BOHN'S ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY. HOME, IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. VOL. I. ROME, IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY; CONTAINING A COMPLETE ACCOUNT OE THE EUINS OF THE ANCIENT CITY, THE EE MAINS OE THE MIDDLE AGES, AND THE MONUMENTS OE MODERN TIMES. WITH a«MABE8 ON THE FINE ARTS, THE MUSEUMS OF SCULPTURE AND PAINTING, THE MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND RELIGIOU3 CEREMONIES, OF THE MODERN ROMANS. By CHABLOTTE A. EATON. FIFTH EDITION. TO WHTCH IS NOW FIRST ADDED A COMPLETE INDEX, AND THIRTY-FOUR ENGRAVED ILLUSTRATIONS, IN TWO VOLUMES. — VOL. I. SLrmfccm: : HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1852. LIST OF PLATES. VOLUME I. Page Aiuch op Constantine . . . Frontispiece. FLORENCE, FROM THE BRIDGE OF SaNTA TrINITA . . 17 or) FlIESOLE . Viiew of Rome, St. Peter's in the distance . • 65 CoDLONNADE OF St. Peter's .... 74 Thhe Forum • ♦ ... .78 Pllan of the Walls, Gates, and Seven Hills of Rome 113 Appartment in Cjesar's Palace . . •, • 136 MdoUNT AVENTINE . . . • • • 164 Pllan of the Forum ...... 179 Teemple of Mars ...... 196 Teemple of Vesta, and House of Rienzi . . . 230 Teemple of Peace . . . • • 240 Pllan of the Circus Maximus .... 258 Pllan of Pompey's Theatre . . . . 278 Te'emple of Juno in the Fish Market . . . 282 po'ortico of octavia . . . . » 284 Po'onte SlSTO ....... 334 CaIastle of St. Angelo, and St. Peter's . . 402 M)1ilan Cathedral ...... 451 PKEFACE TO THE FIFTH EDITION. This work, which was originally published in 1820, and in a very short time passed through four editions, has been out of print for nearly twenty years. Its republication was pre- vented at that time by circumstances of domestic affliction ; and when at length the Authoress was able to revise it, so many new books upon Italy and Home had appeared in the interim, that she considered her own must necessarily have been superseded ; and she long resisted every solicita- tion to republish it. But apparently no work has yet exactly supplied its place, and the demand for it haying steadily increased, a Fifth Edition has been urgently called for. In fact, there seems no reason why it should not be as efficient a guide to Eome as ever ; for the antiquities, the buildings, and the monuments of art, which adorn " the Eternal City," are unchanged; the museums of sculpture and painting still form a treasury of art ; the masterpieces which departed genius has lavished even upon the walls of her churches and palaces, although fast fading before the withering touch of Time, are still there — inalienable, but, alas ! not imperishable ; and the classic recollections, the noble ruins, and the proud vestiges of long ages of glory, must for ever hallow a spot, dear beyond all others to every mind of feeling and cultivation. It is therefore hoped that this faint, but faithful, picture of Eome may still prove a useful and valuable guide to the travellers who may visit it ; and even, perhaps, an interesting description of it to those who may never see it. The Fifth Edition, carefully revised, and published in a more portable form by Mr. Bohn, with the addition of Plates and an Index, is now respectfully offered to the public, whose indulgence and favour, so long experienced, the Authoress gratefully acknowledges. 28th April, 1852. C. A. E. PEEFACE TO THE EIKST EDITION. Some apology, or rather some explanation, seems now to be necessary, in offering to the public any book of travels what- soever. Every part of the known world has of late been so assiduously explored, and so industriously described, that every man ought to be nearly as well acquainted with the remotest regions of the earth as with the boundaries of his native parish ; and many persons are actually better informed about any other country than their own. But in describing Rome, which has been already described so often, such an explanation seems to be more impera- tively called for ; yet, paradoxical as it may appear, it is the want of a good account of Rome that has induced the Author of these Letters to attempt, in some degree, to supply the deficiency by their publication. For, among all the manifold descriptions that have appeared, I do not hesitate to say, there is not one that is entitled even to the praise of accuracy. There is not one that contains any account of its antiquities, that can satisfy the anti- quary ; any description of its monuments of art, that can interest the man of taste ; or any general information respecting its multiplied objects of curiosity and admiration, that can gratify the common inquirer. Every enlightened stranger at Rome feels the utter inefficiency of all the published accounts. He gazes on the splendid works of antiquity which surround him, lost in doubt as to their name, their date, and their destination ; bewil- dered with vague and contradictory statements, — wearied with exchanging one erroneous opinion for another — and unable, amidst the cloud of conjecture, even to ascertain the little that is known with certainty. The common Itineraries, as Forsyth happily observed, "are mere valets de place in print," and, withal, so given to falsifying, that, like the shepherd's boy in the fable, if they do chance to speak truth, they are scarcely believed. There you will find dulness without intelligence conjecture in «* a iv PEEFA.CE. place of fact ; surmise advanced as certainty ; truth perverted ; the lights of history neglected ; and all things, great and little, of the first importance, and of the last insignificance, confounded together in equality of notice. You will find more details about the different parts of one tawdry church, than the noblest monu- ments of antiquity ; you will be directed to a thousand trifling objects not worth notice, while many of the highest interest are so passed over as scarcely to excite attention. The intelligence they give you, when authentic, is seldom interesting, and when interesting, is rarely authentic. Our English writers, so far as concerns Rome, I must put wholly out of the question. None of them have made it their sole, or even their principal theme ; and, generally speaking, the meagre accounts of it given in English books of travels, seem as if copied from other works, rather than written from actual observation ; and are little more than a transmission of the errors of their predecessors.* Of the two most popular writers, Eustace is inaccurate, and Forsyth inade- quate. The former, indeed, might serve as a guide to the churches, if his total ignorance of the arts did not disqualify him even for that ; but in other respects he will only serve to mis- lead: and Forsyth's desultory remarks, though so admirably distinguished by their acumen and originality, give us none of the information we seek, and only lead us to regret that one so peculiarly qualified for the task should have left it unaccom- plished. It is true, that in the absence of other guides, the professed ciceroni of Rome are very useful to strangers on their first arrival, particularly in exhibiting and explaining the most interesting of its attractions, its remains of antiquity. But, although many of them are men of reading and information, the love of truth is unfortunately too often sacrificed to the love of system. Each embraces some favourite theory; and misrepresents facts, and even misquotes authorities, to establish his hypothesis. I do not blame any of these gentlemen because they do not know what cannot be discovered, but because they are not honest enough to avow their ignorance. But we quarrel with them as a lame man does with his crutches : we get on badly with them, but we should do still worse without them ; and at first, at least, their assistance will be found of considerable service. Still they cannot altogether supersede the use of books, more especially as people cannot always carry them about in their pockets. A picture of Rome is therefore still a desideratum, but it is 4>ne more desirable than easy to supply. The rare and dubious lights that may be thrown upon its antiquities, are scattered * Among the best of the few tours I have read is " Sketches of Italy/' a work invaluable as a guide, and written with great spirit and talent. PREFACE. r through the literature of ages, and must be collected, not only from the works of all the Roman historians and classics, but from the heavy tomes of the Gothic chroniclers ; and what are even more dull, and far more voluminous, the wire-drawn dissertations of the Italian antiquaries. Among the numerous and ponderous volumes that have been compiled on the antiquities of Rome, Nardini's* is the only one in the least worth studying, and as a book of reference it may prove highly useful ; but such is its bulk and verbosity, that few will read it at Rome, and fewer still, I will venture to say, after they have left it. Few, indeed, will there find leisure for such uninviting research ; few, when the proud remains of antiquity, and the unrivalled works of art, call Upon the eye and the mind in every direction, will turn from them to pore over musty volumes. With me the case was different. Possessed of an unconquerable passion for the study, nothing was a labour that could tend to elucidate it ; my previous pursuits had turned my attention to these subjects ; I had leisure, opportunities, and, I will add, industry, that few of my countrymen possessed ; and during two years, I availed myself to the utmost of every means of intelli- gence, of access to rare books, of the opinions of the best- informed, and, above all, of the diligent study of history, pursued solely with this view. Sincerely conscious as I am, therefore, of my incompetency to such a task, I would still hope, that diligence and ardour may have compensated in some degree for deficiency of powers. My labours were, indeed, pursued solely with a view to the gratifica- tion of my own curiosity ; and these Letters, which served me as a sort of depository, or register of all I saw and learnt, and were addressed to a friend who was then meditating a tour through Italy, were not originally intended for publication ; but the con- sciousness how valuable, on my first arrival at Rome, would have been the information they contained to myself, the experience of its utility to many of my friends, and the want of any better guide, at last led me to entertain the idea of offering it to the public, though I should never have ventured to have put it into execution, had not my purpose been confirmed by the encourage- * Roma Antica. Forsyth, who recommends Venuti, I think, can never have read him ; otherwise, his sound judgment could never have panegyrized a work so dull, and so deplorably devoid of intelligence, that from its perusal nothing whatever can be gained ; for instead of clearing up what was obscure, the author contrives to render what was before clear totally dark ; so that the few scattered lights we had pos- sessed are lost in the mist he raises, and we actually end even in greater doubt than we began. a 2 vi PREFACE. ment of those whose judgment cannot admit of doubt, and whose sincerity I never had cause to distrust. Reassured by such approbation, I have ventured to indulge the hope that this work may serve as a guide to those who visit Rome, may recall its remembrance to those who have seen it, and convey to those who have not, some faint picture of that wonderful city, which boasts at once the noblest remains of antiquity, and the most faultless masterpieces of art, — which, even at the latest period of its decay, possesses more claims to interest than all others in the proudest season of their prosperity, — which in every age has stood foremost in the world, — which has been the light of the earth in ages past — the guiding-star through the long night of ignorance— the fountain of civilization to the whole western world, — and which every nation reverences as a common nurse, preceptor, and parent. It is not with feelings such as we view other objects of curiosity, that we look upon Rome. We visit it with something of the same veneration with which we should approach the sepulchre of a parent. All that distinguished it once is laid in dust, but the very soil on which we tread is sacred ground ; and while we linger among the proud monuments of its early glory, we feel that we ourselves, and all that surround us, are intruders on a scene consecrated by the presence of patriots and heroes, and by every hallowed recollection of ancient greatness and virtue. Unlike all else in life, in which retrospection has small part, and our view is directed to what is passing or is to come, — at Rome, it is not the present or the future that occupies us, but the past. We seem to live with those who have gone before us, and our hearts still fondly cherish the delusion that would people these ruins with shades of " the master spirits" by whom they were once inhabited, and whose very names, even from childhood, have been associated with all that can ennoble and dignify our nature, with the most exalted wisdom, and the most heroic virtue. It was well observed by Johnson, that " to abstract the mind from all local emotion would be impossible, if it were endeavoured, and would be foolish, if it were possible. Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, — whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future, predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Par from me, and from my friends, be such frigid philosophy, as may conduct us unmoved oyer any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose enthusiasm would not grow warmer among the ruins of Rome"* * Dr. Johuson's Tour to the Hebrides. PREFACE. Vll For the frequency of the observations contained in _ these Letters, on the inexhaustible treasures of sculpture and painting which fill the museums of Rome, I have no apology to offer, unless, indeed, they themselves will plead my excuse. It is not easy to see unmoved, or pass unnoticed, the most faultless models of art— the proudest triumphs of genius ; and though aware that description can convey no adequate image of beauty or per- fection, I have endeavoured to restrain myself from expatiating on them as much as possible ; yet the tongue will speak of that on which the fancy loves to dwell. From childhood, the pleasures afforded by literature and the arts have been my solace and delight ; and I can truly say, that they are the only " roses with- out thorns" that have strewed my path of life. Upon Italian literature, however, I have said little. The subject has been canvassed until it is completely exhausted. All the bright productions of its earlier days are celebrated through the world, and there is little new that deserves very high applause. Its former excellence cannot meet with too much piaise, but its present state seems to me to be prodigiously over- rated. The observations on the morals and manners of the Italians, may seem to many, especially to those who do not know them, to be unjustifiably severe. I can only say, that when I left England, my prejudices, if I had any, were in favour of foreign society, — that my judgment was formed upon a constant intercourse with all ranks, from the highest to the lowest,— that if it be un- favourable, it was passed with reluctance, and that I should be truly glad to be convinced that it was erroneous. But, I found in the Italian circles, all the emptiness, the frivolity, the heart- lessness, and the licentiousness of the French, without any of their polish and brilliancy ; and with all, and more than all, our lifeless- ness and ennui. Like the French, the Italians live in perpetual representation; like them, they sacrifice Vetre au paroltre ; but, unlike them, their efforts are unsuccessful. Both may study more to seem amiable and estimable ; but, whatever be the object of au Englishman's ambition, he labours to become. Their _ manners may sometimes shine more in the glitter of a drawing-room, but their charm will not be found, like ours, in the domestic circle. They put them on like their coats to go abroad in, but at home their habits are as slovenly as the dresses they sit in. An Englishman, by his own fire-side, neither lays aside his manners nor his dress. Nor is it only in domestic life that our superiority consists : at the hazard of being accused of national partiality, I will maintain, that not only is the society abroad generally infe- rior to our own, but that in Italy there is scarcely anything worthy of the name of society at all. VU1 PEEFACE. Every' one who has known the Continent during the last half- century, allows that society has everywhere changed for the worse ; but while it has been deteriorating abroad, it has been improving at home. It has acquired ease and elegance, without losing propriety and decorum. London far outshines every other metropolis iu the intellect, the splendour, the brilliance and the elegance of its society ; and while, on the Continent, there is no society whatever out of capital cities, aud the country is a desert, in England every country neighbourhood abounds with cultivated residents, with social intercourse, and with all the elegancies of polished life. But" in nothing is the superiority of English society more apparent, than in the numbers of which it is com- posed. In other countries there is but one circle, in England there are many. Thousands there are shut out of the narrow pale of fashion, whose manners would not disgrace the first court of Europe. I have heard this remarked with astonishment by foreigners. " I find it utterly impossible," said a lady of illustrious rank, " to discover whether English ladies are women of family or fashion, or not. I met with a woman of most elegant appearance and manners the other day, with whose conversation I was delighted : on inquiry, I found, to my amazement, she was the wife of an apothecary." The more we mix in the society of other countries, the more, certainly, we shall return with redoubled zest to the intelligence, the refinement, the sincerity, and the nice sense of propriety, which distinguish our own. It is true, that it is sometimes defi- cient in gaiety, in vivacity, in the sparkle of lively nothings, in the laisser aller of conversation, in that esprit de societe in which the French excel every other nation ; but if we must choose between froth and substance, and if we cannot unite both — who would not prefer the latter ? PEEFAOE. IX EXTEACT EEOM THE PEEEACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. In the First Edition of this work, the Author adverted to the then rising insurrection of Naples, with prognostics as to its ulti- mate success, which the event unhappily too well confirmed. In fact, if the boon of freedom were offered, Italy could not now receive it. The soil is not prepared for it, and the tree of liberty, if planted, could not flourish there. Like a restive steed, mad- dened by cruelty and outrage, Italy may for a moment throw its master, but it will only be to receive another, or the same. The weakness of the States of Italy consists in their divisions. Like the bundle of rods in the fable, if united, they could not be bent, but singly, they are broken without resistence. Yet not even their common detestation of their common yoke can induce them to act together in concert to throw it off. Much as they detest their masters, they detest each other more. If, however, we are ever to look for freedom at all, I am still of opinion it is in the north, not the south of Italy, it will arise. But there is as yet no promise of its dawn. The political horizon is dark and lowering. Lombardy is prostrate. Naples has fallen. Rome cannot long stand. The Austrian or the Gaul will soon virtually rule over it. Italy, from the Alps to the Ocean, will once more be overrun by the Goths, and sink under a tyranny the most galling and the most despicable that has ever disgraced modern times. That doom, indeed may yet be averted. The present weak and sense- less system of despotism may pass away. But whether it is to be the work of the people themselves, or of foreign ambition — whether it is to be suceeded by their own freedom, or by another slavery — is a doubtful question. Certainly, if we judge of the future from the past, we shall not look, with any very san- guine hopes, to the political regeneration of Italy. Doomed, ' Per servire sempre, o vincitrice o vinta,' (Conquering or conquered, still alike a slave,) all the riches and blessings with which the prodigality of Heaven has dressed her happy shores have only served more effectually to rivet her chains. The highest gifted among the countries of the PBEFACE. earth, she stands the lowest in the scale of nations. The strongest in physical power, she is trampled under foot hy the weakest. But let us turn from the prospect of that political and moral de- gradation, invariably found together, to the brightening hope that the march of knowledge, and the advancing lights of society, may at length give the enslaved nations that moral energy and might of mind which are alone necessary to assert their freedom ; that the blessings of a wise and equitable government may at length be disseminated throughout the world ; and that those rays of light which are breaking at once in so many remote parts of the earth, may at length sblne out more and more unto the perfect day. CONTENTS OP VOLUME THE EIEST. Page Pbeface v Pbeeace to Second Edition xix LETTER L TLOEENCE. The Venus de' Medicis — The Whetter, the Dancing Faun, the Wrestlers, and the Little Apollo — Titian's Venus- — Raphael's St. John the Baptist and Fornarina — The Gallery — The Flying Mercury of John of Bologna — Niobe and her Children — Palazzo Pitti — Mausoleum of the Medici — Unfinished Statues by Michael Angelo — Inferiority of his existing Works to his fame— Tomb of Cosmo de' Medicis — Laurentian Library — The Cathedral — Sculp- tured Altar-piece by Michael Angelo — Statue of the Deity — Pic- sure of Dante — Gates of the Baptistery — General Impressions of Florence — The Fine Arts 1 LETTER II. JOT7ENEY TO EOME. Last View of Florence — Contrast between Tuscany and the South of France — Vines and Vineyards — Little Towns of San Casciano and Tavernella — Vetturino Travelling — Beauty of the Moonlight in Italy — Convents — The Certosa — Santa Maria dell' Imprunata — Poggibonzi 20 xii CONTENTS. LETTER III. TOURNEY TO ROME. Page Siena — Volcanic desolation — Tufo — Antiquity, History, and Dialect of Siena — Marble Cathedral — Pictured Pavement— A Mosaic — Bernini's Statues — Pagan Altar — Ancient Grecian Group of the Graces — Raphael's First Frescoes — Sienese School — Balthazar Peruzzi — Accademia delle Belle Arti — Fragments of Grecian Sculpture — A Sienese Palace and Marchioness — Promenade — House of St. Cr*herine of Siena, and her Marriage and Corres- pondence with Clirist — The Inn of Buon Convento . . .27 LETTER IV. JOURNEY TO ROME. La Scala — Radicofoni — Basaltic Columns — Baths of St. Philip — Dogana, or Custom House on the Frontiers of the Pope's Terri- tories — Night passed in a wretched Hovel by the wayside — Basaltic Columns — Acqua Pendente — San Lorenzo Vecchio— Bolsena — Fragments of Roman Buildings — Granite Columns, and Marble Sarcophagus of beautiful Sculpture — The Etruscans — Obscurity of their History — Basaltic Columns — Banditti — Recent Murder — Montefiascone — Wine — Via Cassia . . .41 LETTER V. JOURNEY TO ROME. Viterbo — Shrine and Convent of Santa Rosa — Nuns — Fine Paint- ing by Sebastian del Piombo, in the Franciscan Church — Battle of Viterbo— Ronciglione — Ruins — Sunset . . . .53 LETTER VI. ARRIVAL AT ROME. Inn at Monterosi — First View of Rome — The Campagna, and the surrounding Hills — Malaria — Reputed Tomb of Nero — The Tiber — The Milvian Bridge — The Porto and Piazza del Popolo — Egyptian Obelisk — Pincian Hill — Ancient Temple converted into the Dogana . 59 CONTENTS. xiii LETTER VII. Page A Fire — The Climate (37 LETTER VIII. First visit to St. Peter's and the Modern Capitol . . .69 LETTER IX. First View of the Forum and Colosseum 76 LETTER X. View of Rome from the Tower of the Capitol . . . .85 LETTER XL The Vatican 91 LETTER XII. The Vatican 106 LETTER XIII. The Walls and Gates of Rome 113 LETTER XIV. The Seven Hills— The Palatine 126 LETTER XV. The Capitol 149 LETTER XVI. The Aventine . 163 LETTER XVII. The Cselian and Esquiline Hills 170 CONTENTS. LETTER XVIII. Page Viminal and Quirinal Hills ...... 176 LETTER XIX. The Roman Forum ........ 179 LETTER XX. Forums of the Emperors, and their Remains — Forums of Julius Caesar, of Augustus, and of Nerva or Domitian — Forum and Triumphal Column of Trajan — Vespasian's Forum of Peace — Forum of Antoninus Pius — Triumphal Column of Marcus Aure- lius — Temple or Basilica of Antoninus Pius .... 204 LETTER XXL Forum Boarium — Janus Quadrifrontis — Little Arch of Septimius Severus — The Cloaca Maxima, and the Fountain of Juturna . 214 LETTER XXII. The Pantheon .... 219 LETTER XXIII. Temples — Reputed Temple of Vesta — Pudicitia Patricia — Bocca della Verita, — Ara Maxima — Temple of Fortuna Virilis — Of Antoninus and Faustina — Of Romulus and Remus — Of Peace — Ancient Styles of Building — Douhle Temple of Venus and Rome — Temple of Minerva Medica — Of Venus and Cupid — Of Venus Erycina 230 LETTER XXIV. Ancient Temples — Temple of Piety — Roman Daughter — Temple of Janus — Temple of Bellona — Temple of Mars — Oracles — Pagan Priests, Rites, &c 249 CONTENTS. XV LETTER XXV. Page The Chrcus and Circus Gaines . . . . . . .255 LETTER XXVI. Roman. Theatres — Theatre of Pompey — Theatre of Marcellus . 273 LETTER XXVII. Porticos — The Portico of Octavia 282 LETTER XXVIII. The Amphitheatre 286 LETTER XXIX. Ancienit Thermae — Vestiges of Baths of Agrippa and Constantine, of the pretended Baths of Pauhis iEmilius, and of the Baths of Sanita Helena — The Thermae of Caracalla — Piscina Publica . 301 LETTER XXX. The Thermae of Titus — House of Mecaenas — Ancient Paintings — Arabesques — Raphael — Laocoon — Church of SS. Martino e Sylwestro — Poussin's Paintings — Subterranean Church — Masses and Martyrdoms of the Early Christians — Carmelite Monks — The Sette Salle 311 LETTER XXXI. Thermae of Diocletian — Rotonda, or Church of S. Bernardo — Gymnastic Theatre — Great covered Hall of the Baths, or Church of the Carthusians — Domenichino's Fresco of St. Sebastian — Tomb of Salvator Rosa, and Carlo Maratti — Bianchini's Meridian — Carthusian Monks — Villa Massima — Bibliotheca Ulpia — The Eighty Thousand Martyrs — Diocletian — Thermae of Constantine . — Kuin of the Thermae XVI CONTENTS. LETTER XXXII. Bridges — The Ancient and Modern Bridges of Rome — Bridges over the Anio — Ponte Lamentano — The Sacred Mount, and the two retreats of the Roman People to it — Menenius Agrippa — Villa of Phaontes, the scene of the death of Nero — Ponte Salaria — Combat of Torquatus with the Gaul — Hannibal's Camp — Bridges of Ancient Rome, of England, &c. . 331 LETTER XXXIII. Arches — Arch of Claudius Drusus — Triumphal Arches of Titus, of Septimius Severus, and of Constantine — Arch of GaUienus — Arch of Dolabella and Sylvanus — Arch of St. Lazarus — The destroyed Arches of Marcus Aurelius, Claudius, and Gordian . . . 340 LETTER XXXIV. Aqueducts 346 LETTER XXXV. Obelises 351 LETTER XXXVI. Tombs — The Sepulchre of Publicola, of Fabricius, of the Vestal Virgins, of Bibulus, of the Claudian Family, of Trajan, of the Scipios, of the Maniglia Family — The Columbarium of the Freedmen of Augustus— Tower of Cecilia Metella — Fragments of the Sepulchre of the Servilian family ..... 356 LETTER XXXVII. Tombs — P3 'ramid of Caius Cestius — Protestant Burying Ground Mausoleum of Augustus — Nero's Grave — Torre di Quinto Siege and Situation of Veii — Tomb of Ovid .... 367 COKTEKTS. LETTER XXXVIII. Fags Tombs — Mausoleum of Santa Constantia, or pretended Temple of Bacchus — Mausoleum of Santa Helena, or Torre Pignatarra — Catacombs at tbe Church of St. Sebastiano — The Souls in Purgatory . . . • • • • • • ^76 LETTER XXXIX. Undescribed Remains of Antiquity in the vicinity of Rome, on the Via Appia — Fountain of the nymph Egeria — Ancient Temple, or Church of St. Urban — Temple of Virtue and Honour — Temple of Rediculus — Ruins of a Roman Villa 384 LETTER XL. Remains of Antiquity on the Via Latina — Temple of Fortuna Muliebris — Ruins of Roma Vecchia 389 LETTER XLI. St. John Lateran 3 ^ 2 LETTER XLII. Castle San Angelo— St. Peter's 402 LETTER XLIII. Ascent to the top of St. Peter's 423 LETTER XLIV. Santa Maria Maggiore — S. Paolo 428 LETTER XLV. Basilica Santa Croce and S. Lorenzo . . 433 XVU1 CONTENTS. LETTER XLVI. St. Clement's and St. Agnes's 438 LETTER XL VII. St. Stefano Rofcondo 442 LETTER XLVIII. The House of Pilate . 445 LETTER XLIX. Tor' di Conti — Torre delle Miliziej or the Tower of Nero and Trajan # 449 LETTER L. Streets and Churches — Architecture — Sculpture — The Christ and Moses of Michael Angelo — Bernini's Santa Theresa and Santa Bibiana — Santa Cecilia 452 ROME. LETTEE I. Florence, December 5, 1816. " We are here to-day," as my uncle Toby says, " but gone to-morrow;" at least I hope so— for Eome, the object of aU our thoughts and desires, which we have so long ardently wished, and so little, till lately, expected ever to see— Eome is at length before us, and the nearer we approach to it, the more impatient we become to reach it ; so that, in spite of all the attractions of Florence, and all the entreaties of our friends, though we only arrived last night, we set off to-morrow morning. We had resolved to see nothing here till our return : but it is easier to form such resolutions than to keep them ; and we found it impossible to resist giving a passing glance' to a tew ot the many far-famed objects of interest this seat of art contains. Immediately after breakfast, therefore, we set off to pay a visit to the Venus di Medicis, whose morning levee we found already crowded with a circle of the ardent admirers who daily pour forth their rapturous adoration at her feet With feelings of high-wrought expectation we entered the presence-chamber; a crimson octagonal hall of the gallery called the Tribune, where, bright in eternal youth and match- less beauty, " stands the statue that enchants the world." But my expectations had been so highly raised, and I suppose, so far exceeded possibility, that my first sensation (1 coniess it with shame) was disappointment :— nay, I am by no means sure that it was not in some degree my last • for although new beauties continually rose upon me as I con- templated her form of perfect symmetry and more than leminine grace, the soul was wanting; the expression the sentiment I sought for, was not there ; she did not come up VOL. I. „ r ■a 2 HOME. to the soul-seducing image in my mind. It was not a god- dess, nor a celestial being that I saw before me — it was a woman, a lovely and graceful woman certainly ; but still I think that I have actually seen women, real living women, almost as beautiful, and far more interesting ; and, indeed, to confess the truth, I thought her legs were rather thick, and her face very insipid. But remember, that, in giving you my undissembled opinion, I make an honest avowal, not a presumptuous criticism : I know that the censure I would pass on her recoils on myself; that it does not prove her want of beauty, but my want of taste ; and, convinced of this mortifying truth, I quitted her presence at last, with no small vexation to find that I could not feel as I ought, the full force of that unapproached perfection, which has ren- dered this renowned statue the idol of successive generations, the triumph of art, and the standard of taste. I suppose, after confessing myself disappointed in this, it signifies not what I can say of anything else ; but I cannot pass wholly unnoticed the beautiful Grecian statues, the pride of Florence, that, inferior only to its boasted Venus, are ranged around her, like satellites around a planet. I say inferior, for, beautiful as they are, they are not to be com- pared with her. The dullest perception, and the most per- verted taste, must be struck with her superiority. Par as she fell below my perhaps extravagant expectations, as far she surpasses every statue that I have ever seen, or perhaps ever may see. But I expected the distance that divided her from the rest to be more immeasurable; and I found, or fancied, defects, when I looked for nothing but perfection. But let us return from the Venus to the Whetter, or Eemouleur, or Arrotino, or by whatever name, English, French, or Italian, the famous statue of a kneeling slave, whetting his knife, is to be called. This admirable figure is represented in the act of suspending his employment, and looking up as if to listen to something that is said to him. It is generally supposed that he represents a slave overhear- ing the conspiracy of Catiline ; but I cannot remember that any slave did overhear that conspiracy, neither do I see Jiow anybody can be so very sure that he is overhearing any conspiracy at all. To me his countenance expresses none of that astonishment, horror, and eager curiosity, that the GALLERY OF FLORENCE. surreptitious listener to such a dark and momentous plot would naturally feel. If he must needs be overhearing a conspiracy, the supposition that it was that formed by the sons of Brutus, which really was discovered in this manner is surely more probable. Livy, (you will please to observe! 1 am iresh from reading him)— Livy tells us that a slave, who had previously suspected, and even learnt something of their plans, overheard the conspirators at supper, talking over their treasonable designs, and obtained the means of convict- ing them, by finding out where and when their letters might be seized* Now the expression of this statue seems to me to accord perfectly with this situation. The full confirma- tion of his suspicions ; the conviction that he had the traitors m his power ; the certainty that he could give the informa- tion that would ruin them, and make his own fortune— all this I fancied I could see in it ;— but I dare say it is nothing else but fancy. The attitude of the man sharpening his knife upon a whetstone, made me once think that it might be intended for Accius Navius, that famous soothsayer, who de- clared "he could do what the king was thinking of-" and when Tarquin tauntingly said, "I was thinking whether you could cut that whetstone through with a razor," immediately severed it m two. The statue of this miraculous soothsayer was placed m the Forum ;f but I don't think I can prove either that this figure is a soothsayer, or that he is cutting stones with a razor ; so that I shall not insist upon your believing it. Indeed, it is evidently a work of a far higher era of art than any which could have commemorated the events oi Eoman story. Nor did the great artists of Greece by one of whom this masterpiece of sculpture must have been executed ever, in any one instance, take their subjects trom history,— not even from the glorious history of their own country. It is to mythology, to poetry, and to fable, that aU ancient sculpture must be referred. By far the best con- jecture I have ever heard respecting this statue is, that it represents the Scythian whom Apollo commanded to flav Marsyas.J J + nn, *i ^'Ar iL c ' 4 - + Ltvi > lib - i- «■ 36. + Lhe statue of Marsyas suspended to the trunk of a tree, is also in the Florentine gallery. Another, and a finer representation of the same horrible subject, is at the Yilla Albani, at Kome. b 2 EOME. Be it what it may, however, it is a work of no common genius, and may, perhaps, be considered as faultless in its kind The unknown artist, indeed, has not aspired to the lofty height of ideal beauty : he has not sought to realize the forms that visit the fancy of inspired genius, or to reveal to mortal sight the shape inhabited by a deity. But, m that which he has attempted, his success is complete It is common nature and fife-true, forcible, and energefac, that arrest our attention; and so correctly just, so highly finished is the execution, that we may imagine it one of those statues which, in early Greece, we know it was the labour oi a hie to perfect. This statue was restored by Michael Angelo with a skill scarcely inferior to the ^ original. The .parts wanting were so admirably replaced by his chisel, that it may be said to have lost nothing. In the famous group of the Wrestlers, the flexibihty of the entwined limbs, the force of the muscles and the hfe and action of the figures, are wonderful ; but the heads are totally destitute of meaning, and dont look as i± they be- longed to the bodies :* their fixed immoveable countenances have no marks even of that corporeal exertion much less ot that eager animation and passion, which men struggling with each other in the heat of contest, and at the moment in which the victor triumphs over the vanquished, would natur- aU The e Dancing Faun, playing on the cymbals, is all life and animation; and Ms jocund face expresses so much delight m hTSwn performance, that it is impossible not to sympathize in his mirth, and scarcely possible to refrain from ^ginning To caper about with him/ Somebody observed, that he looked too old to be dancing with so much glee ; and perhaps the criticism might be just if he were a man ; but, as a iaun, 1 imagine his nature is to be for ever joyous. * The statues were really headless when first discovered but the ancient heads were afterwards found. Some critics believe that this Krou^represents two of the sons of Niobe, not only from the circum- ftance of their having been found nearly in the same spot as the Sues of Niobe and her children, but from the consideration that, ^cording to Ovid, two of the sons of Niobe were exercising themselves ETSSS, TFhi Pierced by the snows of Apollo-Jfetam***. lib. iii. 1. 239. Raphael's paintings. 5 These three pieces of sculpture, the Whetter, the "Wrest- lers, and the Dancing Faun, are unique, and are therefore valuable as well for their rarity as their beauty. A little Apollo is very much admired; and perhaps his greatest fault is his diminutive size, which, in spite of his symmetry and uncommon grace, renders him but a con- temptible representative of the god of light and majesty. He is in the attitude of the Lycian Apollo — one arm thrown over his head. Beside the Venus, he looks mean and effemi- nate. He suffers more from her neighbourhood than the other statues, because more in the same style of beauty. No female form has been suffered to approach her — none could stand the comparison. "We saw the Goddess of Beauty in painting as well as sculpture. On the wall of the room behind the statue, my eye was caught by two celebrated Venuses of Titian; one of which, however, is incomparably superior to the other. It is, indeed, an exquisite painting. She is represented volup- tuously reclining on a couch, with flowers in her hand, while two hideous old women, who are opening a chest in the back- ground, seem to be introduced for no other purpose than to heighten, by contrast, the charms of the youthful beauty. Thus, the finest Venuses that painting and sculpture ever produced, meet the eye at the same moment. I suppose I have no soul for Venuses, for my attention soon wandered from them to Baphael's St. John the Baptist, one of the finest productions of that inimitable master. St. J ohn is alone in the wilderness, left, amid solitude and silence, to nature and to Grod. His only clothing is a leopard's skin half thrown round his graceful limbs; and his youth, not yet matured to manhood, derives deeper interest from his deserted situation, and from that glow of devoted enthusiasm which lights up his countenance, and proclaims him equal to do, to dare, and to suffer, all that may be required of him by Heaven. The fire of a prophet, and the fervour of a saint, flash in his dark eye, and the spirit of divine inspiration seems to raise him above mortality. This great picture is an example at once of the finest conceptions of elevated genius, and the execution of the most finished art. In a very different style is the portrait of the Fornarina, a woman so called from being the wife of a baker, but famed 6 ROME. as having been the beautiful and beloved mistress of Eaphael, who himself painted her, as it would seem, con amove, for the portrait is the very perfection of female loveliness, and com- bines all the breathing life and magic colouring of the Vene- tian school, with a truth of design and expression its best masters could never boast.* The eye dwells on it with never-satiated delight, and the unlearned and the connoisseur equally experience its fascination. What cold critic can dis- cover a fault while he contemplates it? and who, after seeing it, can say that Raphael was uo colourist? The Tribune is filled with masterpieces of painting by the first Italian artists; but I must not speak of those beauties which one eager transient glance gave to my view. There was one among them, however, the work of Michael Angelo Buonarotti, which I beheld with astonishment; and, if it be really his, I can only say, that some of the old women, to whom he left oil painting as a fit employment, might have gone near to rival him in it. The gallery itself is filled with a double row of ancient sta- tues, and the walls are adorned with a series of pictures, chiefly valuable as illustrating the history of the art, from its revival by Cimabue in the 13th century to the present times. Twenty rooms or cabinets, of which the Tribune is one, run along in a suite behind the gallery, and open into it. They are filled with the choicest treasures of the Museum — with specimens of the different schools of painting, separately arranged— with the portraits of painters, which fill one ro^om — with the most valuable sculptures — with ancient inscrip- tions, bronzes, gems, Etruscan and Grecian vases of terra- cotta and marble, adorned with painting and sculptures; among which are the famous Medici and Borghese vases. The first of these is generally considered the finest in the world; of the most perfect form, the grandest dimensions, and the most exquisite sculpture. It represents the sacrifice of Iphigenia, and, I need scarcely say, is a work of Grecian art. One of these rooms is entirely filled with the most costly * When this was written I had never been at Yenice, and comse- quently had never seen those unrivalled masterpieces of Titian, wlnich are inferior to nothing that painting ever produced. No one can judge of Titian out of Venice— of Raphael out of Rome,— or of weTshown !o but h& i no leisure t0 ™i*e them. From the cursory glance I gave, they seemed to be less the work off the prince than of his secretary. TW^*^™ 1 * 1 V ? neration the tomb of Michael An^eLo Buonarotti for, as Aretino said, "the world has had E rStf Santa C 7 Stands hTS cnurcn of banta Croce, the Westminster Abbey of Florence • and opposite to it is the monument of Galileo whos mon than any other in Italian churches, only, I apprehend, because He is less the object of worship. The Virgin is beyond all comparison the most adored. Particular saints, in particular places, may indeed divide with her the general homage, but they enjoy at best only a local, and sometimes a transient popularity : a saint that is held in great esteem at one town being perhaps thought nothing of at another, and even when at the height of favour, occasionally falling into disgrace ; whereas the worship of the Virgin is universal in all places, and by all people ; not only, as I had fancied before I entered Italy, by females, who might think her, on account of her sex, their most appropriate and zealous inter- cessor, but equally by men, and by priests as well as laymen. After the Virgin, some of the principal saints seem to be the most worshipped, then our Saviour, and lastly, Grod. Shocking as this may appear, it is too true. I am sure I do not exaggerate when I say, that throughout Italy, Spain, Portugal, and every country where the Catholic is the exclusive religion of the people, for one knee bent to Grod, thousands are bowed before the shrines of the Virgin and the saints. I know I shall be told by the advocates of that religion, that they are addressed only as mediators at the throne of the Most High : that the worship, seemingly paid to these images, is oifered to themselves, — to their essence as saints and spirits alone. Such may very probably be the doctrine of the clergy, when on their guard, and more espe- cially to Protestants ; but hear the belief of the people . 16 ROME. whom they teach ; with them, it is in the image that all the virtue and holiness resides; and if this were not the case, if an image of a saint or a Madonna were considered as nothing more than their visible representation, why should one be better than another? Why should distant pilgri- mages be performed, and crowds flock to worship some one particular image, if it had no particular power or virtue? And why should there be any miracle-working images at all ? But more of this hereafter. At present let me get you out of the Cathedral, first giving you a glance of the faded, time-worn picture of Dante, the sole repenting tribute Florence ever paid to the son whom she expelled, disgraced, and persecuted through life, though, after his death, she contended, with vain importunity, and even humble suppli- cation, for his remains. But they repose "far from his ungrateful country," and are the glory of Bavenna, which gave him, in exile, an honourable asylum — in death, a tomb. Tired as we were with sight-seeing, we could not pass the Baptistery without stopping to admire one of its three gates, (for I am sure it could only have been that one) which drew from Michael Angelo, in his ecstacy of admira- tion, the memorable exclamation, " that they were worthy to be the gates of Paradise." They are of bronze, and repre- sent, in basso relievo, and in small separate compartments, forming perfect pictures, the history of the Old Testament, beginning with the creation of man. It is impossible not to be charmed with the exquisite grace and beauty of the figures, and the art with which the story is told : they even reminded me in design, sentiment, and expression, of the pictures of Baphael. But I need not add my feeble tribute of praise to a work which has been stamped with the appro- bation of Buonarotti. They were executed by Laurentius Ghiberto, a Florentine, who flourished in the I am sorry I cannot remember positively what century, but I believe the fourteenth. The second gate, representing the history of the JSTew Testa- ment, though said to be by the same artist, struck me as so decidedly inferior, that I can scarcely believe it shared the equal commendation of the great sculptor; and as to the third, which is the work of a native of Pisa, whose name VIEW UP THE ARNO. 17; I have forgotten, it is not to be compared to either of them. Having thus run through more things in a day than we could attentively see in a month, we finished our morning's survey of the treasures of Florence, and returned to the hotel by the side of the Arno, in whose clear waters the glow of the setting sun was reflected in the richest hues of heaven. The situation of Florence is singularly dehghtful. It stands in one of the most fertile plains, and on the margin of one of the most classic streams in the world, at the base of the lofty chain of the Apennines, which, sweeping round to the north, seem to screen it from the storms of winter, while their sides, hung with chesnut woods, and their peaks . ghttering with snow, rise far above the graceful slope and vine-covered height of Fiesole, whose utmost summit, crowned with a convent half hid in a deep cypress grove, overlooks " Flo- rence the fair." My impressions of the city itself from this hasty survey, were, that it possesses in no common degree the common advantages and resources that form an attractive residence, and many very uncommon ones besides : commodious houses, good shops and markets, cheapness and plenty, ex- tensive and accessible libraries, public amusements, elegant society, arts, literature, — and the Grallery, with the in- exhaustible store of delight it contains, — not to mention all the private collections of paintings. Like most of the continental towns, however, the streets seemed to me narrow and gloomy; but they are on the whole more cheerful, and certainly far cleaner than ordinary. They are paved with flat irregular-shaped flag-stones, dehghtful for driving upon; but they have the usual inconvenient want of a trottoir or footway, and consequently the same feeling of insecurity attends one's progress through them on foot. By far the most enviable place of residence I saw was the Lung' Arno, where a succession of palaces border either side of the river, and are connected by four bridges, among which the three graceful elliptical marble arches of the Ponte de la Santissima Trinita, and the picturesque covered passage of -the Ponte Vecchio, or Ponte de'Orefici, as it is sometimes called, from being crowded with old-fashioned, vol. I. 0 IS EOME. odd-looking little jewellers' shops, most powerfully attract one's attention. Florence, which only rose to importance in modern times, boasts no remains of former days. Not a single fallen column, or mouldering temple, arrests our steps; but, though destitute of antiquities, it abounds in the treasures of the fine arts. The Piazza del Granduca, — besides the equestrian statue in bronze of Cosmo, the first duke, by John of Bo- logna, from which it derives its name, — is ornamented with the Rape of the Sabines, a fine group in marble by the same artist; Judith in the act of murdering Holofernes, by Dona- tello; David triumphant over Goliah, by Michael Angelo; Hercules killing Cacus, by Bandinello; and a bronze statue of Perseus with the head of Medusa, by Benvenuto Cellini, the "mad goldsmith," of notorious memory. The sight of bronze and marble statues, the masterpieces of modern sculpture, adorning the streets and public fountains, exposed to the weather, and courting the public eye, made us feel that Florence was indeed " the Athens of Italy," the cradle of the fine arts, and the place of their regeneration, as Athens was of their birth. It was here that the sister arts of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, like the Graces, started at once into life, and, entwined in each other's arms, grew from infancy to maturity. It was here, after the slumber of ages, that divine Poetry first re-appeared upon earth, — touched the soul of Dante with that inspiration which created a language harmonized by Heaven, and re- vealed to him, in sublime visions of hell, the horrors of the world to come, and to our own Milton, in glimpses of para- dise, the beauty of that which was lost. It was here that infant Science, beneath the fostering care of Galileo, dis- closed her Hght to man; and here Taste, Genius, Literature, and the Arts, which have humanized the world, flourished beneath the reign of Freedom: but with Freedom they fled for ever. This is no vain figure of speech or dream of fancy. The history of all the Italian states, and, perhaps, of almost every other country, gives proof of this truth. If we look back to ancient times, in Athens, it was in the most glorious era of her republic, — in Etruria, it was while her states existed free and independent, and were governed by their chosen delegates, — and in Eome, it was during the Augustan INFLUENCE OE THE EINE ARTS. 10 age, while yet she had known no tyrant, and the last linger- ing sparks of Roman freedom were unexpired, that lite- rature and the fine arts reached their proudest pre-eminence. In modern times, it was in the republics of Florence, Pisa, Siena, Bologna, Venice, and Grenoa, that they sprung forth the companions of Freedom; and it is far more than poeti- cally true, that they have ever followed in her train. With her they appeared upon the ungenial soil of Flanders and Holland; and with her they sought her last, and at present, her sole abode — England. It is true, indeed, that the want of patronage, the disadvantages of climate, of isolated situation, and seclusion from the great models of art, together with other physical causes, have operated to check our coun- try in attaining full perfection in some of the arts which are peculiarly dependent upon climate and its concomitants; though, in despite of every obstacle, I believe every com- petent judge will allow, that the architects and painters of England, have, of late years, far surpassed their contem- poraries in every other country; and that her sculptors are only excelled by the Canova and Thorwaldsen of Rome. But in all the great and useful arts that minister to the improvement of society and the power of man, in every branch of science and literature, in poetry and eloquence, in the noblest of the fine arts themselves, and in all that is the best proof of their influence, is not England at this moment confessedly unrivalled? And, without freedom, would she ever have been their seat? Have they ever nourished in any land, however congenial in climate or situation, which has not been blessed with freedom ? Spain, Portugal, Tur- key, and the whole void extent of the eastern world, where unbounded wealth was lavished in gorgeous magnificence, undirected by taste, unbrightened by genius, and undignified by knowledge, are striking exemplifications of this truth; and we may observe, that Naples and Sicily, though on the same soil, and beneath the same sun that produced in the modern republics of Italy a degree of excellence in science, literature, poetry, painting, and sculpture, that almost sur- passed her ancient greatness, — as they have known no gleam of liberty, have seen no school of art or literature. Modem Pome, which never hailed the reign of freedom, has produced no celebrated poets, philosophers, or artists ; for it has been 20 EOME. well observed, that almost all tlie great men which she can boast, both in past and present times, have been transplanted thither from other states.* I will not stop to inquire whether commerce, wealth, and prosperity, which are the inseparable attendants of freedom, may not at least equally contribute to foster the arts. It is sumcient that freedom is the primary cause of all. The fine arts may, therefore, with truth, be called the daughters of freedom. Some of them, indeed, have been enslaved. Music, " heavenly maid !" corrupted from those youthful days " when first in early Greece she sung," and Dancing, (if indeed the nymph be of legitimate birth,) having enlisted themselves in the service of Despotism ; and Architecture, we know, has been the slave of princes. But those nobler arts which demand the higher energies of mind, and the force of original genius, can live only in the atmosphere of freedom. It would not perhaps be difficult to trace the cause of this, and to show that, beneath her influence, the mind becomes more active and vigorous, learns to trust to its own powers, and to exert them with more energy and success. But I know you are laughing at me all this time for laying down grave truths to you with so much wisdom and self-complacency. At the same time, let me tell you, that they are truths, how- ever you may laugh, and however little dignified by years or knowledge may be the person by whom they are propounded : they are truths, moreover, that would lead to a thousand others equally just and evident ; and, therefore, for my own sake as much as yours, I shall forego any further discussion of them at present ; — especially as I am very sleepy, which may possibly be your case also. # # # # # LETTEE II. Feom the Tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, this morning, we gave a farewell look to the white villas, gay gardens, and hanging vineyards, that cover the beautiful slope of Fiesole, gracefully rising immediately from the city. We gazed with no common interest at the Convent on its * Tacitus somewhere observes, that, after the battle of Actium, Rome never produced a single great genius. JOURNEY TO SIENA. 21 - utmost summit, where our own Milton spent many weeks in retirement, and where he loved to meditate, amidst the Etruscan ruins of its ancient city, "At evening, on the top of Fiesole." The long range of the snowy Apennines rose behind it, the glittering points of which seemed to pierce the bright blue sky ; and the eye, pursuing in imagination the upward course of the Arno through the wanderings of its beautiful vale, seemed to penetrate into the deep secluded recesses of Val- lombrosa, amidst whose ancient woods and haunted stream, the Muse once visited Milton in dreams of Paradise. The deep wintry snows of the Apennines at present barred all approach to the now-deserted Convent, and we lamented that we were too late to see the autumnal beauty of " the fallen leaf in Vallombrosa." No spot of his native land recalls our greatest poet so strongly to mind as the scenes in the vicinity of Florence, which he has consecrated in immortal yerse ; and the remembrance that Milton, in the days of his youthful enthusiasm, while yet the fair face of Nature was open to his undarkened eye, had wandered in these delightful vales, felt all their enchantment, and drank inspiration from their beauty, gave them redoubled charms to our eyes. Short as was my first visit to the banks of the Arno, I shall remember it with feelings of delight, even if it be my lot to see them no more. But we left Florence with the hope that when the voice of Spring wakes again in these valleys, and the sunshine of Summer restores them to fertility and beauty, we shall revisit the shades of Tuscany. It was difficult to remember that December was far ad- vanced, as, beneath the brilliant beams of an Italian sun, we pursued our journey to Siena. The hedges on either side were covered with the luxuriant laurustinus, just bursting into full bloom, the creeping clematis, and the dark-green foliage of the sweet-scented bay. The pale, saddened hue of the olive, in full leaf, and covered with its blackening fruit, contrasted well with the deep, rich tints of the majestic oak-trees, whose foliage, though brown and withered, still clung to their ancient ivy- covered branches, and shed the lingering beauties of autumn over the stern features of winter. 22 EOME. After all, vineyards and olive groves may make a better figure on paper or in poetry, but, in reality, no tree is com- parable in beauty to the oak. Its ramifications are so fine, its form so gigantic, its character so grand and venerable ! To us, indeed, it has a beauty greater even than tbese — for it recalls to us, in every distant land, the image of our native country. And of it we cannot think without a sensation of pride as well as pleasure ; for however blest others may be in natural advantages and riches, how comparatively wretched is the condition of man in all ! The North of Italy, however, presents a most favourable contrast in all respects to the South of France, which we have so lately quitted ; for never was it my lot to traverse so dull and uninteresting a country. In^that land of romance and fable, neither fields nor forest- trees, nor houses nor inclosures, nor men nor beasts, meet the view; but a white, arid soil is covered with stunted olives that might be mistaken for pollard willows ; and with vineyards so dwarfish and so cut short, that currant bushes might disdain a comparison with them. The slovenly, neglected appearance of the country; the want of wood, of corn, and of pasture, of animals, and even of birds ; its general desertion both by the proprietor and the peasant, and the absence of life and human habitation, have a most melancholy effect, and accord but too well with the heartless and discontented appearance of the people, who herd together in villages composed of long, narrow streets of miserable hovels, the filth and wretchedness of which I shall never forget. Not a single neat cottage by the way-side, or rural hamlet, or snug farm-house is to be seen ; even the chateau is rare, and when it appears, it is in a state of dila- pidation and decay, and the very abode of gloom; not surrounded with pleasure-grounds, or woods, or parks, or gardens, but with a filthy village appended to its formal court-yard. How often did the cheerful cottages, and happy country-seats of our smiling country, recur to my mind as I journeyed through the bepraised, but dreary scenes of Lan- guedoc and Provence! It was during the season of the vintage, too, and I can truly say I saw no signs of mirth or festivity ; a Scotch shearing is infinitely more jocund. Even at that lovely time of the year, in sailing down between the bare, treeless, rocky banks of the Ehone, and running ITALIAN TINETAEDS. 23 aground continually in the shallow currents that intersect its broad, shingly bed, I could not help recalling Oliver Crom- well's pithy observation on a very different country, " that it had not wood enough to hang a man, water enough to drown him, nor earth enough to bury him." The North is certainly far superior to the South of France. Normandy is infinitely prettier than Provence; but throughout it is the most unpicturesque country in Europe. France is, indeed, everywhere bounded by beauty. The Alps, the Pyrenees, the Estrelle mountains,* and the Jura, contain within their recesses some of the sublimest scenery in the world. But the country these grand bound- aries enclose, is remarkably devoid of beauty and interest ; it is a dull picture set in a magnificent frame. In Italy, on the contrary, though the middle of winter, everything looks comparatively gay. The peasants live on their little farms, and their scattered cottages cover the face of the country, presenting the pleasing images of rural life and agricultural labour. The olive-trees are of loftier size, and more luxuriant growth than in Prance; and their pale hue is beautifully contrasted here with the dark spiral form of the columbar cypress, and the brown foliage of the aged oak. The fields are enclosed with rows of poplars, con- nected by intermingling garlands of vines, twined from tree to tree, and hanging from the branches in such gay festoons, that they look as if the whole country had been dressed out for some festive occasion. This mode of managing the vines, however, though greatly more picturesque and poetic, renders the wine made from them of far inferior quality to that produced by the scrubby little vineyards of Prance ; and this is the case wherever the practice is pursued. A curious exemplification of this occurs in Madeira. On the north side of the island, where the vine is still "married to the elm," and taught to cling to it in gay clusters, the wine is of a thin, poor, sour quality ; but on the other parts of the island, the vines that produce its staple wine are trained about four feet from the ground, on low sloping trellises, which cover the steep side of the hills ; and I observed that the same plan is pursued in many parts of the Tyrol, where the wine is remarkably good. * On the road between Antibes and Nice. 24 HOME. The short shrubby vine bushes of France, however, in a far inferior climate, confessedly produce the finest wine in the world, so that the goodness of the vintage seems to be in exact proportion to the ugliness of the vineyards. But I am carrying you, "like a crab, backwards," into France, forgetting that I ought to be getting you on in Italy, and more especially on the road between Florence and Siena, on which we ourselves advanced in the most leisurely manner ; for, during this entire day, never did we venture upon any pace approaching to a trot. "Wretched, indeed, is the fate of those who, like us, travel Vetturino! In an evil hour were we persuaded to engage, at Florence, the trio of mules, and the man, or Vetturino, by whose united efforts we are to be dragged along, day by day, at a pace not at all exceeding in velocity that of an English waggon ; stopping, for the convenience of these animals, two hours at noon, in some filthy hole, no better than an English pig-stye ; getting up in the morning, or rather in the middle of the night, about four hours before day-break ; and when, by our labours, we have achieved a distance, often of thirty miles, we are put up for the night in whatever wretched Osteria our evil destiny may have conducted ourselves and our mules to. This is the regular process; and after being operated upon in this manner for six days, we are to arrive at Rome, a journey of about 150 English miles. It is an admirable exemplification of the wonderful effects of patience and per- severance ; for our progress is so nearly imperceptible, that no one, a priori, seeing the rate at which we move, could conjecture we should ever get there at all. We did not set out' till about eleven this morning, having only half a day's journey to perform ; and yet long before we reached our destination we beheld the magnificent spectacle of the sun setting in a flood of glory ; while the beautiful star of evening lighted her lamp in the western sky, and the full glowing moon rose majestically behind the Apennines, to fight us on our way through the vales of Tuscany. Without any romance, I do assure you the moon does look larger, and shines with far more warmth and brilliancy, in the sky of Italy, than amidst the fogs and vapours of Eng- land; a thing by no means unreasonable or unaccountable. The scenery through which we passed in our journey to- CARTHUSIAN CONVENT. 25 day was singularly beautiful. Sometimes winding round the sides of the hills, we looked down into peaceful valleys among the mountains, in whose sheltered bosom lay scattered cot- tages, shaded with olive-trees, and surrounded with fields of the richest fertility. Our road lay a long time through a narrow but beautiful vale, and by the side of a clear rippling stream, half hid by wood, the name of which our stupid Vettwrino could not tell us. We passed through the little towns of San Casciano and Tavemella, — how much happier looking than the dirty, neglected, and ruinous villages of the South of France ! In an early part of our pilgrimage we passed some con- vents, whose grey walls, half concealed by the deep shade of the columbar cypress and spreading pine, are still the habi- tation of the secluded monk, rich and luxurious no longer. The vast endowments and possessions of the cloister are every where gone, and its votaries are now abandoned to poverty (not voluntary) and neglect. Not far from Florence, on a commanding eminence, stands the Certosa (Chartreuse), or Convent of Carthusians, where the late unfortunate Pon- tiff, Pius VI., first found a retreat in his exile, and from whence he was forcibly, and almost ignominiously, dragged, at the age of eighty, to perish in a foreign jail. It is singular that the representative of St. Peter has received from the Eoman Catholic French only insult and .outrage, and from the Protestant English respect and pro- tection.* About six miles from Florence we passed the Church and Convent of Sta. Maria dell' Imprunata, which, while its pecuniary wealth has passed away, still retains, what no doubt its reverend fathers esteem a far mbre valuable trea- sure, a miraculous image of the Virgin, found many ages ago buried under ground, on the very spot where the church built in her honour now stands. More than a century ago, the history of the miracles she had wrought filled a huge quarto volume; and, as I am credibly informed, she has gone on working them unceasingly ever since, I wonder what number of quartos would contain the fist now? I was assured by the Vettwrino, that whenever any body asked any thing of her, she did it for them directly; and he * In 1816, not two years before this work was written. 2G HOME. gave me some most marvellous details of her perform- ances. She is transported to Florence in great state, and met by the priests and magistrates, nay, often by the Grand Duke in person, and carried in procession through the streets, whenever there is any public blessing to be procured, or any public calamity to be averted; when, for example, rain is wanted, or an inundation dreaded; and she generally rests, after her fatigues, for some days in the Cathedral, before she sets out on her journey back, to this her fixed abode. She is thought to be a surer defence against an enemy than either generals or armies, and cures diseases better than any doctor; nay, she actually delivered the city from the last pestilence, about two hundred years ago; so that her claims to be at the head of the faculty are incontestable. I was curious to know the particulars of the original discovery of such an invaluable Madonna, and learnt, that discontented at her long confinement under ground, which was indeed a most natural feeling, she took the opportunity, when some peasants were digging above her head, to make her situation known by loud cries. More, I make no doubt, I might have heard, but an unlucky fit of laughter, which seized me at this part of the narration, so shocked the piety of our Vettn- rmo, that he actually crossed himself with horror, and leaving the rest of her edifying story untold, he returned to his mules, by the side of which he walks three-fourths of the way. We arrived late at the little inn of Poggibonzi, where we are to sleep, and which is by no means uncomfortable for a country inn in Italy. To be sure, it smokes so incessantly that we are compelled to sit with open windows, though the air is extremely cold; but this is no uncommon occurrence. The house is tolerably clean, and the room I am writing in is very tastefully ornamented with some elegant angels painted in fresco, the beauties of which must beguile the time while we are waiting for the repast, which it is the Vettwvnd's care to furnish. This plan of being fed like the mules, by him, may, perhaps, surprise you; but it is custom- ary with those who adopt this agreeable mode of travelling, and it has the advantage of saving one from the alternative of gross imposition, or incessant wrangling at all the Osterias, ITALIAN COOKEBY. 27 as well as of sometimes getting one a dinner by the Vettu- rino's interest, where otherwise none would be to be had; for the publicans in Italy calculate well on the best subjects for cheating, and generally select unlucky forestieri like us, whom they never expect to see again; whereas, they are very assiduous to please the Vetturini, who are their constant customers, and are a numerous, and, in their line, an impor- tant body in Italy. Our Vettmrino has promised us an ex- cellent dinner, or, as he calls it, supper; for the lower order of Italians still seem to preserve the classical custom of making their principal meal in the evening, about seven o'clock. I cannot but think that this plan, pursued by the higher order of English, the Vettttrinos, and the old Romans, is a very sensible one, as it allows time for the active busi- ness or pursuits of the day to be over before assembling at the social board. But here it comes! " Eccola" says the Cameriere, placing on the table the minestra, or soup, in a huge tureen, containing plenty of hot water, with some half- boiled macaroni in it. If you don't like this kind of soup, you may have bread boiled in water; it is all the same. There is always a plate of grated parmesan cheese, to mix with the minestra, of whatever sort it may be, without which even Italian palates could never tolerate such a potion. This is generally followed by a frittura, which consists of liver, brains, or something of that sort, fried in oil. Then comes the 'rosto, which to-day appears in the shape of half of a starved turkey, attended by some other undescribable dish, smelling strong of garlic. Would you like to dine with us? But I cannot wait for your answer, being hungry. So good night. LETTER III. Exactly at five o'clock we left the village of Poggibonzi, and commenced our pngrimage by the cold pale moon-light of morning, which shone brightly on the white frosty earth, but no longer shed the same glowing beam that had lighted our evening journey. The air was intensely cold ; and though the sun rose at last with splendour in the clear blue sky, it was only beneath his noon-tide rays that the frozen ground, or our still more frozen persons, yielded to his genial Influence. 28 ROME. Siena stands on the top of an ugly hill, unsheltered by a single tree from the blasts of winter, and equally unshaded from the heats of summer, at the very verge of the fertile region of Tuscany, and bordering upon a sterile and desolate tract, which extends many miles to the southward. I cannot give you any adequate idea of the utter nakedness of this singular waste, which is so completely destitute of all kinds of vegetation, that not a weed, nor a single blade of grass, nor heath, nor lichen, meets the eye over its whole extent, while its bare and broken surface is heaved up into small abrupt mounds or hillocks, of pale arid hue, which have every appearance of having been formed in some crisis of volcanic eruption. Indeed, the whole country is composed of nothing but the matter, or the refuse, of this terrific agent. Strange ! that when for more than three thousand years, at least, we know that these flames have been quenched — when even tradition preserves no trace of their existence — their effects should still be so visible to the eye, even of the most inadvertent traveller ! The tufo, which I now saw for the first time, and of which almost all the low hills about Siena are composed, is so soft as to break and crumble in the hand like friable sand-stone. It is of a grey colour, and frequently of an aggregate forma- tion, and is supposed to be composed of the ashes, mixed with the boiling water and mud, which are thrown out in immense quantity in all volcanic eruptions. But all this scene of desolation is on the south side of Siena. I forget that we are still on the north, and that I must get you through it — no easy matter ; for the hills are so many and so steep, and the streets are so slippery and so narrow, that they seem never to have been intended for the ordinary purposes of passage ; and, in fact, there is a considerable part of the town into which no carriage can penetrate. The pavement is generally of brick, placed angularly; it seems to be exactly the opus spicatum of the ancients, so called from its resemblance to the way the grains are set in an ear of wheat.* The city has an antiquated appearance ; its streets, or rather lanes, are lined with high gloomy old-fashioned houses, looking like jails, and called, or rather miscalled, * Winkelman sur 1' Architecture, chap. i. 62. OBI GUN OF THE CITY OF SIENA. 29 palaces, which have fallen into decay like their possessors, who are too proud to resign, and too poor to inhabit them. Many of them are furnished with high towers for defence. It is curious to see fortified dwelling-houses in the midst of cities. That "every man's house is his castle," seems to be true in a very different sense in Italy from what it is in England. Here, indeed, they were calculated to stand a siege, and are monuments of that age of feudal strife in which the proud barons waged continual war with each other, and the sword never rested in its scabbard. They are common at Pisa, Bologna, Florence, and every city which was once a republic. The sight of the Wolf and the Twins, erected in various conspicuous situations, carried us back from these barbarous republics to the glorious republic of Rome, from which Siena claims descent. But I will spare you a disser- tation on its history, as I have not made any new discoveries therein, and see no reason why I should repeat the old ones, which are detailed in a thousand books, in which you may find a full and authentic account of its Etruscan origin, — of the Eoman colony which, in the days of Augustus, peopled Sena Jxdia — of its rise as a modern republic, of its revolu- tions, its inveterate animosities, its bloody wars, its prospe- rity, its decline, and its fall. Times are changed since 100,000 armed citizens marched out of its gates ; for through the whole of its deserted extent scarcely 12,000 inhabitants can now be numbered. Dante has indelibly affixed the epithet of "vain" to Siena. How far it is merited, no passing stranger can determine. It still retains its boasted superiority in language over every other city of Italy. But we were so unlucky as scarcely to hear it ; the cameriere at the inn having, in an evil hour, acquired a small smattering of French, could not be induced to ut^er any thing else ; and the old toothless lacquey, who conducted us through the town, from some natural defect in articulation, could speak no language intel- ligibly. The customary whine of the beggars, the most frequent sound- in all Italian towns, seemed to our trans- alpine ears not more than usually melodious ; and the little we conversed with others was sufficient to convince us, that if Siena boasts in the highest perfection the true Tuscan 30 HOME. dialect, it is also infected with the true Tuscan pro- nunciation, in which the delightful harmony of the lan- guage is wholly lost ; and though somewhat softened from the twang of Florence, still every initial C and G, even here, are pronounced like an H, and the strong aspirations and harsh guttural sounds are extremely offen- sive to the ear. The Duomo, or Cathedral, is one of the largest, heaviest, and most magnificent churches of Italy. The tower of the campanile, or belfry, is here attached to the building ; but the whole, like Florence, is built of alternate layers of black and white marble : like Florence too, it is a work of the thirteenth century, and of that architecture which they have the impudence here to call Gothic, though it might with far more propriety be denominated barbarous. It stands on an elevated platform of white marble, to which you ascend by a flight of steps running along the whole breadth of its front, and enter by three principal doors. Few will stop to criticise a pile of such greatness and magnificence, adorned with such labour, and formed of such costly materials. But it is to these too splendid materials, that alternation of colour, and that overpowering profusion of ornament, that I object. Marble sounds more magnificently ; but stone, in my humble opinion, is infinitely better adapted for exterior building : it looks nearly as well even at first, sustains far less injury from time and exposure to weather, and when marble would be stained, moss-covered, and decayed by age, it preserves a smooth, solid, and unspotted surface : but whatever may be thought on this head, the mixture of contrasting colours, either in buddings of marble, or any other kind of material, must ever be offensive to the eye of taste. Only conceive what would be the effect of Westminster Abbey or York Minster, covered from top to bottom with black and white horizontal stripes ! — Yet such are the cathedrals of Florence and Siena. Equally remote from the venerable majesty of the Gothic aisle, or the lengthening beauty of the Grecian colonnade, here — round, heavy Gothic arches rest their un- merciful weight on deformed Grecian pillars, and a load of ornament frittered away into little mean detads, overruns every part of the edifice, perplexing the wearied eye with its useless intricacies. DTTOMO OF SIENA. 31 The slender supporting columns of the huge massive door-ways rest on the backs of crouching Hons ; a barbarism we observed through the whole of the Milanese, and which, I believe, is of Lombard origin. In the interior, nothing meets the eye but the pomp of marble magnificence. Above your head, the lofty dome, and azure vault, studded with golden stars, represent the glories of the firmament; and beneath your feet is spread a pavement which was the work of ages, for four centuries passed away before it was completed. Solely by means of a dark-grey marble, inlaid upon a white ground, are represented, with all the force of painting, various events of sacred history, of which the Sacrifice of Isaac struck me with the highest admiration, though I believe Moses striking the Rock is generally the most esteemed. The figure of Abraham grasping his knife, is one which will not easily pass away from the memory. It was designed by Beccafiume, (detto il Meccarino,) a Sienese painter of the fifteenth century, with great spirit and truth: and the ease of the flowing outline, the dignity of the head, and the force of expression, make it rather seem a fine design drawn on marble, than formed of such intractable materials. After it had been worn by the unceasing tread of feet upwards of a century, this wonderful pavement was at last covered with a moveable wooden flooring, which is raised to show you its several parts or pictures. The eye is bewildered with the varieties of splendour that attract it in every direction, and wanders from Papal busts to Grecian statues ; from the magnificent marble pulpit, richly adorned with basso relievo, and its beautiful staircase, to the splendidly dirty baptistery, and the Ghigi Chapel, on which piety has heaped more magnificence than taste would perhaps have directed. It is adorned with a copy in mosaic, executed at Eome, of a picture of Carlo Maratti's, so admirably done, that I could scarcely believe it was mosaic, and not painting. It is won- derful with what fidelity, both in design and colouring, a mere mechanic art can give back the copy in stone, of the masterpieces of the pencil. The mest delicate touches are imitated. In the niches of the chapel stand two celebrated statues 82 EOME. by Bernini — St. Jerome and a Magdalen. The former is the best; but the affectation of attitude, the distortion of limb and feature, and overcharged expression, the want of nature and simplicity, which are the irredeemable faults of his style, are still but too apparent, even in these much-extolled per- formances. We stopped at the door of the sacristy adjoining the church, to examine a beautiful Pagan altar of Parian marble, adorned with rams' heads and wreaths of flowers, found in digging the foundations of the cathedral, and converted into the pedestal of one of the pillars of the doorway. At the same time and place, was dug up a mutilated group of the Graces, universally allowed to be the finest repre- sentation of them in the world. They are placed in the library, to the greatest possible disadvantage; so injudi- ciously elevated, that the smallness of their stature (for they are considerably below the human size) makes them appear contemptible, and so lost in the glare of the large solitary window, that the eye can with difficulty trace the perfect symmetry of their forms. Prom these circumstances, from their dirty discolouration, and their mutilated state, (one head, and various arms and legs, being wanting,) it is not till after some examination that their excellence becomes appa- rent. My first sensation was disappointment; my last, delighted admiration; and it was with difficulty I tore myself from gazing on their faultless beauty. The air of easy and unstudied grace, the unrestrained simplicity of attitude, the chaste design, the freedom of nature, and beauty of expres- sion, proclaim this admirable group to be one of the purest models of Grecian sculpture. When Raphael was only sixteen years old, he came to Siena to assist Pinturicchio, (another and a senior pupil of his master, Pietro Perugino,) to paint the walls of this library in fresco; and as he generally gets the whole credit, or discredit, of every work his pencil ever touched, we were assured they were his work. The fact is, that the designs were his, and there is no doubt that one compartment, (that on the right side of the room on entering, and nearest the window,) in which his own portrait is introduced as a youth on horseback, was executed by his own hand. But he was sent for to Rome when the painting of this Raphael's eaelt woeks. 33 library had made but little progress;* and there is no reason to think that he ever painted any more of it. This is believed to be his earliest existing work, 'and it is therefore valuable, for it is certainly interesting to trace the progress of genius from its first faint essays to its latest perfection ; but I will not attempt to conceal from you that these hard, rigid, upright figures, struck me as almost the most hideous old things I had ever beheld in painting. But for the name of Eaphael, I should never have looked at them twice; and long and vainly did I look, in the hope of finding out their excellence. The inspection of them, indeed, raised my admi- ration of Eaphael higher than ever, not from their beauty, but their excessive ugliness. That the same hand which feebly sketched these straight, stiff, Gothic figures, should ever have pourtrayed the sublime form of St. John in the Desert, the angelic beauty of the Madonna della Sedia,f or the faultless perfection of the Martyrdom of St. Stephen,* was indeed a proud triumph to genius. Sixteen years had not elapsed between the execution of these two widely different works —the extremes of good and ill. What a transition! What a space passed over! He had not only to teach himself the very rudiments of design and first principles of composition, but he had to unlearn — a far _ more difficult task — all the dry Gothic manner— all the rigidity and poverty that he had acquired from Pietro Perugino — faults glaringly apparent in these figures. Sir Joshua Eeynolds felt humbled, on examining his early por- traits, to see that he had so little improved upon them; but Eaphael might have looked at his with pride, to behold his almost immeasurable progress. From what he had already achieved, we may conjecture what he might have done, had not death cut him off before his early spring of genius had reached maturity, at the age of thirty-seven. We visited the Accademia delle Belle Arti, filled with the productions of Sienese artists. Out of Siena you see little, * Lanzi Storia Pittorica. (Lanzrs History of Painting. Bonn's Standard Library.) + In the Palazzo Pitti at Florence; almost the only picture I had then seen in that incomparable collection. t At Genoa, in the Church of S. Stefano. It is worth while to p-o there, were it only to see this picture. It was partly painted by Giulio Romano, but designed by Raphael. 34 BOMB. and hear less of the Sienese school: in it, you see and hear of nothing else. " Lieta scuolafra' lieto popolo," was the cha- racter given to this school of painting by one of its most discerning critics.— Gay in colouring, free in design, allego- rical, fanciful but not deep. Its pretensions to antiquity reach even higher than those of Florence, and in that alone it surpasses the other schools of Italy. It is the oldest and the poorest, the least learned, the least scientific, and the least distinguished of them all. In a long course of centuries, it has never produced a single artist whose name has been heard of beyond the Alps, except by the small tribe of vir- tuosi with whom, indeed, names are the most important part of knowledge. The fame of Eaphael, Titian, Domenichino, G-uido the Caracci, Correggio, the Poussins, Claude Lorraine, and Salvator Eosa, has filled the world, and been revered by thousands who have never beheld their works. But who ever heard of Casolani, or Vanni, or Meccarino, or Beccafiume, or even Peruzzi? . , . G-uido di Siena, the earliest of them all, flourished in 1220, while Cimabue was yet unborn. His paintings, then highly celebrated, still exist in the Accademia delle Belle Arti in this city, where stiff black figures of forgotten saints, and grim oldMadonnas, extended on gilt grounds, seem made in scrupulous conformity to the second commandment, for they are not "the likeness of any thing in the heavens above, nor in the earth beneath, nor in the waters under the earth." Tet the praise of Guido of Siena was sung by the first poets of his day; and his pupils vainly emulated his works. The Sienese pretend that their Guido was the reviver of painting; but that the art, or such rude attempts at it as these, was ever wholly extinct, I see no reason to believe. In the most barbarous times, hideous representations, or rather misrepre- sentations, of men and animals and landscapes, were probably made- nay, dubious and forgotten names of the painters of such works have been industriously grubbed out of the dust of antiquity by laborious compilers of long disquisitions that nobody but themselves will read. Paintings of the fourth cen- tury have been found in the Catacombs of Eome; and as far back as our eye can penetrate into the darkness of the middle ages in whose obscure annals the history of the fine arts had no place, we find that Greek artists (then the only ones) SIENESE SCHOOL OF PAINTING. 35 adorned the churches with the images of their Madonnas, some of which are still to be seen in different parts of Italy. The manner of these Greek artists was preserved, and but little improved upon, by Guido di Siena, Giunto di Pisa, and their contemporaries. In these days, painting was the art of deformity. Even the works of Cimabue of Florence, who was called the father of painting, and considered a prodigy in his day, are for the most part only examinable as illustra- ting the history of the art; yet he was unquestionably the first worthy of the name of a painter — the first who struck o.ut the right path, and dared to study and to copy nature. He even attempted to give some degree of life and animation to the face, and somewhat less of strait, stretched out, recti- linear wretchedness to the figure. He was so far surpassed by his pupil Giotto, that it was confidently asserted by Pe- trarch, who was his friend, and whose portrait he painted — that the art of painting had attained its utmost perfection, and could go no farther ! His epitaph in the Cathedral ot Florence, boasts that nothing was wanting to his powers, but that which was wanting to nature herself! Giotto, the subject of this eulogium, was bred a shepherd, but born a painter. The son of a poor Tuscan peasant, with neither example to fire, nor instruction to direct, he amused himself from childhood, while tending his flock, with draw- ing on the green sod, or the cottage wall, every object that struck his fancy. A sheep, which he had rudely sketched on a flag stone, caught the eye of Cimabue, who was acci- dentally passing that way; he begged the shepherd-boy from his parents, educated and instructed him, and thus formed, in his scholar, the future master, that was destined to eclipse his fame. Like Michael Angelo, Raphael, and most of the early painters, Giotto was a sculptor and architect, as well as a painter. . His principal architectural work was the belfry of Florence Cathedral. But to return to the Sienese school, from which I have wandered, and in the history of which I believe I got no far- ther than old Guido of Siena. Passing over a long list of names, deservedly unknown to fame, I will only stop at one, and at that one, because he was, like Giotto, the friend of Petrarch. Simone Memmi, early in the fourteenth century, d 2 36 BOMB. embellished with miniature paintings a Virgil in Petrarch's own handwriting, enriched by many of his original notes, which I saw in the Ambrosian Library at Milan. In the frontispiece, is a miniature painting of Virgil, writing, with his head thrown upwards, as if invoking the Muse. The ^ZEneid is personified by a figure of iEneas in armour — the Bu- colics, by a shepherd — and the Greorgics, by a peasant em- ployed in rural labour. It is interesting, not only as an illustration of the history of painting, but as a specimen of the taste of the poet, who directed the designs himself. The colours are splendidly rich, like those of all illuminated manu- scripts, but the drawing is poor and mean. In the Church of San Quirico in Siena, I was much pleased with the flight into Egypt, by Vanni. The expres- sion in the face of the child is perfectly divine, and in the head of the Virgin there is much of the grace of Correggio ; but it wants the charm and the fascination of his exquisite works. In the same church, and by the same artist, is a Depo- sition from the Cross, in which the grief of the Virgin is finely given. But by far the best picture we saw at Siena was the Sibyl prophesying the birth of our Saviour to Augustus. It is finely conceived, and marked by great force and originality of genius and expression. It is the work of Balthazar Peruzzi, who lived early in the sixteenth century, and ranks as the first master of the Sienese school. Misfortunes pursued him through life ; born in poverty, and too modest to contend with proud presuming rivals, he struggled long in obscurity and wretchedness, till, in the sack of Borne by the soldiers of Charles V., he lost all that his labour had amassed, and died in extreme misery, leaving his wife and six children to beggary, and his memory loaded with the suspicion that despair had driven him to shorten his days by poison. The present school of painting at Siena does not promise to surpass the former. In the Accademia delle Belle Arti, we saw some of the works of the professor and the students, which were too bad for criticism. A beautiful little Torso of a Youth, and a mutilated Vic- tory, caught my attention as we were leaving the Accademia, ITALIAN PBOMENADE. 37 The perfect grace, the purity of style, and exquisite taste displayed in both these fragments ; the harmonious beauty of form in the Torso, and the fine flow of the drapery in the Victory, prove them to have been first-rate pieces of sculp- ture. They are of Grecian marble, (like the Graces in the Cathedral,) and were also found at Siena. We next went to a palace, called, I think, Saraconi, and walked through a long suite of cold, empty, poverty-struck rooms, filled with a great number of bad paintings, not one of which was worth looking at ; and we saw a very dirty Marchesa, whom I took for a maid-servant, and was on the point of giving her some money — for she only made her appearance as we were going away— when our old lacquey luckily prevented me, by announcing her rank. She had in her hand an earthen pot full of hot wood-ashes, which the Italian women of all ranks use instead of a fire, and carry with them wherever they go, both in the house and abroad. They call it their marito, and it is indeed that marito to which they are the most constant. We had a narrow escape, however, from the Marchesa's other marito — I mean the live one, the Marchese himself — who intercepted us on the stairs, and was bent upon making us return to listen to his com- pliments, and admire his paintings, for which we had neither time nor inclination. We passed through a pleasant promenade, where the sun was shining bright, and some Sienese belles were slowly sauntering along, all attired in the same costume, black hats and feathers, and red shawls, attended by their cava- lieri serventi. Hound the circle for carriages, a youth was driving his caleche, or caratella, sitting, not on the box, but in the carriage, holding the reins at arm's length before him, and drest something like a French caricature of an English jockey. He meant himself for an imitation of the things one used to see personating coachmen in Hyde-Park and Bond-street, but had not attained any resemblance to them. In short, he was quite a Dandy or Exquisite of Siena, and he cracked his whip, and tried to make his horses prance (in harness,) and laboured hard for applause, particularly for ours; for seeing we were English ladies, and resolved to astonish our weak minds with a display of such Jehu genius so far from home, he pursued us wherever we went, full 38 EOME. drive, up and down, through all the narrow streets, and twice nearly ran us over, in order to ensure our appro- bation. Siena is a very dull place. Some English friends of ours who spent a winter there found a great want of cultivated society. A few ancient, ill-educated noble families inhabit their hereditary mansions; but even these mix little with each other ; it being the laudable custom for every lady to sit at home every evening to receive company, never making a visit to another. The gentlemen are divided among these rival queens, all of whom are happy to receive respectable strangers of either sex — but what is there in such societies to attract ? That there are among them many individuals of accomplished mind and manners, I do not doubt. I speak only of the society in general. There is no theatre, nor opera, nor public amusement of any kind. Life stagnates here; for its active pursuits, its interests, its honours, its pleasures, and its hopes, can have no place. No happy Briton can see and know what Siena is, without looking back with a swelling heart to his own country. "We paid a visit to the house of St. Catherine of Siena, where are still to be seen — besides an ugly chapel painted in fresco — the stony couch on which the poor little saint used to sleep at nights, and the very identical spot where our Saviour stood when he espoused her, and put the wedding ring on her linger ! My astonishment was unutterable. I have seen the marriage of Christ and St. Catherine a thou- sand times in painting, but I always concluded it to be metaphorical, or thought at most, that credulity had magni- fied some accidental dream into a vision sent by Heaven ; but it never once entered into my head, that any human being had ever imagined, or pretended that such a marriage really did take place. Yet here I was repeatedly and most solemnly assured by eveiy body present, — consisting of a priest, a lacquey, a tailor, and two women, — that our Saviour actually appeared on this spot in his own proper person, invested her with the ring, and declared her his spouse. Nay, they affirmed that he carried on a most affectionate correspondence with her, and that many of his letters of conjugal love are still extant. Of these, however, I could not obtain a sight ; but I saw, in the public library in this NIGHT AT AN OSTEEIA. 39 city, several epistles on her side to her dear husband, Jesus Christ, and her mother-in-law the Virgin Mary. That such a legend ever should have been credited in the darkest ages of extravagant fanaticism, I could scarcely have believed; but that it should have been gravely repeated as authentic in the nineteenth century, nothing, I think, short of the evidence of my senses, could have convinced me. Leaving the library, which contains a great quantity of books, though I would not answer for their value, we passed through the Piazza Pubblica, a singular place, shaped like a theatre, or rather like a fan, with its paved radii like fan- sticks converging together, and riveted at the bottom by the Palazzo Pubblico, a building answering to our town-hall. "What it contains I don't know, for we had no time to enter, the Vetturinobj this time becoming outrageous at our delay; and, indeed, night closed in upon us long before we reached our destined place of rest, the wretched Osteria of the still more wretched village of Buon Convento. Thither, when a wearisome pilgrimage of four mortal hours had at last con- ducted us, its half-starved looking denizens would not admit us into the horrible pig-sty in which they wallowed them- selves, but conducted us to a lone uninhabited house on the other side of the way, in which there was not a human being. "We were ushered up an old ghastly staircase, along which the wind whistled mournfully, into an open hall, the raftered roof of which was overhung with cobwebs, and the stone floor was deep in filth. Pour doors entered into this forlorn- looking place, two of which led to the chill, dirty, miserable holes which were our destined places of repose; and the other two, to rooms that the people said did not belong to them; neither did they give any very distinct or satisfactory account of who might be their tenants — one old woman assuring us they were inhabited by "nessuno"* while the other maintained they were occupied by " galantfuommi."f In the meantime, it was certain that the frail doors of our dormitories would yield on the slightest push; that the door of the hall itself, leading upon the stairs, had no fastening at all; that the stairs were open to the road in front, and to the fields behind, the house itself having no door whatever; and thus, that whoever chose to pay us a nocturnal visit, * Nobody, t "Very honest people. 40 EOME. might do so without the smallest inconvenience or difficulty to himself. "What was far worse, it was miserably cold; the wind blew about us, and we could get no fire. But there was no remedy for these grievances, and we resigned ourselves to fate and to bed. The two hideous old beldames who had brought us our wretched supper, had left us for the night, and no human being was near us, when we heard the sound of a heavy foot on the creaking staircase, and a man wrapped in a cloak, and armed with a sword and musket, stalked into the hall. If we had been heroines, what terrors might have agitated, and what adventures might not have befallen us! But as we were not heroical, we neither screamed nor fainted, we only looked at him; and notwithstanding his formidable ap- pearance, and that he had long black moustachios and bushy eye-brows, he did us no mischief, though he might have cut our throats with all the ease in the world; indeed, he had still abundance of leisure for the exploit, for he informed us that he had the honour of lodging in the house, that he was the only person who had that honour, and that he should have the honour of sleeping in the next room to ours. Finding him so courteous, and being aware there was no means of getting quit of him, we treated him on our parts with the utmost civility, perhaps upon the principle that the Indians worship the devil; and exchanging the salutation of " Felicissima notteV (a wish which, however benevolent, there seemed small prospect of being granted,) our whiskered neighbour retreated into his apartment, the key of which he had in his pocket, and we contented ourselves with barrica- doing our door with the only table and chair that our deso- late chamber contained; then, in uncurtained and uncover- leted wretchedness, upon flock beds, the prey of innumerable fleas, and shaking with cold, if not with fear, we lay the live- long night; not even having wherewithal to cover us, for the potent smell of the filthy rug, which performed the double duties of blanket and quilt, obliged us to discard it, and our carriage cloaks were but an inadequate defence against the blasts that whistled through the manifold chinks of the room. THE BOTJTE TO EOME. 41 LETTEE IY. "We got up, however, at four o'clock the next morning, unmurdered — our friend of the musket and the sword, I make no doubt, being still fast in the arms of Morpheus; and we began in the dark to wend our weary way from this miserable Osteria. Eirst, we had a horse added to the three mules, and then a pair of oxen were yoked in front of all, and slowly toiling along, this combination of animals at last contrived to, pull us up the long, dreary, barren hills, whose broken surface, strewed all over with huge masses of rock, were the only objects that met our view. At ten o'clock we stopped at a solitary house on these wild wastes, called La Scala. It was the filthiest place I ever beheld, and the smell was so intolerable, that nothing but the excessive cold out of doors could have induced us to have remained a single moment within it. Two hours, how- ever, did we stay, cowering over the smoke of a wet wood fire, waiting till the mules were fed— for they could get someting to eat, but for us there was nothing; neither bread, coffee, eggs, milk, meat, vegetables, nor even macaroni, were to be had; so that we might have starved, or breakfasted upon salt fish fried in oil, had not our Vetturino, more pro- vident than ourselves, produced a store of stale loaves and hard boiled eggs, that he had laid in at Siena. We had observed a large house near the village of San Quirico, which we passed through this morning, and I learnt from the dirty, squalid mistress of La Scala, between the acts of puffing the fire with her breath, that it is a Palazzo, which belongs to the noble family of Chigi, but that they never live there now, and that San Quirico is inhabited only by poor people, "except, indeed, the canons of the church, who," she said, " were ricchissimi." On inquiring into the amount of this excess of wealth, it proved to be 300 crowns a-year! "Blush, grandeur! blush!" From La Scala we toiled up apparently interminable hills, till at last — contrary to my expectations — we reached the top of the wild and savage mountain of Eadicofoni. It was heaped with the tremendous ruins of nature. All around, huge blue fragments of basaltic rock were strewed so thickly, as in most places wholly to conceal the surface of the earth. 42 HOME When exposed to view between these heaps of shattered rock, it was quite bare, and looked as if from creation it bad never borne one blade of grass. Dark barren hills of stone, rising all around us, met our eye in every direction ; it is impossible to conceive a more desolate scene. It seemed as if the beings that inhabited it must of necessity partake of its savage nature; and the aspect of those we saw well accorded with its character. The countrymen were all clothed in shaggy sheep-skins, with the wool outside, rudely stitched together to serve as a covering to their bodies, and pieces of the same were tied about their thighs, partially concealing the ragged vestments they wore beneath. Their legs and feet were bare ; and this savage attire gave a strange, wild effect to the dark eyes that glared at us from beneath their bushy and matted locks. Indeed their whole appearance reminded us literally of wolves in sheep's clothing. The wintry blast howled around us in stormy gusts; but we braved its fury, though not without difficulty, in order to ascend to the town, or rather village, of Eadicofoni, which is considerably higher up the mountain than tbe road, and wholly inaccessible to a carriage. Higher still than the town, and impending directly over it, rises an abrupt rock of most singular appearance, which has its base on the very summit of the mountain; and on the utmost pinnacle of this rock stands the Castle, or Fort, of Eadicofoni. To this perilous-looking elevation, the violence of the wind rendered it wholly impossible for us to attain, and it was with great difficulty we clambered up to the wretched little town of Eadicofoni; which, after all, did not contain what we went to seek, — viz, casts from ancient medals and gems, which, as they are made at the Baths of St. Philip, a distance of five miles from hence, I concluded would be on sale here. JNo such thing! The Italians seem to neglect the most obvious means of making money honestly, but spare no trouble to get at it by begging or cheating. We were assailed by a crowd of stout, sturdy clamorous beggars, any one of whom, if they had provided themselves with these casts to sell, might have made a considerable sum by us, and probably by most travellers. In England there would have been abundance on sale, not only in the town, but at the inn. TUSCAN TEONTIEBS. 43 The distance of the Baths of St. Philip, the impracticability of the road for carriages, the shortness of the days, and the severity of the weather, prevented us from visiting this curious manufactory. I understood that the water of these springs, which holds in solution a fine calcareous deposit, is artificially made to break into very fine spray, which falls on the models, and in time forms a perfect cast. The specimens I have seen are singularly beautiful. In returning to the inn, we observed, amongst the immense masses of rock which were heaped around on the mountain's side, some very striking basaltic columns; perhaps I ought rather to say, roots of columns, for I have never seen any elsewhere, and am ignorant if they present the same short amputated appearance. None of them, I think, were so high as three feet, and they seldom exceeded two. They reminded me much of stems of trees growing close together, and cut down. I did not measure their diameter, but it could scarcely be more than six inches. Farther down, the young contadino, or peasant boy, who was our guide, (and whose sheep-skin clothing formed a curious contrast to his bare tawny legs and feet of a deep red-brown, or copper colour) showed us a large rock of blue compact basalt, which, when struck with a bit of stone, emits the sound of metal so exactly, that had not my eyes corrected the impression made on my ears, I should have believed it to have been a large bell struck by a hammer. Though immense numbers of masses of rock, similar in appearance, were strewed around, none of them possessed this property. The peasants all say this mountain was once a Vesuvio, which is very naturally throughout Italy the generic name for a volcano amongst the country people ; and it is impossible to look on this scene of tremendous desola- tion, without sympathising in their belief, that it is the work of subterranean fire. . The Bogana of the Archduke, by the road-side, reminded us that we here quitted the frontiers of Tuscany, and entered the Estates of the Church; and a mile or two farther, at Ponte Centino, we stopped to give the officers of his Holiness the customary bribe of five pauls not to open our trunks. Indeed throughout Italy, the Bogana, or Custom-house, operates as a direct tax upon travellers. I have not yet 41 EOME. met with one instance in which a bribe has been refused, though occasionally the officers are both insolent and oppres- sive. _ The creation of a Dogana, not only in every state, but in every individual town of every state, is likewise extremely vexatious, both to travellers and residents, and a measure of most egregious absurdity on the part of the governments. Throughout Italy it is the same ; no state lets itself be outdone in folly by its neighbour : and the continual examinations, the payment of petty fees, the delays and insolence of office, the wranglingsj the "loss of time and hindrance of business," not only are the greatest possible annoyance to the luckless traveller, but are a_ complete check upon commerce. After compounding, as usual, at the Dogana of his Holi- ness, we were allowed to proceed unmolested. It was dark, and no moon lighted us on our way through this desolate country. By the last fading light of evening, we saw our- selves alone on a wide extended waste, without a trace of man, or human habitation, or living thing. Here and there, indeed, a scanty bit of cultivation, unenclosed, and seemingly taken at random on the waste, showed, by its surface — im- patiently scratched up rather than ploughed — that man had been there, though sullenly and in haste ; but where he had come from, or whither he had gone, the mind vainly sought to penetrate. It was like the print of a savage foot in the deserts. Here, indeed, man seemed the outcast not only of society, but of nature, and with nature to have waged war. The son had rebelled against the mother ; he had ceased to address himself to her, and she had withdrawn from him her gifts. There was a deep, hopeless melancholy in this scene of abandonment and desolation, that I never felt before. If despair could be expressed by scenery, it was written on the face of this country. " I pity the man," says Sterne, " who can travel from Dan to Beersheba, and say all was barren." I never had the pleasure of travelling that road, but this I maintain to be barren in the extreme. It is, in truth, a sterile and a sor- rowful land; and if we saw no beggars, it seemed to be because there were no inhabitants. It was late when we stopped for the night at a lone house NOCTURNAL ALAEM. 15 by the wayside, the interior of which I despair of giving you any idea of ; for the filth, the cold, " the looped and win- dowed wretchedness" of this hovel, beggared all description. Buon Convento was nothing to it. The Vettwrvno had providentially brought with him our supper, or else we should have got none ; and it was cooked and sent up on coarse brown earthenware. Wretched as this house was, it seemed to contain a number of inmates ; and the wild, ferocious appearance of those we saw, and the hoarse voices of the men whom we did not see, which fre- quently met our ear in loud altercation, "dread-sounding from below," conspired, with the appearance of the place, and the nature of the country, to make it seem fit for the resort of banditti, and the perpetration of robbery and murder. As if for the purpose of facilitating these ends, the doors of our rooms had no bolt whatever. "We barri- cadoed them, however, to the best of our power, and went to bed ; but in the middle of the night I was awakened by the fall of one of the chairs I had erected in my fortification at the door, followed by an attempt to force it open. Starting up in sudden trepidation, I flew to the door, stumbling in the dark over the empty dishes of the supper, and extin- guished lamps, which rolled about with a horrible clatter ; and assuming a courage I did not feel, I authoritatively demanded to know who was there, as I hastily attempted to repair my outworks. I was answered by a gruff voice, de- manding admittance. In my fright and confusion, it was some time before I understood that it was for the purpose of lighting the fire, and that it was four o'clock. To us it seemed that the night had only just begun, but it was clear our repose was at an end ; so, wrapping myself in my dres- sing-gown, and guided by the light that streamed through the numerous crevices of the door, I began to demolish the pile of chairs and tables I had raised. When the door was opened, there came in a woman with long, dishevelled hair, a dim lamp burning in her withered, skinny hand, followed by a man clad in sheep-skins, and bending beneath a burden of sticks. His face was half hid with black, bushy hair, and his eyes were overhung with shaggy eyebrows; he had shoes, but his legs were bare, and by his side was fastened a huge knife or axe, much resembling one formerly in use 46 HOME. for cutting off people's heads, but which I suspect he had' applied to the less obnoxious purpose of cutting the wood he was carrying. Certainly nothing could look more like an assassin, but we were not destined to meet with such adventures ; so, with heads unchopped off, we proceeded on our journey, uncomforted by breakfast. JSTo coffee, milk, chocolate, or bread, did the house afford. Tea we had with us, but nothing could be got to make it or drink it in. Our road at first, as we saw it by the faint light of a clouded and waning moon, seemed to He in the broad bed of a mountain torrent, which after rain is impassable, so that an unfortunate traveller may be detained for days in wintry storms on the cold, rocky height of Eadicofoni, or the still more cheerless sojourn in which we had passed the night. After some hours of our usual dead march, we came in sight of Acqua Pendente, the first town in the Papal domi- nions. Its name is descriptive, for it is romantically situated on the brink of a precipitous hill, overhanging the roaring torrent that sweeps its base, and the waters of which are swelled by cascades that foam down the sides of the preci- pice, half' hid in the cavities their fury has worn, and shaded with the deep green of the wild shrubs and bushes that bend over their narrow bed. While admiring the singularly picturesque appearance ot this town, as we walked on before the carriage, which slowly advanced up the long ascent to it, I observed, about half- way up, on the side of the bank close to the road, on the right, another aggregate of basaltic columns, some of which, instead of regular five-sided prisms, had seven sides, and even more. They were distinct shafts of columns, but not exceeding two feet, or two and a half feet, in height, and about six inches in diameter. As we had never heard of basaltic columns either at Eadicofoni or Acqua Pendente, their unexpected discovery gave us no small gratification; and, as far as I know, they have never been noticed by any preceding traveller. On entering Acqua Pendente, we lose sight of every charm its picturesque situation had promised. It is a dirty little town, but it produced us an unexpected breakfast, so I ought not to speak ill of it. We stopped at a little cafe, and got coffee, eggs, and bread ; but milk was not to be had, BOUNDARY OF THE PAPAL STATES. 47 although the tinkling bells of the goats, and the tender bleat of the kids browsing on the rocks above us, had greeted our ears as we entered the town. This wholesome and natural article of food seems to be little used or valued by the Italians. How much benefited would their poor, unhealthy, half-starved-looking children be, by such nutritious diet ! It was Sunday, and the streets were filled with men wrapped in their large cloaks, who were loitering about, or standing grouped together in corners, in that apathetic state of indolent taciturnity so expressive of complete bodily and mental inertion, which at all times characterizes an Italian crowd in their enjoyment of a Pesta; but this struck me here far more forcibly than in Lombardy and Tuscany, where there is much more animation among the people.* A post farther on we passed through the formal village of San Lorenzo Nuovo, built by the late Pope Pius VI., on the summit of the hill above the lake of Bolsena, in order to save the surviving inhabitants of the old town, which stood on the margin of the lake, from the deadly effects of the malaria, which had nearly depopulated it. However I may respect the benevolent motives, I cannot admire the taste of his Holiness in building a set of beggarly cottages in the shape of a double crescent, which makes their dirt and misery more striking and disgusting. Eegularity itself is displeasing in a village, of which scat- tered cottages, and a rural, natural, undesigning simplicity of appearance, form the characteristic beauty. Its greatest charm — neatness, is universally wanting, both in Prance and Italy. How unlike our English associations is a village in these countries, where a narrow street of dilapidated and windowless hovels, surrounded by filth, and inhabited by squalid wretchedness, is all that answers to the name ! How melancholy and miserable do they seem, and how often has my fancy returned to the smiling villages of my own country, where neat cottages, and little gardens, scattered over the green, present the happy picture of humble con- tentment, cheerful industry, and rural happiness ! Prom the top of the hill we beheld the wide expanse of * A remark my subsequent experience of the territories of his Holiness abundantly confirmed. •18 ROME. the Lake of Bolsena, which lay stretched in stillness and beauty at our feet, surrounded by winding shores and woody hills, rising from the margin of the blue waters, covered to their summits with aged oaks, the rich brown tints of which contrasted well with the dark green pines that diversified the woods. Two small islands, Besendina and Martona, rise from the bosom of the lake. In the latter, according to tradition, Amalasontha, Queen of the G-oths, was strangled by com- mand of the man with whom she had voluntarily shared her crown. In the time of Pliny, these were floating islands, but they have long since taken their stations. At the bottom of the hill stand the mournfully pictu- resque ruins of San Lorenzo Eovinato, surmounted by an old tower overhung with ivy ; the former strength of which, still apparent in its broken walls, heightened the picture of its own decay, and that of the depopulated village it had once served to defend. There was something of deep melancholy in the roofless habitations, the grass-grown walls, and silent mill, of this deserted village, such as I have rarely felt; a melancholy which was heightened by the prodigality of beauty and the luxuriance of vegetation with which the hand of nature had dressed the borders of this deadly lake, as if to allure to it her victims. That unseen and mysterious power which lurks in the air — like the serpent beneath the flower — the malaria, reigns over the scene in delusive sweetness; and while it suffers the vegetable world to flourish, blasts with its pestilential breath the life of man. The dart that spares the fragile flower of the field, and all the rest of creation, is fatal to its lord, and to him alone; for even the animals subjected to his sway, that inhale the same air, live un- harmed by its fatal influence. A few miles from the rums of St. Lorenzo Eovinato, we passed through Bolsena, a village on the very margin of the lake, said to stand upon the ruins of the ancient Volsinium, the capital of one of the twelve States of Etruria, which, if we may credit Pliny, was once destroyed by fire from heaven. The corruption of its ancient name has ob- viously given to the town and lake their modern designa- ANCIENT VOLSINIUM. 49 tion. The antiquity of Bolsena is obvious, even to the most uninquiring eye, by the magnificent remains of sculpture and of Pagan worship which are strewed around. At the entrance of the village, on the right, stands a neglected heap of marble altars, Corinthian capitals, and broken columns, intermixed with many a legible inscription, recording the names and years that have gone by. I was diverted from examining these remains of antiquity, so despised here, and so valuable elsewhere, by the sight of some beautiful granite columns ; and farther on, in front of the village church, stand many more of the same, which are supposed to have belonged to an ancient temple. According to Lalande (that most tiresome of all writers) the temple of the Goddess Voltumna stood here. She was a deity, who, in concert with her husband Voltumnus, presided over the dictates of human will, and was the grand object of worship among the Etrurians, who seemed to address themselves exclusively to her; conceiving, I suppose, that she kept her spouse in proper subordination. Deputies from the twelve states used to assemble in her temple, to deliberate upon the interests of the common weal. Some antiquaries, however, maintain, 'that this famous temple was situated nearly on the spot where Yiterbo now stands. Be this as it may, these columns most certainly never belonged to any Etrurian temple, but to some building of the Roman Empire ; for granite columns were unknown till introduced with the pomps and luxuries of that tasteful but corrupted period. Eew, indeed, if any, are the monuments that remain to us of Etrurian times. The destruction that has overwhelmed their works, and the obscurity that involves their origin, alike vainly excite our regret and our curiosity ; and we must ever deeply lament, that almost all traces have dis- appeared of the early history of that singular people, who, in the very infancy of society, seem to have preferred., with rare philosophical discrimination, the culture of the arts of peace to the alluring conquests of war ; and to have attained wisdom, civilization, and jurisdiction, while all the nations around them were plunged in barbarism, and the Romans themselves had not eA r en a name. To these, their con- querors, they subsequently gave their arts, their sciences, VOL. I. E 50 EOME. their learning, their laws, and even their diversions; and, however little we know of the events of their history, or the progress of their institutions, we may be assured, that a people who enjoyed freedom, and had organized a regular representative government, must have attained no incon- siderable stage of civilization : for despotism, in some of its forms, is almost invariably the government of barbarous states — where they have any government at all. Indepen- dent of this, the vestiges of their fine arts, their sculpture, their painting, and their architecture, their statues and their vases, would alone attest that they were a refined and polished people. Amongst the broken granite columns, — which I was de- scribing when something or other led me away into this digression, — has been placed an ancient marble sarcophagus, which was found here, adorned with singularly beautiful sculpture. It represents the Triumph of Bacchus. The God appears surrounded by a train of Fauns, Satyrs, and Bacchantes ; goats led along for sacrifice ; panthers chained to his car ; old Silenus drinking, and Hercules drunk. From its greatness of style, and classic purity of design, I should have no hesitation in pronouncing it to be a work of fine Grecian taste and sculpture. But Yolsinium, even according to the signification of its name, was tie City of Artists* and when taken by the Romans, two thousand statues were transported from it to Home. To my great surprise, I was assured by the inhabitants of Bolsena, that their town is not unhealthy, even in summer, and that here there is absolutely no malaria. It is difficult to credit this assertion, when proofs of disease and depopulation, so incontestable in the ruins of San Lorenzo Vecchio, meet one's eyes at the distance of a few miles on the borders of this very lake. It is, however, certainly true, that places half a mile from each other, and apparently similar in situation, vary in this respect in the most extraordinary degree. But it is a most difficult matter to get the truth ouit of Italians ; and I almost begin to credit old 's asser- tion, who lived among them twenty years, that they only * Hist, de l'Art, liv. iii. chap. 1, § 14. BASALTIC COLUMNS. 51 speak truth by accident, and are liars by habit;* for every hour brings fresh instances of their disregard of veracity, even when there would seem to be no temptation to false- hood. About a mile from Eolsena, we stopped the carriage to explore the woody banks of the lake for some basaltic columns, which we had heard spoken of, and our search for them was successful. They cover the side of a cliff which is about forty feet in height. The highest column may measure nearly four feet ; but in general they are from two to three, and even lower. They are perfectly distinct and separate, but thickly embedded together, and have the same appearance as the few we observed at Acqua Pendente and Eadicofoni — that of the stems of young trees growing close together and cut down a little above the root. In all the three situations, they are on the steep declivity of a hill. I observed several bits of zeolite intermixed with the blue basalt of which they are composed. It was evening as we slowly continued to wind our way along the shores of the lake, and through a wood of oak of singular grandeur, which seemed to be the growth of a long succession of ages. Some had been scathed and rent in twain by lightning, and round the gigantic trunks of others the dark ivy had twined itself, clinging to their aged branches, which were twisted round in many a grotesque and varied form. Dark clouds lowered heavily over the still and wide waters of the lonely lake ; and the faint hoarse murmur of its waves breaking against the shore, was the only sound that answered to the mournful voice of the wind, as it sighed through the withered and rustling leaves. A shepherd, clad in his sheep-skin, with his dog crouching at his feet, was sitting half hid in a hollow of the wood, whilst his flock were scattered among the trees, brousing on the short withered herbage. If report speaks true, less * My own subsequent experience certainly tended to confirm this opinion in a great degree. I never met with a race of people who had, generally speaking, so remarkable a disregard for truth. I need scarcely observe, that there are many individuals of high honour and unsullied faith ; but the general censure, though it sounds illiberal, is, I fear, just. E 2 52 BOME. peaceful and pastoral wanderers at times lurk amongst these shades. This forest is noted as the haunt of robbers, and many a bloody deed of murder is said to have been perpe- trated here. As we passed along, we caught at times an uncertain view of caves and dusky rocks among the trees, which, dimly seen in the gathering shades of evening, our fancy might have peopled with the forms of banditti ; not indeed wholly without reason, for, not a week ago, a friend of ours saw, at this very place, the murdered body of a soli- tary traveller lying upon the road, with nothing to speak his name and country, or the circumstances of his horrible fate. A vigilant but fruitless search after the assassins, we were told, has been making ever since by the Sbirri, or Papal officers of justice, who, here, as well as in every other part of the continent, are at least semi-military. By the way, I must stop one moment to correct a very common mistake that my countrymen often fall into ; — when they hear that a person has been assassinato, they conclude that he is mur- dered ; whereas, like the Irish hilt, it only means that he has been attacked and robbed — but it is more than probable that he is still alive and well. Just before we quitted the shores of the lake, a parting gleam of the setting sun burst from the sky, bathing the landscape in one flood of yellow brightness, and lighting up every object with sudden enchantment. The rich brown woods, the jutting promontories, the glowing waters, and the distant mountains that bounded our view, laughed in the evening beam, and kindled into beauty — such as I feel it is impossible for me to describe. We turned from this scene as its transient brightness was fading away, plunged into the darkness of the woods, and night closed in upon us long before we had ascended and descended one high hill, and then climbed to the top of another still higher, on the bleak summit of which stands Montefiascone, from which I have now the happiness of writing to you. Here, therefore, I will conclude this most unconscionable epistle, which has been scribbled at all odd times and strange places, but the most part of it in the carriage ; and perhaps it partakes; not a little of the tediousness of the way, which the inditing of it helped to beguile. I have learnt now to make very tolerable pot-hooks with a ORVIETO AND VITEEBO. 53 pencil, in spite of jolting. Talking of jolting, I believe I never told you that we are now upon what is supposed to be the ancient Via Cassia, (a way now something of the roughest,) which passed by Montefiascone, Chiusi, and Siena, to Pisa, and was made at an early period of the Republic by somebody called Cassius,* though who he was, and when he lived, seem somewhat dubious. P. S. — We have just had dinner, or supper, as they call it ; and if we got little or nothing to eat, I must do Montefias- cone the justice to say, that it is deservedly famed for the most luscious Muschat wine. However, I hope we shall not follow the example of an old German prelate, who, it seems, drank it at this inn till he died. We left Orvietto to-day on the right, which is also famed for a light, pleasant table wine, generally considered the best produced in the estates of the church. So you see we have got into a very convivial country. The inn here is a paradise to the two last. Still, I wish you could only judge of its merits, and see the den of dirt and wretchedness in which we are sitting, and must sleep. Pope pathetically laments the fate of one " in the worst inn's worst room" in England. How gladly would I exchange for them the best of both at Montefiascone! LETTER V. "We set off on this, the fifth day of our weary pilgrimage, as usual, long before the dawn; and after traversing for many hours a dreary, unenclosed, and houseless plain, we reached the city of Viterbo; where, having made a sump- tuous breakfast on coffee, (real coffee, not made of burnt beans) and milk, — rarities we had not seen for many a day —we went out to see the town, which is very ancient, very dirty, and beggarly in the extreme. This, indeed, did not surprise us much, when we found there were twenty-eight • Sp. Cassius the Consul, who, in A.R. 268, obtained for the Eomav people the Agrarian law — in return for which he was condemned am* executed— could not have been the maker of this road; for Livy, who enumerates all— even the most trifling of his public acts, would assu- redly have mentioned this. 51 ROME. convents of nuns and begging friars in a place which does not contain more than nine thousand inhabitants! The streets are narrow, and entirely paved with flat flag-stones, in the same manner as at Florence, but so deep in mire, that it was impossible to see the lava of which our guide informed us they were composed. This same guide was one of the dirtiest-looking creatures I ever beheld, but he gravely offered his services to us as cicerone; and he was certainly useful in showing us the way through the town. "We paid a visit, at her own convent, to Santa Rosa, a very surprising woman. " Cowards die many times before their death," but this saint has died once since hers — a more extraordinary feat than any I ever heard of being performed, either by saint or sinner — excepting by Liston, in Tom Thumb, who always dies twice. She originally died, it seems, in the thirteenth century; but after lying dead a few hundred years, she came to life one night when her chapel took fire, got up and rang the bell to give notice of it, and then laid quietly down and died again, without any body knowing anything of the matter. The chapel, however, was burnt down, though she had got out of her grave and rung the bell to prevent it; all her fine clothes, too, were burned off her back, and her very ring was melted on her finger; but she remained unconsumed, though her face and hands are as black as a negro's, and infinitely more hideous than anything I ever saw in my life. How- ever, they say she was very fair four hundred years ago, before she was singed, and that she never was embalmed even after her first death, but was preserved solely in the odour of sanctity. She lies in a gut sepulchre, on a bed strewed with silver flowers, but a grate keeps prying eyes like mine at a proper distance, and darkness and wax tapers increase the mysterious gloom. This remarkable saint began, with praiseworthy industry, to work miracles as soon as she was born, by raising a child from the dead, while she was yet a baby herself; and miracles she still continues to per- form every day — as the nun who exhibited her informed me. On inquiring what kind of miracles they were, I was in- formed that she cures all sort of diseases, heals sores, ;and even re-establishes some lame legs; but she does not, by any LEGEND OF ST. EOS A. 55 means, always choose to do it, thinking it proper that the infirmities of many should continue. I have no doubt that this nun, who related her history to me, and with whom I had a long conversation, really and truly believes in it all. She knelt before the saint in silent devotion first, and then gave me a bit of cord, the use of which perplexed me much; and while I was turning it round and round in my fingers, and wondering what she expected me to do with it, a troop of dirty beggars burst into the church, together with some better dressed, but scarcely less dirty people; and the whole company, having adored the saint, received from the nun, every one, bits of cord like mine. I inquired the use of them, and was told they had been round the body of the saint, where they had acquired such virtues, that, tied round any other body, they would save it from "molte disgrazie." The beggars no sooner got their bits of cord, than they became so clamorous — though I am sure I had nothing half so marvellous to give them — that they fairly drove me away. These nuns are all of noble families. They are of the Fran- ciscan, one of the least rigid of the female monastic orders. They are not obliged to midnight vigils, nor any extraordi- nary acts of penance and mortification, and may see their family and female friends at the grate. Prom thence we went to the church of the Franciscan Friars, in which is the painting of La Pieta, or the Virgin and the dead Christ, by Sebastian del Piombo, one of the most esteemed productions of his pencil. It bears, I should suppose, internal evidence of being the design of a far supe- rior master — I mean Michael Angelo. It is marked with all the force and vigour, the correct design, and bold conception of his powerful genius, and soars far above the feeble com- positions of Sebastian, who, like many of the Venetian school, was an admirable colourist, but wofully ignorant of design. "His hand, indeed, was more ready than his head," as some- body observes of another artist; he wanted skill to invent and combine, but he could give life to the compositions of others; audit is well known that he was employed, as well as some others of his contemporaries, by Michael Angelo, who despised the mechanical part of painting, to embody his designs. It is, however, but fair to state, that my belief of this painting being done from his sketch, is founded on my own 5G EOMI. judgment alone. The friars only know that it is painted by Sebastian del Piombo. Still, I cannot think that, without assistance, he could have designed it. The figure of the Christ, which has, apparently, been drawn from nature, is nearly black; it is extended on a white winding-sheet, with the shoulders raised, and the head drooping back — admirably drawn. The difficulties of the position are completely surmounted. The Madonna, behind, clasping her hands in an agony of grief, strongly expresses the deep, passionate, overwhelming affliction of a mother, weeping for her child in despair that knows no comfort. This is its charm; there is nothing ideal, nothing beautiful, nothing elevated. She is advanced in life; she is in poverty; she seems to belong to the lower orders of women: — but there is nature in it — true and unvitiated, though common, and perhaps vulgar, nature — that speaks at once to every heart. The picture is in a shamefully dirty state, and is placed in the worst possible light, or rather darkness. It requires strong light, and it is in total obscurity. Nine friars now alone occupy the nearly deserted cloister of this convent. There is nothing remarkable in the ugly old Cathedral of Viterbo, except the remembrance that it was there, at the very foot of the altar, that De Montfort, son of the famous Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, (the usurper of all but the name of sovereignty in the reign of Henry the Third,) murdered his cousin, Henry D'Ahnaine, son of the Earl of Cornwall, King of the Eomans. The murderer* escaped at the time by taking sanctuary in the Franciscan convent, but was at last taken prisoner by the Arragonese, and perished miserably in a dungeon. A memorable battle was fought at Viterbo in the thir- teenth century, in which an army of modern Eomans was defeated with immense loss by the generalship of an English bishop. The forces of the Pope, in this singular engage- ment, were united with those of the Emperor, against the people of his flock, led on by this martial prelate.f * According to Hume, the murder was committed by two sons of Simon, Earl of Leicester. Other authors speak only of one. + His name was Peter de Rupifeus, Bishop of Winchester. The battle was fought in 1234. — Vide Gibbon, vol. xii. p. 286. CITY 03T VITEBBO. 57 "We were told, that two or three miles from Viterbo there is a lake of hot sulphureous water, which boils furiously and incessantly, throwing up a white thick vapour that I saw distinctly from the hill on leaving the town; but we had no time to visit it, the Vettivrino being, as usual, out of all patience with our tardiness. "We began immediately to ascend the long laborious mountain of Viterbo, the classical Giminus. At an early age of the republic, the consul Pabius, and a Roman army, effected their memorable passage through the then untrodden depths of its forest, and gained on its northern side, their great and decisive victory over the Etruscans.* It still preserves something of its sylvan character. It is covered with wild broom and brushwood, amongst which tower some noble chesnut-trees, and dark-spreading stone- pines, such as Claude Lorraine loves to introduce into his landscapes. They give, even to scenes of nature, that repose which breathes in his poetic paintings. And the rich, broad, deep shade of this picturesque tree, contrasted with the tall, spiral, graceful form of the columbar cypress, forms one of the most beautiful features of the climates of the south. From the summit of the mountain we beheld at our feet the beautiful basin of the Lake of Vico, sunk in steep banks covered with overhanging woods, amongst whose luxuriant shades Autumn seemed to have lingered, as if to paint them with his last and richest tints. In descending, we observed a cross by the wayside, where, according to the accounts of the peasantry, eight years ago a traveller was murdered. "We passed through the town of Ronciglione, built in a most picturesque situation, on a precipitous bank imme- diately above a deep rocky ravine, overhung with wood. The roofless houses of its old town, and the grey walls and ruined towers of its Gothic castle, accorded well with the solemn shade of the aged pines which hung over them. Though no tradition is attached to these unstoried ruins, they speak to the fancy, perhaps more forcibly from the very obscurity that involves them. Through every breach of time, and mouldering touch of age, they awaken the memory * Livy, lib. ix. dec. 1. 58 ROME. of the past; and all the sorrows and the crimes, the deeds of violence and scenes of grief, which successive generations may have done or suffered here, rise upon the awakened • imagination. How beautifully the sun illumines these jut- ting rocks and spreading woods, with its setting beam! Its last golden glow shines in enchantment upon those gray walls, and those dark and spreading pines ! Would that I could convey to you an image of the beauty of the scene now before me! At any other time, perhaps, it might not possess the same charm; but in such an hour, and such an evening as this, its power is not to be resisted. Poets in all ages have dwelt upon the praises of moon- light — and what heart has not felt its beauty? But there is in its beams, even when most brilliant, a coldness — an un- varied whiteness; and I own that, to me, the soft and glow- ing, but too shortlived hour that succeeds the glorious set- ting of the sun, when all nature is melted into stillness, and harmony, and repose, and painted in hues of softness that the pencil could never equal, is ten thousand times more dehghtful and more dear. Poets may be right to visit the gray and tottering ruin "by the pale moonlight;" but I am clear that the painter, and all who can feel what painting is, should view it when the soft shades of twilight are gathering round, and the glowing beam still lingers in the western sky. Of all hours, however, that of noon is the most unpic- ' turesque and uninteresting. This is very observable in a summer's day in our own country, and still more so the farther we advance towards the tropics, where the sun ascending nearly into the zenith, involves the whole face of nature in one universal glare. Por this reason, too, I have often thought that the light of the moon, " when riding near her highest noon," has not nearly so beautiful an eifect as when her full round orb, glowing in the richness of the evening, rises above the horizon, throwing her broad lights and shadows over nature's face. But evening advances, and the shadows fall— " Majoresque cadunt altis de montibus umbrae," and throw that breadth of light and shade, without which neither nature nor painting can appear beautiful. The shadows, however, are now so broad, and the last lingering COSTUME OF THE PEASANTS. 59 beam has so nearly faded, that it scarce serves me to make these pot-hooks, which, as the carriage slowly jolts along, I contrive to indite, less for your amusement than my own. The costume of the women here is pretty and picturesque; a party of them have just now passed the carriage, their bright eyes flashing at us from under their raven locks. They wear on their heads a scarlet mantilla, or square cloth, edged with black, and a black boddice laced up in front, the long sleeves of which are tied to the shoulder with a great many bows of blue riband, the white sleeve of the chemise peeping out in the intervening space. Bonciglione is said to contain about 5000 inhabitants, and is the last healthy place, — totally free from malaria — between this and Eome, from which we are (Heaven be praised!) only thirty-five miles distant. But it is nearly dark. Adieu! To-night we sleep at Monterosi. LETTER VI. Eome, 10th December, 1816. Eome! — Yes, we are actually in Eome, at least I believe s0 — for as yet I can scarcely feel sure of the fact; and, as in restless impatience we pace up and down the room, and looking round, see that it is like any other room, we contin- ually ask each other in astonishment, if we are indeed in Eome, if we shall really to-morrow see the Colosseum, the Eorum y and St. Peter's; or if, after all, it is only a dream? But I must take up the history of our adventures where I left them off", when the shades of evening stopped my carriage epistle. I think I told you we were to sleep at Monterosi. Vain hope ! There indeed we passed the night, but to sleep was utterly impossible. After travelling more than two hours in total darkness — our olfactory nerves frequently assailed with strong fumes of sulphureous water — our Vetturino qua- king with the fear of robbers — and ourselves quaking with cold; hungry and weary, we reached at last the wished-for inn, where neither fire, food, nor rest, was to be had. "We dismounted in a filthy stable, from whence, as we could get nobody to come near us, we made our way up a dark steep staircase, covered with dirt of every description, into a place — for I don't know what name to give it — the immense size of which struck us dumb with amazement. The eye vainly 60 HOME. sought to penetrate the obscurity which involved its farther extremity and its raftered height. It was open to the stables below at the end by which we had entered it, a piece being taken out of the floor to leave room for the steep stair, or ladder, by which we had ascended. One dim lamp, whose feeble ray was lost against the blackened walls, only served to make its deep darkness and desolation partially visible, and revealed to us the tall form of a man wrapped in a dark cloak, striding up and down this black and empty hall. Stopping short at our entrance, he darted at us, from beneath a large slouched hat, a look of keen and stern examination, which was rather appalling. Another man, rolled in a similar man- tle^ half-raised himself, on our approach, from the ground on which he was stretched, and might have escaped our observa- tion, but for the clatter of his stiletto on the stone pavement, as he composed himself again to rest. It was just the place and the people for an adventure of romance; and we might, if we had possessed brilliant imaginations, have fancied our- selves heroines betrayed to banditti, and made most glorious efforts to escape out of their hands; but we only fancied our- selves betrayed to a bad inn, out of which there was no escape, and we directed all our efforts to getting a bed-room and a fire. After considerable delay we did get into a bed-room, more wretched than language can describe : open in many a cranny to the weather, unswept, unplastered, and unfurnished except by two such beds as it is impossible for you to form any idea of; but as the surly people of the house could or would shew us no other, we had no remedy. A fire, that grand consoler of discomforts, was not to be had. The wood was so wet, the wind so high, and the chimney so wide, that while we were blinded and suffocated with wreaths of punt- gent smoke, and while the wind whistled at its pleasure through the hundred chinks of the unglazed windows, our most persevering efforts failed to make a blaze. A tub turned upside down served for a seat, but we were obliged to go to the long black den of darkness, which we had first entered, to eat our supper, under pretence that the house contained no other table, and that it was too heavy for removal, Our two stilettoed friends were still there; one stalking about, and the other seeming to sleep. This would not hav