absent object. Now, at length I may venture to confess the truth : it reached at last such a height, that I durst not look at a Latin book, or even an engraving of Italian scenery. The craving to see this country was over ripe. Now, it is satisfied; friends and country have once more become right dear to me, and the return to them is a wished for object—nay, the more ardently desired, the more firmly I feel convinced that I briug with me too many treasures for personal enjoyment or private use, but such as through life may serve others, as well as myself, for edification and guidance. Rome, November L 1786. . Well, at last I am arrive! in this great capital of the world. If fifteen years ago I could have seen it in good I 114 LETTERS FROM ITALY. company, with a well informed guide, I should have thought myself very fortunate. But as it was to be that I should thus see it alone, and with my own eyes, it is well that this joy has fallen to my lot so late in life. Over the mountains of the Tyrol I have as good as flown. ; Verona, Vicenza, Padua, and Venice I have carefullv looked at; hastily glanced at Ferrara, Cento, Bologna, and scarcely seen Florence at all. My anxiety to reach Home was so great, and it so grew with me every moment, | that to think of stopping anywhere was quite out of the question; even in Florence, I only stayed* three hours. Now 1 am here at my ease, and as it would seem, shall i be tranquillized for my whole life; for we may almost say i that a new life begins when a man once sees with his own eyes, all that before he has but partially heard or read of. i Ail the dreams of my youth I now behold realized before me ; the subjects of the fost engravings I ever remember I seeing (several views of Rome were hung up in an ante¬ room of my father’s house) stand bodily before my sight, I and all that I had long been acquainted with through paint- | ings or drawings, engravings, or wood-cuts, plaister-casts, I and cork models are here collectively presented to my eye. Wherever I go I find some old acquaintance in this new world; it is all just j_hadjth ought it ^.juid ^et all is ne w ; and just the smne might I remark of my own observations and my own ideas. I have not gained any new thoughts, but the older ones have become so defined, so vivid, and so coherent, that they may almost pass for new ones. When^jgmalion^ Elisa, which he had shaped entirely in accordant with Jii8"wishes, and had given to it as much of truth and nature as an artist can, moved at last towards him, and said, “lam!”—how different was the living form from the chiselled Itone. In a moral sense, too, how salutary is it for me to live awhile among a wholly sensual people, of whom so much has j been said and written, and of whom ever^^tranger judges | according to the standard he bri^sjwith Jim^^^'can excuse ■ every one who blames and reproaches^ them ; they stand too ^ far apart from us, and for a stranger to associate with them is ^ difficult and expensive. i ROME-EESTIYATi OF" SOUES. 115 I ) Rome, November 3, 1786. ; One of the chief motives which I had for hurrying to Rome " was the Festival of All Saints; for I thought within myself, ' if Rome pays so much honour to a single saint, what will she not show to them all? But I wasj inder a mistake. The ^ Roman Church has never Beenrver^Tid‘'d^ with remarkable pomp any common festival; and so she leaves . every order to celebrate in silence the especial memory of its own patron,—for the name Festival, and the day especially set apart to each saint is properly the occasion when each receives his highest commemoration. Yesterday, however, which was the Festival ofAU Souls, things went better with me. This commemoration is kept by the Pope in his private chapel on the Quirinal. I has- ' tened with Tischbein to the Monte Cavallo. The piazza ; before the palace has something altogether singular_so irre- , gular is it, and yet so grand and so beautiful! I now cast ‘ eyes upon the Colossuses! neither eye nor mind was large enough to take them in. Ascending a broad flight of steps ' we foUowed the crowd through a splendid and spacious hall.’ In this ante-chamber, directly opposite to the chapel, and in sight of the numerous apartments, one feels somewhat strange to find oneself beneath the same roof with the Vicar of Christ. The ofiice had begun; Pope and Cardinals were already in the church. The holy father, of a highly handsome and ^gnified form, the cardinals of different ages and figures* ^ strange longing desire that the head of the Church might open his golden mouth, and speaking with rapture of the inefiable bliss of the happy soul, set us all too in a rapture. But as I only saw him moving backwards and for¬ wards before the altar, and turning himself now to this side and now to that, and only muttering to himself, and con- ducting himself just like a common parish priest, then the origmaI_sin_pf revived within me, and the well- known and ordinary mass forthfelfeSrhSdlfo'charms for me I or most assuredly Christ Himself—He who in his youthful ^lays, and even as a child excited men’s wonder by His oral Bxposition of Scripture, did never thus teach and work in silence; but as we learn from the Gospels, He was eve- ready to utter His wise and spiritual words. What, I asked I 2 116 FKOM ITALY. myself, would He say, where He to come in among us, and see His image on earth thus mumbling, and sailing backwards ^j^d forwards? The Vcfiio itsviiYYi cTuciJigi again crossed my mind, and I nudged my companion to come out into the freer air of the vaulted and painted hall. Here we found a crowd of persons attentively observing the rich paintings; for the Festival of All Souls is also the holyday of all the artists in Rome. Not only the chapel, but the whole palace also, with all its rooms, is for many hours on this day open and free to every one, no fees being required, and the visitors not being liable to be hurried on by the chamberlain. The paintings on the walls engaged my attention, and I now formed a new acquaintance with some excellent artists, whose very names had hitherto been almost unknown to me, _^for instance, I now for the first time learned to appreciate and to love the cheerful Carlo Maratti. But chiefly welcome to me were the masterpieces of the artists, of whose' style and manner I already h^jp^ impressiom Tsaw" with amazement the wonderfoTTiSronilla oiGuef cino, which was formerly in St. Peter’s, where a mosaic copy now stands in the place of the original. The body of the Saint is lifted out of the grave, and the same person, just reanimated, is being received into the heights of heaven by a celestial youth. Whatever may be alleged against this double action, the picture is invaluable. Still more struck was I with a picture of Titian’s: it throws into the shade all I have hitherto seen, ^ether my eye is mo re practise d, or whether it is really the most excHlent,' I’cannot det^mine. An immense mass-robe, stifi with embroidery and gold-embossed figures, envelops the dignified frame of a bishop. With a massive pastoral stan in his left hand, he is gazing with a look of rapture towards heaven, while he holds in his right a book out of which he seems to have imbibed the divine enthusiasm with which he is inspired. Behind him a beautiful maiden, holding a palm branch in her hand, and, full of affectionate sympathy, is looking over his shoulder into the open book. A grave old man on the right stands quite close to the book, but appears to pay no attention to it; the key in his hand, suggests the possibility of his famili^ acquaintance witb^its contents. ROME-TITIAN-GUIDO. 117 Over against this group a naked, well-made youth, wounded with an arrow, and in chains, is looking straight before him with a slight expression of resignation in his countenance. In the intermediate space stand two monks, bearing a cross and lilies, and devoutly looking up to heaven. Then in the clear upper space is a semi-circular wall, which encloses them all; above moves a Madonna in highest glory, sympathising with all that passes below. The young sprightly child on her bosom, with a radiant countenance, is holding out a crown, and seems indeed on the point of casting it down. On both sides angels are floating by, who hold in their hands crowns in abundance. High above all the figures, and even the triple-rayed aureola, soars the celestial dove, as at once the centre and finish of the whole group. We said to ourselves, “ Some ancient holy legend must have furnished the subject of this picture, in order that these various and ill-assorted personages should have been brought toge¬ ther so artistically and so significantly. We ask not, how¬ ever, why and wherefore,—^we take it all for granted, and only wonder at the inestimable piece of art. Less unin¬ telligible, but still mysterious, is a fresco of Guido s in this chapel. A virgin, in childish beauty, loveliness, and inno¬ cence, is seated, and quietly sewing: two angels stand by her side, waiting to do her service at the slightest bidding. Youthful innocence and industry,—the beautiful picture seems to tell us,—are guarded and honoured by the heavenly beings. No legend is wanting here; no story needed to fur¬ nish an explanation. Now, however, to cool a little my artistic enthusiam, L merry incident occurred. I observed that rjeveral of the German artists, who came up to Tischbein as rm old acquaint¬ ance, after staring at me, went their ways again. At last one, who had most recently been observing_, my person, came up to me again, and said, “We have had a good joke; thei report that you were in Rome had spread among us, and the! attention of us artists was called to the one unknownl stranger. Now, there was one of our body who used for aj long time to assert that he had met you-—nay, he asseverated] he had lived on very friendly terms with you,—a fact which] we were not so ready to believe. However, we have justi called upon him to look at you, and solve our doubts. He] 118 LE^TTERS FROM ITALY. at once stoutly denied that it was you, and said that in the stranger there was not a trace of your person or mien.” So, then, at least our incognito is for the moment secm'e, and will afford us something hereafter to laugh at. I now mixed at my ease with the troop of artists, and asked them who were the painters of several pictures whose style of art was unknown to me. At last I was pa,rticularly struck by a picture representing St. George killing the dragon, and setting free the virgin; no one could tell me whose it was. Upon this a little modest man, who up to this time had not opened his mouth, came forward and told me it was Pordenone’s, the Venetian painter; and that it was one of the best of his paintings, and displayed aU his merits I was now well able to account for my liking for it: the picture pTeasecT me, because I possessed some knowledge ofthe Venetian school, and was better able to appreciate the excellencies of its best masters. a • The artist, my informant, was Heinrich Meyer, a bwiss, who for some years had been studying at Rome with a friend of the name of Rolla, and who had taken excellent drawings in Spain of antique busts, and was well read in the history of art. Rome^ Novemher 7, 1786. I have now been here seven days, and by degrees have formed in my mind a general idea of the city. We go dili¬ gently backwards and forwards. While I am thus making my- %]£ acquainted with the plan of old and new Rome, viewing the ruins and the buildings, visiting this and that villa, the grandest and .most remarkable objects are slowly and lei¬ surely contemplated. I do but keep my eyes open and see, iand then go and come again, for it Is only_ injlome one can Idulv prepare onestll for Rome. ^ ' * It must, in truth, be confessed, that it is a sad and melan- lolv business to prick and track out ancient Rome in new .ilome- however, it must be done, and we may hope at Beast for an incalculable gratification. We meet with traces .both of majesty and of ruin, which alike surpass all concep- kon; what the barbarians spared, the builders of new Rome ■made havoc of. ROME-ITS PRESENT ASPECT. 119 When one thus beholds an object two thousand years old and more, but so manifoldly and thoroughly altered by the changes of time, but, sees nevertheless, the same soil, the same moun¬ tains, and often indeed the same walls and columns, one be¬ comes, as it were, a contemporary of the great counsels of Fortune, and thus it becomes difficult for the observer to trace from the beginning Rome following Rome, and not^^_ only new Rome succeeding to the old, but also the several epochs of both old and new in succession. I endeavour, first of all, to grope my way alone through the obscurer parts, for this is the only plan by which one can hope fully and com¬ pletely to perfect by the excellent introductory works which have been written from the fifteenth century to the present day. The first artists and scholars have occupied their whole lives with these objects. And this vastness has a strangely tranquillizing effect upon you in Rome, while you pass from place to place, in order to visit the most remarkable objects. In other places one has to ^ search for what is important; here oha isoppressed, and borne do\^ with numberless ph enom ena. Wherever one\ goes and casts a look Trouhd7 the eye is at once struck with some landscape,—forms of every kind and style ; palaces and ruins, gardens and statuary, distant views of villas, cottages and stables, triumphal arches and columns, often crowd¬ ing so close together, that they might all be sketched on a single sheet of paper. He ought to have a hundred hands to write, for what can a single pen do here; and, besides, by the evening one is quite weary and exhausted with the day’s seeing and admiring. Rome^ November 7, 1786. Pardon me, my friends, if for the future you find me rather chary of my words. On one’s travels one usually rakes together all that we meet on one’s way; every day brings something new, and one then hastens to think upon and to judge of it. Here, however, we come into a very great school indeed, where every day says so much, that we cannot ven¬ ture to say anything of the day itself. Indeed, people would do well if, tarrying here for years together, they obseived -V 120 LETTERS FROM ITALY. Nov. 1786. I am quite well. The weather, as the Romans say, is hrutto. The south wind, the scirocco, is blowing, and brings with it every day more or less of rain ; for my part, I do not find the weather disagreeable; such as it is, it is warmer fhar. the rainy days of summer are with us. Rome, November 7, 1786. The more I become acquainted with Tischbein’s talents, as well as his principles and views of art, the higher I appre¬ ciate and value them. He has laid before me hi,s drawin^^s^ and sketches; they have great merit, and are full of high promise. His visit to Bodmer led him to fix his thoughts on the infancy of the human race, when man found him¬ self standing on the earth, and had to solve the pro¬ blem. how he must best fulfil his destiny as the Lord of Creation. As a suggestive introduction to a series of illustrations of this subject, ^ he has attempted symbolically to vindicate the high antiquity of the world. Mountains overgrown with noble forests,—ravines worn out by watercourses,—burnt out volcanoes still faintly smoking. In the foreground the mighty stock of a patriarchal oak still remains in the ground, on whose half-bared roots a deer is trying the strength of his horns,—a conception as fine as it is beautifully executed. In another niost remarkable piece he has painted man yoking the horse, and by his superior skill, if not strength, bringing all the other creatures of the earth, the air, and the water under his dominion. ^ The composition is of an extra¬ ordinary beauty; when finished in oils it cannot fail of pro¬ ducing a great effect. A drawing of it must, at any cost, be secured for Weimar. W^hen this is finished, he purposes to paint an assembly of old men, aged and experienced in coun¬ cil,—in which he intends to introduce the portraits of living personages. At present, however, he is sketching away with the greatest enthusiasm on a battle-piece. Two bodies of cavalry are fighting with equal courage and resolution; be¬ tween them yawns an awful chasm, which but few horses would attempt to clear. The arts of defensive warfare are u.seless here. A wild resolve, a bold attack, a successful leap, or - iv|"> KOME-RAFPAELE. else to be hurled in the abyss below! This picture will afford him an opportunity to display, in a very striking manner, the knowledge which he possesses of horses, and of their make and movements. Now it is Tischbein’s wish to have these sketches, and ^ series of others to follow, or to be intercalated between them, connected together by a poem, which may serve to explain the drawings, and, by giving them a definite context, may lend to them both a body and a charm. The idea is beautiful, only the artist and the poet must be many years together, in order to carry out and to execute such a work. Rome^ November 7, 1786. The “ Loggie'"* of Raffaele, and the great pictures of the “ School of Athens,” &c., I have now seen for the first and only time so that for me to judge of them at present is like a man having to make out and to judge of Homer from some half-obliterated and much-injured manuscript. The gratifica¬ tion of the first impression is incomplete ; it is only when they have been carefully studied and examined, one by one, that the enjoyment becomes perfect. The best preserved are the paintings on the ceilings of the Loggie, They are as fresh as if painted yesterday. The subjects are symbolical. Very few, however, are by Raffaele’s own hand, but they are excellently executed, after his designs and under his eye. Rome, November 7, 1786. Many a time, in years past, did I entertain the strange whim, as ardently to wish that I might one day be taken to Italy by some well-educated man,—by some Englishman, well learned in art and in history; and now it has all been brought about much better than I could have anticipated. Tischbein has long lived here; he is a sincere friend to me, and during his stay here always cherished the wish of being able one day to show Rome to me. Our intimacy is old by letter though new by presence. Where could I meet with a worthier guide ? And if my time is limited, I will at least learn and enjoy as much as possible; and yet, notwithstanding, I clearly foresee, that when I leave Rome I shall wish that I was coming to it. 122 LETTERS FROM ITALY. Rome^ November 8, 1786. My strange, and perhaps whimsical, incognito proves useful to me in many ways that I never should have thought of. As every one thinks himself in duty bound to ignore who I am, and consequently never ventures to speak to me of my¬ self and my works, they have no alternative left them but to speak of themselves, or of the matters in which they are most interested, and in this way I become circumstantially informed of the occupations of each, and of everything remarkable that is either taken in hand or produced. Hofrath Reiffenstein good-naturedly humours this whim of mine; as, however, for special reasons, he could not bear the name which I had assumed, he immediately made a Baron of me, and I am now called the “ Baron gegen Rondanini uber" (the Baron who lives opposite to the Palace Rondanini). This designation is sufficiently precise, especially as the Italians are accustomed to speak of pfeople either by their Christian names, or else by some nickname. Enough ; 1 have gained my object; and I escape the dreadful annoyance of having to give to everybody an account of myself and my ^A orks. Rome^ November 1786. I frequently stand still a moment to survey, as it were, the heights I have already won. With much delight I look bacK to Venice, that grand creation that sprang out of the bosom of the sea, like Minerva out of the head of Jupiter. In Rome, the Rotunda, both by its exterior and interiqr, has moved me to offer a willing homage to its magnificence. In S. Peter’s I learned to understand how art, no less than nature, annihilates the artificial measures and dimensions of maii. And in the same “way the Apollo BelviSere also has again drawn me out of reality. For as even the most correct engravings furnish no adequate idea of these buildings, so the case is the same with respect to the marble original of this statue, as compared with the plaister models of it, which, however, I formerly used to look upon as beautiful. Rome^ Ncyvember 10, 1786. Here I am now living with a calmness and tranquillity to which I have for a long while been a stranger. My practice ROME—THE GROTTO OP EGERIA, JSCC. 123 to see and take all things as they are, my fidelity in letting the eye be my light, my perfect renunciation of all preten¬ sion, have again come to my aid, and make me calmly, but most intensely, happy. Every day has its fresh remarkable ob¬ ject,—every day its new grand unequalled paintings, and a whole which a man may long think of, and dream of, but which with all his power of imagination he can never reach. Yesterday I was at the Pyramid of Cestius, and in the evening on the Palatine, on the top of which are the ruins of the palace of the CaGsars, which stand there like walls of rock. Of all this, however, no idea can be conveyed! In truth, there is nothing little here; although, indeed, occa¬ sionally something to find fault with,—something more or less absurd in taste, and yet even this partakes of the universal grandeur of all around. When, however, I return to myself, as every one so readily does on all occasions, I discover within a feeling which does not infinitely delight me—one, indeed, which I may even express. Whoever here looks around with ear-~A nestness, and has eyes to see, must become in a measm-e | 8oli(h —he cannot but apprehend an idea of solidity with a I widness which is nowhere else possible. The mind becomes, as it were, primed with capacity, with an earnestness without severity, and with a definiteness of character with joy. With me, at least, it seems as if I h ad ne ver befQr e__sg^ightlx estimated the ilungs^of AhejWjQr.ld.a^^ doTier^ ; 1 rejoice when I think of the blessed effects of all this on ^^Jwnole of^yli^^ tog^efthe things as I may,”'^ordefVill somehow come into them. I am not here to enjoy myself after my own fashion, but to busy myself with the great objects around, to learn, and to improve myself, ere I am forty years old. Borne, Nov, 11, 1786. Yesterday I visited the nymph Egeria, and then the Hippo¬ drome of Caracalla, the ruined tombs along the Via Appia, and the tomb of MeteUa, which is the first to give one a true idea of what solid masonry really is. These men worked for eternity—all causes of decay were calculated, except the rage of the spoiler, which nothing can resist. Right heartily 124 LETTERS PROM ITALY. did I wish you had been there. The remains of the prinoipal aqueduct are highly venerable. How beautiful and grand* a design, to supply a whole people with water by so vast a structure! In the evening wj when it was aIrSdy TwillghtT When one looks at it, all else seem^^ little ; the edifice is so vast , that one cannot hold the! image of it in one’s sou^-^^^TrT^meniory we think it smaller,; and then return to it again to find it every time greater than before Frascati^ Nov. 15, The company are aU in bed, and I am writing with Indian! ink which they use for drawing. We have had two beautiful days without rain, warm and genial sunshine, so that summer is scarcely missed. The country around is very pleasant; the village lies on the side of a hill, or rather of a mountain, and at every step the draughtsman comes upon the most glorious objects. The prospect is unbounded—Rome lies before you, and beyond it, on the right, is the sea, the mountains of Tivoli, and so on. In this delightful region country houses are built expressly for pleasure, and as the ancient Romans had here their villas, so for centuries past their rich and haughty successors have planted country residences on all the loveliest spots. For two days we have been wandering about here, and almost every step has brought us upon something new and attractive. And yet it is hard to say whether the evenings have not passed still more agreeably than the days. As soon as our stately hostess has placed on the round table the bronzed lamp with its three wicks, and wished us felicissime notte, we all form a circle round it, and the views are produced which have been drawn and sketched during the day; their merits are discussed, opinions are taken whether the objects might or not have been taken more favourably, whether their true char¬ acters have been caught, and whether all requisitions of a like general nature, which may justly be looked for in a first sketch, have been fulfilled. Hofrath Reifienstein, by his judgment and authority, con¬ trives to give order to, and to conduct these sittings. But the merit of this delightful arrangement is due to Philipp ROM'S— FARNESE GALLERY, &C. 125 Hackert, who has a most excellent taste both in drawing and finishing views from nature. Artists and dilettanti, men and women, old and young—^he would let no one rest, but stimulated every one to make the attempt at any rate according to their gifts and powers, and led the way with his own good example. The little society thus collected, and held together, Hofrath Keiffenstein has, after the departure of his friend, faithfully kept up, and we all feel a laudable desire to awake in every one an active participation. The peculiar turn and character of each member of the society is thus shown in a most agreeable way. For instance, Tischbein, as an historical painter, looks upon scenery with very difierent eyes from the landscape painter; he sees significant groups, and other graceful speaking objects, where another can see nothing, and so he happily contrives to catch up many a naive-trait of humanity,—it may be in children, peasants, mendicants, or other such beings of nature, or even in animals, which with a few characteristic touches, he skilfully manages to pourtray, and thereby contributes much new and agreeable matter for our discussions. When conversation is exhausted, at Hackert’s suggestion, perhaps, some one reads aloud Sulzer’s Theory ; for although from a high point of view it is impossible to rest contented with this work, nevertheless, as some one observed, it is so far satisfactory as it is calculated to exercise a favourable in¬ fluence on minds less highly cultivated. Rome^ Nov. 17,. 1786. We are back again! During the night we have had an awful torrent of rain, with thunder and lightning; it is still raining, but withal very warm. As regards myself, however, it is only with few words that I can indicate the happiness of this day. I have seen the frescoes of Domenichino in Andrea della Valle^ and also the Farnese Gallery of Caraccio’s. Too much, forsooth, for months—what, then, for a single day! Rome^ Nov. 18, 1786. It is again beautiful weather, a bright genial warm day. 1 saw in the Farnesine palace the story of Psyche, coloured 126 LETTERS FROM ITALY, copies of whicli have so long adorned my room, and then at ' S. Peter’s, in Montorio, the Transfiguration by Rafiaelle— j all well known paintings—like friends which one has made in the distance by means of letters, and which for the first I time one sees face to face. To live with them, however, is something quite difierent; every true relation and false ^ relation becomes immediately evident. Moreover, in every spot and corner glorious things are to be met with, of which less has been said, and which have not been scattered over the world by engravings and copies. Of these I shall bring away with me many a" drawing from the : hands of young but excellent artists. Rome^ Nov. 18, 1786. The fact that I long maintained a correspondence with I Tischbein, and was consequently on the best terms possible with him, and that even when I had no hope of ever visiting Italy, I had communicated to him my wishes, has made our meeting most profitable and delightful; he has been always thinking of me, even providing for my wants. With the ’ varieties of stone, of which all the great edifices, whether old or new are built, he has made himself perfectly acquainted; : he has thoroughly studied them, and his studies have been ' greatly helped by his artistic eye, and the artist’s pleasure in j sensible things. Just before my arrival here he sent off to ; Weimar a collection of specimens w^hich he had selected for ; me, which will give me a friendly welcome on my return. An ecclesiastic who is now residing in France, and had I it in contemplation to write a work on the ancient mar¬ bles, received through the influence of the Propaganda some large pieces of marble from the Island of Paros. When they arrived here they were cut up for specimens, and twelve different pieces, from the finest to the coarsest grain, were reserved for me. Some were of the greatest purity, while others are more or less mingled with mica, the former being i used for statuary, the latter for architecture. How muchl | an accurate knowledge of the material employed in the arts ' must contribute to a right estimate of them, must be obvious i to every one. ; There are opportunities enough here for my collecting ; ROME. 127 many more specimens. In our way to the ruins of Nero’s palace, we passed through some artichoke grounds newly turned up, and we could not resist the temptation to cram our pockets full of the granite, porphyry, and marble slabs which lie here by thousands, and serve as unfailing witnesses to the ancient splendour of the walls which were once covered with them. Rome, Nov. 18, 1786. I must now speak of a wonderful problematical picture, which even in the midst of the many gems here, still makes a good show of its own. For many years there had been residing here a Frenchman well known as an admirer of the arts, and a collector; he had got hold of an antique drawing in chalk, no one knows how or whence. He had it retouched by Mengs, and kept it in his collection as a work of very great value. Winckelmann somewhere speaks of it with enthusiasm. The Frenchman died, and left the picture to his hostess as an antique. Mengs, too, died, and declared on his death-bed that it was not an antique, but had been painted by himself. And now the whole world is divided in opinion, some maintaining that Mengs had one day, in joke, dashed it off with much facility; others asserting that Mengs could never do anything like it— indeed, that it is almost too beautiful for Raffaelle. I saw it yesterday, and must confess that I do not know anything more beautiful than the figure of (Sanymede, especially the head and shoulders; the rest has been much renovated. However, the painting is in ill repute, and no one will relieve the poor landlady of her treasure. Rome, Nov. 20, 1786. As experience fully teaches us that there is a general pleasure in having poems, whatever may be their subject, illustrated with drawings and engravings—nay, that the painter himself usually selects a passage of some poet or other for the subject of his most elaborate paintings, Tisch- bein’s idea is deserving of approbation, that poets and 1 128 LETTEKS FROM ITALY. i painters should work together from the very first, in order to j secure a perfect unity. The difficulty would assuredly be ^ greatly lessened, if it were applied to little pieces, such as 1 that the whole design would easily admit of being taken in at i once by the mind, and worked out consistently with the I original plan. Tischl^in has suggested for such common labours some j very delightful idyllic thoughts, and it is really singular, t that those which he wishes to see worked out in this way i are really such as neither poetry nor painting, alone, could ^ ever adequately describe. During our walks together he ' has. talked with me about them, in the hopes of gaining i me over to his views, and getting me to enter upon the plan. The frontispiece for such a joint work is already ; designed; and did I not fear to enter upon any new tasks at i present, I might perhaps be tempted. i Rome, Nov. 22, 1786. The Feast of St. Cecilia. The morning of this happy day I must endeavour to per- = petuate by a few lines, and at least by description to impart H to others what I have myself enjoyed. The weather has been > beautiful and calm, quite a bright sky, and a warm sun. Ac- - companied by Tischbein, I set off for the Piazza of St. Peter’s, where we went about first of all from one part to another; ' when it became too hot for that, walked up and down in the shade of the great obelisk, which is full wide enough for two abreast, and eating grapes which we purchased in the neigh¬ bourhood. Then we entered the Sistine Chapel, which we found bright and cheerful, and with a good light for the pic- tm’es. “ The Last Judgment” divided our admiration with the paintings on the roof by Michael Angelo. I could only see and wonder. The mental confidence and boldness of the master, and his grandeur of conception, are beyond all ex- . pression. After we had looked at all of them over and over again, we left this sacred building, and went to St. Peter’s, which received from the bright heavens the loveliest light i: possible, and every part of it was clearly lit up. As men i| willing to be pleased, we were delighted with its vastness - and splendour, and did not allow an over nice or hypercritical d ROME—ST. Peter’s. 129 taste to mar oiir pleasure. We suppressed every harsher judgment; we enjoyed the enjoyable. Lastly we ascended the roof of the church, where one finds in little the plan of a well-built city. Houses and magazines springs (in_ appearance at least), churches, and a great temple all in the air, and beautiful walks between We mounted the dortie, and saw glistening before us the reo-ions of the Apennines, Soracte, and towards Tivoli the volcanic hiUs Prascati, Castelgandolfo, and the plains, and beyond ail the sea. Close at our feet lay the whole city of Home in Its length and breadth, with its mountain palaces, domes &e Not a breath of air was moving, and in the upper donm it was (as they say) like being m a hot-house. When we had looked enough at these things, we went down, and they opened for us the doors in the cornices of the dome the tympanum, and the nave. There is a passage all round' and from above you can take a view of the whole church, and of Its several parts. As we stood on the cornices of the tympa- num, _we saw beneath us the pope passing to his mid-dav devotions. Nothing, therefore, was wanting to make our view of St. Peter's perfect. We at last descended to the area and took m a neighbouring hotel a cheerful but frugal meal, and then set off for St. Cecilia’s. ® It would take many words to describe the decorations of this church which was crammed full of people; not a stone of the ediuce was to be seen. The pillars were covered with red velvet wound round with gold lace; the capitals were overiaid with embroidered velvet, so as to retain some¬ what of the appearance of capitals, and all the cornices and pillars were in like manner covered with hangings. All the entablatures of the walls were also covered with life-like paintings, so that the whole church seemed to be laid out in mosaic. Around the church, and on the high altar more than two hundred wax tapers were burning. It looked like a wall of lights, and the whole nave was perfectly lit up. the aisles and side altars were equally adorned and illumi¬ nated. Right opposite the high altar, and under the organ two scaffolds were erected, which also were covered with yelvet on one of which were placed the singers, and on the ither the instruments, which kept up one unbroken strain of nusic. 1 he church was crammed full. X 130 ■LETTERS FROM ITALY I have heard an excellent kind of musical accompaniment, just as there are concerts of violins, or of other instruments, so here they had concerts of voices; so that one voice—the soprano for instance—predominates, and sings solo, while from time to time the chorus of other voices falls in, and accompanies it, always of course with the whole orchestra. It has a good effect. I must end, as we in fact ended the day. In the evening we come upon the Opera, where no less a piece than “ I Litiganti” was being performed, but we tod all the day enjoyed so much of exc^ ence, that we pas sed Bv the db'orr' Home, Nov 23, 1786. In order that it may not be the same with my dear incog¬ nito as with the ostrich, which thinks itself to be concealed when it has hid its head, so in certain cases I give it up, still maintaining, however, my old thesis. I had without hesita-; tion paid a visit of compliment to the Prince von Lichten stei&, the brother of my much-esteemed friend the Countes; Harrach, and occasionally dined with him, and I soon per ceived that my good-nature in this instance was likely t< lead me much further. They began to feel their way, and ti talk to me of the Abbe Monti, and of his tragedy of Aris todemus, which is shortly to be brought out on the stage The author, it was said, wished above all things to read it t( me, and to hear my opinion of it, but I contrived, however to let the matter drop, without positively refusing; at last however, I met the poet and some of his friends at the prince house, and the play was read aloud. The hero is, as is well known, the King of Sparta,, who b; various scruples of conscience was (h'iyen to commit suicide Prettily enough they contrived to intimate to me tlmir nop that the author of Werther would not take it ill if he louns some of the rare passages of his own work made use t in this drama. And so even before the walls of Sparta I ca; not escape from this unhappy youth. The piece has a very simple and calm movement, th sentiments as well as the language are well suited to th subject,— full of energy, and yet of tenderness. The work i a proof of very fair talents. bome—monti’s abisxodemus. 281 ' not, according to my fashion, (not, indeed after out, and to dwell upon all the excellencies and merits of the piece, with which inled all present were tolerably satisfied, thouo-h still with w_ l^ge of the past fa nd to compare the two, requires bfvtfT time and leisure. The very site of the city carries us back to the time of its being founded. We see at once that no great people, under a wise leader, settled here from its wanderings, and with wise forecast laid the foundations of the seat of future empire. No powerful prince would ever have selected this spot as well suited for the habitation of a colony. No ; herdsmen^ and vagabonds first prepared here a dwelling for themselves : , a couple of adventurous youths laid the foundation of the! palaces of the masters of the world on the hill at whose foot, amidst the marshes and the silt, they had defied the officers of law and justice. Moreover, the seven hills of Rome are not elevations above the land which lies beyond them, but merely! above the Tiber and its ancient bed, which afterwards became! the Campus Martius. If the coming spring is favourable to^ my making wider excursions in the neighbourhood, I shall ^ be^ able to describe more fully the unfavourable site. Even | now I feel the most heartfelt sympathy with the grief and^ lamentation of the women of Alba whey they saw their city destroyed, and were forced to leave its beautiful site, the choice of a wise prince and leader, to share the fogs of the J Tiber, and to people the miserable Coelian hill, from which their eyes still fell upon the paradise they had been drawn from. I know as yet but little of the neighbourhood, but I am perfectly convinced that no city of the ancient world was worse situated than Rome: no wonder, then, if the Romans, ROME-FATHER JACQUl.^R. 157 ‘ as soon as they had swallowed up all the neighbouring states, went out of it, and, with their villas, returned to the noble sites of the cities they had destroyed, in order to live and to enjoy life. Rome, Jan. 25, 1787. It suggests a very pleasing contemplation to think how many people are living here in retirement, calmly occupied with their several tastes and pursuits. In the house of a clergyman, who, without any particular natural talent, has ►nevertheless devoted himself to the arts, we saw most interest¬ ing copies of some excellent paintings which he had imitated in miniature. His most successful attempt was after the Last Supper of Leonardo da Vinci. The moment of time is when the Lord, who is sitting familiarly at supper with his disciples, ^utters the awful words, “ One of you shall betray me.” Hopes are entertained that he will allow an engraving to be taken either of this or of another copy, on which he is at present engaged. It will be indeed a rich present to give to ithe great public a faithful imitation of this gem of art. A few days since I visited, at the Trinita de’ Monte, Father 'Jacquier, a Franciscan. He is a Frenchman by birth, and weU known by his mathematical writings; and although far advanced in years, is still very agreeable and intelligent. He has been acquainted with all the most distinguished men of ;his day, and has even spent several months with Voltaire, who had a great liking for him. ' I have also become acquainted with many more of kuch. good, sterling men, of whom countless numbers are to be found here, whom, however, a sort of professional mis¬ trust keeps estranged from each other. The book-trade fur- hishes no point of union, and literary novelties are seldom fruitful; and so it befits the solitary to seek out the hermits. For since the acting of “Aristodemo,” in whose favour we made i very lively demonstration, I have been again much sought lifter. But it was quite clear I was not sought for my own 3ake; it was always with a view to strengthen a party—to use me as an instrument; and if I had been willing to come T)rward and declare my side, I also, as a phantom, should for 1 time have played a short part. But now, since they see that 158 LETTEKS FROM ITALY. nothing is to be made of me, they let me pass; and so I go steadily on my own way. Indeed, my existence has lately taken in some ballast, which gives it the necessary gravity. I do not now frighten myself with the spectres which used so often to play before my eyes. Be, therefore, of good heart. You will keep me above water, and draw me back again to you. Rome^ Jan. 28, 1787. Two considerations which more or less affect every thing, and which one is compelled at every moment to give way to, I must not fail to set down, now that they have become quite clear to me. First of all, then, the vast and yet merely fragmentary riches of this city, and each singhi object of art, is constantly suggest¬ ing the question. To what date does., it owe its existenc e.^ Winckelmann urgently calls upon us to separate epochs, to^is- tinguishthe different styles which the several masters employed, and the way in which, in the course of time, they gradually per¬ fected them, and at last corrupted them again. Of the necessity of so doing, every real friend of art is soon thoroughly convinced. We all acknowledge the justice and the importance of the requisition. But now, how to attain to this conviction ? How¬ ever clearly and correctly the notion itself may be conceived, yet without long preparatory labours there will always be a degree of vagueness and obscurity as to the particular appli¬ cation. A sm'e eye, strengthened by many years’ exercise, is above all else necessary. Here hesitation or reserve are of no avail. Attention, however, is now directed to this point; and every one who is in any degree in earnest seems convinced that in this domain a sure judgment is impossible, unless it has been formed by historical study. The second consideration refers exclusively to the arts of the Greeks, and endeavours to ascertain how those inimitable artists proceeded in their successful attempts to evolve from the human form their system of divine types, which is so per¬ fect and complete, that neither any leading character nor any intermediate shade or transition is wanting. For my part, I cannot withhold the conjecture that they proceeded according L-.to the same laws that Nature works by^ and which I am endea- ROME—THE COLISEUM. 159 vouring to discover. Only, there is in them something more besides, which it is impossible to express. Rome^ Feb. 2, 1787. Of the beauty of a walk through Rome by moonlight it is impossible to form a conception., without having witnessed it. AR_single_obiecla,jara..^wal^ great masses of light and shade, and nothing but g rand and gen eral outhnes present themselves to the eye. PbiTRiree several days we have enjoyed to the full the brightest and most glorious of nights. Peculiarly beautiful at such a time is the Coliseum. At night it is always closed; a hermit dwells in a little shrine within its range, and beggars of all kinds nestle beneath its crumbling arches : the latter had lit a fire on the arena, and a gentle wind bore down the smoke to the groimd, so that the lower portion of the ruins was quite hid by it, while above the vast walls stood out in deeper darkness before the eye. As we stopped at the gate to contemplate the scene through the iron gratings, the moon shone brightly in the heavens above. Presently the smoke found its way up the sides, and through every chink and opening, while the moon lit it up like a cloud. The sight was exceedingly glo- nous. In such a light one ought also to see the Pantheon, the Capitol, the Portico of St. Peter’s, and the other grand_ streets and squares:—and thus sun and moon, like the human mind, have quite a difierent work to do here from elsewhere, where the vastest and yet the most elegant of masses present themselves to their rays. — I ; Rome, Feb. 13, 1787. I must mmition u trifling fall of luclc, even tliougli it is but ■ a little one. However, all luck, whether great or little, is of . one kind, and always brings a joy with it. Near the Trinita ; de’ Monte the ground has been lately dug up to form a foun- . dation for the new Obelisk, and now the whole of this region is choked up with the ruins of the Gardens of Lucullus, which subse(juently became the property of the Emperors. My perru- : quier was passing early one morning by the spot, and found in . the pile of earth a flat piece of burnt clay, with some figures on it. 160 LETTERS FROM ITALY. Having washed it, he showed it to me. I eagerly secured i the treasure. It is not quite a hand long, and seems to have : been part of the stem of a great key. Two old men stand ! before an altar; they are of the most beautiful workmanship, | and I am uncommonly delighted with my new acquisition. | Were they on a cameo, one would greatly like to use it as a i seal. 1 I have by me a collection also of many other objects, and none is worthless or unmeaning,—for that is impossible; here everything is instructive and significant. But my dearest treasure, however, is even that which I carry with me in my i soul, and which, every growing, is capable of a still greater ' growth. Rome^ Feh 15, 1787 Before departing for Naples, I could not get off from ] another public reading of my “ Iphigenia.” Madam Angelica | and Hofi’ath Beiffensteiu were the auditory, and even Signor j Zucchi had solicited to be present, because it was the wish oi i his spouse. While it was reading, however, he worked away at a great architectural plan—for he is very skilful in executing drawings of this kind, and especially the decorative parts. He went with Clerisseauto Dalmatia, and was the associate of all his labours, drawing the buildings and ruins for the plates, which the latter published. In this occupation he learned so much of perspective and effect, that in his old days he is able to amuse himself on paper in a very rational manner. The tender soul of Angelica listened to the piece with in¬ credible profoundness of sympathy. She proiuised me a drawing of one of the scenes, which I am to keep in re¬ membrance of her. And now, just as I am about to quit Rome, I begin to feel myself tenderly attached to these kind- I hearted people. It is a source of mingled feelings of pleasure and regret to know that people are sorry to part with you. Rome^ Feh, 16, 1787. | The safe arrival of “ Iphigenia” has been announced to me in a most cheering and agreeable way. On my way to the ; Opera, a letter from a weU-known Land was brought to me, —this time doubly welcome^ since it was sealed with the HOME-“ IPHIGEXIA ”-TASSO.” 161 “Lion” a premonitory token of fhe safe arrival of my packet. I hurried into the Opera-house, and bustled to get a place among the strange faces beneath the great chandelier. At this moment I felt myself drawn so close to my friends, that I could almost have sprung forward to embrace them. From my heart I thank you even for having simply mentioned the arrival of the “ Iphigenia,” may your next be accom¬ panied with a few kind words of approval. Inclosed is the list of those among whom I wish the copies which I am to expect from Gosche to be distributed; for although it is with me a perfect matter of indifference how the public may receive these matters, still I hope by them to furnish slight gratification to my friends at least. One undertakes too much. When I think on my last four volumes together, I become almost giddy—I am obliged to think of them separately, and then the fit passes off. I should perhaps have done better had I kept my first resolution to send these things one by one into the world, and so undertake with fresh vigour and courage the new subjects which have most recently awakened my sympathy. Should I not, perhaps, do better were I to write the “ Iphigenia at Delphi,” instead of amusing myself with my fanciful sketches of “Tasso.” However, I have bestowed upon the latter too much of my thoughts to give it up, and let it fall to the ground. I am sitting in the ante-room near the chimney, and the warmth of a fire, for once well fed, gives me courage to com¬ mence a fresh sheet, for it is indeed a glorious thing to be able, with our newest thoughts, to reach into the distance, and by words to convey thither an idea of one’s immediate state and circumstances. The weather is right glorious, the days are sensibly lengthening, the laurels and box are in blossom, as also are the almond-trees. Early this morning I was delighted with a strange sight; I saw in the distance tall, pole-like trees, covered over and over with the loveliest violet flowers. On a closer examination I found it was the plant known in our hothouses as the Judas-tree, and to bota¬ nists as the “ cercis siliquastrum'' Its papilionaceous violet blossoms are produced directly from out of the stem. The stakes which I saw had been lopped last winter, and out of their bark well-shaped and deeply-tinted flowers were bursting M 162 LETTERS FROM ITALY. by thousands. The daisies are also springing out of tne ground as thick as ants; the crocus and the pheasant's eye are more rare, but even on this account more rich and ornamental. What pleasures and what lessons will not the more southern land impaii to me, and what new results will arise to me from them! With the things of nature it is as with those of art; much as ismrtten about them, ev^ one who sees t hem form s them into mewnronibinatibns for himself. . When I think of Naples, and —when I read their history, or look at views of them, it strikes me as singular that it should be even in these paradises of the world that the volcanic mountains manifest themselves so violently, for thousands of years alarming and confounding their inha¬ bitants. But I willingly drive out of my head the expectation of these much-prized scenes, in order that they may not lessen my enjoyment of the capital of the whole world before I _ leave it. For the last fourteen days I have been moving about from morning to night; I am raking up everytmng I have not yet seen. I am also viewing for a second or even a third time al] the most important objects, and they are all arranging them¬ selves in tolerable order within my mind : for while the chief objects are taking their right places, there is space and room between them for many a less important one. My enthusiasm is purifying itself, and becoming more decided, and now at last my mind can rise to the height of the greatest and purest creations of art with calm admiration. In my situation one is tempted to envy the artist who, by copies and imitations of some kind or other can, as it were, come near to those great conceptions, and can grasp them better than one who merely looks at and reflects upon them. In the end, however, every one feels he must do his best; and so I set all the sails of my intellect, in the hope of getting round this coast. The stove is at present thoroughly warm, and piled up with excellent coals, which is seldom the case with us, as no one scarcely has time or inclination to attend to the fire two whole hours together; I will therefore avail myself of this agreeable temperature to rescue from iny tablets a few notes which are almost obliterated. ROME—^Tasso’s btjeiae-place. 163 On the 2nd of February we attended the ceremony of •blessing the tapers in the Sistine chapel, I was in anything out a good humour, and shortly went off again with my friends; for I thought to myself those are the very candles which, for these three hundred years, have been dimming those noble paintings, and it is their smoke which, with priestly impudence, not merely hangs in clouds around the only sun of art, but from year to year obscures it more and more, and will at last envelop it in total darkness. We therefore sought the free air, and after a long walk came upon S. Onofrio’s, in a corner of which Tasso is buried. In the library of the monastery there is a bust of him, the face is of wax, and I please myself with fancying that it was taken after death: although the lines have lost some of their sharpness, and it is in some parts injured, still on the whole It serves better than a.ny other I have yet seen to convey an idea of a talented, sensitive, and refined but reserved character. So much for this time. I must now turn to glorious Volckmann's 2nd part, which contains Rome, and which I have not yet seen. Before I start for Naples, the harvest must be housed; good days are coming for binding the sheaves. , . . Rome,Feh.\n,\m. the weather is incredibly and inexpressibly beautiful; for the whole of February, with the exception of four rainy days, a pure bright sky, and the days towards noon almost too warm. One is tempted out into the open air, and if till lately one spent all one’s time in the city among gods and heroes, the country nas now all at once resumed its rights, and one can scarcely tear oneself from the surrounding scenes, lit up as they are with the most glorious days. Many a time does the remembrance come across me how our northern artists labour to gain a charm from thatched roofs and ruined towers— how they turn round and round every bush and bourne, and cmmbling rock, in the hope of catching some picturesque effect; and I have been quite surprised at myself, when I find these things from habit still retaining a hold upon me. Be this as it may, however, within these last fourteen days 1 have plucked up a little courage, and, sketch-book in hand, have wandered up and down the hollows and heights of the M 2 164 LETTERS FROM ITALY. neighbouring villas, and, without much consideration, have sketched off a few little objects characteristically southern and Roman, and am now trying (if good luck will come to my aid) to give them the requisite lights and shades. It is a singular fact, that it is easy enough to clearly see and to acknowledge what is good and the excellent, but that when one attempts to make them one’s own, and to grasp them, somehow or other they slip away, as it were, from between one’s fingers; and we apprehend them, n ot by the ^t, ^ut in ac( and rigEt, Sut m accordanc^wini blir ^ . previous habits of thougETanaTa^ ^^ It Is only by "constant practice that wVcan hope to improve; but where am I to find time and a collection of models ? Still I do feel myself a little improved by the sincere and earnest efforts of the last fourteen days. The artists are ready enough with their hints and instruc¬ tions, for I am quick in apprehending them. But then the lesson so quickly learnt and understood, is not so easily put in practice. T^appreh^d quickly is, forsooth, the attribute of the mind, but correctly fTce of a Hfp, And yet the amateur, however weak may be his efforts at imitation, need not be discouraged. The few lines which I scratch upon the paper often hastily, seldom correctly facilitate any conception of sensible objects ; for one advances to an idea more surely and more steadily the more accurately and pre¬ cisely he considers individual objects. Only it will not do to measure oneself with artists; every one must go on in his own style. For Nature has made pro¬ vision for aU her children; the meanest is not hindered in its existence even by that of the most excellent. “ A little man is still a manand with this remark, we wiU let the matter drop. I have seen the sea twice—first the Adriatic, then the Mediterranean, but only just to look at it. In Naples we hope to become better acquainted with it. All within me seems suddenly to urge me on: why not sooner—why not at a less sacrifice ? How many thousand things, many quite new and for the first time, shoidd I not have had to commu¬ nicate ! EOME—ITALIAN SKIES. 165 Home, Feb. 17, 1787. Evening, after the follies of the Carnival. I am sorry to go away and leave Moritz alone; he is going on well, but when he is left to himself, he immediately shuts himself up and is lost to the world. I have therefore exhorted him to write to Herder: the letter is enclosed. I should wish for an answer, which may be serviceable and helpful to him. He is a strange good fellow; he would have been far more so, had he occasionally met with a friend, sensible and affec¬ tionate enough to enlighten him as to his true state. At present he could not form an acquaintance likely to be more blessed to him than Herder’s, if permitted frequently to write to him. He is at this moment engaged on a very laudable antiquarian attempt, which well deserves to be encouraged : Friend Herder could scarcely bestow his cares better nor sow his good advice in a more grateful soil. The great portrait of myself which Tischbein has taken in hand begins already to stand out from the canvass. The painter has employed a clever statuary to make him a little model in clay, which is elegantly draperied with the mantle; with this he is working away diligently, for it must, he says, be brought to a certain point before we set out for Naples, and it takes no little time merely to cover so large a field of canvass with colours. • Eome, Feb. 19, 1787. The weather continues to be finer than words can express. This has been a day miserably wasted among fools. At night¬ fall I betook myself to the Villa Medici. A new moon has just shone upon us, and below the slender crescent I could with the naked eye discern almost the vfhole of the dark disc through the perspective. Over the earth hangs that haze of the day which the paintings of Claude have rendered so well known. In Nature, however, the phenomenon is perhaps no¬ where so beautiful as it is here. Flowers are now springing out of the earth, and the trees putting forth blossoms which hitherto I have been unacquainted with; the almonds are in blossom, and between the dark-green oaks they make an appear¬ ance as beautiful as it is new to me. The sky is like a bright blue taffeta in the sunshine; what will it be in Naples? Almost everything here is already green. My botanical 166 betters from ITALY. whims gain food and strength from all around; and 1 am on the way to discover new and beautiful relations by means of which Nature—that vast prodigy, which yet is nowhere visible—evolves the most manifold varieties out of the most simple. Vesuvius is throwing out both ashes and stones; in the evening its summit appears to glow. May travailing Nature only favour us with a stream of lava. I can scarcely endure to wait till it shall be really my lot to witness such grand phenomena. “ ‘ Rome, Feb 21, 1787. Ash Wednesday^ The folly is now at an end. The countless lights of yester¬ day evening were, however, a strange spectacle. One must have seen the Carnival in Rome to get entirely rid of the wish to see it again. Nothing can be written of it: as a subject of conversation it may be amusing enough. The most unpleasant feeling about it is, that real internal joy is wanting—there is a lack of money, w^hich prevents them en¬ joying the morsel of pleasure, which otherwise they might still feel in it. The great are economical, and hold back; those of the middle ranks are without the means, and the populace without spring or elasticity. In the last days there was an incredible tumult, but no heartfelt joy. The sky, so infinitely fine and clear, looked down nobly and innocently upon the mummeries. However, as imitation is out of the question, and cannot be thought of here, I send you, to amuse the children, some drawings of carnival masks, and some ancient Roman cos¬ tumes, which are also coloured, as they may serve to supply a miising chapter in the “ Orbis Rictus.” Rome, Feb. 21, 1787. I snatch a few moments in the intervals of packing, to mention some particulars which I have hitherto omitted. To-morrow we set off for Naples. I am already delighting myself with the new scenery, which I promise myself will be inexpressibly beautiful; and hope in this paradise of nature, to win fresh freedom and pleasure for the study of ancient art, on my return to sober Rome. Packing up is light work to me, since I can now do it ROME-THE “ TASSO.” 167 With a merrier heart than I had some six months ago, when I had to tear myself from all that was most dear and precious to me. Yes, it is now a full half year since; and of the four months I have spent in Rome, not a moment has been lost. The boast may sound big; nevertheless, it does not say too much. That “ Iphigenia” has arrived, I know,—may, I learn at the foot of Vesuvius that it has met with a hearty welcome. That Tischbein, who possesses as glorious an eye for nature as for art, is to accompany me on this journey, is to me the subject of great congratulation: still, as genuine Germans, we cannot throw aside all purposes and thoughts of work. We have bought the best of drawing-paper, and we intend to sketch away; although, in all probability, the multitude, the beauty, and the splendour of the objects, will choke our good intentions. One conquest I have gained over myself. Of all my un¬ finished poetical works I shall take with me none but the “Tasso,” of which I have the best hopes. If I could dnlv know what you are now saying to “ Iphigenia,” your remarks might be some guide to me in my present labours; for the plan of “Tasso” is very similar; the subject still more confined, and in its several parts will be even still more elaborately finished. Still I cannot tell as yet what it will eventually prove. Wha^ alread y exists of it must be destroyed ; it is, perhaps, somewhat ^ diouslxjRawn out, andne ither the c h aracters nor the plot, nor the tone of it, are at all in ha rmony wdth my present' views. \ In making a clearSTce 1 Kave*Ianen^upon s6meoF*^ur letters, and in reading them over I have just lighted upon a reproach, that in my letters I contradict myself. It may be so, but I was not aware of it; for as soon as I have written a letter I immediately send it ofiP: I must, however, confess^ that nothing seems to me more likely, for I haye.,iately been' tossed about by mighty spirits, and therefqre^^ imural if .at times I know not wher£T a A story is told of a skipper,' who, overtaken at sea by a storniy night, determined to steer for port. His little boy, who in the dark was crouching by him, asked him, “ What RiUy light is that which I see—at one time above us and at another below us?” His father promised to explain it to him come other day; and then he told him that it was tlie beacon 168 LETTERS PROM ITALY. of the lighthouse, which, to the eye now raised, now depressed, by the wild waves, appeared accordingly sometimes above and sometimes below. I too am steering on a passion-tossed sea for the harbour, and if I can only manage to hold steadily in my eye the gleam of the beacon, however it may seem to change its place, I shall at last enjoy the wished for shore. When one is on the eve of a departure, every earlier separa¬ tion, and also that last one of all, and which is yet to be, comes involuntarily into one’s thoughts; and so, on this occasion, the reflection enforces itself on my mind more strongly than ever, that man is always making far too great and too many prepa¬ rations for life. For we, for instance—Tischbein and I, that is ^ —must soon turn our backs upon many a precious and glorious object, and even upon our well-furnished museum. In it there are now standing three gems for comparison, side by side, and yet we part from them as though they were not. NAPLES. Vellefri^ Feb. 22, 1787. We arrived here in good time. The day before yesterday the weather became gloomy; and our fine days were overcast: still some signs of the air seemed to promise that it would j soon clear up again, and so indeed it turned out. The clouds gradually broke, here and there appeared the blue sky, and at last the sun shone full on our journey. We came through Albano, after having stopped before Genzano, at the entrance of a park, which the owner. Prince Chigi, in a very strange way holds, but does not keep up, on which account he will not allow any one to enter it. In it a true wilderness has been formed. Trees and shrubs, plants and weeds grow, wither, fall, and rot at pleasure. That is all right, and , indeed could not be better. The expanse before the entrance is inexpressibly fine. A high wall encloses the valley, a lattice- gate afibrds a view into it; then the hill ascends, upon which, above you, stands the castle. But now I dare not attempt to go on with the description; and I can merely say, that at the very moment when from the summit we caught sight of the mountains of Sezza, the i Pontine Marshes, the sea and its islands, a heavy passing VELLETEI-A TBICBL TrPON TKAVELIEKS. 169 pliower was traversing the Marshes towards the sea, and the light and shade, constantly changing and moving, won - derfully enlivened and variegated the dreary plain. The effect was beautifully heightened by the sun’s beams which lit up with various hues, the columns of smoke as they ascended from scattered and scarcely visible cottages. Velletri is agreeably situated on a volcanic hill, which, towards the north alone, is connected with other hills, and towards three points of the heavens commands a wide and uninterrupted prospect. We here visited the Cabinet of the Cavaliere Borgia, who, favoured by his relationship with the Cardinal has managed’ by means of the Propapnda, to collect some valuable antiqui¬ ties and other curiosities. .^Egyptian charms, idols cut out of the very hardest rock, some small figures in metal, of earlier or later dates, some pieces of statuary of burnt clay, with figures in low relief, which were dug up in the neigh¬ bourhood, and on the authority of which one is almost tempted to ^ ascribe to the ancient indigenous population a style of their own in art.' Of other kinds of va,rieties there are numerous specimens in this rnuseum. I noticed two Cliinese black-painted boxes; on the sides of one there was delineated the whole manage¬ ment of the silk-worm, and on the other the cultivation of rice; both subjects were very nicely conceived, and worked out with the utmost minuteness. Both the boxes and their covers ire eminently beautiful, and, as well as the book in the ibrary of the Propaganda, which I have already praised, are svell worth seeing. It is certainly inexplicable that these treasures should be within so short a distance of Rome, and yet should not be nore frequently visited; but perhaps the difficulty and incon¬ venience of getting to these regions, and the attraction of the nagic circle of Rome, may serve to excuse the fact. As we irrived at the inn, some women, who were sitting before the loors of their houses, called out to us, and asked if we nshed to buy any antiquities; and then, as we showed a iretty strong hankering after them, they brought out some 'Id kettles, fire-tongs, and such like utensils, and were ready 0 die with laughing at having made fools of us. When we eemed a little put out. our fiuide assured us, to our comfort, 170 LETTERS FROM ITALY. that it was a customary joke, and that all strangers had to submit to it. I am writing this in a very miserable auberge, and feel neither strength nor humour to make it any longer: therefore I must bid you a very good night. Fondly Feh. 23, 1787. We were on the road very early,—^by three in the morning. As the day broke we found ourselves on the Pontine Marshes, which have not by any means so ill an appearance as the common description in Rome would make out. Of course, by merely once passing over the marshes, it is not possible to judge of so great an undertaking as that of the intended draining of them, which necessarily requires time to test its merits; still it does appear to me, that the works which have commenced by the Pope’s orders, will, to a great extent at least, attain the desired end. Conceive to yourself a wide valley, which, as it stretches from north to south, has but a very slight fall, but which towards the east and the mountains is extremely low, but rises again considerably towards the sea on the west. Running in a straight line through the whole length of it, the ancient Via Appia has been restored. On the right of the latter the principal drain has been cut, and in it the water flows with a rapid fall. By means of it the tract of land to the right has been drained, and is now profitably cultivated. As far as the eye can see, it is either already brought into cultivation or evidently might be so, if farmers could be found to take it, with the exception of one spot, which lies extremely low. The left side, which stretches towards the mountains, is more difficult to be managed. Here, however, cross-drains pass under the raised way into the chief drain; as, however, the surface sinks again towards the mountains, it is impossible by this means to carry ofiP the water entirely. To meet this difficulty it is proposed, I was told, to cut another leading drain along the foot of the mountains. liarge patches, espe¬ cially towards Terracina, are thinly planted vuth willows and poplars. The posting stations consist merely of long thatched sheas. Tischbein sketched one of them, and enjoyed for his reward a gratification which only he could enjoy. A white horse having THE PONTINE MAESHES. 171 broke loose had fled to the drained lands. Enjoying its liberty, it was galloping backwards and forwards on the brown turf like a flash of lightning; in truth it was a glorious sight, rendered significant by Tischbein’s rapture. At the point where the ancient village of Meza once stood, the Pope has caused to be built a large and fine building, which indicates the centre of the level. The sight of it increases one's hopes and confidence of the success of the whole undertaking. While thus we travelled on, we kept up a lively conversation to¬ gether, not forgetting the warning, that on this journey one must not go to sleep; and, in fact, we were strongly enough reminded of the danger of the atmosphere, by the blue vapour which, even in this season of the year, hangs above the ground. On this account the more delightful, as it was the more longed for, was the rocky site of Terracina; and scarcely had we congratulated ourselves at the sight of it, than we caught a view of the sea beyond. Immediately afterwards the other side of the mountain city presented to our eye a vege¬ tation quite new to us. The Indian figs were pushing their large fleshy leaves amidst the gray green of dwarf myrtles, the yellowish green of the pomegranate, and the pale "green of the olive. As we passed along, we noticed both flowers and shrubs quite new to us. On the meadows the narcissus and the adonis were in flower. For a long time the sea was on our right, while close to us on the left ran an unbroken range of limestone rocks. It is a continuation of the Apen¬ nines, which runs down from Tivoli and touches the sea, which it does not leave again till you reach the Campagna di Romana, where it is succeeded by the volcanic formations of Frescati, Alba, and Velletri, and lastly by the Pontine Marshes. Monte Circello, with the opposite promontory of Terracina, where the Pontine Marshes terminate, in all pro¬ bability consists also of a system of chalk rocks. We left the sea coast, and soon reached the charming plain of Fondi. Every one must admire this little spot of fertile and well cultivated land, enclosed with hills, which them¬ selves are by no means wild. Oranges, in great numbers, are still hanging on the trees; the crops, aU of wheat, are beau¬ tifully ^een; olives are growing in the fields, and the Httle city is in the bottom. A palm tree, which stood out a marked object in the scenery, received our greetings. So much for 172 LETTERS FROM ITALY. this evening. Pardon the scrawl. I must write without thinking, for writing sake. The objects are too numerous, my resting place too wretched, and yet my desire to commit something to paper too great. With nightfall we reached this place, and it is now time to go to rest. S. Agata, Feh, 24, 1787. Although in a wretchedly cold chamber, I must yet try and give you some account of a beautiful day. It was already nearly light when we drove out of Fondi, and we were forth¬ with greeted by the orange t^ees which hang over the walls on both sides of our road. The trees are loaded with such numbers as can only be imagined and not expressed. Towards the top the young leaf is yellowish, but below and in the middle, of sappy green. Mignon was quite right to long for them. After this we travelled through clean and well-worked fields of wheat, planted at convenient distances with olive-trees. A soft breeze was moving, and brought to the light the silvery under-surface of the leaves, as the branches swayed gently and elegantly. It was a gray morning; a north wind pro¬ mised soon to dispel all the clouds. Then the road entered a valley between stony but well- dressed fields; the crops of the most beautiful green. At cer¬ tain spots one saw some roomy places, paved, and surrounded with low walls; on these the corn, which is never carried home in sheaves, is thrashed out at once. The valley gradually narrows, and the road becomes mountainous, bare rocks of limestone standing on both sides of us. A violent storm followed us, with a fall of sleet, which thawed very slowly. The walls, of an ancient style, built after the pattern of net-work, charmed us exceedingly. On the heights the soil is rocky, but nevertheless planted with olive-trees wherever there is the smallest patch of soil to receive them. Next we drove over a plain covered with olive-trees, and then through a small town. We here noticed altars, ancient tomb¬ stones, and fragments of every kind built up in the walls of the pleasure-houses in the gardens. Then the lower stories of ancient villas, once excellently built, but now filled up S. AGaTA. 173 with earth, and overgrown with olives. At last we caught a sight of Vesuvius, with a cloud of smoke resting on its brow, Molo di Gaeta greeted us again with the richest of orange- trees ; we remained there some hours,, The creek before the town, which the tide flows up to, affords one the finest of views. Following the line of coast, on the right, till the eye reaches at last the horn of the crescent, one sees at a mode¬ rate distance the fortress of Gaeta on the rocks. The left horn stretches out still further, presenting to the beholder first of all aline of mountains, then Vesuvius, and, beyond all, the islands. Ischia lies before you nearly in the centre. On the shore here I found, for the first time in my Life, a starfish, and an echinus thrown up by the sea; a beautiful green leaf, {tethys foliacea)^ smooth as the finest bath paper, and other remarkable rubble-stones, the most common being limestone, but occasionally also serpentine, jasper, quartz, granite, breccian pebbles, porphyry, marble of different kinds, and glass of a blue and green colour. The two last- mentioned specimens are scarcely productions of the neigh¬ bourhood. They are probably the debris of ancient buildings ; and thus we have seen the waves before our eyes playing with the splendours of the ancient world. We tarried awhile, and pleased ourselves with meditating on the nature of man, whose hopes, whether in the civilized or savage state, are so soon disappointed. Departing from Molo, a beautiful prospect still accompa¬ nies the traveller, even after his quitting the sea; the last glimpse of it was a lovely bay, of which we took a sketch. We now came upon a good fruit country, with hedges of aloes. We noticed an aqueduct which ran from the mountains over some nameless and orderless masses of ruins. Next comes the ferry over the Garigliano ; after crossing it one passes through tolerably fruitful districts, till we reach the mountains. Nothing striking. At length, the first hill of lava. Here begins an extensive and glorious district of hill and vale, over which the snowy summits are towering in the distance. On the nearest eminence lies a long town, which strikes the eye with an agreeable effect. In the valley lies S* Agata, a considerable inn, where a cheerful fire was burning in a chimney arranged as a cabinet; however, ouj 1T4 LETTERS FROM ITALY. room is cold—^no window, oidy shutters, which I am just hastening to close. Naples, Fel, 25, 1787. And here we are happily arrived at last, and with good omens enough. Of our day's journey thus much only. We left S. Agata with sunrise, a violent north-east 'wind blow¬ ing on our backs, which continued the whole day through. It was not till noon that it was master of the clouds. We suffered much from the cold. Our road again lay among and over volcanic hills, among which I did not notice many limestone rocks. At last we reached the plains of Capua, and shortly afterwards Capua itself, where we halted at noon. In the afternoon a beautiful but flat region lay stretched before us ; the road is broad, a^d runs through fields of green corn, so even that it looked like a carpet, and was at least a span high. Along the fields are planted rows of poplars, from which the branches are lopped to a great height, that the vines may run up them ; this is the case all the way to Naples. The soil is excellent, light, loose, and well worked. The vine stocks are of extra¬ ordinary strength and height, and their shoots hang in festoons like nets from tree to tree. Vesuvius was all the while on our left with a strong smoke, and I felt a quiet joy to think that at last I beheld with my own eyes this most remarkable object. The sky became clearer and clearer, and at length the sun shone quite hot into our narrow rolling lodging. The atmosphere was perfectly clear and bright as we approached Naples, and we now found ourselves, in truth, in quite another world. The houses, with fiat roofs, at once bespeak a different climate ; inwardly, perhaps, they may not be very comfortable. Every one is in the streets, or sitting in the. sun as long as it shines. The Neapolitan believes himself to be in possession of Paradise, and entertains a very melancholy opinion of our northern lands. Sempre neve, caso di leg no, gran ignoranza, ma danari assai. Such is the picture they draw of our condition. Interpreted for the benefit of all our German folk, it means— AJways snow, wooden houses, great ignorance, but money enough. NAPLES-MY LODGINGS* m Naples at first sight leaves a free, cheerful, and lively impression; numberless beings are passing and repassing each other : the king is gone hunting, the queen ; and 80 things could not be better. Naples, Monday, Feh. 26, 1787. Alla Locanda del Sgr. Moriconi al Largo del CastelloT Under this addi-ess, no less cheerful tha^n high-sounding, letters from all the four quarters of heaven will henceforth find us. Round the castle, which lies by the sea, there stretches a large open space, which, although surrounded on all sides with houses, is not called a square or piazza, but a largo, or expanse. Perhaps the name is derived from ancient times, when it was still an open and unenclosed country. Here, in a corner house on one side of the Largo, we have taken up our lodgings in a corner room, which commands a free and lively view of the ever moving surface. An iron balcony runs before several, windows, and even round the corner. One would never leave it, if the sharp wind were not extremely cutting. The room is cheerfully decorated, especially the ceiling, whose arabasques of a hundred compartments bear witness to the proximity of Pompeii and Herculaneum. Now, all this is very well and very fine ; but there is no fire-place, no chiihney, and yet February exercises even here its rights. I expressed a wish for something to warm me. They brought in a tripod of sufficient height from the ground for one con¬ veniently to hold one’s hands over it; on it was placed a shallow brazier, full of extremely fine charcoal red-hot, but covered smoothly over with ashes. We now found it an advantage to be able to manage this process of domestic economy; we had learned that at Rome. With the rino- of a key, from time to time, one cautiously draws away the ashes of the surface, so that a few of the embers may be ex¬ posed to the free air. Were you impatiently to stir up the glowing coals, you would no doubt experience for a few moments great warmth, but you would in a short time exhauts the fuel, and then you must pay a certain sum to have the brasier filled again. 17G LETTERS FROM ITALY. [ did not feel quite well, and could have wished for more of ease and comfort. A reed matting was all there was to protect one’s feet from the stone floor; skins are not usual. I determined to put on a sailor’s cloak which we had brought with us in fun, and it did me good service, especially when I tied it round my body with the rope of my box. I must have looked very comical, something between a sailor and a capuchin. When Tischbein came back from visiting some of his friends, and found me in this dress, he could not refrain from laughing. Naples, Feb, 27, 1787. Yesterday I kept quietly at home, in order to get rid of a slight bodily ailment. To-day has been a regular carouse, and the time passed rapidly while we visited the most glorious of objects. Let man talk, describe and paint as he may—to be here is more than all. The shore, the creeks, and the bay, Vesuvius, the city, the suburbs, the castles, the atmosphere ! In the evening, too, we went into the Grotto of Posilippo, while the setting sun was shining into it from the other side. I can pardon all who lose their senses in Naples, and remember with emotion my father, who retained to the last an indelible impression of those objects which to-day I have cast eyes upon for the first time. Just as it is I said, that people who have once seen a ghost, are never after- I wards seen to smile, so in the opposite sense it may be said p of him, that he never could become perfectly miserable, so I' long as he remembered Naples. According to my fashion, i I am quite still and calm, and when anything happens too li absurd, only make large—large eyes. Naples, Feb, 28, 1787. To-day we visited Philip Hackert, the famous landscape- painter, who enjoys the special confidence and peculiar favour of the king and the queen. A wing of the palace Franca ViUa has been assigned to him, which, having furnished^ it with true artistic taste, he feels great satisfaction in in¬ habiting. He is a very precise and prudent personage, who, with untiring industry, manages, nevertheless, to enjoy life. NAPLES-THE PEINCE VON WALDECK. 177 After that we took a sail, and saw all kinds of fish ana wonderful shapes drawn out of the waves. The day was glorious; the tramontane (north winds) tolerable. Naples^ March 1, 1787. Even in Rome my self-willed hermit-like humour was forced to assume a more social aspect than I altogether liked: no doubt it appears a strange beginning to go into the world in order to be alone. Accordingly I could not resist Prince von Waldeck, who most kindly invited me, and by his rank and influence has procured me the enjoyment of many privileges. We had scarcely reached Naples, where he has been residing a long while, when he sent us an invita¬ tion to pay a visit with him to Puzzuoli and the neighbourhood. I was thinking already of Vesuvius for to-day; but Tischbein has forced me to take this journey, which, agreeable enough of itself, promises from the fine weather, and the society of a perfect gentleman, and well-educated prince, very much both of pleasure and profit. We had also seen in Rome a beautiful lady, who with her husband, is inseparable from the Prince. She also is to be of the party; and we hope for a most delightful day. Moreover, 1 was intimately known to this noble society, having met them previously. The Prince, upon our first acquaintance, had asked me what I was then busy with; and the plan of my “ Iphigenia” was so fresh in my recollection, that I was able one evening to relate it to them circumstantially. They entered into it; still, still I fancied I oould observe that something livelier and wilder was expected of me. Evening. It would be difficult to give an account of this day. How often has the cursory reading of a book, which irresistibly carries one with it, exercised the greatest influence on a man’s whole life, and produced at once a decisive effect, which neither a second perusal nor earnest reflection can either strengthen or modify. This I experienced in the case of the “ Sakuntala”; and do not great men affect us somewhat in the same way ? A sail to Puzzuoli, little trips by land, cheerful walks through the most wonderful regions in the world ! Beneath the purest N !78 LETTERS FROM ITALY. sky the most treacherous soil; ruins of inconceivable opulence, ‘ oppressive, and saddening; boiling waters, clefts exhaling su.- < phur, rocks of slag defying vegetable life, bare forbidding i tracts, and then at last on all sides the most luxuriant vege- } tation seizing every spot and cranny possible, running over i every lifeless object, edging the lakes and brooks, and nour- \: ishing a glorious wood of oak on the brinli of an ancient |i crater! | And thus one is driven backwards and forwards between | nature and the history of nations; one wishes to meditate, and | soon feels himself quite unfit for it. In the mean time, how- ever, the living lives on merrily, with a joyousness which we i too would share. Educated persons, belonging to the world and i the world's ways, but warned by serious events, become, never- i theless, disposed for reflection. A boundless view of earth, t sea, and sky,—and then called away to the side of a young and ^ amiable lady, accustomed and delighted to receive homage. Amidst all this giddy excitement, however, I failed^not ) to make many notes. The future reduction of these will be (i greatly facilitated by the map we consulted on the spot, and ? by a hasty sketch of Tischbein’s. To-day it is not possible for ■ me to make the least addition to these. March 2, Thursday I ascended Vesuvius, although the weather was unsettled, and the summit of the mountain surrounded by ii clouds. I took a carriage as far as Resina, and then, on the li back of a mule, began the ascent, having vineyards on both ; sides. Next, on foot, I crossed the lava of the year ’71, on the :! surface of which a fine but compact moss was already growing; ji then upwards on the side of the lava. The hut of the hermit ; on the height, was on my left hand. After this we climbed the ji^ Ash- hill, which is wearisome walking; two-thirds of the sum- mit were enveloped in clouds. At last we reached the ancient crater, now filled up, where we found recent lava, only two f i months and fourteen days old, and also a slight streak of only || five days, which was, however, already cold. Passing over I these, we next ascended a height which had been thrown up by volcanic action ; it was smoking from all its points. As I the smoke rolled away from us, I essayed to approach the crater; scarcely, however, had we taken fifty steps in jl KAPLES—fESUTIUS. 179 the steam, when it became so dense that I could scarcely see my shoes. It was to no purpose that we held snuff continually before our nostrils. My guide had disappeared; and the footing on the lava lately thrown up was very unsteady. I therefore thought it right to trun round, and to reserve the sight for a finer day, and for less of smoke. However, I now knowhow difficult it is to breathe in such an atmosphere. Otherwise, the mountain was quite still. Inhere was no flame, no roaring, no stones thrown up—all which it usually does at most times. I reconnoitered it well, with the intention of regularly storming it as soon as the weather shall improve. The specimens of lava that I found, were mostly of well- known kinds. I noticed, however, a phenomenon which appeared to me extremely strange, which I intend to examine again still more closely, and also to consult connoisseurs and collectors upon it. It is a stalactite incrustation of a part of the volcanic funnel, which has been thrown down, and now rears itself in the centre of the old choked-up crater. This mass of solid greyish stalactite appears to have been formed by the sublimation of the very finest volcanic evaporation, without the co-operation of either moisture or fusion. It will furnish occasion for further thinking. To-day, the 3rd of March, the sky is covered with clouds, and a sirocco is blowing. For post-day, good weather. ^ A very strange medley of men, beautiful houses, and most singular fishes are here to be seen in abundance. Of the situation of the city, and of its glories, which have been so often described and commended, not a word from me, “ Vede Napoli e poi muori,'" is the cry here. “ See Naples, and die.’’ _ ^ Naples, March b, 1787. That no Neapolitan wiU allow the merits of his city to be questioned, that their poets should sing in extravagant hyper¬ bole of the blessings of its site, are not matters to‘quarrel about, even though a pair of Vesuviuses stood in its neighbour¬ hood. Here one can almost cast aside all remembrances, even of Rome. As compared with this free open situation, the capital of the world, in the basin of the Tiber, looks like a cloister built on a bad site. • The sea, with its vessels, and their destinations, presents wholly new matters for reflection. The frigate for Palermo K 2 ]80 LETTERS FROM ITALY. started yesterday, with a strong, direct, north wind. This time it certainly will not be more than six-and-thirty hours on tue passage. With what longing did I not watch the full sails as the vessel passed between Capri and Cape Minerva, until at last it disappeared. Who could see one’s beloved thus saihng away and survive ? The sirocco (south wind) is now blowing ; if the wind becomes stronger, the breakers over the Mole will ^^IVdaTbeing Friday, is the grand promenade of the nobi- lity, when every one displays his equipages, and especially his stud. It is almost impossible to see finer horses anywhere than in Naples. For the first time in my life I have felt an interest in these animals. Naples, March 3,«1787. Here you have a tew leaves, as reporters of the enter¬ tainment I have met with in this place; also a corner of the cover of your letter, stained with smoke, m testi¬ mony of its having been with me on Vesuvius. You must not, however, fancy, either in your waking thoughts or in your dreams, that I am surrounded by perils; be assured that wherever I venture, there is no more danger than on the road to Belvedere. The earth is everywhere the Lord's; may be well said in reference to such objects. I never seek adventure out of a mere rage for singularity; but even because I am most cool, and can catch at a glance, the peculiarities of any object, I may well do and venture more than many others. Tim passage to Sicily is anything but dangerous. A few days ago, the frigate sailed for Palermo with a favorable breeze from the north, and, leaving Capri on the right, has, no doubt, accomplished the voyage in six-and-thirty hours. In all such expeditions, one finds the danger to be far less in reahty than, at a distance, one is apt to imagine. Of eairthquakes, there is not at present a vestige m Lower Italy ; in the upper provinces Rimini and its neighbourhood has lately suffered. Thus the earth has strange humours, and people talk of earthquakes here just as we do of wind and weather, and as in Thuringia they talk of conflagrations. I am delighted to find that you are now familiar with the two editions of my “Iphigenia,” but still more pleased should I be had you been more sensible of the difference between them. ITAPLES-FILANGIERl. m I know what I have done for it, and may well speak thereof, since I feel that I could make still further improvements. If it be a bliss to enjoy the good, it is still greater happiness to dis¬ cern the better; for in art the best only is good enough. Naples^ March 5, 1787. We spent the second Sunday of Lent in visiting church after church. As in Rome all is highly solemn ; so here every hour is merry and cheerful. The Neapolitan school of painting, too, can only be understood in Naples. One is astonished to see the whole front of a church painted from top to bottom Over the door of one, Christ is driving out of the temple the buyers and sellers, who, terribly frightened, are nimbly hud. dling up their wares, and hurrying down the steps on both sides. In another church, there is a room over the entrance, which is richly ornamented with frescoes representing the deprivation of Heliodorus. Luca Giordano must indeed have painted rapidly, to fill such large areas in a lifetime. The pulpit, too, is here not always a mere cathedra, as it is in other places,—a place where one only may teach at a time; but a gaUery. Along one of these I once saw a Capuchin walking backwards and forwards, and, now from one end, now from another, reproaching the people with their sins. What had he not to tell them ! But neither to be told nor to be described is the glory of a night of the full moon such as we have enjoyed here, wan¬ dering through the streets and squares and on the quay, with its long promenade, and then backwards and forwards on the beach; one felt really possessed with the feeling of the infinity of space. So to dream is really worth all trouble. Naples^ March 5, 1787. I made to-day the acquaintance of an excellent individual, and I must briefly give you a general description of him. It is the Chevalier Filangieri, famous for his work on legislation. He belongs to those noble young men who wish to promote the happiness and the moderate hberty of mankind. In his bearing * Heliodorus, Bishop of Tricca, in Thessaly, in the fourth century, author of the “ CEthiopics, or, the Amours of Theagenes and Chariclea,^^ was, it is said, deprived of his bishopric for writing this work.—A. W. M. J82 LETTERS FROM ITALY. you recognise at once the soldier, the chevalier, and the man of the world; but this appearance is softened by an expres¬ sion of tender moral sensibility, which is diffused over his whole countenance, and shines forth most agreeably in his character and conversation; he is, moreover, heartily at¬ tached to his sovereign and country, even though he cannot approve of all that goes on. He is also oppressed with a fear of Joseph II. The idea of a despot, even though it only floats as a phantom in the air, excites the appiehensions of every noble-minded man. He spoke to me without reserve, of what Naples had to fear from him ; but in particular he was delighted to speak of Montesquieu, Beccaria, and of some of his own writings—all in the same spirit of the best will, and of a heart full of youthful enthusiasm to do good. And yet he may one day be classed with the Thirty. He has also made me acquainted with an old writer, from whose inexhaustible depths these new Italian friends of legislation derive intense encou¬ ragement and edification. He is called Giambattista Vico, and is preferred even to Montesquieu. After a hasty perusal of his book, which was lent to me as a sacred deposit, I laid it down, sapng to myself, Here are sybilline anticipations of good and right, which once must, or ought to be, realised, drawn apparently from a serious contemplation both of the past and of the present. It is well when a nation possesses such a forefather: the Germans will one day receive a similar codex from Hamann, Naples^ March 6, 1787. Most reluctantly, yet, for the sake of good-fellowship, Tisch- bein accompanied me to-day to Vesuvius. To him—the artist of form, who concerns himself with none but the most beau¬ tiful of human and animal shapes, and one also whose taste and judgment lead to humanise even the formless rock and landscape,—such a frightful and shapeless conglomeration of matter, which, moreover, is continually preying on itself, and proclaiming war against every idea of the beautiful, must have appeared utterly abominable. We started in twocaleches, as we did not trust ourselves to drive through the crowd and whirl of the city. The drivers kept up an incessant shouting at the top of their voice whenev^er don¬ keys with their loads of wood or rubbish, or rolling calechos NAPLES-ASCENT OF VESUVIUS. .183 met us, or else warning the porters with their burdens, or other pedestrians, whether children or old people to get out of the way. All the while, however, they drove at a sharp trot, without the least stop or check. As you get into the remoter suburbs and gardens, the road soon begins to show signs of a Plutonic action. For as we had not had rain for a long time, the naturally ever¬ green leaves were covered with a thick gray and ashy dust; so that the glorious blue sky, and the scorching sun which shone down upon us, were tie only signs that we were still among the living. At the foot of the steep ascent, we were received by two guides, one old, the other young, but both active fellows. The first pulled me up the path, the other Tischbein,— pulled I say, for these guides are girded round the waist with a leathern belt, which the traveller takes hold of, and being di-awn up by his guide, makes his way the easier with foot and staff. In this manner we reached the fiat from which the cone rises: towards the north lay the ruins of the Somma. A glance westwards over the country beneath us, removed, as well as a bath could, all feeling of exhaustion and fatigue, and we now went round the ever-smoking cone, as it threw out its stones and ashes. Wherever the space allowed of our viewing it at a sufiicient distance, it appeared a grand and elevating spectacle. In the first place, a violent thundering toned forth from its deepest abyss, then stones of larger and smaller sizes were showered into the air by thousands, and enveloped by clouds of ashes. The greatest part fell again into the gorge; the rest of the fragments, receiving a lateral inclination, and falling on the outside of the crater, made a marvellous rumbling noise. First of all the larger masses plumped against the side, and reboymded with a dull heavy sound; then the smaller came rattling down ; and last of all, drizzled a shower of ashes. ^ this took place at regular intervals, which by slowly count¬ ing, we were able to measure pretty accurately. Between the Somma, however, and the cone the space is narrow enough; moreover, several stones fell around us, and made the circuit anything but agreeable. Tischbein now felt more disgusted than ever with Vesuvius, as the monster, not content with being hateful, showed an inclination to become mischievous also. 184 LETTERS FROM ITALY. As, however, the presence of danger generally exercises on man a kind of attraction, and calls forth a spirit of opposition in the human breast to defy it, I bethought myself that, in the interval of the eruptions, it would be possible to climb up the cone to the crater, and to get back before it broke out again. I held a council on this point with our guides under one of the overhanging rocks of the Somma, where, encamped in safety, we refreshed ourselves with the provisions we had brought with us. The younger guide was willing to run the risk with me; we stuffed our hats full of linen and silk handkerehiefs, and, staff in hand, we prepared to start, I holding on to his girdle. The little stones were yet rattling around us, and the ashes still drizzling, as the stalwart youth hurried forth with me across the hot glowing rubble. We soon stood on the brink of the vast chasm, the smoke of which, although a gentle air was bearing it away from us, unfortunately veiled the interior of the crater, which smoked all round from a thousand crannies. At intervals, however, we caught sight through the smoke of the cracked walls of the rock. The view was neither instructive nor delightful; but for the very reason that one saw nothing, one lingered in the hope of catching a glimpse of something more; and so we forgot our slow counting. We were standing on a narrow ridge of the vast abyss: of a sudden the thunder pealed aloud; we ducked our heads involuntarily, as if that would have rescued us from the precipitated masses. The smaller stones soon rattled, and without considering that we had again an interval of cessa¬ tion before us, and only too much rejoiced to have outstood the danger, we rushed down and reached the foot of the hill, together with the drizzling ashes, which pretty thickly covered our heads and shoulders. Tischbein was heartily glad to see me again. After a little scolding and a little refreshment, I 'was able to give my especial attention to the old and new lava. And here the elder of the guides was able to instruct me accurately in the signs by which the age of the several strata was indicated. The older were already covered with ashes, and. rendered quite smooth; the newer, especially those which had cooled slowly, presented a singular appearance. As, sliding along, they carried a^Yay with them the solid objects which lay on NAPLES—AN ANTIQUE-A HORSB’s HEAD. 185 the sm-face, it necessarily happened that from time to time se¬ veral would come into contact with each other, and these again being swept still further by the molten stream, and pushed one over the other, would eventually form a solid mass with won¬ derful jags and corners, still more strange even than the some¬ what similarly formed piles of the icebergs. Among this fused and waste matter I found many great rocks, which, being struck with a hammer, present on the broken face a perfect resemblance to the primeval rock formation. The guides maintained that these were old lava from the lowest depths of the mountain, which are very often thrown up by the volcano. Upon our return to Naples, we noticed some small houses of only one story, and of a remarkable appearance and singular build, without windows, and receiving all their light from the doors, which opened on the road. The inha¬ bitants sit before them at the door from the morning to the night, when they at last retire to their holes. The city, which in the evening is all of a tumult, though of a different kind from the day, extorted from jne the wish that I might be able to stay here for some time, in order to sketch to the best of my powers the moving scene. It will not, however, be possible. Naples^ Wednesday^ March 7, 1787. This week Tischbein has shown to me, and without reserve commented upon, the greater part of the artistic treasures of Naples. An excellent judge and drawer of animals, he had long before called my attention to a horse’s head in brass in the Palace Columbrano : we went there to-day. This relic of art is placed in the court right opposite the gateway, in a niche over a well, and really excites one’s astonishment. What must have been the effect of the whole head and body •together ? The perfect horse must have been far larger than those at S. Mark’s: moreover, the head alone, when closely viewed, enables you distinctly to recognise and admire the character and spirit of the. animal. The splendid frontal 186 LETTEKS EflOM ITALIC. bones, the snorting nostrils, the pricked ears, the stiff mane, —a strong, excited, and spirited creature! We turned round to notice a female statue wh'ch stands in a niche oyer the gateway. It has been already described by Winckelmann as an imitation of a dancing girl, with the remark, that such artistes represent to us in living move¬ ment, and under the greatest variety, that beauty of form which the masters of statuary exhibit in the (as it were) petrified nymphs and goddesses. It is very light and beau¬ tiful ; the head, which had been broken off, has been skilfully set on again; otherwise it is nowise injured, and most assu¬ redly deserves a better place. Naples. To-day I received your dear letter of the 16th February ; only, keep on writing. I have made arrangements for the for- i warding of my letters, and I shall continue to do so, if I move ^ further. Quite strange does it seem to me to read that my i friends do not often see each other ; and yet perhaps nothing i is more common than for men not to meet who are living close i together. The weather here has become dull: a change is at hand. [ Spring is commencing, and we shall soon have some rainy i days. The summit of Vesuvius has not been clear since I paid it a visit. These few last nights flames have been seen to 1 issue from it; to-day it is keeping itself quiet, and therefore i more violent eruptions are expected. The storms of these last few days have shown to us a ' glorious sea; it is at such times that the waves may be c studied in their worthiest style and shape. Nature, indeed, ) is the only book which presents important matter on all its \ pages. On the other hand, the theatres have ceased to fur- t nish any amusement. During Lent nothing but operas, u which differ in no respect from more profane ones but by the ti absence of ballets between the acts; in all other respects it they are as gay as possible. In the theatre of S. Carlo they 9 are representing t. e destruction of Jerusalem by Nebu- j chadnezzar: to me it is only a great raree-show; my taste i; is quite spoilt for such things. To-day we were with the Prince von Waldeck at Capo di ; NAILES, 187 Monte, where there is a great collection of paintings, coins, &c. It is not well arranged, but the things themselves are above praise : we can now correct and confirm many tradi¬ tional ideas. Those coins, gems, and vases which, like the stunted citron-trees, come to us in the north one by one, have quite a difierent look here in the mass, and, so to speak, in their own home and native soil. For where works of art are rare, their very rarity gives them a value ; here we learn to treasure none but the intrinsically valuable. A very high price is at present given for Etruscan vases, and certainly beautiful and excellent pieces are to be found among them. Not a traveller but wishes to possess some specimen or other of them; one does not seem to value money here at the same rate as at home : I fear that I myself shall yet be tempted. Naples^ Friday^ March 9, 1787. This is the pleasant part of travelling, that even ordinary matters, by their novelty and unexpectedness, often acquire the appearance of an adventure. As I came back from Capo di Monte, I paid an evening visit to Filangieri, and saw sitting on the sofa, by the side of the mistress of the house, a lady whose external appearance seemed to agree but little with, the familiarity and easy manner she indulged in. In a light, striped, silk gown of very ordinary texture, and a most sin¬ gular cap, by way of head-dress, but of a pretty figure, she looked like some poor dressmaker who, taken up with the care of adorning the persons of others, had little time to bestow on her own external appearance; such people are so accustomed to expect their labours to be remunerated, that they seem to have no idea of working gratis for themselves. She did not allow her gossip to be at all checked by my arrival, but went on talking of a number of ridiculous adventures which had happened to her that day, or w^hich had been occasioned by her own hrusquerie and impetuosity. The lady of the house wished to help me to get in a word or two, and spoke of the beautiful site of Capo di Monte, and of the treasures there. Upon this the lively lady sprang up with a good high jump from the sofa, and as she stood on her feet seemed still prettier than before. She took leave, and L Iwf' 188 LETTERS FROM ITALY. running to the door, said, as she passed me, “ The Filangieri are coming one of these days to dine with me—I hope to see you also.” She was gone before I could say yes. I now learnt that she was the Princess-, a near relative to the master of the house.^ The Filangieri were not rich, and lived in a becoming but moderate style ; and such I presumed was the case with my little Princess, especially as such titles are anything but rare in Naples. I set down the name, and the day and hour, and left them, without any doubt but that I should be found at the right place in due time. Naples^ Sunday^ March 11, 1787. As my stay in Naples cannot be long, I take the most remote points first of all—the near throw themselves, as it were, in ^ one’s way. I have been with Tischbein to Pompeii, and on 3 our road aU those glorious prospects which were already v/ell s known to us from many a landscape drawing, lay right and t left, dazzling us by their number and unbroken succession. * Pompeii amazes one by its narrowness and littleness ; con¬ fined streets, but perfectly straight, and furnished on both sides with a foot pavement; little houses without windows, the rooms being lit only by the doors, which opened on the atrium and the galleries. Even the public edifices, the tomb at the gate, a temple, and also a villa in its neighbourhood, are like models and dolls’ houses, rather than real buildings. The rooms, corridors, galleries and all, are painted with bright and cheerful colours, the wall surfaces uniform; in the middle some elaborate painting (most of these have been removed); on the borders and at the corners, light tasteful arabesques, terminating in the pretty figures of nymphs or children; while ^ in others, from out of garlands of flowers, beasts, wild and tame, are issuing. Thus does the city, which first of all the hot shower of stones and ashes overwhelmed, and afterwards the excavators plundered, still bear witness, even in its pre¬ sent utterly desolate state, to a taste for painting and the arts common to the whole people, of which the most enthusi¬ astic dilettante of the present day has neither idea nor feeling;, and so misses not * Filangieri's sister. NAPLES-VtSIT TO POMPEII. 189 When one considers the distance of this tovm from Vesu¬ vius, it is clear that the volcanic matter which overwhelmed it could not have been carried hither either by any sudden impetus of the mountain, or by the wind. We must rather suppose that these stones and ashes had been floating for a time in the air, like clouds, until at last they fell upon the doomed city. In order to form a clear and precise idea of this event, one has only to think of a mountain village buried in snow. The spaces between the houses, and indeed the crushed houses themselves, were filled up; however, it is not improbable that some of the mason-work may, at difierent points, have peeped above the surface, and in this way have excited the notice of those by whom the hill was broken up for vineyards and gardens. And, no doubt, many an owner, on digging up his own portion, must have made valuable gleanings. Se¬ veral rooms were found quite empty, and in the comer of one a heap of ashes was observed, under which a quantity of household articles and works of art was concealed. The strange, and in some degree unpleasant impressior which this mummied city leaves on the mind, we got rid of, as, sitting in the arbour of a little inn close to the sea (where we dispatched a frugal meal), we revelled in the blue sky, the glaring ripple of the sea, and the bright sunshine ; and cherished a hope that, when the vine-leaf should again cover the hill, we might all be able to pay it a second visit, and once more enjoy ourselves together on the same spot. As we approached the city, we again came upon the little cot¬ tages, which now appeared to us perfectly to resemble those in Pompeii. We obtained permission to enter one, and found it extremely clean—neatly-platted rush-bottomed chairs, a bufiet, covered all over with gilding, or painted with variegated flowers, and highly varnished. Thus, after so many centuries, and such numberless changes, this country instils into ite inhabitants the same customs and habits of life, the same incli¬ nations and tastes. Naples^ Monday^ March 12, 1787. To-day, according to my custom I have gone slowly through the city, noting several points, for a future description of it, of which unfortunately I cannot communicate anything to- 190 LETTERS FROM ITALY. day. All tends to this one conclusion : that a highly-favored land, which furnishes in abundance the chief necessaries of existence, produces men also of a happy disposition, who, with¬ out trouble or anxiety, trust to to-morrow to bring them what to-day has been wanting, and consequently live on in a light¬ hearted careless sort of life. Momentary gratification, moderate enjoyments, a passing sorrow, and a cheerful resignation! The morning has been cold and damp, with a little rain. In my walk I came upon a spot where the great slabs of the pavement appeared swept quite clean. To my great surprise I saw, on this smooth and even spot, a number of ragged boys squatting in a circle, and spreading out their hands over the ground, as if to warm them. At first I took it to be some game that they were playing ; when, however, I noticed the perfect seriousness and composure of their countenances, with an expression on it of a gratified want, I therefore put my brains to the utmost stretch, but they refused to enlighten me as I desired. I was, therefore, obliged to ask what it could i be that had induced these little imps to take up this strange position, and had collected them in so regular a circle. Upon this I was informed that a neighbouring smith had been heating the tire of a wheel, and that this is done in the following manner:—The iron tire is laid on the pavement, and around is as much oak chips as is considered sufficient to soften the iron to the required degree. The lighted wood burns away, the tire is riveted to the wheel, and the ashes [ carefully swept up. The little vagabonds take advantage of the heat communicated to the pavement, and do not leave the spot till they have drawn from it the last radiation of warmth. Similar instances of contentedness, and sharp-witted profiting by what otherwise would be wasted, occur here in great ber. I notice in this people the most shrewd num industry, not to make riches, but to live free from care. Evening, In order that I might not make any mistake yesterday, as to the house of my odd little princess, and might be there in k time, I called a hackney carriage. It stopped before the grand p entrance of a spacious palace. As I had no idea of coming | to so splendid a dwelling, I repeated to him most distinctly | NAPLES—A DINNER PARTY. 191 the name ; he assured me it was quite right.' I soon found myself in a spacious court, still and lonesome, empty and clean, enclosed by the principal edifice and side buildings Ihe architecture was the well-known light Neapolitan style as was also the colouring. Right before me was a grand porch and a broad but not very high flight of steps. On both sides ot it stood a line of servants, in splendid liveries, who, as I passed them, bowed very low. I thought myself the Sultan in Wieland s fairy tale, and after his example, took courage. JNext I was received by the upper domestics, till at last Sie most courtly of them opened a door, and introduced me into a spacious apartment, which was as splendid, but also as empty of people as all before. In passing backwards and forwards I observed, in a side-room, a table laid out for about torty persons, with a splendour corresponding with all around A secular priest now entered, and without asking who I was' or whence I came, approached me as if I were already knowi^ to him, and conversed on the most common-place topics. A pair of folding doors were now thrown open and imme¬ diately closed again, as a gentleman rather advanced in years entered The priest immediately proceeded towards him, as 1 also did; we greeted him with a few words of courtesy which he returned in a barking stuttering tone, so that I syUable of his Hottentot dialect. When he had taken his place by the stove, the priest moved away, and I accompanied him. A portly Benedictine mered, accompanied by a younger member of his order. He went to salute the host, and after being also barked at, retired to a window.^ The regular clergy, especially those whose di-ess is becoming, have great advantage in society • their costume is a mark of humility and renunciation of self while at the same time it lends to its wearers a deeidedly oignihed appearance. In their behaviour they may easily without degrading themselves, appear submissive and com’ pying; and then again, when they stand upon their own dipiity their self-respect sits well upon them, although in others it would not be so readily allowed to pass. This was the case with this person. When I asked him about Monte' Oassino he immediately gave me an invitation thither, and promised me the best of welcomes. In the meanwhile the room had become full of people; ofiicers, people of the court, 192 LETTERS FROM ITALY. inorc rGgulcirs, and ©vGn som© Capncliins, had amv©d. One© ; more a set of folding-doors opened and shut; an aged lady, ; somewhat older than my host, had entered; and now the ; presence of w’^hat I took to be the lady of the house, made me feel perfectly confident that I was in a strange mansion, where 1 was wholly unknown to its owners. Dinner was now served, and I was keeping close to the side of my friends the monks, in order to slip with them into the paradise ^ of the dining-room, when all at once I saw Filangieri, with his wife, enter and make his excuses for being so late. Shortly i after this my little princess came into the room, and with i nods, and winks, and bows to all as she passed, came straight | to me.—“ It is very good of you to keep your word,” she exclaimed; “ mind you sit by me,—you shall have the best bits,—wait a minute though; I must find out which is my j proper place, then mind and take your place by me.” Thus ^ commanded, I followed the various windings she made; and at last we reached our seats, having the Benedictine right oppo¬ site and Filangieri on my other side. “ The dishes are all good,” she observed,—“ all lenten fare, but choice: I'll point out to you the best. But now I must rally the priests,— the churls! I can’t bear them; every day they are cutting fresh slice off our estate. What we have, we should like to spend on ourselves and our friends.” The soup was now handed round,—the Benedictine was sipping his very deli- berately. “ Pray don’t put yourself out of your way,—the spoon is too small, I fear; I will bid them bring you a larger one. Your reverences are used to a good mouthful.” _ The good father replied,—” In your house, lady, every thing is so excellent, and so well arranged, that much more distin¬ guished guests than your humble servant would find every¬ thing to their heart’s content.” Of the pasties the Benedictine took only one; she called out to him,—“ Pray take half a dozen; pastry, your reverence Surely knows, is easy of digestion.” W^ith good sense^ he took another pasty, thanking the princess for her attention, just as if he had not seen through her malicious raillery. And so, also, some solid paste-work furnished her with occa¬ sion for venting her spite; for, as the monk helped himself to a piece, a second roUed off the dish towards his plate,— ‘ A third! youi reverence- you seem anxious to lay a NAPLES-A DINNER PARTY. 193 foundation !”—“ When such excellent materials are furnished to his hand, the architect's labours are easy,” rejoined his reverence. Thus she went on continually, only pausing awhile to keep her promise of pointing out to me the best dishes. All this while I was conversing with my neighbour on the gravest topics. Absolutely, I never heard Filangieri utter an unmeaning sentence. In this respect, and indeed in many others, he resembles our worthy friend, George Schlosser, with this difference, that the former, as a Neapolitan, and a man of the world, had a softer nature and an easier manner. During the whole of this time my roguish neighbour allowed the clerical gentry not a moment’s truce. Above all, the fish at this lenten meal, dished up in imitation of flesh of all kinds, furnished her with inexhaustible opportunities for all manner of irreverent and ill-natured observations; espe¬ cially in justification and defence of a taste for flesh, she observed that people would have the form to give a relish^ even when the essence was prohibited. ^ Many more such jokes were noticed by me at the time, but I am not in the humour to repeat them. Jokes of this kind fresh spoken, and falling from beautiful lips, may be tolerable^ not to say amusing, but set down in black and white, they lose all charm, for me at least. Then again, the boldly hazarded stroke of wit^ has this peculiarity, that at the moment it pleases us while it astonishes us by its boldness, but wheis told afterwards, it soimds oflPensive, and disgusts us. The dessert was brought in, and I was afraid that the cross-fire would still be kept up, when suddenly my fair neighbour turned quite composedly to me and said,_“ The priests may gulp their Syracusan wine in peace, for I can¬ not succeed in worrying a single one to death,—no, not even m spoiling their appetites. Now, let me have some rational talk with you ; for what a heavy sort of thing must a conver¬ sation with Filangieri be! The good creature; he gives him¬ self a great deal of trouble for nothing. I often say to him, if you make new laws, we must give ourselves fresh pains'to find out how we can forthwith transgress them, just as we have already set at naught the old. Only look now, how beautiful Naples is! For these many years the people have lived free from care and contented, and if now and then 0 194 LETTERS FROM ITALT. some poor wretch is hanged, all the rest stiU pursue their o^vn merry course.” She then proposed that I should pay a visit to Sorrento, where she had a large estate; her steward would feast me with the best of fish, and the delicious mungana, (flesh of a sucking calf). The mountain air, and the un¬ equalled prospect, would be sure to cure me of all philosophy, _then she would come herself, and not a trace should remain of all my wrinkles, which, by the bye, I had allowed to grow before their time, and together we would have a right merry time of it. Naples^ March 13, 1787. To-day also I write you a few lines, in order that letter may iirovoke letter. Things go well with me— however, 1 see liss than I ought. The place induces an indolent and easy sort of life ; nevertheless, my idea of it is gradually becoming more and more complete. On Sunday we were in Pompeii. Many a calamity has happened in the world, but never one that has caused so muc i entertainment to posterity as this one. I scarcely know o ; anything that is more interesting. The houses are small and close together, but within they are all most exquisitely painted. The gate of the city is remarkable, with the tombs close to it. The tomb of a priestess, a semicircular bench, with a stone back, on which was the inscription cut in large characters. Over the back you have a sight of the sea and the settmg sun —a glorious spot, worthy of the beautiful idea. We found there good and merry company from ^aples ; the men are perfectly natural and light-heartef We took our dinner at the Torre del’ Annunziata,” with our table placed close to the sea. The day was extremely line. P view towards Castell a Mare and Sorrento, near and incompa rable. My companions were quite rapturous in praise ot then native place ; some asserted that without a sight of the sea n was impossible to live. To me it is quite enough that I hav< its image in my soul, and so, when the time comes, may sa e j return to my mountain home. . i j Fortunately, there is here a very honest painter of land scapes, who imparts to his pieces the very impression ot tli> NAPLES-POMPEII-POETIC/. 195 rich and open country around. He has ali’eady executed some sketches for me. The Vesuvian productions I have now pretty well studied • things, however, assume a different signification when one sees them in connection. Properly, I ought to devote the rest of my life to observation : I should discover much that would enlarge man’s knowledge. Pray tell Herder that my botanical discoveries are continually advancing ; it is still the same principle, but it requires a whole life to work it out Perhaps I am already in a situation to draw the leading lines I can now enjoy myself at the museum of Portici. Usually people make it the first object,—we mean to make it our last As yet I do not know whether I shaU be able to extend mv tour; all things tend to drive me back to Rome at Easter. I snail let things take their course. i^gelica has undertaken to paint a scene out of my “ Iphi- gema..’’ The thought is a very happy subject for a picture, and she will delineate it excellently. It is the moment when Jrestes finds himself again in the presence of his sister and nis friend. What the three characters are saying to each other she has indicated by the grouping, and given theis words in the expressions of their countenances. From thir description you may judge how keenly sensitive she is, and now quick she is to seize whatever is adapted to her nature. AM it IS really the turning point of the whole drama, h are you well, and love me! Here the people are aU very though they do not know what to make of me. tiscnbem, on the other hand, pleases them far better This evening he hastily painted some heads of the size of life, and about which they disported themselves as strangely as the iNew _ Zealanders at the sight of a ship of war. Of this an amusing anecdote. Tischbein has a great knack of etching with a pen the shapes of gods and heroes, of the size of life, and even more. He uses very few lines, but cleverly puts in the shades with a tooad pencil, so that the heads stand out roundly and noblv. I he bystanders looked on with amazement, and were highly elighted. At last an itching seized their fingers to try and paint; they snatched the brushes and paiuted^—one another's Deaids, daubing each other's faces. Was not this an o 2 196 LETTEK5 FROM ITALY. original trait of human nature? And this was done in an elegant circle, in the house of one who was himself a clever draughtsman and painter! It is impossible to form an idea of this race without having seen it. Caserta, Wednesday, March 14, 1781. I am here on a visit to Hackert, in his highly agreeable apartments, which have been assigned him in the ancient castle. The new palace, somewhat huge and EscuriaMike, of a quadrangular plan, with many courts, is royal enough. ^ The site is uncommonly fine, on one of the most fertile plams in the world, and yet the gardens trench on the mountains. From these an aqueduct brings down an entire river, to supply water to the palace and the district; and the whole can, on occasion, be thrown on some artificially-arranged rocks, to form a most glorious cascade. The gardens are^ beautifmly laid out, and suit well with a district which itself is thought a garden. The castle is truly kingly. It appears to me, however, par- ticularly gloomy ; and no one of us could bring himself to think the vast and empty rooms comfortable. The King pro¬ bably is of the same opinion, for he has caused a house to be built on the mountains, which, smaller and more proportioned to man’s littleness, is intended for a hunting-box and country- seat. Caserta, Thursday, March 15, 1787. ^ Hackert is lodged very comfortably in the old castle—it is quite roomy enough for all his guests. Constantly busy with drawing and painting, he nevertheless is very social, and easily draws men around him, as in the end he generally makes every one become his scholar; he has also qmte won me by putting up patiently with my weaknesses, and insists, above all things, on distinctness of drawing, and marked and clear keeping. When he paints, he has three colours always ready; and as he works on and uses one after anomer, a pic¬ ture is produced, one knows not how or whence. I wish the execution were as easy as it looks. With his usual blun honesty he said to-, “ You have capacity, but you axe NAPLES - SULZER’s THEORY OF THE FINE ARTS. 197 unable to accomplish anything; stay with me a year and a half, and you shall be able to produce works which shall be a delight to yourself and to others.” Is not this a text on which one might preach eternally to dilettanti:—We would like to see what sort of a pupil we can make of you. The special confidence with which the queen honors him is evinced not merely by the fact that he gives lessons in prac¬ tice to the princesses, but still more so by his being fre¬ quently summoned on an evening to talk with and instruct them on art and kindred subjects. He makes Sulzer’s book the basis of such lectures, selecting the articles, as entertain¬ ment or conviction may be his object. I was obliged to approve of this, and, in consequence, to laugh at myself. What a difierence is there between him who wishes to investigate principles, and one whose highest object is to work on the world and to teach them for their mere pri¬ vate amusement. Sulzer’s theory was always odious to me on account of the falseness of its fundamental maxim, but now I saw that the book contained much more than the multitude require. The varied information which is here communicated, the mode of thinking with which alone so active a mind as Sulzer’s could be satisfied, must have been quite suj0S.cient for the ordinary run of people. Many happy and profitable hours have I spent with the picture-restorer Anders, who has been summoned hither from Rome, and resides in the Castle, and industriously pursues his work, in which the king takes a great interest. Of his skill in restoring old paintings, I dare not begin to speak, since it would be necessary to describe the whole process of this yet difficult craft,—and wherein consists the difiiculty of the problem, and the merit of success. Caserta^ March 16, 1787. Your dear letter of the 19th February reached me to-day, and I must forthwith dispatch a word or two in reply. How glad should I be to come to my senses again, by thinking of my Mends ! Naples is a paradise : in it every one lives in a sort of intoxicated self-forgetfulness. It is even so with me ; I scarcely know myself—I seem quite an altered man. Yesterday I T 198 LETTERS FROM ITALY. ■> said to myself: either you have always been mad, or you are 60 now. I have paid a visit to the ruins of ancient Capua, and all that is connected with it. In this country one first begins to have a true idea of what vegetation is, and why man tills the fields. The flax here is al¬ ready near to blossoming, and the wheat a span and a-half high. . Around Caserta the land is perfectly level, the fields worked as clean and as fine as the beds of a garden. All of them are planted with poplars, and from tree to tree the vine spreads; and yet, notwithstanding this shade, the soil below produces the finest and most abundant crops possible. What will they be when the spring shall come in power! Hitherto we have had very cold winds, and there has been snow on the moimtains. Within fourteen days I must decide whether to go to Sicily or not. Never before have I been so tossed backwards and forwards in coming to a resolution : every day something will occur to recommend the trip; the next morning—some circumstance will be against it. Two spirits are contending for me. I say this in confidence, and for my female friends alone: speak not a word of it to my male friends. I am well aware that my “ Iphigenia’^ has fared strangely. The public were so accustomed to the old form, expressions which it had adopted from frequent hearing and reading, were familiar to it; and now quite a different tone is sound¬ ing in its ears ; and I clearly see that no one, in fact, thanks me for the endless pains I have been at. Such a work is never finished: it must, however, pass for such, as soon as the author has done his utmost, considering time and circum¬ stances. All this, however, will not be able to deter me from trying C a similar operation with “ Tasso.” Perhaps it would be better to throw it into the fire; however, I shall adhere to ^ > my resolution, and since it must be what it is, I shall make a wonderful work of it. On this account, I am pleased to find that the printing of my works goes on so slowly; and then, again, it is well to be at a distance from the murmurs of the compo¬ sitor. Strange enough that even in one’s most independent actions, one expects, nay, requires a stimulus. VA.PLE8-LADY HAMILTON. 199 Caserta, March 16, 1787. If in Rome one can readily set oneself to study, here one can do nothing but live. You forget yourself and the world; and to me it is a strange feeling to go about with people who think of nothing but enjoying themselves. Sir William Hamilton, who still resides here as ambassador from England, has at length, after his bng love of art, and long study, discovered the most perfect of admirers of nature and art in a beautiful young woman. She lives with him : an English w^oman of about twenty years old. She is very handsome, and of a beautiful figure. The old knight has had made for her a Greek costume, which becomes her ex¬ tremely. Dressed in this, and letting her hair loose, and taking a couple of shawls, she exhibits every possible variety of posture, expression, and look, so that at the last the spec¬ tator almost fancies it is a dream. One beholds here in per¬ fection, in movement, in ravishing variety, all that the greatest of artists have rejoiced to be able to produce. Standing, kneeling, sitting, lying down, grave or sad, playful, ex¬ ulting, repentant, wanton, menacing, anxious—all mental states follow rapidly one after another. With wonderful taste she suits the folding of her veil to each expression, and with the same handkerchief makes every kind of head-dress. The old knight holds the light for her, and enters into the exhibition with his whole soul. He thinks he can discern in her a resemblance to all the most famous antiques, all the beautiful profiles on the Sicilian coins—aye, of the Apollo Belvedere itself. This much at any rate is certain—the entertainment is unique. We spent two evenings on it with thorough enjoyment. To-day Tischbein is engaged in paint¬ ing her. What I have seen and inferred of the personnel of the Court requires to be fiirther tested, before I set it down. To-day the king is gone hunting the wolves: they hope to kill at least five. Naples, March 17, 1787. ^^^len I would WTite words, images only start before my eyes,— the beautiful land, the free sea ; the hazy 200 LETTERS FROM ITALY. islands, the roaring mountain;—powers to delineate all this fail me. Here in this country one at last understands how it ever came into the head of man to till the ground—here where it produces everything, and where one may look for as many as from tliree to five crops in the year. I have seen much, and reflected still more. The world opens itself to me more and more—all even that I have long known is at last becoming my own. How quick to know, but how slow to put in practice, is the human creature! The only pity is, that I cannot at each moment communi¬ cate to others my observations. But, both as man and artist, one is here driven backwards and forwards by a hundred ideas of his own, while his services are put in requisition by hun¬ dreds of persons. His situation is peculiar and strange ; he cannot freely sympathize with another’s being, because he finds his own exertions so put to the stretch. And after all, the world is nothing but a wheel; in its whole periphery it is every where similar, but, nevertheless, it appears to us so strange, because we ourselves are carried round with it. What I always said has actually come to pass : in this land alone do I begin to understand and to unravel many a phenomenon of nature, and complication of opinion. I am gathering from every quarter, and shall bring back with me a great deal,—certainly much love of my own native land, and joy to live with a few dear friends. With regard to my Sicilian tour, the gods still hold the scales in their hands : the index still wavers. NAPLES-ROUSSEAU. 201 Who can the friend be who has thus mysteriously an¬ nounced? Only, may I not neglect him in my pilgrimage and tour in the island i The frigate from Palermo has returned : in eight days she sets sail again. Whether I shall sail with it, and bo back at Rome by Passion Week, I have not as yet determined. Never in my life have I been so undecided: a trifle will turn the scale. With men I get on rather better: for I feel that one must weigh them by avoirdupois weight, and not by the jewel¬ ler s scales; as, unfortunately, friends too often weigh one another in their hypochondriacal humours and in an oyer¬ exacting spirit. Here men know nothing of one another; they scarcely observe that others are also going on their way, side by side with them. They run all day backwards and forwards in a Paradise, without looking around them ; and if the neigh¬ bouring jaws of hell begin to open and to rage, they have re¬ course to S. Januarius. To pass through such a countless multitude, with its rest¬ less excitement, is strange, but salutary. Here they are all crossing and recrossing one another, and yet every one finds his way and his object. In so great a crowd and bustle I feel myself perfectly calm and solitary; the more bustling the streets become, the more quietly I move. Often do I think of Rousseau and his hypochondriacal discontent; and I can thoroughly understand how so fine an organization may have been deranged. Did I not myself feel such sympathy with natural objects ; and did I not see that, .in the apparent perplexity, a hundred seemingly contrary observations admit of being reconciled, and arranged side by side, just as the geometer by a cross line tests many mea¬ surements, I should often think myself mad. 202 LETTERS FROM JTiLY. Naples^ March 1787. We must not any longer put off our visit to Herculaneum, and tlie Museum of Portici, where the curiosities which have been dug out of it are collected and preserved. That ancient city, lying at the foot of Vesuvius, was entirely covered with lava, which subsequent eruptions succesively raised so high, that the buildings are at present sixty feet below the. surface. The city was discovered by some men coming upon a marble pavement, as they were digging a well. It is a great pity that the excavation was not executed systematically by German miners ; for it is admitted that the work, which was carried on at random, and with the hope of plunder, has spoilt many a noble monument of ancient art. After descending sixty steps into a pit, by torch-light you gaze in admiration at the theatre which once stood beneath the open sky, and listen to the guide re¬ counting all that was found there, and carried off. We entered the museum well recommended, and were well received; nevertheless we were not allowed to take any drawings. Perhaps on this account we paid the more atten¬ tion to what we saw, and the more vividly transported our< selves into those long-passed times, when all these things^ surrounded their living owners, and ministered to the use and enjoyment of life. The little houses and rooms of Pompeii now appeared to me at once more spacious and more con¬ fined—more confined, because I fancied them to myself crammed full of so many precious objects: more spacious, because these very objects could not have been furnished merely as necessaries, but, being decorated with the most graceful and ingenious devices of the imitative arts, while they delighted the taste, must also have enlarged the mind far beyond what the amplest house-room could ever have done. One sees here, for instance, a nobly-shaped pail, mounted at the top with a highly-ornamented edge. When you examine it more closely, you find that this rim rises on two sides, and so furnishes convenient handles by which the vessel may be lifted. The lamps, according to the number of their wicks, are ornamented with masks and mountings, so that each burner illuminates a genuine figure of art. We also saw some high and gracefully slender stands of iron for holding NAPLES-ENGAGEMENT WITH KNTEP. 203 lamps, the pendant burners being suspended with figures of all kinds, which display a wonderful fertility of invention; and as, in order to please and delight the eye, they sway and oscil¬ late, the effect surpasses all description. In the hope of being able to pay a second visit, we followed the usher from room to room, and snatched all the delight and instruction that was possible from a cursory view. Naples^ Monday^ March 19, 1787. Within these last few days I have formed a new connexion. Tischbein for three or four weeks has faithfully lent me all the assistance in his power, and diligently explained to me the works both of nature and art. Yesterday, however, after being at the Museum of Portici, we had some conversation together, and we came to the conclusion that, considering his own ar¬ tistic objects, he could not perform, with credit to himself, the works which, in the hope of some future appointment in Naples, he has undertaken for the Court and for several persons in the city, nor do justice to my views, wishes, and fancies. With sincere good wishes for my success, he has therefore recommended to me for my constant companion a young man whom, since I arrived here, I have often seen, not without feeling some inclination and liking for him. His name is Kniep, who, after a long stay at Rome, has come to Naples as the true field and element of the landscape-painter. Even in Rome ! had heard him highly spoken of as a clever draughtsman—only his industry was not much commended. I have tolerably studied his cha¬ racter, and think the ground of this censure arises rather from a want of a decision, which certainly may be overcome, if we are long together A favourable beginning confirms me in this hope ; and if he continues to go on thus, we shaP continue good companions for some time. Naples^ March 19, 1787. One needs only to walk along the streets, and keep one's eyes well open, and one is sure to see the most unequalled of scenes. At the Mole, one of the noisiest quarters of the city, I saw yesterday a Pulcinello, who on a temporary stage LETTERS FROM ITALY. 204 of planks was quarrelling with an ape, while from a balcony above a right pretty maiden was exposing her charms to eve-ry eye. Not far from the ape and his stage a quack doctor was recommending to the credulous crowd his nostrums for every evil. Such a scene painted by a Ger¬ ard Dow would not fail to charm contemporaries and pos¬ terity. To-day, moreover, was the festival of S. Joseph. He is the patron of all Fritaruoli—^that is, pastry-cooks, and understands baking in a very extensive sense. Because beneath the black and seething oil hot flames will, of course, rage,—therefore, every kind of torture by fire falls within his province. Accordingly, yesterday evening, being the eve of the Saint’s day, the fronts of the houses were adorned with pictures, to the best of the inmates’ skill, representing souls in Purgatory, or the Last Judgment, with plenty of fire and flame. Before the doors frying-pans were hissing on hastily-constructed hearths. One partner was working the dough, another shaped it into twists, and threw it into the boiling lard; a third stood by the frying-pan, holding a short skewer, with which he drew out the twists as soon as they were done, and shoved them off on another skewer to a fourth party, who offered them to the bystanders. The two last were generally young apprentices, and wore white curly wigs,—this head-dress being the Neapo¬ litan symbol of an angel. Other figures besides completed the group; and these were busy in presenting wine to the busy cooks, or in drinking themselves, crying, and pufiing the article all the while; the angels, too, and cooks were all clamouring. The people crowded to buy—for all pastry is sold cheap on this evening, and a part of the profits given to the poor. Scenes of this kind may be witnessed without end. Thus fares it every day; always something new—some fresh absurdity. The variety of costume, too, that meets you in the streets; the multitude, too, of passages in the Toledo street alone! Thus there is plenty of most original entertainment, if only one will live with the people; it is so natural, that one almost becomes natural oneself. For this is the original birth-place of Pulcinello, the true national mask—the HaiJequin of Pergamo, and the Hanswurth of the Tyrol. This Pulcinello NAPLES-ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS. 205 now is a thoroughly easy, sedate, somewhat indifferent, perhaps lazy, and yet humorous fellow. And so one meets everywhere with a “Kellner” anda “Hausknecht.” With ours I had special fun yesterday, and yet there was nothing more than my sending him to fetch some paper and pens. A half misunderstanding, a little loitering, good humour and roguery, produced a most amusing scene, which might be very successfully brought out on any stage. Naples^ Tuesday, March 20, 1787. The news that an eruption of lava had just commenced, which, taking the dirt^ction of Ottajano, was invisible at Na¬ ples, tempted me to visit Vesuvius for the third time. Scarcely had I jumped out of my cabriolet (zweiradrigen einpferdigen Fuhrwerk), at the foot of the mountain, when immediately ap¬ peared the tw^o guides who had accompanied us on our previous ascent. I had no wish to do without either, but took one out of gratitude and custom, the other for reliance on his judgment,— and the two for the greater convenience. Having ascended the summit, the older guide remained with our cloaks and refreshment, while the younger followed me, and we boldly went straight towards a dense voliune of smoke, which broke forth from the bottom of the funnel; then we quickly went downwards by the side of it, till at last, under the clear heaven, we distinctly saw the lava emitted from the rolling clouds of smoke. We may hear an object spoken of a thousand times, but its peculiar features will never be caught till we see it with our own eyes. The stream of lava was small, not broader perhaps than ten feet, but the way in which it flowed down a gentle and tolerably smooth plain was remarkable. As it flowed along, it cooled both on the sides and on the surface, so that it formed a sort of canal, the bed of which was contin¬ ually raised in consequence of the molten mass congealing even beneath the fiery stream, which, with uniform action precipitated right and left the scoria which were floating on its surface. In this way a regular dam was at length thrown up, in which the glowing stream flowed on as quietly as any mill-stream. We passed along the tolerably high dam. 206 LETTERS FROM ITALY. while the scoria rolled regularly off the sides at our feet. Some cracks in the canal afforded opportunity of looking at the living stream from below, and as it rushed onwards, we observed it from above. A very bright sun made the glowing lava look dull; but a mo¬ derate steam rose from it into the pure air. I felt a great desire to go nearer to the point where it broke out from the moun¬ tain ; there my guide averred, it at once formed vaults and roofs above itself, on which he had often stood.^ To see and ex¬ perience this phenomenon, we again ascended the hill, in order to come from behind to this point. Fortunately at this mo¬ ment the place was cleared by a pretty strong wind, but not entirely, for all round it the smoke eddied from a thousand crannies; and now at last we stood on the top of the solid roof, (which looked like a hardened mass of twisted dough), but which, however, projected so far outwards, that it was impossible to see the welling lava. We ventured about twenty steps further, but the ground on which we stepped became hotter and hotter, while around us rolled an oppressive steam, which obscured and hid the sun; the guide, who was a few steps in advance of me, pre¬ sently turned back, and seizing hold of me, hurried out of this Stygian exhalation. After we had refreshed our eyes with the clear prospect, and washed our gums and throat with wine, we went round again to notice any other peculiarities which might charac¬ terise this peak of hell, thus rearing itself in the midst of a Paradise. I again observed attentively some chasms, in appear¬ ance like so many Vulcanic forges, which emitted no smoke, but continually shot out a steam of hot glowing air. They were all tapestried, as it were, with a kind of stalactite, which covered the funnel to the top, with its knobs and chintz-like variation of colours. In consequence of the irregularity of the forges, I found many specimens of this sublimation hanging within reach, so that, with our staves and a little contrivance, we were able to hack off a few, and to secure them. I saw in the shops of the dealers in lava similar specimens, labelled simply “ Lavaand I was delighted to have discovered that it was volcanic soot precipitated from the hot vapour, and dis¬ tinctly exhibiting the sublimated mineral particles which it contained. NAPLES-SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON. 207 r- llie most glorious of sunsets, a heavenly evening, refreshed me on my return; still I felt how all great contrasts confound the mind and senses. From the terrible to the beautiful_ from the beautiful ^ to the terrible; each destroys the other, and produces a feeling of indifference. Assuredly, the Neapo¬ litan would be quite a different creature, did he not feel him¬ self thus hemmed in between Elysium and Tartarus. ^ ‘ • p- HI, tft- U Naples, March 22, 1787. Were I not impelled by the German spirit, and desire to learn and to do rather than to enjoy, I should tarry a little longer in this school of a light-hearted and happy life, and try to profit by it still more. Here it is enough for content¬ ment, if a man has ever so little an income. The situation of the city, the mildness of the climate, can never be sufficiently extolled ; but it is almost exclusively to these that the stranger is referred. No doubt, one who has abundance of time, tact, and means, might remain here for a long time, with profit to himself. Thus Sir William Hamilton has contrived highly to enjoy a long resi¬ dence in this city, and now, in the evening of his life, is reaping the fruits of it. The rooms which he has had furnished in the English style, are most delightful, and the view from the corner room, perhaps, unique. Below you is the sea, with a view of Capri, Posilippo on the right, with the prome¬ nade of Villa Real between you and the grotto ; on the left an ancient building belonging to the Jesuits, and beyond it the coast stretching from Sorrento to Cape Minerva. Another prospect equal to this is scarcely to be found in Europe,—at least, not in the centre of a great and populous city. Hamilton is a person of universal taste, and after having wandered through the whole realm of creation, has found rest at last in a most beautiful wife, a masterpiece of the great artist—Nature. And now after all this, and a hundred-fold more of enjoy-p ment, the sirens from over the sea are beckoning me ; and if the wind is favorable, I shall start at the same time with this letter,—it for the north, I for the south. The human mind will not be confined to any limits—I especially require breadth and extent in an eminent degree; however, I must content 208 LETTERS FROM ITALY. myself on tliis occasion with a rapid survey, and must not think of a long fixed look. If by hearing and thinking, I can only attain to as much of any object as a finger’s tip, I shall be able to make out the whole hand. Singularly enough, within these few days, a friend has spoken to me of Wilhelm Meister^ and urged me to continue it. In this climate, I don’t think it^possible ; however, some^ thing of the air of this heaven may, perhaps, be imparted to the closing books. May my existence only unfold itself suffi¬ ciently to lengthen the stem, and to produce richer and finer flowers ; certainly it were better for me never to have come here at all, than to go away unregenerated. Naples^ March 22, 1787. Yesterday we saw a picture of Correggio’s, which is for sale. It is not, indeed, in very good preservation; however, it still retains the happiest stamp possible of all the peculiar charms of this painter. It represents a Madonna, with the infant, hesi¬ tating between the breast and some pears which an angel is offering it; the subject, therefore, is the weaning of Christ. To me the idea appears extremely tender; the composition easy and natural, and happily and charmingly executed. It immediately reminded me of the Vow of S. Catherine, and, in my opinion, the painting is unquestionably from the hand of Correggio. Naples^ Friday^ March 23, 1787. The terms of my engagement with Kniep are now settled, and it has commenced in a right practical way. We went toge¬ ther to Paestum, where, and also on our journey thither and back, he showed the greatest industry with his pencil. He has taken some of the most glorious outlines possible. He seems to relish this moving but busy sort of life, which has called for a talent which he was scarcely conscious of. This comes of being resolute: but it is exactly here that his accurate and nice skill shows itself. He never stops to surround the paper on which he is about to draw with the usual rectangular lines; however, he seems to take as mueh pleasure in cutting points to his pencil, which is of the best English lead, as in drawing NA.PIiES- Jl sketching EXCURSION. 20 & itself. Thus his outlines are just what one would wish them to be. Now we have come to the following arrangement:—From this day forward, we are to live and travel together; while he is to have nothing to trouble himself about but drawing, as he has done for the last few days. All the sketches are to be mine ; but in order to a further profit, after our return, from our connexion, he is to finish for a certain sum a number of them, which I am to select; and then, remuneration for the others is to be settled according to the dexterity he evinces in them, and the importance of the views taken, and other considerations. This arrangement has made me quite happy, and now at last I can give you an account of our journey. Sitting in a light two-wheeled carriage, and driving in turn, with a rough good-natured boy behind, we rolled through the glorious country, which Kniep greeted with a true artistic eye. We now reached the mountain stream, which, running along a smooth artificial channel, skirts most delightful rocks and woods. At last, in the district of Alla Cava^ Kniep could not contain himself, but set to work to fix on paper a splendid mountain, which right before us stood out boldly against the blue sky, and with a clever and characteristic touch drew the outlines of the summit, with the sides also, down to its very base. We both made merry with it, as the earnest of our contract. A similar sketch was taken in the evening from the win¬ dow, of a singularly lovely and rich country, which passes all my powers of description. Who would not have been disposed to study at such a spot, in those bright times, when a high school of art was flourishing? Very early in the moraing we set off by an untrodden path, coming occasionally on marshy spots towards two beautifully shaped hills. We crossed brooks and pools, where the wild bulls, like hippo¬ potamuses, were wallowing, and looking upon us with their wild red eyes. The country grew flatter and more desolate; the scarcity of the buildings bespoke a sparing cultivation. At last, when we were doubting whether we were passing through rocks or ruins, some great oblong masses enabled us to distinguish the remains of temples and other monuments of a once splendid p 210 LETTERS FROM ITALY. city. Kniep, who had already sketched on the way the two picturesque limestone hills, suddenly stopped to find a spot fi:om which to seize and exhibit the peculiarity of this most unpicturesque region. A countryman, whom I took for my guide, led me the mean¬ while through the buildings. The first sight of them excited nothing but astonishment. I found myself in a perfectly strange world; for, as centuries pass from the severe to the pleasing, they form man’s taste at the same time—indeed, create him after the same law. But now our eyes, and through them our whole inner being, has been used to, and decidedly pre¬ possessed in favor of, a lighter style of architecture ; so that these crowded masses of stumpy conical piUars appear heavy, not to say frightful. But I soon recollected myself, called to mind the history of art, thought of the times when the spirit of the age was in unison with this style of architecture, and realised the severe style of sculpture; and in less than an hour found myself reconciled to it,—^nay, I went so far as to thank my genius for permitting me to see with my own eyes such well-preserved remains, since drawings give us no true idea Df them; for, in architectural sketches, they seem more ele¬ gant, and in perspective views even more stumpy than they actually are. It is only by going round them, and passing through them, that you can impart to them their real cha¬ racter ; you evoke for them, not to say infuse into them, the very feeling which the architect had in contemplation. And thus I spent the whole day, Kneip the while working away most diligently in taking very accurate sketches. How de¬ lighted was I to be exempt from that care, and yet to acquire such unfailing tokens for the aid of memory ! Unfortunately, there was no accommodation for spending the night here. We returned to Sorrento, and started early next morning for Naples. Vesuvius, seen from the back, is a rich country; poplars, with their colossal pyramids, on the road-side, in the foreground; these, too, formed an agreeable feature, which we halted a moment to take. We now reached an eminence. The most extensive area in the world opened before us. Naples, in all its splendour: its mile-long line of houses on the flat shore of the bay, the pro¬ montories, tongues of land and walls of rock ; then the islands., and, behind all, the sea,—the whole was a ravishing sight. NAPLES-^AN APPARITION. 211 A most hideous singing, or rather exulting cry and howl of joy, from the boy behind, frightened and disturbed us. Some¬ what angrily, I called out to him; he had never had any harsh words from us,—^he had been a very good boy. For a while he did not move; then he patted me lightly on the shoulder, and pushing between us both his right arm, with the fore-finger stretched out, exclaimed, “ Signor, per- donate! guesta e la mia which, being interpreted, runs, “ Forgive me. Sir, for that is my native land!” And so I was ravished a second time. Something like a tear stood in the eyes of the phlegmatic child of the north. Naples, March 23, 1787. * Although I saw that Kniep was delighted to go with me to the festival of the Annunciation, stiU I could not fail to ob¬ serve that there was a something he was sorry to part from. His candour could not let him long conceal from me the fact, that he had formed here a close and faithful attachment. It was a pretty tale to listen to, the story of their first meeting, and the description of the fair one’s behaviour up to this time told in her favour; Kniep, moreover, insisted on my going and seeing for myself how pretty she really was. Accordingly, an oppoi-tunity was contrived, and so as to afibrd me the enjoy¬ ment of one of the most agreeable views over Naples. He took me to the fiat roof of a house, which commanded a survey of the lower town, near the Mole, the bay, and the shore of Sor¬ rento ; all that lay beyond on the left, became fore-shortened in the strangest way possible, and which, except from this par¬ ticular spot, was never witnessed. Naples is, every where, beautiful and glorious. While we were admiring the country around, suddenly, (although expected), a very beautiful face presented itself above* the roof—for the entrance to these fiat roofs is generally an oblong opening in the roof, which can be covered, when not used, by a trap-door. While, then, the little angel appeared in lull figure above the opening, it occurred to me that ancient painters usually represent the Annunciation by making the angel ascend by a similar trap-door. But the angel on this occasion was reaUy of a very fine form, of a very pretty face, and a good natural carriage. It was a real joy to me, under p 2 J 212 LETTERS FROM ITALY. the free heaven, and in presence of the finest prospect in the world, to see my new friend so happy. After her departure, he confessed to me that he had liitherto voluntarily endured poverty, as by that means he had enjoyed her love; and at the same time, had learned to appi eciate her contented dis¬ position : and now his better prospects, and improved condi¬ tion, were chiefly prized, because they procured him the means of making her days more comfortable. Naples, March 25, 1787. After this pleasant little incident I walked on the shore, calm and happy. There a good insight into botanical matters opened on me. Tell Herder that I am very near finding the primal vegetable type; only I fear that no one will be able to trace in it the rest of the vegetable kingdom. My famous theory of the Cotyledons is so refined, that perhaps it is impossible to go further with it. Naples, March 26, 1787. To-morrow this letter wiU leave this for you. On Thurs¬ day, the 29th, I go to Palermo in the corvette, which formerly, in my ignorance of sea matters, I promoted to the rank of a frigate. The doubt whether I should go or remain made me unsettled even in the use of my stay here; now I have made up my mind, things go on better. For my mental state this journey is salutary—^indeed necessary. I see Sicily pointing to Africa, and to Asia, and to the wonderful, whither so rnany rays of the world’s history are directed : even to stand still is no trifle ! I have treated Naples quite in its own style. I have been anything but industrious. And yet I have seen a^ great deal, ^ and formed a pretty general idea of the land, its inhabitants, ^ and condition. On my return there is much that 1 shall have to go over again ; indeed, only “ go over,” for by the 29th of June I must be in Pome again. As I have missed the Holy Week, I must not fail to be present at the festivities of St. Peter’s Day. My Sicilian expedition must not altogether draw me off from my original plans. The day before yesterday we had a violent storm, with thunder, lightning, and rain. Now it is again clear; a glo- % NAPLES-DEPARTURE POR SICILY. 213 rious Tramontane is blowinsr; if it lasts, we shall have a rapid passage. Yesterday I went with my fellow-traveller to see the vessel, and to take our cabin. A sea voyage is utterly out of the pale of my ideas; this short trip, which will probably be a mere coasting one, will help my imagination, and enlarge my world. The captain is a young lively fellow; the ship trim and clean, built in America, and a good sailer. Here every spot begins to look green ; Sicily, they tell me, I shall find still more so. By the time you get this letter I shall be on my return, leaving Trinacria behind me. Such is man; he is always either anticipating or recalling; I have not yet been there; and yet I now am, in thought, back again with you ! However, for the confusion of this letter I am not to blame. Every moment I am interrupted, and yet I would, if possible, fill this sheet to the very corner. Just now I have had a visit from a Marchese Berio, a young man who appears to be well informed. He was anxious to make the acquaintance of the author of “ Werther.” Generally, indeed, the people here evince a great desire for, and delight in, learning and accomplishments. Only they are too happy to go the right way to acquire them. Had I more time, I would willingly devote it to observing the Neapolitans. These four weeks—what are they, compared with the endless variety of life? Now, fare you well. On these travels I have learnt one thing at least—^how to travel weU ; whether I am learning to live, I know not. The men who pretend to understand that art, are, in nature and manner, too widely different from me, for setting up any claim to such a talent. Farewell, and iove me as sincerely as I from my heart re¬ member you. Naples^ March 28, 1787. These few aays have been entirely passed in packing and lea\ e-taking; with making aU necessary arrangements, and paying bills ; looking for missing articles, and with prepara¬ tions of all kinds. I set the time down as lost. The Prince of Walbeck has, just at my departure, unsettled me again. For he has been talking of nothing less than that I should arrange, on my return, to go with him to Greece and T 214 LETTERS FROM ITALY. Dalmatia. When one enters once into the world, and gives way to it, it ie necessary to be very cautious, lest one should be carried away, not to say driven mad by it. I am utterly incapable of adding another syllable. Naples^ March 29, 1787. For some days the weather has been very unsettled; to-day, (the appointed time for our sailing), it is again as fine as pos¬ sible. A favourable north wind, a bright sunny sky, beneath which one wishes oneself in the wide world! Now I bid an affectionate farewell to all my friends in Weimar and Gotha. Your love accompanies me; for wherever I am I feel my need of you. Last night I dreamt I was again among old familiar faces. It seems as if I could not unload my boat of phea¬ sants’ feathers any where but among you. May it be well loaded. SICILY. AtSea^ Thursday^ March 29, 1787. A fresh and favourable breeze from the north-east is not blow¬ ing this time, as it did at the last sailing of the packet. But, unfortunately, a direct head-wind comes from the opposite quarter, the south-west—and so we are experiencing to our cost how much the traveller by sea depends upon the caprice of the wind and weather. Out of all patience, we whiled away the morning either on the shore or in the coffee-house; at last, at noon we went on board, and the weather being extremely fine, we enjoyed the most glorious of views. The corvette C lay at anchor near to the Mole. With an unclouded sun the j atmosphere was hazy, giving to the rocky walls of SoA-ento, y which were in the shade, a tint of most beautiful blue. Naples, with its living multitudes, lay in the full sunshine, ^ and glittered brilliantly with countless tints. It was not until sunset that the vessel began slowly to move from her moor¬ ings ; then the wind which was contrary drove us over to Posilippo, and its promontory. All night long the ship went quietly on its way. She is a swift sailer, and was built in THE VOYAGE TO SICILY. 215 America, and is well fitted with cabins and berths. I'lie passengers cheerful, but not boisterous. Opera-singers and dancers, consigned to Palermo. Friday^ March 30, 1787. By day-break we found ourselves between Ischia and Capri —perhaps not more than a mile from the latter. The sun rose from behind the mountains of Capri and Cape Minerva. Kniep diligently sketched the outlines of the coasts and the islands, and took several beautiful views. The slowness of the passage was favourable to his labours. We were making our way but slowly under a light side-wind. We lost sight of Vesu¬ vius about four, just as we came in view of Cape Minerva and Ischia. These, too, disappeared about evening. The sun set in the sea, attended with clouds, and a long streak of light, reaching for miles, aU of a brilliant purple. This phenomenon was also sketched by Kniep. At last we lost sight altogether of the land, and the watery horizon surrounded us, the night being clear, with lovely moonlight. These beautiful sights, however, I could only enjoy for a few moments, for I was soon attacked with sea-sickness. I betook myself to my cabin, chose an horizontal position, and abstaining from all meat or drink, except white bread and red wine, soon found myself pretty comfortable again. Shut out from the ex¬ ternal world, I let the internal have full sway; and, as a tedious voyage was to be anticipated, I immediately set myself a hea\y task in order to while away the time profitably. Of all my papers I had only brought with me the first two acts of “ Tasso,” written in poetic prose. These two acts, as regards their plan and evolution, were nearly similar to the present ones, but, written full ten years ago, had a somewhat soft and misty tone, which soon disappeared, while, in accordance with my later notions, I made form more predominant, and introduced more of rhythm. Saturday^ March 31, 1787. The sun rose this morning from the water quite clear. About seven we overtook a French vessel, which had left Naples ' two days before us, so much the better sailer was our vessel; still we had no prospect as yet of the end of our passage. We were somewhat cheered by the sight of Ustica, but, un- 216 LETTERS FROM ITALY. fortunately, on our left, when we ought to have had it, like Capri, on our right. Towards noon the wind became directly contrary, and we did not make the least way. The sea began to get rough, and every one in the ship was sick. I kept in my usual position, and the whole piece was thought over and over, and through and through again. The hours passed away, and I should not have noticed how they went, but for the roguish Kniep, on whose appetite the waves had no influence. When, from time to time, he brought me some wine and some bread, he took a mischievous delight in expatiating on the excellent dinner in the cabin, the cheer¬ fulness and good nature of our young but clever captain, and on his regrets that I was unable to enjoy my share of it. So, likewise, the transition from joke and merriment to qualmish¬ ness and sickness, and the various ways in which the latter manifested themselves in the different passengers, afforded liim rich materials for humorous description. At four in the afternoon the captain altered the course of our vessel. The mainsails were again set, and we steered direct for Ustica, behind which, to our great joy, we dis¬ cerned the mountains of Sicily. The wind improved, and we bore rapidly towards Sicily, and a few little islands appeared in view. The sunset was murky, the light of heaven being veiled beneath a mist. The wind was pretty fair for the whole of the evening; towards midnight the sea became very rough. - Sunday, April 1, 1787. About 3 in the morning a violent storm. Half asleep and dreaming, I went on with the plan of my drama; in the mean time there was great commotion on deck; the sails were all taken in, and the vessel pitched on the top of the waves. As day broke the storm abated, and the sky cleared up. Now Ustica lay right on our left. They pointed out to me a large turtle swimming a great distance off; by my telescope I coidd easily discern it, as a living point. Towards noon we were clearly able to distinguish the coast of Sicily with its headlands and bays, but we had got very far to the leeward, and tacked on and off. Towards mid-day we came nearer to the shore. The weather being clear, and the sim shining bright, we saw quite distinctly the western coast from the promontory of Lilybacum to Cape Gallo. THE VOYAGE TO SICILY. 217 A shoal of dolphins attended our ship on both bo\V8, and continually shot a-head. It was amusing to watch them as they swam along, covered by the clear transparent waves at one time, and at another springing above the water, showing their fins and spine-ridged back, with their sides playing in the light from gold to green, and from green to gold. As the land was direct on our lee, the captain lay to in a bay behind Cape Gallo. Kniep failed not to seize the oppor¬ tunity to sketch the many beautiful scenes somewhat in detail. Towards sunset the captain made again for the open sea, steering north-east, in order to make the heights of Palermo. I ventured several times on deck, but never intermitted for a moment my poetical labours; and thus I became pretty well master of the whole piece. With a cloudy sky, a bright but broken moonlight, the reflection on the sea was infinitely beautiful. Paintings, in order to heighten the eflfect, generally lead us to believe, that the reflection from the heavenly lumi- naries on the water has its greatest breadth nearest to the spectator, where it also possesses its greatest brilliancy. On this occasion, however, the reflection was broadest at the horizon, and, like a sharp pyramid, ended with sparkling waves close to the ship. During the night our captain again frequently changed the tack. Monday^ April 2, 1787. This morning, about 8 o’clock, we found ourselves over against Palermo. The morning seemed to me highly delight¬ ful, During the days that I had been shut up in my cabin, I had got on pretty well with the plan of my drama. I felt quite well now, and was able to stay on deck, and observe attentively the Sicilian coast. Kniep went on sketching away, and by his accurate, but rapid pencil, many a sheet of paper was converted into highly valuable mementoes of our landing, which, however, we still had to wait for. PALERMO. Monday, Aprils, 1787. By 3 o’clock p.m., we at last, after much trouble and dif- ficulty, got into horbour, where a most glorious view lay 218 LETTERS FROM ITALY. before us. Perfectly recovered from my sea-sickness, I enjoyed it highly. The town facing north, lay at the foot of a high hill, with the sun (at this time of day) shining above it. The sides of the buildings which looked towards us, lay in a deep shade, which, however, was clear, and lit up by the reflection from the water. On our right Monte Pellegrino, with its many elegant outlines, in full light; on the left the coast, with its bays, isth¬ muses, and headlands, stretching far away into the distance; and the most agreeable effect was produced by the fresh green of some fine trees, whose crowns, lit up from behind, swayed backwards and forwards before the dark buildings, like great masses of glow-worms. A brilliant haze gave a blueish tint to all the shades. Instead of hurrying impatiently on shore, we remained on deck till we were actually forced to land; for where could we hope soon to find a position equal to this, or so favourable a point of view ? Through the singular gateway, which consists of two vast pillars, which are left unconnected above, in order that the tower-high car of S. Rosalia may be able to pass through, on her famous festival, we were driven into the city, and alighted, almost immediately, at a large hotel on our left. The host, an old, decent person, long accustomed to see strangers of every nation and tongue, conducted us into a large room, the balcony of which commanded a view of the sea, with the roadstead, where we recognised our ship, Monte Rosalia, and the beach, and were enabled to form an idea of our where¬ abouts. Highly satisfied with the position of our room, we did not for some time observe that, at the farther end of it, was an alcove, slightly raised, and concealed by curtains, in which was a most spacious bed, with a magnificent canopy and curtains of silk, in perfect keeping with the other stately, but old fashioned, furniture of our apartment. This display of splendour made me uneasy; so, as my custom was, I wished to make an agreement with my host. To this the old man replied that conditions were unnecessary, and he trusted I should have nothing to complain of in him. We were also at liberty to make use of the ante-room, which was next to our apartment, and cool, airy, and agreeable from its many balconies. We amused ourselves with the endless variety of views, SICILY-PALERMO. 219 and endeavoured to sketch them one by one in pencil, or in colours, for here the eye fell upon a plentiful harvest for the artist. In the evening the lovely moonlight attracted us once more to the roadstead, and even after our return riveted us for some time on the balcony. The light was peculiar,—the repose and loveliness of the scene were extreme. Palermo^ Tuesday^ April 3, 1787. Our first business was to examine the city, which is easy enough to survey, but difficult to know; easy, because a street a mile long, from the lower to the upper gate, from the sea to the mountain, intersects it, and is itself again crossed, nearly in its middle, by another. Whatever lies on these two great lines is easily found; but in the inner streets a stranger soon loses himself, and without a guide will never extricate himself from their labyrinths. Towards evening oiir attention was directed to the long line of carriages, (of the well-known build,) in which the principal persons of the neighbourhood were taking their evening drive from the city to the beach, for the sake of the fresh air, amusement, and perhaps also for intrigue. It was full moon about two hours before midnight, and the evening was in consequence indescribably glorious. The northerly position of Palermo produces a very strange effect; as the city and shore come between the sun and the harbour, its reflection is never observed on the waves. On this account, though it was one of the very brightest of days yesterday, I found the sea of a deep blue colour, solemn, and oppressive; whereas, at Naples, after noon-day, it gets brighter and brighter, and glitters with more airy lightness, and to a greater distance. Kniep has to-day left me to make my pilgimages and obser¬ vations by myself, in order that he might accurately sketch the outline of Monte Pellegrino, the most beautiful headland in the whole world. Palermo^ April 3, 1787. Here again I must put a few things together, something in the way of an appendix, and with the carelessness of familiarity. 220 LETTERS FROM ITAI.Y. At sunset of the 29th of March we set sail for Naples, and at last, after a passage of four days and three hours, cast anchor in the harbour of Palermo. The little diary which I enclose, will give an account of ourselves and our for¬ tunes. I never entered upon a journey so calmly as I did this, and never have I had a quieter time of it than during our passage, which a constant headwind has unusually pro¬ longed, even though I passed the time chiefly on my bed, in a close little berth, to which I was obliged to keep during the first day, in consequence of a violent attack of sea¬ sickness. Now my thoughts pass over towards you; for if ever anything has exercised a decided influence on my mind, this voyage has certainly done so. He who has never seen himself surrounded on all sides by the sea. can never possess an idea of the world, and of his own relation to it. As a landscape painter, this great simple line has given me entirely new ideas. During our voyage we had, as the diary records, many changes, and, on a small scale, experienced all a sailor’s for¬ tunes. However, the safety and convenience of the packet- boat cannot be sufficiently commended. Our captain is a very brave and an extremely handsome man. My fellow- passengers consisted of a whole theatrical troop, well man¬ nered, tolerable, and agreeable. My artist, who accompanies me, is a merry true-hearted fellow. In order to shorten the weary hours of the passage, he has explained to me all the mechanical part of aquarelle or painting in water colours,— an art which has been carried to a great height of perfection in Italy. He thoroughly understands the effect of particular colours in effecting certain tones, to produce which, without knowing the secret, one might go on mixing for ever. I had, it is true, learned a good deal of it in Rome, but never before so systematically. The artists must have studied and perfected the art in a country like Italy or this. No words can express the hazy brilliancy which hung around the coasts, as on a most beautiful noon we neared Palermo. He who has once seen it will never forget it. Now, at last, I can understand Claude Lorraine, and can cherish a hope that hereafter, in the north, I shall be able to produce, from my soul, at least a faint idea of these glorious abodes. Oh ! that only all little.* ness had departed from it as entirely as the little charm of SICILY-PALERMO. 221 thatched roofs has vanished from among my ideas of what a drawing should be. We shall see what this “Queen of Islands” can do. No words can express the welcome—^with its fresh green mulberry trees, evergreen oleanders, and hedges of citron, &c. In the open gardens you see large beds of ranunculuses and anemones. The air is mild, warm, and fragrant; the wind refreshing. The full moon, too, rose from behind a promontory, and shone upon the sea;—^and this joyous scene after being tossed about four days and nights on the waves! Forgive me if, with a stump of a pen and the Indian-ink my fellow-traveller uses for his sketches, I scribble down these remarks. I send them to you as a faint lisp ing murmur ; since I am preparing for all that love me another record of these, my happy hours. What it is to be I say not; and when you wiU receive it, that also it is out of my power to tell. Palermo^ Tuesday^ April 3. This letter must, as far as possible, impart to you, my dearest friends, a high treat; it is intended to convey to you a description of an unrivalled bay, embracing a vast mass of waters. Beginning from the east, where a flattish headland runs far out into the sea, it is dotted with many rugged, beautibiUy-shaped, wood-crowned rocks, imtil it reaches the fishing-huts of the suburbs; then the town itself, whose fore¬ most houses (and among them our own hotel) all look towards the harbour and to the great gate by which we entered. Then it stretches westwards, and passing the usual landing- place, where vessels of smaller burden can lie to, comes next to what is properly the harbour, near the Mole, which is the station of all larger vessels; and then, at the western point, to protect the shipping, rises Monte Pellegrino, with its beatiful contour, after leaving between it and the mainland a lovely fertile valley, which at its other end again reaches .the sea. Kniep sketched away. I took, with my mind’s eye, the plan of the country —{ich schematisirte )—with great delight; and now, glad to have reached Lome again, we feel neither I 222 LETTERS FROM ITALY strength nor energy to tell a long story, and to go into par¬ ticulars. Our endeavours must, therefore, be reserved for a future occasion ; and this sheet must serve to convince you of our inability adequately to seize these objects, or rather of our presumption in thinking to grasp and master them in so short a time. t Palermo^ Wednesday April 4, 1787. „ In the afternoon we paid a visit to the fertile and dehght- lli, ful valley at the foot of the Southern Mountains, running by i,; Palermo, and through which the Oreto meanders. Here, too, is a call for the painter’s eye, and a practised hand to convey an idea of it. Kniep, however, hastily seized an excellent point of view at a spot where the pent-up water was dashing down from a half-broken weir, and was shaded by a lovely group of trees, behind which an uninterrupted prospect opened up the valley, affording a view of several farm buildings. Beautiful spring weather, and a budding luxuriance, diffused over the whole valley a refreshing feeling of peace, which our stupid guide marred by his ill-timed erudition, telling us that in former days, Hannibal had fought a battle here, and cir¬ cumstantially detailing all the dreadful feats of war which had been perpetrated on the spot. In no friendly mood I re¬ proved him for thus fatally calling up again such departed spectres. It was bad enough, I said, that from time to time the crops should be trodden down, if not by elephants, yet by men and horses. At any rate, it was not right to scare away the peaceful dreams of imagination by reviving such tumults and horrors. The guide was greatly surprised that I could, on such a spot, despise classical reminiscences; and I, too, could not make him understand how greatly such a mingling of the past with the present displeased me. > Still more singular did our guide deem me, when at all the shallow places, of which many were left quite dry by the stream, 3 I searched for pebbles, and carried off with me specimens of each sort. I again found it difficult to make him understand that there was no readier way of forming an idea of a moun¬ tainous district like that before us, than by examining the nature of the stones which are washed down by the streams, SICILY-^PALEKMO. 223 and that in so doing, the purpose was to acquire a right notion of those eternally classic heights of the ancient world. And, indeed, my gains from this stream were large enough : I carried^ away nearly forty specimens, which, however, may be comprised under a few classes. Most of these were of a species of rock, which, in one respect, might be regarded as a sort of jasper or hornblende; in another, looked like clay-slate. I found some pebbles rounded, others of a rhomboidal shape, others of irregular forms, and of various colours. Moreover, inany varieties of the primeval limestone, not a few specimens of breccia, of which the substratum was lime, and holdino- jasper, or modifications of limestone. Rubbles of muschelkalk also were not wanting. The horses here are fed on barley, chaff, {hackerling) and clwer In spring they give them the green barley, in order to refresh them—per rinfrescar is the phrase. As there are no meadows here, they have no hay. On the hill-sides there are some pasture-lands, and also in the corn-fields, as a third IS always left fallow. They keep but few sheep, and these are of a breed from Barbary. On the whole they have more mules than horses, because the hot food suits the former better than the latter. The plain on which Palermo lies, as well as the districts of Ai Colli, which he without the city, and a part also of Baggaria, have for their basis the muschelkalk, of which the city is built. 1 here are, for this purpose, extensive quarries of it in the neighbourhood. In one place, near Monte Pellegrino, they are more than fifty feet deep. The lower layers are of a whiter hue. In it are found many petrified corals and other shell-fish, but principally great scallops. The upper stratum is mixed with red marl, and contains but few, if any, fossils. Right above it lies the red marl, of which, however, the layer is not very stiff Monte Pellegrino, however, rises out of all this; it is a pril m^y limestone, has many hollows and fissures, which although very irregular, when closely observed are found to follow the order of the strata. The stone is close, and rings when struck. ® 224 LETTERS FROM ITALY. Palermo^ Thursday^ April 5, 1787. We have gone careftdly through the city. The style of architecture resembles for the most part that of Naples; but the public buildings, for instance the fountains, are still further removed from good taste. Here there is no artistic mind to regulate the public works ; the edifices owe both their shape and existence to chance accidents. A fountain, which is the admiration of the whole island, would, perhaps, never have existed, had not Sicily furnished a beautiful variegated mar¬ ble, and had not a sculptor, well practised in animal shapes happened to be in favour precisely at the time. It would be a difficult matter to describe this foimtain. In a moderately- sized site stands a round piece of masonry, not quite a staff high {Stock hock). The socle, the wall, and the cornice are of variegated marble. In the wall are several niches in a row, from which animals of all kinds in white marble, are looking with stretched-out necks. Horses, lions, camels, and elephants, are interchanged one with another; and one scarcely ex¬ pects to find, within the circle of this menagerie, a fountain, to which, through four openings, marble steps lead you down to draw from the water, which flows in rich abundance. The same nearly may be said of the churches, in which even the Jesuits’ love of show and finery is surpassed—but not from design or plan, but by accident—just as artist after artist, whether sculptor or carver, gilder, lackerer, or worker in marble chose, without taste or rule, to display on each vacant spot his own abilities. Amidst all this, however, one cannot fail to recognize a certain talent in imitating natural objects; for instance, the heads of the animals around the fountains are very well executed. By this means it is, in truth, that the admiration of the multitude is excited, whose artistic gratification consists chiefly in comparing the imitation with its living prototype. Towards evening I made a merry acquaintance, as I entered the house of a small dealer in the Long Street, in order to purchase some trifles. As I stood before the win¬ dow to look at the wares, a slight breeze arose, which eddying along the whole street, at last distributed through all the windows and doors the immense cloud of dust which it had raised. “ By all the saints,” I cried, “whence comes all the dust of your town—is there no helping it ? In its SICILY-PALEilMO. 225 length and beauty, this street ides with any in the Corso m Rome. On both sides a fine pavement, which each stall and shop-holder keeps clean by interminable sweeping but brushes everything into the middle of the street which IS, in consequence, so much the dirtier, and with every breath of wind sends back to you the filth which has just before been swept into the roadway. In Naples busy donkeys c^ry off day by day the rubbish to the gardens and rarms. Why should you not here contrive and establish some Similar regulation?^’ “ TMngs with us are as they are,” he replied ; “ we throw everything out of the house, and it rots before the door • vou see here horse-dung and filth of all kinds—it lies there and toes, and returns to us again in the shape of dust. Against It we are takmg precautions all day long. But look our pretty little and ever-busy brooms, worn out at last only go to increase the heap of filth before our doors.” And oddly enough it was actuaUy so. They had nothino- but very little besoms of palm-branches, which, slightly altered, might have been really useful; but as it was, they broke off easily, and the stumps were lying by thousands in tne streets. To my repeated questioning, whether there was no board or regulations to prevent all this ; he replied A story is current among the people that those whose duty It was to provide for the cleansing of our streets, being men of great power and influence, could not be compelled to disburse the money on its lawful objects; and besides that there was al^ the strange fact that certain parties feared that if the ^rty straw and dung were swept away, every one would see pavement beneath was laid down. And so the dishonesty of a second body would be thereby exposed. AU this, however,” he remarked, with a most humorous expression, “ is merely the interpretation which the ill-dis- posed put upon it.” For his part, he was of the opinion of those who maintained that the nobles preserved this soft litter for their carriages, in order that, when they take their amusement in the evening, they might ride at ease ' over the elastic ground. And as the man was now in the humour, he joked away at many of the abuses of the police — a consolatory proof to me that man has always humour enough to make merry with what he cannot help. ^ 226 LETTERS FROM ITALY. S. Kosalia, the patron saint of Palermo, is so universally kno\^Ti, from the description which Brydone h^ft given of her festival, that it must assuredly be agreeable to my friends to read some account of the place and the spot where she is most particularly worshipped. Monte Pellegrino, a vast mass of rocks, of which the breadth is greater than the height, lies on the north-west extremity of the Bay of Palermo. Its beautiful form admits not of being described by words; a most excellent view of it may be seen in the Voyage Pittoresque de la Sidle, It con¬ sists of a gray limestone of the earlier epoch. The rocks are quite barren, not a tree nor a bush will grow on them ; even the more smooth and level portions are but barely covered with grasses or mosses. In a cavern of this mountain, the bones of the saint were discovered, at the beginning of the last century, and brought to Palermo. The presence of them delivered the city from a pestilence, and ever since S. Rosalia has been the Patron Saint of the people. Chapels have been built in her honour, splendid festivals have been instituted. The pious and devout frequently made pilgrimages to the mountain; and in consequence a road has been made to it, which, like an ancient aqueduct, rests on arches and columns, and ascends zigzag between the rocks. The place of worship is far more suitable to the humility of the saint who retired thither, than are the splendid festivities which have been instituted in honour of her total renuncia¬ tion of the world. And perhaps the whole of Christendom, which now, for eighteen hundred years, has based its riches, pomps, and festival amusements, on the memory of its first founders and most zealous confessors, cannot point out a holy spot which has been adorned and rendered venerable in so eminent and delightful a way. When you have ascended the mountain, you proceed to the comer of a rock, over against which there rises a high waU of stone. On this the Church and the monastery are very finely situated. The exterior of the church has nothing promising or in¬ viting ; you open its door without any high expectation, but on entering are ravished with wonder. Y ou find yourself in a vast vestibule, which extends to the whole breadth of tlie PALERMO-S. ROSALIA. 227 ohurch, and is open towards the nave. Yon see here the usual vessel of holy water and some confessionals. The nave is an open space, which on the right is bounded by the native rock, and on the left by the continuation of the vesti¬ bule. It is paved with flat stones on a slight inclination, in order that the rain water may run oflP. A small well stands nearly in the centre. The cave itself has been transformed into the choir, without, however, any of its rough natural shape being altered. De¬ scending a few steps, close upon them stands the choristers’ desk with the choir books, and on each side are the seats of the choristers. The whole is lighted by the daylight, which is admitted from the com’t or nave. Deep within, in the dark recesses of the cave, stands the high-altar. As already stated, no change has been made in the cave; only, as the rocks drop incessantly with water, it was necessary to keep the place dry. This has been efiected by means of tin tubes, which are fastened to every projection of the rock, and are in various ways connected together. As they are broad above and come to a narrow edge below, and are painted of a dull green colour, th-ey give to the rock an appearance of being overgrown with a species of cactus. The water is con¬ ducted into a clear reservoir, out of which it is taken by the faithful as a remedy and preventative for every kind of iU. As I was narrowly observing all this, an ecclesiastic came up to me and asked whether I was a Genoese, and wished a mass or so to be said ? I replied upon this that I had come to Palermo with a Genoese, who would to-morrow, as it was a festival, come up to the shrine; but, as one of us must always be at home, I had come up to day in order to look about me. Upon this he observed, I was at perfect liberty to look at everything at my leisure, and to perform my devo¬ tions. In particular he pointed out to me a little altar which stood on the left as especially holy, and then left me. Through the openings of a large trelhs^ work of lattice, lamps appeared burning before an altar. I knelt down close to the gratings and peeped through. Further in, however, another lattice of brass wire was drawn across, so that one looked as it were through gauze at the objects within. By me hght of some dull lamps I caught sight of a lovely female form. 228 liETTEKS FROM ITALY. She lay seemingly in a state of ecstacy—^the eyes half, closed, the head leaning carelessly on her right hand, which was adorned with many rings. I could not sufficiently dis¬ cern her face, but it seemed to be peculiarly charming. Her robe was made of gilded metal, which imitated excellently a texture wrought with gold. The head and hands were of white marble. I cannot say that the whole was in the lofty style, still it was executed so naturally and so pleasingly that one almost fancied it must breathe and move.^ A little angel stands near her, and with a bunch of lilies in his hand ap¬ pears to be fanning her. In .the meanwhile the clergy had come into the cave, taken their places, and began to chant the Vespers. I took my seat right before the altar, and listened to them for a while; then I again approached the altar, knelt down and attempted to obtain a still more distinct view of the beautiful image. I resigned myself without reserve to the charming illusion of the statue and the locality. The chant of the priests now resoimded through the cave; the water was trickling into the reservoir near the altar; while the over-hanging rocks of the vestibule—the proper nave of the church—shut in the scene. There was a deep stillness in this waste spot, whose inhabitants seemed to be all dead—a singular neatness in a wild cave: the tinsel and tawdry pomp of the Roman Catholic ceremonial, especially as it is vividly decked out in Sicily, had here reverted to its original simplicity. The illusion produced by the statue of the fair sleeper—which had a charm even for the most practised eye enough, it was with the greatest difficulty that I tore myself from the spot, and it was late at night before I got back to Palermo. Palermo^ Saturday^ April 7,1787. In the public gardens, which are close to the roadstead, I have passed some most delightful hours. It is the most wonderful place in the world. Regularly laid out by art, it still looks a fairy spot; planted but a short time ago, it yet transports you into ancient times. Green edgings surround beds of the choicest exotics; citron-espaliers arch over iow- arboured walks; high waUs of the oleander decked with thousands of its red caimation-like blossoms, dazzle the eye. SICILY-I’ALEEMO. 229 Trees wholly strange and unkno^Ti to me, as yet without leaf, and probably, therefore, natives of a still warmer climate, spread out their strange looking* branches. A raised seat at the end of the level space gives you a survey of these curiously mixed rarities, and leads the eye at last to great basins in which gold and silver fish swim about with their pretty movements; now hiding themselves beneath moss-covered reeds; now darting in troops to catch the bit of bread which has tempted them from their hiding place. All the plants exhibit tints of green which I am not used to ; yellower and bluer than are found with us. What however lent to every object the rarest of charms was a strong halo which hung around everything alike, and produced the following singular effect: objects which were only distant a few steps from others, were distinguished from them by a decided tint of light blue, so that at last the distinctive colours of the most remote were almost merged in it, or at least assumed to the eye a decidedly strong blue tint. The very singular effect which such a halo imparts to dis¬ tinct objects, vessels, and headlands, is remarkable enough to an artistic eye; it assists it accurately to distinguish, and, indeed, to measure distances. It makes, too, a walk on the heights extremely charming. One sees Nature no more; nothing but pictures; just as if a painter of exquisite taste had arranged them in a gallery. But these wonderful gardens have made a deep and lasting impression on my mind. The black waves on the northern horizon, as they broke on the irregular points of the bay—and even the smell of the sea—all seemed to recall to my imagina¬ tion, as well as my memory, the happy island of the Phoeacians. I hastened to purchase a Horner^ and began to read this book with the highest delight, making an impromptu translation of it for the benefit of Kniep, wh^o had well deserved by his diligent exertions this day some agreeable refreshment over a glass of wine. Palermo^ April 8, 1787. {Easter Day,) The morning rejoicings in the blissful Resurrection of the Lord commenced with break of day. Crackers, wild-fires, 230 LETTERS FROM ITALY rockets, serpents, &c., were let off by wholesale in front of tlie churches, as the wor&hippers crowded in at the open doors. The chiming of bells, the pealing of organs, the chanting of pro¬ cessions, and of the choirs of priests who came to meet them, were enough to stun the ears of aU who had not been used to such noisy worship. The early mass was scarcely ended, when two well-dressed couriers of the Viceroy visited our hotel, with the double object of offering to all strangers his Highness’s congratula¬ tions on the festival, and to exact a douceur in return. As I was specially honoured with an invitation to dinner, my gift was, of course, expected to be considerable. After spending the morning in visiting the different churches, I proceeded to the Viceroy’s palace, which is situated at the upper end of the city. As I arrived rather early, I found the grand saloon still empty; there was only a little lively man, who came up to me, and whom I soon discovered to be a Maltese. When he had learnt that I was a German, he asked if I could give him any account of Erfurt, where he had spent a very pleasant time on a short visit. As he asked me about the family of the Dackerodes, and about the Coadjutor von Dalberg, I was able to give some account of them, at which he seemed much delighted, and inquired after other people of Thuringia. With consi¬ derable interest he then inquired about Weimar. “And how,” he asked, “ is the person, who, full of youth and vivacity when I was there, was the life of society? I have forgotten his name, but he is the author of ‘ Werther.’” After a little pause, as if for the sake of tasking my me¬ mory, I answered, “ I am the person whom you are inquir¬ ing about.” With the most visible signs of astonishment, he sprung back, exclaiming, “ There must have been a great change then!” “O yes,” I rejoined, “between Palermo and Weimar I have gone through many a change.” At this moment the Viceroy and suite entered the apart¬ ment. His carriage evinced that graceful freedom which became so distinguished a personage. He could not refrain from laughing at the Maltese, as he went on expressing his astonishment to see me here. At table I sat by the side of the Viceroy, who inquired into the objects of my journey, and SICILY—PALERMO. 231 assured me that he would give orders that everything in Palermo should be open to my inspection, and that every possible facility should be given me during my tour through Sicily _ Palermo^ Monday^ April 9, 1787. This whole day has been taken up with the stupidities of the Prince Pallagonia, whose follies are thoroughly different from what one would form an idea of either by reading or hearing of them. For, with the slightest love of truth, he who wishes to furnish an account of the absurd, gets into a dilemma; he is anxious to give an idea of it, and so makes it something, whereas, in reality, it is a nothing which seeks to pass for something. And here I must premise another general reflec¬ tion, viz., that neither the most tasteless, nor the most excel¬ lent production comes entirely and immediately from a single individual or a single age, but that with a little attention any one may trace its pedigree and descent. The foimtain already described in Palermo belongs to the forefathers of the Pallagonian follies, only that the latter, in their own soil and domain, develope themselves with the greatest freedom, and on the largest scale. When in these parts a country seat is built, it is usually placed in the middle of a whole property, and therefore, in order to reach the princely mansion you have to pass through cultivated flelds, kitchen gardens, and similar rural conveni¬ ences, for these southerns show far more of economy than we northmen, who often waste a good strip of rich land on a park, which, with its barren shrubs, can only charm the eye. But here it is the fashion to build two walls, between which you pass to the castle, without knowing in the least what is doing on your right and left. This passage begins generally with a grand portico, and sometimes with a vaulted hall, and ends with the mansion itself. But, in order that the eye may not be entirely without relief between these bye walls, they are generally arched over, and ornamented with scrolls, and also with pedestals, on which, here and there, a vase is placed. The flat surfaces are plastered, divided into compartments, and painted. The court is formed by a circle of one-storied cabins, in which work-people of all sorts reside, while the quadrangular castle towers over all. 232 LETTERS EROM ITALY, This is the sort of building which is here traditionally adopted, and which probably was the old form, when the father of the present prince rebuilt the castle, not in the best, but still in tolerable taste. But the present possessor, without abandoning the general features of this style, gave free course to his humour and passion for the most ill-shapen and taste¬ less of erections. One would do him too much honour by giving him credit for even one spark of taste. We entered, therefore, the great hall, which stands at the beginning of the property, and found ourselves in an octagonal room, of a breadth altogether disproportioned to its height. Four vast giants with modem spatterdashes, which had just been hittoned on, support the cornice, on which, directly meeting the eye as you enter, is a representation of the Holy Trinity. The passage to the castle is broader than usual, the wall being converted into one continuous high socle ; from which basement the strangest groups possible reach to the top, while in the spaces between them several vases are placed. The ugliness of these unshapely figures, (the bungling work of the most ordinary mason,) is increased by their having been cut out of a very crumbly muscheltufa, although, perhaps, a better material would have made the badness of the form still more striking to the eye. I used the word “ groups” a moment ago, but I have employed a false term, and most inappropriate one for anything here. For they are mere juxtapositions, determined by no thought, but by mere arbi¬ trary caprice. In each case three form the ornament of a square pedestal, their bases being so arranged as to fill up the space hy their various postures. The principal groups have generally two figures which occupy the chief face of the pedestal, and then two are yet wanting to fill up the back part of the pedestal; one of a moderate size generally repre¬ sents a shepherd or shepherdess—cavalier or a lady—a dancing ape or a hound. Still there is a vacant spot on the pedestal; this is generally held by a dwarf—as, indeed, in dull jokes, this sort of gentry usually play a conspicuous part. That we may not omit any of the elements of Prince PaUagonia’s folly, we give you the accompanying catalogue. Men: Beggars, male and female, Spanish men and women, Moors, Turks, hunchbacks, cripples of all sorts, strolling musicians, pulcineUos, soldiers in ancient uniforms, gods, PALERMO—CASTLE OF COUNT PALLAGONIA. 233 goddesses, gentlemen in old French costumes, soldiers with cartouche boxes and gaiters, mythological personages (with most ridiculous companions, Achilles and Charon, for instance, with Punch). Animals (merely parts of them): Heads of horses on human bodies, mis-shapen apes, lots of dragons and serpents, all sorts of feet under figures of all kinds, double¬ headed monsters, and creatures with heads that do not belong to them. Vases: All sorts of monsters and scrolls, which below end in the hollows and bases of vases. Just let any one think of such figures furnished by whole¬ sale, produced without thought or sense, and arranged without choice or purpose—only let him conceive to himself this socle, these pedestals and unshapely objects in an endless series, and he will be able to sympathize with the disagreeable feelings which must seize every one whose miserable fate condemns him to run the gauntlet of such absurdities. We now approach the castle, and are received into a semi¬ circular fore-court. The chief wall before us, through which is the entrance-door, is in the castle style. Here we find an Egyptian figure, built into the wall, a fountain without water, a monument, vases stuck around in no sort of order, statues de¬ signedly laid on their noses. Next we came to the castle court, and found the usual round area, enclosed with little cottages, distorted into small semicircles, in order, forsooth, that there might be no want of variety. The ground is, for the most part, overgrown with grass. Here, as in the neighbourhood of a church in ruins, are marble urns with strange scrolls and foliations, collected by his father; dwarfs and other abortions of the later epoch, for which, as yet fitting places have not been found; one even comes upon an arbour, propped up with ancient vases, and stone scrolls of various shapes. The absurdities produced by such want of judgment and taste, however, are strikingly instanced by the fact, tliat the window sills in these cottages are, without exception, oblique, and lean to one side or the other, so as to ofiend and violate all sense of the level and perpendicular, which are so indispensable in the human mind, and form the foundation of all architectural propriety. And then, again, the edges of all the roofs are em- bellished with hydras and little busts, with choirs of monkeys playing music, and similar conceits. Dragons alternate with 234 LETTERS FROM ITALY. deities: an Atlas, who sustains not the mundane sphere, but an empty wine-barrel! One hopes to escape from all this by entering the castle, which, having been built by the father, presents relatively a more rational appearance when viewed from the exterior. But in vain, for at no great distance from the door, one stumbles upon the laurel-crowned head of a Homan emperor on the body of a dwarf, who is sitting astride on a dolphin. Now, in the castle itself, of which the exterior gives hope of, at least, a tolerable interior, the madness of the Prince begins again to rave. Many of the seats have lost their legs, so that no one can sit upon them; and if some appear to pro¬ mise a resting-place, the Chamberlain warns you against them, as having sharp prickles beneath their satin-covered cushions. In all the corners are candelabras of porcelain china, which, on a nearer view, you discover to be cemented together out of different bowls, cups, saucers, &c., &c. Not a cor¬ ner but some whim peeps out of it. Even the un¬ equalled prospect over the promontory into the sea is spoiled by coloured glass, which, by its false lights, gives either a cold or a fiery tint to the neighbouring scenes. I must, also, mention a cabinet, which is inlaid with old gold frames, cut in pieces. All the hundred-fold carvings, all the endless varieties of ancient and modern, more or less dust-stained and time-injured, gilding, closely huddled together, cover all the walls, and give you the idea of a miniature lumber- room. To describe the chapel alone, would require a volume. Here one finds the solution of the whole folly, which could never have reached such a pitch in any but a bigoted mind. How many monstrous creations of a false and misled devotion are here to be found, I must leave you to guess for yourself. However, I cannot refrain from mentioning the most outrageous: a carved crucifix is fastened flat to the roof, painted after nature, lackered, and gilded; into the navel of the figure, attached to the cross, a hook is screwed, and from the latter hangs a chain, which is fastened to the head of a man who, in a kneeling and praying posture, is suspended in the air, and, like all the other figures in the church, is painted and lackered. In all probability it is intended to serve as a type of the owner’s imceasing devotion. SICILY—PALERMO. 235 Moreover, the house is not finished internally. A saloon, built by the father, and intended to be decorated with rich and varied ornaments, but not tricked out in a false and offensive taste, is still incomplete : so that, it would seem, even the boundless madness of the possessor is at a stand still. Kniep’s artistic feeling was almost driven to desperation in this mad-house; and, for the first time in my life, I found him quite impatient. He hurried me away, when I wished to take a note of, and to perpetuate the memory of these mon¬ strous absurdities, one by one. Good-naturedly enough, he at last took a sketch of one of these compositions, which did, at least, form a kind of group. It represents a woman with a horse’s head, sitting on a stool, and playing at cards, with a cavalier, dressed, as to his lower extremities, in the old fashion, while his gray head is ornamented with a large wig and a crown. The statue reminded me of the arms of the house of Pallagonia,—a satyr, holding up a mirror before a woman with a horse’s head, which, even after all the strange follies of its present head, seems to me highly singular. Palermo^ Tuesday^ April 10, 1787. To-day we took a drive up the mountains to Monreale,—along a glorious road, which was laid down by an abbot of this clois¬ ter, in the times of its opulence and wealth: broad, of easy ascent, trees here and there, springs, and dripping wells, decked out with ornaments and scrolls,—somewhat Pallagonian in style—^but still, in spite of all that, refreshing to both man and beast. The monastery of S. Martin, which lies on the height, is a respectable building. One bachelor alone, as we see in the case of Prince Pallagonia, has seldom produced any thing rational; but several together, on the other hand, have efiected the greatest works, such as churches and monas¬ teries. But perhaps these spiritual fraternities produced so much, simply because, beyond most fathers of a family, they could reckon with certainty on a numerous posterity. The monks readily permitted us to view their collection of antiques and natural objects. They contained many excellent specimens of both. Our attention was particularly fixed by a medallion, with ihQ figure of a young goddess, which must. 236 LETTERS FROM ITALY. excite the rapture of every beholder. The good monks would willingly have given us a copy, but there was nothing within reach which would do to make a mould. After they had exhibited to us all their treasures,—^not without entering on an unfavorable comparison of their pre¬ sent with their former condition,—^they led us into a small but pleasant saloon, from the balcony of which one enjoyed a lovely prospect. Here covers were laid for us alone, and we had a very excellent dinner to ourselves. When the dessert was served, the abbot and the senior monks entered, and took their seats. They remained nearly half an hour, during which time we had to answer many questions. We took a most friendly farewell of them; the younger brethren accom¬ panied us once more to the rooms where the collections were kept, and at last to our carriage. We drove home with very different feelings from what we did yesterday. To-day we had to regret a noble institution, which was falling with time ; while, on the other hand, a most tasteless undertaking had a constant supply of wealth for its support. The road to S. Martin ascends a hill of the earlier lime¬ stone formation. The rock is quarried and broken, and burnt into lime, which is very white. For burning the stone they make use of a long coarse sort of grass, which is dried in bundles. Here too it is that the calorex is produced. Even on the most precipitous heights lies a red clay of alluvial origin, which serve the purposes of our dam-earth,—the higher it lies the redder it is, and is but little blackened by vegetation. I saw, at a distance, a ravine, where it was red as cinnabar. The monastery stands in the middle of the limestone hill, which is very rich in springs. Palermo^ Wednesday^ April 11, 1787. Having explored the two principal objects without the city, we betook ourselves to the palace, where a busy courier showed us the rooms, and their contents. To our great horror, the saloon in which the antiques are generally placed was in the greatest disorder, in consequence of the walls being under the process of decoration. The statues were removed from their usual places, covered with cloth, and pro- SICILY-PALERMO. 237 tected by wooden frames ; so that in spite of the good will of our guide, and some trouble on the part of the work-people, we could only gain a very imperfect idea of them. My attention was chiefly occupied with two rams, in bronze, which, not¬ withstanding the unfavorable circumstances, highly delighted our artistic taste. They are represented in a recumbent pos¬ ture, with one foot stretched out before them, with the heads (in order to form a pair) turned on different sides. Powerful forms, belonging to the mythological family, and well worthy to carry Phrixus and Helle. The wool, not short and crisp, but long and flowing, with a slight wave, and shape most true to nature, and extremely elegant—they evidently be¬ longed to the best period of Grecian art. They are said to have stood originally in the harbour of Syracuse. The courier now took us out of the city to the catacombs, which, laid out on a regular architectural plan, are anything but quarries converted into burial places. In a rock of Tufa, of tolerable hardness, the side of which has been worked level and perpendicular, vaulted openings have been cut, and in these again are hewn several tiers of sarcophagi, one above the other:—all of the natural material without masonry of any kind. The upper tiers are smaller, and in the spaces over the pillars are tombs for children. Palermo^ Thursday^ April 12. To day we have been shown Prince Torremuzza’s cabinet of medals. I went there in a certain degree against my wiU. I am too little versed in these matters, and a mere curiosity- mongering traveller is thoroughly detested by all true con¬ noisseurs and scholars. But as one must in every case make a beginning, I made myself easy on this head, and have derived both gratification and profit from my visit. What a satisfaction, even cursorily, to glance at the fact that the old world was thickly sown with cities; the very meanest of which has bequeathed to us in its precious coins, if not a com¬ plete series, yet at least some epochs, of its history of art. Out of these cabinets, there smiles upon us an eternal spring of the blossoms and flowers of art—of a busy life, ennobled Vvdth high tastes, and of much more besides. Out of these form-endowed pieces of metal the glory of the Sicilian cities, now obscured, still shines forth fresh before us. 238 LETTERS prom: ITALY. Unfortunately, we in our youth had seen none but family coins, which say nothing, and the coins of the Caesars, which repeat to satiety the same profile—^portraits of rulers, who are to be regarded as any thing but models of humanity. How sadly had our youth been confined to a shapeless Palestine, and to a shape perplexing Rome! Sicily and Nova Grecia give me hopes again of a fresh existence. That on these subjects I should enter into general reflections, is a proof that as yet I do not understand much about them; yet that, with all the rest, will in degrees be improved. Palermo^ Thursday^ April 12, 1787. Yesterday evening, a wish of mine was gratified, and that in a very singular fashion. I was standing on the pavement of the principal street, joking at the window with the shop¬ keeper, I formerly mentioned, when suddenly, a courier, tall and well-dressed, came up to me, and quickly poked a silver salver before me, on which were several copper coins, and a few pieces of silver. As I could not make out what it all meant, I shook my head, and shrugged my shoulders, the usual token by which in this country you get rid of those whose address or question you either cannot, or do not wish, to understand. “ What does all this mean ?’’ I asked of my friend the shop¬ keeper, who, with a very significant mien, and somewhat stealthily, pointed to a lank and haggard gentleman, who, elegantly dressed, was walking with great dignity and indif¬ ference, through the dung and dirt. Frizzled and powdered, with his hat under his arm, in a silken vest, with his sword by his side, andhavinganeat shoe ornamented with a jewelled buckle—the old man walked on calmly and sorrowfully. All eyes were directed towards him. “ It is the Prince PaUagonia,” said the dealer, “who, from time to time, goes through the city collecting money to ransom the slaves in Barbary. It is true, he does not get much by his collection, but the object is kept in memory; and so it often happens that those who, in their life-time, were backward in giving, leave large legacies at their death. The prince has for many years been at the head of this society, and has done a great deal of good.” “ Instead of wasting so much on the foUies of his country SICILY-PALERMO. 239 house/’ I cried, “he might have spent the same large sum on this object. Then no prince in the world would have accomplished more.” To this the shopkeeper rejoined : “But is not that the way with us all? We are ready enough to pay for our own follies. Our virtues for their support must look to the purses of others.” Palermo^ April 13, 1787. Count Borch has very diligently worked before us in the mineralogy of Sicily, and whoever of the same mind visits the island after him, must willingly acknowledge his obligations to him. I feel it a pleasure, no less than a duty, to celebrate the memory of my predecessor. And what am I more than a forerunner of others yet to be, both in my travels and life. However, the industry of the Count seems to me to have been greater than his knowledge. He appears to have gone to work with a certain reserve, which is altogether opposed to that stem earnestness with which grand objects should be treated. Nevertheless, his essay in quarto, which is exclusively devoted to the mineralogy of Sicily, has been of great use to me; and, prepared by it, I was able to profit by my visit to the Quarries which formerly, when it was the custom to case the churches and altars with marbleand agate, were more busily worked, though even now they are not idle. I purchased at them, specimens of the hard and soft stones: for it is thus that they usually desi^ate the marble and agate, chiefly because a difference of price mainly depends on this difference of qua¬ lity. But, besides these, they have still another for a material which is the produce of the fire of their kilns. In these, after each burning, they find a sort of glassy flux, which in colour varies from the lightest to the darkest, and even blackest blue. These lumps are, like other stones, cut into thin lamina, and then pierced according to the height of their colour and their purity, and are successfully employed in the place of lapis lazuli, in the decoration of churches, altars, and sepulchral monuments. A complete collection, such as I wished, is not to be had at present; it is to be sent after me to Naples. The agates are of the greatest beauty; especially such as are variegated with 240 LETTERS FROM ITALY. irregular pieces of yellow or red jasper, and with white, and as it were frozen quartz, which produce the most beautiful effect. A very accui'ate imitation of these agates, produced by lake colouring on the back of thin plates of glass, is the only rational thing that I observed the other day among the PaUagonian follies. Such imitations are far better for decora¬ tions than the real agate, since the latter are only found in very small pieces, whereas the size of the former depends on nothing but the size of the artist’s plate. This contrivance of art well deserves to be imitated. Palermo^ April 13, 1787. Italy without Sicily leaves no image on the soul: here is the key to all. Of the climate, it is impossible to say enough. It is now rainy weather, but not uninterruptedly wet: yesterday it thundered and lightened, and to day all is intensely green. The flax has in places already put forth joints—in others it is boiling. Looking down from the hills, one fancies one sees in the plain below little ponds; so beautifully blue-green are the flax fields here and there. Living objects without number sur¬ round you. And my companion is an excellent fellow, the true (Hopeful) and I honestly sustain the part of the True friend. He has already made some beautiful sketches, and will take still more before we go. What a prospect—to re¬ turn home some day, happy, and with all these treasures 1 Of the meat and drink here, in the country, I have said nothing as yet; however, it is by no means an indifferent matter. The garden stuffs are excellent, especially the lettuce; which is particulary tender, with a milky taste: it makes one understand at once why the ancients termed it lactuca. The oil and wine of all kinds very good; and it might be stiU better if more care were bestowed on its pre¬ paration :—Fish of the very best and tenderest. We have had, too, very good beef, though generally people do not praise it. Now, after dinner, to the window!—to the streets ! A malefactor has just been pardoned—an event which takes place every year in honour of the festival of Easter. The brethren of some order or other led him to the foot of a gaUows, which had been erected for sake of the ceremony ; then the criminal at the foot of the ladder offers up a prayer or SICILY-PALERMO. 241 two; and having kissed the scaffold, is led away again. He was a good-looking fellow of the middle age, in a white coat, white hat, and all else white. He carried hig hat in his hand; at different points they attached variegated ribbons to him, so that at last he was quite in tune to go to any masquerade in the character of a shepherd. Palermo^ April 13 and 14, 1787. So then, before my departure, I was to meet with a strange adventure, of which I must forthwith give you a circumstan¬ tial account. The whole time of my residence here, I have heard scarcely any topic of conversation at the ordinary, but Cagliostro, his origin and adventures. The people of Palermo are all unanimous in asserting that a certain Joseph Balsamo was bom in their city, and having rendered himself infamous by many disgraceful acts, was banished. But whether this person is identical with the Count Cagliostro, was a point on which opinions were divided. ‘ Some who knew Balsamo personally asserted they recognized his features in the engraving, which is well known in Germany, and which has also travelled as far as Palermo. In one of these conversations, one of the guests referred to the trouble which a Palermitan lawyer had taken in examining this matter.. He seems to have been commissioned by the French Ministry to trace the origin of an individual, who, in the face of France, and, indeed, of the whole world, had had the temerity to utter the siUiest of idle tales in the midst of a legal process which involved the most important interests and the reputation of the highest personages. This law}^er, it was asserted, had prepared the pedigree of Giuseppe Balsamo, together with an explanatory memoir and documentary proofs. It has been forwarded to France, where in aU probability public use will be made of it. As I expressed a wish to form the acquaintance of this lawyer, of whom besides people spoke very highly, the person who had recounted these facts offered to mention me to him and to in¬ troduce me. After a few days we paid him a visit, and found him busily engaged with his clients. When he had dismissed them and we had taken a luncheon, he produced a manuscript which R 242 LETTERS FROM ITALY. contained a transcript of Cagliostro's pedigi’ee, and the rough di’aught of the memoir which had been sent to France. He laid the genealogy before me, and gave me the necessary explanations, of which I shall here give you as much as is neces¬ sary to facilitate the understanding of the whole business. Giuseppe Balsamo’s great-grandfather on his mother s side was Matteo Martello. The maiden name of his great-grand¬ mother is unknown. The issue of this marriage was two daughters; Maria, who married Giuseppe Bracconerie, and the grandmother of Giuseppe Balsamo—and Vincenza, mar¬ ried to Giuseppe Cagliostro, who was born in a little village called La Noava, about eight miles from Messina. (I must note here that there are at this moment living at Messina two bellfounders of this name.) This great aunt was sub¬ sequently godmother of Giuseppe Balsamo, who was named after his great uncle, and at last in foreign countries assumed also the surname of this relation. The Bracconerie had three children,—Felicita, Mattfeo, and Antonia. Felicita was married to Piedro Balsamo, who was the son of Antonia Balsamo, ribbon dealer in Palermo, and probably of Jewish descent. Piedro Balsamo, the father of the noto¬ rious Giuseppe, became bankrupt, and died in his five-and- fortieth year. His widow, who is still living, had born him, besides the above-named Giuseppe Giovanna—Giuseppe Maria, who married Giovanna Battista Capitummino, who begot three children of her body, and died. The memoir, which was read to us by its obliging author, and was at my request lent to me for a few days, was founded on baptismal and marriage certificates and other instruments vhich he had with great diligence collected. It contains pretty nearly (as I conclude from a comparison with a sum¬ mary which I then made) all the circumstances which have lately been made better known to the world by the acts of the legal process at Rome, viz,, that Giuseppe Balsamo was born at Palermo, in the beginning of June, 1743, and that at his baptism he was received back from the priest's arms by Vincenza Cagliostro (whose maiden name was Martello); that in his youth he took the habit of an order of the Brothers of Mercy, which paid ])articular attention to the sick; that he Eoon showed great talent and skill for medicine, but that PALERMO—COUNT CAGLIOSTRO. 243 for his disorderly practices he was expelled the order, and thereupon set up in Palermo as a dealer in magic, and treasure finder. His great dexterity in imitating every kind of handwriting was not allowed by him to lie idle. He falsified or rather forged altogether an ancient document, by which the posses¬ sion of some lands was brought into litigation. He was soon an object of suspicion, and cast into prison; but made his escape, and was cited to appear under penalty of outlawry. He passed through Calabria towards Rome, where he married the daughter of a belt-maker. From Rome he came back tc Naples, under the name of the Marchese Pellegrini. He even ventured to pay a visit to Palermo, was recognized, and ^en prisoner, and made his escape in a manner that well deserv-es being circumstantially detailed. One of the principal nobles of Sicily, who possessed very large property, and held several important posts at the Neapolitan court, had a son, who to a frame of imusual strength and an uncontrollable temper united all the wanton excesses which the rich and great, without education, can think themselves privileged to indulge in. Donna Lorenza had managed to attract him, and on him me pretended Marchese Pellegrini relied for impunity. The Pnnce avowed openly his patronage of this couple of new comers, and set no bounds to his rage when Giuseppe Balsamo at the instance of the party whom he had injured, was a second time cast into prison. He had recourse to various means to obtain his liberation; and, when these were unsuccessful, in the very ante-room of the President’s court, he threatened the advocate_ of the opposite party with the most dreadful conse¬ quences if he did not consent to the release of Balsamo. As toe opposing advocate refused his consent, he rushed upon him, struck him, knocked him down and kicked him, and was oidy with ^fiiculty restrained from further violence when the JU(%e, hearing the noise, rushed in and commanded peace. The latter, a weak and cringing character, had not the courage to punish the wrong-doer; the opposite party, advo- cate and all, were men of little minds; and so Balsamo was set at hberty, without, however, any record of his liberation nemg found among the proceedings—neither by whose orders or m what manner it was effected. 244 LETTERS FROM ITALY. Shortly after this he left Palermo, and traveued in different countries; of which travels, however, the author of the memoir had been only able to collect very imperfect infor¬ mation. The memoir ended with an acute argument to prove the identity of Balsamo and Cagliostro,—a position which was at this time more difficult to prove than at present, now that the whole history of this individual has been made public. Had I not been led to form a conjecture that a public use would have been made in France of this essay, and that on my return I should find it already in print, I doubt not but I should have been permitted to take a transcript of it, and to give my friends and the public an early account of many inter¬ esting circumstances. However, we have received the fullest account, (and even more particulars than this memoir contains,) from a quarter which usually is the source of nothing but errors. Who would have believed that Rome would ever have done so much for the enlightening of the world, and for the utter exposure of an impostor, as she has done by publishing the summary of the proceedings in this case ? For although this work ought and might be much more interesting, it is nevertheless an excel¬ lent document in the hands of every rational mind, who cannot but feel deep regret to see the deceived, and those who were not more deceived than deceivers, going on for years admiring this man and his mummeries; feeling themselves by fellow¬ ship with him raised above the common mass, and from the heights of their credulous vanity pitying if not despising the sound common sense of mankind in general. Who was not willingly silent all the while ? And even now at last, when the whole affair is ended and placed beyond dis¬ pute, it is only with difficulty that I can bring myself, in order to complete the official account, to communicate some parti- culars which have here become known to me. When I found in the genealogy so many persons (especially his mother and sisters) mentioned as still bving, I expressed to the author of the memoir a wish to see them, and to form the acquaintance of the other relatives of so notorious an indi¬ vidual. He remarked that it woffid be difficult to bring it about, since these persons, poor but respectable, and living very retired, were not accustomed to receive visitors, and that PALERMO-COUNT CAGLIOSTRO. 245 their natural suspicion would be roused by any attempt of the kind. However, he was ready to send to me his copy¬ ing clerk, who had access to the family, and by whose means he had procured the information and documents out of which the pedigree had been compiled. The next day his amanuensis made his appearance, and ex¬ pressed several scruples upon the matter. “ I have, hitherto,” he said, “ carefully avoided coming within sight of these persons. For, in order to get into my hands the certificates of baptism and marriage, so as to be able to take legally authenticated copies of them, I was obliged to have recourse to a little trick. I took occasion to speak of some little family property that was somehow or other unclaimed ; made it ap¬ pear probable to them that the young Capitummino was entitled to it; but I told them that first of all it was necessary to make out a pedigree, in order to see how far the youth could establish his claim: that, however, his success must eventually depend upon law proceedings, which I would willingly undertake on condition of receiving for my trouble a fair proportion of the amount recovered. The good people readily assented to every¬ thing. I got possession of the papers I wanted, took copies of them, and finished the pedigree ; since then, however, I have cautiously kept out of their sight. A few weeks ago old Capitummino met me, and it was only by pleading the tardiness with which such matters usually proceed that I managed to excuse myself.” Thus spoke the copyist. As, however, I stuck to my pur¬ pose, after some consideration he consented to take me to their house, and suggested that it would be best for me to give mysrelf out to be an Englishman, who had brought to the family tidings of Cagliostro, who, immediately after his release from the Bastile, had proceeded to London. At the appointed hour—about two o'clock in the afternoon —we set out on our expedition. The house was situated in the comer of a narrow lane, not far from the great street, “ II Casaro.” We ascended a few wretched steps, and entered at once upon the kitchen. A woman of the middle size, strong and broad, without being fat, was busy washing up the cooking utensils. She was neatly and cleanly clad, and as we entered, turned up the comer of her apron, in order to conceal from us its dirty front. She seemed glad to see my guide, 246 LETTERS FROM ITALY. and exclaimed, “ Do you bring us good news, Signor Giovanni ? Have you obtained a decree ?” He replied, “ No! I have not as yet been able to do anything in our matter. However, here is a foreigner who brings you a greeting from your brother, and who can give you an account of his present state and abode.” The greeting that I was to bring did not exactly stand in our bond. However, the introduction was now made. “You know my brother ?” she asked me. “ All Europe knows him,” I replied, “ and I am sure you will be glad to hear that he is at present safe and well; for assuredly you must have been in -great anxiety about him.” “ Walk in,” she said, “ I will follow you immediately;” and so, with the copying- clerk, I entered the sitting-room. It was spacious and lofty, and would pass with us for a saloon. It seemed, however, to form the whole dwelling of the family. A single window lighted the large walls, which were once coloured, and around which figures of the Saints— taken in black—hung in gilt fraines. Two large beds, without curtains, stood against one wall, while a brown press, which had the shape of an escritoire, was placed against the opposite one. Old chairs, with rush bottoms, the backs of which seemed once to have been gilded, stood on each side of it; while the bricks of the floors were in many places sunk deep below the level. In other respects, everything was clean and tidy, and we made our way towards the family, who were gathered around tlie only large window at the other end of the room. While my guide was explaining to the old widow Balsamo, wh 3 sat in the corner, the cause of our visit, and in consequence of the deafliess of the good old woman, had frequently to repeat his words, I had time to observe the room and the rest of its occupants. A young girl, of about sixteen years of age, weU grown, whose features, however, the small-pox had robbed of all expression, was standing at the window; by her side a young man, whose unpleasant countenance, sadly disflgured by the small-pox, also struck me. In an arm-chair, opposite the window, sat, or rather reclined, a sick and sadly deformed person, who seemed to be afflicted with a sort of torpor. AYhen my guide had made himself understood, they com- pelle andeip.te ri If iVllXr Pfi «tadying the task /had nd at til A f Odyssey, taking a walk through the valley nd at the foot of the hill of S. Rosalie, thinking oler aglfn ill LETIEES FEOM ITALY. 256 sketch of Nausicaa, and there trying whether this subject is sus- ceptible of a dramatic form. All this I have managed it not with perfect success, yet certainly much to my satisfacUon. I made out the plan, and could not abstain from sketching some portions of it which appeared to me most interesting, and tried to work them out. Palermoy Tuesday^ A^pril 17, 1787. It is a real misery to be pursued and hunted by many, spirits! Yesterday I set out early for the public gardens,! with a firm and calm resolve to realize some of my poetmalj dreams; but before I had become aware of it, another spectre got hold of me which has been foUowing me these last few days. Many plants which hitherto I had been used to see only in pots and tubs, or under glass^frames, st^di here fresh and joyous beneath the open heaven, and as they here completely fulfil their destination, their natures and characters became more plain and evident to me. In pre-| sence of so manv new and renovated forms, my old fancy occurred again to me: Might I not discover the primordial plant among all these numerous specimens? Some such there must be! For, otherwise, how am I able at once to determine that this or that form is a plant unless they are aL formed after one original type ? I busied myself, therefore with examining wherein the many varying shapes dilterec from each other. And in every case I found them aU to b( more similar than dissimilar, and attempted to apply m] botanical terminology. That went on wed enough; f not satisfied; I rather felt annoyed that it did not lead tm ther. My pet poetical purpose was obstructed; the garden of Alcinous all vanished—a real garden of the world ha- taken their place. Why is it that we moderns have so littl concentration of mind ? hy is it that we are thus tempte to make requisitions which we can neither exact nor fulfil. AlcamOy Wedesday^ April 18, 1787a At an early hour, we rode out of Palermo. Kniep and tt Vetturino showed their skill in packing the carriage insic and out. We drove slowly along the excellent road, wit which we had previously become acquainted during oi visit to San Martino, and wondered a second time at the fan taste displayed in the fountains on the way. At one of the AtOiMO. 257 our driver stopped to supply himself with water according to the temperate habits of this country. He had at starting, hung to the traces a small wine-cask, such as our market- women use, and it seemed to us to hold wine enough for several days. We were, therefore, not a little surprised when he made for one of the many conduitpipes, took out the plug of his cask, and let the water run into it. With true German amazement, we asked him what ever he was about ? was not the cask full of wine ? To all which, he replied with great nonchalance: he had left a third of it empty, and as no oL in tins country drank unmixed wine, it was better to mix it at once in a large quantity, as then the liquids combined better together, and besides you M^ere not sure of finding water everywhere. During this conversation the cask was filled, and we had some talk together of this ancient and oriental wedding custom. And now as we reached the heights beyond Mon Reale, we saw wonderfully beautiful districts, but tilled in traditional rather than in a true economical style. On the right, the eye reached the sea, where, between singular shaped head¬ lands, and beyond a shore here covered with, and there desti¬ tute of, trees, it caught a smooth and level horizon, perfectly calm, and forming a glorious contrast with the wild and rugged hmestone rocks. Kniep did not fad to take miniature out- lines of several of them. We are at present in Alcamo, a quiet and clean little town, whose well-conducted inn is highly to be commended as an excellent establishment, especially as it is most conveniently situated for visitors to the temple of Segeste, which lies out of tne direct road in a very lonely situation. Alcamo, Thursday, April 19, 1787. Our agreeable dwelling in this quiet town, among the mountains, has so charmed us that we have determined to pass a whole day here. We may then, before anything else, speak of our adventures yesterday. In one of my earlier letters, I questioned the originality of Prince Pallagonia’s bad taste, ne has had forerunners and can adduce many a precedent. On the road towards Mon Reale stand two monstrosities, beside a tountain with some vases on a balustrade, so utterly repug¬ nant to good taste that one would suppose they must have been placed there by the Prince himself. 258 LETTERS FROM ITALY. After passing Mon Reale, we left behind us the beautiful road, and got into the rugged mountain country. Here some rocks appeared on the crown of the road, which, judging from their gravity and metallic incrustations, I took to be ironstone. Every level spot is cultivated, and is more or less prolific. The limestone in these parts had a reddish hue, and all the pul¬ verized earth is of the same colour. This red argillaceous and calcareous earth extends over a great space ; the subsoil is hard; no sand underneath; but it produces excellent wheat. We noticed old very strong, but stumpy, olive trees. Under the shelter of an airy room, which has been built as an addition to the wretched inn, we refreshed ourselves with a temperate luncheon. Dogs eagerly gobbled up the skins of the sausages we threw away, but a beggar-boy drove them ofi‘. He was feasting with a wonderful appetite on the parings of the apples we were devouring, when he in his turn was driven away by an old beggar. Want of work is here felt everywhere. In a ragged toga the old beggar was glad to get a job as house- servant, or waiter. Thus I had formerly observed that whenever a landlord was asked for anything which he had not at the moment in the house, he would send a beggar to the shop for it. However, we are pretty well provided against aU such sony attendance; for our Vetturino is an excellent fellow—he is ready as ostler, cicerone, guard, courier, cook, and everything. On the higher hills you find every where the olive, the caruba, and the ash. Their system of farming is also spread over three years. Beans, corn, fallow; in which mode of culture the people say the dung does more marvels than all the Saints. The grape stock is kept down very low. Alcamo is gloriously situated on a height, at a tolerable dis¬ tance from a bay of the sea. The ma^ificence of the countiy quite enchanted us. Lofty rocks, with deep valleys at theii feet, but withal wide open spaces, and great variety. Be-* yond Mon Beale you look upon a beautiful double valley, in the centre of which a hilly ridge again raises itself. Thd fruitfid fields lie green and quiet, but on the broad road-waj the wild bushes and shrubs are brilliant with flowers—^thc broom one mass of yellow, covered with its pupilionaceom blossoms, and not a single green leaf to be seen; the white¬ thorn cluster on cluster; the aloes are rising high and promis¬ ing to flower; a rich tapestry of an amaranthine-red ciover, o SICILY-SEQE8TE. 259 orchids and the little ^pine roses, hyacinths, with unopened bells, asphodels, and other wild flowers. The streams which descend from M. Segeste leave deposits not only of hmestone, but also of pe^les of horn^tone! ITiey are verj^ compact, dark blue, yellow, red, and brown, of various shades. I also found complete lodes of horn, or fire¬ stone, m the hmestone rocks, edged with hme. Of such gravel one finds whole hills just be fore one gets to Alcamo TE»+ 1 fc! X Segeste, April 20 , 11 ^ 1 . -the temple ofSegeste was never finished; the ground around It was never even leveUed ; the space only being smoothed on which the peristyle was to stand. For, in several plaL, t^be steps are from nine to ten feet in the ground, and tLre is no hiU ne», from which the stone or mould could have fallen, esides, the stones lie in their natural position, and no ruins are found near them. standing; two which had fallen, have InT rested on a socle IS hard to say ; and without an engraving it is dif¬ ficult to give an idea of their present state. At some points it would seem as if the piUars rested on the fourth step.^In that r^otb^ would have to go down a step, fw Y ^ the uppermost step is cut through, and if columns had rested on bases; and then ^ain these spaces have been fiUedup, and so we have once more he first ^e. An architect is necessary to determine this point Ifie sides have twelve columns, not reckoning the corner E the ffliem. The roUers on ten? S.f T® T"* you on Fflfi k been left in order to indicate that the temple Lnr strongest evidence of this fact is the ‘o^ t r ®r.^ the sides) the pavement is laid .o\ra, in the middle, however, the red limestone rock still 'rejects higher than the level of the floor as partially laid • the ooring, therefore, cannot ever have been finished^ There is ^ less can the temple I'**" 5 1*"* flint it was intended init-,ir’v.r® “ny “fer from the fact that the abaci of the il Pi’ojeefing Pomts probably for the purpose of milar to the fravertme; only it is now much fretted. The 8 2 260 LETTERS FROM ITALY. restoration which was carried on in 1781, has done o-ood to the building. The cutting of the stone, with which the parts have been reconnected, is simple, but heautiluL The large blocks standing by themselves, which are mentioned by Riedesel, I could not find; probably they were used for the restoration of the columns. , , . , j i The site of the temple is singular; at the highest end ol a broad and long valley, it stands on an isolated hill. Sim- rounded, however, on all sides by clifls, it commands a very dis- tant and extensive view of the land, but takes in only ^ corner of the sea. The district reposes in a sort of melancholy fertility_every where well cultivated, but scarce a dwelmg to be seen. Flowering thistles were swarming with countless butteiflies, wild feimel stood here from eight to nine feet high, dry and withered of the last year's growth, but so rich and in such seeming order that one might almost take it to be an ol(, nursery-ground. A shrill wind whistled through the columns as if through a wood, and screaming birds of prey hoverey around the pediments. . . The w'earisomeness of winding through the insignificant rum: of a theatre took away from us all the pleasures vve migh otherwise have had in visiting the remains of the aMient city At the foot of the temple, we found large pieces of the horn stone. Indeed, the road to Alcamo is composed of vast quantitie of pebbles of the same formation. From the road a portion o A graveUy earth passes into the soil, by which means it i rendered looser. In some fennel of this year s growth, observed the difference of the lower and upper leaves; it i still the same organisation that develops multiplicity out riM. iw/Inc+vimiH 111 tll6S6 P3.. unity. They are most industrious weeders in these parts Just as beaters go through a wood for game, so here the, go through the fields weeding. I have actuaUy seen som insects here. In Palermo, however, I saw nothing but vvormi lizards, leeches, and snakes, though not more finely coloure than with us—indeed, they are mostly all gray _ Castel Vetrano, Saturday, April 21, 1787. Vrom Alcamo to Castel Vetrano you come on the lime-ston| after crossing some hills of gravel. Between precipitous arj barren limestone mountains, he wide undulating Y^^ys, ever J where tilled, with scarcely a tree to be seen. The^ gravei j hills are full of large holders, giving signs of ancient mund. SICILY—-SCIACCA. 261 tions of the sea. The soil is better mixed and lighter than any we have hitherto seen, in consequence of its containing some sand. Leaving Salemi about fifteen miles to our right, we came upon hills of gypsum, lying on the limestone. The soil appears, as we proceed, to be better and more richly com¬ pounded. In the distance you catch a peep of the Western sea. In the foreground the country is everj'where hilly. We found the fig-trees just budding, but what most excited our ' delight and wonder was endless masses of flowers, which had encroached on the broad road, and flourish in large variegated patches. Closely bordering bn each other, the several sorts, nevertheless, keep themselves apart and recur at regular inter, vals. The most beautiful convolvuluses, hibiscuses, and mallows, various kinds of trefoil, here and there the garlic, and the galega-gestrauche. On horseback you may ride through this \ aried tapestry, by following the numberless and ever-crossing narrow paths which run through it. Here and there you see feeding fine red-brown cattle, very clean-limbed and with short horns of an extremely elegant form. I _ The mountains to the north-east stand all in a line. A ‘single peak, Cuniglione, rises boldly from the midst of them. The gravelly hills have but few streams; very little rain seems to fall here; we did not find a single gully giving evidence of having ever overflowed. In the night I met with a singular incident. Quite worn out, we had thrown ourselves on our beds in anything but a very elegant room. In the middle of the night I saw above me a most agreeable phenomenon—a star brighter, I think, than I ever saw one before. Just, however, as I began to . A Uttle higher » a sprmg, q„i?cool»drritho»t smell; HwH; where are the vapour baths; a thick mist rises above it *’^Th*slu^lenn the shore are nothing but limestone: the Quartz and homstone have wholly disappewed. I have ex amined all the little streams: the Calta Bellota, and Ae Maccasoli, carry down with them nothing but limestone; the Platani a yell