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I 
 
NOTES 
 
 IN 
 
 England and Italy. 
 
 By MRS. HAWTHORNE. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 G. P. PUTNAM & SON. 
 
 London: SAMPSON LOW & CO. 
 1870. 
 
X)G^ 
 
 59 
 
 .H 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S69, 
 
 Bx G. P. PUTNAM & SON, 
 
 In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New Yorlc. 
 
 Gift from 
 the Estate Of Miss Ruth Putnam 
 Ocl.6,lS31 
 
 Stereotyped by Little, Rennik & Co., 
 &i5 & 617 Broadway, New York, 
 
TO 
 
 ELIZABETH P. PEABODY, 
 
 2[l)i0 tJolume is iBchitaichi 
 
 BT 
 
 HER SISTER, 
 
 S. H. 
 
PEEFAOE 
 
 I THINK it necessary to say that these "Notes," 
 written twelve years ago, were never meant for pub- 
 lication ; but solely for my own reference, and for a 
 means of recalling to my friends what had especially 
 interested me abroad. Many of these friends have 
 repeatedly urged me to print them, from a too par- 
 tial estimate of their value ; and I have steadily 
 resisted the suggestion, until now, when I reluctantly 
 yield. If, however, they will aid any one in the 
 least to enjoy, as I have enjoyed, the illustrious 
 works of the Great Masters in Architecture, Sculp- 
 ture, and Painting, I shall be well repaid for the 
 pain it has cost me to appear before the public. 
 
 S. H. 
 
 Dresden, August, 1869. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 FAQB 
 
 I. Skipton Castle. — Bolton Priory. — York Min- 
 ster, 7 
 
 II. Lincoln Cathedral, 31 
 
 III. Old Boston and St. Botolph's, , . . .50 
 
 IV. Peterboro Cathedral, . . . . . 69 
 V. Newstead Abbey, 85 
 
 VI. On the Way to Scotland, .... 106 
 
 SCOTLAND. 
 
 I. Burns' Region, 119 
 
 II. Glasgow, 146 
 
 III. Dumbarton, 156 
 
 IV. Loch Lomond and the Bens, . . . 163 
 
 V. Inversnaid and Loch Katrine and the 
 
 Trosachs, 173 
 
 VI. Bridge of Allan, 19c 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ITALY. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. Roman Journal, . - 197 
 
 II. Journey of eight days from Rome to Flor- 
 ence, 295 
 
 III. Florence, 2>3^ 
 
 IV. Returning to Rome, 500 
 
 V. Rome, 541 
 
NOTES IN ENGLAIsTD. 
 I. 
 
 SKIPTON CASTLE.— BOLTON PRIORY. 
 
 Skepton, Yorkshire, April lOtli. 
 
 * * * * As we approaclied Yorkshire, we found 
 stone walls for the first time in England, instead of 
 green hedges. But they were nice and pretty stone 
 walls, and not such rude structures as ours in 
 America. The stones were as smooth and even as 
 those of a house, and battlemented along the top. 
 After the low sandhills of Southport, it was truly 
 refreshing to see the Yorkshire Wolds. (Wolds is 
 the Yorkshire name for hills.) 
 
 We saw some very ugly, small, manufacturing 
 towns in Lancashire, in which I do not understand 
 how any one can consent to Hve. In one was a 
 monument that seemed to be erected to the honor 
 of the Smoke-Demon, — a lofty, symmetrical stone 
 column, resting on a square base, not near any 
 manufactory ; and close against the sky a long 
 plume of black smoke continually floated from its 
 summit, like the incense of a bad heart. Dear me ! 
 at what a cost come forth, so clean and splendid, all 
 our pretty prints, and silks, and velvets ! How is it 
 that the grimness of the workmen and of the atmos- 
 phere never sullies them ? They look as if the tidiest 
 
8 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 of fairies fasliioned them in ivory palaces, wLere 
 there is never a stain in the air. 
 
 We crossed the river Darwen twice, and arrived 
 at Skipton soon after five. It proves a larger town 
 than I thought, and is beautifully situated in a hol- 
 low betw^een thrice three hills. We found a tolerably 
 pretentious station, and a nice man, w^ho politely at- 
 tended us to what he called " a 'Bus," which he said 
 belonged to the first hotel in town, called " The 
 Devonshire Arms." So hither we drove. It was 
 
 what J considered " a jolly little 'Bus," being 
 
 only as large as a cab, yet the seats arranged like 
 those of omnibuses. The landlady, glorious in cherry 
 ribbons, received us at the door, and ushered us up 
 into a fi'ont sitting-room, comfortable with a lounge, 
 and a large fireplace, in which the maid soon kin- 
 dled a blazing fire. 
 
 We were all so restored by our refection, that w^e 
 concluded to take a walk. I asked the maid whether 
 there were any pleasant places, and she said, " Skip- 
 ton Woods is very pleasant, and not far off." So 
 we went toward Skipton Woods ; but met a fine old 
 castle on the way. A stout John Bull, with a rubi- 
 cund visage, who was piously pushing his child 
 about in a perambulator, on his leisure Good Fri- 
 day, I took the liberty to accost. I asked him 
 whether we could see the castle ; and he was very 
 smiling and kind, and replied, " Yes ; as it was 
 Good Friday, he thought we could : that the family 
 was not there, but the housekeeper was." 
 
SKIPTON CASTLE. 9 
 
 So we entered the grand, towered gateway, with 
 "desokmais" sculptured in open stone-work on the 
 top, flanked by a donjon-keep on each side, and 
 found ourselves in a fine park, within the walls — 
 a small park, perhaps a garden rather. A group of 
 girls, keeping holiday, emerged from an arch, and I 
 asked them where we could find the housekeeper. 
 One said that I " must go into a door by the bushy 
 trees." These " bushy trees" were mammoth box- 
 trees, more than six feet high, and of great circum- 
 ference, cut in the shape of globes. Lawn and 
 flower-clumps, with gravel walks, filled the enclosure, 
 and the perpetual ivy climbed the inner surface of 
 the high walls. It looked very inhabitable, and not 
 vast, like the environments of many castles we have 
 seen, and, though stately, not a kingdom, as is 
 Knowesly."^ We found a low-arched door, leading 
 through the thickness of the castle, and out upon 
 a staircase on the other side, high above a moat. 
 Looking over, we saw a waterfall and a stream and 
 clustering trees, far down beneath. But, alas ! this 
 was not one of Nature's waterfalls, but what the 
 housekeeper called *' a wash" only, which now turns 
 a mill. The sound of rushing water, however, was 
 just the same, and very refreshing. We ascended 
 the staircase, and at my knock, a neat, florid, thin 
 woman opened the door, and civilly acceded to my 
 request to be shown the castle. The first room was 
 
 * The Earl of Derby's domain. 
 
10 NOTES m ENGLAND. 
 
 the housekeeper's Idtchen, as clean and bright as 
 possible. Whatever speck of dust might have had 
 the rashness to think of settling on any part of that 
 immaculate kitchen, must at once have hidden its 
 diminished head, after peeping in. It was scrubbed 
 and whitewashed into snow. We followed the dame 
 first into the dining-room. I ought to tell you, how- 
 ever, that this castle was built in 1100, and for five 
 hundred years was possessed by the Cliffords. It 
 was erected, soon after the Norman Conquest, by 
 Robert de Romeli, and was the birthplace of the 
 celebrated Anne Clifford, Countess of Dorset, of 
 Pembroke, and of Montgomery, the lady having 
 married three earls successively with these titles. 
 Cromwell battered it with his guns, when it was 
 garrisoned for Charles I., and we saw the hill where 
 he established these guns. The Countess's last de- 
 scendant was the Earl of Thanet ; and the present 
 possessor is Sir Richard Tufton, who represents the 
 last earl. One portion only is made habitable. 
 The dining-room was lighted at one end by a bow- 
 window, set with small panes. It was hung with 
 crimson and white, and had tables and sideboards 
 of oak, and the ceiling was frescoed in arabesque 
 patterns. From the dining-room we went up a 
 broad staircase into the drawing-room. This was 
 the size of the whole round tower. It was hung 
 with gobeUn tapestry, worked by the ladies of the 
 Clifford family. Over the fireplace was a portrait 
 of Oliver Cromw€41, in early manhood, a much fairer 
 
SKIPTON CASTLE. 11 
 
 and handsomer face of liim than I had seen be- 
 fore. 
 
 Two portraits of the renowned Countess, one in 
 perfect womanhood and one in old age, also adorned 
 the walls. Opposite the fireplace was a large family 
 picture of the Duke of Cumberland and his Duchess 
 and two sons. These were the father and mother 
 and brothers of the famous Countess. The Duke 
 was in armor, and just taking leave for a battle ; 
 and his wife stands pointing to her children, as 
 much as to say, " What will they do without their 
 father ?" From the very broad windows of this 
 drawing-room are beautiful views of the hills and 
 country. From the drawing-room we ascended to 
 the state bedchamber. This was quite in disarray. 
 There were some tall folding-doors, leaning against 
 the walls, which once adorned the dining-room, and 
 upon them the Countess was again painted in full 
 length ; and round her, in small size, hung her three 
 husbands. Here also was a little child's portrait, in 
 what looked to have been once a gorgeous dress, 
 holding an apple in his hand. The housekeeper 
 said that his lordship had choked himself to death 
 with that apple ; and then she remarked, " He was 
 not very wise !" and soon she added, " He was an 
 idiot." These walls also were hung with gobelin 
 tapestry, representing the various tortures of the 
 Inquisition ! What a subject for art ! Crowds of 
 monks and nuns were present, the monks and famil- 
 iars administering the various tortures, and the 
 
13 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 nuns looking on ! These tapestries Yv^ere wronglit 
 by nuns. In this room stood a chair of state, a sort 
 of throne once belonging to Mary, Queen of Scots, 
 and so we sat down on it. It was superb once with 
 richly gilded leather and crimson cloth. Two bed- 
 steads, without furniture, stood on one side, and the 
 housekeeper said they were memorable for some- 
 thing, but she did not know what. No doubt some 
 royal personages had occupied them aforetime. On 
 the floor, against the wall, stood the portrait of a 
 young girl, a sister of Cromwell. We do not know 
 why Cromwell seems to prevail in the castle. Sir 
 Kichard Tufton resides mostly in Paris, and is sel- 
 dom here except for a few days at a time. Yf e then 
 passed through another bedchamber, furnished as if 
 it could be slept in, and with no legend to it ; and 
 after a short sojourn again in the dining-room, we 
 proceeded to the more ancient, or rather unmodern- 
 ized, parts of the castle ; — to the guard-room, kitch- 
 ens, apartments with no distinctive name, and to the 
 vast judgment-hall, where now, once a year, the 
 tenants dine. The fireplace is enormous, and along 
 the entire length w^as a row of chandeliers to light 
 the revellers. We crept up a naiTow, dark stairway 
 to the roof of one tower, and had a splendid view of 
 the whole country. Skipton is in quite a hollow — 
 in an amphitheatre of high hills. From the battle- 
 ments J stooped, and plucked a branch of a tall, 
 
 old yew-tree (a bit of which I enclose). It is eight 
 hundred years old. 
 
SKIPTON CASTLE. 13 
 
 P. S. — It is noon of Saturday the lltli. We have 
 just returned from Bolton Abbey, and are on the 
 wing for York. We passed through an inner court 
 of Skipton Castle, in the centre of which the great 
 ancient yew-tree stands. By the side of it is a very 
 old stone font. Over the pointed arched doors are 
 the escutcheons of the Cliffords and of the Earl of 
 Thanet, carved in stone. Green, damp moss covers 
 the stones of the pavement and the old, old walls. 
 One grander arched doorway opens from what was 
 once the chief entrance, now closed up. We peeped 
 down the dungeons, but did not descend into them. 
 The castle is lower than any other I have seen, only 
 three stories high ! 
 
 So we returned to our hotel, and found a glorious 
 fire, and an extraordinary bookcase of books ; for 
 these books are choice. There is Pickering's beau- 
 tiful edition of Spenser, a grand volume of all Scott's 
 poems, including our long-sought Bridal of Trier- 
 main ; many old standard English works, Sterne, 
 etc. ; American novels too, " The Wide, Wide World," 
 and " Queechy," ah me ! and every variety — science, 
 poetry, romance, essays. Good-bye. 
 
14 NOTES m ENGLAND. 
 
 Leeds, April lltb. 
 
 My deak : 
 
 We arrived at this unlovely town at three, 
 and we have lunched and walked out a few moments, 
 and we have seen a statue of Sir Robert Peel. 
 Everything is grimy in Leeds, and poor Sir Eobert 
 looks like a collier. We did not know which way to 
 turn, nothing looking inviting, and so I thought I 
 would write to you, sitting at a very big table, in a 
 very big ladies' saloon. It was a pleasant country 
 from Skipton to Leeds, through the valley of the 
 Aire, a narrow river, which serpentines about so 
 much that we crossed it five or six times. All 
 around are high hills, one of them a picturesque 
 crag, which I thought to be a castle, but found it 
 was only a group of rocks called the Druids' Altar. 
 No more time. 
 
 York. — The Black-Swan Hotel — 8 o'clock, evening. 
 Here we are, then, safe and comfortable in this old- 
 est of cities — rather, this exceeding old city — this 
 walled Eoman town, with its glorious Minster, and 
 on the eve of Easter Sunday. We have had " the 
 Queen's weather "'^" all the time, and the sun shone 
 cheerfully as we drove beneath the great arch under 
 the walls. But now I must go back to Bolton Ab- 
 bey. We stepped into our barouche at ten. J 
 
 * As Her Majesty usually has fine weather when she travels 
 or appears on any great clay, a lair day is called " the Queen's 
 weather." 
 
THE PBIORT. 15 
 
 begged to mount the box with the coachman, so I 
 wrapped him in papa's great gray shawl, and the 
 white horses started on our winding way. We 
 drove by Skipton Castle's strong walls, and I ob- 
 served the lower part of a tower, with its buttresses 
 at one angle ; but the upper portion has fallen. The 
 Yorkshire wolds looked bare and hard after the 
 lovely, soft forms of the southern countries ; but 
 they are mostly cultivated, and present delicious, 
 green tints of that golden, sunny shade which we 
 so often see in English lawns. 
 
 The orderly stone-walls help to give a hard ex- 
 pression to the country. I hoped there were no 
 such things in England. They look unsympathiziDg 
 and surly, and as if they bruised nature's fair face. 
 The roads were so up-and-down-wise, that the coach- 
 man was perpetually putting on and taking off the 
 drag. 
 
 At last we approached the Priory. First we saw 
 an old inn, apparently very old, and called " Devon- 
 shire Arms ;" but we did not stop there. It was but 
 six miles that we had come, and the horses could 
 perfectly well take us to the Abbey before resting. 
 Therefore we went on, and drew up at the " Hole-in- 
 the-wall." Through this Hole — a rough gateway — 
 we entered the enchanting valley of the Wharfe. It 
 is said to be the loveliest situation, as regards natu- 
 ral beauty, without help from art, which is to be 
 seen in England. It is indeed of wonderful beauty. 
 Soft, velvet, rolling lawns, round three parts of 
 
16 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 wliicli flows the Wharfe, quite a broad, clear river. 
 Its banks are high, and on the side opposite the 
 lawns rise into lofty hills, and down one of these a 
 silver waterfall made delicious music. As in all 
 these monastic retreats, we seemed, after entering 
 the gates, in a safe paradise, with the world shut 
 out, and the peace of heaven around us. No sound 
 but of silver waterfalls and songs of birds. How 
 Avell the old abbots and priors knew where to crys- 
 tallize their magnificent ideas of state, repose, and 
 worship into stone ! Thomas a Kempis might here 
 have Avritten his divine sentences, each one so like a 
 translucent droj^ of that singing, shining fall — in- 
 cluding also the infinite serenity of the lawns, and 
 the slumbering sunshine's dim gold. These lawns 
 went waving far away, till they were lost in a broad 
 gleam of the river, toward the west; and again be- 
 yond the river rose the hills, so as to shut all in se- 
 curely from earthly confusion. The ruins are at the 
 eastern extremity of the site. Of the Abbey, in 
 which the priors and monks lived, not an atom, not 
 a crumb remjllns standing, except one mighty chim- 
 ney, with its fireplace. All alone and apart it 
 stands, the hearth-stone even gone. 
 
 April 12th. — I did not bring my sketch-book ; and, 
 to be sure, if I had, there would not have been time 
 to accomplish anything with the pencil, but yet it 
 seemed impossible to leave the spot without some 
 record. I should like to have drawn each transept, 
 and the beautiful chancel, with its superb, arched 
 
BOLTON PRIORY. 17 
 
 window, yet not to be compared to tliat of Fiimess 
 Abbey. One or two lovely pinnacles were left in 
 this part, from which the ivy hung in wreaths, with 
 a marvellous grace. 
 
 We went to the edge of the banks of the Wharfe 
 to look at the whole effect of the church, and we 
 found the banks deHghtfully steep, and the river of 
 really good width — a freshi, clear, enchanting river. 
 It is a favorite place for anglers, for of course the 
 monks wished for nice fish for Fridays and Lent, 
 and selected their dwelling-place accordingly. We 
 saw some of the world's young men enter by the 
 " Hole-in-the-wall," with basket and line, and dis- 
 appear among the rich undulations of the lawn 
 toward the west, while we stood by the church. 
 After examining the ruined chancel and transepts, 
 we found a man to open for us the porch and nave. 
 The nave is still used for services. I saw the most 
 ancient of men, with another more modern-looking 
 person, digging in a small enclosure, and I asked 
 for a showman. The ancient, who was a bundle of 
 WTinkles, held together by a velvet jacket and small- 
 clothes, rested on his spade, and gazed at me out 
 of his queer little eyes, but spoke never a word. 
 He resembled one of the gothic gurgoyles w^hich 
 are carved on the cloisters and at the springing 
 of the arches of cathedrals. A very cheerful, 
 jolly verger came, with his key, from a house 
 quite near the ruin, and a great blemish to the 
 scene. We entered the nave, which is entirely 
 
18 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 peculiar in my experience ; for it lias columns 
 only on one side, heavy, vast columns, — and but 
 three, supporting almost round arches, so that to 
 me it looked like half a nave, or a church cut down 
 the middle and half gone. Five or six tall windows, 
 filled with brilliantly painted glass, were opposite 
 the columns. The roof was of unceiled, dark oak, 
 with carved, heraldic devices at the crossings of 
 tlie vaulted arches. Over the altar was an oil-paint- 
 ing of Christ bearing the cross, very poor ; and 
 upon the altar hung a heavy, crimson velvet cloth, 
 just like a pall. On one side of the altar was a 
 small chapel, under which bodies w^ere found buried 
 upright. Wordsworth probably referred to this 
 when he sung, 
 
 " Look down and see a grisly sight — 
 A vault, where the corpses are buried upright ; 
 There, face by face, and hand to hand, 
 The Claphams and Mauleverers stand. 
 And there, in his place, betwixt son and sire, 
 Stands John de Claiiham, that fierce Esquire, 
 A valiant man and a man of dread. 
 In the ruthless wars of the White and Red ; 
 Who dragged Earl Pembroke from Banbury church, 
 Aud smote off his head on the stones of the porch." 
 
 No other chapel is left entire. There is a part of 
 a piscina remaining in that one. After we had seen 
 everything else, the verger went mysteriously into a 
 private nook, and with tender care brought out two 
 pieces of ancient, painted glass. On one was a 
 lamb, and on the other a dragon. The colors were 
 
BOLTON PBIORY. 19 
 
 of wonderful richness, especially the greens, like the 
 soul of an emerald. There was one stain of ruby- 
 red, also very gorgeous, and a yellow, like sunshine. 
 I wish I could have taken at least the lamb ; but, 
 dear me ! I might as well have laid my head on the 
 block at once. It seems papa was in fear that I 
 would drop this lamb on the stone pavement, at 
 which catastrophe he looked to have the great nave 
 explode, and blow us all into fragments. But both 
 bits were safely restored to their hiding-places, and 
 then we were invited into a tiny vestry, and re- 
 quested to record our names. The man, with great 
 pride, exhibited to me, in a former volume of names, 
 that of the late queen Adelaide. I asked where 
 Victoria's was, but he said Her Majesty had never 
 been there. In the porch lay several finely sculp- 
 tured bits of stone, and one of them was beautified 
 with moss in a marvellous manner. 
 
 Certainly beauty seems to haunt these old abbeys, 
 and to place her magic finger, in especial love, 
 where decay encroaches. My earnest hope always 
 is that all may remain as now. This church and 
 property, for six miles, belongs to the Duke of 
 Devonshire, and it is a perpetual curacy. He skil- 
 fully restores a little at times to keep it extant, and 
 if he would only raze the house I mentioned as 
 being a blemish, and would kindly demolish the 
 modern part of his own hunting-lodge, I could ask 
 no more of him. The centre of this hunting-lodge 
 is the very grand old gateway of the Priory, which 
 
20 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 would look altogether magnificent if it stood alone, 
 as it ought. But the duke has built two wings of 
 apartments, of no particular order of architecture, 
 and of a most impertinent, brave newness. How 
 his grace could be so wanting in taste and sense of 
 fitness, I cannot imagine. If I had been a fairy, 
 with a wand, not one moment longer would those 
 intrusive, yellow wings have spread themselves out 
 on either side the stately gateway, as if to fly away 
 with it. It should again become the entrance to 
 the grounds ; and after that were accomplished, my 
 wand should annihilate every trace of the dwelling- 
 house. It was the greatest pity in the world, that 
 we had not time to go to the Strid, a narrow pas- 
 sage rent by the river Wharfe through a bed of 
 solid rock.- It was there that the boy Egremont 
 was drowned, of whom Wordsworth speaks in the 
 poem called " The White Doe of Kylstone." Also 
 he has written a poem, " The Force of Prayer ; or, 
 the Founding of Bolton Priory," in Avhich is the 
 story of this disaster. 
 
 " Young Romilly through Borden "Woods 
 Is ranging high and low ; 
 And holds a greyhound in a leash 
 To let slip upon buck or doe. 
 
 •' The pair have reached that fearful chasm, 
 How tempting to bestride ! 
 The lordly Wharfe is there pent in 
 With rocks on either side. 
 
 *' The Striding-place is called The Strd), 
 A name which it took of yore: 
 
BOLTON PHIORT. 21 
 
 A thousand years has it borne that name, 
 And shall a thousand more. 
 
 " And hither is young Eomilly come ; 
 And what may now forbid 
 That he, perhaps for the hundredth time, 
 Shall bound across The Strid ? 
 
 " He sprang in glee, for what cared he 
 That the river Avas strong, and the rocks were steep ? 
 — But the greyhound in the leash hung back, 
 And checked him in his leap. 
 
 " The boy is in the arms of Wharfe, 
 And strangled by a merciless force ; 
 For never more was young Romilly seen 
 Till he rose a lifeless corse." 
 
 And so his mother founded this Priory in memory 
 of her sorrow. The Strid was but a mile from the 
 Abbey, but our hour was spent, and we were obliged 
 to lose it, as well as a ruined fortress of the Cliffords, 
 near by. 
 
 Thus Ave left this paradise through the " Hole-in- 
 the-wall ;" and as our barouche had not come, we 
 walked on, and sent J to order it to be in readi- 
 ness at the inn upon our arrival there. 
 
 There was a thousand-year-old yew-tree in the 
 road, with enormous gnarled trunk ; and on one side 
 the head of a great lion has grown out — a very per- 
 fect head, viewed from one side. The mouth is 
 open, and some wag has put between its gaping 
 jaws a large, flat, oval paving-stone, to represent a 
 tongue. It would be better away, for doubtless the 
 old lien is roaring, and there is no occasion for a 
 
23 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 tongue lopping out, like that of a thirsty dog. It 
 looks as if it were cut by art, it is so expressive, and 
 a sort of yellow moss represents the mane. 
 
 The carriage met us before we arrived at the inn, 
 and just before a few diamond drops fell through 
 the sunshine. Our carriage was filled up from Skip- 
 ton to Castlefort. At Castlefort several persons 
 alighted, and at another station we took in a man 
 who told us a great deal. He pointed out to us the 
 beautiful ruins of Kirkstall Abbey, this side of Leeds, 
 very near the railway track. If it ever had seclu- 
 sion, it is open to the tumult, noise, and grimness of 
 the world now, just on the wayside. What an ob- 
 ject was Leeds ! Thousands of monumental chim- 
 neys belching the blackest, foulest smoke — the at- 
 mosphere laden with abominations — multitudes of 
 churches, endeavoring to shoot up their spires and 
 tower above defilement — endless rows of ugly houses 
 for the work-people — not a handsome house for any- 
 body — piles of manufactories, heaps of coal and 
 brick and rubbish of all kinds — and a hopeless look 
 of there being no end to it, and that nothing could 
 ever be clean any more. This was Leeds, as we 
 saw it, till we rushed into an enormous station, and 
 could see nothing else for the present. 
 
 Five minutes after four, we came on to York. 
 The country grew very much flatter as we approached 
 the city. Vast plains stretched out on every side, 
 so unvarying, that I began to read the " Illustrated 
 Times." Before this, however, I observed that the 
 
YORK.— THE CATUEDRAL. 23 
 
 birch -trees had put forth their pale, lovely, green 
 leaves, which rejoiced my heart. I read till I was 
 summoned to see the walls of York, and immedi- 
 ately the train was swallowed up in a station three 
 times as large as that at Leeds. We entered through 
 the Tudor arch. A cabman, with a face exactly like 
 dough just beginning to become bread, still quite 
 white, took us to the " Black Swan," which he 
 affirmed was one of the best York hotels. The 
 Black Swan arches its dusky neck over the door, 
 and the landlady, in trailing black-silk robes, enact- 
 ed the Black Swan in the hall, and consigned us to 
 a maid, who was to show us our rooms. We had 
 a nice large parlor, with a bow- window ; and two 
 chambers contiguous, and a good little dressing- 
 room with a fireplace. 
 
 April ISfh. — We ordered a sort of dinner-tea, and 
 then walked out on Saturday evening to look at 
 the Cathedral — outside, at least. It is quite near the 
 Black Swan. I was at first disappointed that it was 
 not in the midst of a vast close, like Salisbury Ca- 
 thedral, because it was nearly impossible to get a 
 complete view of it all at once. It is mighty in size, 
 and needs a respectful distance from which to view 
 it; and I had an idea that its spires pierced the 
 stars, and found that they seemed low in proportion 
 to the extent of the building. Here my growling 
 ends. It is sufficiently magnificent to satisfy any 
 reasonable mortal. York should not have crowded 
 round it so intrusively. On one side only is there 
 
24 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 any space, and therein stand tlie houses of the 
 Dean and of the resident Canon, one of them quite 
 palatial. I think it was the Dean who cleared away 
 this breathing-place, thanks be to his memory. It 
 is wonderful how much these stupendous works owe 
 to individuals. The exterior is all incrusted with 
 sculptures, gurgoyles, and statues. Yet there are 
 innumerable niches and stalls with no statues. Some 
 may have fallen, but some were never filled. I hope 
 a future Archbishop or Dean may fill them all, be- 
 cause it would make it so gorgeously rich. Fretted 
 pinnacles rise from every part, and borders of foliage 
 and arabesque mouldings, and very singular project- 
 ing figures — animals and human half-forms, rushing 
 out horizontally like waterspouts. An old man ac- 
 costed us before the south entrance, and asked us 
 if we had ever seen their fiddler. Thinkini? he must 
 mean some poor ancient, still alive, we told him we 
 had not time to see him now, it was so late in the 
 evening. " Oh, but you must look at him," he 
 urged, hobbling along before us ; and when we were 
 at the right spot, he turned and pointed to the 
 highest pinnacle over the marigold window. There, 
 to be sure, in remote solitude, stood the fiddler, 
 with his fiddle snug under his left ear, and the bow 
 in his right hand. I do not know how many feet he 
 really measures, but he looks about eighteen inches 
 high. " Many a person comes to York," said the 
 old man, " who never sees the fiddler." 
 
 So, then, We came home to dinner, and were served 
 
YORK MINSTER 25 
 
 bj a grave butler, instead of by a maid as at Skip- 
 ton ; having been received at the door, also, by a 
 youthful waiter with immaculate neck-tie, shining 
 hair, and spotless black body-coat. 
 
 The Black Swan haunts the hall and staircases, 
 and whenever I meet her she says some polite thing ; 
 but she is not lovely, and I think she makes even 
 the grave butler hop and run sometimes ; for she is 
 evidently a fierce swan, beneath her folding shawl 
 and long train. 
 
 We were requested, of course, to write our names 
 in a book ; and behold, we found the names of two 
 or three hundred Americans in it ; — the Nortons of 
 Cambridge, the Quincys and Wares and Water- 
 stons, Mr. Frank Peabody of Salem, and multitudes 
 of New York people, and others. Finally, we found 
 that it was a book for American names only, and no 
 English ones at all were admitted. 
 
 On Easter Sunday, then, we went to York Minster 
 at half-past ten. I had time hardly to cast a hurried 
 glance before a verger took possession of us, and 
 asked if we wished to attend the services. As this 
 was what we came all the way to York to do, we 
 said " Yes," and he took us into the choir, beneath 
 the superb stone screen, over which is the grand 
 organ. 
 
 But now we are off for Manchester, where I will 
 write you the rest of our experiences. 
 
 3 
 
26 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 ISIanchester, April LSth. Palatine Hotel. 
 
 We arrived in this great emporium of soot and 
 mire at a quarter to eight. It is after nine now, 
 
 and we have taken tea, and J has retired, 
 
 " twice homesick," as he said. I suppose he meant, 
 once after his anemones, and once after you and 
 baby. This is a giant hotel, so far as I could see in 
 the dusk, and there was a perfect bouquet of waiters, 
 in white cravats, blooming in the lobby and hall as 
 we entered. But I must return to the choir of York 
 Minster, where I left you this morning. 
 
 The old verger said I must go one way and papa 
 another, and he proceeded to put me into a nice, 
 cushioned seat, close by the choristers. But I told 
 him I had a very noisy cough, and preferred not to 
 sit where I might disturb the dignitaries and wor- 
 shippers; so he allowed me to go my own way, 
 which was far along toward the high altar, where I 
 sat down in full view of the whole assembly, and in 
 a much better position to hear the music. I did 
 not see what was done with papa for a great while. 
 It was fifteen minutes before the sermon began, and 
 so I had time to gaze about me. The choir is very 
 beautiful — the tabernacle-work and stalls of richly- 
 carved oak, but modern, because the ancient choir 
 was burnt in 1829. It is not to be compared noio to 
 the t.'dxn-iiacle-work of the choir of Chester Cathe- 
 dral. That came out of the love and souls of the 
 carvers, who made it an act of devotion. Still, ex- 
 
YORK MINSTER. 27 
 
 ceedinglj beautiful, however, looking like climbing 
 flcimes, as it always does. The organ, exactly op- 
 posite me, was one large cluster of aspiring pinna- 
 cles, of the same rich oak as the stalls, and of the 
 same design. There is no appearance of an organ- 
 ist, or of human agency about that instrument. I 
 did see a man hover for a moment in a gallery on 
 one side of it, but he was instantly swallowed up in 
 the blazing spires. It is much better so, than to 
 see any one laboring away to produce the sound of 
 soft recorders, or of jubilee or thunder, as the case 
 may be. Every finely-sculptured point of the thou- 
 sand ascending upward, seemed to quiver with 
 praise and thanksgiving. The cathedral itself burst 
 forth in anthems. 
 
 Not quite half-way between us and the organ 
 were, on one side, the pulpit where the Canon 
 preaches, and on the other, the archbishop's throne. 
 It is St. Peter's church, and on the crimson velvet 
 drapery of the pulpit the keys were embroidered 
 in gold. The pulpit and throne were of carved oak, 
 of the same tabernacle-work, as light and airy as 
 fire. A screen, of the same delicately-sculptured 
 oak, shut in the whole central aisle of the choir from 
 the side aisles, the pointed, narrow arches being 
 filled with the finest plate-glass, so that when the 
 heavy crimson-cloth curtain fell, like a portcullis, 
 from the upper groove of the entrance, a really 
 comprehensible space was enclosed, provided one 
 did not look upward ; for then the lofty vaulting, 
 
28 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 higher even than that of the nave, suggested ideas 
 of the incomprehensible infinite, dissipating the 
 sense of snugness forever. Directly behind the al- 
 tar, a stone screen completed the enclosure, and also 
 obstructed the view of the east window. But with 
 that I had nothing to do then. 
 
 At last the intoning of the usual service began, 
 and the young choristers mingled their clear, airy 
 voices. I do not know as I can give you any idea 
 of the effect of the echoes in those spaces. Every 
 tone was, as it were, the root or stem of a mighty 
 tree of multitudinous branches of sound, which, as 
 it issued from the lips, was taken up by the vast 
 arches and lofty vaultings, as the tree expands into 
 the heavens, and the echoes of the echoes were like 
 a thousand birds singing on the branches. In the 
 branches, musical winds mingled with the bird- 
 songs, making soft thunder of the leaves, rising, 
 falling, spreading, intervolving, receding, and again 
 returning in full, broad diapason. I had no book 
 with which to follow the clergyman and people, and 
 perhaps it was better so. The majestic minster 
 was " instant in prayer," and jubilant with praise. 
 Man did a little, but the cathedral effected far more. 
 The chanting of young boys is unlike any other 
 sound in the world. It is not at all like women's 
 voices, though sweet and delicate like their sweetest 
 and most delicate tones. It is that and something 
 more. I always wonder if it is not like angels' 
 voices. The anthems of joy for the resurrection 
 
YORK MIXSTER. 29 
 
 were most glorious. All at once one of tlie vergers 
 came from the choir, with a silver mace on his 
 shoulder, preceding a personage whom I supposed 
 to be the Archbishop, for, as it was Easter Sunday, 
 he must be there. This priest had a Roman pro- 
 file, — was tall, and dressed in white, with the black 
 mantle, or, I should say, in a dalmatica and stole. 
 Two others followed him in the same costume. 
 They came toward the altar, and passed me as they 
 went to the communion-table. 
 
 The verger saw I had no book, and gave me one ; 
 and a portion of the Holy Communion service was 
 read by the tall and reverend person, whom I took 
 for the Secundate of all England (the Archbishop of 
 Canterbury being the Primate). His voice was not 
 good ; but the echoes took the words, as always, 
 and glorified the intonations. Another, perhaps the 
 Dean, now repeated a prayer, and his accents were 
 nobler, and produced a grander reverberation. When 
 he had finished, another anthem burst forth, and 
 this was the most wonderful of all. It was a wail- 
 ing of plaintive sorrow, as if expressing the Passion 
 of Christ; and when he *' gave up the ghost," the 
 cathedral was filled with thunder, — rolling from the 
 organ as from a cloud, and then caught up and 
 repeated, folding and unfolding afar off — scarcely 
 dying away before another peal from the organ 
 again rolled forth. So with soft, pathetic plainings, 
 and deep, thunderous moans, his passion, cruci- 
 fixion, and death were sung ; but when he rose ! the 
 
80 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 whole power of joy and triumpli was expressed by 
 voice and instrument. The magnificent, painted 
 windows blazed anew with their rainbow colors, 
 and it was all light, splendor, hope, and joy. This 
 should have closed the services, for there was noth- 
 ing more appropriately to be done. But now the 
 verger attended the Archbishop to the pulpit, and 
 he began to preach ! And since he presumed to 
 speak, one would think that on such a day, in such 
 a cathedral, exalted by such music, he might have 
 spoken inspired words. But, alas ! it was the emp- 
 tiest, flattest, stupidest sermon that ever was pro- 
 nounced, though the theme, of course, was the 
 Besurrection. This heavy exordium lasted about 
 twenty minutes. Any one of the glorious windows, 
 full of saints and prophets in crimson and gold and 
 emerald, preached a more edifying sermon, and I 
 endeavored to get what good I could from those 
 I could see ; but the discourse came to an end, and 
 we came forth into the nave, and met papa, who 
 had been put into one of the prebend's stalls. 
 
 We could not be shown the cathedral on Sunday, 
 and therefore we came home. I ought to say that 
 the Archbishop of York, I find, was not there, and 
 that it was a Canon who addi'essed the people, and 
 had the Boman profile. 
 
LINCOLN CATHEDRAL. 31 
 
 11. 
 
 LINCOLN CATHEDEAL. 
 
 May 22d. 
 
 Here we are, safely arrived in this old cathe- 
 dral city, after about seven hours' rush from your 
 presence at the Southport station. Fancy how 
 beautiful it was the moment we left the frowsy sand- 
 hills of our seaside, and found ourselves in the ver- 
 dant country, in this first blooiti of its spring. The 
 wonderful variety of the tints of green is always 
 most apparent when the leaves first unfold. To say 
 that the fields and trees w^ere green, gives no idea of 
 the endless shades of color, from the yellowish, cal- 
 low tint, which seems to imprison the sunbeams, 
 deepening through emerald, up to the solemn cy- 
 press hue of the spruces and pines, with all the pos- 
 sible cadences from first to last. The late rains 
 have freshened the fields and meadows and hillsides 
 into utmost perfection. The dry, old sand vanished 
 away entirely ; and I was just thinking that there 
 was no color so grateful and lovely as green, when 
 a flush of purple suddenly spread over the face of the 
 land from tens of thousands of wild hyacinths, on 
 both sides the railway-track, ringing out perfume 
 with all their bells. 
 
 What delicious fraojrance must have filled the air 
 around them ! but we poor prisoners of steam and 
 
32 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 cinders, conlcl have no benefit of hyacintliine odors. 
 Yery soon the golden gorse began to glow over the 
 banks, and a red flower, whose name I do not know, 
 while daisies faithfully starred the earth on every 
 side, with our dear old dandelion and wild pink, to 
 remind me of the Wayside and America. Presently 
 we coursed along by a canal, the Leeds and Liver- 
 pool Canal, pretty and picturesque now, because 
 winding between trees and flowers, and once in a 
 while passing beneath a perfect little stone bridge, 
 of one symmetrical arch, so forever beautiful, that 
 every time I see one of the hundreds that span the 
 narrow rivers and canals of England, I am in a new 
 delight. 
 
 We were delayed in a very tiresome way just be- 
 fore entering Manchester, and feared we should lose 
 the train for Lincoln. The railroad directors an- 
 nounced that they would never promise to arrive 
 at appointed times, nor to be responsible for any 
 accident or loss. 
 
 We at last dawdled along to the station, and when 
 the carriages fairly stopped, we rushed into a fly 
 and dashed off to the London depot. 
 
 Lincoln — May 23d. — In all the great cities of 
 England, Saturday evening is a kind of festival, and 
 so it is here. The shops are brilliantly lighted, and 
 the street is thronged with the poorer classes, going 
 to buy their next week's groceries and provisions, 
 and all talking together. Each one has a basket, 
 
imCOLN CATUEDRAL. 83 
 
 and not only tlie sidewalks, but the middle of tlie 
 street, are crowded with human beings. There is a 
 particular Saturday evening market in Lincoln, be- 
 sides that the shops keep open late. Out of the 
 line of my vision, but within hearing, as I sat, a 
 violin and fife struck up a prelude, and then a fine, 
 manly voice sang several songs very well. 
 
 Just now a band of music came up, and we ran to 
 the window, thinking we might see a military com- 
 pany ; but it was only the brass-instrument-pla}- ers, 
 and they stopped just opposite us, and performed 
 two pieces of music, one of them an andante of 
 Beethoven. The crowd grew dense around them 
 instantly, and I think it was for the entertainment 
 of the crowd that they were playing. It was most 
 refreshing and delicious to me, always so starved 
 for music, and to hear a strain of Beethoven was a 
 boon I did not look for. 
 
 Soon after the band went away, a street-preacher 
 or a madman began to hold forth, and then the 
 musicians returned with a triumphal march, and 
 passed off toward the cathedral. It is of the ca- 
 thedral I must now tell you. It rained this morn- 
 ing, and there was a dreary east wind, and so we 
 ordered a fly to take us up the steep hill, to visit 
 the interior of the magnificent fane. 
 
 The coachman drove us up a winding way instead 
 of the perpendicular road. Unlike all the other 
 cathedrals we have visited, every gate was locked, 
 so that we could not even go into the nave without 
 
 2* 
 
34 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 an attendant. A girl came at last and unfastened a 
 door, and we followed her into the southern aisle of 
 the west front. 
 
 The width of the west front is 174 feet, covered 
 with arched and pointed doorways, arcades, cano- 
 pies, niches, mullioned windows, architrave mould- 
 ings, and foliage. On each side of the two smaller 
 entrance doors, in niches, are sculptures of Saxon 
 times. One represents the Angel expelling Adam 
 and Eve from Paradise — another, the spirits of the 
 just going up to heaven, and the unjust led by Cer- 
 berus to the Styx, with friars and nuns and mon- 
 sters. Something like Noah's Ark is in one ; and in 
 another, Daniel in the lions' den. 
 
 We entered the right-hand smaller door. Alas ! 
 what can poor mortals say or do, when they enter 
 one of these sublime cathedrals ? To be silent seems 
 the only appropriate part, yet I must try to give you 
 an idea, as you are not here to see and be silent 
 with me. Twelve clustered columns bear up the 
 roof of stone, six on each side — no — sixteen; eight 
 on each side — for I should count the two which sup- 
 port the middle Eood-tower. They are unfortunately 
 covered with a kind of plaster and yellow wash, but 
 are really made of Purbeck marble, like those col- 
 umns and pediments of the beautiful church of the 
 Temple in London. It is composed of shells, and 
 the tint is mixed ; but the effect is a purplish, pink- 
 ish, rich brown, capable of the highest polish. We 
 did not think of the detail, however, at first, or how 
 
LINCOLN GATHEDItAL. 35 
 
 gorgeous it once was in color. Those vast spaces 
 satisfy, with the gothic forms — the trefoil-headed 
 arches on the walls of the side-aisles, arches beyond 
 and above arches, some pointed like a flame, others 
 rounded for variety — ^just as in nature no two leaves 
 or flowers are precisely alike. Gothic sculpture and 
 architecture, I think, represent and reproduce Na- 
 ture, and Grecian architecture seems to be Art. One 
 is Love, Passion, and Aspiration, and the other In- 
 tellect, Thought, and also Beauty — for by both forms 
 we arrive at Beauty. The Gothic is aifectional and 
 struggling, and the Grecian is philosophic and re- 
 poseful. But I must hasten after my verger. He 
 did not allow us to dream in the nave. He first 
 discoursed about the tai)ernacle-work in the choir. 
 He said each stall was different from all the others 
 in its canopy, and there are sixty-two ! They are of 
 dark oak, and every imaginable leaf and flower are 
 interwoven in the tracery. The seats of the vicars 
 are more superb still, having kings carved on them, 
 and angels, with dulcimers, harps, and viols. The 
 bishop's throne is a very simple matter, less stately 
 than any ecclesiastical throne I have seen. The 
 chancel is beautiful, with an extraordinary double- 
 arched gallery, involved in a bewildering harmony, 
 like different tones in music mingled together. I 
 wish I could have had time to sketch it, as it is con- 
 sidered the greatest beauty of the cathedral. In 
 the spandrels of the arches are thirty statues, many 
 of them with musical instruments — the harp, rebeck, 
 
3G NOTES m ENGLAND. 
 
 cithern, tabor, pipe, and tnimpet ; and tlie verger 
 said they were called the choir of angels. On one 
 side of the altar is the tomb of the monk Eemegius, 
 who founded the minster. He was a Norman, and 
 a man remarkable for piety, charity, and intellect. 
 It was consecrated " to the Virgin of Virgins," in 
 the twelfth century, time of William Rufus, who, you 
 know, succeeded William the Conqueror. A Druid- 
 ical temple stood on the site in the early British era, 
 and afterward a Roman temple, when the Romans 
 occupied the hill as a military station. It was called 
 the Roman Lindum. Near Remegius is also the 
 cenotaph of Bloet, who stands blowing a trumpet 
 on one of the pinnacles of the west front, and there 
 are three or four fine figures of soldiers guarding 
 the sepulchre. The verger said that Flaxman very 
 much liked these watching figures. Opposite are 
 the tombs of Katharine de Swinford, wife of John 
 of Gaunt, and sister of the poet Chaucer, and at her 
 feet is the sarcophagus of her daughter Joan, Count- 
 ess of Westmoreland. In the aisle, on the southern 
 side, is an illuminated window, containing the names 
 of all the Chancellors fi^om 1092 to 1728 ; and be- 
 neath is a little chapel, called St. Katharine's, 
 founded by Bishop Longland, and containing his 
 buried heart. 
 
 The cathedral is rich in little chapels, which give 
 great variety to the exterior of the edifice. Henry 
 of Huntingdon, the historian, is interred near 
 Katharine de Swinford. Before Bishop Heming's 
 
LINCOLN CATIIEBllAL. 37 
 
 chapel, opposite tlie presbytery, is a sculptured 
 figure of Death, lyiug in a shroud, which the Bishop 
 put there to remind him of mortality, when he 
 went to his private devotions. It is said also to 
 commemorate his fast ; for he tried to fast forty 
 days and nights, and died in the effort. Inside is 
 his tomb, and his figure, sculptured in his pontifical 
 robes. He was the founder of Lincoln College, Ox- 
 ford. The great East window is of modern-painted 
 glass, with altogether too much blue in it, I think. 
 It represents the prophesied advent, and the life of 
 Christ. The Lady-chapel is beneath it, and here 
 we saw a rich stone, elaborately-carved shrine, upon 
 which once stood '* the Virgin of Virgins," holding 
 the infant Saviour ; and just before it, a deep place 
 is worn in the stone pavement, by the motion of the 
 foot in making obeisance for ages. The statue is 
 gone, the worship of " Our Lady" has almost passed 
 away from the land ; but the deep print of homage 
 is left indelible. 
 
 In this sacred place was great spoil for Henry the 
 Eighth. Tens of thousands of ounces of gold and 
 silver were taken from this spot, and diamonds and 
 other precious stones, which had been brought as 
 offerings to the Virgin. And first Henry, and then 
 Cromwell, struck off the heads of the statues, after 
 quite demolishing Mary ; and one poor knight is 
 cut exactly in halves, besides being decapitated. 
 Bitterly did the verger speak of the Lord Protector. 
 He believed the soldiers were paid for every statue 
 
38 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 they destroyed, until tbis was found too costly a 
 bargaiu, and so ruin ceased to get a premium. 
 Cromwell had a particular fancy for stabling his 
 horses in the naves of cathedrals ; and here they 
 stamped on the splendid brass tablets which paved 
 the whole broad floor ; and then he took possession 
 of all the brasses. So that the present pavement is 
 of plain stone, and modern. I cannot forgive Crom- 
 Avell for such stupid destruction. But he thought 
 he was obeying the command, *' Thou shalt have no 
 graven images," and in this spirit, it was perhaps 
 proper to demolish the Virgin ; not, however, the 
 lords, and knights, and gentlemen^ who slept quietly 
 in stone on their monuments, and whom no one 
 dreamed of worshipping. 
 
 In Our Lady's Chapel are baried, singularly 
 enough, the viscera of Queen Eleanor, the beloved 
 wife of Edward I., and Edward built the chapel. 
 On the tomb of one Bishop Burghersh are carved 
 very "graceful, but now headless, male and female 
 figures, in alto-relievo. The attitudes and drapery 
 are studies, and I wish I could have copied even 
 one. Its date is 1340. There were sometimes 
 shrines of pure gold for canonized saints, and St. 
 Hugh's was one of these. It went into King Henrj^'s 
 coifers, and only his stone shrine remains, which is 
 that upon which once stood the Virgin, In passing 
 along the aisles, the verger called our attention to 
 the lovely carvings in unexpected places, — carvings 
 in the solid stoue walls. Sometimes it would be of 
 
LINCOLN CATHEDRAL. 39 
 
 the liawthorn, with a blossom in the centre of four 
 leaves ; sometimes it was the oak and acorn. Some 
 monk of a sculptor, while walking along in medi- 
 tative mood, would seem to have pulled out his 
 chisel, and commenced and finished cutting an in- 
 terwoven wreath of plant and bloom, in such entire 
 relief, that the whole group merely touches in pin- 
 points the wall of which it was just now a solid 
 portion, without life or grace. And these are formed 
 into arches, and often a cluster of perfect forms sud- 
 denly blossoms at the springing of an arch, where 
 you are looking for no such delight ; for there really 
 seems only individual will in each of the productions. 
 I can imagine these often idle and cultivated and 
 fanciful priests, dreaming with the chisel wherever 
 in the vast spaces they chose to use it, just to fill 
 the time and keep out of mischief. What lovely and 
 immortal play ! 
 
 In Mary Magdalene's Chapel is the very ancient 
 font, so large that the infant could have been im- 
 mersed in it. Outside are griffins and birds — and 
 the outer basin is square ; but a round scoop is 
 made inside, and it stands on four columns. It was 
 in the original church of St. Bemegius, and once 
 stood in the south aisle of the nave. 
 
 "We now left the chancel, and went into the clois- 
 ters. They are in good preservation ; and whose 
 tomb do you think we saw on the pavement ? It 
 was that of Elizabeth Penrose — your good friend, 
 Mrs. Markham. J was astonished, not only to 
 
40 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 stand on her grave, but to find that Mrs. Markham's 
 real name was Elizabeth Penrose. 
 
 The symmetry of the quadrangle is spoiled by 
 two things. One is an innovation of Sir Christopher 
 Wren, who built the cathedral library on one side, 
 and encroached on the lawn. How he could have 
 done it, or how he could have been allowed to do it, 
 I cannot conjecture. So perfect and grand is the 
 general harmony that a dissonance positively tor- 
 tures one. But underneath this library is one of the 
 finest views of the exterior of the whole structure. 
 From that point it is not possible to see any end or 
 beginning to the enormous fabric, and it does in- 
 deed look like a city, with its pinnacles and towers, 
 and chapels and buttresses, rising ^on every side. 
 The other blemish is the ugliest possible little 
 shanty of brick and stone in one corner of the 
 lawn. The verger unlocked it, and we entered. 
 There, to be sure, was the famous Roman pavement, 
 supposed to be the floor of a bath. It is exceed- 
 ingly curious and interesting, but not beautiful. It 
 is made of innumerable little cylinders of variously 
 colored clay, laid in patterns ; and from the gallery 
 over which we leaned to look at it, it had the ap- 
 pearance of the painting upon oil-cloth carpets. 
 There was a dressing-room as well as a bathing- 
 room. The Eomans were established on the hill, 
 which commands a fine view of the city and Lin- 
 colnshire. So, then, without any manner of doubt, 
 
LINCOLN CATHEDRAL. 41 
 
 we examined an old Roman constniction of at least 
 two tliousand years ago. 
 
 I could haye stood all day, and many days, gazing 
 from that sheltered quadrangle upon the glorious 
 cathedral. It is so delightfully lawless and un- 
 reckonable in its forms. It is something like a sud- 
 den upleaping of numberless fountains, each reaching 
 a different height, full of flowers, saints, and all 
 kind of cunning devices, crystallized in mid-air by 
 the wand of a magician, dripping solid splendor on 
 every side. And I was only looking at the northern 
 part, which by no means resembled the others. 
 
 From the cloisters we went into the chapter-house. 
 Like the restored chapter-house of Salisbury, it is 
 supported by one column of clustered shafts, throw- 
 ing out the roof like so many branches of a tree ; 
 but unlike that gorgeous restoration, there are no 
 rainbow colors now. This cathedral was all jewelled 
 with color in its first era, but either Henry or Crom- 
 well daubed everything over with white or yellow 
 wash. Where the wash is rubbed, it is easy to dis- 
 cover faint blue and red tints still. Once these 
 temples must have seemed cleared " forests primeval," 
 gemmed and laced with flowers. The verger said 
 visitors sometimes expressed that they were glad the 
 colors were gone. Those persons must be very cool 
 philosophers, risen into the calm of thought. But 
 while love exists I pray to have ruby red, heaven's 
 blue, and golden yellow, with every intermediate 
 
43 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 hue. I am a devoted lover of pure form, but tliese 
 cathedrals have developed in me another taste, also 
 legitimate ; for flowers and rainbows are also parts 
 of creation, and it is designed that we should enjoy 
 them before we are angels. Yet the angels — does 
 not St. John say that the walls of the new Jerusalem 
 which ''descended out of the heaven of God" were 
 garnished with all manner of precious stones — 
 jasper, sapphke, chalcedony, emerald, sardonyx, 
 sardius, chrj-solite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, jacinth, 
 and amethyst, wdiile the gates were of pearl. The 
 angels, then, are not above color, though the gray- 
 souled visitors to churches are. 
 
 The roof of the chapter-house is of stone, and 
 ever}^ window was once filled with illuminated glass, 
 but that is gone and plain is substituted. Lately 
 this decagonal building has been strengthened, be- 
 cause the excessive weight of the roof was pushing 
 out the sides. It is all in good repair. 
 
 I have forgotten to say that we saw a veritable 
 Homan altar, with an inscription, inside the cathedral, 
 as well as the shrine of little St. Hugh, a child said 
 to have been crucified by the Jews in derision of 
 tlie infant Christ, and afterward buried here as a 
 aiartyr. A stone cofiin, with a child's bones, was 
 ^eally foimd, as a verification of the legend. 
 
 But I must close this long story now, and com- 
 nence again for another mail. We shall go to the 
 original old Boston to-morrow. 
 
LIXCOLN CATnEDRAL. 43 
 
 May 24tli. — I have not yet left the cathedrah I told 
 you last of the Chapter-house. After seeing that, tlie 
 verger brought us into the great transept. Tliis 
 always points north and south, and the nave, choir, 
 chancel (or presbytery), and Lady-chapel face east 
 and west. Above the centre of the great transept rises 
 the Kood tower (rood means cross), containing the 
 famous Tom of Lincoln, the mighty bell. This 
 tower is three hundred feet high, the highest without 
 a spire in the kingdom, and its enormous weight is 
 supported by four beautiful and very lofty arches. 
 They have a slender elegance, which seems quite in- 
 adequate to so much effective effort. Yet there rises 
 and rests the noble tower safe and serene. 
 
 Beneath the arch that opens upon the choir, (ex- 
 actly" opposite the west-entrance door,) is the organ, 
 over the usual stone screen. This screen is un- 
 speakably rich in sculpture, in high and low relief. 
 I am sure tliese carvings must have been acts of de- 
 votion, but yet this w^orkmanship is supposed to be 
 that of professed artists, hired for the purpose. 
 High up in the curve of the southern end of the 
 transept is a rose-window. It is exceedingly large, 
 and instead of having sashes in a regular form, such 
 as star-shaped, or tangents, or right-angles, or any 
 other angles, some lover of what Euskin calls " the 
 immortal curve" designed the sashes in an ara- 
 besque or acanthus pattern, which I would have 
 given the verger or my left hand to have had a 
 
44 2WTES m E^s^GLAND. 
 
 cliance to sketch. Upon all the glass inserted in 
 this ^vildemess of enchanting, waving, curling lines, 
 contained within a perfect circle, are colors as fresh 
 and gorgeous as if just born of prisms ; and at first 
 glance I thought they were flowers — of paradise, 
 certainly — but flowers. Then they seemed to be 
 saints — and saints may be called the flowers of holi- 
 ness, perhaps ; but the window was too high for me 
 to decide, and the verger did not know. Each tint 
 was a gem of purest ray, ruby, emerald, and all the 
 royal fraternity. When dazzled with the splendor, 
 one can follow the " immortal curves" of tlie sashes, 
 and when weary of imagining whither, in infinity, 
 the curves lead, there remains the circle enclosing 
 all, the satisfying emblem of Eternity. 
 
 There is a tradition about this wonderful, celestial 
 bouquet of either flowers or saints. It is that the 
 master-artist undertook to produce the northern 
 rose-window, while the apprentice was appointed to 
 execute the southern one. Curtains hung before 
 each, till both were finished. And when the south- 
 ern rose was unveiled to the eyes of the master, in 
 despair at its eminent superiority to his own, he 
 threw himself upon the pavement beneath and died. 
 A stain of blood is shown upon the stones. This is 
 the same kind of story as that of the peerless column 
 in Roslyn Chapel. But the master's window is also 
 beautiful. It represents the Church on earth and 
 the Church in heaven, and is said to be the most 
 perfect work of the thirteenth century. 
 
LINCOLN CATHEDRAL. 45 
 
 Almost all the old stainecl-glass of the cathedral 
 was ignorantly destroyed at the Reformation, and 
 during the civil wars, probably because of the 
 saints pictured on them. But the verger said that 
 it was now a decree of the Chapter, that no tribu- 
 tary monument should be henceforth erected to the 
 dead, excepting emblematic, painted-glass windows. 
 Is not this good ? Four new ones are already put 
 in, and slowly, I suppose, all will be accomplished. 
 These four are in the southern aisle of the nave. 
 
 While we were in the Lady-chapel, Great Tom 
 tolled twelve o'clock, with a grand, majestic, thun- 
 derous sound, solemn and slow too, and most tune- 
 ful as well. It is in the key A, and is a fit voice for 
 the magnificent minster, and seems to thrill through 
 every atom of its frame. Old Tom was considered 
 finer in tone and more powerful even than this, and 
 was dearly loved by Lincoln. But one morning the 
 city was startled by a strange dissonance in its be- 
 loved bell. Upon examination, it was found to have 
 a fissure on its rim. No patching would serve, so it 
 was broken up, and six lady-bells were added to it, 
 and new Tom was made of all, melted together. 
 
 The south end of the great transept has two 
 aisles, and opening from the western aisle, which 
 would be parallel to the west facade, is what is 
 called a Galilee, a superb porch of very large size. 
 It is not used now for its original purpose ; but it 
 was the place where penitents on trial stood, before 
 being allowed to commune again with the church- 
 
46 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 members — a kind of sinners' ante-room, wliicli it 
 was humiliating to pass tlirougb. Women were 
 allowed there only to see the monks who were their 
 relatives ; and in some cathedrals females were not 
 permitted to attend divine service except in the Gal- 
 ilee. This has been repaired lately, and is as rich 
 as possible in pinnacles, arches, and flowers, outside. 
 At the north end of the central transept, beneath 
 the master's rose-window, is an arched door, which 
 is the private entrance of the Dean. Two narrow, 
 tall lights are over it, filled with old, stained glass. 
 The Lord Bishop's entrance is through the southeast 
 porch, on one side of the chancel. It is gorgeous 
 in decoration. Over the door, Christ sits as judge, 
 with his angels. Lovely garlands of flowers and 
 leaves, and little statues, some still intact, others 
 headless, cover the vaulted roof. The Yirgin and 
 Infant once stood on the middle pier, but that group 
 is of course destroyed, and four bishops stand be- 
 headed, without trial, at the entrance. 
 
 You perceive we have said farewell to the verger, 
 and are looking at the exterior again now. The 
 whole eastern side is of exquisite beauty, with its 
 gables and double buttresses, filled with slender pil- 
 lars and pointed arches and brackets, upon which 
 statues stand and stood, with finely-wrought cano- 
 pies overhead — the stone changed into airy lace. 
 On the tips of the buttresses are pinnacles, octagons 
 with spires, so you can imagine how it must flame. 
 The stone is heavy nowhere. It is made light as 
 
LINCOLN CATUEDRAL. 47 
 
 fire and air with cunning handiwork. I am afraid I 
 have said " light as fire" once before, in describing 
 York Minster, but I can think of no other simile 
 that suits either case so well. 
 
 When we left this wonder of art, we walked about 
 the high plain upon which it is erected, to see the 
 castle and Eoman arch and wall. The gateway of 
 the castle, the keep, and part of the walls, are all 
 that remain. The Conqueror built it. It was one 
 of the four great castles he built when he first took 
 possession. It must have been grand. The lower 
 part of the huge keep stands crowned with ivy, with 
 beautiful shrubbery and trees springing up round 
 the base, and up the steep mound upon which it 
 rests. 
 
 The castle entrance has a ruined look, for it was 
 too well battered in Cromwell's wars, by the Earl of 
 Manchester. John of Gaunt, " time-honored Lan- 
 caster," made it his winter residence ; and the w^alls 
 enclose nearly seven acres. 
 
 When William the Conqueror commenced this 
 fortress, he also began the cathedral, and the cathe- 
 dral alone seems to have been enclosed in walls ; for 
 several massive stone gates still stand, and one of 
 them is exactly opposite the west front. 
 
 The Roman arch of which I just now spoke is 
 considered the best relic "of Eoman work in England. 
 It has already survived two thousand years or more, 
 and looks as if it might last indefinitely. It is 
 peculiar in having no key-stone. 
 
48 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 There was once a great parallelogram of wallj of 
 wliicli this was one of the gates, but all the other 
 gates are demolished, and the only bit of original 
 wall left standing is in the middle of a garden, care- 
 fully palisaded round for safekeeping. This rem- 
 nant is in a line with the foregoing archway that I 
 have slightly sketched. Violence, and not time, has 
 destroyed these stern and earnest fabrics. Roman 
 streets, hard now as iron, have been discovered by 
 digging down into the soil about Lincoln. I really 
 believe that it is what there is Roman, stereotyped 
 into the English, which makes them also build so 
 strongly. We walked all round the castle, after 
 faithfully examining the famous archway, and then 
 
 J was hungry, and went into the funniest little 
 
 old shop that ever was seen, kept by an ancient man, 
 and bought some gingerbread, an acre of it, I should 
 think, " and munched and munched," as Macbeth's 
 witches say. I have no doubt that old shop was 
 built of the wrecks of the Roman walls, and I am 
 not sure that the old man was not himself an eternal 
 old Roman. 
 
 The town of Lincoln lies in a great plain at the 
 foot of the hill ; but it was so misty that day that 
 we could not see it well, and the wind was bitterly 
 cold, so that I was obliged to come home. 
 
 We descended Steep-street into Guildhall, and 
 came through Stone Bow, another solid arch at the 
 head of High-street, and close by our hotel, the 
 Saracen's Head. This was, probably, a work of the 
 
LINCOLN CATUEDRAL. 49 
 
 Conqueror, and it may be Roman, for tlie Romans 
 extended their city down into the plain. 
 
 This morning there was a pouring rain, but it 
 cleared at noon, and at five we took our drive of two 
 hours. We first mounted the storied hill, and slowly 
 went round the cathedral, and round Colonel Sib- 
 thorpe's Bede-houses — charitable institutions for 
 women — and along a road, from which we had a fine 
 view of the city, and the country, to a far distance. 
 Then we returned, and drove to the cemetery, and 
 over the common, from which the hill made a stately 
 picture, crowned with cathedral and castle. We also 
 passed by John of Gaunt' s stables, a very interesting 
 ruin, with fine carved work. 
 
 Near this is the site of his summer palace. Then 
 we drove to the race-course. The wind was w^est, 
 and the green enchanting, and we enjoyed ourselves 
 very much. Coming home, we passed a choice gem 
 called now St. Mary's Conduit. It was once a 
 shrine, and it is covered with delicate sculpture and 
 canopies. It was so wonderfully beautiful that I 
 wish I could have carefully drawn it. It was erected 
 in the time of Edward I. by Ranulphus de Kyme. 
 I will just give you an idea of its form, and end off 
 Lincoln. 
 
 3 
 
III. 
 
 OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPH'S. 
 
 Boston, Lincolnshire, May 26th, 1857. 
 Does not it look delightfully to see the name of 
 that beloved city for my date ? But this original 
 old town is not in the least like our " Athens." It 
 is perfectly flat, and boasts of but one single thing, 
 but this is very handsome. It is the ancient church 
 of St. Botolph. Botolph's town was the name now 
 contracted into Boston. By pronouncing it very 
 quickly, you can see how it might be, especially if 
 you will recall the style in which the English guards 
 announce names to us railroad travellers. Their 
 idea seems to be to utter the word at high-pressure 
 speed, in imitation of steam-rate of progress. But 
 I must not arrive in Boston as if I were a pigeon. I 
 must tell you how we came. One of the waiters at 
 the Saracen's Head told us on Monday morniug that 
 there was a steamboat which went to Boston from 
 Lincoln at ten o'clock, along the river Witham, and 
 that it was a nice boat, and the scenery was very 
 beautiful on the banks of the river. It was a fine 
 morning, and w^e thought it would be a great relief 
 from rail carriages to glide down a lovely river in 
 the sunshine, even though it should take five hours, 
 instead of one hour by rail. Before ten, we drove 
 to the river-banks, and there were multitudes of 
 boats moored, each one, as we passed, looking 
 
OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPH'S. 51 
 
 too bad to enter. But at last tlie carriage stopped 
 at a rather miserable craft, though with a better 
 quarter-deck than the others possessed. It was a 
 small steamer, and not nearly so large nor so good 
 as the Mersey boats, in which we crossed to Liver- 
 pool from Rock Ferry. The sunshine, however, and 
 the prospect of the enchanting scenes through which 
 we were to pass, kept up our spirits and hopes. The 
 w^aiter who tempted us to this excursion looked like 
 
 Mr. F , and so I gave him credit for taste and 
 
 appreciation, and confided in him blindly and madly. 
 We were about a year (spiritually) in getting off. 
 There was but one other passenger besides ourselves 
 on the first-class deck. It was a woman, but not a 
 lady — a round, solid old body, of the middle order. 
 Papa explored for a cabin in case it should rain, and 
 reported that there was one, but he could not paint 
 it in glowing colors, though he wished to be en- 
 couraging. Finally we commenced our voyage ; but 
 were immediately brought up by a lock, and lochs 
 kept recurring all along, the river being turned into 
 a canal, for the sake of toll, I presume, or to try the 
 patience of passengers. Each lock it took centuries 
 to unlock, and the slowness of the descent of the 
 water can be compared only to the motion of the 
 fixed stars, at which we gaze, and perceive no mo- 
 tion. Meanwhile, no "plains of Shinar," no "gar- 
 dens of the Lord," no Arcadys, nor lordly parks, 
 nor cloud-capped Mount Idas with sad, wandering 
 (Enones and gay deceiving Parises, met our waiting 
 
52 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 eyes. The fens, the fens of Lincolnshire, — the fiats, 
 the flats, the flats, spread drearily, east, west, north, 
 and south. The wind also blew a strong gale ahead, 
 and finally, very soon after starting indeed, it began 
 to rain. I immediately was obliged to go down into 
 the Plutonic regions. I found there a woman, whose 
 house seemed the boat, sewing busily, in the nar- 
 rowest of cabins. If we had taken the rail, we 
 should have arrived in Boston by that time, so I 
 had plenty of food for long-suffering and patience. 
 I had a chance to be good under difficulties. I 
 talked to the woman, and asked her for a book, but 
 she had none. I sat still awhile, and then tried to 
 see our way from a wee window in the stern, netted 
 over with iron. Still one dreary flat, on both sides, 
 and before, stretched without end. 
 
 I ought to tell 3^ou that though around and before 
 us was nothing but fens, yet behind us, for four 
 hours, rose up Lincoln Cathedral, taking every form 
 as we wound along, sometimes looking like a mighty 
 castle, narrow and lofty. When an hour distant, it 
 ^^ as exceedingly grand and beautiful as a cathedral, 
 much the finest view we had had of it. Very well 
 did the Caesars of Rome know where to take a stand, 
 and the Conqueror wisely followed their steps. 
 
 We passed the towns of Washingborough and 
 Bardney. And we had one advantage by being in 
 a quiet boat instead of in a noisy carriage, for we 
 could hear the skylarks ! These delicious little rap- 
 tures condescended to rise from the fens, as well as 
 
OLD BOSTON AKD ST. BOTOLPIFS. 53 
 
 from lovelier fields and meadows, and they were in- 
 deed a solace. 
 
 We were excessively delayed by taking up passen- 
 gers from the banks, for it was no small trouble to 
 stop the steamer, and get near enough to the land. 
 Once the captain was very wroth, because a young 
 clown was waiting on the margin, with a huge pile 
 of broom to be taken in. I could not well under- 
 stand why he gave himself the trouble, when it 
 seemed so against his will. It was much against 
 mine, for we were delayed half an hour by it ; and 
 our feelings were constantly aggravated by perceiv- 
 ing that the railroad, for the whole distance, ran 
 close alongside the river, so that we could have seen 
 the countr}^ as well in the carriages as on the water, 
 and in one-seventh of the time, which would have 
 been long enough, since there was nothing to see. 
 The little birds alighted on the telegraph wires, 
 which stretched all the way, and I wondered what 
 effect their tiny feet might have on the messages 
 that were shooting by. At last I saw a pretty tower 
 of a church, and a very tall structure by it, and I 
 asked the captain what town it was. It was Tat- 
 tershall church, castle, and iown. The castle was 
 built by Sir Eichard Cromwell. Tattershall Castlo 
 and a pretty bridge with three arches, called also 
 Tattershall Bridge, were the only picturesque ob- 
 jects we saw. The castle was buried in trees, so 
 that we could not see the base of it. 
 
 Whenever we went under a bridge, the captain 
 
54 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 lowered liis funnel, — not in the way of bowing civilly 
 to the bridge, but jerking it backward, in an in- 
 tractable, defying manner. 
 
 After six hours and a half, we beheld a wonderful 
 tower in the distance, and simultaneously the cap- 
 tain came to take the fare. We were much diverted 
 that he asked only four shillings for us three. The 
 lofty tower proved to be that of St. Botolph's Church 
 in Boston. Afar, it looks strangely out of propor- 
 tion to the building, but the nearer we approached, 
 the better it justified itself. 
 
 When we arrived in port, the captain sent for a 
 fl}^ and a very nice one took us to the best hotel in 
 town, called the Peacock, Market Square. The 
 most solemn of all England's solemn butlers, or 
 head-waiters, received us at the door. Papa called 
 him a Puritan ; and perhaps he is ; but such an iron, 
 utterly unmalleable grimness of soberness I never 
 beheld on any face. All footmen and waiters are 
 bound to solemnity ; but generally one can discern 
 the possibility of a smile, or even of a good laugh 
 in the servants' hall or behind a napkin. But some 
 terrific discipline has banished all tendency or de- 
 sire for mirth from this man's soul. His mouth is 
 drawn down with an everlasting resolution that he 
 will not be glad, and it also declares that he cannot 
 be jolly. I marvel at his inward history — what it 
 can be. But perhaps he only sincerely believes 
 that all men are condemned to eternal misery, ex- 
 cept a few of the elect; and if a person can really 
 
OLD BOSTOX AND ST. BOTOLPWS. 55 
 
 think this, I do not wonder that he will never smilo 
 again. I am afraid he is very sorry for something. 
 
 He ushered us into a little parlor, like a closet, 
 and I cried out against it emphatically, and told him 
 we must have a larger room. He looked a look 
 of ice and stone at me, and replied that there 
 was no other disengaged. Not a ray of sympathy 
 or concern lighted a line of his face. Finding me 
 unmanageable, he said he would call the landlady. 
 
 Enter a jolly dame, all smiles, courtesies, and 
 shining black eyes. She expressed regret, and 
 thought we could have more spacious apartments 
 after dinner. I found, however, I could see St. 
 Botolph's Church from the window, and so we ac- 
 cepted our destiny with patience. After tea, we 
 walked out all around it, and found it exceedingly 
 beautiful, and were surprised by a kind of cathedral 
 stateliness it has, yet it is not quite hcdf as long as 
 Lincoln or York Minsters. Lincoln is five hundred 
 and twenty-four feet in length. The tower is three 
 hundred feet high, and those slender pinnacles on 
 the summit of the lantern are each as large as the 
 parlor in which I sit. They are repairing a chapel, 
 in which is to be placed the memorial to Mr. John 
 Cotton, former Yicar of St. Botolph, who went to 
 BostoD, Massachusetts, because he dissented from 
 his church, and died there, much beloved. Gentle- 
 men of American Boston have contributed, with 
 English gentlemen, four hundred and fifty pounds 
 toward the memorial, which is to be an illuminated 
 
5(5 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 window. The exterior is in excellent preservation ; 
 and they are facing the buttresses anew with beau- 
 tiful canopies and brackets, and perhaps the statues 
 will stand in them again by and by. 
 
 Papa happened accidentally into a funny little 
 bookstore, and found an antiquarian, an elderly 
 man, to whom he gave his card, and who cordially 
 
 invited him to fetch Mrs. the next day, to see 
 
 some rare treasures he possessed ; and he could 
 show all that was interesting in Boston. I should 
 
 not be surprised if this Mr. P were one of the 
 
 persons to whom Mr. B • addressed one of his 
 
 letters ; and if he be, it is as good as a play that 
 papa should alight upon him in one of his wild-bird 
 passages. So yesterday morning we all went to see 
 him. He is a perfect Englishman in appearance, 
 comely, handsomely stout, tall enough, and with 
 very deep wine-stains on each cheek, genial and 
 cordial, and particularly glad to see us. His shop 
 is about as big as one division of a walnut. We had 
 scarcely time to look about us, before he requested 
 us all to go up-stairs into another division of his 
 nutshell. This was covered, all over the walls, tables, 
 cabinets, and buffets, with every imaginable knick- 
 knack and pictures. From this we entered a smaller 
 nook, also filled with wonders. Here we sat down, 
 careful not to push anything over in the minute 
 
 space, and Mr. P went away to get something. 
 
 And what do you fancy he brought to show us in 
 that humble little house in old Boston ? Why, noth- 
 
 I 
 
 / 
 
OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPWS. 57 
 
 ing less than a most royal treasure — a qnilt, em- 
 broidered all over in wliite silk, with birds and ara- 
 besque patterns upon linen so fine as to be silky, 
 and triramed round with two rows of a very rare 
 and curious knotted fringe. It seemed the work of 
 a lifetime, and it was wrought by Mary Stuart, 
 Queen of Scots, while she was imprisoned in Foth- 
 eringay Castle. The arabesque was worked in a 
 kind of back-stitch, as fine as Aunt Louisa's fairiest 
 efforts. The birds and flowers were done in chain- 
 stitch. Once in a while, the Queen embroidered her 
 cipher, not M. R., but M. S. This was also in chain- 
 stitch. The knotted fringe was the work of her 
 maidens, and it must have been the labor of years, 
 as each small knot is fashioned with the fingers. 
 The quilt was lined with pink, and quite heavy with 
 the sewing-silk. I imagined the sad and weary 
 thoughts she must have had as she sat over it. It 
 is stained, and I wondered whether it were not with 
 tears. I took off my glove, and touched it, for her 
 beautiful hands had very long rested on it- — most 
 iU-fated of queens ! 
 
 The next treasure Mr. P brought was a waist- 
 coat of Lord Burleigh. " There," said he to J , 
 
 "there, young gentleman, you have to put on this 
 vest," and so on it went. It was of pale green silk, 
 trimmed round the pockets and edges with a deli- 
 cate gold and silver pattern, not half an inch broad, 
 but as brilliant and untarnished as if finished yester- 
 day ; yet, it is about three hundred and fifty years 
 
 3* 
 
58 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 old. J Lad on his talma ; but Lord Burleigh 
 
 must have been slender, for J could not button 
 
 it round his waist. Perhaps some of this illustrious 
 counsellor's wisdom, in the form of Od, entered into 
 J while wrapped in it. 
 
 Then came a wonderful bag, made of the Victoria 
 Eegia, by the Queen of Otaheite, and given to 
 Captain Cook ! It was sewed with smallest feathers, 
 and the texture of the material was exquisite, like 
 goldbeater's skin, and semi-transparent. It was 
 once adorned at the opening edges with feather- 
 fringe, but most of that was worn off. 
 
 Mr. P showed us also some shoes of past ages, 
 
 of a queer shape with a singular heel. One was of 
 white satin, with a flower embroidered upon it, and 
 the other was black satin. He contrasted with them 
 some slippers made by American Indians. 
 
 Some crystal goblets were beautiful, with St. 
 Botolph's Church engraved on them, as well as other 
 line buildings, and cyphers also. He brought forth, 
 too, an old rose noble (a gold coin) and a double 
 sovereign and double guinea, both out of circula- 
 tion, and an angel, now obsolete. Each dwelt in 
 a wee chamois bag of its own, and was as bright 
 as if just from the mint. After seeing these things, 
 Mr. P allowed us to go into the other apart- 
 ment. Very valuable old prints were framed on the 
 walls, and a colored crayon head of Sterne, an in- 
 valuable picture, drawn from life, which has never 
 been engraved. I dare say the British Museum, or 
 
OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPn'S. ?9 
 
 National Gallery, would give thousands of pounds 
 for it. Also there was Sterne's wife — drawn in the 
 same style — a proud, unamiable, high head-tossing 
 lady, from Avhom, I do not wonder, Sterne wished to 
 separate. A copy in water-colors of Murillo's 
 flower-girl was of exquisite beauty ; and at last the 
 good gentleman, all crisp and sparkling with ecstasy 
 at our enjoyment of his pets, opened the drawer of a 
 cabinet, and took out — what ? Fancy ! No, you 
 never can ; for, actually, the enviable old antiquary 
 exhibited original pen and pencil studies of Raphael, 
 Rembrandt, Giordano, Benvenuto Cellini, Jordaens, 
 Maratti, and many others. Yes, the very studies, 
 with the growing idea traceable through the involved 
 lines. As at Oxford, all those of Raphael were un- 
 mistakable, from the delicate grace and fastidious- 
 ness of the efforts, so very fine, and drawn with a 
 sharply-pointed pencil, while many of the others were 
 dashed off with pen and ink. One was a head, in 
 brown ink, by Rembrandt, a hat over one eye, and a 
 saucy expression, in shadow. Where could Mr. 
 
 P have gained such inestimable jewels ? When 
 
 he is tired of hoarding them, he can make a fortune 
 any day by selling them, I should suppose. And he 
 ventures to keep them in a wooden cabinet, in that 
 small old house, which might burn down any day ! 
 He ought to have an iron safe for the purpose, after 
 the manner of Oxford, where all the pen and pencil 
 sketches of the great masters are in a fire-proof 
 apartment. Over the drawings I exhausted my 
 
\ 
 
 60 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 capacity for wonder and delight, and after this rich 
 feast, we were taken down into a tiny sitting-room, 
 
 and introduced to Mr. P 's wife, a thin, pleasant 
 
 person, whom, I trust, Mr. P considers his most 
 
 precious treasure. A cabinet was opened in this 
 room, and illuminated missals given us to see, and 
 Bom an medals, antique Latin bibles, printed in 
 Antwerp — a secret book, or " Book of Secrets" of 
 Queen Elizabeth, -which I opened and read, among 
 other receipts, " How to kill a fellow quickly." This 
 struck me as very strange, and not very creditable 
 to the Queen. But, behold ! upon looking more 
 carefully at the stained old type, I found that it was 
 " fellon," not " fellow." The present way of spelling 
 this word is with one 1 — felon — and so I easily mis- 
 took it. We laughed heartily at the mistake, it was 
 such an off-hand, unfeeling way of putting such a 
 serious matter — the word "fellow" giving such a 
 scornful, indifferent tone. So there were all her 
 majesty's favorite receipts and notions, very curious 
 
 and entertaining. J was captivated by the 
 
 glory of color in one of the missals — birds, flowers, 
 and saints dazzled our eyes with splendor. We 
 
 made Mr. P breathless by telling him of that 
 
 missal we saw last summer at the Countess of Walde- 
 grave's, illumina^t^^d by Baphael's own hand. The 
 Countess was very uneasy while I looked at it, for it 
 was really too invaluable to be left out of her own 
 keeping. It was about three inches square, bound 
 in velvet and solid gold. Her great blue eyes blazed 
 
OLD BOSTON AND ST. DOTOLPIPS. Gl 
 
 like a falcon's upon me, till I returned it to lier. I 
 am afraid the antiquary broke the Tenth Command- 
 ment as he listened to us about it. I asked Mrs. 
 
 P whether she were as much interested as her 
 
 husband in these things, and she said she was not, 
 but preferred to read. And then she remarked, 
 pointing to a brilliant red-bird in a missal that I was 
 turning over : " That bird is almost as red as the 
 Scarlet Letter!" She said this in a private, con- 
 fidential little way, and made no other allusion to 
 the authorship. Finally, we proposed to come away, 
 not having seen the hundredth part, though all the 
 choicest morceaux ; and the kind gentleman put on 
 his hat, and went to show us a curious, old gabled 
 house in a narrow alley, built in the French style. 
 In the peak of the gable was a heraldic fleur-de-lis 
 and the cypher E. R. The gable was trimmed with 
 costly, stone Maltese lace, and carved and ornamented 
 
 in various ways, and Mr. P evinced a pious 
 
 horror at the insertion of a modern window-frame in 
 another part of the house. He showed us also the 
 site of Mr. John Cotton's house, and mourned over 
 its demolition. He wished the spot to be enclosed, 
 and a memorial built up in the centre, and said that 
 Dr. Bigelow, of Boston, Massachusetts, told him, 
 when here, that he believed the inhabitants of his 
 own city would gladly contribute to its erection, if 
 the land could be purchased and secured. Finally, 
 we came to St. Botolph's, and the present Vicar, re- 
 mote successor to Mr. Cotton, was standing in the 
 
C2 NOTES m ENGLAND. 
 
 Close, talking with some one, and Mr. P brought 
 
 him to us and introduced him, after having whispered 
 who papa was. This vicar was not venerable, like 
 the vicar of Wakefield, but a young man, of the most 
 comfortable aspect you can conceive — soft, round, 
 with a rather pale and comely, but full face, snowy, 
 large, handsome teeth — spotless white cravat, fine 
 black coat, and hands that looked like bishops — so 
 plump, smooth, and fair. Really, the chief shep- 
 herds of this English fold are as well to do as the 
 fleecy sheep and lambs I see grazing by hundreds in 
 the meadows. They testify to sumptuous fare, and 
 wear fine linen every day. With a refined and culti- 
 vated expression, they yet remind one of the jolly 
 w^orld and clay — wine, oil, and easy-chairs. This 
 
 Rev. G. P. S. Q. L. B (though I forget exactly 
 
 how many names he has) politely received us, and 
 
 invited us into his beautiful church, and Mr. P • 
 
 bade us farewell. 
 
 Mr. B was so courteous that he showed us 
 
 the church himself, instead of putting us under the 
 guidance of a verger ; and when he had gone quite 
 round, and told us everything, he most considerately 
 departed, and left us to enjoy ourselves as long as 
 we pleased. 
 
 -X- ^ * * -Jf 
 
 Just as we were entering the southern porch, the 
 organ was sighing like an Eolian, with a wonderful 
 effect of spirit-voices. The organist was practising. 
 The impression which the whole interior made upon 
 
OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPIFS. 03 
 
 me at once was of perfect and comprehensible 
 beauty. It could all be included in a glance, though 
 it measures two hundred and fifty feet from the west 
 front to the chancel east window. The organ is 
 most happily placed at the side, so that there is a 
 clear sweep of view from one extremity to the other. 
 What a pity that it is not so with the vast cathe- 
 drals ! If I were Queen of England, I would have 
 every organ moved from the arches of the choirs. 
 At the western front, one enters the bell-tower — the 
 grand tower, three hundred feet high, and seen at 
 sea forty miles away. There is a stone roof, sculp- 
 tured just beneath the lantern, in which hangs the 
 bell. Standing beneath this lofty roof, we looked 
 upon a space which may be called a lesser transept, 
 before the columns of the nave begin, with a door 
 right and left, south and north ; and exactly in the 
 centre of this space, stands a font of stone, richly 
 sculptured, raised on a very broad pedestal of three 
 wide, spreading steps. Over it hangs a coronal of 
 gold and blue, a light, airy chandelier of fine tracery, 
 in two or three concentric circles, climbing into a 
 spiral form. 
 
 There are, I think, seven columns on each side of 
 the nave, and above them fourteen windows in the 
 clerestory, whose pointed arches are trefoil-headed. 
 The roof of the aisles then slopes downward from 
 the nave, and there are seven much larger and loftier 
 windows, which pierce the sides north and south. 
 The choir has some oak tabernacle-work, stalls, and 
 
61 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 ancient carved seats, made very uncomfortable for 
 monks, so that if they gi^ew a little sleepy, and were 
 not very watchful, they would be sure to tumble 
 down with a crash. These seats are elaborately 
 sculptured beneath, with droll devices. One is a 
 group of naughty school-boys, driven by a master, 
 with a whip. One is a bouquet of cats and monkeys 
 playing together. Under some grins Apollyon. 
 The backs of them and the terminals are carved 
 with every variety of head, and flower, and animal, — 
 no two alike. They often end in lovely quirls, or in 
 angels or cherubim, mixing up heaven and hell in 
 the strangest way. " Eat, drink, and be merry, for 
 to-morrow we die," the monks seemed to say with 
 their chisels. Sometimes the back of a stall endeav- 
 ors to run oif in this manner. 
 
 While I was sitting in the choir, papa and J 
 
 mounted to the top of the grand tower, and a verger 
 hovered round, who had previously been paid a 
 shilling to let me alone. Presently the chief organ- 
 ist came in, and I told the verger I wished he would 
 play ; and he replied that he had come to give a 
 lesson to the lady organist. But I saw him w^hisper 
 to him, and while I was trying to sketch the eastern 
 v/indow, after the lesson was over, my musician 
 kindly burst forth in a magnificent symphony, which 
 made all the saints and apostles radiate brighter 
 light, and live and breathe. The verger declared 
 he was the best organist in the country, and I was 
 not inclined to dispute it. 
 
OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLDIL'S. G5 
 
 The chancel is -ancommonly beautiful. The cast 
 window is filled with painted glass, well designed, 
 and of superb hues. The middle light represents 
 first Jesse, in crimson and blue, sitting at the lowest 
 point, as the root of David. Above him stands 
 Mary, holding the infant Jesus, with Joseph at her 
 side. Above is Christ upon the cross ; and highest 
 is Christ in glory, crowned and sceptred, as Judge 
 and King. All the lights on each side are filled 
 with apostles and saints, and also David. The 
 pointed, trefoiled and quatrefoiled headed arch over 
 all looks studded with jewels ; but upon examina- 
 tion these are found to be the heavenly host, in the 
 centre of whom stands the arcliangel Michael, 
 trampling upon the Dragon. I do not know why 
 the effect of the tints of this great window is golden, 
 yet the choir glows with a sort of permanent sun- 
 shine, which is peculiar to St. Botolph's. Now I 
 think of it, it may be that the windows on each side 
 are filled with yellow stained-glass, and it is a lovely 
 idea thus to make perpetual sunny radiance over 
 the altar, whatever the weather may be. 
 
 The perpendicular lights contain Christ, Mary, 
 and saints. The altar beneath the window is sump- 
 tuous with crimson velvet and gold, and a heavily 
 carved oaken chair stands on each side of it. And 
 before the chancel is a low screen of blue and gold, 
 a kind of brass work, extremely light. Within are 
 two candelabras of the same material and fairy 
 workmanship, and others like them are placed all 
 
66 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 about tlie church, and, with the coronal over the 
 font, look wonderfully beautiful, when lighted. This 
 dehcate blue and gold also goes up the pulpit stairs 
 and balusters, looking like a rich fringe with tas- 
 sels ; but upon approaching it, I found it was rigid 
 metal. 
 
 There are two alabaster monuments, one support- 
 ing a knight spurred, with his helm under his head 
 as a pillow, and the other his wife. The noses of 
 these figures have been restored, and also their 
 fingers, and the vicar has a great ambition to adorn 
 his church, and intends to have all the windows re- 
 filled with painted glass. He is very young, and 
 may live to see much accomplished. There is at the 
 door a strong box, for the reception of a restoring 
 fund, and I trust it will be a perpetual bank. 
 
 The nave is full of carved oaken seats, unlike 
 cathedrals, and the pulpits are in the midst of them, 
 instead of being in the choir. Botolph's town was 
 so called from a monastery erected to that saint in 
 634, which the Danes destroyed in 870. On its site 
 this church was built in 1309. Fox, avIio wrote the 
 " Booli of Martyrs," was born in Boston. We have 
 the book, but it is too dreadful for you to read. We 
 walked round the small chapel in which Cotton's 
 memorial window is to be placed, but there is only 
 one grave-stone in it, and that is upon the floor. It 
 is in fine proportion, and has a noble western win- 
 dow. Papa and J were tired of waiting for me, 
 
 and when I was ready to go out I found the gate of 
 
OLD BOSTON AND ST. BOTOLPWS. G7 
 
 the door locked fast ! I was in a gorgeous cage, but 
 felt very uncomfortable not to have my freedom, 
 and stood shaking the bars till the clang roused the 
 verger who was outside, and he laughed merrily at 
 having fastened me in. As he had been paid to let 
 me alone, I suppose he did not dare tell me he must 
 go away. 
 
 The organ was still murmuring melodiously as I 
 left the southern porch, as if St. Botolph were sing- 
 ing Vespers. 
 
 On my walk home, I saw a lovely ruined Abbey 
 at a printseller's, and bought it for you to copy some 
 time. It is Growl and Abbey, which I hope to visit, 
 as it is near Peterboro, where we go next. 
 
 In the afternoon of Tuesday (26th) we walked out ; 
 but I felt tired, and after looking at the old Guild- 
 hall, an exceedingly interesting building, with a fine 
 mullioned v/indow, and three gurgoyles rushing tu- 
 multuously from each side and the point of the arch, 
 I concluded to go back to the Peacock, and take an 
 open barouche, to drive about with Julian. Papa, 
 you know, hates to drive, and prefers to wander 
 without purpose. We therefore returned, and I or- 
 dered a light phaeton, which proved delightfully easy, 
 and I told the coachman to go round every part of 
 Boston, and then into the suburbs. Y/e had a 
 charming excursion, and old Boston reminded one 
 of the oldest parts of New Boston — those parts 
 which are antique and tumble-down, at the North 
 End. There is scarcely a handsome house in tlie 
 
68 NOTES m ENGLAND. 
 
 town, but many quaint ones, with overhanging 
 brows ; and in the suburbs we saw an enchanting 
 House of Seven Gables, which, being all covered with 
 perennial ivy, looked as the one described in the 
 book would look, if ascended into the heavenly 
 Paradise. It was sumptuously rich and beautiful, 
 and I wish I could have sketched it. 
 
 We passed the new cemetery, in which stood two 
 strangely-shaped edifices, I suppose for the reading 
 of the burial-service ; but I can compare them to 
 nothing but camelopards — giraffes. 
 
 ■«• -jf ^ ^ -jf * 
 
 *' The Peacock" is such an aged bird, and really 
 there is no end to its tail, though it is not quite so 
 long as the neck of the Saracen's Head in Lincoln, 
 which, you know, I told you was miles in length. 
 
 The solemn waiter has not smiled yet, because he 
 never will nor can ; but, despite his ungraciousness, 
 I think we have felt particularly at home in Boston. 
 We have had the Queen's weather, and all the ladies 
 are in muslins. 
 
lY. 
 PETEEBOKO CATHEDEAL. 
 
 Peterboro, May 28 th. 
 
 We left Boston at lialf-past twelve, and our route 
 was tlirougli still a flat country, covered with lambs, 
 buttercups, and white heifejs. There is a great pre- 
 ponderance of white cows in this region, perfectly 
 white, and the young heifers are beautifuL We 
 passed through Kirton, and thereabouts was a storm 
 of apple-blossoms, and the hawthorn trees and 
 bushes, in great profusion, were in the fullest bloom. 
 I never saw so much hawthorn bloom before in 
 England. We saw very many of the prettiest little 
 colts in the world, trotting gently beside their 
 mothers, with a singularly modest air, as if they felt 
 rather delicate about being seen on their new legs. 
 There is always something very refined in the man- 
 ner of a colt. 
 
 We stopped a moment at Sutterton and Surfleet, 
 and crossed the river Glen, one of England's narrow 
 ribbons of rivers, and then came to Pinchbeck, 
 where I presume that the metal called pinchbeck- 
 
70 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 gold was invented. We saw the outside of a fine 
 old church, which I wish we could have entered. 
 Indeed, I should dearly love to go into ever}^ one of 
 these old village churches, for I have no doubt they 
 are extremely interesting, and with strange histories 
 and monuments. We passed one quite closely, and 
 there were some funny gurgoyles upon it in the 
 shape of imps, with elbows pressed on the buttresses 
 (in default of sides), as if they said, " Now for it ! off 
 we go," in the act of springing ; but yet forever held 
 fast in stone. It is an extraordinary idea of these 
 gothic architects to give this rushing-away, active 
 expression to the centuries-enduring, fixed stone. I 
 wonder if it is an image or emblem of the hopeless 
 longing of the monks to escape from their thraldom. 
 I have a singular desire to break the bonds of these 
 headlong gurgoyles, and let them go. They have 
 such an impetus in their motion, that it seems as 
 they would shoot out of all human vision in a 
 second, if they were freed. Did you ever observe 
 those on the roof of Henry the Seventh's chapel in 
 Westminster Abbey ? 
 
 We now came to Deeping Fen, which perhaps 
 means, the fenniest of fens. It was, however, 
 adorned with a great deal of beautiful rose-haw- 
 thorn in perfect bloom. * * * England is just now 
 in fullest blossom — fruit-trees, May-flowers, purple 
 and white Persian lilacs, like plumes, so soft and 
 delicate, and everywhere the graceful, yellow labur- 
 num, dropping gold ; also, of course, the greenest of 
 
 i 
 
rETEHBORO CATHEDRAL. 71 
 
 grass, as if it had been that moment washed in a 
 shower — so that though the land was flat, there was 
 much about it most grateful to the eyes. I observed 
 that a great many lambs had been taken for a pur- 
 pose I will not name, so that the dams had but one 
 
 child apiece, instead of their rightful two. J 
 
 undertook to wonder how each lamb could know its 
 own mother ! 
 
 When we arrived at Peakirk and Croyland, we 
 regretted our tickets were not for Croyland, for, in 
 that case, we might have stayed there all night, and 
 seen the abbey. As it was, we kept on to Peter- 
 boro. The Railway Hotel being directly upon the 
 station, we walked into it. I immediate^ looked 
 out of the windows to find a glimpse of the cathe- 
 dral, and I saw a portion of the western fa§ade and 
 pinnacles, and the top of a mighty arch. 
 
 After dinner we took a walk. Peterboro is a 
 very small town gathered in front of its glorious 
 minster. It is the cathedral, and nothing else. We 
 soon came to the market-place, on one side of which 
 is the Guildhall, now used for a butter-shop, beneath 
 the lower pillars. Opposite to it is a stone gate- 
 way, which is the entrance to the Close. As we en- 
 tered the Close, the world seemed shut out, as it 
 always does inside these monastic retreats. Eter- 
 nal peace is within their gates, and upon me the ef- 
 fect of the three vast arches of the western facade 
 was more sublime and magnificent than that of any 
 architecture I have yet seen in England. I was 
 
72 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 wliolly unprepared for the vastness and splendor of 
 this church. No one had ever spoken of it to nie, 
 and I had never read about it. I believe there is 
 no other fagade like this in the country — the arches 
 being much higher than that we so wondered at in 
 Furness Abbey — three arches, perfectly uniojured. 
 I did not know before what a grand power lay in a 
 lofty curve, and words can never convey an idea of 
 it. The first impression was that those arches had 
 more to do with heaven than earth. Though the line 
 returns again to the same level from which it rises, 
 yet it seems to have been transfigured as it soared 
 and sang in its circuit. They are the emblem of a 
 saint's soul, whose visible form still exists. He 
 stands on the earth, but his spirit has ascended into 
 another world, and remains there, in truth, though 
 he is yet with us in mortal guise. They are an 
 image of endless aspiration in constant rest. 
 
 Between the gateway and the cathedral is a 
 pointed entrance into the cloisters which luere, for 
 Cromwell's soldiers utterly demolished the cloisters, 
 except the inner walls. On these inner walls are 
 the remains of broken arches and shafts. The lawn 
 is of the loveliest pale green velvet. On its south 
 side are some beautiful high arches, dripping with 
 wreaths of ivy. If you can recall the banqueting- 
 hall of Conway Castle, with its lofty vaultings and 
 mullioned windows hung thickly with enormous 
 vines of ivy, you will be able to fancy how these 
 appear. Entering from a corner, opening through 
 
PETEEBORO CATUEDllAL. 73 
 
 one of these garlanded arclies from the cloisters, wo 
 were in the former refectory of the old Abbey, now 
 roofed by the sky and floored with daisies and 
 grass. Traces of the Abbey are all about this part 
 — clustered pillars, broken arches, — and from these 
 we went into the cathedral, by one of the southern 
 doors. The service was not quite over, so we Avalked 
 quietly up the stately aisle, with its fine, Norman, 
 groined roof, nearly eighty feet high. We sat down 
 upon a seat in front of the screen of the choir to 
 wait for the end of the function, and had hardly 
 time to glance at the glories around and above us, 
 before a verger came from the dropped curtain be- 
 neath the organ, and invited us to go in. The 
 prebends and choristers were chanting, and one 
 lady and two gentlemen formed the audience ! I 
 was struck into amaze by the choir, its effect was 
 so gorgeously rich, so loaded with ornament, and 
 the chancel so singularly shaped in semicircles, with 
 a solid wall nearly to the roof, and then broken into 
 superb arches opening upon other arches beyond 
 and behind, in the Lady-chapel, of which the ceil- 
 ing was intricately sumptuous ; while there were 
 glimpses afar of rainbow-glass — mysteries, and fold 
 within fold of beauty, revealing remoter beauty 
 through the never-ending arcades. Ah me ! what 
 can poor mortals do with but two eyes to see out of, 
 and so confined a space for the heart to expand in ? 
 I was glad when, after the chanting, the precentor 
 said " Let us pray," and I closed my dazed orbs 
 
 4 
 
74 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 upon all visible things. The " Amen" to the prayers 
 was peculiarly beautiful — a fountain of sweet, young 
 voices and organ music, rising with a full and ex- 
 panding tone through the wilderness of spaces, and 
 returning with a soft, closing cadence into silence 
 again. 
 
 The chancel of this choir is called an apse, which 
 means the rounded end of a church, opposite the 
 nave. There is but one other of Norman date in 
 England. Directly over the altar, on the roof, is a 
 painting of Christ sitting, with all the apostles 
 around him, involved in curling lines ; and it is 
 written on a scroll which encircles the whole, " I am 
 the Yine, and ye are the branches ;" and, " I am the 
 Bright and Morning Star." The bishop's throne is 
 here very superb, — a little cathedral in itself, of 
 cunningly carved oak, flaming into pinnacles. All 
 the arches of the apse are profusely decorated above 
 the clustered shafts ; and with the pierced, flying 
 buttresses and tracery over the windows, and the 
 arcades above and beyond one another, I received 
 an impression of magnificence which no other choir 
 has given me ; though, on account of being smaller, 
 it has not the grandeur of that of York Minster. 
 
 After the service was over, there was a great cere- 
 mony of waiting for a venerable old Canon to de- 
 scend from his stall beneath the organ. All the 
 choristers, prebends, minor canons, and the precen- 
 tor arranged themselves in a reverent manner, while 
 behind stood an ancient verger with a rod in his 
 
PETERBORO CATHEDRAL. 7.5 
 
 hand. The venerable Canon was lame, which made 
 his descent very slow ; but when he came upon tho 
 level with his subordinates, he bowed graciously to 
 them, and took the precedence in vanishing beneath 
 the curtain. It was pleasant and grateful to see 
 such deference to infirm age. 
 
 We left the choir on the south side to go and look 
 at the altar-,- and we stepped from the door directly 
 upon the stone beneath which Mary Queen of Scots 
 was buried, after her execution at Fotheringay Cas- 
 tle, near Peterboro. Her son James afterward re- 
 moved her body to "Westminster Abbey, and you 
 know we saw her sarcophagus there, and her lovely 
 effigy upon it. In the aisle we met a young verger, 
 who offered to show us the cathedral. First he told 
 us about Queen Mary's grave, and then we followed 
 him into the Lady-chapel. The ceiling of this 
 chapel is a specimen of the fan-vaulting, of which I 
 caught glimpses through the open arches of the 
 choir. What is called the perpendicular style is 
 particularly famous for this fan-vaulting, which is 
 very splendid. Between the windows these superb 
 fans curve over and meet in the centre of the 
 roof, almost touching with their scolloped edges. 
 It is all of stone. Beneath the thirteen windows is 
 a great height before the pavement comes, and this 
 space is filled on the east, north, and south sides 
 with an arcade. There are seats in these arcades 
 all round. The central window is filled with painted 
 glass ; but it is modern and not tasteful. There 
 
76 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 are six windows over the altar, filled witli what v^-as 
 saved of the superb, old colored glass from the de- 
 structive hands and guns of Cromwell's soldiers, who 
 were in a particular rage with this cathedral, be- 
 cause it had been considered the holiest ground in 
 England, and kings and cardinals put off their shoes 
 when entering its gates. There are but very few 
 monuments left. One is very curious, and it is the 
 oldest Christian monument now to be seen in tlie 
 land. It is of the ninth century, and in memory of 
 Abbot Hedda and his monks, who were killed by 
 the Danes. It is very rude and worn, and the 
 monks are the funniest old frights that were ever 
 seen. 
 
 At the northern door of the choir, every one who 
 goes in or comes out steps upon the slab over the 
 body of Catharine of Aragon, first wife of Henry 
 Eighth. She died at Kimbolton Castle, in Hunt- 
 ingdonshire, and was buried here. When Henry 
 was told that he should build some fair monument 
 to her memory, he replied, " Yes, I will leave her 
 one of the goodliest in the kingdom," and so he 
 spared this superb cathedral ; and no queen has such 
 a mausoleum as she, and I hope her proud and in- 
 jured spirit was somewhat appeased by it. It was 
 late amends for the king to make, but it was right 
 royal. There is a shrine near this, thought to be 
 that of Saint Ibba, and from the Lady-chapel, all 
 along the aisles to the west front, on the walls be- 
 neath the windows, are the intersected arches, which 
 
PETERBOIiO CATHEDRAL. 77 
 
 first suggested the pointed arch. I took great pains 
 to draw you some of them, to show you the transi- 
 tion steps from Norman to the early English or 
 pointed style. The Norman arch is a perfect semi- 
 circle, heavy and massive. Doors, windows, and 
 arches were all rounded, and the pillars were very 
 thick, and the sculptured ornaments bold and rude. 
 By degrees the style was enriched with zigzag 
 adornments and the chevron; and then came the 
 intersected arch. 
 
 The verger then took us into an old chapel, where 
 morning prayer was offered ; and there is some ta- 
 pestry on the eastern wall, worked by two sister 
 nuns before the Reformation. There are two pic- 
 tures ; one of Peter and John curing the lame man 
 at the gate of the Temple, and it seems to be from 
 Eaphael, though altered a little. The other is Pe- 
 ter's release from prison ; and the angels who sot 
 him free have the most hideous faces imaginable. 
 Instead of angels, I should call them devils. A 
 Roman soldier sleeps, headless, on one side. This 
 chapel is a very old place, with curiously-carved 
 screens and doors of almost black oak, it is so time- 
 worn. It was a gi^and coujp d'oeil to look from the 
 east end of the Lady-chapel to the western transept, 
 all along the vaulted aisle, four hundred and twenty- 
 two feet ! more than twice as far as Bunker Hill 
 monument is high. This image will help you to es- 
 timate the distance. The beautiful groined roof of 
 the aisles makes an enchanting and noble perspec- 
 
78 NOTES m EKGLAND. 
 
 tive ; only some foolish bisliop or dean, whose heart 
 must have been a whited sepulchre, and who is re- 
 corded as not liking rich colors, waslied over the 
 tinted barnack- stone, of which the cathedral is 
 built, with a yellowish daub, throughout the inside. 
 If Dante should award him his punishment, I think 
 he would dip him in his lake of pitch of which he 
 sings in the "Purgatorio." The verger said there 
 were hopes that it would presently be all scraped 
 off, and the primal hue restored. 
 
 So now we walked down the mighty nave, with its 
 strange and unique roof of painted oak. It is 
 marked in lozenge-shaped mosaic, and the inter- 
 stices are filled with richly-colored figures and de- 
 vices, kings and queens, bishops and abbots, and 
 emblematical designs, in extraordinary preservation, 
 considering its antiquity. The great transept, north 
 and south, is very superb. Its roof is of the same 
 character as that of the nave, but not so gorgeous 
 in color and device. It is very lofty, and there are 
 four stages. First is an arcade on slender piers, 
 then a decorated string-course, then an arch, through 
 which is seen a window ; then again arches and 
 windows to the top. One capital only of all the 
 piers is an impish head, spitting out, as it were, the 
 shaft from its mouth. Now just fancy this work- 
 man, busy with the rest, who were all producing 
 plain capitals, and finally showing this funny head, 
 not to be altered now. These stone jests are cer- 
 tainly very singular. How the sculptor must have 
 
PETEBBORO CATHEDRAL. 79 
 
 grinned to himself ! The arches supporting the 
 tower, which lead into the northern and southern 
 parts of the great transept, are glorious in beauty 
 and in size, and excel all others in England in these 
 characteristics. Thej have the effect of those of 
 the western front, and must have been designed by 
 the same person. The screen is lovely, and I made 
 a sketch which I will draw out for you. * -^ * The 
 pavement of the whole cathedral is wonderfully 
 joined, so as to look like one piece of stone. The 
 columns that support the nave are thirty feet in cir- 
 cumference, clustered, wdth Norman arches. 
 
 * * -x- * -x- * 
 
 Coming out, we wandered round the Close. Two 
 sculptured stone gates led to gardens on the north- 
 ern side. We entered one, and it opened upon the 
 burial-ground, which extended quite round to the 
 cloisters again, north and east. Fine old trees and 
 shrubberies adorned this cemetery, and opposite the 
 gate by which we went in was another beautiful 
 arch, giving a glimpse into some wonderful Arcadia, 
 with a lawn of sunshine-green, a tree of rarest love- 
 liness, branching out from the very velvet sward, so 
 that the delicately-tinted leaves lay on the grass 
 lightly, like the folds of a lady's airy dress ; and it 
 rose in perfect proportion, somewhat trained by art, 
 into pyramidal tendency, but more flowing in out- 
 line than the geometrical figure. Papa w^as particu- 
 larly transported with this tree, which I think was a 
 beech. Behind it was a grand, dark cedar of Leb- 
 
80 NOTES m ENGLAND. 
 
 anon, as if set there for contrast and background to 
 the beecli. 
 
 The house of the secretary of the Bishop stood 
 beyond the cedar — a picturesque building of fawn- 
 colored stone, with blooming plants around it, and 
 reaches of soft lawn leading to inviting shades far- 
 ther on. An avenue of noble trees, each side of 
 the smoothest gravel walk, at that moment made 
 smoother by a huge stone-roller in the hands of two 
 gardeners, led from another arch to the principal 
 porch of the house. These trees met in fraternal 
 communion overhead, arch within arch, and un- 
 broken peace brooded over all. Peace, such as the 
 world can never give, seemed established in this 
 consecrated retreat. Behind the cemetery there 
 was a rookery — for all abbeys have rookeries — and 
 th# rooks cawed incessantly ; but they only made 
 the peace and silence perceptible or sensible, — ^just 
 as the cricket reveals how still the night is — ^just as 
 the shadow makes salient the light. 
 
 This was originally a monastic church, founded 
 in Q>Q6j and built of such heavy stones that sixteen 
 oxen could hardly draw one. Penda was the Mer- 
 cian king who commenced it. Yoa know that the 
 Mercian kingdom was the largest of the heptarchy, 
 and this village, originally called Medeshamstead, 
 fi'om a deep gulf called Medes Well, famed for its 
 very cold water, is in Northamptonshire. The mon- 
 astery of Medeshamstead was afterward finished by 
 King AVolfen, and dedicated to St. Peter, and then 
 
FETEBBORO CATHEDRAL. 81 
 
 the village began to be called Peter Burgh. When 
 its abbot was Hedda (in 883), the Danes injured the 
 clmrch very much, and it was restored again by the 
 Bishop of Winchester, assisted by King Edgar, 974. 
 Successive abbots, before and after the Conquest, 
 enlarged it ; for these great Minsters grow from age 
 to age, like flowers which it takes centuries to un- 
 fold. The name of the sublime architect who de- 
 signed the west front arches is lost, unless some 
 one succeeds in deciphering that vast hieroglyph of 
 stone. 
 
 After gazing into the paradise of the Close awhile, 
 we again looked at the few remains of the cloisters, 
 once illustrious with painted glass in their mullioned 
 windows, and walked through the refectory, with its 
 majestic arches, festooned with ivy, once, no doubt, 
 also radiant with saints and angels in rainbow col- 
 ors, and passed through gothic doors into narrow 
 lanes, with many ruins, on the way, of the former 
 abbey — walls, tithing barns — until we came into 
 paths leading by fishponds and streams, perfectly 
 dark with overhanging trees, where the monks found 
 their Friday dinners and Lenten feasts — until we 
 wound our course out into the town, and came 
 home. 
 
 May 28th. — This morning we went again to the 
 cathedral. The service was over, and we walked 
 into the open door beneath one of the western 
 arches. There was no one in all the great temple. 
 
 4* 
 
83 NOTES m ENGLAND. 
 
 We found the door of the Lady-chapel unlocked, 
 and every door open, in the most hospitable way — 
 so unlike Lincoln. We wandered about at our own 
 will and leisure, and there was no sound but of 
 our echoing footsteps and the distant cawing of 
 rooks. 
 
 I stood again upon Queen Catharine's grave. It 
 is bare now, but once a superb canopy hung over it, 
 a hearse and velvet pall — as w^ell as over Queen 
 Mary's ; but the regiment of horse under Colonel 
 Cromwell demolished them, though a part of the 
 hearse is preserved somewhere. The painted glass 
 was particularly rich at Peterboro, so that the sol> 
 diers were dazzled wdth its splendor, and they cried 
 out the more furiously that it must be smashed, be- 
 cause the idols the monks worshipped were flaring 
 on them in their gold and purple. So they stupidly 
 shot at the saints and kings, until enough only was 
 left to piece out a few "windows in the choir, out of 
 all the multitudes of windows full ! The fan-vaulting 
 "was more beautiful to me to-day than before, and 
 now I recognize of "wdiat it reminds me. Take one 
 of the divisions by itself and it looks like a rocket 
 falling in stars or flowers, the motion in rest every- 
 where suggested. In comparing Gothic with the 
 Greek architecture, one is the clear, logical under- 
 standing, coming at truth mathematically by the way 
 of reason ; and all this range of truth stands beauti- 
 ful and sure, on lovely, even pillars, surmounted with 
 
PETERBORO CATHEDRAL. S3 
 
 square pediments, symmetrical and perfect to tlie 
 
 eye. I think, too, of those lovely faces like A 
 
 G 's, with her brows in a straight hne. And she 
 
 is a person of clear understanding. But the Gothic 
 " is of Imagination all compact," " in a fine frenzy 
 rolling," glancing from earth to lieaven and heaven 
 to earth — a crystallized poet, as it were, of endless 
 variety, of scintillating fancy — soaring in "immor- 
 tal curves," bafHing geometric conclusions, setting 
 known, established rules at defiance, wild beyond 
 reach of recognized art, flaming like fire, glowing 
 like flowers and rainbows, soaring like birds, strug- 
 gling for freedom, and like the soul, never satisfied. 
 A cathedral is really an. image of the whole soul of 
 man ; and a Greek temple, of his understanding only 
 — of just decisions, serene, finished postulates, settled 
 axioms. AYe need both. 
 
 Most regretfully we left the mighty Minster, and 
 took a last look at the Close. Near the gate leading 
 into the secretary's Eden is another, opening upon 
 another domain of a Canon or Dean. It had the 
 same, but never-wearying sunny lawns, rich shrub- 
 bery and flowers, and birds in rapture, all embo- 
 somed in the pervading peace. 
 
 In one corner of the Close is Thomas a Becket's 
 chapel and shrine, now the chapel-fjchool ; and boys 
 with the square-topped Oxford cap, and an immacu- 
 late toilet, were standing near — some with books, 
 studying. I wondered if they were conscious of the 
 
S4 ■ NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 place where they were standing, and of what was 
 before them. 
 
 "We went into a shop, and bought some engTavings 
 of the interior ; but not a drawing that I saw gave 
 at all the impression of the gi'andeur and size of the 
 fi'ont arches, or of the nave. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ "¥ 
 
 Farewell. 
 
V. 
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 
 
 Nottingham, May 29tli. 
 
 We left Peterboro yesterday, but I must not omit 
 
 to tell you that J was made perfectly happy 
 
 there by seeing some knights in armor, who had 
 come from Astley's in London. They were career- 
 ing through the market-place, and they brought 
 back to him the days of chivalry and romance, and 
 turned common hfe into poetry at once. ^ * -s^- 
 
 We hissed away at about half-past two, and had 
 gone but a few miles, when we passed a house 
 covered with double roses, in full bloom — May-roses, 
 of a lovely crimson, and giving an air of supreme 
 elegance to the whole place. They were the first I 
 had seen this season, and were the more precious 
 for that, and I rendered due homage to the queen 
 of flowers. 
 
 We were happy as usual in having the carriage to 
 ourselves, and it has been almost invariably the 
 case in all our travels. Once a gentleman came into 
 our private boudoir, and after sitting a few minutes, 
 seemed to be conscious of intruding into domestic 
 
86 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 sanctities, and left us again, for which I was much 
 obliged to him. This arrangement is very pleasant, 
 and somewhat like posting. The great plate-glass 
 windows are as good as the air to look through, and 
 one can have the prospect without dust. We passed 
 the toA^Ti of Tallington, and the country began to be 
 less flat, and rich and beautiful. 
 
 The hawthorn-trees hereabout were enormous — 
 as large as the largest horse-chestnuts ! — and so 
 loaded with bloom, that each one seemed to have 
 had a separate snow-storm upon it. There was a 
 station at Bytham also ; and near this the grounds 
 of Lord Willoughby d'Eresby stretched down to the 
 track, and were exceedingly stately, and most dain- 
 tily cared for. Picturesque old villages abounded 
 as we went on — clusters of ancient cottages, gathered 
 lovingly about a pretty church, which was often a 
 gem of beauty. No doubt many of these are of 
 remote antiquity, and the cottages often looked to 
 have grown around them, mossy and lichened, and 
 not to have been built by man at all. At last we 
 came to Grantham, and as we were to remain an 
 hour, we left the carriage, and walked into the town, 
 because Sir Isaac Newton wont to the grammar- 
 school there. There was an old market-cross, with 
 
 several well-worn steps leading to it, which J 
 
 ran up, in memory of Sir Isaac, for no doubt he had 
 stood and played on them many a time. We wan- 
 dered on to a church, which seemed beautiful afar 
 off, and proved very much so near by. It had a 
 
NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 87 
 
 lofty spire, two hundred and seventy-three feet high, 
 and painted windows, of which I should have liked 
 to see the right side ; but we had not time to get 
 admittance. It contains a curious font also. Gran- 
 tham had a monastery once, and there are ruins of 
 it, which I wish we could have searched out. The 
 Angel Inn was a strange old place, approached by 
 an arched entrance, and we should have enjoyed 
 staying at it all night. The inns have singular 
 names, and were all blue — the Blue Ram, the Blue 
 Lion, the Blue Horse, the Blue Man, the Blue Cow, 
 the Blue Bear — and so on through the animal king- 
 dom, and I marvel it is not the Blue Angel as well. 
 
 Our way was over a sumptuous country now, and 
 for a great many miles we saw afar, on a high hill, 
 Belvoir Castle, the residence of the Duke of Rut- 
 land, a magnificent structure, and it must be of vast 
 size, it looked so extensive at a distance. Towers 
 and turrets were numerous enough to supply a small 
 town. I wish his Grace could have received us ; 
 for he possesses one of the most valuable galleries 
 of pictures in England. 
 
 On we hastened through Sedgebrook ai.d Battis- 
 ford, where was an exquisite little church, — then to 
 Elton and Astlockton, where a gentleman intruded 
 upon our family circle. He was a peculiar-looking 
 man indeed, and as he sat directly opposite to me 
 for many miles, I could not but see him well, so that 
 his face was stereotyped upon my retina ; his eye- 
 brows were lifted into a high Norman arch, crump- 
 
83 NOTES IX ENGLAND. 
 
 ling his forehead into ribs, like the sea-sand after 
 the ebb of the tide. His collar was like a carving 
 of marble, so stiff and polished, and his toilet was 
 altogether elaborate and \vithout fault ; but frozen, 
 like the wonder in his face. What could be his his- 
 tory ? I was inclined to exclaim to this persistent, 
 unmitigated look : " Beally, my dear sir, it is not, I 
 assure you, so very surprising. Pray compose your 
 mind and smooth your brow, and regard the matter 
 with a reasonable degree of indifference." 
 
 Meanwhile we steamed into Bingham, which pos- 
 sessed one of the prettiest of churches, and herds of 
 perfectly white cows. And now we had left Leices- 
 tershire and entered Nottinghamshire, and so into 
 Nottingham. We asked the guard which was the 
 best hotel, and he strongly recommended the May- 
 pole as " a hotel every one admired," so the driver 
 was ordered to take us there. It was close bv the 
 market-place, through an alley, and did not look 
 inviting at all. I feared it was a pot-house, and 
 fortunately they had not room, so we drove to the 
 George the Fourth, which the coachman said was 
 the first in town. It has no show outside, but, like 
 the " Clarendon" in London, it proves within the 
 nicest one we have chanced upon. Our waiter is 
 unexceptionable. He would on no account smile 
 unseasonably, but it is very evident that he can 
 smile in a decorous manner, at the right time. 
 Everything is quiet and elegant, and the table per- 
 fect in style and quality. 
 
^''EW3TEAI) ABBEY. 81) 
 
 This morning we took a cabriolet, and droTc to 
 Newstead Abbey. It was a fair day, with dim sun- 
 shine and no wind. I had never associated Lord 
 Byron with Nottingham, and yet I could think of no 
 one else after I arrived here. No doubt he came 
 here often, as it is the nearest town to the Abbey of 
 any size. As we drove on toward Newstead, we had 
 a view of Nottingham Castle, and nothing else of 
 interest, till we got within the precincts of Sherwood 
 Forest. This was poetical ground. Eichard the 
 Lion-hearted, jolly Friar Tuck, the king of outlaws, 
 and all the merry-men were then in my mind's eye, 
 though there are now no thickets or century-trees, 
 but new growths of pine and beech. Newstead Ab- 
 bey was once all surrounded with Sherwood Forest, 
 and when we came within its boundaries, there were 
 fine old trees left standing among the younger 
 growth. Generall}^ the Newstead forests were ex- 
 ceedingly gloomy in aspect. There was a great- 
 uncle of Lord Byron, called " the wicked Lord," who 
 was the terror of the country, and it seemed as if 
 his ruthless spirit darkened the woods, and as there 
 was no subsequent light nor joy in the fortunes or 
 character of the family, the heavy, motionless ever- 
 greens looked like stern froTSTis of doom, and fixed 
 clouds of melancholy fate. 
 
 We drove ten miles, and then drew up at a small, 
 nice-looking little inn, called "The Hut," and our 
 coachman averred that he was not allowed to take 
 us any farther into the private park. I supposed 
 
90 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 we should liave but a short walk to the Abbey, and 
 so was nothing loth to leave the carriage. We un- 
 latched the hospitable gate (Colonel Wildman being 
 a very kind and open-handed gentleman), and wan- 
 dered along the broad avenue, winding over undu- 
 lating ground, at first through woodland scenery, 
 
 floored with violets, which J began diligently 
 
 to gather for memorials, and then to open hunting- 
 grounds, covered mth ferns, — coverts for small 
 game ; then again to woodlands. We went on and 
 on, I looking, at first, to see the towers of the Abbey 
 on some eminence, forgetting that religious houses 
 were always hidden in vales, — indeed forgetting that 
 I^ewstead Abbey ever was a religious house, till I was 
 reminded. Presently a light gig came up behind us, 
 with a lady and gentleman and little boy. We were 
 astonished at this, because we had been led to sup- 
 pose that no vehicle was allowed to approach in 
 that way. They passed us ; but stopped at an in- 
 ner gate, which we now saw ahead, and the lady 
 alighted, and the gentleman and boy returned. The 
 lady climbed up a steep path on the left, evidently 
 to obtain a view of the place, and we entered the 
 gate, trusting now that we were near, for I was foot- 
 weary. 
 
 Soon we saw a gleam of water, and a small flag 
 flying from a tower. This is a sign always in Eng- 
 land that the family is at home. When we arrived 
 at the lawn before the front, I was surprised that 
 the Abbey ^^'as not much larger. I had imagined a 
 
NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 91 
 
 very extensive range of buildings, and a broad, glit- 
 tering lake before tliem. But a wide lawn inter- 
 venes between tlie house and a small lake, near 
 which are the stables, a row of low, stone, castel- 
 lated edifices. On the lawn we met an old man, 
 who said we had only to ring at the porch-bell, and 
 some one would admit us. A small footman wel- 
 comed us with a smile and cordial " O yes" when 
 we requested entrance, so that it was plain what the 
 master's spirit was about receiving guests. We en- 
 tered a low gallery, with a groined stone roof, rising 
 from thick pillars, like the columns and arches of a 
 crypt. There was a boat of light material and con- 
 struction on the pavement, and I meant to ask what 
 its history was, but entirely forgot it. Heavy oak- 
 carved chairs stood against one side, and everything 
 was scrupulously exact and ordered. After the boy 
 left us, it was some time before we saw any one, but 
 at last a highly respectable dame appeared, and 
 after requesting us to write our names in the visit- 
 ors' book, she preceded us up-stairs. And the very 
 first room she ushered us into was Lord Bj-ron's 
 bedchamber, precisely as he left it, excepting that a 
 table, and a huge ewer on a stand, have been added 
 to the furniture. I do not know what some of our 
 fashionable young, men of fortune in America would 
 say to the plain and simple arrangement and uphol- 
 stery of the noble lord's private apartment. An 
 oriel window, the only one, commanded the lawn, 
 water, and woods beyond. Two large arm-chairs, 
 
92 NOTES UT ENGLAND. 
 
 covered with embroidered silk, stood on each side, 
 and I sat down in one ; and I endeavored to believe 
 that I was really there, sitting exactly where the 
 poet sat, my eyes resting on the same landscape 
 which his had so often dwelt upon. Over the man- 
 telpiece was a looking-glass, into which I gazed, for 
 it was the very same at which he dressed his hya- 
 cinthine locks, and met his own melancholy, defying 
 eyes. Prints of the colleges of Cambridge hung on 
 the walls. There was not a luxury nor an adorn- 
 ment of any kind to be seen in the room, and no 
 attempt at any unusual comfort or ease ; but it is 
 just a chamber with bed, toilet, chairs, tables, 
 washstand, in ordinary style, not even large. Next 
 to it is a smaller room, where his lordship's page 
 slept, and once there was no access to it, excepting 
 from his own ; but now Colonel Wildman has cut a 
 door into it from the corridor. This page's apart- 
 ment is the famous haunted one, where the ghost of 
 a monk was often seen. It has a deep window, the 
 thickness of the walls causing an embrasure of sev- 
 eral feet ; but otherwise there is nothing remarkable 
 about it. It is left, like Lord Byron's, just as it was 
 in his time. In the corridor, leading to these two 
 chambers, hung two pictures, — one of Murray, the 
 faithful, attached servant of his lordship, and the 
 other of his fencing-master. The face of old Murray 
 is very interesting ; he looks good and loving, and 
 it is an excellent painting. We lingered about this 
 part a long time. An uneasy feehng of sadness was 
 
NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 03 
 
 caused by the sense of his former prosi nco ; fur 
 there was no peace nor true happiness in him at 
 any time, and so the mysterious Od left by his foot- 
 steps, his touch, his glance, his life, must impart a 
 sense of unrest and gloom. It was pleasant to see 
 the kind face of the old servant, who loved him so 
 devotedly that it proved a power in Byron of deeply 
 attaching others to him, when in a simple relation to 
 them. I doubt not he had a warm and fiery heart, 
 wretchedly embittered by the circumstances of his 
 early life, which only cultivated the evil in him, and 
 by no chance unfolded and increased the good ; and 
 he died in early manhood, attempting to do a gen- 
 erous deed. 
 
 Leaving this most interesting part of the Abbey, 
 the housekeeper led us into all the state chambers 
 of the former Abbots, now most sumptuously re- 
 stored, and made delightfully comfortable and habit- 
 able by Colonel Wildman. One is Charles the Sec- 
 ond's chamber, another Henry the Seventh's, another 
 Richard the Second's — either because these several 
 kings had occupied them aforetime, or because their 
 portraits are in them. There are fine portraits by 
 Sir Peter Lely aud Holbein of these kings and their 
 queens, and of other remarkable persons of the ago 
 of those painters. I was particularly arrested by a 
 portrait of Charles the Second, which was hung in 
 his chamber. It was not the dark, animated, force- 
 ful face I have always seen and become acquainted 
 with ; but it was pale, haggard, thin, joyless, and 
 
94 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 worn, as if lie had exhausted all his human life, and 
 saw no happy future before him of rest and blessed- 
 ness. It also had, singularly, a more kingly look 
 than any other, and resembled, more than any other, 
 the right royal head and air of his unfortunate 
 father. A portrait of Henry the Eighth, by Holbein, 
 was unspeakably ugly and jolly, with eyes as small 
 as a pig's, and with no better expression. He was 
 unwise to sit for his portrait, when he had become 
 so much swallowed up in his body that he could 
 scarcely see out of it. I almost think that Herr 
 Hans Holbein revenged himself at this sitting for 
 having been obliged to paint the " Defender of the 
 Faith" so many times, and hoped to cure his majesty 
 of the desire to be repeated again. Artists have, to 
 be sure, a terrible power in their hands. Richard 
 the Second looked like a fool in the picture, but it 
 was not a master who executed that. In all these 
 rooms were superbly carved cabinets, chairs, and 
 tables ; and in one was a cabinet, toilet, and look- 
 ing-glass which belonged to Queen Elizabeth, very 
 rich, with plate-glass mirrors all over them, mounted 
 with gold. They were magnificent. Every fireplace, 
 or rather all the woodwork over them, was cut into 
 the most extraordinary heads, in high relief, and 
 some half-figures seemed starting horizontally out 
 of the wall, and both figures and heads were bril- 
 liantly colored and gilded. They were portraits 
 generally, and were there in monkish days. The 
 efi'ect was gorgeous, bat, upon examination, the 
 
NEW STEAD ABBEY. 95 
 
 Avorlv wfis not superior. Gobelin tapestry of tlie 
 finest kind, beautiful and finished as paintiugs, 
 covered the walls. One tapestry face, in a little 
 boudoir belonging to Henry the Seventh's chamber, 
 was one of the loveliest I ever beheld anywhere. I 
 have never before seen such Gobelin tapestry as 
 that. One of the beds was hung with it, but wrought 
 with silk, not wool. In every room was a centre- 
 table, furnished with every convenience for sitting 
 down to write, — so tempting, that one could hardly 
 resist doing so. 
 
 While we were standing in Henry the Seventh's 
 chamber, the housekeeper said that when Lady Love- 
 lace, Lord Byron's daughter, came to Newstead, two 
 years' before her death, she slept in that room. She 
 said Lady Lovelace asked of Colonel Wildman a great 
 many questions about her father, and I washed to 
 hear everything she could tell me ; but she had not 
 much to say. The lady stayed three days. 
 
 " Ada ! sole daughter of my house and heart !" 
 
 There were a great many corridors of polished 
 oak, dangerous to walk over. These had richly- 
 carved chairs, and couches, and cabinets, and one 
 was adorned with two chairs and a sofa that had be- 
 longed to Charles the Second. They were of ebony, 
 sculptured into flowers. 
 
 I think we next went into the library, a long, 
 rather narrow, and charming apartment, with study 
 tables dispersed through its whole length, delightful 
 
96 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 lounges, and deep cliairs to nestle into, with precious 
 books ; and above all the bookcases hung fine pic- 
 tures by Sir Peter Lely. One was of Nelly Gwynn 
 (a famous person in the time of Charles II.). She is 
 exceedingly beautiful in this portrait, with small, 
 graceful head, and perfect features, a mouth pout- 
 ing with lovely curves and coral red, and cheeks 
 like roses, and everj- line of face and form delicate. 
 There were also marble busts upon the bookcases, 
 one of Lord Byron, and some of other poets and of 
 philosophers. From all the windows of the state- 
 chambers and library, the landscape was a picture 
 not painted by human hand, combining wood, lawn, 
 gardens, and water, in every variety of beauty. It 
 was to the state dining-room we went next, formerly 
 the dormitory of the Abbey. Now, it is a superb 
 hall, panelled with rich oak — military w^eapons, 
 corselets, helmets, stags' heads disposed around — a 
 vast chandelier in the centre, and gauntleted hands 
 and arms thrusting themselves out on every side, 
 each one gi'asping a vase-shaped, ground-glass 
 socket for holding a large wax-candle. In the up- 
 per portion of each arched window was painted 
 glass, commemorative of Colonel Wildman's and his 
 brother's war -triumphs. At one end of the hall 
 stood a knight in complete armor. Opposite was a 
 gallery for a music-band, sculptured in oak, with 
 Gothic panels and a carved balustrade, making a 
 magnificent effect. Lord Byron used this room for a 
 shooting-gallery. The C;)lonel must have a fine per- 
 
NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 97 
 
 ccptive taste and a vivid sense of fitness, for every- 
 tbiug he has done seems to be the work of past ages, 
 with a new poHsh on it. From this large and stately 
 banqueting-hall, we went into Lord BjTon's dining- 
 room. It is exactly as he left it, one or two things 
 added ; but nothing taken away. There stands his 
 very dining-table, rather low, but of tolerable size, 
 A\here he sat and passed round the grim drinking- 
 cup, made of a skull, and mounted with silver. 
 There hangs the picture of his faithful dog Boat- 
 swain, one of the few friends who never disappointed 
 him. The same chairs remain, and the wine-coolers 
 and the sideboard ; but over the sideboard, where, 
 in Lord Byron's life, there was a door, a great mir- 
 ror is now inserted in the wall, so as to brighten and 
 reflect the room. The ceiling is heavy and lower 
 than in other parts of the Abbey, and it is very plain 
 and simple in its furniture and arrangement, and 
 there is but one window. It must have been very 
 gloomy, and the kind Colonel felt as if he must give 
 it another bright spot. As the mirror is opposite 
 the window, it repeats it, and gives unexpected 
 light, besides making the room appear twice as 
 large. 
 
 The drawing-room came next, and there hangs the 
 famous and authentic portrait of the poet, very hand- 
 some, and yet not so handsome as my fine mezzo- 
 tint makes him out to be. That shows a faultless 
 head and face ; but this true likeness, though intel- 
 lectual, noble, proud, and sensitive, is not quite as 
 
 5 
 
98 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 symmetrical and Olympian as my old print. The 
 eyes are not so large, the mouth not so Apollo-like, 
 the brow not so spacious and throne-like. This has 
 the clustering hair and beautiful throat, however. 
 
 WilHam of Orange and his Queen Mary also are 
 there, and several portraits of the Wildman family, 
 and full-lengths of the Duke of Sussex and of George 
 III., and of a stern and fierce lord, with a child, 
 whose pale, thin, gentle, sweet face, makes wonder- 
 ful contrast with that of his father. The father 
 holds a stick over the head of the boy, and the 
 housekeeper told us that with that stick he strack 
 his child upon the head so violently, in a passion, 
 that he became an idiot for the rest of his life. This 
 seemed to me quite a fit picture for the Byron halls : 
 for Lord Byron's mother was so passionate, that she 
 would strike him with tongs, or shovel, or whatever 
 she could find. 
 
 All kinds of rich and sumptuous furniture and or- 
 naments were lavished about this vast drawing-room. 
 Cabinets of turquoise-shell and ebony, and turquoise 
 and silver ; but nothing interesting as connected 
 with Byron, excepting the far-famed skull cup. This 
 skull Mrs. Shepherd took with great care out of a 
 cabinet, and I held it in my hand a little while. A 
 grim and ghastly goblet indeed it is. 
 
 Before this, we had been into the chapel, a very 
 small, but lofty apartment, most comfortably ar- 
 ranged for the family. Up a few steps, on one side, 
 is a thickly-carpeted dais or gallery, where Colonel 
 
NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 99 
 
 Wilclman sits witli liis relatives and friends. Even 
 a fireplace is there, to make it entirely luxurious. 
 Below sit the servants and tenants. I cannot recon- 
 cile myself into this division of human beings into 
 high and low, rich and poor, noble and simple, in a 
 house of prayer and worship of the one loving 
 Father, who is no respecter of persons. In this the 
 Catholics behave more like humble Christians than 
 the Protestants. 
 
 This room was once the Abbot's Holy Place ; but 
 Lord Byron had used it for a dog-kennel, until Colo- 
 nel Wildman restored it to its original purpose. 
 There is now a dim, religious light in it, and a quiet 
 which makes it seem like a sacred spot. Divine 
 service is regularly performed there now. 
 
 The cloisters are all perfectly in repair and sur- 
 round a quadrangle, which contains a fine stone 
 fountain, that once stood in the gardens. Various 
 strange and monstrous beasts are sculptured on it, 
 and probably they once spouted water. It is a very 
 ancient work, a memorial of the monks of past time, 
 who were, perhaps, the artists, and they amused 
 themselves with cutting out the most fantastic forms 
 and heads. It was removed into this small, snug 
 quadrangle to keep it safe. The utmost ruin pre- 
 vailed when Colonel Wildman purchased the de- 
 mesne ; but now every mullion is restored, every 
 broken stone replaced. One of his nephews is his 
 heir, and will inherit all this. The present Lord 
 Byron is a cousin of the poet, and belongs to Her 
 
100 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 Majesty's household ; but though he and other 
 
 members of the family often visit Newstead, they no 
 
 longer have any right to it. 
 
 * -x- * * * * 
 
 Now we were again in the crypt-like entrance-hall, 
 and the housekeeper said that if we wished to see 
 the gardens, we should gain admittance by ringing 
 a bell, just round the tower. -^ -^ ^ ^"e were first 
 led over the grounds which Colonel Wildman has 
 brought from a wilderness and pasture into lovely 
 lawns, shrubberies and woodlands of all varieties of 
 form. 
 
 In our way we came to a well, which the man 
 called " the Holy Well," and at that moment ap- 
 peared a Httle boy with a crystal cup, and he dipped 
 up for us the pure cold water, and we drank of it. 
 There were very aged yew-trees, also, and I asked a 
 cutting fi'om one of them for a memorial. The gar- 
 dener said that the long, straight path near the 
 pond was one of the monks' promenades. Tunaing 
 to the right from this comparative wilderness, we 
 went along an avenue of trees into a garden, called 
 " the garden of the wicked Lord." In the centre of 
 the principal walk were two statues, one of Pan, and 
 the other the guide called, strangely enough, " Pan- 
 dora after her fall." Pan looks very jolly, with his 
 reed pipe, his hoofs and his horn, and " Pandora 
 after her fall" responds with a broad grin and cor- 
 respondent hoofs. These works of art are made of 
 lead, and were brought fi'om Italy by " the wicked 
 
NEW8TEAD ABBEY. 101 
 
 Lord," and when tliej were seen by tlie people, tliey 
 excited great horror and fear, for they believed them 
 to be Mr. and Mrs. Satan, embodiments of their 
 Lord's wickedness. The form of the fallen Pandora 
 is very beautiful, and her hands exceedingly lady- 
 like. But we were taken to this avenue especially 
 to see the twin trees, upon one of which Byron cut 
 his name when he was last at Newstead — his own 
 name and that of his sister Augusta. This tree, so 
 precious to all who value the poet, has withered from 
 the root, I believe. At any rate, the trunk is sawed 
 off a few inches above the inscription, and a bit of 
 india-rubber cloth is carefully tied over the place. 
 The twin tree flourishes finely, so that the doom of 
 the race involves the other, with the illustrious name. 
 Colonel Wildman thought once of putting the por- 
 tion that has such a melancholy interest into a glass 
 case, so as to preserve it more effectually ; but the 
 old gardener told him he had better let it stay in its 
 original position ; for it would be more valuable to 
 all who came to see it, to stand on the spot his lord- 
 ship stood upon when he carved it, and that it would 
 certainly last as it is now during the Colonel's own 
 life. So it remains. When Barnum, the American 
 showman, came, he sent into the house to request 
 Colonel Wildman to sell it to him for five hundred 
 pounds ! The gardener took the message, and the 
 Colonel returned word that he would not take five 
 thousand for it, and suggested that the man who 
 proposed such a monstrous thing should be shot. 
 
102 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 We then entered anotlier garden, in wliicli is an 
 old clematis vine clinging round a tree, and the vine 
 is as large in circumference as the trunk of a com- 
 mon tree, and seems all resolved into threads. But 
 it is alive, and the gardener said no man living could 
 tell its age. 
 
 Looking up from this endlessly old clematis, I 
 saw at an oriel window of the Abbey, looking earn- 
 estly out, an elderly gentleman, and Mrs. Shepherd 
 by his side. It was Colonel Wildman, trying to see 
 his guest, whose name he had read in the visitors' 
 book. 
 
 In an open lawn, near the house, stands the 
 storied oak planted by Byron. It is trimmed bare, 
 far out of reach of human hands ; and when I asked 
 the gardener for some leaves, he exclaimed, " Oh, I 
 daren't." He was forbidden to touch it. We saw 
 also the grave of his lordship's dog. Boatswain. 
 There is a monument erected over it, consisting of 
 a broad platform or pedestal of several steps, upon 
 which is placed an urn upon a column, and on one 
 side of the column is a long inscription. Byron 
 intended that his sister, Augusta Leigh, old Murray, 
 and himself, should be buried there with the dog, 
 when he erected this mausoleum ; but the dog re- 
 mains alone, and Lord Byron's tomb is in Hucknal] 
 church. 
 
 The last thing the old gardener did was to lead us 
 into a cellar -like apartment, containing a large stone 
 piscina, where the monks used to wash their hands. 
 
NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 103 
 
 It was a part of the clmrcli once ; and from it we went 
 into the nave, which now has the sky for its roof, 
 and grass for its pavement. Choir, chancel, all is 
 gone utterly, except the beautiful west front, which 
 is in a line with the front of the Abbey, and has a 
 noble arched window in the centre. Beneath it is 
 the great door, and two smaller arched openings on 
 each side, all richly hung and garlanded with ivy, 
 springing from roots as large round as my arm, or 
 even waist. I asked for a bit of this reverend vine, 
 and had permission to take what I would. The 
 effect of the ivy is lovely, as one stands before the 
 fagade, on the lawn. Fancy a decoration of deep 
 lace around the edges of all the arches — a deep lace 
 of green, for the wall inside is wholly covered with 
 the rich foliage. I have never seen any print of this 
 ruin that gave the least idea of its beauty, and I 
 wished excessively to try to sketch it, but had no 
 means. I did not wish to come away. There was a 
 spell about the spot, very difficult to analyze ; for I 
 could not tell whether it were more pleasant or sad ; 
 but it was the spell of genius and beauty, at any 
 rate. I felt a poignant sorrow when I thought of 
 Byron, brought so near as he was by standing on 
 his veiy homestead-ground — when I considered his 
 rained life and poisoned genius — his fiery heart, 
 once innocent and true, turned to wormwood with 
 hate and indignation, and the golden promise of his 
 dawn darkening into a lurid storm before his noon — 
 and no purple sunset when his mortal life sank into 
 
104 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 the niglit of death. It is certainly one of the saddest 
 of all histories. But his Father in heaven alone 
 could know all his temptations and all the hin- 
 drances to the development of his better nature, 
 and He only knew all the gracious aspirations and 
 motions of his spirit, veiled from the world, which 
 so sternly repelled and scorned him, and too savagely 
 dishonored his remains, even when they were brought 
 from Greece, where he endeavored to do a noble 
 deed. I hope that those persons who rejected him 
 Avere quite sure that they were holier than he. And 
 it is just as well for him that his body lies in Huck- 
 nall church, instead of in the glorious old Westmin- 
 ster Abbey. I remembered the divine words, " He 
 that is without sin among you, let him cast the first 
 stone." 
 
 The gardener told us that our coachman might 
 have driven us to the inner gate, and that the reason 
 he did not was probably because he wished to have 
 a jolly time at " The Hut." So when we arrived at 
 the aforesaid inner gate I sat down, for I was weary, 
 and obliged the man to meet us there, where he 
 ought to have driven us. 
 
 After we had dined, our landlady came suddenly 
 in upon me. She inquired kindly whether we had 
 had a pleasant day at Newstead, and I civilly an- 
 swered " Yes," and remained with suspended pen, 
 that she might retire, as time is precious. She 
 talked on, however, and presently asked if she might 
 sit down. I was much annoyed, but, of course, I 
 
NEWSTEAD ABBEY. 105 
 
 said "Yes" — yet I found she was a perfect mine of 
 interesting facts about the Byrons. By degrees she 
 
 informed me that she was Mrs. , and that her 
 
 mother was very highly regarded by all the aristoc- 
 racy, whom she was in the habit of entertaining. 
 She was especially intimate with two of Lord Byron's 
 
 aunts, who lived in Nottingham ; and when Mrs. 
 
 was a young girl, she was often sent to them by her 
 mother with messages. And once she was going 
 through the Market-place, when she met a little 
 sweep, upon whose bare black toes some one trod, 
 just as she was near him, and the boy squealed out 
 " Oh Lord !" when she heard a voice behind say, 
 " Is it I you want?" Looking round, she saw Lord 
 Byron, who had thus responded to the poor boy in 
 very gentle, musical tones, with great kindness. 
 
 TT "vr "ST "Vr Tr "^ 
 
 Two years after Lady Lovelace's visit to New- 
 stead, she died, and her body was brought to this 
 house and lay in state in the great drawing-room, 
 covered with a violet velvet pall, embroidered with 
 silver ; and twelve wax candles burned round it 
 during the watch. She desired to be buried by the 
 side of her father at Hucknall church ; so there lies 
 her body now. 
 
 Note. — It is perhaps superfluous to say here that this chapter 
 was in type before the publication of Mrs. Stowe's article on 
 Lady Byron. — Publisher. 
 
VI. 
 
 ON THE WAY TO SCOTLAND. 
 
 Carlisle, June 26th. 
 
 We left the station at ten. Our particular porter 
 was very attentive, and papa -wished me to corrupt 
 him with a shilling ; but I would not, because I did 
 not put him to any extra trouble. We again had a 
 carriage to ourselves, and were extremely comfort- 
 able. The country was so flat and inexpressive, to 
 Preston, that I ceased to look abroad after awhile, 
 and read my books about Holy rood. We arrived 
 at Preston at eleven, and there we were obliged to 
 wait two hours, which was provoking and tiresome ; 
 for it was too hot to walk into the town, and there 
 was nothing to see, if it had been cooler. 
 
 At one we started again. We found a woman in 
 one corner of oar carriage, — a queer little old-fash 
 ioned woman, who was very nearsighted,'' very nice, 
 and very sleepy, and her sleepiness and short sight 
 together reduced her eyes to a geometrical line. 
 We went to Preston on a Sunbeam, for that was the 
 name of our engine ; and at the station was a spir- 
 
ON TUE WAT TO SCOTLAND. 107 
 
 ited, comely-looking young woman, tastily dressed 
 in a cloth jacket and liat, with two feathers, who 
 went along by the carriages, calling out at each win- 
 dow, "Times, sir? Will you have the Times?" 
 Dickens has memorialized her, somewhere, as a fa- 
 mous little person. At Bay Storse station were a 
 great many large damask-rose§, some quite faint 
 with bloom. At Lancaster three interlopers crow^d- 
 ed into the carriage (our old lady having left us) — 
 two gentlemen and a woman. One seemed to be a 
 solicitor, both from his looks, and from a paper par- 
 cel in his hand, directed to " Doctors' Commons." 
 The solicitor remained till the end of our journey, 
 and was so tired, and folded himself up in such a 
 strange manner, that I thought once he was going 
 to put himself into his pocket. As soon as we were 
 confined for a few moments beneath a roofed sta- 
 tion, we were of a light blaze instantly ; but the 
 flames were quenched when we issued again into 
 outer spaces. The earth was covered with the white 
 May-weed and buttercups, and the road bordered 
 with alder-bushes, reminding me of American way- 
 sides. At one wee town, a bush of lovely dark-red 
 roses shot new life into me, and I begged the guard 
 for one. He plucked one for me, and its perfume 
 was restoring. It was the crimson-velvet rose. The 
 bush was nearly demolished during our halt. Papa 
 solaced himself with his volatile salts, which once 
 nearly cut open his head, with its penetrating, pow- 
 erful scent. 
 
lOS NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 After leaving Lancaster, where we peeped at the 
 Castle, and thought of John of Gaant, the country 
 began to be picturesque and hilly, and soon, afar 
 off, w^e saw the Scotch mountains on one side, and 
 those of Westmoreland on the other — beautiful, pale 
 outlines on the horizon, wrapped in a hot mist. 
 We rushed for a long distance by a narrow, shallow, 
 but clear stream, flowing over pebbles, at the foot 
 of successive hills, which sometimes were very high. 
 And there were many dry beds of torrents from the 
 summits down to the narrow river. Often, for a 
 good distance, the hills were quite bare, and one 
 looked much like hoary old Nab Scar of English 
 lake-memory. Then again, delicious, shady wood- 
 lands covered the slopes, and pretty little villages 
 were embosomed within, on small plains. I saw 
 very few cattle, — only one or two flocks of sheep, no 
 Jonger shaggy with long locks, but running, comfort- 
 able, in sheared skins, enjoying the breezes. It 
 w^as enchanting to see the mountains, after so much 
 flat, and I only wished your eyes were resting on 
 them as well as ours. 
 
 I was struck with a singular arrangement in some 
 of the pastures. In each of the four corners of a 
 square lot, trees were merrily flourishing in a trian- 
 gular pound, exactly as if they had been caught 
 straggling about as vagabonds, and fastened up in 
 groups for safe-keeping, while not a shrub was to be 
 seen on the whole pasture besides. 
 
 At Penrith we saw the ruins of a castle close by 
 
OiY THE WAT TO SCOTLAND. 109 
 
 the track, a very few remaiDS of thick briok- walls 
 and battlements. Some bits stood up miraculously 
 — so narrow and unprotected that I should think a 
 high wind would throw them over. They were of 
 great depth, however. 
 
 "We passed Milnthorpe, the town of roses, where, 
 two years ago, we all stopped and took the stage for 
 Windermere and Newby Bridge, as you will remem- 
 ber. And you remember my charming coachman, 
 done up in drab, with a face like a mammoth peony, 
 bursting out of his collar. Ah ! the happy days of 
 Windermere ! But there were no roses to be seen 
 in Milnthorpe now, and we shot by in a few minutes. 
 At five we arrived at Carlisle, and the guard said 
 " The Bush" was the best hotel, so here we are. A 
 grave, ministerial, dignified butler received us, and 
 we found ourselves in a nice, pleasant parlor, look- 
 ing upon the High Street (I suppose). At the end 
 of double-twisted turns of corridors are our cham- 
 bers, side by side. I hastened to mine ; for with a 
 hundred miles of soot and dust settled upon me, 
 what must I have looked like ? It seemed to me as 
 if I had an entirely new face when it came out of the 
 bath. 
 
 Carlisle is on the river Eden ; and after dinner 
 we walked out to a bridge over it, and the country 
 beyond was beautiful. A pretty church lifted its 
 spire from a mass of foliage on an eminence — Stan- 
 wix Church, in Stanwix. We were searching for the 
 cathedral, and at last I asked a boy where it was, 
 
110 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 and found we had already passed the direct street 
 leading to it. So we went to the castle. A wide 
 walk surrounds it at the foot of the walls, and this 
 walk commands an extensive and lovely scene of 
 plain, river, woods, and, afar off, the mountains of 
 Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Scotland. The 
 walls are extremely high, and supported by enor- 
 mous buttresses, very close together. On this walk 
 we breathed the most delicious air. A stone bridge, 
 with low arches and round Norman pillars, crossed 
 the river Eden, and lambs grazed on the sunny 
 green meadow, and we could see the high road to 
 Scotland. On one side of our broad walk was a 
 steep terrace, and then the strong, high walls ; on 
 the other, an abrupt descent of a hundred feet, 
 covered with trees and shrubberies to the very edge 
 of the smooth, fair meadow. So we circumambu- 
 lated until we came to the castle entrance, where a 
 soldier was sentinel at the outer postern. We passed 
 him to the inner, and there a youthful artillery 
 officer, with sword and cylinder fur-cap, took charge 
 of us. Several men, striped with red and gold, and 
 wretched in heavy cossack helms, lay about the 
 settles. Queen Mary Stuart was confined in this 
 castle. That hapless queen seems to have tried the 
 prison-power of all the castles in the laud. We saw 
 the site of the tower she occupied, of which the 
 staircase only remains, and looked at the terrace 
 where she walked for exercise ; and then we went 
 round the battlements. There were three old-fash- 
 
ON THE WAT TO SCOTLAND. Ill 
 
 ioned iron guns, not used now, pointing to possible 
 enemies on two sides. Across one opening, wido 
 enough to admit a man, boards were nailed, be- 
 cause, as our young officer said, the sentinels had 
 sometimes swung down from it, to go and have a 
 merry revel for the night. It seemed much too 
 high ; but he said that when men were very tipsy, 
 it did not hurt them to fall so far ; and then he con- 
 fessed he had dropped down himself, and knew well 
 it could be done. But some legs had at last been 
 broken, and one man had been killed, so now it was 
 fastened up. The view was wonderfully beautiful 
 from this height, which was the roof of the donjon- 
 keep. We could look down upon Queen Mary's 
 tower also ; and on the steep ascent to this prome- 
 nade, we were shown Queen Mary's well, which our 
 guide said was the best water in Carlisle ; but we 
 had no cup for tasting it. This young soldier told 
 us that life was very dull in the fortress ; and he 
 looked extremely joyless, with no ready smiles. He 
 was handsome — his profile gem-like, really a Greek 
 head and face, and he was doubtless as brave as 
 handsome, for on his breast he wore a medal, which 
 had Victory crowning a hero on one side, and her 
 majesty, Victoria, on the other. He had been to 
 the Crimea, and had not a sick day there, though 
 he suffered on the voyage. Every one of the present 
 garrison had been there also. When he took the 
 medal from his breast to show us, he was just as 
 joyless as before, and the memory of his brave deeds 
 
112 NOTES IN ENGXAND. 
 
 gave him no animation. There were but twenty 
 men in the castle, so that the dut}^ was very heavy, 
 he said, the turns about came so often, and he could 
 sleep only three nights of the week. It is the 
 monotony that seems to weigh upon him like a mill- 
 stone, and crush the faculty and inclination to be 
 gay out of his heart. These soldiers are condemned 
 to celibacy, and lead prisoners' lives, in effect. Oh 
 that the lion would make haste to lie down with the 
 lamb, and let the little child lead them ! — so that free- 
 born men should not have to live such unnatural 
 lives, and suffer so much wrong and evil. 
 
 Carlisle is an old Roman station, and doubtless 
 this castle was the site of one of their fastnesses. 
 William the Conqueror rebuilt it, and William II. 
 repaired it ; and it was taken and lost by the Scots 
 and English over and over again for very many 
 years, and was like a ball tossed from the hands of 
 the one to the hands of the other, in a game centu- 
 ries long. It was the outpost of the English against 
 the Scots, just over the Border. Mary Stuart's 
 keeper, Lord Scrope, once restored its dilapidations ; 
 for the officer said it was exceeding old, built before 
 the Christian era, two thousand years ago. 
 
 He took us into the prison-cells, in one of which 
 he had himself been locked up for two nights in 
 succession ; and he spoke of being punished, with 
 the same quiet manner and simplicity as he told us 
 about his medal. There was no visible emotion in 
 him, and it was heartrending to think of his object- 
 
OiY THE WAY TO SCOTLAND. 113 
 
 less life, so without interest, that it was all one to 
 him whether ho were a prisoner in a cell or an 
 officer keeping guard — whether he wore a medal on 
 his breast, or broke bounds and sprang down from 
 the battlements. 
 
 He recounted a legend of Lady Scrope, who be- 
 trayed the castle for the love of Queen Mary, and 
 who was shot, as she tried to escape through a door 
 which he showed us, now forever closed. There is 
 a deep moat on one side ; and on the summit of a 
 slope Queen Mary walked, and watched games of 
 ball played by her suite. She also rode on the 
 lovely meadow ; but Sir Francis Knolles, who was 
 appointed by Queen Elizabeth to guard her, and, 
 though unwilling, was perfectly faithful, wrote to his 
 royal mistress that he feared she might be rescued, 
 and taken back to Scotland by some of her friends, 
 if he allowed her so much freedom ; and finally, she 
 was removed, for greater safety, to Bolton Castle. 
 
 Until Scotland and England became one kingdom, 
 CarKsle was the scene of perpetual victory and de- 
 feat ; constantly destroyed, renewed, burnt, razed, 
 and built up again, Hke a phoenix rising from its 
 ashes. But now it grows yearly, and is what the 
 old chroniclers would call a very fair town, and 
 peace folds her wings over it. A very short time 
 ago, the keep was an arsenal, and there were many 
 arms there, which made a fine show ; but they are 
 all taken away now. One of the largest rooms in it 
 was used last Christmas for a ball-room, and a hun- 
 
114 NOTES m ENGLAND, 
 
 dred and fifty people made merry in the grim old 
 place. I was glad to see our sad attendant smile at 
 the mention of this jolly dance. There was no more 
 to see, and we bade farewell to the handsome, triste, 
 and brave young sentinel, who had interested me 
 very much, and depressed me too. 
 
 We now went in search of the cathedral, and, 
 going through a deep arched gateway of stone, we 
 entered a Close — another cathedral Close — but very 
 small, and, instead of rooks cawiog on lofty trees, 
 we heard the twitting of innumerable sparrows. At 
 Peterboro, the effect of the Minster and its environ- 
 ment was like a hymn of the gods : here it was a 
 simple song. The building looked to have been re- 
 paired very thoroughly, and recently, all the corners 
 and sculptures being crisp and unworn. The re- 
 newed part is of reddish stone, and the old Norman 
 part is of gray stone, and it is renewed in the deco- 
 rated EngHsh style, and some intermediate portions 
 are early English. We admired greatly the south 
 porch, with its lovely wreath of carved flowers and 
 birds, and its fantastic corbels, and also two seraphim 
 as corbels to the principal arch of the entrance. 
 The east window is vast, with a heading of flowing 
 lines, filled with painted glass, all the compartments 
 adorned with cinquefoils and trefoils. Statues of 
 saints stood on canopied brackets, and lovely little 
 circular lights were placed here and there. We 
 could find no grand portal. The western front, in- 
 stead of a lofty door or window or tower, was a wall, 
 
ON THE WAT TO SCOTLAND. 115 
 
 supported by tlie liiigest buttresses. We could look 
 tlirougli the iron gate in the southern porch, but it 
 was locked. Through it we could see the transepts. 
 The clerestories (which are the upmost range of 
 arched galleries and windows) were of Norman 
 architecture, gray and ancient, and the rest looked 
 new. There was no sign of a verger, and we thought 
 it too late to go for one. 
 
 On one side of the Close was a very old building 
 indeed, which I thought might be a part of the 
 Abbey, and there were houses in this retreat, prob- 
 ably of the Dean and Canons. We could only conjec- 
 ture of these things then, and left it till to-morrow. 
 
 June 27th. — J and I have been to the cathedral. 
 
 * * * We tried to get there before the morning 
 service, because we had so little time. We found a 
 venerable man working in the grounds ; and when he 
 discovered we wished for the verger, he dropped his 
 spade and went for him, and returned with him im- 
 mediately. There was a mild, pensive, contemplativ^e 
 look in his face, and a patient quiet in his manner 
 and figure very pleasant, and almost saint-like. Yet 
 he was a homely, plain man, with no appearance of 
 good fortune and good cheer, like the ruddy, gentle- 
 manly, well-informed verger of Lincoln. There was 
 refinement, however, in my twilight verger, John 
 Scott, which his shabby coat did not conceal. As 
 soon as he began to talk, I found he was scholarly 
 and cultivated, and that the cathedral was his 
 
116 NOTES IN ENGLAND. 
 
 " great darling." He was perfectly deliglitful in Lis 
 naturally poetic, dreamy way, and I found lie had a 
 fine perception of art. He told me that Cromwell 
 had utterly destroyed the west end of the building. 
 William Rufus founded the original conyentual 
 church, and Henry I. finished it in 1101, in the Nor- 
 man style. After the injury of a great fire, it was 
 repaired in the early English. As it was long in re- 
 construction, there are specimens of the geometrical 
 and flowing lines ; but all blend together wonder- 
 fully, just as variety of character makes a harmoni- 
 ous company, and two thousand different voices can 
 blend into one mellifluous tone, as happens just now 
 at the Crystal Palace. The aisles of the choir have 
 been scraped of plaster and wash, and now look per- 
 fectly fresh, and the hue is pale j^orphyry, like the 
 stone outside, and the gi'oined arches are ever beau- 
 tiful. The Lady-chapel was demolished as well as 
 the west front, and the vast east window is new. It 
 is to be entirely filled with painted glass, and the 
 top is already full, as I perceived yesterday; and 
 now that I saw it on the right side, I found it ex- 
 ceedingly rich. A Berlin sculptor was employed 
 upon the carvings, and the verger said he was a 
 man of extraordinary genius, and made sketches 
 with no effort, and then cut the stone, or cut with 
 no pattern at all. AU the strange gurgoyles and 
 corbels and bosses were his handiwork, and had in 
 them the true spirit of the ancient conceptions. In 
 the choir is one brass left upon the floor, of which 
 
ON TUE WAY TO SCOTLAND. 117 
 
 the verger lias made a rubbing, bj putting paper 
 over it and using black-lead, so that the result is 
 like an engraving or mezzotint. There were so 
 many beautiful arches and circles of lights, that I 
 had to pull out my pencil and go to sketching, and 
 John Scott seemed well pleased that I cared to do 
 so. One shrine was adorned with a carving of the 
 badge of the Earl of Leicester — the ragged staff, at 
 least. The tabernacle-work of the choir is quite 
 black with eld, and a side screen between the stalls 
 and the altar was of the same date, and covered 
 with heads of saints, and every imaginable device 
 of flower, bird, and beast. The verger showed me 
 what looked like a brass tablet of a devout bishop, 
 very delicately engraved, which he told me had re- 
 cently been electroplated with gold, and that he had 
 had an engraving taken of it. He was very proud 
 of this. 
 
 But the hour for the service approached, and he 
 had to leave us once in a while to ring the bell ; and 
 fearing to interrupt him, I reluctantly took leave of 
 him and his " great darling," just as his Reverence 
 the Dean issued from his house, in white linen robes, 
 with a scarlet scapulaire and a square-topped cap, 
 preceded by an oflicial with a silver mace. As he 
 appeared, a troop of young choristers ran down the 
 steps of the old building I had supposed a remnant 
 of the Abbey (and it luas the former refectory of the 
 Abbey), and followed him into the cathedral, when 
 at once the organ rolled forth its thunder. 
 
NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 I. 
 
 BURNS' REGION. 
 
 D UMFRIES, — MaTJCHLINE, — AtR, — BONNIE DOON. 
 
 Dumfries, June 27th. 
 Here we are, in BurjQs' town, where he lived 
 many years, and died, and was buried, and where 
 the great mausoleum was built over his body. 
 
 Mauchline, June 28th. 
 I COULD write no more at Dumfries than those few 
 lines, and those were written in the station, while 
 waiting for the train to fetch us here. We concluded 
 to come to Mauchline, instead of going on rapidly 
 to Glasgow, as we at first intended. * * * The 
 weather has become cooler this afternoon. The 
 comet has probably switched aside its fiery tail, and 
 we are restored to England's customary, moderate 
 heat. Gur carriage fi'om Carlisle was more luxu- 
 rious than usual, and quite private to us. Indeed, 
 there were no other first-class passengers. Wo 
 passed the Annan river, which doubtless flows 
 through Annandale. The country was very flat all 
 
120 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 about tliere, even to the horizon, with only occa- 
 sional clumps of foliage. Yerj soon we came to 
 Gretna, and then to the famous Gretna Green. 
 Gretna Green is on the very line of division between 
 England and Scotland ; and young people who re- 
 solved to be united whether their parents would let 
 them or no, and who did not wish to have their bans 
 published, went there to be married without benefit 
 of clergy. I do not think the custom holds now — 
 but perhaps it does. I saw a lovely wood, where 
 new brides and bridegrooms might wander at will, 
 and the country was all very pretty thereabout. 
 Afar on the left was Solway Firth, to the shore of 
 which, an Annandale, Burns went, for the sake of 
 bathing in the sea, just before he died. He had 
 rheumatism in his limbs, and the salt water relieved 
 him for a little while. 
 
 After passing Gretna Green, we were refi^eshed by 
 the looming up of a mountain on the left, and now 
 we were in Scotland. It had a different aspect to 
 England. It does not look so well brought up, so 
 delicately nurtured and polished. Old Scotia seems 
 not to have combed her hair — the grass looks 
 rougher, and there is a wilder expression on the 
 moors and hills. 
 
 We passed Cammertrees and Buthwell, and now 
 the lovely wreaths of blooming sweetbrier began to 
 beautify the hedge-rows ; and soon the steep banks 
 were covered with the yellow gorse in great profu- 
 sion, and the wild pink and bowers of honeysuckle 
 
nUIiJ^S' BEG ION. 121 
 
 (or " beesuckle," as R calls it). The foxglove 
 
 also abouudecl, stiff and stately, holding all its cells 
 open for the fairies to nestle in. We stopped at 
 Thornhill, and mountain beyond mountain rose in 
 the distance ; but first we passed through Closeburn 
 (no doubt named so from one of those shy little 
 streams called " burns" l)y the Scotch), overshadowed 
 by foliage, and closely folded in by narrow banks. 
 After Carron Bridge we plunged into a tunnel, and 
 were cool for the space of two minutes and a half ; 
 
 and issuing thence, J shouted, " A ruin ! a 
 
 ruin !" and on the left there stood a few shattered 
 walls of a small castle — a border fortress, perhaps ; 
 but I do not know its story. At the Sanquhar sta- 
 tion a little Scotch bairn called out " Glasgow Morn- 
 ing Times" in such broad accents, and so musical 
 too, that we thought we would buy a paper of him — 
 especially as he was the first who spoke Scotch to 
 us on Scottish ground. Presently we saw " Bute" 
 on an engine, which looked classical, and at last 
 arrived at Dumfries, where we were to remain three 
 or four hours. So our luggage was locked up, and 
 we walked into the town, red-hot as it was, near 
 noon of day. It is a large town, and we toiled 
 along, and turned down Shakspeare Street, and by 
 diligent inquiries arrived at Burns Street, and found 
 Burns' house. It is a low house, of two stories, and 
 we were admitted by a smiling maid, who put us 
 into a small parlor, and went to call her mistress. 
 
 The mistress was a loosely strung woman, with a 
 
 6 
 
123 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 pale, washy face ; and slie said this was Burns' 
 parlor. So we looked earnestly at it, and tried to 
 realize his existence there, till she took us up-stairs 
 into the room in which he died. It was also small 
 and low, and had a side closet, where, perhaps, he 
 wrote and studied. The house is now an Industrial 
 School. It is difficult to conceive how people can 
 live in such small places. After lingering as long as 
 we liked to detain the woman, we left this scene of 
 most melancholy days in the poet's life. He had no 
 thrift nor prudence ; and though he was an excise- 
 man, and had a tolerable income, he yet spent so 
 profusely that his family suffered from want, and 
 sometimes did not feel sure of enough to eat. He 
 had a wife and four children to maintain, and was 
 wretchedly ill himself. In days of former despond- 
 ency and gloom he had sung — 
 
 " I wish that I were dead, but I no am like to die." 
 
 Now he wished to live, but was daily like to die. 
 The government, with singular meanness and cruel- 
 ty, deprived him of part of his income when he was 
 ill, though he already belonged to the kingdom 
 through his genius. Genius and prudence seldom 
 come together, especially when it is poetical genius ; 
 and he wrote most eloquently and pathetically to 
 this effect himself. " There is not among all the 
 martyrologies that were ever penned so rueful a 
 narrative as the lives of the poets. In the com- 
 parative view of wretches, the criterion is not what 
 
BURNS' REGION. 123 
 
 tliey are doomed to suffer, but what tliey are able 
 to bear. Take a being of our kind : give liim a 
 stronger imagination, and a more delicate sensi- 
 bility, — which, between them, will ever engender a 
 more ungovernable set of passions than are the 
 usual lot of man ; implant in him an irresistible 
 impulse to some idle vagary — such as arranging 
 wild-flowers in fantastical nosegays — tracing the 
 grasshopper to his haunt by his chirping song — 
 watching the frisks of the little minnows in the 
 sunny pool ; in short, set him adrift after some 
 pursuit which shall eternally mislead him from the 
 paths of lucre, and yet curse him with a keener 
 relish than any man living for the pleasures that 
 lucre can purchase ; fill up the measure of his woes 
 by bestowing on him a spurning sense of his own 
 dignity ; and you have created a wight nearly as 
 miserable as a [poor] poet." 
 
 In judging of these finely-strung, fiery-hearted 
 beings, it would be well always to remember this 
 plea of Burns. Ordinary mortals cannot estimate 
 the dangers and temptations of those who are gifted, 
 as Tennyson sings, with " the Love of love, the Hate 
 of hate, and Scorn of scorn." 
 
 After leaving the house, we walked up the High 
 Street to the Market-place, and into a hotel to lunch. 
 This hotel was the one in which Prince Charles 
 occupied a room ; but we did not care to see it. It 
 was far more interesting to look at the Globe Inn 
 on the other side, which Burns used to frequent, — 
 
124 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 bj how much a true poet is greater than an indif- 
 ferent prince ! Upon the windows of that inn Burns 
 scribbled poetry with his diamond, which was a 
 dangerous weapon in his hand — more fatal than a 
 sword ; for with it he often indelibly recorded his 
 indignation, his satire, and his wondrous wit, much 
 to the detriment of his fellow-men, if they had been 
 guilty of a mean or hypocritical action. 
 
 After luncheon, we went to St. Michael's church- 
 yard to see the mausoleum ; and we were much 
 annoyed, in our strolls through the town of Dum- 
 fries, with the noisome odors, giving us a sad fore- 
 taste of the notorious uncleanness of Scotch towns 
 generally. A grave-digger unlocked the door of the 
 churchyard, and then resumed his grim occupation. 
 We wandered on by ourselves, hoping we were to 
 be free ; but a woman with keys soon overtook us, 
 and asked us if we wished to see the mausoleum. 
 We found, therefore, that it vx^as locked up. It is 
 round, with a dome, and formerly was open to the 
 air ; but the marble was becoming excessively de- 
 faced, so that now the spaces between the pillars 
 and arches are glazed. The sculpture is by Turne- 
 relli, in very high relief. Burns stands with the 
 plough, and Scotland's Muse hovers in the air, about 
 to wrap him in her mantle. He is looking toward 
 her with a surprised and animated air, and the face 
 is said to be a perfect likeness. The figure is stout 
 and well made, and the head large and compact, 
 with clustering hair, large eyes and mouth, and the 
 
BUENS' REGIOK 125 
 
 whole expression pleasant. I thought the hovering 
 figure pretty and graceful. Tablets of marble hang 
 on the walls, commemorative of all the members of 
 his family. He died on the 22d July, 1796, when 
 but thirty-seven years old, sixty-one years ago ; and 
 in 1815, Avhen his coffin was removed to its present 
 abiding place, the clustering dark curls on the head 
 were as glossy as in life. The woman who was our 
 guide was remarkably intelligent and good-looking, 
 and we thought she talked English wonderfully 
 well ; but it seems she was a Cumberland and not a 
 Scotch person. There is a grand-daughter of Burns 
 still at Dumfries, whom I wish we could have visited, 
 but this we were not able to accomplish. 
 
 The tombstones in the cemetery were different to 
 any I have ever seeru They were nearly all very 
 high, a mere facade, with an inscription ; and the 
 trade or profession of the individual always put 
 beside his name : i. e., " John Lookup, skinner" — (T 
 cannot imagine what that trade can be, unless it 
 was what Apollo practised in respect of Marsyas), — 
 " Alexander Johnstone, painter." There were three 
 ancient monuments, the oldest of 1529. Cromwell 
 half pommelled them down, but the ruins remain, 
 and it seems astonishing that some violent storm 
 does not wholly overthrow them ; but the guide 
 averred that no wind could move a stone. She took 
 us inside the church, to show us the marble figure 
 of a little child, whose father is the sculptor, Dun- 
 bar. The original baby-form lay asleep, draped 
 
12a NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 only in its beauty and innocence, and a lady who 
 saw it was so much affected by its repose and love- 
 liness, that she wished it for her own, and the father 
 actually sold it for a hundred guineas, and carved 
 this one in place of the other for himself. He has 
 slightly draped this. It is a pity the first was sold, 
 for it was doubtless far more beautiful, — cut " in 
 love and terror," — though this is also sweet and ex- 
 pressive of a living calm. We then went into Burns' 
 pew, and I sat down where he used to sit, — a great 
 pillar intervening between himself and the minister ; 
 " for he did not much like the ministers," said the 
 woman. He may have had reason in this ; but that 
 he was deeply religious, no one can doubt who reads 
 " The Cotter's Saturday Night." It was here that 
 he sat, when he composed the poem upon the un- 
 speakable creature upon a lady's bonnet. The lady 
 so unfortunately immortalized was seated directly 
 before him, in a more stylish pew than his, lined 
 with cloth : 
 
 " Ha ! wbare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie ? 
 Your impudence protects you sairly : 
 I canna say but ye strunt rarely 
 
 Owre gauze and lace ; 
 Tho' faith, I fear ye diue but sparely 
 
 On sic a place. 
 
 " Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, 
 Detested, shunn'd by saunt an' sinner, 
 How dare you set your fit upon her, 
 
 Sae fine a lady ! 
 Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner, 
 On some puir body." 
 
BURNS' REGION. 127 
 
 TVe enjoyed mucli seeing the scene of tliis poem, 
 and it was wholly unexpected. This was the end of 
 our Dumfries excursion, and now we are at Mauch- 
 line. 
 
 Mauchline is th6 village close by Burns' farm of 
 Mossgiel, where he lived several years with his 
 mother and sister, and brother Gilbert. It was at 
 Mossgiel where he disturbed the field-mouse and 
 crushed the daisy, and composed his celebrated 
 poems upon each. It was in Mauchline that Jane 
 Armour, his wife, was born and bred, and where he 
 finally married her. An old inn in the village street 
 was the scene of his cantata, " The Jolly Beggars." 
 We are at Loudon Hotel, the principal one — a two- 
 story, rather long house, with a look of newness and 
 neatness. We were shown into a homely parlor, and 
 the maid took me up into the chambers. One had 
 two closed recesses containing beds, which is a 
 Scotch style, and saves the expense of bedsteads, 
 because a plain frame or box is merely nailed up to 
 hold the bed, three sides being the walls of the 
 room. Folding-doors are in front, which, when 
 shut, turn the apartment into a parlor. * ^ * The 
 house seems clean, and the landlady is a nice little 
 woman, and the landlord a well-read man, if we may 
 judge from his library in J 's bedroom. 
 
 After tea we walked up the village street, and I 
 found out which was " Posie Nancy's Inn," where 
 " The Jolly Beggars" caroused and told their stories. 
 There are but three or four streets. 
 
128 NOTES m SCOTLAND. 
 
 Just as the green country opens is a beautiful 
 mansion where Lord Chief Justice Hope resides ; 
 and an avenue of stately trees, making a superb 
 arched way, was very tempting to enter, but as it 
 Avas private we did not like to go in, though the 
 gardener thought his lordship would be very willing. 
 
 29th. Sunday. — This morning we went to kirk. 
 It was sacrament day, and the services were four 
 hours long, three of which we stayed, the last hour 
 and a half much against my will and capabilities. 
 The kirk is as plain and homely as a house can be 
 made, with long, narrow, high pews on each side. 
 I do not accede to these barn-like houses of worship, 
 while close at hand such lordly dwellings are erected 
 for man's residence — as that of the Lord Chief Jus- 
 tice, for instance. Why not render our best homage 
 in art and architecture to our Supreme Father, as 
 well as our best devotion ? The cathedral builders 
 were right, I think. Down the centre was a pecu- 
 liar arrangement. A narrow table reached from the 
 pulpit to the door of entrance, and on each side sat 
 the communicants, as closely as they could crowd, 
 at the LorcVs table. It was a kind of interminable 
 pew, for behind the seats was a back-piece, all the 
 way up and down. The chief pulpit stood high, 
 and beneath it was another one, very tiny, like a 
 box, and ministers occupied both. First, the most 
 exalted minister gave out a hymn, or rather a psalm, 
 and then the lower clergyman began to sing alone. 
 
BUEJV8' EEGIOK 129 
 
 in fi loud key. Before he had finished the second 
 line, a sweet female voice joined in, and before the 
 end of the fourth line nearly every person in the 
 whole congregation was in full unison. This had a 
 very beautiful effect indeed. I can compare it only 
 to the sun, rising over a river of closed lilies, as it 
 used to do in Concord, and as the rays struck each 
 lily, the chalices opened and gave out their incense. 
 All around me this gradual waking into song was 
 quite perceptible. There was no organ, dulcimer, or 
 harp, but the human voices were the only instru- 
 ments, swelling into praise. An exceeding long 
 prayer followed, not so edifying — another psalm, 
 and then the sermon. My attention was now di- 
 rected to the minister, and he was an extraordinary 
 looking person. His round, swarthy face was set in 
 a frame of black hair and whiskers ; his brows were 
 black and heavy ; and when his face was still, cast 
 a shadow with his eyelashes. But in speaking, he 
 continually lifted these heavy eyebrows to their ut- 
 most possibility, so that the space between them 
 and his eyes looked like a white desert ; and as he 
 kept up an incessant lifting, it had a ghastly effect, 
 something like lightning. In addition to this hard 
 working of the eyebrows, he twisted his mouth awry 
 at every word, as if he had the St. Yitus' dance. 
 His voice was naturally low, and through his long 
 sermon he strained it up to a falsetto tone, and 
 screamed ; and I think that very hkely this effort 
 sent up his eyebrows. You may fancy the effect of 
 
130 NOTES m SCOTLAND. 
 
 all these manifestations. He spoke, besides, in such 
 a broad, Scotch accent, that I could not catch an 
 entire sentence from beginning to end of the dis- 
 course. His text was, " Simon, son of Jonas, lovest 
 thou me?" When the sermon was over, he de- 
 scended into a semicircular enclosure, and actually 
 preached another long homily to the people about 
 the qualifications for communicants ; and when that 
 was finished, he turned to the members of the 
 church who were sitting at the table, and actually 
 delivered a third sermon ! Then the bread and wine 
 were administered by five elders, while another 
 psalm was sung ; and when those then at the table 
 had partaken, the minister — yes, truly, the minister 
 — uttered a foukth address, to admonish them of 
 their renewed obligations. It might have been short 
 and impressive, but it was long, and too diffuse and 
 wearisome. Finally, his scream ceased to torture 
 my ear, and all who sat at the table rose and left 
 the kirk. I was now sure that no more would be 
 said, both because the poor man must be exhausted, 
 and because enough, and far more than enough, had 
 been already said. But as the table filled again 
 with another company, a new minister, fresh and 
 strong, took the former one's place, and commenced 
 another exordium ! This was the fifth. I began to 
 grow so faint from the long confinement in the hot 
 atmosphere, and from such a strain upon my atten- 
 tion and ear, that I feared some catastrophe, and 
 wished to get out. But the pews were very narrow, 
 
BUEJVS' BEGIOIT. 131 
 
 and six great women had crowded into mine after 
 we had taken possession, and it was impossible to 
 escape, unless they had all filed into the aisle first. 
 This could not be done during such a solemn rite. 
 I concluded that when this second group had re- 
 ceived the communion, I would tell the women they 
 must give place, and let us go. My despair grew to 
 its height when the minister commenced the sixth 
 sermon, and at its close, I seized a woman and 
 opened my lips to cry out for deliverance, when, for- 
 tunately, they all started up and went to the table. 
 I was nearly speechless with fatigue, and after din- 
 ner was obliged to lie down for a few minutes, but 
 could not spend much time resting, as we were to 
 drive to Mossgiel and Ballochmyle during the after- 
 noon. 
 
 We ordered a carriage, the only one in Mauch- 
 line ; and it proved a remarkably comfortable sort 
 of chariot, and we drove to Burns' farm of Mossgiel, 
 about a mile from the village. When we came to a 
 very old hawthorn-tree on the side of the road, the 
 coachman stopped, alighted, and opened the door, 
 without a word from us, and I could not think what 
 he meant. But he informed us that this old tree 
 was Burns' " Lousy Thorn," and that pilgrims to 
 Mossgiel had cut its twigs so constantly for memo- 
 rials that it was nearly demolished, as, indeed, we 
 could perceive. " Some of it has gone to France, 
 and some to America," quoth he. So papa duly cut 
 off a bit, out of love to the poet. Beggars used to 
 
132 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 rest under it on the highway, and Burns himself, 
 from Mossgiel, often enjoyed its shade and met the 
 beggars, and their deplorable squalor gave it its 
 hardlj^-to-be-spoken name. How singular that a 
 poet should have made that unmentionable insect 
 classical ! 
 
 We were noAV on high land. The difficulty with 
 the farm used to be that it was too high and cold, 
 so that it was only good for pasturage, and it still is 
 famed for its excellent cheeses, as aforetime. Soon 
 we turned into the field in which stands the home- 
 stead, and the cottage was entirely concealed by a 
 hawthorn hedge, twelve or fifteen feet high ! Pass- 
 ing through an opening in the hedge, we drove 
 directly into the farm-yard, round three sides of 
 which were thatched buildings of stone, plastered 
 white. One was a cow-barn, another a storehouse, 
 and one the human dwelling. But the human dwell- 
 ing was not at all better than the barn. An incredi- 
 bly dirty woman and dirtier children came out of the 
 cottage to look at us, and the woman said the family 
 had gone to sacrament. (If that were so, the sacra- 
 ment lasted all the afternoon as well as all the morn- 
 ing.) She went into the storehouse, and the driver 
 told us we could enter the cottage and look about, if 
 we chose, and we did so. On the right hand of the 
 narrow lobby was the kitchen, and a small girl tend- 
 ing a baby, with two other children, in the midst of 
 the utmost defilement you can imagine. Indeed, 
 you cannot imagine it. It exceeded anything to be 
 
BUIINS' REGION. 133 
 
 found in any land but Scotland. The girl wlio held 
 the baby was pretty ; but her face was so foiled that 
 it was difficult to see through the grime ; and she 
 was shy, and did not know how old the baby might 
 be, nor could she answer any question whatever. 
 We looked at the kitchen in which Burns once had 
 lived. On one side were two recesses — boxes, hold- 
 ing beds, and these beds were indescribable, and all 
 tossed up. Though it was nearly six o'clock in the 
 afternoon, not an3^thing was put in order — no rag nor 
 cloth was smooth on those horrible beds. I was 
 afraid to stay long in such a place. We groped far- 
 ther into the lobby, and found on the other side a 
 room, where a youth sat, eating bread and cheese. 
 He did not seem at all surprised to see us, and con- 
 tinued eating in great composure. There were two 
 more box-beds, larger than those in the kitchen, 
 though not in better order. We then went up the 
 short staircase, and saw a small bedroom on each 
 side. One contained two beds, and clothing thrown 
 about, and I think was a degree worse in condition 
 than the kitchen. The other was covered with nice- 
 looking cheeses, and really clean, — the only clean 
 spot in or around the house. It is infinitely melan- 
 choly to think of Burns, — a genius, a poet of fine 
 perceptions, a being, as he says, "of a stronger 
 imagination and more delicate sensibility" than com- 
 mon men — living in such a den. One other door 
 opened into a store-closet, and this was the whole. 
 I was exceedingly depressed at finding Burns' home 
 
134 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 SO squalid. I only hope and believe that his mother, 
 who was a woman of remarkable piety and sense, 
 was also unusually neat for a Scotcliwoman, and 
 that she and her daughter kept everything clean 
 and sweet. This I ivill believe, though papa says 
 he does not. We peeped into the barn and saw 
 some goodly cows, and then walked down a path, 
 and papa leaned on an old gate, upon which, no 
 doubt, Burns often leaned, and looked off upon the 
 far-distant hills and mountains, with smiling plains 
 between. Near by were fine old trees ; and presently 
 the young man, who was so diligently eating bread 
 and cheese, came forth and told us that beneath 
 the fiae^ and largest of these — a plane-tree— Biu'ns 
 composed a great many of his songs. Two children 
 followed us about, staring unweariedly, and at last 
 I asked one his name, and he replied that it was 
 Johan Wiley (I think the people here pronounce 
 John, Mian), and finally we mounted into our char- 
 iot, and drove across the very field — yes, the actual 
 field where Burns disturbed the mouse and ploughed 
 down the daisy — immortal mouse ! immortal daisy ! 
 The field was thickly covered with daisies, as if they 
 had come in crowds to thank him for his exquisite 
 poem on their progenitor. 
 
 Papa sprang out and gathered a handful of the 
 myriads of daisies, and I have pressed some for 
 memory ; but the houseless little mousie has utterly 
 gone, leaving not even its wee tail behind, though 
 he is safely embalmed in the poem — more safely 
 
BITENS' MEG 10 j^. 135 
 
 than an}^ royal mummy, or, I might more aptly say, 
 than any fly in amber ; for amber better symbolizes 
 this poetry than cotton cerements and gold-embroid- 
 ered wrappings, steeped in spices. 
 
 So we left Mossgiel, and papa mounted the box 
 of the barouche wdth the driver, to get a wider view 
 of the country, and I was left to my meditations. I 
 could not recover from the dirty cottage. I could 
 not see how anything pure and high and heavenly 
 could possibly grow and flourish in such a noisome 
 atmosphere, with no space for decency, no leisure 
 for order. But God's ways are not ours, and His 
 thoughts are not as our thoughts, and doubtless He 
 has his own shield to guard the innocent heart from 
 wrong ; and the soul is not necessarily soiled with 
 the body. 
 
 The afternoon was delicious, for a cooler temper- 
 ature was coming on, and the scenery was beautiful 
 on every side. We now were in pursuit of Balloch- 
 myle, where Burns met the lady upon whom he 
 wrote the song — 
 
 " The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle." 
 
 Ballochmyle is the estate of the Alexanders, and 
 the " bonnie lass" w^as a Miss Alexander. We soon 
 arrived there, and from one point we had a fine view 
 of a new bridge of great beauty, with one mighty 
 arch in the centre, and three small pointed arches 
 on each side. The central arch was the frame of a 
 
13G NOTES m SCOTLAND. 
 
 pretty picture of hill and wood and meadovv^ in the 
 distance, and the valley was full of rich foliage, that 
 covered the lower portions of the piers. 
 
 Then we saw the very bridge on which the lady 
 was musing. The road was deeply shaded on each 
 side by thick woods for a short distance, and a fairy 
 bridge of iron spanned the road far over our heads, 
 springing from the foliage-covered rocks on one side 
 to the thickets on the other, and leading to enchant- 
 ing recesses both ways. It was to some of these 
 bosquets that the lady was wending when Burns 
 saw her. It is certainly one of the most romantic 
 spots in the world. The Ayr flows on the right, 
 taking a bend just there, and a lofty cliff rises al- 
 most sheer from the stream, and the wildest, fresh- 
 est charm pervades the whole environment. The 
 waters are shallow, and the pebbles gleam distinctly 
 through the pellucid ripples. On one side the 
 perpendicular crag, on the other the meadow — not 
 smooth and glossy like Genoa velvet, as an English 
 meadow would be, however, but unkempt, because, 
 as I said before. Old Scotia will not dress and 
 smooth her tangled green hair. Dear me ! It was 
 a place to dream in — a place to fall in love — a place 
 to sing such songs as Burns sang. 
 
 " Her look was like the morning's eye, 
 Iler air like Nature's vernal smile — 
 Perfection whispered, passing by, 
 ' Behold the lass o' Balloclimyle.' " 
 
BUBALS' REGION. 137 
 
 Most reluctantly we left the delicate bridge so 
 *' high uplmng." 
 
 Soon we began to skirt the estate of Sir James 
 Boswell, the biographer of Dr. Johnson. It was 
 Auchinleck on the right, and Ballochmyle on the 
 left. We then drove to Catrine, which is called 
 " Scotland's clean town," as if there were but one. 
 It was there that Burns first saw a Lord, the Lord 
 Daer, a nobleman of the loveliest character, whom 
 he afterward immortalized in a poem, beginning — 
 
 " This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
 I, Rhymer Robin, Robin Burns, 
 
 October twenty-third, 
 A ne'er to be forgotten day — 
 Sae far I clambered up the brae — 
 
 I dinnered wi' a Lord !" 
 
 Catrine was not a very pretty town. All the way 
 back to Mauchline village we constantly had on one 
 side or the other the immense estate of Ballochmyle. 
 As we came along the little old street in which this 
 London hotel stands, I took a last look at " Posie 
 Nancy's Inn," where the Jolly Beggars told their 
 stories. 
 
 29th. — It rains hard, but we are going to Ayr at 
 two o'clock to see Burns' birth-place, near "the 
 banks and braes o' bonnie Doon." Good-bye ! 
 
138 NOTES m SCOTLAND. 
 
 Ayr, June 29th, 1857. 
 
 We arrived at this fair town at four o'clock, in a 
 dreary, cold rain, and I shall not be able to go out 
 
 to see anything till to-morrow. Papa and J , 
 
 however, have been out, and walked over " the twa' 
 brigs of Ayr." 
 
 We drove from the Loudon Hotel to the station 
 in Mauchline in the rain, not having time to stay 
 for fair weather ; and while waiting for the carriages, 
 we saw a venerable gentleman walking up and down, 
 waiting, as we were. Looking at his portmanteau 
 accidentally as I passed it, I saw the name " Alex- 
 ander," and no doubt it was an Alexander of Bal- 
 lochmyle, some cousin or brother of " the lovely lass 
 o' Ballochmyle," whom Burns met. No, it could 
 not have been a brother, but it might have been a 
 nephew, perhaps. I glanced with interest at him, 
 for the glamour of poetry enveloped him, so potent 
 is genius to glorify every slightest thing it touches. 
 Would not the lips of the lordly Alexanders have 
 once curled in disdain at the suggestion that a 
 ploughman could invest their race with a m3'sterious 
 charm ? 
 
 In due time we were safe in our carriage, and first 
 stopped at Kilmarnock, and at Stuarton the towers 
 of Egliiiton Castle appeared afar off. At Dairy 
 junction we changed, to part off from the Glasgow 
 line. For if you will look on the map, you will see 
 that we were obliged to come farther south again to 
 
BUHNS' REGIOK 139 
 
 get to Ayr, wliicli is almost in a line with Maucli- 
 line, to the west. Dairy is on the river Garnock, 
 and next to it is Kilwinning, in which is the ruin of 
 an abbey ; but it is flat and sandy, and on our right 
 we began to see gleams of the Firth of Clyde ; and 
 the Isle of Arran presently appeared. Ardrossan, a 
 sea-bathing town, is situated beyond the sands, on the 
 shores of the Firth of Clyde, and two fragments of the 
 Castle of Ai'drossan remain on a promontory. This 
 castle was a scene of one of Wallace's exploits. I had 
 a glimpse of a gable of the ruined abbe}^, which was 
 once yery grand, founded in 1140, in memory of St. 
 Winning. John Knox knocked it to pieces, and 
 " more's the pity." Kilwinning is a famous archery 
 town, and here was a nearer view of Eglinton Castle. 
 It is the residence of the Montgomeries, Earls of 
 Eglinton, and I wish we could have gone to it, for 
 the sake of seeing the enormous trees for which it is 
 famous. Twenty years ago the present Earl, then 
 a young man, held a tournament with all suitable 
 accompaniments, in the true, olden style. Do not 
 you wish we had been there? For five hundred 
 years the Montgomeries have been lords of the 
 demesne. 
 
 We now passed through Irvine, chiefly famous for 
 being the place where Burns, when a youth, endeav- 
 ored to learn to be a flax-dresser, his only attempt 
 at a trade. The shop in which he was established 
 burnt down soon after he began, and then he gave 
 it up. All his pecuniary efforts failed. 
 
1-iO NOTES m SCOTLAm). 
 
 We next dashed into Troon, in full view of tlie 
 Isle of Arran, wliich looked very near, " and there- 
 fore foreboded rain," said a wight, who was our 
 compagnon de voyage thus far. It was not neces- 
 sary to say it " foreboded" rain, for it already rained, 
 and when we brought up at Ayr, it still rained, and 
 was dreary and sloppy and cold. We had to wait 
 at the station interminably for a fly, and in the wait- 
 ing-rooms there was never a seat, and they were 
 very dirty and Scotchy. But the fly came after our 
 patience had had its perfect work, and now we are 
 quite nicely accommodated at the King's Arms. We 
 have a large, handsome drawing-room, polished 
 footmen and butlers, and a pleasant though wiry- 
 faced landlady. 
 
 June 30th. — This morning I looked out of the 
 window in the broad daylight at half-past three ! 
 and was thankful to see the streets perfectly dry. I 
 asked for no more ; for this would do without sun- 
 shine, though the sunshine would have been most 
 welcome. So, soon after ten, we ordered a fly, and 
 drove out of Ayr to the cottage in which Burns was 
 born. It is the lowest, humblest of thatched cotta- 
 ges, consisting of but two rooms. The kitchen re- 
 mains exactly as it was originally, with its floor of 
 smooth, large stones laid together, its small recess 
 containing a bed, upon which the baby poet first 
 opened his eyes to the light, and a funny old fire- 
 j^^lace. The room is extremely small. It was now 
 
BURNS' REGION. 141 
 
 however, perfectly clean. The sitting-room is plas- 
 tered and floored with planks, but in the time of 
 Burns was unceiled, and had a clay floor. The 
 walls and furniture of this apartment are literally 
 embroidered with names of visitors, cut with knives. 
 There is scarcely an inch left anj^where, to put an- 
 other name. Beally it hardly seems possible to live 
 in such a small space as those two wee rooms, and 
 when I said so to the old woman, who showed us 
 about, she replied, " Och, ma'am, it is na wi' Scotch 
 as wi' ither folk." The cottage has been built upon 
 for an inn, and she took us along a corridor to a 
 very large and pretty high saloon, which I think 
 would have amazed Burns. There were other rooms 
 besides, hung round with prints and paintings — all 
 of the poet, or of scenes in his poems. The auld 
 mither said that Burns was nine years old when his 
 father removed from this cottage to Mount Oliphant. 
 We then drove to the Monument, passing by Al- 
 loway Kirk, which is close to it. We alighted, 
 and tried the bell at the gate opening upon the 
 monument ; but no one answered, and the driver 
 was obliged to search after the old porter, who had 
 gone to see a foundation-stone laid. The auld 
 mon came, after weary waiting for him, and let us 
 in ; but said he must return and see " the stane 
 laid." So he locked us up and went away, after in- 
 forming us that every door was open inside, and that 
 we could look by ourselves. The enclosure is a 
 garden, entirely filled with every variety of flowers 
 
143 NOTES m SCOTLAND. 
 
 in the richest profusion and fullest bloom. Roses— 
 sweetbrier and all kinds, heliotrope, rosemary, and 
 other aromatic plants, among evergreen shrubs, offer 
 up their incense to the memory of Burns, whose 
 bust is enclosed in a Corinthian temple, raised on a 
 high stone base, in the midst of the garden. It is 
 surrounded by eight columns, and surmounted by 
 the Highland-bonnet. Inside stands the marble 
 head, and a glass case, containing the Bible he gave 
 to his Highland Mary, and a lock of her fair hair. 
 His own autograph is on a fly-leaf of the Bible. 
 They stood each on opposite banks of the little 
 river, holding that Bible between them, and prom- 
 ised eternal fidelity ; and Burns had written on the 
 fly-leaf a verse from it about not sweariug falsely. 
 
 We went up on the roof, and there my longing 
 eyes at last rested upon " the banks and braes o' 
 bonnie Boon." And I saw " the little birds that wan- 
 toned through the flowery thorn ;" and I saw the 
 thorn, and heard the birds, as when they almost 
 broke the heart of the poet. We then walked along 
 every path, bordered thickly with flowers. A sun- 
 dial, with a hedge of " flowery thorn," stands before 
 the door of the temple. At the end of one path, we 
 came upon a deeply sheltered edifice with open door, 
 and we walked in, when, behold ! there sat Tarn o' 
 Shanter and Souter Johnnie, forever jolly in stone, 
 each holding a glass of ale — Tam laughing outright, 
 and old Souter Johnnie with a happy, silly grin on 
 his face. This group was cut by a self-taught artist 
 
BUBjYS' BEGIOK 143 
 
 by the name of Thorn, and these identical figures, or 
 exact copies of them, were once exhibited in Boston, 
 America. It was curious to leave these animated 
 images in eternal silence, and yet laughing so loud. 
 And if Tam could have seen with his stone eyes, he 
 might have looked upon the very Brig of Doon over 
 which he rode so madly on that memorable night ; 
 for it is close by the little edifice in which he sits. 
 
 When the old porter had satisfied his curiosity 
 about the foundation-stone, he returned to us, and 
 gave me a sweetbrier-rose and some rosemary — 
 
 " That's for remembrance — " 
 
 and two dam ask -roses. I will enclose you one, be- 
 cause it smells so sweet. I have sealed up the 
 eglantine and rosemary. 
 
 We then went to Alloway Kirk, which is now a 
 ruin. The two gables remain, and the side-walls, 
 but there is no roof. It is very small, and divided 
 by a stone partition into two parts, and in each is a 
 tomb, and it is surrounded by a graveyard. Papa 
 found the window into which Tam peeped, and 
 pulled out of the embrasure a little stone, as big as 
 a pea, and gave it to me for a relic. 
 
 We wandered off from the Kirk to cross the old 
 and new Brigs of Doon. The old is much the most 
 beautiful : we walked quite over it, and returned to 
 our fly the other way. " The banks and braes o' 
 bonnie Doon" are pre-eminently lovely. The river 
 
144 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 is broad in many parts, and tlie trees stretch over 
 and dip into it, and it flows with life and 303^, as if it 
 were happy in its poetic fame and memories. We 
 enjoyed this excursion purely, deliciously ; for 
 though the sun did not shine, there was beauty 
 enough without it, and the sweet song, and pathetic 
 ode, and comic tale, all blended together in an en- 
 chanting effect impossible to describe. 
 
 We drove back to the hotel, and then walked out 
 to see the town. I wished to go over the " twa 
 brigs of Ayr" which had such a pleasant chat to- 
 gether. We first crossed the new one. The tide 
 was low, and the river did not look pleasant ; but it 
 was one of the memorable "brigs," nevertheless, 
 from which we observed it. We saw an old kirk up 
 a street, but upon going to it, found there was no 
 reason for investigating the inside, and we pursued 
 our intention of returning by the " auld brig." It is 
 very picturesque — covered with moss and lichens, 
 and raised on high arches, with an exceediDgly nar- 
 row carriage-way. A throng of country people was 
 selling pigs and vegetables at one end, and we 
 crowded through both piggies and folk. There 
 were small shops part way over, and I looked into 
 tliem all to find something for a memory. 
 
 I observe here in Ayr, as I did in Mauchline, that 
 the women have a peculiar way of carrying about 
 their babies. They wear a long shawl, which they 
 wrap round their own shoulders and the child, and 
 the result is that they look like a full-blown flower 
 
BUIINS' REGION. 145 
 
 and bud on the same stem. You see no arms, but 
 only a large and a small head and the main body. I 
 am surprised to find Ayr so large and fine a town. 
 It is much handsomer than the lesser towns in Eng- 
 land ; and this hotel, the King's Arms, is uncom- 
 monly good — of the first class. The landlord, when 
 we started for Alloway Kirk, put us carefully into 
 the carriage, and brought one of his own plaids to 
 fold about us. We find a great deal of this genial 
 kindness in Scotland, and I think the charges are 
 not so exorbitant as at English hotels. 
 Now we are for Glasgow. 
 
 7 
 
n. 
 
 GLASGOW. 
 
 June 30th, 1857. 
 * -x- ^ ^ -H- ]3y Q^Q ^jjj^g ^rg IqIi ^jj.^ ii^Q g^^j]^ glinted 
 
 at us a little out of the clouds, and it was a very 
 pleasant journey. The Firth of Clyde was now on 
 our left hand, and the Isle of Arran lay half in mist, 
 like some huge sea-horse, upon its surface. I had a 
 glimpse of a ruin of a kirk near Prestwick, and 
 when we arrived at Monktown we had a fine view of 
 Ailsa Crag, rising a thousand feet from the level water, 
 a mighty globular mass. At Irvine (Burns' flax- 
 dressing town), an old gentleman got into our car- 
 riage. He was very kind, and told us all he could 
 about the country, and in return I sketched his face. 
 He had a good profile, and in his youth may have 
 been handsome ; but now he was too fat. The 
 Scotch have far handsomer noses than the English. 
 I suspect the English suffer from having been mixed 
 up with Danes and Northmen so much, and all North- 
 men are liable to have potato noses, says Miss Bre- 
 mer. I suppose the Scotch are a less mongrel race. 
 Ijet this be as it may, their noses have a finer line. 
 
GLASGOW. 147 
 
 Perhaps some Komans who strayed up here rectified 
 their forms with their own classic contours. 
 
 As we passed through Kilwinning again, the gude- 
 man lamented over Knox's senseless rage against 
 innocent stone, when knocking down the magnifi- 
 cent abbey. We now kept crossing the river Gar- 
 nock. Then we enter Beitli, and skirt along by 
 Kilburnie Loch, two miles long and half a mile 
 broad, with pretty banks of clustering foliage ; and 
 on it is Kilburnie village, with its small, ancient 
 kirk, full of interesting memorial tablets of the noble 
 Crawford family. The ruins of their castle are at 
 no great distance, covered with ivy. Soon we came 
 to Loch Winnoch. The country all about these 
 lochs is rich and picturesque, but still not carpeted 
 with velvet of various shades, nor winnowed of 
 every unsightly weed, nor bearing marks of the un- 
 tiring hand of man, polishing and garnishing at 
 every point. It has its own charm, however, though 
 my eyes have become so accustomed to England's 
 perfection of culture, that I do not quite like it, and 
 I am all the time wishing I could clear up the land- 
 scape and make it nice. 
 
 But now the great toTVTi of Paisley comes to view, 
 with its spires and towers and chimneys of manu- 
 facture. It is the shawl-town, and of remote anti- 
 quity. It has ruins of an abbey, where there is a 
 sculptured figure of King Robert Bruce's daughter. 
 Her husband, Walter Stuart, founded the abbey. I 
 wish we could have visited it ; but I should have 
 
148 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 preferred even to this a visit to Ellerslie House, upon 
 the lands of which William Wallace was born. But 
 all wishes were vain, for on we went to Glasgow, 
 and drove to George's Square, George Hotel. At 
 the station we were recommended to several hotels, 
 and when I asked our old cabman whether the 
 George was good, he replied with the broadest 
 accent : 
 
 " They're a-a-a-a-a-11 gude," in the most Scotch 
 and patriotic manner. 
 
 Immediate^ after arranging ourselves, we went 
 out for sight-seeing, and turned into George Street. 
 It is very long, and crossed first by Montrose Street 
 and then by High Street. This is the ancient part 
 of Glasgow, and, going to the end of it, we found 
 the famous Cathedral. At the gate, just inside, is a 
 small lodge, where tickets are sold for sixpence, and 
 no other fee is allowed. This is a convenient ar- 
 rangement, for it relieves visitors of the care and 
 demands of vergers. The building is not of the 
 largest size for a minster, but it is of fine and state- 
 ly proportions. There is no peaceful and heavenly 
 Close around it, but a graveyard ; and high above 
 and beyond its eastern end is the Necropolis, covered 
 with obelisks and little temples and columns and 
 sarcophagi. 
 
 We entered the Cathedral by the southern porch, 
 as the door was open, and were directly under the 
 spell of the arches and clustered pillars and groined 
 ceilings of the nave. The choir and chancel were 
 
GLASGOW. 149 
 
 filled with pews, kirk-fasliion, all the (doubtless) 
 beautiful stalls and tabernacle-work having been 
 cleared away as rubbish by the Reformers. The 
 pews were of oak, and where the high altar once 
 stood stands now the pulpit — no bishop's throne nor 
 canon's desk being left. But the rich upper border 
 of the former screen remains, exceedingly splendid. 
 The Chapter-house is at the side of the Lady- 
 chapel, and its stone roof is supported by one of 
 those grand fountain-columns which I have before 
 described to you. 
 
 But we concluded to go down into the crypts be- 
 fore we looked any more at the upper regions. I 
 was wholly unprepared for the wonderful and solemn 
 grandeur of these crypts. Walter Scott speaks of 
 them in " Rob Roy," and Rob Roy himself was con- 
 cealed behind one of the massive pillars on a special 
 occasion. How can I make you see with me these 
 majestic sepulchres for the dead ? There is nothing 
 like them in the kingdom, and the verger (who 
 cropped up in the Chapter-house), said that he be- 
 lieved there were none equal to them in Europe. 
 The gi'ound upon which the cathedral is built sud- 
 denly descends toward the east, and the glorious 
 architects of those early days, instead of filling up 
 the cavity with earth or other supports to the floor, 
 conceived the idea of building these aisles, of the 
 same superb style as those above, for the burial of 
 saints and prelates. Beneath every column in the 
 upper stands one in the under structure ; but besides 
 
150 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 these, tliere are many more beneatli those above, of 
 every variety of shape and capital. There are three 
 separate crypts. The largest, which is beneath the 
 choir and chancel, is St. Joceline's, and his stone 
 effigy lies in state in a shrine in the centre, of which 
 the four columns have rich foliaged capitals. But 
 the figure has been mutilated, and the lions broken. 
 This shrine is the central object, with its four clus- 
 tered shafts reaching to the ceiling. 
 
 Under the Lady-chapel the ground descends five 
 feet lower, and therefore the piers are twenty feet 
 high. And this ordered wilderness of stems bear 
 up a marvellous intricacy of branches, which hold, as 
 it; were, in a thousand-in-one-united chalice, the 
 gorgeous Victoria Begia of a cathedral. At every 
 crossing of the groinings is a sculptured rose, or 
 boss, and under the chancel fifteen at least meet in 
 one great rose. Beneath the Lady-chapel are several 
 small chapels of perfect beauty, each one contain- 
 ing the monument of some illustrious person. But 
 in all these spaces the destructive Beformers have 
 not left one single tomb, except that of St. Joceline. 
 They cleared the crj^pt, and made it the place of 
 worship of some parish until as late as 1803. It 
 was called the Barony Parish ; but after they ceased 
 to worship there, they filled it with earth ! and used 
 it to inter their dead, and daubed the columns with 
 black and white devices. Five years ago all these 
 defilements were removed, and the soot and paint 
 scraped off, and every part repaired and thoroughly 
 
GLASGOW. 151 
 
 cleansed, so now it is just as wlien first made. It 
 is delightful to see with what loving, faithful care 
 each worn and broken stone has been replaced. 
 There are some trefoiled pointed windows at the 
 sides of one of the chapels which made me nearly 
 distraught for want of power to express their en- 
 chanting grace ; and the door that leads into Bishop 
 Lander's Crypt is also confounding to poor limited 
 mortals. It is a pointed arch, or rather a hundred 
 arches, one within another. These grooves make 
 the depth of the doorway, and there is one broad 
 groove intricately and most richly carved. Upon 
 examining it, I found that on one side saints, monks, 
 and devils are sculptured, and on the other birds 
 and animals. The arch runs up in saints and fiends, 
 and runs down in beasts and reptiles. One old 
 monk sits reading in inefi'able repose, as if he had 
 read undisturbedly from a past eternity, and pur- 
 posed to read on to a future without end. Just 
 above him is a saint in ecstasy, and at the lowest 
 point sits an imp, or Auld Nickie Ben himself, pre- 
 tending to be devout. At the end, on the other 
 side, a reptile is wriggling out of the stone as fast 
 as possible, as if he were going to scamper away 
 with the whole string-course of figures, saints, 
 devils, and all. The old painted glass is nearly 
 gone ; but one window in St. Joceline's crypt has 
 been restored, and all is to be replaced in course 
 of time. I was half frozen in the abysses at last, 
 and obliged to go up-stairs. Grand, broad stair- 
 
152 NOTES m SCOTLAND. 
 
 ways led to the nave. But on the way to the npper 
 regions, I found still another crypt at the south, — ■ 
 Bishop Blackader's — oh, so stately and beautiful ! 
 Directly down the centre is a row of glorious clus- 
 tered columns, with foliated capitals. It is fifty- 
 nine feet long and thirty feet broad, and has a 
 great deal of delicate sculpture. Papa confessed 
 himself too cold to remain " in profundis " any 
 longer, and so we went on to the nave. There sat 
 the verger. I asked him where the organ was, and 
 he exclaimed, " Oh, we have no kist of whistles 
 here !" and then he laughed, and turned himself 
 upside down in a great spasm. When he recovered 
 his equilibrium, he began to tell me the Scottish 
 Kirk's manner of singing — " mental music," he 
 called it, but I assured him I knew all about it, for I 
 had heard it at Mauchline, and liked it exceedingly. 
 He thought it must be very coarse at such a wee 
 place as Mauchline, but if I should hear it in the 
 cathedral, where there were trained singers, who 
 had the finest voices, I should then find that there 
 was no organ music and no chanting like it. I de- 
 fended the Mauchline people, and urged that they 
 could have as sweet voices and as much devotion as 
 Glasgow orchestras, and that I found it very inspi- 
 ring. Oh, but, he said, the spaces, the arches give 
 such a fine effect ! The small-eyed verger seemed 
 to have a misgiving that I was making fun of his 
 " mental music," but I insisted that I was sincere, 
 and that I was also a dissenter, and could sympa- 
 
GLASGOW, 153 
 
 tliize with liis repugnance to empty forms. After 
 liiugliing a great deal, and doubling himself up in and 
 kicking out in his indescribable manner, he gave 
 over about the music, and called my attention to one 
 of the groups on the screen — a bonnie Scotch girl 
 talking with an old monk — which still keeps its sharp 
 lines and is full of life and good expression. A gro- 
 tesque figure at the corner sent him off into a new fit, 
 and then he delivered a learned discourse about the 
 top of the screen, and how feebly it had been imi- 
 tated on the sides by modern artists. -^^ -J?- -J?- * * 
 
 After bidding adieu to the cathedral, we looked 
 over the graveyard and at the sky-high Necropolis, 
 and then went to see the University. It has five 
 courts or quadrangles, and the part of the building 
 on the High Street is long and low, of antique ap- 
 pearance. We merely walked through the courts, 
 and did not then go inside. The Molindinar burn 
 flows behind- It was a college, founded in 1450 by a 
 bull of Pope Nicolas V. We admired a fine old 
 stone staircase, with a sculptured lion on one 
 pedestal and a unicorn upon the other. We did not 
 go anywhere else, except to the post-office for your 
 letter. 
 
 In the centre of this beautiful George's Square is a 
 garden, enclosed, as you often see in English and 
 Scotch cities ; and in the centre of the garden is a 
 loft}^ column, eighty feet high, upon which stands a 
 statue of Sir Walter Scott. It looks very like him, 
 even so far off as it is. Other statues are at the 
 
 7* 
 
154 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 four corners. One is of Sir John Moore, by Flax- 
 man, and one is of James Watt. 
 
 This morning we went out to find, if possible, the 
 old Tolbooth (Scotch for prison), made famous by 
 Walter Scott. We walked along Buchanan and 
 Argyle Streets, and I think Glasgow a very splendid 
 city, very far superior to Liverpool in every respect. 
 The streets are broad, and the houses stately, and 
 the shops superb. London hardly surpasses them, 
 and a few are handsomer than any London shops. 
 We went down the salt-market for the sake of Baillie 
 Nicol Jarvie, who lived there, and I think I saw his 
 house ; for I saw a very ancient and funny one. 
 Along this and High Street were throngs of dirty 
 people, so thick that it was not agreeable to crowd 
 past them. We persevered to the end, however, and 
 came out upon the Glasgow Green, which is a 
 hundred acres large. An obelisk to Nelson is 
 erected there, and it was the first monument erected 
 to him in this country. Fairs are held upon it, and 
 we saw a movable theatre and an exhibition of wax- 
 works. We stood on a bridge a little beyond th(} 
 Green, and looked down into the Eiver Clyde, and I 
 made inquiries about the old Tolbooth of a man 
 who seemed friendly. He assured me that it was 
 close by, and pointed to a grand, stone, new building 
 facing the Green. But we knew better than that it 
 could be the old jail. 
 
 We then returned through the noisome salt-mar- 
 ket, and crossed Trongate, where Sir John Moore 
 
GLASGOW. 155 
 
 was born, and went into an archway beneath a high 
 tower that seemed of the olden time, a hundred 
 and twenty-six feet high, surmounted by a crown. 
 Adjoining it is now a new building. We asked 
 several policemen about it, and also the place 
 where was the old historic Tolbooth ; but no one knew 
 anything. So I went into a shop near this cross (as 
 the tower is called), and bought a little Falkirk 
 mosaic quaigh, and afterward we proceeded to the 
 college. At the High-street entrance we found 
 three people, one of them looking like an official — • 
 an old man — and I was sure he could tell us about 
 the Tolbooth. And so he could and did. The old 
 Tolbooth, he said, was no more, and on its site had 
 been built a new town-house ; but that the ancient 
 cross still remained, at the corner of the Trongate, 
 and, behold ! we had been standing beneath it ; for 
 it was the very one, surmounted by a crown, close by 
 which I had bought my inlaid tub, and therefore 
 we had already effected all that was possible con- 
 cerning the memorable old prison. 
 
III. 
 
 DUMBARTON. 
 
 July 1st, 1857. 
 
 It is quarter-past six, and we have just arrived 
 here from Glasgow by a steamer that passes up and 
 down the Eiver Clyde. We are in " The Elephant," 
 an unexpectedly nice hotel, considering what a small 
 town is Dumbarton. Our butler is a venerable man 
 with white hair ; our maid is enthusiastic and oblig- 
 ing, and our landlady drops a courtesy at every turn, 
 and is polite. I sit at a window that looks up a 
 street of shops and people, terminating in a kirk. 
 
 The first part of our course on the river w^as not 
 interesting ; but when we came to the country, with 
 its trees and hills and meadows, it was refreshing 
 indeed, and in an hour the Highlands began to show 
 themselves in blue mist. The weather has been as 
 superb as weather could possibly be, not too warm, 
 and with a reviving air. In the boat we had Souter 
 Johnnie and Tam O'Shanter, and they enjoyed each 
 other prodigiously. Johnnie was mighty in girth 
 and profuse in chin — or chins, for he had a dozen of 
 them ; and Tam was bony and wiry, with a great 
 
BUMDARTOJS': 157 
 
 tendency to excitement. Such good portraits I liave 
 seldom seen. Johnnie was sitting near me, with a 
 good-natured lack-histre in his fat face, when the 
 tall form of his beloved compeer loomed up in the 
 neighborhood, and Tarn gave a friendly nod, and sat 
 down opposite to us. Johnnie wriggled in his place for 
 a few minutes, endeavoring to remain where he was ; 
 but Tarn's magnetism proved too overwhelming, and 
 so he got up, and squeezed his enormous rotundity 
 into what seemed no space at all between his friend 
 and another man. This other man was about being 
 vexed, but meeting the jolly, kind glance of Johnnie, 
 he made room for him directly, and Tarn's wit imme- 
 diately began to shake the mountain of materiality 
 at his side into earthquakes. They talked with 
 broad, Scotch accent, and, upon the whole, I have a 
 suspicion that I saw the very originals of Burns' 
 poem. 
 
 Presently the river Clyde came to have rural 
 banks, green meadows, and villas in shaded wood- 
 lands ; and strange-looking structures rose up upon 
 every turn of the stream and every inequality of the 
 shore. They w^ere of great variety of form, and built 
 of various substances — some of brick, some of stone, 
 some of clay and earth, ffnd some of coal-dust ; and 
 each one was surmounted with a cross, red, black, or 
 white. They were warnings or beacons for steamers 
 and row-boats that go up and down, to show where 
 rocks and sand-banks are. From the fanciful shapes, 
 one might suppose that the old Gothic dreamers had 
 
lo8 IsOTESIN SCOTLAND. 
 
 been at work with tlieir love of change ; but they 
 are modern, and the spirit of picturesqneness has 
 descended from aforetime to the present generation. 
 
 During the last hour of our river journey, grand 
 old Ben Lomond made the distance illustrious with 
 giant head and shoulders, like Michel Angelo's Day, 
 and like it, without distinct features, — the veiled 
 prophet of this northern land. To-day his veil w^as 
 blue tissue. Nearer at hand were the Roman fort- 
 ress of Dunglass, and a bold headland called Dum- 
 beck (hill of roes) ; and then came the twin crags 
 upon which Dumbarton Castle is built, very abrupt 
 and sheer from the river and plain, and from some 
 points of view very sharp. We soon were safe in 
 the bay, and a stout porter took the portmanteau 
 in his hand and the trunk on his back, and, as there 
 were no cabs, we followed him afoot to this only 
 good hotel, close by the landing. 
 
 Eve. — We have climbed Dumbarton's craggy 
 heights, and it was no small labor, for they are 
 almost perpendicular, five hundred feet into the air, 
 — reached partly by convenient natural inequalities 
 in the rocks, and partly by stone stairs cut where it 
 is steepest, and where the twins have a chasm be- 
 tween. We found a very intelligent, gentlemanly 
 soldier of the garrison at the gate, who pioneered 
 us about. I thought at first that I would not go to 
 the very summit, but I was tempted higher and 
 higher, till I stood on the topmost peak. The cap- 
 tain of the steamer had pointed out to me from the 
 
DUMBARTON. 139 
 
 boat the crevice in the cliif up which Wallace climbed 
 and killed the sentinel at the stone wall built on its 
 verge. The soldier said there were two places up 
 which he struggled, and at that time (in the 13th 
 century) it was a daring and perilous feat. The 
 soldier was, however, mistaken in thinking that 
 Mary, Queen of Scots, was ever a prisoner here. 
 He showed us the outside of what he believed her 
 cell, at the same time saying that it was one of 
 several very nice apartments, the best in the castle ; 
 but that now they were all shut up, and wo could 
 not go in. 
 
 The truth is, that Mary was there in the early 
 part of her life, until she was six years old, and that 
 then she went to France ; and that, though after her 
 return to Scotland she intended to visit Dumbarton, 
 she never was in the castle again. But the noble 
 Wallace was prisoner in it, betrayed by the base Sir 
 John Menteith, who invited him as a friend to go 
 there, and then thrust him into a dungeon, for the 
 sake of a share in the three hundred merks [a merk 
 is worth $3.22] which King Edward had set as a 
 price upon his head. This mean, paltry knight is 
 made forever hideous and absurd in stone, as a 
 corbel, on the outer wall of one of the towers. Sir 
 John was then governor of the castle. When Ed- 
 ward heard that Wallace was secured, he sent for 
 him, and crowds followed him to London, where 
 there was such deep sympathy expressed that the 
 king did not venture to put him in the Tower. He 
 
160 ' NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 tlierefore went to a private house, wliencB lie was 
 taken and tried, and then hanged ignominioiisl}^ 
 being first treated with frightful cruelty. This hap- 
 pened in 1305. On the summit of the rock we saw 
 the foundations of a very old round tower of the 
 early British period ; but the wind blew such a hur- 
 ricane that I had much ado to keep myself steady 
 and entire, and I could not examine it much. 
 
 We walked round the battlements. The view was 
 very beautiful. The atmosphere was like diamonds 
 and pale topaz ; for it was near sunset, and the sol- 
 dier said he had never seen the Highlands so clearly 
 defined — Ben Lomond especially — as then. On the 
 other side, the river Clyde, broad and winding, with 
 its green meadows and wooded shores — the villas^^ — 
 the bold headland Dumbeck and the castle Dun- 
 glass — all combined to make a stately and lovely pic- 
 ture. Nothing remains of the ancient castle but one 
 old bit of wall, entirely overhung with ivy, and 
 doubtless upheld by it also. That was the . part 
 used as a dwelling, and called a palace when kings 
 lived in it. There were sentry-boxes, like little 
 towers, at the corners of the battlements, and 
 
 J got into one, and then papa took his stand. 
 
 I wondered why — but no longer, after papa told me 
 that his beloved Dr. Johnson once took a fancy to 
 thrust his large person through the door, and then 
 found it nearly impossible to get out again ! Would 
 not it have been very funny if it had been neces- 
 sary to demolish the tower for the sake of deliver- 
 
DUMBARTOK IGl 
 
 ing the big pliilosoplier from liis voluntary confine- 
 ment ? After seeing everything on the tip- top of 
 the highest twin, we went to the lower, where the 
 governor's house and officers' rooms are, and an ar- 
 mory. There were once fifteen hundred stands of 
 arms there, which now are in the Tower of London. 
 The officer gave us in charge to a little girl at the 
 armory. She, with her key, came out of a door 
 near by, and took us into a grim old place, where 
 we saw only some pistols arranged in stars in that 
 perfect order always enjoined in military affairs. 
 But though the guns and muskets are all taken 
 away, they have what is much more interesting and 
 valuable — the sword of William Wallace. I took it 
 in my hand, and it was pretty heavy. The point is 
 broken off and it is very rusty and black. For five 
 hundred and fifty-two years it has been rusting 
 there, ever since it was treacherously taken from 
 Wallace. * * * The girl also showed us many 
 weapons that had been picked up on the field of 
 Bannockburn, at which we looked with great inter- 
 eat. I thought this armory a gloomy, sad place, 
 and was not a little surprised to observe in the win- 
 dows pots of blooming roses ! I told the girl she 
 must give me one of the roses, which I wondered at 
 for blooming in such a dark, dull old room ; and she 
 smiled and broke off the best and gave it me ; but 
 I had hardly stepped outside the door with it before 
 its petals dropped off, every one. Its life was weak 
 in that imprisonment, and it died at a touch of fresli 
 
163 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 air. It made me think of many a delicate, tender 
 prisoner that had become pale and faint on a sud- 
 den exposure to the sun's rays. 
 
 Then we met again the soldier, and he guided us 
 down the steep stone stairs in the very narrow 
 gorge — down, down, down — oh, me ! what a de- 
 scent ! But finally it was accomplished, and we came 
 out into the lower courts. In one of these courts, 
 cannon-balls of various sizes were laid in geometri- 
 cal forms of great beauty. But as I looked out 
 from the castle-gate upon the lovety, peaceful sun- 
 set scene, war seemed a myth and a phantom, and 
 as if it had never been, and could never be — a fact. 
 Earth, river, and sky, wrapped then in a glow of pale 
 gold and purple, seemed echoing and emphasizing 
 the simple, effectual law of Christ, scarcely heard 
 yet by the world, but which if obeyed would make 
 a heaven of this planet, and angels of men. 
 
 July 2d. — At two o'clock we leave Dumbarton for 
 Loch Lomond. We still have splendid weather. I 
 must tell you, as history, that we have found the 
 people of this hotel quite literary and refined in 
 comparison with English landlords and landladies. 
 When we ask for a book here, we can get it, but ex- 
 cept at Skipton, we never have been so fortunate in 
 England. This class of people are doubtless better 
 educated here than there. 
 
IV. 
 
 LOCH LOMOND AND THE BENS. 
 
 Inter ANNAN, Glenfalloch, July 2(1. 
 
 We have just arrived at the head of Loch Lomond, 
 and farther still into the depths of the Highlands, 
 into Rob Eoy's country, and scenes made classic 
 by Walter Scott and Wordsworth. We thought we 
 would come to the very end of the steamer's course, 
 and therefore kept on to Inverannan, in Glenfalloch. 
 The hotel is situated in a valley, which is a plain 
 between lofty ranges of mountains — Ben Oss and 
 Ben Douchray, Ben Crosh and Ben Eim, Ben Vain 
 and Ben Voirlich, and above all, Ben Lomond. 
 They have a bare, sterile aspect, but a grand out- 
 line and elevation. The air here is nectar. We 
 have been obliged to walk two miles from the land- 
 ing to the hotel ; but the road was good and per- 
 fectly level, so that I held out bravely. There was 
 no carriage to be found. Part of the way was lovely 
 with thickets and roses, and how I wish I could en- 
 close you an exquisite wild-rose which I plucked in 
 passing, for it has the wonderful odor of the tea-rose. 
 
164 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 Evening — but not dusk by any means. — We left 
 Dumbarton at noon, and came by rail to Ballocli, and 
 then took the steamer for Loch Lomond. In the 
 railroad carriage, we skirted along the valley of 
 the Leven, beautifully verdant, and saw constantly 
 beyond the majestic Ben Lomond, towering grandly 
 over all. After entering Kenton, Smollett's monu- 
 ment is seen on the right. He was born close by 
 that spot, and wrote pretty poetry about the river 
 Leven, which winds along the valley. 
 
 " On Leven's banks when fi'ee to rove, 
 And tune the rural pipe to love," &c. 
 
 At Balloch — no, we first passed through Alexan- 
 dria and Bonhill, and then Balloch, and there I was 
 delighted with a very graceful suspension bridge 
 over the " soft river " (the meaning of Leven). It 
 was built by Sir John Colquhoun, of Luss. At Bal- 
 loch we embarked and were afloat on Loch Lomond, 
 queen of Scottish lakes, thirty-two miles long. Cas- 
 tles and stately mansions, many of them full of his- 
 torical and poetical interest, rose up on every side. 
 Cameron House, where Alexander Smollett, a de- 
 scendant of the novelist, resides, and Arden, in which 
 is the original portrait of Bob Boy. I wish I could 
 have seen the old feudal fortress of Bannachra, 
 where the Colquhouns lived, with whom the Mac- 
 gregors had deadly strife and won the victory, and 
 slew two hundred Colquhouns. Now a large island 
 
LOCU LOMOND AND THE BENS. 1G5 
 
 seemed nearly to cross the lake. It was beautifully 
 green, of a bright sunny green, and contrasted won- 
 derfully with the dark mountains above and beyond. 
 Its name is Inch Mun-ain (Inch means island). It is 
 the deer-park of the Duke of Montrose. On one 
 end are the ruins of a castle of the Earls of Lenox. 
 Near by, on the mainland, is a mansion where 
 Walter Scott often visited. It is Ross Prior}^, the 
 residence of Lady Leith Buchanan. In that house 
 Sir Walter wrote the romance of Rob Roy ! Then 
 comes a sharply-pointed hill, call Duncruin — hill of 
 witches — famous in legends ; and Balmaha, the fa- 
 mous pass mentioned in the " Lady of the Lake," is 
 a little way inland — 
 
 " So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, 
 Sore did he cumber our retreat, 
 And kept our sternest kerns in awe 
 Even at the pass of Balmalia — " 
 
 Another lovely island now comes in sight round a 
 curve, called Inch Cailliach (Isle of Women), where 
 was once a nunnery, and where very ancient graves 
 of chiefs are found. Five or six more Inches Ave 
 pass, and so you see how studded with isles Loch 
 Lomond is — all so lovely with copses and rocks, and 
 each famous for something. And as we wound 
 about them, the lordly ranges of mountains kept 
 changing their relations to one another, as well as 
 their lights and shadows, — rising also one beyond 
 another, like an ever-heaving, mighty sea, rolling 
 
166 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 sky-liigli, firmly fixed, yet seeming in constant mo- 
 tion. I quite agree with Buskin about mountain 
 scenery ; like Gothic architecture it has the effect 
 of aspiration, struggling upward. 
 
 Now we drew into the bay of Luss, where some of 
 our passengers landed, and after resuming our way 
 onward, we soon had on our right Robert de Bruce's 
 Isle of Yews — Inch Lonarg — upon which he planted 
 yews for making bows. There is now a growth of 
 yews upon it, dark and thick, children of those 
 planted half a thousand years ago by the illustrious 
 de Bruce. Perhaps there are some grand old stumps 
 left of the identical trees of that time, and I wished 
 to stop and explore. But inexorably we steamed 
 on, without the smallest regard to poetical longings, 
 and had a glimpse of Glen Douglas. Douglas ! what 
 a name ! and I really saw what once belonged to 
 them ! The river Glass flows into the lake from this 
 glen, and Ben Glass towers over it. Immediately 
 above Bowardennan, the next pier, the king of Bens, 
 Ben Lomond himself, climbs to the stars in three 
 vast waves, the midmost the highest, three thousand 
 two hundred feet above the level of the lake. All 
 who wished to ascend upon the monarch's shoulders 
 and stand upon his head, left us here, where there 
 are ponies and guides. From his head can be seen 
 Stirling and Edinburgh Castles, Goat Fell in the 
 Isle of Arran, the passes of Jura and Ailsa Crag. 
 There are a great many shooting-lodges now upon 
 the sides of the hills, belonging to Scotch and Eng- 
 
LOCH LOMOND AND TUE BEN8. 1G7 
 
 lish gentlemen. Just beyond Kowardennan a pro- 
 montory juts out called Forken, and on its top is a 
 little lake, used long ago by the Fairies to dye tlio 
 wools of the country people in. The trustful people 
 deposited their wools on the shores of the fairy lake 
 at evening, and in the morning when they came for 
 them they were all^ ready, and of exactly the colors 
 they wished ; but at last, a foolish, faithless wight, 
 as a practical joke, placed a budget of black wool 
 and a bit of white alongside for a pattern. This so 
 offended the small folk, that they threw all their 
 colors into the loch and disappeared. Fortunate 
 persons, who now look down into the pure water 
 properly, can see these magical hues at the bottom, 
 mingling together like the tints of a kaleidoscope, in 
 ever-varying, marvellous patterns. But we had not 
 even a chance to try our luck, our captain remorse- 
 lessly steaming past the spot. 
 
 "We were now especially in Kob Roy's realm, and 
 I saw the sheer rock rising perpendicularly from the 
 water, from which that resolute and uncompromis- 
 ing gentleman was in the habit of dipping his 
 enemies, and those of his adherents who differed 
 from him, till they concluded to be his friends or 
 saw fit to agree with him in opinion. He tied a 
 rope round the waist of the delinquent, and kept 
 him under the water awhile to cool his rage or damp 
 his enterprise, and then raised him a moment just 
 to ask whether he would be good. If he said "no," 
 down he went again, and if there were determined 
 
1G8 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 resistance, without hope of amendment, Eob Roy 
 tied the rope round the neck of the unfortunate man, 
 and then dipped him for the last and the fatal time. 
 
 The Lord of Lorn once defeated the bold outlaw, 
 and he took refuge in a little cave just beyond this 
 rock of execution. 
 
 Ben Lomond ranged now on our right, and a 
 strangely cut peak on the left, called the Cobbler and 
 his Wife, and just at this point a wonderful assem- 
 blage of mountains opened u]3on us. Gigantic 
 sweeps of outline, all softly flowing to the lake, 
 flowing, flowing, and lost in the waters — and also 
 rising from the waters upward, upward, like a strain 
 in one of Beethoven's sublime symphonies, which 
 seemed to me, when I heard it, like the human 
 soul's cry, prayer, demand for light, wisdom, and 
 help. 
 
 The boat stopped at Inversnaid, but we concluded 
 to keep on, as I told you in the beginning. A 
 wonderfully beautiful and romantic glen comes to 
 view, near to Inversnaid, on the opposite shore, on 
 each side of which mighty Bens loom up — Ben 
 Crosh and Ben Eim, and craggy, rugged Ben Yain 
 on the left, and lovely, though grand, Ben Voirlich 
 on the right. Ben Voirlich is peculiarly tender in 
 aspect, though of vast proportions. It is something 
 in his nature that gives him this gentle expression, 
 no doubt, and it may be the effect of a shy little tarn 
 on its summit, where the angler can always find 
 trout. That tarn may be the pure soul of this huge 
 
LOCH LOMOND AND THE BENS. 1G9 
 
 old Ben, into which the heavens constant!}^ gaze, 
 and which itself holds the heavens in its depths. 
 Loch Lomond becomes narrower just here, and the 
 shores are enchanting, and the next memorable ob- 
 ject we saw was Rob Roy's great cave. There are 
 large rocks tumbled about the place, and on one that 
 is exactly over the opening the captain pointed to a 
 mark which identified the entrance. * * * ^ ->:- ^ 
 The scenery is very rich all about it. Robert de 
 Bruce also concealed himself there before the battle 
 of Bannockburn, when the English were hunting for 
 him. 
 
 " The Braes of Balquhidder" are north of Invers- 
 naid, where Rob Roy is buried. Meantime, during 
 my memories, we are going on, and a sweet little 
 Inch is at hand. It is covered with trees, but by 
 carefully peering in I saw the ruins of a castle. 
 The name of the island is '* I vow." It belonged to 
 the clan of McFarlane, and one of its chiefs built 
 the castle, saying " I vow no other clansman shall 
 pass by." Directly ahead of us now rose Ben Oss 
 and Ben Douchray, and then we approached Inver- 
 annan, where we landed. **"-5«-**AsI sat upon 
 the upper deck all the time, I had a full view of the 
 passengers as well as of the lake and mountains. 
 
 It was all in harmony to hear the Scotch dialect 
 and accent on every side. Mothers calling out to 
 their bairns " Take care, noo ! sit doon or ye'll fa'." 
 " Dinna put the roup in yer mou, it's nae gude ;" 
 and so on. The lake was not smooth to-day, and a 
 
 8 
 
170 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 gentleman told us we lost a great deal by not seeing 
 it like a mirror, reflecting all the majestic moantains. 
 
 I established myself on the lower deck, and sat 
 near a group of folk, one man of whom was reading 
 aloud a trial for poisoning. They were so absorbed 
 by it that they did not look at the scenery, which 
 amazed me. Yet, perhaps, they had often gone up 
 Loch Lomond, as they were Scotchmen, with intel- 
 ligent, amiable faces, though rather rough. 
 
 So we came to Inverannan, in the county of Glen- 
 falloch, and learned with some dismay that the hotel 
 was two miles from the spot where we were to dis- 
 embark, and that there was no carnage of any kind 
 to convey us, but only a light cart for the luggage. 
 We questioned whether I could walk so far after the 
 fatigue at Dumbarton, but I accomplished the feat 
 very well. We sauntered, entirely at our leisure, 
 along the charming road. Oh, the gurgling burns 
 at the foot of the wooded braes ! Oh, the sweetbrier- 
 roses, foxgloves, daisies, and purple-bells, and the 
 desolate, grand, steep Bens that shut us into the 
 quiet vale ! rising instantly, not gradually from the 
 even plain. Papa mourned after wooded mountain- 
 sides ; but I was content with the sublime forms 
 without any drapery. There was no lace, nor ruf- 
 fles, nor flounces upon my Highlands hereabouts, 
 and not even a skirt. Naked and awful they stood — 
 Michelangelic forms, even as gods, conversing with 
 tho skies. The pure, high air winged my feet, and I 
 never felt better in my life. Here I sit now in a 
 
LOCH LOMOND AND THE BENS. 171 
 
 pretty parlor, and we also have comfortable bed- 
 rooms surrounded — yes ! give ear, England ! and 
 never more boast a superiority to auld Scotia — sur- 
 rounded with hospitable pegs and hooks ! ! ! Scot- 
 land is not only the land o' cakes, but the land o' 
 pegs, and poor mortals are not obliged to wander 
 wild with despair round their chambers, holding 
 their garments, and crying — " Oh, where shall I hang 
 them ; oh where ?" 
 
 I never saw a peg in England, and I believe Eu- 
 rope cannot show one, so that Scotland and America 
 alone excel in this kind. There are also an abun- 
 dance of baths in this good country, though it is so 
 abused for uncleanliness — and a great deal of vari- 
 ous comfort. 
 
 We are so far north now that during these sum- 
 mer months there is properly no night, and there- 
 fore I said it was evening but not dusk, in the begin- 
 ning of this letter. The Gloaming meets the Dawn, 
 and they join hands and dispense with Night alto- 
 gether, and now they have the Moon also for boon 
 companion. 
 
 We have had the most enchanting stroll. At the 
 end of a meadow, close beneath a great Ben, we saw 
 the rudest little hut that ever took shape and was 
 not a cave. It was built with stones, overgrown 
 with moss, with no windows and one door. I can 
 give you no idea by a sketch of the exceeding wild- 
 ness of this wee shelter. We found also a very 
 wonderful oak-tree, branching out from one root into 
 
172 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 fifteen boles, as if fifteen separate trees were spring- 
 ing from it. Then we got into its midst and sat 
 down, and it would have held you and E. also, and 
 thus we should have been a whole family living in a 
 tree. It had delightful forks for chairs. I compared 
 it to a Briareus with one hundred legs, instead of 
 arms — the said Briareus standing on his top, while 
 his multitudinous legs sprouted into thousands of 
 feet, and his thousands of feet into no end of toes, 
 each toe flourishing out millions of whispering 
 leaves, and so becoming finally a tree. Oh, Briareus, 
 thou hast buried thy head with a noble result I * * ^ 
 
 The sunshine played on the sides of Ben Voirlich 
 (the tender-souled mountain), and papa took up a 
 bit of slate from the ground and drew his profile, 
 which is very irregular with rocks, and then we 
 turned homeward, gathering delicate purple grasses 
 on our way. 
 
 July 3d. — It rains, and we are weather-bound, yet 
 we mean to post down to the shore, and meet the 
 afternoon steamer for Inversnaid. 
 
V. 
 
 INYEESNAID AND LOCH KATEINE AND 
 THE TKOSACHS. 
 
 July 3d, 1857. 
 Here we are now at the veritable waterfall, where 
 Wordsworth met the Highland girl, and we hear the 
 musical flow from the hotel, but do not see it, and it 
 pours a heavy rain. We left Inverannan about an 
 hour ago, in a covered phaeton, and were obliged to 
 run from it down to the brink of the lake, through 
 the wet grass, and then, in the steamer, I must, per- 
 force, stay in the cabin all the time, and could only 
 see a little from the side-windows. What a loss ! 
 Mists were on the mountain-tops and trailing down 
 the sides like mantles of illusion lace ; but I saw 
 again Eob Boy's cave. If it were fair weather we 
 could go there this afternoon, either in a boat or by 
 climbing over rocks. But, immitigably, down falls 
 the rain, and to-morrow we shall go to Loch Katrine 
 in a stage-coach, and take a steamer at one end and 
 proceed to the other. * ^ * From our parlor 
 windows we look directly across the lake into the 
 romantic glen of Inveruglass. Ben Eim and Ben 
 Yoirlich, Ben Vain and Ben Crosh rise up on either 
 
174 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. ' - 
 
 side. They are now almost wholly enveloped in 
 mist ; but when it clears I hope to sketch them. 
 
 July 4th. — When I looked out this morning I had 
 hope for fair weather, and the sun has been actually 
 shining. Before breakfast I visited the waterfall, 
 so as to make sure of it. We climbed up a path to 
 a little wooden bridge, which is built over it mid- 
 way. It is very pretty from the bridge, and yet it 
 seems a pity to have placed a bridge there, as it is 
 not a lovely arch, but only a straight, common affair. 
 Why will man make a straight line when a curve is 
 possible ? I thought I should like the view better 
 from below, and so I ran down to some rocks directly 
 in front of the foaming cascade, and it was far more 
 satisfactory from that point. The glen of Inveru- 
 glass was hidden in thick mist, and not a mountain 
 could be seen before breakfast. Indeed, it has been 
 clear enough only within an hour to perceive the 
 entire outlines. Now they are grand. Ben Crosli is 
 nearest on the left. Ben Vain is on the right, as 
 you enter the glen ; but from this window it looks 
 very much in the centre, and is bold and conical. 
 Ben Yoirlich rises from the edge of the water, half 
 concealing Ben Yain. Ben Eim is behind Ben 
 Crosh, and now has a turban of thick India muslin 
 on, so that I cannot trace the line of his head. * * ^ 
 
 After breakfast we walked along the road which 
 leads to Loch Katrine. It was constructed by the 
 Duke of Montrose for the benefit of travellers, and 
 it winds round in a very comfortable manner, pro- 
 
I^^VEIlSyAID. 175 
 
 tected on the steep side by a fence made of young 
 oak of a year's growth, woven like basket-work. We 
 sat down on the rocks at the second turn of the road, 
 whence we had a fine view of the glen, and also of 
 the lake toward Rowardennan, over which Ben Lo- 
 mond uplifts himself. He " the likeness of a kingly 
 crown has on" this morning of folded cloud, and I 
 have not seen his highest height to-day. While we sat 
 aloft the steamer arrived from Balloch, and gave forth 
 a great many people, who nearly all mounted into an 
 omnibus for Loch Katrine. It was so full that many 
 gentlemen were constrained to walk, and we were 
 glad we had decided to go at four p. M. We then con- 
 cluded to take a boat and visit Rob Ro3^'s cave. 
 The lake was charming to row upon, and is very 
 deep just at Inversnaid — I think a hundred fathoms 
 deep. The shores on the right, as we glided along, 
 were richly wooded and green ; but on the left the 
 Brothers Ben rose up bare and rugged, with a small 
 fringe of trees round a cottage at the base of Ben 
 Voirlich. The air was soft and the sun hot, and I 
 trust that the cold, chilly weather has passed. We 
 arrived in less than half an hour, and our oarsman 
 helped us climb the crags nicely. We descended 
 into the depths. Bob Boy, with twenty men, used 
 to remain there together in pretty small quarters ; 
 yet there is as much space as in a room of a High- 
 land cottage, perhaps. Light comes in through two 
 or three crevices ; but an entrance can be effected 
 by one only, and that one could be well defended 
 
i:g notes in Scotland. 
 
 from 9,n intruder. Not a very sumptnons palace for 
 a king, as King Kobert Bruce probably thought 
 when he fled there from his English pursuers. There 
 is a ladder by which we descended into the lowest 
 part, and there I stood, after knocking my head 
 twice, at the risk of spoiling my pretty bonnet, too, 
 though I believe it is not injured. 
 
 The cave does not seem to be a natural hollow in 
 a rock, but a result of the falling together of great 
 boulders, leaving open spaces. The boatman told 
 us that it was Eob Roy's property, and that he 
 owned the land for ten miles, as far from here as 
 E-owardennan. The water is beautifully clear, dia- 
 mond clear, and of a golden color. This mountain 
 spring-water is delicious to drink — the first I have 
 tasted in Britain not hard. August is the time for 
 the heather to bloom, but I saw a wee tuft of crim- 
 son color on a rock in a warm nook. Farewell for a 
 few hours. 
 
 The Tkosachs! 
 
 Macgregor's Hotel, Head of Loch Katrine, 
 Fourth of July — Evening. 
 
 We have celebrated the day of the Declaration of 
 Independence in a very delightful manner. We left 
 Inversnaid this afternoon. 
 
 Before the stage-coach set forth for Loch Katrine, 
 
 papa and J started on foot, enjoying much better 
 
 to walk till they were tired. There was room for 
 
TEE TROSACHS. Ill 
 
 sixteen in the cnrriage ; but there were only two 
 gentlemen, and my ain sel was the only lady. The 
 gentlemen were Germans, as I discovered by the 
 "neins," and '-jas," and " echs ;" but they spoke 
 English as well. They stationed themselves on the 
 driver's box, and so I had all the rest of the fifteen 
 seats at my disposal. The road which we owe to 
 his Grace the Duke of Montrose, winds along on 
 a shelf, exactly after the manner of that road in 
 Madeira, up which you and I and R. were borne in 
 palanquins or litters. On our left were the braes, 
 and on our right below rushed the Arkhill, which 
 forms the falls of Inversnaid as it hurries into the 
 loch. It was very beautiful and refreshing, singing 
 its loud song over the rocks. Where its banks were 
 high, the huge boulders had tumbled in from age to 
 age, so that the small river has much ado to get 
 along, but having a downward impetus, along it will 
 and must get, and its persistence and importunity 
 are very musical, and it roars like a thousand night- 
 ingales. The descent to the stream from the road 
 is quite precipitous, and the basket-fence is not 
 finished, so that after a mile or so, we could have 
 pitched over as well as not. It all depended upon 
 the driver of our carriage — his skill and his soberness. 
 It seemed to me that I should never overtake 
 
 papa and J . The hills were wild and bare for 
 
 a good distance, and had no names. Small stone 
 hovels here and there appeared on the moors, lonely 
 and forlorn, and then we came to the ruins of a 
 
ns KOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 stone fort, which the English built to protect the 
 surrounding people from the terrible Macgregors. 
 In 1718, General Wolfe was stationed there. 
 
 As I could not reach my foot travellers, I turned 
 round to look behind, when lo ! such a glorious 
 vision burst upon me, as I had not yet seen among 
 these Highlands. We were high and far off, but 
 exactly opposite, was the glen of Ivern glass — and 
 all those lofty Bens that cluster there had risen in 
 glory and ascended into the heavens. Let me try 
 to tell you how. They were half- wrapped in deli- 
 cate gauzes, and the sun, which was not shining on 
 us nor on the intervening spaces, was pouring a 
 flood of silver-gold splendor into the glen, in front 
 of which a dark hill stood. So that the effect was 
 precisely as if the sun had dropped into the glen, 
 and was shining up from it, and with a million 
 arrows of light was piercing the mists that hovered 
 just beneath the summits of Ben Crosh and Ben 
 Vain, in such a way that they appeared miles in 
 height. Indeed they seem to have no end, but to 
 be lost in the heavens. You have observed at sun- 
 set or toward sunset, how rays are marked on the 
 sky from the sun (when veiled in clouds), to the 
 horizon. Now fancy the sun hidden in a deep vale, 
 and the rays streaming up from it to the zenith in- 
 stead of down from it to the horizon. Prismatic hues 
 played about the mists like the changes in a pearl 
 shell, and the whole wonderful pageant was on such 
 a gigantic scale that I was breathless with astonish- 
 
THE TROSACIIS. 170 
 
 ment. Fancy a dim twilight world of giant propor- 
 tions, Cliimborazos and Himalayas piled up, enclos- 
 ing passes of awful depth, or assembled in majestic 
 conclave around one deepest fell. Fancy them 
 thinly enveloped in illusive vapor, which allows, 
 here and there, an outline to be discerned, and then 
 let the Great Carl)uncle suddenly blaze out from the 
 abysses, and shoot aurora borealises upward, and 
 transmute white mists into rainbow tissues, and by 
 the singular refraction or reflection magnifying every 
 line and mass into a vastness beyond comprehen- 
 sion. But it is not possible to show it to you by 
 words. 
 
 The German gentlemen were all this while look- 
 ing straight ahead, not having the remotest idea 
 of these glories, and after reflecting, I considered it 
 my duty to tell them. "Wunderbar," "Wunder- 
 schon!" they shouted in a rapture, and we all sat 
 with twisted necks in a helpless state of exclamation 
 for a long time. I say " helpless," but perhaps 
 " vain" would be an apter word, for exclaim as wo 
 might in German or English, we could not adequate- 
 ly express our emotions, No expression has been 
 coined that would fit the case, and we were obliged 
 to ease off into " oh's" and " all's." And I truly 
 believe that these little ejaculations often save the 
 lives of poor mortals. They are blessed safety- 
 valves when the shows of Creation are too much for 
 us, and I dare say ^' Oh" was Adam's first utterance 
 when he found himself standing with open eyes in 
 
180 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 Paradise. And I was so afraid papa and J 
 
 might not look back ! 
 
 The head of hnge Ben Yenue now appeared in the 
 distance, the very Ben Yenue, dear, which overlooks 
 your beloved Loch Katrine, Ellen's lake. It did not 
 seem possible that I was really so happy as to see 
 it, and I then especially wished for you by my side 
 on one of the empty fifteen seats. * * -^ ^ Now I 
 
 saw papa and J far ahead, and we overtook them 
 
 directly. We then passed the small Loch Arklet, 
 which might reflect Ben Lomond when smooth, and 
 then we arrived at Stronaclachar, where is a hotel 
 and a pier, and a pretty screw steamer was waiting 
 for us on the shores of Loch Katrine itself ! Into 
 this we immediately entered and settled ourselves 
 in the prow, so as to see all before us without hin- 
 drance. 
 
 ^ 4f * * Xjoch Katrine opens with a wide and 
 lovely expanse of water which seems quite shut in 
 by the hills, as if it were finished off at once, holding 
 a small island on its bosom. We were a weary while 
 waiting at the pier, and I could conceive no reason 
 why — but each thing has an end, and so had our 
 dela}''. Upon arriving at the little island aforemen- 
 tioned, which is r^fered with trees and shrubs, Ben 
 Chochan can be seen, but there is no name to the 
 bare mountain bases that are washed by the waters 
 all along here. The Lord Willoughby d'Eresby 
 owns the left side of the lake, and the Duke of Mont- 
 rose the right, so that Aberfoyle is his. There are 
 
THE TROSACHS. 131 
 
 several passes on each side, and in Portnellen, a 
 pass on Lord Willoughby's side, once lived Rob Roy. 
 You well remember Malcolm Grgeme, so that you 
 will be interested to know that the family name of 
 his Grace of Montrose is Grahame, or as the Scotch 
 pronounce it, Graeme. 
 
 The broad waters of the Loch wind in great curves 
 round the various promontories and headlands, so 
 that constantly we seemed to see the whole, and 
 then a turn brought to view still remoter reaches, 
 and as we approached Ellen's Isle, the sterile moun- 
 tain-sides changed to richly-wooded steeps. Before 
 this change, however, I ought to tell you of a mag- 
 nificent glen, or pass, which we saw on the left. 
 Heavy clouds hung over that region, tinging the 
 bold, vast heap of rock and stubble perfectly black, 
 while close to the lake, long hills swept down to the 
 brim, of the richest, brightest green — not of the 
 texture of velvet, but exactly like chenille, soft and 
 uneven like that, and delicious in verdure. The 
 water was like ink beneath these black masses, 
 so that papa proposed I should fill my inkstand 
 with it, as just before I left Inversnaid, I upset my 
 little portable. But we have traversed the inky 
 flood, and passed the mighty pass, and now glide 
 into peculiarly enchanted realms. Sir Walter stood 
 thereabout with magic wand, and the whole boat's 
 company assembled amidships when Ellen's Isle 
 came in view, as if it were the promised land. What 
 is like the power of genius ! The captain told his 
 
183 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 own minute stones, as if Ellen, and the Douglas, and 
 Eoderic once lived and loved and fought ; and, in 
 our imagination, did not we all devoutly believe so ? 
 The island is much smaller than I had fancied, 
 but lovely, and entirely covered with trees and 
 shrubs, as are all "the banks and braes" at this end 
 of the loch, w^hile far above rises Ben Yenue, rugged 
 and stern. Opposite to it — 
 
 " Ben An heaves \i\g\i. his forehead bare." 
 
 The beauty and richness seem to increase as we 
 go on from Ellen's Isle. Scott's description of its 
 innumerable riches only mirrors the plain fact. 
 
 I looked with all my eyes at every side. I wished 
 to be Ai'gus, so as to see all round at once, and not 
 lose anything behind while I was gazing before, or 
 on one hand while looking on the other. Alas ! 
 however, we have but two eyes, and we are bound to 
 be thankfal when they both look the same way, in- 
 stead of in different directions. 
 
 It is one wilderness of thickly -wooded hills at the 
 head of the lake, and then begins the pass of the 
 Trosachs. Two carriages, one open and one closed, 
 awaited us there, and we preferred the open one, so 
 as to enjoy the prospect. There had been only a 
 slight sprinkling of rain during our voyage of ten 
 miles, and though now it threatened somewhat, I 
 thought I would take the risk. The whole narrow 
 road was enchanting from beginning to end, over- 
 hung with trees, guarded well by Ben Venue and 
 
THE TROSACIIS. 183 
 
 Ben An on either hand, with small burns gleaming 
 among the wayside shrubbery, and flowers and sweet- 
 brier hanging out long wreaths of roses. 
 
 Soon another lake — Loch Achray — opens the pass. 
 Round this water the hills are much lower. Trosachs 
 means Bristled Territory. Two arched stone bridges 
 span a river that flows from Loch Achray to Loch 
 Yennachar. 
 
 So now on the shores of Loch Achray, we drove 
 up to a castellated building, Macgregor's Hotel, built 
 by Lord Willoughby d'Eresby. It has corner 
 towers which J disrespectfully called pepper- 
 boxes ; but which are castle-like, and in one of them 
 is our parlor. It is a delightful room, with four 
 lancet windows like a true turret. So at last I am 
 living in a tower, as I always wished to do. One 
 lancet opens upon Ben Venue, another upon the 
 lake. It is wainscoted with polished oak, and the 
 deep embrasures and furniture are also of oak. The 
 walls are hung with a mosaic pattern, crimson and 
 wood-color. The carpet is crimson Brussels, and 
 the couches and chairs have crimson-velvet cushions. 
 No Macgregor of former days ever lived in such a 
 fine castle as this. 
 
 After tea we strolled out toward Callender, with 
 Loch Achray on our right. A tiny little stone kirk 
 soon came in sight, which we walked round, and 
 then sat down on a comfortably low parapet to gaze 
 about. The water was smooth, and perfectly re- 
 flected the purple and gold clouds of sunset, and 
 
ISi KOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 there were actually level lands on its banks, wliile 
 Ben Yenue rose aloft. Ben An from one point pre- 
 sented a perfect pyramid, and it is really difficult to 
 say what shape any mountain has, the form changes 
 so much at different points of view. Until we are 
 very close upon Ben Lomond, however, its shape 
 holds, always like a head and shoulders. 
 
 It was in the pass of the Trosachs, you know, that 
 Fitz-James stumbled and fell when he was hunting. 
 It was formerly a mere gorge where now the good 
 road winds. We gathered here from a wild eglan- 
 tine three roses — one a shut-bud, but showing the 
 lovely pink petals — another not quite half opened, 
 and a third just ready to unfold, but curved over the 
 stamens. We named them after three children we 
 know, and they are the prettiest of portraits. 
 
 It was nearly nine o'clock when we got back to 
 
 the hotel, still day, and though I wished very much 
 
 to go to Loch Katrine, we concluded to defer our 
 
 visit there. 
 
 ****** 
 
 July 6th. — The waiter came with a request that 
 we would dine at the table d'hote, because it was 
 Sunday, and the servants wanted rest and leisure ; 
 and I could not but consent, though I was very 
 sorry. So we went down into the dining-hall, which, 
 in harmony with the rest of the castle, had an un- 
 ceiled roof of polished rafters of oak, in gothic peaks, 
 and an oaken wainscot. On one side was a broad 
 window of painted glass, with three lights.^ Oppo- 
 
THE TROSACHS. 185 
 
 site me hung the portrait of some redoubtable hero, 
 Eobert de Bruce, Eob Eoy, or Macgregor, I pre- 
 sume. Between two windows, at one end, was a 
 picture of a bishop, and opposite him a convex 
 mirror, surmounted by an eagle. 
 
 The table was exactly full, and I saw hardly one 
 comely person. Two young gentlemen in gray, and 
 a young clergyman at the top of the table, were 
 good-looking, but only one individual in the room 
 was eminently handsome. There fell great pauses 
 in talk, one of which I broke by saying to papa, 
 " What a pretty dining-hall this is !" and my pro- 
 found remark proved quite a blessing, for they all 
 began to speak of it to one another, and continued 
 to keep up a babble to the end. 
 
 After dinner it was clear and fine, and we went to 
 walk, and decided to go to Loch Katrine through the 
 famous pass of the Trosachs. We were guarded on 
 each side by Ben An and Ben Yenue ; and there 
 were the wildest fells, the steepest precipices, beet- 
 ling crags, singing burns, and plumy foliage — every 
 combination in form and texture of soft beauty and 
 rugged grandeur. When we arrived at the lake, we 
 saw our pretty steamer moored fast, resting over 
 Sunday, and several row-boats also. Two thatched 
 buildings are on the margin of the water, one of 
 them covered with moss and lichens, and large 
 clusters of a white flowering plant. The front of 
 this hut was ornamented with devices made of sap- 
 lings twisted into ornaments in alto-relievo. The 
 
ISa NOTES^ m 8C0TXAND. 
 
 other was a shelter for animals. Before us lay 
 Ellen's Lake, shut in by the promontories and 
 capes, so as to seem very tiny, while Ben Venue, 
 the mighty sentinel, kept watch on the left of the 
 dream-haunted spot. 
 
 Some friendly dry boards were piled up near the 
 cattle-shed, and I had a good rest there, after a walk 
 of a mile and a quarter. One way in which we dis- 
 cover the vastness of Ben Venue is by finding that 
 he always seems just alongside, go as far as you 
 will. A mantle of mist about his shoulders, and a 
 gleam of sunshine from behind a cloud, would at 
 once make him appear of infinite altitude. He has 
 thrown off (if he ever had an}^) all his " lendings" 
 from head and body, but there are heaps of drapery 
 of richest material fallen at his feet ; — such lovely, 
 feathery garments, as if his royal robes had been of 
 emerald marabouts intermingled with ostrich plumes 
 and a great deal of pea-green chenille trimming. 
 The gem of purest water that erewhiles dropped 
 from his loosened gabardine is the lake itself. It 
 seemed very small as we looked at it from our pile 
 of boards. 
 
 We made up our minds to go on to Ellen's Isle, 
 though it was rather far, but there was no other way 
 to see it unless there had been a donkey for me, or 
 it had been a week-day and we could have hired a 
 boat. So we took the delightful path that is made 
 on the borders of the water sometimes, and some- 
 times farther inland. It is about twelve feet broad, 
 
THE TROSACUS. 187 
 
 and just as wild, lovely, and varied as woodland path 
 can be, and made tuneful by mountain rills which 
 run across the way into the lake : often walled in, 
 too, by horrent crags that rise up from the level 
 ground, wedging the innocent air with sharp points, 
 though often wrapping their " epouvantables ter- 
 reurs" in mantles of heath and moss. The purple 
 heath was in early bloom along the sides, and I 
 gathered some for you. I did not see the " light 
 harebell" that " raised its head elastic from her 
 airy tread" — which is a pity ; but at last, at last, 
 came " the snow-white beach" to which Ellen shot 
 her shallop when she heard the bugle, and directly 
 opposite this was her island home ! The sun had 
 now come fully out, the wind was still, and it was a 
 scene of perfect repose and loveliness. Though, as 
 I said before, the isle looks smaller than I expected, 
 yet distances and scenes are very difficult to estimate 
 correctly across water, and I think it may be found 
 large when close upon it. It is thickly wooded and 
 there are cliffs and rocks, and we are bound to sup- 
 pose there are ruins of the castle of the Douglas 
 somewhere within the recesses. What castle that 
 we see is so real to our hearts and fancies as this ? 
 There is a beautiful bay made by a peninsula that 
 reaches far beyond the island, and the beach is cov- 
 ered with white stones — some of which we gathered 
 up for you. I walked all over it, so as perchance to 
 set my foot where " Snowdoun's Knight " set his, as 
 he descended from the thickets to step into " the 
 
188 NOTES IN SCOTLAND, 
 
 liglit shallop" of the Lady of the Lake. Just as 
 the perfect reflection of the surrounding landscape 
 looks more real and finished, as well as lovelier than 
 the tangible scene, so the dreams of poets are more 
 truth than very facts. The Douglas, the Graeme 
 in spirit had been there. Ellen Hved and breathed — 
 
 " Her head thrown back, her lips apart, 
 Like monument of Grecian art." 
 
 Papa found a stone, hollowed like a little cup — 
 and we drank of the dissolved diamond dropped 
 
 from Ben Yenue's regal vestments. J lay down 
 
 prostrate and took a reviving draught, and we 
 mused and gazed till about eight o'clock. The sun 
 had not yet set, and the long gold lights and shad- 
 ows were enchanting ; but we were obliged to com- 
 mence our return, because there were more than 
 
 two miles to walk. J ran on before us, and just 
 
 as we were coming opposite an enormous cliff, we 
 heard him shouting aloft — 
 
 " And like a sheet of burnished ,^old, 
 Loch Katrine lies before me rolled !" 
 
 How little he supposed he should repeat those 
 lines in the very place where Fitz-James himself 
 stood, perhaps, when he first heard them read in 
 Leamington. The setting sun threw wonderful gold 
 floods over the wooded braes and slopes and through 
 the glades ; and once in the dark depths of forest, 
 a single group of trees flamed in its beams like fire. 
 
THE TROSACnS. 189 
 
 What a country is Great Britain ! Every atom 
 of it is a jewel. History and poetr}^ transmute into 
 precious stones every particle of its dust. One can- 
 not look abroad or plant his foot, but a thousand 
 illustrious shades spring up before him — noble deeds 
 and creations of genius make it fairy- land. And 
 full as it is of riches, it is so small that we can fold 
 our arms round it and love it and enjoy it. Hail 
 Britannia ! 
 
VI. 
 
 BEIDGE OF ALLAN. 
 
 July 6th, 1857. 
 
 Here we are — arrived at the most famous of the 
 Scottish Spas, at the Queen's Hotel, and we are most 
 unexpectedly here, as I will tell you. 
 
 We left the Trosachs at nearly four o'clock, in a 
 mail-coach, for Stirling. The coach had a small 
 body or calyx, and a very wide-spreading corolla. 
 We three and a stranger-lady were in the cslyx, and 
 innumerable people were perched upon the corolla, 
 like so many heea ; and such a gorgeous king-bee as 
 the driver was you will never see, unless you see one 
 of her Majesty's mail-coachmen in a new scarlet 
 coat. Every time he appeared in sight, I heard the 
 sound of trumpets, and the landscape kindled. M}^ 
 scarlet bee buzzed about so long, without apparent 
 aim, that we were quite tired of waiting. You, per- 
 haps, remember the coachman from Newby Bridge 
 to Milnthorpe. He looked like a huge moth-miller 
 in his light-drab wrapper, but I liked him better 
 than this scarlet creature, though not his coat so 
 well. Finally we bowled off very pleasantl3\ The 
 
BRIDGE OF ALLAN. 191 
 
 road skirted Loch Acliray, and then a valley through 
 which a stream wound to Loch Vennachar, the Tro- 
 sach crags continuing on our left till we came to a 
 hotel. But j&rst we passed the Bridge of Turk 
 (vide " the chase " in the Lady of the Lake) and 
 saw the River Turk rushing down Glenfinlass — a 
 broad glen with bleak mountains rising from it — 
 and of course I thought of Fitz-James, who dashed 
 over this bridge on his " gallant gray," when pur- 
 suing the stag. The huts of Duncraggan then 
 came in sight, built in the open space near the glen, 
 singular, desolate old huts. Now Loch Vennachar 
 (lake of the fair valley) opened upon our right, and 
 opposite, on the left, giant Ben Ledi lifted its 
 double-headed top, one of the four highest Bens in 
 Scotland (3,000 feet). After passing the loch, we 
 began to see a most lovely valley in the distance — a 
 river winding through it, and a town situated on the 
 fairest plain, broad and bright, with richly wooded 
 cliffs sweeping up in long curves from it, and Ben 
 Ledi growing more and more grand as we left his 
 immediate vicinity. I wish you to have an image 
 of this valley. It took a character of vastness, it 
 was so exceedingly smooth and wide, and gave me 
 the impression that everything was cleared away at 
 last, allowing plenty of room to breathe and con- 
 sider, while the heights which closed it in afar off 
 gave an effect of comfortable and comprehensible 
 space, while plains that reach to the horizon almost 
 weary one with their indefinite immensity. George 
 
192 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 Herbert, in one of his divine poems, speaks of the 
 Lord's " transparent rooms" — and tliis seemed one 
 of them, though on earth, and not in heaven. I 
 think it must be after this valley that the loch is 
 named Vennachar, fair. Before us were blue dis- 
 tances, probably including Stirling Heights, and as 
 we drew nearer the vision grew more beautiful, and 
 a bridge of three arches, the midmost the tallest, 
 captivated my eyes, so eager and grateful for curves. 
 The Teith is a tolerably wide river, flowing over 
 rocks, and, in some places extremely shallow, so that 
 when Bob Eoy was chased over it he need scarcely 
 have wetted his flying feet. We stopped at a hotel 
 to change horses, and had twenty minutes to walk 
 about. We went to the pretty bridge and looked 
 down into its clear water, and saw tall trees droop- 
 ing their branches into it to take a sip. The trees 
 were quite lordly all round. The long street of Cal- 
 lender is bordered by all kinds of thatched cottages, 
 small inns, and low shops, not at all comely, but we 
 saw some large, handsome villas among the groups 
 of woods outside the thickly peopled part. Just as 
 we were settled again in our calyx, another stranger- 
 lady joined us ; a person who looked anxious and 
 careful, as if she had so many children she did not 
 know what to do, or some other great burden on 
 her mind. She charged the driver over and over 
 again to leave her at " the Queen's," as if she feared 
 to be mislaid somewhere ; and when he had quieted 
 her uneasy mind we resumed our way. The road 
 
BRIDGE OF ALLAN. 103 
 
 now lay across a more level and desolate conutry. 
 I put out my Lead to glance back once, and saw 
 Ben Ledi standing alone like a monarch, a Saul 
 among his brethren, taller by the head and shoul- 
 ders than any other. 
 
 We now came to Doune, where the rivers Teith 
 and Ardoch meet, and at their confluence is an old 
 ruined castle, making a stately picture ; and soon 
 after leaving Doune I caught a glimpse of Stii'ling's 
 storied height. I sa^v but for an instant an abrupt 
 ascent from a plain, and a heap of turrets, and then 
 it was all gone again. When we arrived at the Spa, 
 the coach stopped at this hotel to allow our anxious 
 passenger to alight, and I asked her about the hotels 
 in Stirling. I supposed this was the town of Stir- 
 ling, or immediately in the environs of it, and the 
 hotel looked so large and inviting that I asked her 
 if she could recommend it. " Oh, yes, she could," 
 and so we decided to remain here, and did not dis- 
 cover, till after our malles were in and our rooms 
 engaged, that we were not at Stirling, but at the 
 Bridge of Allan, three miles away, and that our 
 fellow-traveller was the landlady of this very hotel, 
 and that it was "the Queen's." The coach had 
 driven away, however, and here we must stay, and 
 it proves so very beautiful that w^e are not sorry. 
 Scott has made the place memorable ; besides that 
 it has natural advantages of situation. After tea we 
 walked out, and found another great hotel, with 
 gardens of rose-trees in full bloom, a pretty church 
 
194 NOTES IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 of tlie Establisliment, a mighty fountain nearly 
 ready to play, a nice little bowling-green, and a 
 view of Stirling Castle. We then turned about to 
 walk on the bridge. Near this are the original old 
 cottages which first composed the village. The 
 bridge has been renewed on one side ; but on the 
 other looks very old, with two arches. It spans the 
 Allan-water. " Allan" comes from a Celtic word — 
 aluinn — meaning beautiful. The parish is named 
 Logie, and is bounded on one side by Dumblane. 
 We walked along a road leading to a church, wdiich 
 gradually ascended. Embowered cottages were on 
 our right hand, and under one clustering vine a 
 w^oman sat knitting, and I asked her about the 
 church. She said it was not an ancient one, but 
 quite pretty inside ; so we did not visit it, and turned 
 on our steps, when behold ! spread before us and on 
 one side a magnificent prospect. The sun threw 
 long beams of light from his closing eyes, and out 
 of the rich, cultivated plain, rose in the midst the 
 high crag upon which the renowned Stirling Castle 
 is built. Nearer to us the Cliff Craigforth, less high, 
 but perfectly beautiful and thickly wooded, seemed 
 to invite another castle to crown its summit with 
 battlements. A steep rock on the highest side I 
 thought might be a ruined wall, but a woman near 
 us said it was not. Farther to the east the Grand 
 Abbey Craig swept up hke a wave, and on this the 
 national monument to William Wallace is to be 
 erected, and a nobler pedestal for the monument to 
 
BRIDGE OF ALLAN. 193 
 
 a hero could not be found in any kingdom. It is 
 far more superb than the elevation on which Stir- 
 ling Castle stands, and there are remains of a wall 
 on its face, which are a sign of, who knows what ? 
 deeply interesting historic events in the vanished 
 ages. 
 
 Besides the three I have mentioned, there is 
 another on the horizon over Craigforth, still keep- 
 ing the form of the others, but after rising it con- 
 tinues for miles and miles along. I believe it is 
 " the OchQs." 
 
JSrOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 I. 
 
 ROMAN JOURNAL. 
 PmciAN Hill. — Palazzo Larazani. 
 
 RoivrE, February 14tb, 1858. 
 We have been in Rome since the 20th January, 
 and I have not written a word of journal. Till the 
 2d it was bitterly cold, and afterward but little 
 milder, and not sufficiently so to make my fingers 
 flexible enough to hold a pen. On the 5th it be- 
 gan to rain, the weather previously having been 
 clear and brilliant. The rain softened the air, or it 
 rained because the air was softer, and rained on till 
 the 12th. Now, again, it is glorious sunshine and 
 cold ; but every one says the winter has gone. I 
 have not really commenced seeing Rome in earnest, 
 and with accurate observation, but intend to do so 
 after the Carnival. I have walked about, however, 
 and had glimpses of what is before me. I have 
 
198 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 spent one hour in St. Peters, walked tlirougli the 
 Forum Romanum, and seen the Arch of Septimius 
 Severus, the portico of the Temple of Saturn, the 
 three beautiful columns of the Temple of Vespasian, 
 the three of the Temple of Minerva Chalcidica, the 
 single column erected to the Emperor Phocas, the 
 Schola Xantha, the Temple of Faustina and Antoni- 
 nus, the Saci a Via, terminated by the Arch of Titus. 
 How I like to write down the illustrious names of 
 what I have all my life long so much desired to see! 
 I cluster them together like jewels, and exult over 
 them. The Forum is a kind of vale, above which 
 rises the Palatine on the right, as one approaches 
 from the Corso ; while the Capitoline towers up be- 
 hind the Arch of Septimius Severus, which is at 
 the opposite end of the Forum to the Arch of Titus. 
 I have wandered over the Coliseum, passing by the 
 ruins of what was once called the Temple of Peace, 
 but is now the Basilica of Constantine. At a dis- 
 tance I have seen the ruins of the Palace of the Cae- 
 sars, crowning the Palatine. I have driven under 
 the Arch of Constantine, through the Porta San Se- 
 bastiano, to the Appian Way, and passed under the 
 Arch of Drusus to the tomb of the Scipios and the 
 Columbaria, by the stupendous ruins of the Baths 
 of Caracalla, and, outside the walls, back through 
 the Porta Maggiore, upon the Piazza of St. John 
 Lateran. Since the drive I have been into that 
 grand old Basilica, and half looked at it ; also, into 
 Santa Maria Maggiore, on the Esquiline. One day, 
 
BOMAX JOURNAL. li)9 
 
 when alone, I clianced upon a most beautiful temple, 
 with a mighty flank and portico, which I find to be 
 the Temple of Mars Ultor, in the Forum of Angus- 
 tus. I have been on the Quirinal, and seen the 
 Greek groups of Castor and Pollux by Phidias and 
 Praxiteles, before the Pontifical Palace ; and the 
 Forum of Trajan (or the little that has been exca- 
 vated of it), with the wonder of art, Trajan's col- 
 umn, sculptured by Apollodorus, from top to base 
 with hundreds of figures, in the highest style. This 
 is a slight sketch and foretaste of the riches I have 
 before me. * 
 
 February 19th. — It is a superb and cold day. After 
 breakfast we undertook to search out Santa Maria 
 degl' Angeli on the Viminal. We went through the 
 Via Felice, and passed the Piazza Barberini, in 
 which is the Triton fountain — a stone basin, wherein 
 sits a Triton with upturned head, spouting a thin 
 line of water into the air, and then we ascended 
 through the Via delle Quattro Fontane. On its high- 
 est point the four fountains make the corners of the 
 four ways. They are all at the angles of houses, 
 and look very old, with recumbent figures, mostly 
 without noses, quietly reposing by the ever-flowing 
 streams. At this point, we turned to the left into 
 the Via Porta Pia, while at the end of the Via Qui- 
 rinalis on the right, we could see afar the obelisk, 
 round which are the glorious groups of Castor and 
 Pollux, with their horses, crowning the Monte Ca- 
 
200 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 vallo, where we went the other day. We walked 
 along by a dead wall for some time — probably the 
 Barberini Palace Gardens — and then by the monas- 
 tery and Church of Santa Susanna and Santo Ber- 
 nardo, and Santa Maria della Yittoria, opposite to 
 w^hich is the fountain of Termini. This is quite impo- 
 sing, with a colossal statue of Moses in the centre, stri- 
 king the Kock. Its old name was Fontana dell' Acqua 
 Felice. There are four marble lions, with their heads 
 turned toward one another, while out of their mouths 
 flow the inexhaustible clear streams. The Moses is 
 the work of Prospero di Brescia, who died of mor- 
 tification at the derision which it called forth. But 
 I do not see that it is so very absurd. It is a mighty 
 old form. On each side are bas-reliefs, in one of 
 which Aaron predominates — in the other, Gideon. 
 The places of these four new marble lions w^ere once 
 filled by four Egyptian lions of black granite, that 
 w^ere removed from before the Pantheon — ^ivhich I 
 think is unpardonable — and now the Pope has put 
 them in the Vatican Museum. 
 
 We saw no Basilica, and so we went on, passing 
 the Villa Bonaparte, — a charming little mansion in 
 the midst of green shrubbery, looking English in 
 form and arrangement, but without the lovely velvet 
 hnvns : then the Villa Torlonia, which seemed an 
 Eden through the gates ; and the city wall limits it 
 on one side. We went out of the Porta Via, designed 
 by Michel Angelo. Upon the top of Michel Angelo's 
 gate Pio Nono has built another story, as if for no 
 
ROMAIC JO URNAL. 20 1 
 
 other reason than to put his name upon it ; for the 
 popes emblazon their names in this way, all over 
 Rome, on every ruin and church and wall, as if it 
 were in the least interesting to read the names of 
 popes, or that it is of any account to know what 
 they did. I wish they would beautify and repair 
 and restore, without marring their good deeds by 
 illuminating their unimportant cognomens upon 
 them, as if to proclaim — " It was I, Gregory, or 
 Pius, or Benedict, YIL, YIII., or IX., and not Greg- 
 ory, Pius, or Benedict, X., XI., or XII., who did this 
 fine thing. Observe !" Near this spot is wondrous 
 interest ; for it was not far off that Hannibal threw 
 his spear over the wall of Servius TulUus, of which 
 a portion still remains, stretching from the ancient 
 Porta Collana. The Yia Porta goes straight over its 
 site, and on the right hand is what is left of the 
 venerable wall. Between it and the Yilla Torlonia 
 is the Campus Sceleratus, where the vestal virgins, 
 who had broken their vows, were buried alive. The 
 Pretorian camp of Tiberius was near this dismal 
 field of murder, still more to the northeast. Beli- 
 sarius had also something to do with the walls sur- 
 rounding the Pretorian camp. Beyond the gate afar 
 off were the ever-lovely blue Sabine and Alban hills, 
 snow-capped and of enchanting form. In the clear 
 light of morning they looked like the Delectable 
 mountains of Christian's dream, where all the saints 
 were shining. No Saint Mary of the Angels, how- 
 ever, was yet visible, and upon looking at the map 
 
 ft* 
 
203 NOTES Hs ITALY. 
 
 we found we had taken tlie wrong direction, and tliat 
 we must return to the Fountain of Termini. So we 
 retraced our waj, and went through the Piazza di 
 Termini again, by the calm Lions, and the never- 
 ending crystal streams, — more hke the ceaseless 
 bounty of God than anything else — and, like His 
 bounty, too much contemned and forgotten by these 
 Bomans, who use it neither to make themselves nor 
 their city clean, and who think those persons who 
 drink it mad men and women. The grape flows for 
 them, and the voice of the many waters calls to them 
 in vain. We found a wide space beyond the Piazza, 
 with avenues of trees leading two ways fi'om one 
 point, like the tines of a fork, and at the end of one 
 a gate of bronze, which we thought might be the 
 entrance to the Basilica we sought. But it was the 
 gate of a garden of the Yilla Negroni, where Craw- 
 ford lived, and we saw within some giant cactuses, 
 which looked as if carved out of pale, green marble. 
 A French sentinel stood near, and I asked him 
 where the church was, and he pointed to a heap of 
 ruins ; but we could see among them no sign of the 
 magnificent structure we had read of. These ruins, 
 however, were the wreck of the baths of Diocletian, 
 — a portion of them having been made into a Chris- 
 tian temple by Michel Angelo. They were very 
 superb, and a mile in circuit, built by forty thousand 
 Christian slaves. The vast hall, in the midst of the 
 Thermae, is entirely preserved, and forms the largest 
 part of the church. Eight of the enormous, grand 
 
iJO.K-lxY JOURXAL. 203 
 
 columns of oriental granite are the identical columns 
 of Diocletian's baths, and stand just as they were 
 first placed. They have marble bases and Corin- 
 thian capitals, and lofty arches rest upon them. 
 The ceiling is still studded with the very brass rings 
 from which the lamps were suspended fifteen hun- 
 dred years ago, and it is vaulted in a somewhat 
 gothic form, so that it looks lighter and freer than 
 any other ceiling I have yet seen in Rome, giving a 
 fountain-like expression to this noblest hall in the 
 world ; for no hall of ancient times has come to the 
 present age so grand and fine as this. Michel An- 
 gelo has arranged the church in the form of a Greek 
 cross. The Natatio, or swimming-bath, is higher by 
 a step or two than the hall. On one side hangs the 
 Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, by Domenichino. Op- 
 posite is the Baptism of Christ, by Carlo Maratta. 
 Domenichino's fresco was veiled ; but upon my 
 pulling at the curtain, a respectable priest came 
 forward and drew it aside. For over every rare and 
 famous masterpiece in the churches these Romans 
 hang a veil, so as to get a paul for removing it ; 
 though I should like to think it were to preserve the 
 painting from dust and light, which might fade the 
 colors. This holy man, however, seemed neither to 
 expect nor await a fee, — honor be to him ever ! We 
 took chairs, and sat down before the great i^icture. 
 I had never heard of it, though I saw a mosaic of it 
 at St. Peter's on Ash- Wednesday, when I attended 
 the cerGmonies in the Sistine Chapel. The mosaic 
 
204 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 I did not dwell upon, for then I was taken up by the 
 Transfiguration (in mosaic also), and Michel Angelo's 
 Pieta, in marble. But the original fi-esco to-day im- 
 pressed me deeply. It was first painted on the wall 
 of St. Peter's, and by marvellous skill transferred to 
 this place. Why St. Peter's should be deprived of 
 so wonderful a work I cannot imagine, unless it 
 was intended that all its pictures should be (as 
 they are now, with one exception) of imperishable 
 stone. Executioners are drawing up the form of 
 St. Sebastian, with ropes, on a cross. On the right, 
 a soldier is dashing by upon a horse, and shakes 
 a truncheon at the saint as he goes. Before the 
 cross, kneeling on the ground, is a woman, turning 
 her face toward the horseman. Another woman and 
 a child, both with hands extended in fear and hor- 
 ror, crouch in one corner. A man with bow and 
 arrows stoops on the other side, raising his head to 
 speak to a soldier, who is bending down to him. 
 Other officers are in the distance. Above, very near 
 the head of St. Sebastian, an angel hovers, with a 
 crown in his hand, in the act of dropping it upon 
 the brows of the martyr. Higher still, Christ, in a 
 form of freshest youth, reposes in the arms of other 
 angels and cherubs, in a blue mantle. Seraphim 
 are blowing trumpets on the left. The head of St. 
 Sebastian is raised, with an expression of divine pa- 
 tience, at the same time with a keen sense of suffer- 
 ing. The pure, pale features are, however, becom- 
 ing glorified, as if reflecting the heavenly vision above 
 
nOMAJS' JO UBNA L. 205 
 
 him. Eternal youth and rest look chown upon liim 
 from the face and figure of Christ. The countenance 
 of the angel with the crown is of etherial beauty, 
 illumined also with the soft light of his golden hair, 
 floating backward. The w^oman, kneeling in the 
 centre — her face iu profile — is beautiful, a rich 
 mass of sunny tresses gathered beneath a turban, 
 and her neck and shoulders exquisitely painted. 
 The headlong rush of the horse, and the rapid action 
 of its rider, are in fine contrast with the silent agony 
 and patience of the saint, and the unearthly repose 
 of Christ, beaming through the heavens. This is 
 unlike any martyrdom I have seen, for Domenichino 
 has succeeded in making the triumph over pain 
 complete, and instead of the distressing horror, I felt 
 only a peace which passes all understanding. The 
 longer I looked, the more profoundly I was affected 
 by the sublimity of the sacrifice, for St. Sebastian 
 looks delicately organized, and full of tender sus- 
 ceptibility, as if pain to him were pain indeed, and 
 as if he were conscious, perfectly, of the agony he 
 endured, and should endure. Yet he is willing. 
 His gentle might is inflexible, and controls the quiv- 
 ering sensations of anguish into resignation ; and his 
 countenance is becoming celestial, as I said, as the 
 heavens open upon him, with the sound of trumpets, 
 the golden crown, and above all, the Lord Jesus, 
 not represented bleeding and wounded, and as " a 
 man of sorrows," but with serene joy beaming like a 
 pearl on his forehead. His aspect says to the suf- 
 
206 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 ferer, " Come unto me, my beloved, my brother, and 
 I will give you rest." 
 
 I was obliged to leave the picture much sooner 
 than I wished, without half comprehending it ; but 
 I shall go again. I should now like to know all 
 about Domenichino, and whether he painted uncon- 
 sciously in a religious devotion, or whether a per- 
 sonal experience of sorrow and torment had revealed 
 so much to him as this. I think we generally take 
 a masterpiece as if directly from the hand of God, 
 and do not consider the character or idiosyncrasies 
 of the artist. But it seems as if the soul must be 
 pure, and the instrument clean, by means of which 
 the Creator delineates such a scene as is represented 
 here. 
 
 The opposite painting by Carlo Maratta was rich 
 and soft in color, but I saw nothing more than that 
 of it to-day. The tops of both were arched, as well 
 as those of every picture in the church. The vast 
 hall is surrounded with these arched pictures in 
 every compartment, which gives great splendor of 
 effect. Yery many of them are the originals of the 
 mosaics in St. Peter's. At each end of the transepts 
 are altars in chapels, and the pavement of one has 
 been lately renewed or newly laid by Pio Nono, and 
 is magnificent — a mosaic of the most rich and liighly 
 polished marbles, shining like glass ; and the Greek 
 cross is repeated over and over, alternating with 
 other patterns. I did not know the earth contained 
 such varieties of superb marbles as I have already 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 207 
 
 seen in Ital}^ — first in Genoa and now in E-ome. The 
 whole pavement of the church was once like this 
 new part, but is now dimmed and defaced by innu- 
 merable footsteps. An immense meridian line is 
 inserted transversely from one corner to another. 
 Above the arched niches are other arcs and lights, 
 and the sections of the arcs are also filled with 
 brightly colored frescoes or oil paintings. Such 
 compartments as these, so filled, are truly sump- 
 tuous. 
 
 I can fancy Diocletian's Calidaria, encnisted and 
 paved with marbles and bas-reliefs, and adorned 
 with frescoes, while a hundred blazing lamps, sus- 
 pended from those very brass rings now visible, kin- 
 dled into splendor the polished stones and glowing 
 colors, (the light of day never penetrated into the 
 Roman thermae,) and brought out all the expressive 
 lines of the statues of the gods and goddesses stand- 
 ing around. The ancient Laconium, now the vesti- 
 bule, is a dome upon the ground. The tombs of 
 Salvator Eosa and Carlo Maratta are here, with 
 two others, opposite each other in the circle, and 
 between them are shrines and altars, with pictures. 
 In the short passage from the vestibule to the hall 
 is a noble, calm statue of St. Bruno, by Houdon. 
 He is looking down in reposeful thought, with his 
 hands crossed, and a face of sincere benignity. The 
 drapery is very straight and simple, in perfect har- 
 mony with the lines of the countenance. It is truly 
 grand, with no gesture or attitude for effect — just 
 
208 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 standing, serene and firm in faith, with a very Hving 
 presence. Not a statue of a saint in St. Peter's can 
 be compared to it for a moment. Bernini makes 
 all his apostles and holy men stage-actors. There 
 is always a whirlwind among their garments, and a 
 tempest of passion (virtuous rage, I presume) tosses 
 their limbs about. But the soul of St. Bruno pos- 
 sesses itself, his limbs and his robes in peace. 
 
 We did not go to-day into the cloisters behind the 
 chancel. In the court of the cloisters I wish to see 
 some cypresses planted by Michel Angelo, and I 
 shall go another time. 
 
 We came out and walked along the other avenue, 
 around the ruins of the baths, now in part converted 
 into public granaries and barracks for French sol- 
 diers. Endless arches, almost all filled in with 
 bricks, rise on every side ; and half-ruined vaulted 
 roofs and mighty walls, thick and high, have now all 
 tumbled together in confusion. 
 
 The Baeberini Palace Gallery. 
 
 February 20th. — Bright, cold day. We went to 
 the Barberini Palace. I feel indignant with it, be- 
 cause Urban VIII., who was a Barberini, built it out 
 of the Coliseum — daring to pull down that lordly 
 ruin for materials for his house. The entrance to 
 the court is under a very old, battered stone gate, 
 that looks like early Roman work, and the Pope 
 may have plundered some other classical ruin for it. 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 209 
 
 Soldiers are on guard at and around and within the 
 gate, who seem to belong to the prince ; for they 
 are neither Papal nor French. There may be a few 
 red legs among them, however. The palace is three- 
 sided. On the right is the gallery of pictures, which 
 is on the ground-floor. A magnificent white marble 
 staircase winds up to the upper suites of apartments, 
 with beautiful columns and balusters — the finest in 
 Eome. We then went into an ante-room, where 
 some old and not valuable pictures were standing on 
 the floor and hanging on the walls ; but we did not 
 stop to look at them. A civil, intelligent custode 
 received us in the first gallery, and gave us a mounted 
 card-board, upon which the names of the pictures 
 and their artists were written, both in Italian and 
 French, with most hospitable care. There were 
 also tubes for use on the marble tables. A holy 
 family, by Francia, first arrested me — one of his 
 saintly works. Mary's face is extremely beautiful, 
 matronly, pure and intellectual, as his Madonnas so 
 often are, looking older than Raphael's Madonnas, 
 and as if her experience were deep and wide. It 
 is a Mother, with a perfect sense of all a mother's 
 responsibilities, — and a sacred mother, as if she 
 knew she were the long-hoped-for " mother in Israel," 
 who has the Christ for her son. The infant has a 
 noble head, and it has the air and motion of the 
 heads of so many of the best old masters, as if they 
 heard stately music, and poised themselves in unison 
 with it, with a peculiar expression of dignity and 
 
210 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 duty and serere precision — not as tliey would, but 
 as they ought — " Not as / will, but as Thou wilt." 
 The genius of Francia is thoroughly devotional, as 
 well as that of Fra Augelico. The only other mas- 
 terly picture in this room is Christ disputing with 
 the Doctors, by Albert Durer. The Christ is not at 
 all divine ; but the power and wonder of the paint- 
 ing is in the heads and action of the Jewish Rabbis, 
 who, every one, have the truth of portraiture, and 
 are all the Jews of Jews, especially one frightful 
 creature, who stands close by the young Jesus, with 
 his wicked eyes fastened on the child-face, and his 
 fingers resting on his hands. I think this Jew was 
 the father of Judas Iscariot. Eccolo ! only I cannot 
 get so much wickedness, malice, and meanness into 
 my sketch as are in the original, especially the eye 
 is not so evil. He has an unwholesome, yellow com- 
 plexion, while all the rest are as red as Adam. Two 
 are reading out of the Talmud, to prove something 
 against the words of Christ ; and the books are 
 painted with true Dutch fidelity. They are books, 
 and not pictures of books. I wish " the Light of 
 the World" had a more adequate beautj^, and then 
 the contrast of the frame-work of " Scribes, Phari- 
 sees, Hypocrites" with him would be more suggestive 
 still ; but it certainly is a chef d'ceuvre, as it is. 
 
 In the next saloon is the Garden of Eden, after 
 the Fall, by Domenichino. The Lord has come 
 down, riding on angels and cherubs, to ask Adam 
 why he did not answer when He called him. Adam 
 
ROMAN JO URNAL. )i 1 1 
 
 points to Eve to excuse himself for having disobeyed 
 His commands, with a pitiful air of unmanly coward- 
 ice, and actually shrugs his shoulders at the Al- 
 mighty [the first shrug], as if he said, "Thou seest 
 how it is — that woman tempted me." Eve is kneel- 
 ing, and turns to the Creator with a much more 
 dignified and respectable gesture of concern, and 
 points to the serpent for her defence ; and the ser- 
 pent is wriggling away as fast as it can, perfectly 
 conscious of its base purpose. All the grandeur of 
 Adam has collapsed under that shrug and cringing 
 look toward his Maker, though it is evident that 
 his form is noble and his " front" has been " sub- 
 lime." Self-respect having gone, however, and 
 taken with it his self-possession, he is king no more. 
 He is weak, and his sceptre is taken from him. A 
 lamb in the foreground, lying hitherto in quiet 
 felicity, raises its head, and looks at the scene, as if 
 aware of a disturbance in the bliss of Eden, with a 
 questioning, awakened action of the pretty head. 
 It is the loveliest lamb I ever saw painted, except 
 that one by Murillo in " The Good Shepherd," in 
 the National Gallery of England. If Domenichino 
 intended to prefigure " The Lamb that taketh away 
 the sins of the world," its marvellously tender beauty 
 is accounted for. Close by comes prowling a tiger, 
 no longer in loving fellowship with lambs, but 
 glaring with newly-born ferocity at the unconscious 
 creature, ready to devour it in a moment. This 
 group suggests " all our woe." Just above reposes 
 
212 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 the Almighty Father in His wreath of angels. It is 
 no face of God ; but the angels are of enchanting 
 beauty, especially one in the centre, with a noble 
 head, lustrous with golden curls. Another puts back 
 his lovely hair to gaze up at the grand form he up- 
 holds, with a clear, sweet look of confidence. An- 
 other on the left side actually blazes with joy ; and 
 a faithful little cherub, who supports a globe upon 
 his shoulders beneath the Lord's left hand, has an 
 expression of cheerful duty rendered, which is a 
 sign and lesson to all beholders. I had no idea of 
 Domenichino's power to represent beauty till yester- 
 day and to-day. The disorder of emotion and dis- 
 turbance of self-respect caused by sin in the group 
 of Adam and Eve, the immediate suffering of Inno- 
 cence for the guilty, typified by the Lamb and 
 springing Tiger, and the baby-love and rapture of 
 the little angels, who behold the face of the Father 
 with no shame nor fear, compose a wonder of art 
 and a world of Truth. 
 
 And now we sat down before Beatrice Cenci ! at 
 last, at last ! after so many years' hoping and wish- 
 ing. This is a masterpiece which baffles words. No 
 copy, engraved or in oils, gives the remotest idea of 
 it. It is all over Eome, in every picture dealer's 
 shop, of every size ; besides being engraved. In 
 the copies are red ej^elids, and other merely external 
 signs of sorrow. In the original the infinite desola- 
 tion, the unfathomable grief, are made evident 
 through features of perfect beaut}^ without one line 
 
ROMAN JO URNAL. 2 1 -) 
 
 of care, or one shadow of experience, — translucent 
 and pure as marble. Extremest youth, with youth's 
 virgin innocence and ignorance of all crime — an ex- 
 pression in the eyes as if they asked, " Oh, what is 
 it — what has happened — how am I involved ?" Never 
 from any human countenance looked out such ruin 
 of hope, joy, and Hfe ; but there is unconsciousness 
 still, as if she did not comjDrehend how or why she 
 is crushed and lost. The white, smooth brow is a 
 throne of infantine, angelic purity, without a visible 
 cloud or a furrow of pain, yet a wild, endless despair 
 hovers over it. The lovely eyes, with no red nor 
 swollen lids, seem yet to have shed rivers of crystal 
 tears that have left no stain — no more than a deluge 
 of rain stains the adamantine arch of heaven. It is 
 plain that the fountains are exhausted, and she can 
 no longer obtain any solace from this outlet of grief. 
 The dehcate, oval cheeks are not flushed nor Hvid, 
 but marble-pale, unaffected by the toiTents that 
 have bathed them, as if it were too hard an agony 
 to be softened by tears. The mouth is unspeakably 
 affecting. The rose-bud lips, sweet and tender, are 
 parted slightly, yet with no cry, nor power to utter 
 a word. Long-past words is the misery that has 
 banished smiles forever from the blooming flower of 
 her mouth. Night is gathering in her eyes, and the 
 perfect face is turning to stone with this weight of 
 voiceless agony. She is a spotless lily of Eden, 
 trailed over by a serpent, and unable to understand 
 the desecration, yet struck with a fatal blight. Her 
 
214 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 gaze into the eyes of all human kind, as she passes 
 to her doom, is pathetic beyond any possibility of 
 describing. One must see that backward look to 
 have the least idea of its power, or to know how 
 Guido has been able to express, without high or 
 livid color or distorted lines or heavy shadow, a sor- 
 row that has destroyed hope, and baffles the com- 
 prehension of its victim. If this be a portrait, and 
 it surely is, then Beatrice Cenci must have been as 
 free from crime as the blazing angel of Domeni- 
 chino's picture opposite to it, who is basking in the 
 " effluence increate." The heavy folds of the white 
 turban and mantle are all in keeping with her inno- 
 cence and involved and weighty woe. It is certainly 
 one of the greatest works of man. One could look 
 at it forever and not tire. I wonder that the Prince 
 Barberini can give it up so much to the public, for 
 these rooms are open to all daily from eleven to 
 
 Close beside the Beatrice hangs Kaphael's For- 
 narina — not the Fornarina I had always seen en- 
 graved, which is probably that at Florence ; but 
 quite a different person. She is sitting with un- 
 covered neck and arms, holding up transparent 
 drapery with one hand, while the other lies upon her 
 lap, across a red mantle. She is the darkest bru- 
 nette, with deep, rich color, black eyes and hair, and 
 a turban, threaded with gold, upon her head and a 
 bracelet upon her left arm. There is the most com- 
 plete contrast between the two persons. The For- 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 215 
 
 narina is very liandsome, but with the world and its 
 wiles thoroughly mingled in her mortal mixture 
 of very earth's mould. Life, sunned without stint, 
 glows in her ruby-red and golden-brown, and light- 
 ens in her laughing eyes. Fresh youth, unconscious 
 innocence, lil^^-purity, have departed. She is a gem, 
 but a carbuncle rather than a pearl or a diamond. 
 She is utterly incapable of the desolating sorrow 
 that has swept over Beatrice. The Fornarina could 
 no more comprehend such grief than Beatrice can 
 comprehend the crime which will destroy her life, 
 and has already destroyed her peace. It is not dif- 
 ficult to say which is nearest heaven, even so, under 
 such circumstances of horror as surround Beatrice. 
 Raphael could never idealize this Fornarina into a 
 Madonna. I am not sure, though I believe he has 
 the other that is in Florence. 
 
 Next this picture is the portrait of Lucrezia Cenci, 
 the stepmother. She is a stern lady, with regular 
 features and no pity, beautifully painted by Scipio 
 Gaetani. Her brown hair makes a coronet on her 
 brow : a plain black dress, like that of an abbess, 
 is folded over her bosom, and she holds a book in 
 her hands. 
 
 GuTDo's Aurora. 
 
 Miss M. came in accidentally while w^e were at 
 the Barberini Gallery, and when we left it, I pro- 
 posed to go to the Rospigliosi Palazzo, to see Gui- 
 de's Aurora, and Miss M. wished to go with us. So 
 
216 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 we mounted the Quirinal to the Monte Cavallo 
 together, and observed the house where Milton 
 lived while in Rome. It is a corner house, at the 
 angle of which is one of the Quattro Fontane, on 
 the Yia Quirinalis. The glorious groups of Castor 
 and Pollux were good to see against the deep-blue 
 sky as we ascended the hill. Miss M. and Mr. H. 
 walked round them, while I inquired for the Palazzo 
 Rospigliosi. The French sentinels did not know, 
 though they were keeping guard just opposite to it, 
 as it proved. People passing did not know ; but 
 finally a woman told me, pointing, not to a palace 
 fa9ade, but to a long, high wall, at whose gate stood 
 a porter in blue and silver, with a chapeau bras. 
 Entering, we were in an immense court, and at the 
 farthest side of it stood the palace. But the Aurora 
 is in the Casino (garden house), and not in the 
 palace, as the frantic gestures of the distant porter 
 signified, his brandishing arm being stretched to- 
 ward the left of the great court where was an arched 
 way leading to a smaller enclosure. (I am not sure 
 it was arched.) Upon a door, up several steps, were 
 brass tablets, whose inscription announced that the 
 Casino could be seen on Wednesdays and Saturdays. 
 A gardener admitted us here. Opposite the door 
 was a grotto, where once had been a fountain, but 
 now there was no voice of waters, and a broken 
 statue occupied the place. Perhaps it was a Naiad, 
 but I did not take notice at the time. Stone stair- 
 ways led on both hands to the garden above, and all 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 217 
 
 along them stood marble busts and statues of an- 
 tique workmanship — heads of goddesses, virtues, 
 and powers — spoils from the Baths of Constantine 
 (326), upon whose site the palace was built in 1G03, 
 I should say rather, upon a very small part of the 
 site, large as the palace is ; for those famous Roman 
 Baths were miles in circuit, and that of Constantine 
 covered the whole summit of the Quirinal, where 
 palaces, villas, and public edifices now stand. Paul 
 Y. was the barbarian pope (anti-classical, I mean), 
 who removed all vestiges of them to build this pal- 
 ace, retaining, however, for the adornment of the 
 Casino, the sculptures we saw to-day ; and consider- 
 ately placing the noblest relics, Castor and Pollux, 
 with their horses, on the Piazza, before the pontifi- 
 cal residence ; and statues of the Nile and Tiber in 
 front of the capitol, for all men freely to see and 
 study. * 
 
 In the centre of the Casino garden is a laguna, 
 in a vast stone basin, surrounded with statuettes of 
 marble. Orange and lemon trees and various flowers 
 grow round about, and a rare tropical tree, with del- 
 icate foliage and a strange knotted trunk. In the 
 facade of the Casino are inserted very beautiful bas- 
 reliefs of white marble. This is a way the Romans 
 have. If they pick up a rare bit anywhere, they 
 fasten it upon the outsides of their walls and houses, 
 without regard to symmetry of arrangement often, 
 being wildly determined to save it, at all events. 
 The want of order at first disturbed my mind, but 
 
 10 
 
218 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 when examining and enjoying each morsel, I was 
 indifferent about their being tossed at the walls in 
 such a random style. 
 
 Finally we entered the central saloon, and there, 
 on the ceiling, dawned the world-renowned Aurora, 
 and Apollo rose up in his chariot with the wreath of 
 Hours. I was amazed to see the fresco as brilliant 
 as if painted to-day, perfectly unharmed by time 
 and atmosphere. Four artists were copying it to- 
 gether. It does not cover the whole ceiling as I sup- 
 posed, but only the centre, enclosed in the simili- 
 tude of a frame, richly arabesqued and carved. I 
 found that even Morghem does not quite give us 
 this radiant creation, not even the expression, 
 though through him I recognized all. But the color 
 adds infinitely to the glory of the composition. 
 Apollo blazes in a sea of golden light, and the only 
 part of it I do not entirely admire is his hair, which 
 is too pale and short, I think. I wish there were a 
 sheaf of yellow beams rolled up in lovely splendor 
 on his brow, and flowing off backward, like a wake 
 of sunshine. This truly Olympic form bends for- 
 ward with majestic ease, as he lightly holds the reins 
 of the magnificent horses, swallowing up the dark- 
 ness with his presence, and filling the dawn with 
 his overflowing day, as she looks to him for illumi- 
 nation. Such glorious, fresh, rejoicing movement 
 and outbreak were never painted before. Guido 
 has made the sun to rise as no landscapist — no 
 Claude even, nor Turner has done. The lovely 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 219 
 
 Aurora, beaming from her violet mantle with re- 
 flected joy — the young Morning Star holding on to 
 his kindled torch with a gentle but resolute force, as 
 he endeavors to outstrip the absorbing, fast-rushing 
 god, perhaps with a premonition of his doom : the 
 horses, mottled with a struggling light and shade, 
 purple and pearl — the rainbow richness of the dra- 
 pery of the Hours, each one so individual in charac- 
 ter and expression — the softly-heaped clouds — the 
 deep-blue sea beneath, and mountains beyond, tipped 
 with morning — this is Guido's sunrise in items, but ye 
 who wish to see the sumptuous pageant as a whole, 
 come to Rome, and behold it. There is no other 
 way, words and the pencil cannot copy it. One 
 Hour steps gravely forth, fateful like the Grecian 
 Destin}^, with calm, classic contour. Another, with 
 fair, blonde hair and azure robe, points forward with 
 ivory finger, w^hile she turns to the rest, as if prom- 
 ising bliss to come, while her delicate feet airily 
 tread upon the imponderable vapors. She is strong, 
 and will give strength to many. Her hair is of the 
 finest mist of amber. Holding the hand of this 
 heaven-robed Hour is one draped in a peculiar tint 
 of green — not grass-green, nor sea-green, but a 
 bright, cool, tourmaline hue, visible in early morn- 
 ing at a fountain in a grotto. It is symbolic of hope 
 and trust, and the shape it enfolds has a wonderful 
 grace. She looks out of the picture at all the world, 
 soft, sweet, w^ith a fulness of content that can never 
 become scant. Her feet are beautiful with glad 
 
320 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 tidings, and dance to the music slie hears, though we 
 do not, "wrapt in our muddy vesture of decay." 
 * 4f * 4f * ^ There is another, looking back 
 with a sad thoughtfulness, as if no future could be 
 to her like the past. This is one of Guido's up- 
 turned faces, in which he excelled so much. One 
 Hour is younger than the rest, with quite an infan- 
 tine expression, as if life were in close bud, and no 
 knowledge had yet shadowed her bliss of ignorance. 
 There is no record in her innocent countenance of 
 experience or inquiry. 
 
 A mirror is arranged in the saloon in such a way, 
 that instead of breaking one's neck by bending back 
 the head, one can sit down and look into it, and see 
 the fresco, as if it were hung on the side of the 
 room. The mirror is on a very slightly inclined 
 table, I think. 
 
 There are here a bronze horse, found in the baths, 
 and busts of Emperors and Empresses, without 
 names, upon pedestals, and the upper panels of 
 the walls are painted in fresco by Tempesta, and 
 the lower with landscapes by Paul Brill. Two side 
 apartments are hung with oil paintings, but no pic- 
 ture is pre-eminent except another Garden of Eden, 
 after the Fall, by Domenichino, in which Adam (in 
 return for the apple, I suppose) is giving Eve some 
 fig-leaves. But I was either not in the proper 
 mood to see it, or it was really quite inferior to the 
 conviction of the unfortunate pair, in the Barberini 
 Gallery. 
 
nOJIAN JO UIINAL. 22 1 
 
 I was interested in a portrait of Poppsea Sal)ina, 
 the fearfully depraved wife of Nero, over whom she 
 exercised such despotic sway, and who was, I had 
 thought, so supremely beautiful. She has a small 
 head and features, by no means of uncommon 
 beauty, and a slender figure, and reminded me of a 
 portrait of Jane Shore, that I saw at the Manchester 
 Exhibition of Art Treasures. She looks cruel and 
 crafty, and I observe that cruel persons always are 
 rather thin, with small and sharply-cut features — 
 handsome, but not lovely nor inspiring confidence. 
 Have I indeed seen Poppsea, the terrible creature ? 
 
 There was a Christ, bearing His Cross, very fine, 
 by Daniele de Yolterra, and a great picture, by 
 Ludovico Caracci, of the Death of Samson. The 
 Caracci always excite my opposition, for some 
 reason, perhaps because they are academical, and 
 work by rule and not by inspiration of religious de- 
 votion. 
 
 The floors w^ere paved with a mosaic of brick, and 
 there were gilded chairs, some of blue damask and 
 some of crimson velvet, and tables of ormulu, with 
 marble tops, arranged in straight rows round the 
 different saloons ; but all the furniture was faded 
 and defaced. Every ceiling was frescoed — as is the 
 invariable habit of ceilings in Rome — where every 
 available surface is emblazoned with color, in 
 flowers, saints, and angels, and, once in the ages, 
 with an Aurora, by Guido. 
 
 But it was very cold in the stone house, and we 
 
223 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 returned to tlie warm sunny garden, and looked at 
 the marbles standing about there. 
 
 When we first arrived, we saw the Bospigliosi 
 children, two of whom were playing with their at- 
 tendants in the avenues. One was followed by a 
 liveried servant and a maid, and the other was in 
 the arms of an old nurse, and both were entirely in 
 white (" devoues au hlanc''), like all the younger chil- 
 dren of noble families in Italy. When we came 
 out of the Casino, the infant was asleep, and I went 
 to look at him as he lay on his nurse's lap. He was 
 lovely — the long dark lashes of his closed eyes rest- 
 ing on cheeks like rose-petals — a cherry mouth, 
 shaped like Cupid's bow, soft-brown hair on a 
 noble brow, and a cunning little straight nose. 
 Such heads and faces the painters paint for cherubs 
 and angels, hovering around Madonnas and holy 
 people, of all kinds. The woman sat in the sun 
 (like Queen Anne), while the baby -prince slept 
 peacefully in the flower-scented air, to the tune of a 
 fountain in a niche, near by. It was a stately and 
 elysian scene, that I shall like to recall hereafter. 
 
 Santa Andrea. 
 
 The Palace of the Consulta makes one side of the 
 piazza of the Monte Cavallo. This summit of the 
 Quirinal is a gi'and site, commanding one of the 
 finest views of Home and St. Peter's. On our way 
 home, we followed two gentlemen into a small 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 223 
 
 clinrcli on tlie Yia Quirinalis, and found it a perfect 
 jewel of beauty. It was Santa Andrea. It is 
 oval inside, and surrounded with columns, and 
 chapels that are encrusted all over with every vari- 
 ety of marble, and illustrated with oil paintings — 
 three in each chapel. In the first, on the right, is a 
 copy of Correggio's Nativity, in which the light 
 comes from the child, irradiating the Madonna with 
 white effulgence, and dazzling all who stand near. 
 In the chapel of St. Stanislaus is a sarcophagus of 
 lapis-lazuli, adorned with sapphires, emeralds, ame- 
 thysts, and chrysolites — and before it, suspended in 
 a gold setting, is a vast ruby or carbuncle, perhaps 
 " The gi'eat Carbuncle" itself. Was the sarcopha- 
 gus made in Ormus or in Ind, I wonder? 
 
 The floor of the little temple is a mosaic, in the 
 form of a star, the rays extending to the outer circum- 
 ference. Those w^ho enter to worship stand upon a 
 star ! What an appropriate pavement for a church ! 
 Over the centre is a dome, surmounting the dome- 
 like interior, and a garland of white cherubs encircles 
 its base. In designing this building, Bernini cer- 
 tainly redeemed himself, in some measure, from the 
 disgrace of his ranting, stormy statues, though I 
 rather think the Prince Camillo Pamfili's taste con- 
 trolled him here in his fancies, since it was at the 
 Prince's cost that the church was built. To-day we 
 have indeed had an " embarras de richesses." 
 
224 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 Museum of the Capitol. 
 
 February 22cl (Washington's Birth-clay). — Our 
 celebration of this fortunate day was to go to the 
 Museum of the Capitol. We saw the Dying Gladi- 
 ator, the Antinous, the Amazon, the Faun of Prax- 
 iteles, the wonderful Centaurs, busts of all the Em- 
 perors and Empresses, and other illustrious people ; 
 and in the Hall of the Emperors, the antique bas- 
 relief of Endymion, of which I once made a copy in 
 oils. It was deeply interesting to me to see the very 
 original of my picture, and to be able to compare it 
 with the water-color painting from which I copied it. 
 The right hand is broken in the marble, and so the 
 lovely one, so heavy with sleep, in the water-color 
 drawing, must have been the creation of the modern 
 artist. If so, it is a wonderful work, but I cannot 
 help thinking that the marble might have been in- 
 jured after the drawing was made. In the same 
 hall is the celebrated sitting statue of Agrippina, 
 with small, delicate head and features — a perfectly 
 chiselled profile, just barely escaping sharpness — 
 and great ease, dignity, and grace of attitude. 
 Agrippina was wife of the good Germanicus, and 
 mother of the wicked Caligula, both of whom are 
 near her, one beautiful, and the other the most evil 
 looking of all men. The Julius Caesar I cannot be- 
 lieve in, for it is too uncomely, mere driving action 
 and will — not grand nor intellectual. Next him is 
 Augustus, perfectly handsome, and like his youthful 
 
i?0.ir^l.T JOURNAL. 225 
 
 self, with the exception of two deep lines of care on 
 his once deep brow. "The yonng Augustus" is 
 considered the most exquisite bust in the world. As 
 yet I have seen only casts of it, not having been to 
 the Yatican ; but this mouth is as ideal in faultless 
 beauty as a mouth can be, but there is more expe- 
 rience in this of the man, more strength too, and 
 finesse than in that of the boy. It is very satisfac- 
 tory to identify illustrious individuals in this way, 
 tracing them from youth to manhood. I have now 
 seen Octavianus face to face, and also Marcus Au- 
 relius. There are a great many busts of these last, 
 all resembling each other, and a most noble head 
 and countenance he has. The marbles in the Capi- 
 tol, and the head of the bronze equestrian statue in 
 the Piazza, are of the same man. I had an impetu- 
 ous desire to see Commodus, because De Quincey 
 speaks of his marvellous beauty. I found him of 
 fair symmetry of feature, and I do not think I should 
 prophesy a monster from his expression ; yet there 
 is nothing high and pure in his look, and I believe 
 there is the shadow of a frown somewhere about his 
 face ; but I have not half seen either of them. I 
 shall go and become well acquainted with all these 
 potentates, who ruled the world, but not themselves. 
 The Dying Gladiator cannot be seen in one, nor in 
 many visits, yet even in the little while I looked at 
 it to-day, I began to feel its irresistible power, and I 
 foresee that I shall think it one of the greatest of 
 all sculptures, more and more. The Antinous is 
 
 10* 
 
226 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 consummate mortal beauty. I do not conceive that 
 any human form can surpass it. It satisfies all my 
 dreams of it, even already. The Amazon is superb, 
 and the Lycian Apollo is music. There were some 
 magnificent sarcophagi, with high reliefs — one the 
 history of Achilles, one Diana and EndymioD, one 
 the battle of the Amazons ; and each one the labor 
 of a lifetime. The walls of these saloons are covered 
 with inscriptions on marble, inserted into the stone 
 — relics found all about Eome. The famous Venus 
 of the Capitol is not seen on public days ; but is 
 kept in a reserved cabinet, to be shown only by spe- 
 cial request. We glanced through a grate into the 
 hall of bronzes, where I saw the world-renow^ned 
 mosaic of Pliny's doves, which has been repeated 
 for centuries in cameos, mosaics, and enamels. On 
 the staircase walls are deeply interesting bits of 
 marble inlaid, covered with the ground-plan of the 
 city in early times, and thus revealing the site and 
 relation of temples, forums, and porticoes. It was 
 found near the Forum Romanum, in broken pieces. 
 I wish it had been all matched, so as to be a clear 
 map, instead of being stuck up, as it is, in sixteen 
 separate bits. It is called the Pianta Capitolina. 
 
 The Mamertine Prison. 
 
 After leaving the Museum, we went into the Ma- 
 mertine prison. This is one of the few remaining 
 structures of the Kingly Period. We went down 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 237 
 
 into the cell where Jugurtha was starved to death, 
 and where St. Peter was chained. Prisoners were 
 let through openings in the ceiling. It is a terrific 
 dungeon, but now very clean, and now also there 
 are stairs for visitors to descend comfortably. But 
 the true way to show it, and give one a due sense of 
 its horror and misery, would be to be lowered into 
 it, as the prisoners w^ere, through the trap-door, 
 with a shuddering sense that hope was left behind, 
 unless, by human aid, deliverance should come. 
 There was very little room there. I really think a 
 man might at least be allowed room enough, if he 
 must be confined in a dungeon. That is enough, 
 without a refinement of cruelty. "VVe drank of the 
 miraculous fountain, which sprang up for St. Peter 
 to baptize his keepers with. We saw the stone col- 
 umn to which he was chained. The prison is of 
 enormous strength, a true Etruscan work, of huge 
 square blocks of stone. On the floor upon which 
 we stood, the Catiline conspirators were strangled. 
 It was astonishing to find myself in the very spot 
 upon which St. Peter stood ! It was a den for State 
 criminals only. In the apartment above St. Peter's 
 cell, and equally dark and strong, is an altar, and 
 the marble busts of St. Peter and St. Paul, enclosed 
 in an iron grate, carved in the time of Constantine. 
 The guide showed us the walled-up, ancient stair- 
 case that led to these cells from the Capitol, by a 
 secret way — the way along which the stranglers 
 came. It made me faint to think how utterly im- 
 
228 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 possible it would be to escape. It would be as easy 
 to tear asunder a mountain as to break through 
 these ponderous stones. I hope St. Peter was al- 
 lowed a torch. O wonderful revolution ! He who 
 was chained and martyred then, now rules Christen- 
 dom from the throne of the most magnificent Ca- 
 thedral in the world, and a hundred ever-burning 
 lamps watch round his sacred grave, under the high 
 altar, like so many sleepless eyes of seraphs. He 
 v/ho was in black darkness has light enough now, 
 and having died for his Lord Jesus, he has found 
 his life, which he can never lose again. 
 
 The Forum Komanum. 
 
 We went to the Forum afterward, and I remained 
 alone there to wander about. It is the first time I 
 have had a chance to loiter round the chief seat of 
 Boman grandeur. What a dream of unexampled 
 beauty must it have been, when the white and violet 
 marble temples, porticoes, and richly sculptured 
 arches stood in all their freshness ! From the Tabula- 
 rium of the Capitol what a vision of splendor must 
 have then dazzled the fortunate eyes that looked forth 
 over the vale between the Capitoline and the Pala- 
 tine hills ! Directly beneath and before me (had I 
 been that happy gazer), the pure white Temple of 
 Concord, where the illustrious Senate assembled — 
 the Conscript fathers we so worship in our young 
 academic days — lifted its glorious beauty into the 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 229 
 
 snnny air. I know it was glorious ; for I saw to-day 
 the bases of its columns in the Museum, and the 
 sculpture upon them was elaborately perfect, and 
 as fine as the cuttiug of a cameo. It has now ut- 
 terly gone from its site, except a portion of its pave- 
 ment. Close beside the Temple of Concord was 
 that of Vespasian, of which three lovely columns, 
 with an entablature, alone remain, richly orna- 
 mented ; and this temple was purple, as if cut out 
 of an amethyst — the Temple of Concord a pearl ; 
 the Temple of Vespasian an amethyst. Near these 
 stood the Schola Xantha, of which eight elegant little 
 pillars, of the most delicate grace, now survive. It 
 w^as a portico, where the twelve consenting Gods 
 {Dii cwisentes) were placed ; and along by all these 
 visible dreams ran the Clivus Capitolinus, leading 
 down from the Capitol on the right, and on one side 
 of it was the Temple of Saturn. Eight columns, of 
 the Ionic order, still are left of it. Directly in front 
 of the Temple of Concord is the Arch of Septimius 
 Severus ; but then its present defaced and stained 
 marble was white as snow, and its reliefs perfect, and 
 on its summit was a bronze chariot and prancing 
 horses. How my vision grows ! On the left of this 
 arch, I can see with my past-world eyes the magnifi- 
 cent Foi-um of Augustus, with its group of stately 
 temples and porticoes, of which I perceive, at this 
 moment, a ruin of grandest style and form. It is 
 the Temple of Mars TJltor. The lofty columns of 
 one of the peristyles attest the perfection of this 
 
230 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 work of Augustus. But I now look down upon the 
 Forum Eomanum only, and I see the marble statues 
 of Curtius and of one of the Emperors, standmg in 
 the midst, and, beyond them, the temple and ros- 
 tra of Julius Caesar, in front of which he sits and 
 receives the senators, as they go to bring him to ac- 
 count for offending the Roman people. The populus 
 Romanus ! what words are those to pronounce here ! 
 Fancy that majestic, grave procession winding down 
 from the Temple of Concord, in white robes of fine 
 samite, bordered with purple, through the Clivus 
 Capitolinus, to call to judgment the Dictator of the 
 World ! 
 
 By Caesar's temple passes the Sacra Via, over 
 which young Virginia " danced along" and the " vul- 
 ture eye" of Appius Claudius " pursued the trip of 
 those small, glancing feet." On the sides of it I 
 see Julia's Basilica, with its hundred and twenty 
 columns (now vanished, except its pavement) ; and 
 beyond rises another splendor, " like another sun 
 rising at mid-noon," the temple of Minerva Chalci- 
 dica, whose ruins are the models of architects — its 
 three Corinthian columns the most consummate 
 specimens of their order. Farther to the right an- 
 other marble flower blossoms, called the Temple of 
 Castor and Pollux, while at the end of the Sacra Via 
 the arch of Fabius frames a distant picture, made 
 up of turquoise sky and emerald Coelian hill ; and 
 farther on, the arch of Titus encloses another land- 
 scape of its own. Through this I perceive, coming 
 
ROMAN JO UBNAL. 231 
 
 on, the triumph of Titus, after his conquest of Jeru- 
 salem, and behold, glittering in the sun, the sacred 
 seven-branched candlestick of massive gold, borne 
 by the procession, and the silver trumpets of Judah 
 and the golden table from the Temple of temples, the 
 Temple of Jerusalem. And here is the Emperor in 
 his car, with four proudly-stepping horses, sur- 
 rounded by the bearers of the fasces, and crowned 
 by Victory. On the left is another tuneful temple, 
 that of Antoninus and Faustina, with its richly- 
 sculptured frieze, crisp to this hour, and its peristyle, 
 yet complete ; and nearer to where I stand, the 
 Basilica Emilia, shorn now of its glory of columns 
 and pediment. Beyond, in a loftier strain, the vast 
 Temple of Peace cuts its arches against the tender 
 blue ; and farther still, the most stupendous ruin of 
 the world — the mighty circle of the Coliseum — 
 crowns my view. But even this is not all. On my 
 right is the Palatine, and I see it shining with Nero's 
 golden house — the palace of the Caesars, like a 
 gorgeous oriental sunset, with its colored marbles, 
 its gems and precious metals. What a scene, in- 
 deed ! And if the Capitol and piles of modern 
 buildings did not hide it, I should see Trajan's Fo- 
 nim on the left and behind, with its noble column, 
 covered wath a spiral band of delicately-cut bas- 
 reliefs, still perfect. 
 
 I tried to go down upon the pavement of the Ba- 
 silica of Julia, but sought in vain for steps or an 
 opening ; and when it was too late, a man came to 
 
2C3 KOTES m ITALY. 
 
 UDlock an iron door for me. It is new to me to find 
 that all works of art liere are Greek, and not Roman. 
 The Romans were the employers of all men's hands, 
 but did not work with their own, and the tens of 
 thousands of slaves they brought to Rome quarried 
 these enormous stones and polished the adamant, 
 at their behest, and carved the statues and the re- 
 lievos. Then it is necessary to suffer to produce 
 beauty as well as to he beautiful. Alas for the 
 blood and toil and misery and crime out of which 
 these glories sprang ! And they would have utterly 
 perished long ago, if the Cross had not been affixed 
 to every relic of Heathen Rome which remains for 
 us. Four great palaces have already been built out 
 of the Coliseum, and a dozen more would have been 
 pulled out of it, if the Cross had not been set up in 
 the arena, where unspeakable atrocities once amused 
 assembled thousands. So in the amphitheatre's 
 headlong fall, that potent emblem — so potent in 
 spirit, so weak in substance — upholds the giant walls, 
 which cannot come down, except by violence of man ; 
 and instead of dying gladiators and wild beasts, 
 tearing and torn, a tall, black cross rises in the 
 midst, and pious folk go and kiss it, to wdn in- 
 dulgence from Purgatory — for each kiss two hundred 
 days. 
 
 I tried to come home a new way, and was conse- 
 quently misled, and strayed into the Piazza of the 
 Holy Apostles, where the great Palazzo Colonna 
 stands. Then I found myself at the fountain of 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 23? 
 
 Trevi, and by degrees arrived at the Pincian hill ; 
 and Mr. Louis Eakermann played Beethoven to us 
 all the evening. 
 
 February 23d. — This morning I went, according 
 to agreement, to show Miss M. M. the temple of 
 Mars Ultor. We looked with wonder at the stu- 
 pendous blocks of stone of the wall of the Forum, 
 against which the building stands. It is evidently 
 Etruscan work. Everything here is either Etruscan 
 or Grecian. Lately, these columns have been cleared 
 to their bases, very far below the street that runs by 
 them. Madame de Stael says modern Rome is forty 
 feet above ancient Rome. This accumulation of soil 
 is caused by the frequent inundations of the Tiber. 
 Five times in the course of a century the city was 
 overflowed even to the top of the hills, though not 
 over them ; and so, holding the earth in solution, 
 as it were, I suppose it settled down again more 
 equally. But I know nothing about it. 
 
 As we came along the Corso, we went into the 
 Palazzo Doria, because it is one of the two days in 
 the week when visitors are admitted to the gallery. 
 But we had but an hour, and only exDected to see 
 what treasures were in store for us at another time. 
 "We found the palace exceedingly splendid. We 
 walked through fifteen saloons, whose walls were 
 covered with pictures, some of them very choice, 
 besides that there was a great deal of beautiful 
 Greek statuary. Every great name in art was rep- 
 
234 NOTES IX ITALY. 
 
 resented by some work. Claude's two famous land- 
 scapes, the Molino and the Temple of Apollo ; — • 
 Titian's Sacrifice of Abraham ; — a superb portrait, 
 by Leonardo da Vinci, of Joanna of Aragon (a love- 
 lier aspect of her face than Raphael has given) ; — 
 a portrait of Lucrezia Borgia, by Paul Veronese ; — 
 the lovely Madonna of Guido, adoring the Infant ; — • 
 and Claude's celebrated Flight into Egypt, with 
 Lippi's figures. There is also a grand picture, by 
 Sebastian del Piombo, of the Admiral Andrea Doria, 
 grave and stately, like all Piombo' s portraits. He 
 must have chosen persons of such character to 
 paint. In one of the cabinets is a noble marble 
 bust of the Admiral, and one of the Princess Mary 
 Talbot Doria (the English lady), by Tenerani, which 
 is very beautiful. The present prince is eminently 
 handsome, as a bust of him testified ; with arched 
 brows, quite ideal in beauty. His nose is a very 
 little too pointed, which saves the face from being 
 perfect. Upon a table stood a head, in white mar- 
 ble, with a colored marble robe, and a veil. It is 
 exquisitely lovely, but I do not know who it is, nor 
 who was the sculptor. The Palace has an inner 
 court, with gj-een shrubbery and flowers, and a fine 
 arcade of columns enthely round it. 
 
 The Borghese Gallery. 
 
 February 25th. — This morning there was a cruel, 
 murderous wind ; but it did not rain, and we went to 
 
ROMAN JO URXA L. 235 
 
 the Palazzo Borgliese. The gallery is very superb, 
 far more so than that of the Doria. I looked at 
 every one of the eight hundred pictures, in twelve 
 rooms, and at some of them carefully, and I was 
 diligently employed three hours and a half — and yet 
 I have merely introduced myself. I recall, first, 
 Raphael's " Entombment." I congratulate myself 
 that I have travelled to Rome from America, if only 
 to see such a consummate work of genius, conceived 
 and executed at twenty-four years of age. I think 
 I felt the pre-eminence of Raphael first to-da}^ 
 Beauty, force, grace, expression, color, all were ex- 
 celling. The life, energy, and vividness of the figures 
 who uphold Christ are in striking contrast with his 
 dead body, the limbs so stiff and pale. His sacred 
 body rests upon a linen mantle, which two young 
 men support, each with both hands, and with an 
 appearance of great effort, as if Death were ver}^ 
 very heavy. This group is at the left. The youth 
 who is at the feet of Christ has a most graceful 
 form. His limbs are so light, I thought it an im- 
 ponderable angel at first. The face of the other 
 bearer is very handsome, and painted so marvel- 
 lously, with such perfection in ever}^ way, that I can 
 conceive of nothing superior to it in execution. It 
 has the rich, full, soft forms and hues of life itself. 
 B}^ his side stand two of the apostles, Peter and 
 John, I should think. Mary Magdalen is also near ; 
 and on the right is another group. Mary, the 
 Mother, has fainted quite, in the arms of several 
 
236 NOTES IX ITALY. 
 
 women. One of these is young, and of surpassing 
 beauty. Mary's face is noble. But I feel helpless 
 to express my sense of this miracle of art. I wish I 
 could see it all the rest of my life. Eaphael's por- 
 trait by himself, in early youth, is in the same room, 
 I believe. Another great picture is the Chase of 
 Diana, by Domenichino. Diana is awarding a prize 
 to one of her nymphs. Lovely maidens are grouped 
 all about. A wreath of three is rejoicing over the 
 flight of an arrow just sped by one, while a bouquet 
 of two is looking on with animated faces. Diana, in 
 the centre, stands eminent, with arms uplifted over 
 her head, and limbs elastic and swift for the chase. 
 Two children are lying in the water in the fore- 
 ground, taking i\\e> fresco and the dolce far niente; 
 as if all work were over in the world. The picture 
 overflows with bounding, eager, rosy, pure life, 
 splendid as morning ; and the children balance the 
 quiet sky, in their pause from play. 
 
 A young artist was copying one of the groups, 
 and his easel was much in my way. He had not 
 succeeded in getting a single face right ; but the 
 neck and bosom of the archeress who had shot the 
 arrow was beautifully painted. Domenichino's 
 celebrated Cumsean Sibyl is here also. I saw a 
 copy of it in Mr. George Peabody's house long ago ; 
 but though I knew that the original was superb, I 
 must see it often to appreciate all its merits, and it 
 certainly did not fasten me as long as the other 
 masterpieces. Caesar Borgia's portrait, by Raphael, 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 237 
 
 fixed me much longer. It is deeply interesting, and 
 so excessively handsome, that, at the first glance, I 
 said to myself, " What, is that the monster of hu- 
 manity?" For his figure is stately, graceful, and 
 commanding, and his head turns upon his shoulders 
 in a princely way, and his features are high and 
 perfectly chiselled. A light bonnet and floating 
 feather give him a chivalric, gallant air. But soon 
 one discovers that out of the fine sculpture of form 
 and face looks a cold, dark, cruel, and vindictive 
 soul. The black eyes are especially terrible. They 
 do not send forth any beams, but are introspective, 
 secret and evil. They reminded me of the eyes of 
 the sullen vulture in the Zoological Gardens in Lon- 
 don, who sits on his perch, and looks vicious and 
 designing, and above all, cold and indifferent. No 
 human, kindly warmth seems ever to have made 
 genial the heart of Csesar Borgia. The curved lips 
 are closed firmly, with an immutable fixedness of 
 fell purpose. He has ceased to be aware that there 
 is a conscience, and there is no longer any tender 
 sensibility in him to suggest to himself that he is a 
 monster. He has left the circle of human brother- 
 hood, and made a compact with the Son of the 
 Morning, beautiful once like himself, but fallen, 
 fallen now. He really seems never to have dreamed 
 of good, and therefore to be unaware that he has 
 departed from it. How true was Raphael ! How 
 could he bear to study and dwell upon such a coun- 
 tenance, and then render it so sincerely, as to create 
 
238 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 anotlier Caesar Borgia, to live during the world's 
 forever ? It is impossible to compass the versatile 
 power of Raphael, who was greatest in whatever he 
 undertook. 
 
 Close bj this is Guilio Romano's copy of Raphael's 
 portrait of Julius II., of which there is an original 
 in the National Gallery in London, where I became 
 well acquainted with it. It is in great contrast with 
 Caesar Borgia. He looks venerable, of extraordinary 
 intellect and indomitable will, grand, and firm as a 
 rock, with musing eyes. He seems sculptured out 
 of a rock in attitude, but the rich hues of life burn 
 like fire in his fine countenance — in Raphael's pic- 
 ture. One is never weary of this masterpiece. I 
 believe it is considered the gi'eatest portrait in the 
 world. This of Guilio Romano, though very splen- 
 did, has not the strength in the mouth that Raphael's 
 has, and the artist who was copying it to-day failed 
 still more in the same feature, so that the magnifi- 
 cent Pontifex Maximus looked like an old lady of 
 benignant disposition, but not like the Julius whose 
 will was the law of all around him. He is so still ; 
 yet so filled with latent motion, powerful enough to 
 overturn worlds, that he reminds one of a lion at 
 rest, but not slumbering — oh no, — watching, con- 
 sidering, haughtily ready. If we had seen the living 
 Julius, we could not possibly have known him so 
 perfectly as by studying this " presentment." 
 
 Two apostles or prophets or saints, by Michel 
 Angelo, in his first years, impressed me deeply. It 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 239 
 
 was profanely suggested that tliere was something 
 of Bernmi in the draperies, but I did not agree. 
 Grand and massive they are, but not in a whirlwind 
 of passion. The attitudes and faces reminded me 
 of the prophets of the Sistine Chapel, as I have seen 
 them in engravings ; for though I spent Ash-Wed- 
 nesday morning in that chapel, I could not see the 
 frescoes, because of the ceremonies and the crowd. 
 I have yet to go there and to the Vatican. To-day 
 I became acquainted with an artist altogether new 
 to me — Garofalo. He has made himself immortal 
 by an angel I saw in one of his pictures. In his 
 backward-flowing, soft vapor of golden hair is caught 
 the sunshine of heaven. I have never seen such 
 celestial hair in life, so it must be that of an angel. 
 It is rolled away from the pure, serene brow and 
 cheek in a radiant, fleecy cloud, and floats off in 
 beamy curls. The face is entirely lovely and un- 
 earthly. The subject of the painting is a Depo- 
 sition, but I cannot recall the rest of it, so completely 
 has the angel outshone everything else. There are 
 many beautiful works by Garofalo, sincere, careful 
 works, with the devoutness of Perugino and Francia^ 
 but not with their grace always. Francia is well 
 revealed in this gallery. Sacred Madonnas, mothers 
 Avith tender, anxious care and noble expression, and 
 divine babes and holy saints. I think he must have 
 been like Fra Angelico in character, who never 
 painted after the fire of inspiration went out, and 
 always knelt before his easel, as if at his prayers. 
 
2:0 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 I was deeply moved by a Crucifixion, by Vandyke, 
 one of the few of this subject that I can look at. It 
 is of the noblest manner. Titian's famous Sacred 
 and Profane Love had no effect upon me whatever 
 to-day. Correggio's Danae is a work of great fame, 
 — ah me — and here are creations of Carlo Dolce, 
 Sasso Ferrato (" senza errore^^), the Caracci, Peru- 
 gino, Pinturicchio, Guercino, and all of them — and 
 by the last a beautiful head of the Adolorata, though 
 I never like his inky shadows and sharp lights. It 
 must be the richest gallery in Rome, but I have as 
 yet seen only two others. There are three frescoes 
 by Raphael in the remotest room — one of a group 
 of archers, shooting at a target, very renowned ; but 
 it was too cold there to stay a moment. A great 
 many people were copying — one an Englishwoman. 
 How hospitable are the Roman princes ! In almost 
 every saloon was a brazier of coals, to warm, at 
 least, the fingers of the visitors, who may wander at 
 will before these wonders. Yet I see why they must 
 feel under an obligation to share the invaluable 
 chefs d'ceuvre of human genius, by accident fallen to 
 their lot, among the world's best riches. One must 
 also have sympathy in enjoying things of beauty ; 
 for even a jewel, put away in a shut casket, might 
 as well remain in the depths of a mine. It must be 
 worn for others to see, if it would be of any worth, 
 or give true enjoyment. 
 
 There is a Salutation by Rubens, the only one by 
 him in the collection. Mary's face and expression 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 241 
 
 are lovely, bat her figure is large and full, with 
 Dutch contours, in striking contrast to the Italian 
 type, portrayed in all others that fill the gallery. A 
 portrait of Mary de Medici, by Vandyke, is very 
 interesting as an authentic likeness. We meet face 
 to face here many artists — Titian, Bassano, Porde- 
 none ; and there is a portrait of Savonarola, by 
 Lippi. 
 
 The Palace of the Conservatori. 
 
 March 1st, Spring. — Yesterday the rain fell and 
 the wind blew all day, so that we could not go out 
 at all, and another day was lost in Rome. But this 
 morning it brightened, with frequent little showers, 
 and we concluded to go to the Vatican. But the 
 Vatican was shut, and so we tried for the Palazzo 
 Colonna. We found an entire change in the air, a 
 really spring day. It was soft and mild and south- 
 windy for the first time since we arrived in the city, 
 and also very muddy ; but when we finally got to 
 the Palace, we could not go in, because the custode 
 was ill ; and so the Palace of the Conservatori was 
 our last resort. A stupid French soldier did not 
 know how to tell us the way into the picture-gallery ; 
 for these small red-legged men do not know any- 
 thing whatever. If they are keeping guard in front 
 of a palace, they cannot even tell its name. They 
 never move their minds, and hardly use their eyes. 
 They are only machines, that carry guns and swords. 
 
 11 
 
242 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 It is really sometliing like a retribution, for power 
 abused and means wasted, that Imperial Rome 
 should fall so low as to be watched and sentinelled 
 by these mean-looking, ugly, diminutive barbarians, 
 who crop up at every turn, to shock the vision that 
 is harvesting marvels of art. Rome, held in check 
 by pigmy Frenchmen, causes a melancholy, grim 
 smile that becomes almost a grimace. The only 
 words I ever heard any one of them utter were " Je 
 ne sais pas," and this is the exact amount of their 
 knowledge. It is sad to think there are so many 
 young men living such an inane, monotonous life — 
 stunted in form, but still more in faculties. 
 
 Not finding any entrance, we walked round the 
 court and loggia. There we saw a grand colossal 
 statue of Julius Caesar, the only authentic one. The 
 face was younger than those of the busts I have 
 seen, and handsomer — not so worn and careful. We 
 could not get a good view of the profile, because it 
 was so high up. He wore the gorgeous dress of a 
 general — an Imperator in a martial sense. On the 
 other side stood a colossal Augustus, in the same 
 richly-sculptured dress as that of Julius. In the 
 open court a great many precious wrecks were 
 placed, enormous feet and hands of a mighty statue, 
 erected by Lucullus to Apollo on the Capitoline, 
 forty-five feet high. These feet and hands reminded 
 me of the Egyptian red-granite hand in the British 
 Museum. The statue must have had an Egyptian 
 grandeur in it. In Imperial times, architecture and 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 243 
 
 sculpture took gigantic forms. This x4.pollo responded 
 to the Coliseum. A head of Domitian and a head 
 and hand of Commodus are of the same size. Per- 
 haps I shall discover, by and by, what stupendous 
 *\emple or amphitheatre these vast figures adorned. 
 The celebrated group of a horse attacked by a lion, 
 restored by Michel Angelo, is very powerful in ex- 
 pression. Blichel Angelo has replaced parts of the 
 legs and hoofs of the horse, whose agony quivers to 
 the last fibres of its body. 
 
 The Arch of Constantine, near the Coliseum, is 
 adorned with spoils from the Arch of Trajan, now 
 destroyed. Bas-reliefs were taken out and put into 
 Constantine's Arch ; and the stately, mournful cap- 
 tive kings and warriors of Dacia, whom Trajan 
 brought to Rome, stand upon its pilasters, with 
 folded hands. To-day I saw another relic of Tra- 
 jan's lost arch. It was a relief upon the key-stone, 
 representing a mourning female figure, probably 
 Dacia, and very beautiful. There were also two 
 gray-marble conquered kings of heroic size, which 
 perchance also embellished the same arch. A de- 
 faced marble square block, called a Cippus, which 
 once held the urn that contained the ashes of Agrip- 
 pina (as an inscription now legible upon it testifies), 
 interested us extremely. Why did not the solid stone 
 shiver to atoms when the poison of her dust touched 
 it ? Somehow it seems as if the wickedness of 
 these cultivated, highly-civilized Roman emperors 
 and empresses, kings and princes, was more appal- 
 
244 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 ling and atrocious than the sins of barbarians— 
 that is — of all peoples beside. It was such a fin- 
 ished, conscious, purposed, fondled depravity — so 
 delicately studied out often, so utterly without com- 
 punction, that it overwhelms our apprehension. 
 And I was so near the fearful Agrippina as to lay 
 my hand upon her cippus, once permeated by her 
 evil effluence. What have they done with the urn 
 of her ashes now ? I think they ought to have 
 been left in their first place of deposit, and not sep- 
 arated from this ancient sepulchre. It is a pity not 
 to allow things to remain in their original relations, 
 when it is possible — things of great historical inter- 
 est, especially. It destroys the unity of effect to 
 divide and scatter what belongs together.^ 
 
 Several columns of granite and marble and a lofty 
 one of porphyry, are preserved here. ^Tiile we 
 were looking at these morsels, an Italian guard ap- 
 peared, (how different from a French sentinel !) and 
 when I asked him for the gallery he directed us to 
 it with genuine politeness, for it was a good deal of 
 trouble. We ascended a broad, marble staircase, 
 where some statues and reliefs looked irresistible ; 
 but we passed quickly on, till we came to the oil 
 paintings. Both rooms contain a great many unfin- 
 ished sketches by Guido, and a finished head of 
 
 *I am mistaken in having supposed this the cippus of the 
 wicked Agrippina, daughter of Germanicus. It was the cippus 
 of the wife of Germanicus — who was remarkable for her viituc, 
 in an age of monstrous deprayity. 
 
BOMAN JO URFAL. 245 
 
 liimsolf, b}^ himself, whicli I gazed at with deep in- 
 terest. It is a youthful face, earnest, gentle, and 
 full, with a mouth not unlike Ba})haers, but with 
 not quite such a delicate and lordly curve as his. 
 In the second room is a St. Sebastian, which I think 
 is Guido's. It has the upturned eyes he painted so 
 often, and is of a most winning sweetness, and per- 
 fectly finished. Some of his sketches, I must say 
 it, looked like unbaked clay,* so whity and cold. He 
 would hardly thank any one for showing them. 
 There is a shadowy Lucretia and a Cleopatra, both 
 dying by their own hands, besides several mere be- 
 ginnings. A Magdalen is about half painted, but 
 of noble expression. I should think some one had 
 plundered his studio of these pictures, after his 
 death, when he could not keep them back. 
 
 There were four or five fine Guercinos — one, the 
 Persian Sibyl, a grand, sad face, without the abrupt 
 lights and shadows he fancied so much ; another a 
 large composition of Augustus and Cleopatra, splen- 
 did in color and expression. The " Serpent of old 
 Nile" is imploring Augustus, apparently. She is of 
 gorgeous form, and is gorgeously arrayed. It hangs 
 in a very bad light, so that it was nearly impossible 
 to catch the whole scene at once. His immense 
 picture of St. Petronilla (copied in mosaic in St. 
 Peter's) is also here ; but I am not much attracted 
 to this great work of Guercino. I see that the dead 
 
 * I wish to say dough, but it seems in'everent. 
 
240 KOTES m ITALY. 
 
 body of the saint is very dead, and ver}^, yery heavy, 
 as is shov.n by the efforts of those who are Hfting 
 it from her grave, to show it to Flacciis, her be- 
 trothed. And the contrast of life around is vivid 
 and impressive. But I do not appreciate it yet^ and 
 the scene above, where she is ascended and kneeling 
 at the feet of Jesus, is to me neither sublime nor 
 beautiful. 
 
 There are some magnificent Paul Yeroneses, the 
 Eape of Europa the most so. All the luxury and 
 splendor of rich womanlj^ beauty are in the form 
 and face of Europa, who is superbly arrayed in stuffs 
 of silk and gold, shining with jewels, and brimmed 
 with the rapture that perfect, material well-being 
 gives. It is a glory of earthly felicity, without any- 
 thing divine or etherial in it. The complete comeli- 
 ness of the white bull — the large, soft eyes and mild 
 aspect of subdued strength, with the radiant garland 
 of flowers across its brow, are quite in harmony, and 
 the creature seems as high-toned as Europa — nor 
 more nor less. A little Cupid holds him with a 
 slight wreath, quite securely, and stands with one 
 tiny foot on his leg, as if the bull were a lamb. It 
 is a sumptuous, glowing reality — no dream nor vi- 
 sion. There are velvets, brocades, precious stones, 
 and Europa is a queenly woman. The white bull is 
 lying down in the foreground, and Europa sits upon 
 his back, while her maidens finish her toilet. One 
 is just clasping a glittering bracelet upon her shoul- 
 der, and Cupid holds the slender reins till she be 
 
BOM AX JOURNAL. 247 
 
 quite read}'. Her eyes and head are raised, and a 
 little thrown back. On the right some people are 
 going off — a figure on horseback, with a brocaded 
 mantle, and others walking by his side. Over a 
 thicket the head of another bull, or of a cow% is 
 thrust out, the eyes flashing fury and amazement 
 (ox-eyed Juno, perhaps). I do not recollect any 
 more of the composition. It comes up to my idea 
 of the great Venetian artist. Europa is Venice, as 
 she was in the days of the Doges, when all her pal- 
 aces were alight with refulgent life and state, and 
 Jooked like jewels studding the rim of her water- 
 courses, when the air was heavy with fragrant sighs 
 and perfumes, and .delicious tones from harp and 
 dulcimer overflowed from gondola and balcony, till 
 the senses could bear no more enjoyment. This 
 was Venice, and it is the Europa of Paul Veronese. 
 
 On the same wall hangs his Madonna and St. 
 Anna, surrounded by angels. Mary sits in the cen- 
 tre, and Anna stands behind with arms outstretched 
 and mantle spread in a kind of shielding love. I 
 cannot describe it ; but I do not believe Paul Vero- 
 nese was a devout painter, though, in my next visit, 
 I shall like to see how he has managed a wholly di- 
 vine subject. 
 
 In the first saloon is one of Perugino's loveliest 
 Madonnas. It is more entirely beautiful in feature 
 than I have yet seen by him, besides the holy ex- 
 pression he alw'ays gives. The oldest masters con- 
 ceived an image of ideal maternity in their Madon- 
 
248 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 nas — sacred, intent, thoughtful, with a shadow of 
 the worship of sorrow, as they hold the holy child, 
 who became " acquainted with grief." But this pe- 
 culiar look of tender, anxious care is only when the 
 infant is present. For in the Annunciations it is 
 different, and to-day I saw an Annunciation by Ga- 
 rofalo, which surpasses all I have yet seen, even 
 Murillo's. A young maiden is kneeling, reading a 
 book, with a lovely, innocent face just before, but 
 now made glorious by the sudden presence of the 
 angel. He has brought down with him the splendor 
 of heaven. The airs of paradise wave back the 
 torrent of golden curls from beneath the glittering 
 fillet on his brow, in the rapid rush of his flight. 
 He seems dressed in rainbows — and amethysts and 
 rubies flash from his shining garments, fastening 
 his mantle on his breast. An immortality of prime 
 youth beams like a star from his countenance. He 
 bends one knee as, with an air of gentle majesty, 
 he offers the lilies to Mary. He radiates such vivid 
 life, that he seems to have this instant bent the 
 knee, and to be just rising, also, to vanish from sight, 
 a prismatic ray of the aurora of Christ's coming. 
 Mary does not raise her downcast lids. She has no 
 need to look. She knows Gabriel is there, and she 
 is made almost transparent by the brightness of his 
 glory. Every feature gleams, like the sculptured 
 lines of an alabaster vase, illuminated within. But 
 this is an inner, caused by an outer light, or per- 
 haps the angel is passing into her heart ; for she 
 
IIOMAN JO URNA L. 249 
 
 looks penetrated with the celestial messenger. What 
 a picture is this, and no one says anything about it! 
 
 There is a portrait of Michel Angelo by himself, 
 and of Yelasquez, also b}^ himself, very interesting. 
 Now surely I see Michel Angelo, at last. 
 
 We saw the superb bas-reliefs from Marcus 
 Aurelius's arch, which once stood in the Corso ; and 
 which Pope Alexander YII. was so barbarous as to 
 destroy, in order to widen the street. Had not far 
 greater men than he found the street wide enough 
 before he was ever thought of ? 
 
 Tomb of Cecelia Metella. 
 
 March 3d. — - ^ * * * This morning it was very 
 sunny and mild, and we concluded, for the celebra- 
 tion of U — 's birth-day, that we would take a 
 large barouche and drive out on the Appian Way to 
 the tomb of Cecelia Metella. We started at half- 
 past eleven from our old Palazzo Larazani on the 
 Pincian, and took the hill of the Quirinal and the 
 Corso, through the Forum Eomanum, by the Coli- 
 seum, under the Arch of Constantine, and along by 
 the Palatine, piled up with ruin, and the Baths of 
 Caracalla, a city of tumbling walls and arches, out 
 of the Gate of St. Sebastian, upon the Appian Way. 
 Two miles beyond the gate is the tomb. Just with- 
 in the gate we passed under the Arch of Drusus, the 
 oldest of the arches now remaining. It has two 
 columns and a little sculpture left, and is made of 
 
250 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 huge masses of stone that might stand forever still. 
 TVe passed the door of the tomb of the Scipios, and 
 the Columbaria, and at last towered up the Mauso- 
 leum. It is larger than I supposed, raised on a high 
 substruction, built of square blocks of travertine, 
 precisely fitted, with a cornice and a draped frieze. 
 
 When the Gaetani took it for a fortress, they 
 raised a battlemented story upon the original tomb, 
 which spoils its symmetry. For a wide distance all 
 around the extensive ruins of the outworks of this 
 fortress stand and fall. The custode was absent, 
 and we could not go inside ; but we wandered 
 about, and walked along the true Appian pavement, 
 lately laid bare by Pio Nono, — composed of large 
 flat stones, more than a foot long and wide. Whose 
 chariots and horses have passed this way ? What 
 legions have stepped on these very identical stones, 
 with their worn traces, in which I plant my own 
 foot ? I see the unconquerable eagles raised aloft — 
 as th^" solid phalanx moves on to crush the world — 
 I see them return in triumph, and pause before the 
 Temple of Mars that once stood hereabout. Hadrian 
 and the beautiful Antinous passed over it — Horace 
 and all the poets — the superb Zenobia, in her fallen 
 estate, yet in eastern pomp, came this way to her 
 regal villas. What way in all the earth is so rich in 
 memories as this? — and I actually step upon it, 
 without any doubt. I thank the Pope, Pio Nono. 
 
 The inscription in front of the Mausoleum is as 
 clear and distinct as if carved to-day, yet it was cut 
 
EOJiIA^^ JOURNAL. 251 
 
 nineteen liundred years ago, and I believe the tomb 
 Avould have presented a perfectly finished and fresh 
 appearance to our eyes this morning, if the repre- 
 hensible Popes had not violently destroyed a great 
 part, for the sake of robbing it of the slabs of fine 
 marbles with which it was covered ; — and if the 
 Savellis and Gaetanis had not desecrated it by their 
 warlike uses. Time could have had no effect ou 
 those perfectly-hewed stones of travertine, as one 
 may see by the crispness of those w^hich have 
 escaped the destiiictive hand of man. The beautiful 
 frieze is uninjured nearly round the circle ; stone 
 drapery, looped up by bulls' heads. The sarcoph- 
 agus of white marble that was within the cham- 
 ber is also taken away to adorn the court of the 
 Farnese Palace, but w^e could not see even the empty 
 crypt to-day. 
 
 The view of Rome, as we turned back, was superb. 
 St. Peter's made the highest point, and all the lesser 
 domes gi'ouped themselves round it. The Sabine 
 hills were in a silver veil. The Campagna lay be- 
 tween, in dim green, with ruins scattered here and 
 there over its whole extent. 
 
 We drove straight along upon the Appian Way for 
 a little while, and then turned to the right to visit 
 the grove and grotto of Egeria. Near the spot is 
 the Temple of Virtue and Honor, spoiled into an 
 ugly church, enclosing in its brick walls four lovely 
 Corinthian columns. We entered and found a 
 vaulted ceUay with old urns upon a ledge at the top 
 
2o2 K0TE8 IN ITALY. 
 
 of tlie straight sides, just at the base of the curves, 
 and a great deal of fresco-painting, and figures in 
 stucco. The custode called it the Temple of Bac- 
 chus. Opposite the Temple, over a valley, and upon 
 an' eminence, stood a shadowy grove, called the 
 Sacred Grove, and beyond the view wandered over 
 the Campagna, where the magnificent arches of the 
 Claudian Aqueduct looked like ruins of mighty tem- 
 ples — with miles of colonnades. And, farther still, 
 the silver-veiled Sabine Hills guarded the enchanted 
 land. But as it is now said that this was not, after 
 all, the true site of Egeria's grotto, we did not go to 
 it, and, after plucking violets and lilies, we drove 
 awav, and came to the Columbaria of the families of 
 Csesar and Pompey. These were very curious and in- 
 teresting, and have not been excavated long. The first 
 we saw had been found ten years ago, and the other 
 three were discovered and dug out by the man who 
 now showed them to us. There is an avenue of ex- 
 traordinary cypresses on the hill near them — a truly 
 funereal walk. "We descended by a narrow, steep 
 flight of ancient stairs into the one devoted to the 
 household of Caesar. It was square, and very deep, 
 and the walls were entirely filled with semicircular 
 niches, like pigeon-holes, for the cinerary urns, with 
 inscriptions on brass plates fastened over them. In 
 the urns were the burnt bones and ashes of the dead, 
 and over each a cover of red earthen substance was 
 placed. I took in my hand the illustrious ashes of 
 some Csesar. Little vases of food and ewers for 
 
FiOMAN JOURNAL. e:.0 
 
 libations stood above. In one niche was a marble 
 bust, and beneath the bust a bas-relief, and beneath 
 that still, the cinerary urn. This was the bust and 
 these the ashes of Lucius Valerius Creticus, B. c. G7. 
 The proprietor pointed out to me the name of the 
 usher of Caesar's Court, the officer who announced 
 names to the Emperor. " Nomenclator Neronis" was 
 the title of the individual, but I forget his name. 
 The poor man was probably brought to an untimely 
 urn, by announcing some one whom his imperial 
 majesty did not wdsh to see. I should think this 
 columbarium were forty feet deep and twenty in 
 diameter. There are thirteen or fourteen rows of 
 semicircular niches all round, one above another. 
 In the centre is a large upholding pier, also sur- 
 rounded with niches. The narrow stairway, and 
 ver}^ steep stairs with an iron railing are on one side, 
 just as firm and safe at this moment as nearly two 
 thousand years ago. The grounds around are prob- 
 ably full of these wonderful dove-cotes. [It is sad to 
 think how far from dove-like were the persons whose 
 ashes filled the urns.] But how much better is this 
 way of disposing of the dead than any other. What 
 the fire burns away should not be left to decay. 
 The purified ashes have nothing fearful nor repulsive 
 in them, and the living are in this way saved fi*om 
 the miasma of inanimate mortal substance. There 
 was but one beautiful marble urn, standing upon a 
 niche ; all the rest were hollowed in the stone, and 
 the covers only were moveable. Our guide uncere- 
 
254 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 moniously removed the lid of tlie incut urn of the 
 conqueror of Crete, Lucius Valerius Creticus, and 
 plunging in his hand, brought up a quantity of cal- 
 cined bones and ashes, and I was stupid not to take 
 at least one little bone of the illustrious dead. I 
 wished very much for a fine, small marble medallion 
 of Tiberius, that lay on the ledge. 
 
 When we had sufficiently examined this, the cus- 
 tode desired us to go down into that of Pompey's 
 household ; but we had not time to do more than 
 glance into it. It was deeper than the other, and 
 I think, had no pier ; and I wish we could have seen 
 it, because it has been very latel}' brought to light — ■ 
 only three years ago. I saw another a little way 
 off, cropping up like a singular kind of plant, bud- 
 ding and bursting from the soil. I suspect no vari- 
 ety of produce could bring to the farmer of this 
 campagna-homestead so large an income as the Co- 
 lumbaria. He looked really fat with prosperity. I 
 think the avenue of solemn old cypresses was the 
 ancient walk between two series of tombs, and per- 
 haps the households of all the emperors were buried 
 in them. This is a private notion of my own. The 
 many remains of marble columns, and capitals, and 
 bas-reliefs scattered all over the grounds, show that 
 these deep sepulchres were covered with little tem- 
 ples or porticoes. How stately, then, must have 
 been the scene ! At the end of the double row of 
 cypresses, is a kind of shrine, surrounded by a circle 
 of these tall, dark, mourning trees, and within the 
 
R02rAN JOURNAL. 255 
 
 circle is a marble cippus or pedestal. Perhaps a 
 statue or a superb urn stood upon it once of some 
 very distinguished person. Bordering the large 
 field runs along the Claudian Aqueduct, whose lofty 
 arches, when in perfect condition, must have been 
 magnificent to see, though hardly more beautiful 
 than their ruins now. 
 
 We resumed the carriage, and drove to the tomb 
 of the Scipios, still nearer home. A weird old man, 
 with the nose of a Jew, and handsome features, all 
 worn to a spectre, unlocked the door, and we fol- 
 lowed him into a chamber, where he lighted five 
 moccoli, and gave each of us one (except B.), 
 and then he preceded us into these ancient cata- 
 combs, where the noble Scipios were buried. What 
 a procession ! The weird old man first, with his 
 torch, and we five following with ours, and lighting 
 up the winding ways and arches dug out of the 
 tufa and peperine rocks. Once in a while he stop- 
 ped to show us, by his moccolo, the inscription on a 
 marble tablet of the name of an illustrious Scipio, 
 and then we brought all our moccoli to bear upon 
 this point. Little R. kept tight hold of my dress, 
 and seemed not at all alarmed at the profound dark- 
 ness that swallowed up our small tapers. U. en- 
 joyed the adventure and the picturesqueness, and 
 said it was the best time she ever had in her 
 life. But all the sarcophagi have been removed. 
 That of Scipio Barbatus is at the Vatican. It is a 
 pity to take away from their proper places these 
 
258 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 deeply interesting relics, tliougli it ma}^ be the best 
 way to preserve them. I do not submit to it at all, 
 
 however. J , with his usual good fortune, found, 
 
 outside the door of the sepulchre, on the steps lead- 
 ing to the road, a precious stone, a tourmaline, 
 covered with the lovely iridescence which ages of 
 time cause upon vitreous substances. Holding it 
 up to the light, one can see the peculiar tint of that 
 stone — a green different from any other. But look- 
 ing upon it in the hand, no tint of green is percepti- 
 ble, but only rainbow, ever-changing hues, like those 
 upon the neck of a dove. The gem is oval, about 
 three-quarters of an inch long. 
 
 We then returned home, after a charming excur- 
 sion, and Mr. Louis Kakermann closed the birth- 
 day with performing for U. one of Beethoven's 
 symphonies. 
 
 Now I will go back to yesterday. When we went 
 into the Church of the Capuchins, we found a cur- 
 tain drawn before the Chapel of Guido's Archangel, 
 and, peeping through, I saw a man copying the pic- 
 ture. I asked him whether we could go in, and he 
 directed us to a side -door, opening from the next 
 chapel. The mosaic at St. Peter's is an admirable 
 copy of the original, but I was glad to have before 
 me the work of Guido's own hand. We had just 
 seen the Beatrice Cenci, and I think that that and 
 this are quite sufficient to make immortal any name. 
 This is of the same order of hierarchs as Garofalo's 
 Announcing Angel. There is the same immortal 
 
liOMAN JOURNAL. 257 
 
 prime in liis face, youth in essence, baby-majesty of 
 innocence, the freshness of the petal of a rose just 
 bloomed. And with all this, there is princely state, 
 and a lofty dignity. It is an unfallen form of man, 
 and by this we can see what man has lost of original 
 brightness. How light and powerful is his descent ! 
 He is as imponderable as air and as irresistible as — 
 I was about to say, as a thunderbolt, but I cannot 
 say it, for he is not so terrible. What is irresisti- 
 ble that is so soft and tender ? I can think of noth- 
 ing but light. He is then as irresistible as light. 
 The armory of heaven seems to have been ex- 
 hausted to furnish forth the splendor of his array. 
 His corselet is of sapphire, and identical with the 
 curves and lines of the glorious form. A crimson 
 mantle floats around him, like the red band in the 
 rainbow let loose for his adornment, a sj^mbol of his 
 flaming love ; and from his brow waves backward 
 light spirals of pale gold hair. The sandals are 
 bound upon his feet wdth lacings of azure and gold, 
 and fastened high with large rubies that burn like 
 fire. How can any one describe the aerial tread of 
 those angelic feet ? The left one is planted upon 
 the head of the dragon, who looks up at the se- 
 raphic vision with the face (it is said) of Innocent 
 Tenth, an evil-eyed old demon, and now powerless 
 beneath the etherial touch. The right foot rests 
 upon a rock, with as little effect of weight as the 
 alighting of a bird upon a tree. It is the insubstan- 
 tial yet immutable firmness of divine power. This 
 
258 ^^OTES m ITALY. 
 
 combination of airiness and might, s1iot\'s miraculous 
 genius in Guido. The delicate contour of the limbs, 
 the pearl}^ texture of the beautiful feet, like the snow 
 of an infant's feet, as if just created, with no earthly 
 stain, are united with superhuman force, expressed 
 in the chest and arms. One hand, the left, holds 
 the chain with which the dragon is to be bound, and 
 which already secures him. The right is uplifted, 
 grasping a sword, in act to strike. The glitter and 
 flash of the inevitable stroke dazzle as it descends. 
 Outspread wings of pencil-color, just the hue of the 
 shaded side of a cloud near the moon, hold poised 
 this celestial Leader of the Hosts of God. The 
 downcast white lids, with dark lashes, the untroubled 
 brow, the curves of the closed lips, without disdain 
 or pride, but tender and sweet, though resolute 
 without effort, show the messenger of Our Father. 
 What endless worlds of meaning are evolved from 
 this master-piece. A perfect work is a unit of 
 Truth, and all truth is one. The whole destiny and 
 history of man in relation to the Deity can be read 
 in this picture. The artist who was copying it had 
 entirely missed the face and the swa}^ of the atti- 
 tude, but had succeeded pretty well with the right 
 foot and limb. 
 
 Gallery of the Sciaera Palace. 
 
 March 11th. — On Saturday, though it rained, as it 
 is the only day of the week for the Sciarra Palace, 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 209 
 
 we went tlirougli the sliowers, and fled into tlie gal- 
 lery like stormy petrels, taking U. for the closing 
 festival of her week. The first picture in the first 
 room that arrested us was Raphael's Violin-player. 
 It stands on an easel, with plate-glass over it. It is 
 the face of a youth, looking over his right shoulder, 
 holding the bow of the violin in his hand, with a 
 flower. It is a dark, Italian face, with long hair, 
 falling from beneath a small cap, and with earnest 
 eyes. The upper lip is rather long, but the mouth 
 is handsome, with an expression of grave sweetness, 
 and the painting is most highly finished. But I 
 have to confess that I was not so deeply smitten 
 with this celebrated picture as I supposed I should 
 be, at the first study of it. The memory of it is 
 more powerful than its presence was, but when I see 
 it again, I shall understand it better. Near it, also 
 carefully glassed, and upon an easel, stands what is 
 called '•' Vanity and Modesty," by Leonardo da Vinci, 
 another famous picture, so very often repeated in 
 every wa^^ As in almost every picture that Leo- 
 nardo da Vinci painted, one can see Mona Lisa in 
 this. *' Vanity" is another Mona Lisa, with her 
 sweet smile. The whole is as rich and dark as a 
 carbuncle, and of deepest glow in the face and smile 
 of " Vanity." She is attractive, beautiful, and gay, 
 decked with jewels and finest ripples of golden hair, 
 and looks away from her monitor, and into the ej^es 
 of the world around her with a soft, resolute ex- 
 pression of persistent, happy complacency with her- 
 
2G0 Is'-QTES m ITALY. 
 
 self and with all earthly good. It is a pure, inno- 
 cent vanitj, an ideal self-conceit, not in the least of- 
 fensive. " Modesty," with her veiled head and 
 warning finger, is not so charming as the delinquent, 
 though she is beautiful. She looks quite hopeless 
 in her expostulation ; and T think one might as soon 
 expect to win to seriousness the play of sunshine on 
 a waterfall, as this smiling maiden. Engravings and 
 oil- copies do not render this wonderful face. They 
 leave out the rich meaning, and either make a sim- 
 per or emptiness. Only these very lines, only these 
 very lights, shadows, and colors can convey the 
 artist's idea. One can get little more than the de- 
 sign in any copy, as I find more and more. Copy- 
 ists generally are superficial, quite. They should be 
 informed with the feeling and secret of the soul that 
 wrought the wonder, or they only hide the master- 
 piece they pretend to repeat, and this is an injury 
 and a wrong, and not a benefit. The finish of this 
 painting is of the highest perfection. It is only 
 true genius that has patience and love enough to 
 create. Mere talent and skill are never faithful ; 
 and what they effect in art can never last but a 
 moment. 
 
 In the first saloon is also a copy of the Trans- 
 figuration, by Valentine, as large as the original, and 
 much faded. Being hung exactly opposite the win- 
 dows, with unaccountable disregard of proprieties, 
 it was difficult to see it, and I did not care to try, as 
 I have not been to the Vatican yet, where the original 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 261 
 
 is. To copy the Transfiguration ! Mr. Valentine was 
 enterprising, certainly ! 
 
 In the next room is a Holy Family, by Francia, in 
 which the Madonna is difierent from any other of 
 his that I have seen. Instead of the matronly ex- 
 pression of care and solicitude, together with great 
 beauty, this is the face and form of a young peasant — 
 handsome, but not ideal. It is of rich color, with 
 dark eyes and hair — honest, sweet, thoughtful, but 
 with no premonition of sorrow. The child is of the 
 usual type. 
 
 Two large pictures by my new painter, Garofalo, 
 are here : a Caccia, and the vestal Claudia ; and also 
 a Noli-rae-tangere, in which the Mary is exceedingly 
 beautiful, but I do not like the Christ at all. The 
 vestal Claudia has fastened the rope of a ship to her 
 girdle, and is drawing it across the Tiber, out of the 
 mud, where it had sunk, to prove her chastity. 
 There are some admirable heads and figures in the 
 group of priests and Roman citizens, who await her 
 on the other side of the river. 
 
 A very curious large picture I saw called the Old 
 and New Testaments. Christ and the Virgin Mary 
 sit on a throne with angels on each side, with green 
 wings. Just below them are the prophets on one 
 hand, and the apostles on the other. These form a 
 sort of orchestra (as U. suggested). Below the 
 orchestra, directly in front, stands an angel, and a 
 monk kneeling to him with clasped hands. This 
 angel also has green wings ; but his attitude is fine, 
 
262 NOTES IN ITALY, 
 
 and he points to Christ in answer to the prayer of 
 the poor okl monk. It is by Ferrari. One of all 
 the angels in the orchestra is very beautiful. 
 
 In a bad light, in the corner of the room, is a most 
 lovely Madonna and child, by Carlo Maratta. 
 Mary's head is in profile. The babe stands upon 
 her knee, and endeavors to read in the book she 
 holds open. It is very graceful, and the faces are 
 exceedingly beautiful ; but it was aggravating not to 
 be able to get a good view of it. I tried to push 
 back the shutter and curtain, but they would not 
 stay back, and the day was so dark, it was in vain 
 to have more than a faint glance at it. 
 
 In the last room were Guido's two Magdalens ; 
 one, the Magdalen delle Radice, and the other much 
 like it, but far more finished and beautiful — one of 
 his cJief cToeuvre!^. The abundant hair is not of the 
 red or yellow gold, so greatly loved by Italian 
 painters, but palest flaxen, and fine and soft as the 
 silk of a cocoon, and flowing everywhere about and 
 over her perfect form, like streams of dim light. 
 From all points of view but one her mouth seems too 
 much open, as if with a cry ; but there is one point 
 from which the lips look only parted slightly, as 
 would be inevitable, with the eyes upturned, and 
 the head raised and a little thrown back. One 
 lovely arm and hand support the head, the hand 
 overflowed by the pale flood of hair, and clutching 
 it ; the other hand rests upon a skull, and this right 
 hand and arm are surpassingly lovely. This is one 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 2G3 
 
 of the Guiclo pictures that can be looked at forever, 
 without weariness or satiety. It is forever new, and 
 forever more expressive, eloquent, and pathetic. 
 
 In strongest possible contrast to this is Titian's 
 renowned " Bella Donna," the portrait of a lady. 
 This picture realizes completely all I have heard of 
 Titian's coloring, which no other work of his had 
 yet done. The flesh-tints of this beautiful lad}' im- 
 prison the sunshine of Italy, golden and fair at once. 
 I can in no way conceive how such a rich, glowiug 
 splendor of tint is also so pure and fair and dazzling. 
 I find here the master of color, which I have sought 
 in vain in all the Titians I have hitherto seen in 
 Rome and England. It can neither be described nor 
 copied. Titian has caught the daylight, and enclosed 
 it in transparent pearl. A folded mass of auburn 
 hair crowns the head, and falls behind the throat. 
 As U. stood near I perceived what artists have 
 meant when they called U.'s hair " Titian hair," 
 for it was 'precisely like the Bella Donna's. The e3'es 
 are dark and rather small, and their expression and 
 that of the perfect mouth are not amiable. The 
 Bella Donna is proud and imperious and peevish. 
 Even her fine, straight nose is handsome, without 
 sweetness. Bright, gorgeous colors mingle in her 
 dress. When looking upon the face, one involun- 
 tarily turns to see whence comes the sunshine that 
 seems gleaming over it. I actually exclaimed, 
 " Why, the sun has come out !" and behold, it was 
 still a dull, rainy day, and I came to discover that 
 
264 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 the light was not njoon it, but icitldn it. Has Titian 
 painted tlie life ? I perceiye how Mr. Alston en- 
 deavored to get tins miraculous coloring — but he 
 never did get it. His complexions are all thick and 
 muddy, compared with this. I always thought them 
 not clear and living, but not till now knew at what 
 they aimed and how they failed. Titian's Bella 
 Donna lives and breathes throughout her material 
 form. Her veins are like the Pactolus, and her 
 tissues are woven of opal at its whitest, but, like 
 that marvellous gem, you feel that fire is some- 
 where shut in, so that they are warm and sentient. 
 But I am trying to render into words w^hat Titian's 
 pencil alone can manifest ; for this must be seen to 
 be known. The Venetian artists have discovered 
 the secret of sumptuous earthly beauty. Trans- 
 mute a superb eastern jewel or a gorgeous flower into 
 a woman, and you have the Bella Donna. In Guido's 
 faces a spiritual and heavenly light dawns. His Mag- 
 dalen here beams through the silver mist of tears, 
 like a lost Pleiad, striving to ascend again to her un- 
 fallen sister band, through the evening dews. -^ -^ * 
 We then went to the studio of Mr. Nichols, a 
 townsman of ours. He was close against the sky, 
 up a hundred steps ! We saw some landscapes, and 
 a copy of one of Murillo's Holy Families, now at the 
 Vatican, and it was a fine picture ; but I have not 
 seen the original, and do not know how well he has 
 succeeded in imitating it. He has, however, a high 
 reputation as a copyist of the great masters. 
 
EOMAN JOURNAL. 2G5 
 
 We thought we would go into Mr. Gibson's work- 
 room after our skyward visit ; and there was such 
 a crowd of statues that we could scarcely move 
 through them — Cupids, Venuses, Nymphs in legions. 
 Out of the whole throng one Cupid shone pre- 
 eminent, as fresh and lovely as if it had been the 
 first and only Cupid conceived and sculptured by 
 man. It is not a little, round, rolling, baby Love ; 
 but a boy, in earliest youth, toying with a butterfly 
 on his breast. We did not stay long in this room, 
 all were so busy chopping and chiselling, but passed 
 on to find Miss Hosmer, whose studio is behind Mr. 
 Gibson's. Yet we got into another crowd of Mr. 
 Gibson's immortals, in the next saloon. A bas-relief 
 of Cupid and Psyche was enchanting, close by the 
 door ; but we did not wait to examine anything, acd 
 pressed on to Miss Hosmer. She was in her aditum, 
 and came forward with the most animated gesture 
 to greet us. Her action was as bright, sprightly, 
 and vivid as that of a bird : a small figure, round 
 face, and tiny features, except large eyes ; hair short, 
 and curling up round a black velvet cap, planted 
 directly upon the middle of her head, instead of 
 jauntily on one side, as is usual with artists ; her 
 hands thrust into the pockets of a close-fitting cloth 
 jacket — a collar and cravat like a young man's — and 
 a snowy plaited chemisette, like a shirt-bosom. I 
 hked her at once, she was so frank and cheerful, in- 
 dependent, honest, and sincere — wide awake, ener- 
 getic, yet not ungentle. She showed us her " Puck," 
 
 13 
 
266 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 which she called " the son of her old age," — a mis- 
 chievous mad sprite, sitting on a toad-stool, with a 
 shell on his wild curls for a cap, and a crab in one 
 hand ; not so weird as Sir Joshua Eej-nolds' Puck, 
 but very charming and jolly. She showed me also 
 her design for a fountain — Hylas, drawn into the 
 stream by the water-nymphs — which I liked exceed- 
 ingly, as also her sad, noble Daphne ; but not so 
 much her Medusa, which missed the Greek, terrible 
 beauty. Her pencil-sketches for bas-reliefs enchant- 
 ed me — Night approaching — Dawn coming — and a 
 Star group, all in circles. In one, Night rises, draw- 
 ing up with her the stars, embodied in two lovely, 
 graceful forms, who cling to the ancient mother. In 
 another, the Dawn begins to mount, and the stars 
 above (two sister forms) veil their heads and close 
 their hds before it. The grouping is masterly. Miss 
 Hosmer also intends to model a Zenobia, walking in 
 the triumph of Aurelian. After seeing all she could 
 show us of unfinished designs, we descended into 
 one of Mr. Gibson's work-rooms again, where men 
 were chipping out goddesses. There was a tinted 
 marble Yenus, with a golden fillet on light golden 
 hair, a golden apple in her hand, and a mantle 
 edged with red and gold. It was beautiful and 
 captivating ; but I inveighed against the coloring 
 of the pure marble most emphatically, as profana- 
 tion, when Miss Hosmer exclaimed, " Take care 
 what you say — Mr. Gibson is behind you," So I 
 turned to him, not frightened out of my protest. 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 267 
 
 He is a short, elderly, Italian-looking — or rather 
 Greek-looking — gentleman, with glowing, dark eyes 
 under pent-house eyebrows — straight nose — every 
 feature handsome. He smiled, and said, " It was 
 nonsense not to like tinting of marble — that it made 
 a richer effect." I persisted that I wished for pure 
 form, and not painting in sculpture ; and so he gave 
 me up to my folly, muttering good-naturedly, " Yes, 
 yes ; it does seem horrid to color marble, I know." 
 He then began a long story about a Chinese general, 
 which I did not care to hear. I kept breaking in 
 upon his tale with " That is a group of Cupid and 
 Psyche — how lovely !" - " Yes, yes — that is Cupid 
 and Psyche — so the Chinaman said ;" and then fol- 
 lowed more story. My eyes were wandering round 
 on Nymphs and Graces, and soon I unawares ex- 
 claimed again, " Oh, what an exquisite Flora 1" 
 " Yes, that is Flora — so now the rascally Chinese 
 general declared the men were all respectfully 
 buried !" At last the narrative was finished, with 
 regal indifference to interruptions, and Miss Hosmer 
 took us to her own workshop, where her cutters 
 were finishing her monumental figure in marble — 
 a young lady asleep on a tomb. It is a portrait, she 
 says, and it is very lovely. I had time for onl}^ a 
 glance at her Beatrice Cenci — for it was nearly six, 
 and we had to hurry home to dinner, up the Pincian 
 hill. 
 
 On the 7th, Sunday, we heard there was to be 
 high mass at Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, before the 
 
268 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 Cardinals, on account of the festival of St. Thomas 
 Aquinas. So I went with M. and Miss S. to see 
 and hear. It was a fine, clear day. This is the 
 only Gothic church in Rome. It is built on the site 
 (and perhaps partly with the materials) of Pompey's 
 Temple to Minerva, and is very near the Pantheon. 
 It has now the plainest possible facade, promising 
 nothing, like so many churches in Italy. Within, it 
 is magnificent. A lofty nave, with cippolino marble 
 columns, and arched side-aisles, with chapels. 
 Michel Angelo's statue of Christ stands on the left 
 of the high altar. This statue is one of Michel An- 
 gelo's divine, gentle, and not terrible creations. 
 Christ stands holding a very heavy cross, his face 
 turned from it. It is infinitely powerful in the 
 simple majesty of its action. The story is told at 
 once. There is the heavy, heavy cross, and there is 
 He who was crucified upon it, and bore it for us. 
 The noble, serene face looks straight into the eyes 
 of all men, with ineffable attractive force. The form 
 is delicately moulded, and is full of sensibility, as if 
 it would suffer much ; yet it expresses " O my 
 Father, if this cup may not pass away from me ex- 
 cept I drink it, Thy will be done." In its strong, 
 firm peace it also expresses " I have overcome the 
 world." Its gentleness, its gentle majesty, im- 
 pressed me more than anything else, at the first 
 contemplation of it ; but a very little only of a great 
 work is seen at first. Meanwhile, high mass went on, 
 and chanting of " De Profundis," but there were no 
 
EOMAX JOURNAL. 2G9 
 
 Cardinals. After mass a sermon was preaclied, and 
 we stayed awhile to hear Italian pronounced so 
 sonorously that it was like a rich hymn. The 
 preacher was eloquent and graceful, and discoursed 
 of St. Tomaso Aquino in words that rolled like gems 
 from his lips. 
 
 March 15th. — A week ago we went to the Vatican, 
 to the halls of sculpture. They commence by a 
 very long narrow gallery, the first part of which is 
 devoted principally to inscriptions, inserted into or 
 fastened upon the walls — on the right hand, pagan, 
 on the left, Christian. All along the gallery of in- 
 scriptions there are sarcophagi, vases, torsos, capi- 
 tals of columns, cippi, and various bas-reliefs of fine 
 workmanship — cornices, and specimens of everything 
 picked up and dug up about Rome. The second 
 part of the gallery contains busts, and figures of 
 heroes, gods, goddesses, emperors, philosophers, 
 poets, children, and women. Here is the colossal 
 head of Minerva, with the strange black eyes and 
 black lashes, while the rest is snowy marble — the 
 grand, colossal, sitting figure of Tiberius, with the 
 civic crown. He seems to have been carved out for 
 a god, though he became unworthy even of the 
 name of man. Here also is the newly-discovered 
 and only true Cicero. The Cicero that has hitherto 
 been called the orator, is now supposed to be his 
 brother, who was a soldier. It is only a 3'ear ago 
 that this was found. It is very satisfactory— a re- 
 
2T0 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 fined, intellectual, penetrating head, witli a mouth 
 of wonderful beauty. Its authenticity is prored by 
 its exact resemblance to a medal in the Yatican, in- 
 scribed with his name, and which the long-accepted 
 Cicero does not at all resemble. It is delightful 
 really to have seen Cicero. Here, too, is the cele- 
 brated young Augustus, of a delicate, poetic, musing 
 beauty, with a lovely mouth and a perplexed brow\ 
 The trouble on his brow seems a prophetic shadow 
 of his anxiety, at the close of his life, to know 
 " whether he had played his part well." 
 
 There is also an imperial head of Julius Caesar, 
 as Pontifex Maximus, with a folded drapery, and 
 another fine Caesar, not veiled. These are both far 
 superior to the head in the Hall of the Emperors, at 
 the Capitol, though still like that. A baby Nero 
 was very interesting. It is not a pretty child, but it 
 is not evil in its expression. I was disappointed in 
 Scipio Africanus. I expected him to be very noble. 
 It is an earnest, strong head, and full of care, and in 
 nero antico. Praxiteles' charming Faun is here also, 
 — a happy smile embodied. There is an astonish- 
 ing grace in the figure, and a cheerfulness, like a 
 sunny afternoon. I became acquainted with this 
 ever-enchanting creation in the Capitol. He stands 
 in an attitude of easy rest, making multitudes of 
 curves. Sunshine on rippling water is like the 
 gleam on his face and form. The dolce far niente 
 was never so exquisitely expressed. He is perfect 
 
MOMAX JOURNAL. 271 
 
 honhommie, idealized with a thousand fine ameni- 
 ties. It is one of those master-pieces of antiquity, 
 in which " the marble flows like a wave." 
 
 About half-way in the long gallery, the Braccio 
 Nuovo leads off to the left, — a gallery with mosaic 
 floor, and marble columns and arched niches, in 
 which full-length statues stand — and half-columns of 
 red, oriental granite, surmounted with busts. If it 
 w^ere not for what they contain, the halls of the Vati- 
 can would be visited for their own intrinsic splendor 
 and state. But who minds the setting of diamonds? 
 In the Braccio Nuovo is the Minerva Medica, ^\ hich 
 alone is worthy of a pilgrimage to Rome. I had 
 never heard of this statue in America, and first 
 saw a cast of it, a very fine cast of it, in the Crystal 
 Palace last autumn, pointed out to us by Mr. Silsbee, 
 who greatly estimated it. Even then, in the dis- 
 guise, and through the obstruction of plaster, it 
 seemed to me the most majestic expression of pro- 
 found and pensive thought I had ever imagined. 
 The plaster was as much as I could comprehend at 
 first, and I am glad I saw it first ; and now to see 
 the marble is a privilege, for which I trust I am 
 sufficiently thankful. There is a gi'and sorrow in 
 the countenance and air, but it is the sorrow of an 
 immortal — the pensiveness of profound insight — not 
 a human emotion. The drapery is in fine folds, 
 and falls round the feet in solemn flow. The ex- 
 pression is entirely introspective. The features are 
 
27 2 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 of perfect beauty, of a very high order of beauty — 
 with no prettiness. She is the sister of the Apollo 
 Belvedere. He is all immortal action, while Minerva 
 is immortal Thought, and both heroic. 
 
 March 17th. — Yesterday, it was so perfectly clear 
 and dry and exhilarating, that I took U. to the 
 Palatine, to explore the ruins of the Palace of the 
 Caesars. We wandered out of our way by going up 
 some steps on the right of the Arch of Titus, fi'om 
 the Sacra Yia. It was very interesting to go that 
 way, however. It was the Yia Santa Buona Yen- 
 tura, and led to a church of that name, which con- 
 tained, on one side, a multitude of shrines, like 
 niches, each one containing a colored bas-relief of 
 some event in the life of Christ. 
 
 On our left, at the top of the steps, were some 
 ruins of arches, said to be of a temple of Adonis, 
 erected by Domitian, with gardens adjoining. We 
 then passed along a narrow way, with high walls on 
 each side. On a gate on our right we saw a paper 
 upon which was written " Termi di Li via," and 
 we knocked, but no one came. So we went on, aloug 
 by the church and its shrines, till we came into a 
 still narrower path with still higher walls, with now 
 and then a gate, peeping through which, we could 
 see ruins ; but no one would let us in. We passed 
 a group of French soldiers, sitting on the grass, at 
 some game, persevering resolutely, and quite beyond 
 U.'s patience, who was sure we should find no 
 
nOMAN JOURNAL. 273 
 
 outlet, jet walked on in her queenly gait, out of in- 
 dulgence to my persistence. U. was right ; there 
 was no outlet, and w^e were obliged to retrace all 
 our steps. I knocked at a great double-door of a 
 garden, on our return, as U. saw an old portress 
 sitting on the other side, and she admitted us. It 
 was a vast space within, partly cultivated with vege- 
 tables. On the left side was a semicircular con- 
 struction with niches — alternate square and arched 
 recesses. The arched ones were for statues, doubt- 
 less, and the square for frescoes or mosaics. At the 
 end of the field were lofty ruins of a curved shape. 
 An old man said this was the Sala di Augusto Im- 
 peratore, and a Hippodrome or race-course ; and 
 the high ruins were his theatre. Sunken panels of 
 square and oval form were cut in the roof of the 
 stone arches, and a little minute carving of the cor- 
 nices is left. We climbed up, and went through an 
 opening to the other side of the theatre-ruin. Below 
 us stretched out a richly cultivated plain, once the 
 Circus Maximus. On the right of the Hippodrome, 
 now the garden, is the Villa Palatina, standing on 
 the site of the Palace of Augustus. We sat down 
 in the sun, on a bank of flowers, and took out our 
 map of Rome, and concluded to go back, and find 
 the other entrance. We therefore passed under the 
 Arch of Constantine, upon which I was right glad to 
 see the original marble relief of that lovely outline 
 of the moon setting over the Tiber, which I long ago 
 saw in Miss Burley's volume of antique gems, by 
 
 12* 
 
274 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 Moses. It is broken now in many parts, but tlie 
 beauty and grace remain yet. We again lost our 
 way ; but at last discovered a tablet over a small 
 door, *' Alle Eovine del Palazzo de Cesari," and we 
 joyfully entered. An English lady, with her port- 
 folio and camp-stool, followed us. We found a very 
 lofty flight of steps, which took us up into a vesti- 
 bule, turning to the right. This was frescoed, and 
 surrounded with low stone seats, and contained an- 
 other staircase. We strolled about, above, among 
 arches, round towers, chambers, halls, and recesses, 
 gathermg purple flowers (efflorescent loyalty, in 
 tiie very home and centre of kingly pomp), and bay- 
 leaves, with which to crown Caesar's brow, and ivy 
 and laurestinus — and admiring v/ithout end tlie 
 magnificent views on every side of the lordly Pala- 
 tine, the Campagna, and the Alban and Sabine hills, 
 whitened with snow — and Eome within these lovely 
 bounds. 
 
 March 25th. — I was interrupted in my record more 
 than a week ago, and now I am crowded with a 
 multitude of events. The Prince Piombino sent us 
 a ticket of admission to his villa, the Yilla Ludovisi, 
 long ago, and we availed ourselves of it to-day. It 
 is close by our Palazzo Larazani, leading up from 
 the Piazza Barberini, by the Yia Basilio. Upon 
 entering the gate, avenues and enchanting vistas 
 opened on every side, but we went first to the Casino 
 of Sculpture. There are two rooms in this small 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 275 
 
 casino, sown thick with richest gems of art. Thero 
 is a Venus coming from the bath, with a most lumi- 
 nous smile curving her mouth into a splendor of 
 beauty, without any movement of the muscles of her 
 face. There is often an insipidity of perfection in 
 the lines of the mouth of the Yenuses. But in this 
 a sweetness and an archness combined — a full, free 
 wave of light — give more piquancy to the expression 
 than I have before seen. It is the foam-born god- 
 dess. There is the sparkle, the motion, the trans- 
 lucency of water in her form and attitude. She is en- 
 tirely beautiful, and there is an Olympian nobleness 
 in her air. A sitting statue of the philosopher Zeno 
 is good, and there are many admirable busts of the 
 Emperors. I have now become perfectly acquainted 
 with Julius Caesar, Hadrian, the good Trajan, the 
 pious Antonine, the beautiful, noble, and good Mar- 
 cus Aurelius, the superb and wicked Commodus, 
 the ugly monsters Caligula and Nero, the handsome 
 and repulsive Claudian family, and Augustus, boy 
 and man. I know also the earnest Demosthenes, 
 the keen, intellectual Cicero, beautiful Euripides, 
 our dear old Socrates, and Phocian, whom Plutarch 
 made me love — Marc Antony and Lepidus. Marc 
 Antony has a very strong head and face, with im- 
 mense force of will in it — Lepidus is weak, with small 
 features. He stands opposite the powerful Marc 
 Antony, in the curved transept of the Braccio Nuovo 
 in the Vatican — and Augustus is between them. 
 There they are, the triumvirate, perfectly life-like. 
 
2:0 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 How could so insignificant, puny a person as Lepi- 
 duR be united with such mighty powers as Augustus 
 and Antony ? 
 
 Augustus 
 Lepidus Mabc Antony 
 
 How Httle I once thought I should ever see these 
 persons ! But I am not at the Vatican now. In the 
 inner room of the Casino is the far-famed Ludovisi 
 Juno. The simplicity of this Juno — the absence of 
 all attempt at effect, may strike one with surprise at 
 its fame for the first moment, and lead one to prefer 
 the other. Yet I was impressed immediately with 
 the pure grandeur and majesty of this. It beams 
 with a broad, steady, calm effulgence. Light tran- 
 quilly forms itself into this Queen of Olympus. The 
 lines and curves are all as soft and round as a baby's, 
 yet grand with intellect, and serene command. It 
 seems to rise as one looks at it — to rise and unfold 
 and bloom — a vast Lily of the White Ray, combin- 
 ing all the seven other rays — a thousand times 
 Queen and Goddess. No effect is drawn from nobly 
 arranged drapery ; for it is the head only. The hair 
 is folded away from the clear brow, and surmounted 
 with a diadem, and from this a long curling tress 
 hangs behind each ear. This Juno could never be 
 angry. Eternal repose has crystallized into marble, 
 yet it is also a controlling energy. 
 
 On each side the door are wonderful works. One 
 is Mars at rest, the other a Hero, taking his ease. 
 
nOMAJS' JOURNAL. 277 
 
 Mars is famous, but I prefer the Hero. The head 
 and face of the last are more noble, I thmk, and the 
 attitude of the head graceful and fascinating. He 
 sits upon the ground and leans forward, supporting 
 his right hand with his sword, while his left hand 
 and arm are thrown upon his right knee, which is 
 raised. The position is so balanced, that one sees 
 he might sit there forever, and rest forever, and 
 therefore it conveys an impression of comfortable 
 peace. Mars clasps the left knee with both hands, 
 and at his right foot a little Cupid sits laughing. He 
 certainly has le hel air, and it is glorious sculpture. 
 
 There is a group near Mars called Orestes and 
 Electra, when they meet after their long separation ; 
 but it is also suggested that it is Penelope taking 
 leave of Telemachus, when he is going to seek his 
 father. I am inclined to believe it is Penelope. 
 There is a mother's love in her face — a tender, fond, 
 admiring look, as if she commended his enterprise — 
 a matronly dignity and sacred purity ; and the ac- 
 tion is gentler than that of Electra would be, who 
 suddenly should recognize her brother. There 
 would be rapture in Electra. In this face and figure 
 is quiet, deep love. This youth is also much shorter 
 and smaller than the female form, as I think Orestes 
 would not be. A gentle, home-like, tranquil dignity 
 is in the noble woman, and she is fully and richly 
 draped, like a matron. 
 
 There is also a large group, which may be Psetus 
 and Arria. I immediately thought of it. Arria has 
 
2r8 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 already pierced her own bosom, and is falling, held 
 up by the arm of Paetus, who is thrusting the knife 
 into his heart. It is very powerful. 
 
 A bronze bust of Julius Caesar is remarkably fine. 
 It is singular that it reminded me of Mr. Wm. 
 Henry C. It is almost Mr. C.'s portrait. 
 
 After two hours here, we walked about the exten- 
 sive and delightful gardens, till we came to the 
 Casino of the Prince and Princess, in which is Guer- 
 cino's Aurora. It is rather harsh-looking after 
 Guido's, but upon patient study, there is found 
 great beauty and expression in it. We mounted to 
 the Belvedere, and saw therefrom a magnificent 
 view of Home and its environments. We then 
 visited the gardens of Sallust, which are included 
 within the Prince Piombino's grounds, and we saw 
 a strange little grotto. I could not but wonder that 
 I was in the gardens of Sallust. 
 
 March 26th. — We went to-day to see the Pope 
 pray at St. Peter's. He prays there every Friday 
 during Lent. I thought it would be a good, quiet 
 time to see his face, which I had not yet done. In 
 due time a great many attendants arrived, with 
 various-colored, long-bodied, old-fashioned coats, 
 trimmed richly with pie-colored borders, and three- 
 cornered hats upon their heads. They looked like 
 sudden apparitions out of an old picture-book of 
 ancient costumes. They arranged themselves in 
 lines from the chief entrance, edging the crowd with 
 
ItOMAN JOURNAL. 279 
 
 their finery. Tlien followed the Swiss Guard, a body 
 of stalwart young men. Their dress is entirely pe- 
 culiar — trousers full to the knee like a Turk's, with 
 a tunic — in stripes of bright yellow, red, blue, and 
 white. The dress is made of separate strips of cloth 
 of the pure colors, so that a battalion of them looks 
 very gorgeous and harlequiny. These gay tulips 
 lined the way quite to the chapel. The space before 
 the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, to which the 
 Pope would come first, was left wholly free for his 
 Holiness. Near the gate was placed a prie-dieUy 
 covered with crimson velvet and gold, as was the 
 floor beneath — and crimson velvet cushions were ar- 
 ranged for him to kneel upon and to rest his arms. 
 We patiently waited a long time, and at last a stir 
 announced the entrance of the Pontifex Maximus. 
 He was preceded and followed by Cardinals, dressed 
 to-day in violet robes, significant of mourning, just as 
 all the pictures are veiled during Lent in violet. The 
 Pope was arrayed in white silk, with red shoes and 
 a red mantle. 1 do not know why he also was not 
 in violet, unless he is to be presumed beyond peni- 
 tence and mourning. He was, however, without 
 tiara, and only a white silk skull-cap, and his aspect, 
 and that of all his suite, was grave and sad. I saw 
 him very well as he passed me. His face is benign 
 and comely, and every few seconds he blessed the 
 crowd by a motion of his right hand, and a slight 
 bend of the head, at once majestic and gracious. If 
 one could only believe him a perfect saint and virtu- 
 
280 NOTES ZzY ITALY. 
 
 ally the Head of the Church, this would have been 
 very impressive. He made a deep obeisance to the 
 Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, where he believed 
 God was present in the wafer, and then he knelt on 
 the crimson-velvet cushion, and the Cardinals knelt 
 behind and on each side of him ; and profound 
 silence fell over all while they prayed. Every 
 Catholic was on his knees, with moving lips". As 
 soon as the Pope rose, there was a rush for the next 
 prie-dieUj prepared in front of St. Peter's shrine. 
 We stood close by the ever-burning lamps, and the 
 same ceremony was repeated, watched and guarded 
 by a military band. I at first thought these mailed 
 and halberded soldiers symbolized the Church Mili- 
 tant. But they are merely the attendants of the 
 temporal prince, as the Pope claims to be King and 
 Imperador, as well as Pontifex. 
 
 March 31st. — Mrs. "W. sent this morning to invite 
 me to drive with her in the afternoon, and she came 
 for me at two o'clock. We returned to her house in 
 the Piazza di Spagna, and took in Mr. W. and H., 
 and drove to the Villa Borghese. This is a very 
 large and enchanting domain, and the prince lib- 
 erally permits the public to frequent it at will every 
 day after twelve o'clock. It has groves, deeply 
 shaded avenues, lovely meadows, fountains, wide 
 prospects, wild-flowers, stone-pines, casinos of sculp- 
 ture and painting, and profound quiet. We alighted 
 from the barouche ; and H., looking like a crocus in 
 
BOMAN JOURNAL. 281 
 
 lier striped purple and white silk dress and ribbons, 
 strayed off into one of the sunny meadows, and 
 gathered a bouquet of pale-blue violets. I thought 
 of Proserpine in the Yale of Enno — but checked 
 myself when I remembered the result of that. On 
 the border of one of the avenues was a row of stone- 
 pines ; and it was pleasant to see the enthusiasm of 
 Mr. W. for them. It was so gi'eat that it served for 
 us all. Their lofty curves, marked on the upper 
 azure, certainly have a peculiar charm. In a land- 
 scape by Turner, in the Marlborough House, I saw 
 one so perfectly painted, that these living ones 
 seemed quite familiar to me. All about the grounds 
 were marble busts and statues, which, even in this 
 clear climate, have lost their brilliancy. It is melan- 
 choly to know that it is not possible for the owners 
 of these superb villas to reside in them in summer, 
 on account of the malaria ; so they are wasted when 
 in theL -^mplete beauty. What a strange and mys- 
 terious retribution upon the Empress of the World 
 is the malaria ! It is said to be increasing and en- 
 croaching, so that Kome will finally be left desolate, 
 a sign and a portent to the nations. 
 
 In reading the history of Eome, I feel as if the 
 Campagna were all steeped in human blood, and 
 filled with human bones and dust, as indeed it must 
 be. I have heard that one cannot sit down on the 
 grass in the Campagna, anywhere over its whole 
 extent, without finding, just beneath the flowers and 
 turf, these human bones, excepting where there are 
 
282 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 ruins of dwellings. It has been thick with life, and 
 now it is thick with death, and Death is chasing all 
 that remains of Life from these regions. 
 
 After exploring the Borghese grounds, we drove 
 to the Forum and Coliseum, and to the Pyramid of 
 Caius Cestius, in the line of the city walls. It is in 
 perfect preservation, covered with plates of white 
 marble, and its apex as sharp as if just pointed, 
 though it has pierced the air for at least two thou- 
 sand years. Mr. W. and I left the carriage to see 
 the tomb of Keats ; for the Protestant burial-ground 
 is at the foot of the Pyramid. There is a white 
 marble headstone, with " Here lies a young English 
 Poet" upon it, and no name. The hillock over the 
 body is still rounded, and covered with flowers, 
 which seem to be carefully tended. Shelley's grave 
 is close by, but we could get no admittance to it ; 
 and we could not go into the Pyramid to-day, be- 
 cause the custode was not there. It has a small 
 chamber in the centre, with arabesques that still 
 retain their bright colors. 
 
 We then went into an old church, in which was an 
 enormous Mask, called La Bocca della Verita. On 
 each side of the nave were ancient columns of various 
 orders, rifled from pagan temples. The floor was 
 of mosaic. Two marble pulpits, on each side the 
 choir, were of the remotest Christian times. They 
 are called ambones, I believe. The mosaic is AleX' 
 andrian work. The name of the church is Santa 
 Maria in Cosmedia, and it stands where once stood 
 
BOMAN JOURNAL. 2S3 
 
 a temple of Ceres and Prosei*pine, from wliicli the 
 columns, and perhaps the pavement, were taken. 
 The lovely temple of Vesta is close by, and also that 
 of Fortuna Yirilis, which is exceedingly small, but 
 perfectly beautiful in its proportions ; and opposite 
 to it is the house of Rienzi, the last of the Tribunes. 
 Pilate is said to have lived in it. 
 
 We then drove over the Pons Cestius (St. Bar- 
 tholomew's Bridge) to the Island of the Tiber, now 
 entirely covered with houses. In Roman history 
 I have read a story of a ship having been sent to 
 Greece for a statue of Esculapius, as a charm 
 against the pestilence, and that when it arrived in 
 the Tiber, a living snake, whose form Esculapius 
 assumed, glided out of the ship into the island and 
 hid itself among the thickets, and a temple was 
 erected to Esculapius on the spot. Substructions 
 of this very temple now remain ; but they are built 
 upon by modern houses. The island was faced with 
 rock, and made in the shape of a ship, and an 
 Egyptian obelisk was put up in the centre, to repre- 
 sent a mast. A hospital now stands on the site of 
 the temple of Esculapius. 
 
 We afterward drove to Santa Maria in Trastevere, 
 a large, old church, with a stately nave, bordered 
 by ancient granite columns. One of the chapels 
 was prepared for Domenichino to paint in fresco ; 
 and in one corner of an arch he commenced with a 
 little cherub, and then he fell ill and died. No other 
 hand has carried on the work. The little cherub 
 
284 NOTES IjV ITALY. 
 
 remains alone, as we saw, surrounded with the 
 empty panels. There was something inexpressibly 
 affecting in these void spaces, watched over by the 
 cherub. 
 
 Finally we drove to St. Peter's, where we in- 
 tended to hear Yespers. There was a dense crowd 
 round the gate of the choral chapel ; but we patient- 
 ly waited two hours, and then crushed in and ob- 
 tained seats in front. The music was divine to-day. 
 It was a Miserere, and gave us a foretaste of the 
 Miserere we shall hear in the Sistine Chapel by and 
 by. They had the triangle of lights, and extinguished 
 them one by one, after each chant, and then a priest 
 took down the candle from the apex, and hid it be- 
 hind the altar. Yiolet curtains were drawn over the 
 windows. All the Canons of St. Peter's, and all the 
 acolytes, and one Cardinal, in violet robes, knelt 
 down, and a wonderful voice rose upon the silence 
 and rich gloom, like a pure crystal jet of translucent 
 water, and then curved and fell to rise again. " Mise- 
 ra, Misera !" It fell into a sea of sad voices com- 
 posed of the whole choir, and then rose out of them 
 again and again, far into the lofty dome, as if seeking 
 heaven with its cry for pity. The responses of the 
 Canons were so dissonant and loud that I was 
 shocked and shaken by each uproar ; but I had 
 never conceived any sound so eloquent, sweet, and 
 pathetic as the single miraculous voice. I could not 
 dream of anything superior to it then. 
 
 It was dark at the close of the music, and the 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 285 
 
 balcony over the statue of St. Veronica was lighted 
 up, because there was to be an exhibition of relics — 
 a portion of the true cross, and the handkerchief 
 St. Veronica gave our Saviour to wipe his brow, when 
 he passed, bearing his cross, on the Avay to Calvary. 
 All we could see at such a distance was a very superb 
 and glittering frame to each of these relics, which 
 seemed to be all gold and precious stones. The fad- 
 ing twilight in the vast basilica was very impressive 
 and grand. The multitude knelt when the priest held 
 up the glittering treasures ; and the prostrate throng, 
 the illuminated balcony, the lofty arches receding in 
 the darkness, the apparently endless nave, made a 
 marvellous picture, such as can nowhere else be 
 seen. Aforetime, a cross, seven feet long, of bur- 
 nished metal, studded with the most brilliant lights, 
 was let down from the dome, the most glorious 
 imaginable sight, and powerful enough to kindle up 
 those wastes of space. But it was necessary to dis- 
 continue the custom, because the Americans and 
 English behaved so indecorously during the cere- 
 mony — walking about, laughing and talking aloud, 
 much to the horror of the devout worshippers, and 
 certainly very much to the discredit of the manners 
 and decency of both Protestant nations. I have no 
 patience with them, because I should have seen it 
 to-night, if they had shown proper respect to the 
 faith of the Bomans. As we left the Piazza, wq 
 looked back, and saw one solitary star risen directly 
 over the church, one star in the purest sky. Of 
 
286 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 course we could think only of the star that stood 
 over the place where the young Child lay. 
 
 On the 17th March (I must not omit to record) I 
 went with the children and Miss Shepard to the 
 Baths of Caracalla. We drove to the entrance, and 
 were admitted through a small window, rather than 
 a door, on the side of a great gate. An old man is 
 custode, and takes fees. He at first insisted upon 
 leading us to a bed of dehcious violets in one of the 
 mighty halls, saying " they were the violets of Cara- 
 calla!" Violets never were "of Caracalla," I am 
 very sure. One glance from his wicked eyes would 
 kill violets, for I know his evil scowl perfectly. We 
 found the various halls stupendous in size and 
 height, and the principal one really incredibly so. 
 I did not suppose that such an apartment was ever 
 roofed in. If the Emperor should sit at one end 
 npon a raised dais, he might think he w^ere ruling 
 over a kingdom within the four w^alls. A part of the 
 mosaic pavement has been uncovered within a short 
 time, and it must have been superb when in its full 
 polish and perfection. All round the hall it is of 
 the fish-scale pattern, very appropriate for baths. 
 In the centre there is another pattern, and the ceil- 
 ing was once an immense mosaic, but it has now 
 fallen, and lies in heaps npon the floor in huge 
 boulders — on account of the granite columns having 
 been unpardonably removed. The pavement is of 
 purple, green, white, and yellow marbles, and the 
 ceiling of black and white. The border close to the 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 287 
 
 walls is mixed of all the colors, producing the richest 
 effect, and the outside rim of pure white. 
 
 In the centre each oval is alternately of yellow, 
 white, and green ; the corners of the white are pur- 
 ple — of the green, yellow, and of the yellow, green. 
 
 All this was not in the style of the Florentine 
 mosaics, in which one color is one piece of pietra 
 dura, but each of these divisions is made up of 
 small bits, and it is all composed of marbles. The 
 purple is porphyry, the green is serpentine, and the 
 yellow is giallo antico. The walls of this apartment 
 were faced with marbles also, and columns of 
 alabaster and marble stood around, while marble 
 statues peopled the arcades and colonnades with 
 ideal beauty — gods and heroes ! And there they 
 would all have been now, and there would have been 
 the walls and ceiling, if man had not wantonly de- 
 stroyed them. I found one small room with a roof. 
 It is concave, paved with mosaics, and some of the 
 marble plates are still on the walls. This was prob- 
 ably the natatio, the swimming-bath — a private little 
 one — and delicious it must have been. Indeed, the 
 whole vast hall seems slightly concave. What if it 
 were once a mighty swimming-bath at times, when- 
 ever the Emperor chose to let loose his aqueduct 
 upon it ! 
 
 In a sort of tower there is a staircase which leads 
 to the top, and we went up, and walked about on the 
 passages made by the thickness of the walls. They 
 also are laid in mosaic. It was designed never to 
 
288 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 decay, certainly. The views from this summit are 
 beautiful, of the same unwearying objects in diifer- 
 ent relations — the Alban and Sabine Mountains, the 
 melancholy wastes of Campagna and Home, with its 
 domes and palaces — forever new, forever old — 
 fascinating beyond all other combinations of hill 
 and plain and city. I fell into infinite depths of 
 musing, as one must always do in the midst of 
 Boman ruins. It is certainly all right that Cara- 
 calla's baths should tumble and thunder down, and 
 startle Rome with fear and horror ; for they were 
 built up through the toil and agony of thousands of 
 captives, heathen and Christian, and revolting crimes 
 were daily committed to make them so sumptuous 
 for the tyrants who were to enjoy them. Thousands 
 to suffer and die that one might roam in state, 
 through miles of splendor, in cool comfort, and feast 
 his eyes on beauty! Under such a curse, these 
 stupendous structures could not stand. The very 
 stones must have longed to revenge the wrong, and 
 resist being placed in harmonious forms. 
 
 Since the ruling powers had no mercy, inanimate 
 nature must have sympathized with the oppressed 
 human creature, and I can almost fancy that there 
 was an inward exultation in the heart of the mighty 
 blocks when they hurled themselves crashingly from 
 their settings, where weary, suffering hands had 
 fixed them. If man turns his heart to stone, then 
 stones must contrive to have hearts to balance the 
 scales of divine justice. Flowers grew on tlio^je 
 
IIOMAN JOURNAL. 289 
 
 heights, springing out of the crumbling mosaic, as 
 tender and fresh and sweet as if there never had 
 been sin nor sorrow on the earth, or on the spot 
 where they grew. They seemed to me hke the gra- 
 cious smile of the patient. Eternal Father, whose in- 
 finite pity preserves the world in its orbit, notwith- 
 standing its errors and relapses. They suggested 
 the loving mercy with which He waits for His prodi- 
 gal sons, ready to take them into His arms when 
 they arise and go to Him. 
 
 J and I straj^ed all about, while the others 
 
 sat still ; for they did not care to search for treas- 
 ures. We found some marbles and bits of mosaic 
 for memorials, and discovered wonderful subterra- 
 nean recesses and rooms. Perhaps some of them 
 were for heating water, but we did not know what 
 they were for. We saw some broken columns and 
 finely- wrought capitals, and at last we opened into 
 a covered apartment, where a great many sculptures 
 were placed, that had been collected about the ruiiis 
 — pieces of figures, heads, vases, and morsels of 
 architectural carvings. I asked the old custode 
 whether these relics were his ; and he replied, " No — 
 sono di Pio Nono." 
 
 The atmosphere was transcendent that day, and 
 
 on the way home, J and I delayed at the Arch 
 
 of Constantine to sketch a bas-relief of the moon 
 rising over the Tiber, in the same style as that of 
 the moon setting — of which I made mention before, 
 and which is on the other end of the arch. 
 
 13 
 
290 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 On the 18tli of March we went to the Temple of 
 Vesta the first thing. The original roof of this is 
 lost, and replaced by one as ugly as possible ; but 
 otherwise it is as perfectly beautiful in form as ever, 
 though discolored by the storms of centuries. It is 
 of Parian marble, once pure white — a small circular 
 cella, surrounded by a colonnade of Corinthian fluted 
 pillars. One column only has fallen. A woman 
 admitted us. It consists within of one simple 
 apartment about twenty feet in diameter, lined with 
 white marble. I never saw anything built by human 
 hands so simple and so lovely. Oh the divine sobriety 
 of Grecian art ! What a pattern for manners ! It 
 seems like a flower. I wonder why some one of the 
 Popes has not put on a proper roof, instead of allow- 
 ing these rude tiles to remain, like a rough cover to 
 a daintily finished casket. It deserves either fit 
 restoration, or the right of being an untouched ruin. 
 It stands close upon the banks of the Tiber, which 
 must have overflowed it many times, and I doubt 
 not it is the very temple spoken of by Horace, built 
 by Numa, ages ago. When it first rose there in its 
 spotless purity, it must have been a fair type of a 
 vestal virgin. Within full view of this pearl of 
 beauty is the temple of Fortuna ViriUs, a ver}^ small 
 parallelogram, surrounded with fluted Ionic columns, 
 with a portico in front. It is made of Travertine 
 and is a perfect specimen of the Ionic order. The 
 Greek forms have for me a mighty charm still, 
 though I thought I never could be so much carried 
 
ROMAN JOURNAL. 291 
 
 away by them, after being steeped in the glorious 
 Gothic so thoroughly. But the understanding, as 
 well as the imagination, must have its sign. 
 
 Near to this Fortuna Yirilis is a fabric we had 
 not yet seen — with four sides — Janus Quadrifrons. 
 It is a most solid and potent building, which must 
 stand during the forever of this world, I am sure, as 
 unmoved and immovable as it already has stood 
 since Septimius Severus. The blocks of marble are 
 enormous. It is no doubt Elruscan. The Etruscans, 
 and the race they were of, easily moved mountains 
 about, it is plain to see. In the centre is a vaulted 
 roof. The earth has accumulated around it to such 
 a height, that it is now in a hollow, and it has evi- 
 dently been dug out ; for the inundations of the 
 Tiber set so much soil afloat, that new levels were 
 constantly formed. These four arched fronts must 
 have faced four streets. We were in the Yelabrum 
 — the Forum Boarium. There are many Forums, 
 though I once supposed there was but one, the ever 
 most illustrious Bom an Forum. 
 
 Near Janus Quadrifrons, is another small arch, 
 very much ornamented with sculptures. An inscrip- 
 tion testifies that it was erected to Septimius Severus 
 and his wife and children. 
 
 We then retraced our steps to the Ponte Botto, 
 which is a re-erection of the Pons Emilius, from 
 which Heliogabalus was thrown into the Tiber. 
 The great Scipio Africanus and the stupid Mummius 
 finished it from a beginning by Lepidus ar d some 
 
292 NOTES IN ITALY, 
 
 consul. Standing upon this, we looked along the 
 river, and saw the ruins of the illustrious bridge 
 Sublicius, upon which Horatius Codes did such good 
 battle against Porsenna, and then destroyed it — or 
 rather, the Romans destroyed it at his command. 
 
 We passed over the Ponte Rotto into the Traste- 
 vere, and walked a long way to St. Peter's. We had 
 heard that the Romans of this region were finer and 
 nobler looking than any others, and claimed to be 
 descended from the pure, ancient race. We did not 
 observe much difference to the others in those whom 
 we met in the streets. Very many of the people 
 have a kingly air and step, all over Rome. We en- 
 tered St. Peter's, where I alone remained to see the 
 five newly-appointed Cardinals pray at the two holy 
 shrines — that of the Sacrament and of St. Peter. 
 While I waited, people began to collect to see the 
 ceremony, and purple-robed priests, with lace tunics, 
 came out of the choral chapel, and knelt down near 
 me to pray. I had my tiny sketch-book, and caught 
 one of them exactly. In the midst of his prayer, 
 when, in my own sincerity, I supposed him wrapt in 
 devotion, away from all sublunary needs, he shocked 
 me by taking out his snuff-box, and making himself 
 jolly Avith a pinch. It seemed as if something must 
 happen at such a disturbance of the divine economy 
 and order ; but the grand space and silence swallowed 
 up this portentous irreverence, as if it were a very 
 little thing. And, in truth, the priest only injured 
 himself, and could not disturb the true worship and 
 
MOMA^^ JOURNAL. 293 
 
 sublimity- of devotion of those who really prayed. 
 And so my own private tourhiUon at this incident 
 subsided in presence of the majestic calm pervading 
 the temple. Processions of nuns passed in remote 
 distances of the nave — processions of young acolytes 
 also, in various costumes — all kinds of monks and 
 churchmen, each body in a different habit, as well 
 as multitudes of ecclesiastical schools, in peculiar 
 dresses. Each group was occupied with its own 
 separate duty, and there was abundance of room for 
 thousands of groups more. 
 
 At last the grand entrance was flung open, and 
 the five new Cardinals,, in very new scarlet silk skull- 
 caps and violet robes, came in, attended by footmen 
 and prelates, and knelt at a prie-dieu, side by side. 
 One of them was quite young — an unusual thing. 
 
 I observed all at once that I was rather ofiiciously 
 attended by a stranger Italian, who seemed to feel 
 bound to suggest to me a good place to stand ; and 
 as I could not possibly get rid of him, I became rather 
 alarmed, and left the church at once, and took a 
 carriage home, resolving not to be quite alone again. 
 I think he must have been a spy. 
 
 March 20th is memorable for a charming walk 
 which I took with little K. to the Temple of Peace, 
 the Coliseum, the Coelian Hill, and the Forum. It 
 was a glorious blue and gold afternoon, and we 
 sauntered along very slowly. I meant to play in the 
 Temple of Peace with E., to fulfil a prophecy of my 
 
294 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 very dear friend S. A. C, who said to me years ago, 
 when I could not dream of such an event, " that my 
 children would one day play in the Temple of Peace." 
 But now it was so full of boys, and also so defiled, 
 that E. was disgusted. She enjoj^ed, however, the 
 magnificent arches — the richly-sculptured capitals, 
 bases, and architraves lying about upon the ground ; 
 and then we went on to the Coliseum, where the de- 
 vout were kissing the black cross in the centre ; and 
 then to the Coelian, where I sat upon a marble seat, 
 in view of the Palatine, while R. gathered daisies on 
 the lawns, and I mused about Etruria, because 
 Etruscans settled on this hill in the far-off times, 
 and, as I believe, were the most civilized race of 
 Italy before Bome was built. 
 
n. 
 
 JOUKNEY OF EIGHT DAYS FKOM EOME 
 TO ELOEENCE. 
 
 CiviTi. Castellana, May 24th, 1858. 
 We left Rome this morning at eight o'clock. The 
 weather was then fine, thongh, earlier, there was a 
 fog. We had a nice old vetturino, Gaetano by name, 
 who looked like a good New England farmer, with a 
 face placid and gentle, and not at all Italian in color 
 or expression. Our carriage was of the usual long 
 and cumbersome fashion, with seats inside for four, 
 and a coupe in front for two^n the form of a chaise — 
 and in front of the coupe, a box for the vetturino. 
 Our luggage was bestowed upon the top, and behind, 
 reaching out many a rood, so that with four, and 
 sometimes six horses, we have the effect of an endless 
 arrangement of human affairs. We drove out of the 
 Porta del Popolo, the old Elaminian gate, leading 
 upon the Elaminian Way, and we were detained five 
 minutes for the examination of our passports. I felt 
 an extraordinary and unexpected regret at leaving 
 Rome, and if it had been a final departure, I should 
 
298 NOTES IX ITALY. 
 
 have been almost inconsolable, — so potent and pro- 
 found is the hold this '*citj of the soul" has upon 
 the mind. A great crowd appeared afar off on the 
 road, and it proved to be regiments of infantry, artil- 
 lery, and cavalry, all marked No. I. We could 
 fancy them either the Eoman legions, returning from 
 a memorable victory (for the music-bands were in 
 full play), or a saucy army coming to attack the 
 "Mother of Empires," before they were "dead." It 
 was a grand spectacle, but they stirred up a suffoca- 
 ting cloud of dust, which was all that remained with 
 us for the pageant. 
 
 Pretty soon we began to see the identical pavement 
 of the old Flaminian Way, by the side of the compar- 
 atively modern road. It is not very broad, but very 
 perfect, composed of large flag-stones, as much as a 
 foot and a half wide, and more than a foot thick, as 
 smooth as a marble church-floor, and carefully joined. 
 It is a wonder of skill and faithful finish, and a stu- 
 pendous work, considering its length from Home to 
 Soracte ! Rome could never have done such vast 
 things if she had not broken up kingdoms to do them, 
 and brought captive to her throne hundreds of thou- 
 sands of peoples, gentle as well as simple, to accom- 
 plish her will. I am surprised that the Popes do 
 not lay open this masterpiece of human hands and 
 heads, through its whole extent, though I fear some 
 of its admirably fitted blocks have already been 
 removed to build other structures, which is a foolish 
 and stupid act, if it be so. Yet such ruin of the 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 2i)7 
 
 most precious memorials to the classic scliolar is 
 constantly brought about by Popes and modern 
 Princes. How impious in this way are the Piuses, 
 how merciless the Clements, how unblest the Bene- 
 dicts ! I looked upon this road with absorbing in- 
 terest. There is something that contents, or rather 
 that is satisfactory to man's right royal demand for 
 incredible deeds, in these Boman relics. It is not 
 the triumph of our pride, so much as the proof of 
 our possibilities, that gratifies one. The Romans had 
 the will and the might — virtue — as they understood 
 it — according to their acceptation of the word. If 
 there were will and might — virtue according to Christ, 
 what could not be done ? 
 
 Ten or more miles from Rome we still saw the 
 dome of St. Peter's on the horizon, and there were 
 miles and miles of the fair and fatal Campagna, ex- 
 tending every way, plain and rolling, deliciously 
 green — a green, and not " a whited sepulchre." We 
 passed a great many crumbling tombs, and mediaeval 
 towers ; but Gaetano, our vetturino, did not know 
 their histories. 
 
 By and by, Soracte began to appear — Byron's 
 *' long swept wave," that " pauses in its curl." As 
 we came nearer, we found it to be a vast rock, and 
 Byron, as usual, to be correct in his description of it. 
 It does indeed look like a suddenly petrified, enor- 
 mous heap of waves, about to foam and fall hun- 
 dreds of feet. It " hangs pausing." It is " the 
 lone Soracte's height," and is one of the nota- 
 
 13* 
 
208 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 ble and beautiful objects on the horizon in Rome, 
 and here we were almost at its base. It is called 
 Sant'Oreste now, and on its ragged summit is a con- 
 vent in the name of St. Sihestro, which pilgrims 
 chmb up to visit. The view from it must be glo- 
 rious. The Temple of Apollo, sung of by Yirgil, 
 was on this site, two thousand feet, at least, above 
 the sea. Saint Oreste is also a to"\vn on an eminence 
 near the mountain, once the Etruscan Feronia. 
 There is an old grotto on the side of the mighty 
 crag, and deep clefts, out of which oracle-inspiring 
 gases still gush. There ought to be tripods there, 
 upon which any one might sit and be a sibyl or a 
 prophet for a time. 
 
 We stopped to lunch at Castel Nuovo at twelve 
 o'clock, our first stage. It is a small village in the 
 Boracic-acid region, told about by Murray ; but I 
 do not care about boracic acid in Italy, and as I did 
 not see the works, I let them pass. The inn was 
 a strange old place, and in the inner vestibule there 
 was an altar or cippus of white marble, beautifully 
 carved, a bay or olive tree in bas-relief in the centre 
 of the side, and a lovely device round the edges. It 
 is now put to the base use of a leg to a table, for 
 upon it is a stone slab upon which people eat and 
 drink. We were led into a large apartment, paved 
 with bricks, in diamond shape, and the ceiling high 
 and frescoed, and two long tables on each side. At 
 one of them we had our lunch. Gaetano is our 
 commissary, and we have nothing to do with order- 
 
ROME TO FLOREXCE. 299 
 
 ing our food. He gave us to-daj beefsteak, ome- 
 lette, bread and cheese, and wine, all of excellent 
 quality. We neither order nor pay at the moment 
 for anything, for he is also our purser, being paid 
 finally the amount first agreed upon for the whole 
 journey, which is very comfortable, and relieves 
 us from all care and imposition. 
 
 After lunch we all went out, and descended into a 
 valley — the children far down, but we sat on the 
 grass in a shady place near the entrance. I gath- 
 ered the prettiest little bouquet in the world, of all 
 the colors. ****** 
 
 We left Castel Nuovo at two o'clock. On the 
 way, the mountain Soracte took every form — some- 
 tiaies a round, sometimes a conical, and oftener a 
 long, crested shape. The dells and profound valleys 
 on each side of our road, were wonderful for beauty 
 and richness. For a great distance the high cause- 
 way was apparently built up from an exceedingly 
 deep vale — by Romans, of course ; for who else 
 would dream that such a stupendous work could be 
 done ? Just fancy a wide plain between lofty ranges 
 of mountains, and fancy the conception of piling 
 up, in the centre of it, a foundation for a road, five 
 hundred feet from the plain ! This seems to have 
 been done. The roads are all perfect that we have 
 yet travelled upon here — hard and smooth, and this 
 road over the valley entirely straight. Some of them 
 are paved, though not in the Flaminian style, but 
 all in consummate order. How can I write down the 
 
300 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 flowers ? The hedges and fields bum with poppies 
 of the brightest scarlet, and they have an effect 
 among the green grass and shrubbery, which an un- 
 travelled American can in no wise imagine. Scarlet 
 is so satisfying, so triumphant a color, like the 
 sound of a trumpet (as a blind man described it), 
 that to see it spread over consecutive miles of coun- 
 try, quite overwhelmed me with joy and gratitude ; 
 and, contrasting it, the pure gold of the broom is 
 sumptuous, and a nameless, lowly purple-blossom 
 clothed the ground with royal robes, varied with 
 daisies and buttercups, as embroidery. One large 
 field might truly have been called " the field of the 
 cloth of gold," for, from a distance, there was no 
 break in the yellow hue ; just as sometimes the pop- 
 pies are one suffusion of fiery red. It is not here 
 and there, but everywhere. The sweetbrier contrib- 
 utes its delicate beauty to the waysides with long 
 wreaths of pale, pink roses. We are perpetually 
 accompanied by the lovely mountain-ranges, and 
 as the afternoon deepened, they took soft and airy 
 tints, seen only in Italy. As we were happily look- 
 ing forth on such a profusion of beauty and splen- 
 dor of light and space, it was sad to see a long car- 
 riage full of prisoners, who had no outlook — not a 
 crack, and who had only small openings in the roof 
 of their prison, partly shaded by extinguishers, for 
 breathing. In front sat two dragoons, and the vet- 
 turino. This melancholy carriage we saw three 
 times, aijd I was suffocated and miserable at the 
 
R03IE TO FLOREKGE. COl 
 
 sight. Gaetano called it a carccllaria. They might 
 at least have had grated windows. I cannot bear to 
 see anything alive boxed up. No matter what a 
 man has done, he ought to have air and light while 
 he has life, even if he have forfeited his freedom. 
 Air and light cannot make him worse, but probably 
 would make him better. Justice should not be angry 
 and revengeful with crime, but only careful that the 
 innocent should not suffer by it. 
 
 At half-past five we arrived at Civita Castellana, 
 and met near the entrance a line of donkeys, carry- 
 ing loads of hay. Very comical was the picture of 
 the short donkey, with Lis long ears and small fi'ont 
 presentment, with such a wide-spreading, high load ; 
 so immensely disproportioned. The hotel was a 
 large, respectable building, and we were agreeably 
 surprised at being ushered up into this enchanting 
 suite of rooms, opening ovit upon a broad, covered 
 terrace or loggia, which commands a magnificent 
 scene. Our apartments are in a row, and we are 
 quite by ourselves. Everything looks clean and 
 nice, and the prospect before us, who can describe ? 
 Now we see Italy, the Italy of song. It is also real 
 Italy, which no song can fully render — Byron's, 
 however, best. We never could have appreciated 
 Byron's genius if we had not come to Italy. He 
 came, saw, and became master or conqueror of the 
 land, by reproducing it in words. The truth of his 
 portraiture is marvellous. He was only thirteen or 
 fourteen days in Rome, and he not only looked at 
 
802 NOTES IN ITALY, 
 
 everything in that short time, but sung it as no one 
 else before or since has done. 
 
 From our loggia we look down into a deep ravine ; 
 and rocks of red tufa, perpendicular, and hundreds 
 of feet high, rise out of it, and form its sides, like 
 fortresses, overgrown and adorned with foliage of 
 trees and shrubs. From the summits of these para- 
 pets stretches a green campagna, with groves and 
 meadows, in smooth undulations, and far in the 
 middle distance lofty hills rise — some crowned wdth 
 cities ; and beyond these the grand mountains fill 
 the remote spaces, each one lovelier, as it climbs 
 higher and farther off into the pale blue and purple 
 and roseate abysses. An arched bridge spans the 
 defile, the limbs of the arches resting on the very 
 bottom of the gulf. Soracte is on the other side. I 
 have been trjdng to sketch, but just in the midst 
 dinner was announced, and took up the goldenest 
 hour between six and seven, and afterward it was 
 too late. 
 
 # * -X- * -Jf -x- 
 
 The moon is up now, and I have been on the ter- 
 race to see it, all having gone to walk except sleep- 
 ing little K. and myself. It is not a full moon, 
 and there is a clear but dark light, most magical and 
 mystical. How fortunate we are to have the moon- 
 light ! 
 
 Teeni. 
 
 May 25th. — "We arrived here at twelve o'clock, 
 having left Civita Castellana before six this morn- 
 
ROME TO FLOREKCE. 303 
 
 ing. We came to see the Falls of Terni ; but 
 it has rained all the afternoon, and we cannot stir 
 out — a pouring rain. It is necessary to walk a mile 
 after driving as far as possible, and so it is quite an 
 impracticable thing to-day. What a misfortune ! 
 We can see nothing from this Hotel delle Tre 
 Colonne excepting an old house, two feet from our 
 windows, and a man making a table at an open 
 casement. Not even a green leaf or a blade of grass. 
 
 We had a superb drive this morning, looking into 
 the vale of the Nar. The olive plantations are very 
 numerous, and grape-vines are trained to separate, 
 short trees, not far apart, so that, perhaps, when the 
 vines become long they are looped from one tree to 
 another, and make a continued canopy of grapes. 
 The olive-leaf is dull-green, just as we always know 
 it, and one side is silvery, so that when it flutters in 
 the breeze it looks paler than when in repose. It is 
 not a pretty tree at all. 
 
 We also passed the vale of the Nera and of the 
 Treja, and drove through the town of Narni, the 
 birthplace of Nerva. It is the Nequinum of the 
 Romans. It has a square castle, which is a prison 
 now. Near this old Umbrian city we looked down 
 into the lovel}^ vale^of the Nar. 
 
 We wished to go into the cathedral of Narni, be- 
 cause of a masterpiece of Lo Spagna — the Coro- 
 nation of the Madonna ; but we could not, as there 
 was no time. 
 
 We kept coming again upon the wonderful Fla- 
 
8Ci NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 minian Way, which goes farther than Soracte, I find ; 
 and along it we saw many more ruins of tombs ; 
 and we went through the village of Otricoli (Utri- 
 culum), the first Umbrian city that yielded to Rome. 
 There was the most extraordinary formation of rock. 
 It is volcanic — all the region is volcanic — and 
 seemed to be in distinct layers. Some of it was 
 horizontal, and some slanting one way and some 
 another, in opposite directions. We passed over a 
 fine bridge after leaving Otricoli, built by Augustus, 
 and now called the Ponte Felice, and then Bor- 
 ghetto appeared, with its old fortress. The scenery 
 upon the near approach to the town of Terni is in- 
 describably enchanting. It is singular that one of 
 the Bomans should have made these falls. It was 
 Curius Dentatus, the Sabine conqueror. I have read 
 all about it, but cannot stop to recount the matter. 
 
 Magnificent mountains, rich with foliage and cul- 
 tivation, swept down to the deliciously verdant vale, 
 along which a pale ghost of a river meandered. 
 The rivers of Italy seem a solution of white or yel- 
 low clay, and are nowhere clear and limpid. We saw 
 very many beds of rivers, long ago run past, or per- 
 haps never full, excepting after the melting of snows 
 on the heights. Close on the plains, beside the 
 river-beds, were ruins of towers, small castles, or 
 houses ; and just over the site of these buildings the 
 shrubbery was particularly luxuriant, as if the mem- 
 ories of the hearthstones were pleasant and flowery. 
 It was so, I remember, with the ruins of a small 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 805 
 
 temple or clmrcli in the Isle of Man. It stood in 
 tlie centre of a grass-field, and the walls remained 
 standing, while the roof was gone ; and it was so 
 full of rich plants and lovely trees, which towered 
 up over the broken edges, that it had the effect of 
 a gigantic vase of flowers, standing on an emerald 
 table. 
 
 SrOLETO. 
 
 May 26th. — We left Terni at six this morning, 
 which proved fair ; and our first stage was to this 
 town, where we breakfasted at twelve, our usual hour 
 for dejemier a la foiirchette. The first Bishop of Spo- 
 leto was a contemporary of St. Peter, Murray says. 
 It is a queer old town, with narrow streets and pic- 
 turesque Eoman gates, at one of which Hannibal was 
 repulsed, — and that one we have walked through or 
 passed under. It is of vast strength, and quite en- 
 tire, and has the ruin of a lion on one side, with a 
 lamb in its mouth. We have been to see the Ca- 
 thedral, which contains some fine pictures ; and over 
 the entrance is an ancient mosaic of Christ and the 
 Virgin and St. John. 
 
 A beautiful effect the aqueduct has, with its nu- 
 merous arches — spanning the deep vale between the 
 elevp^^'on upon which Spoleto stands and the moun- 
 * ti pi< Wixx '^aetano brought us into the city through 
 stop theto the ^ of acacias, and by a delightfully an- 
 i\_-St. Tb'^T^^ll of ruined watch-towers, that looked 
 as if tuey might have stood there since the founda- 
 tion of the world. 
 
306 NOTES IN ITALY, 
 
 FoLiGNO {Fulginium). 
 
 May 26tli. — "We left Spoleto at a little after two, 
 and arrived here early enough to take a walk about 
 the town. We climbed more than three thousand 
 feet to Monte Somna, by the aid of oxen, added to 
 our four horses. At Le Pene the Clitumnus rises, 
 which is the only translucent stream we have yet 
 seen in Italy. Byron has immortalized its purit}^ 
 as well as the " delicate temple" on its banks. The 
 temple has fluted Corinthian columns, and is very 
 small, facing the river. We saw " the milk-white 
 steer," and also a flock of lambs, passing over a fairy 
 arched bridge, the sweetest picture of peace and 
 innocence ; and it is singular that Byron's words 
 should prove so literally true at that moment. The 
 vale of Clitumnus is wonderfully beautiful, and in- 
 spired Yirgil to sing of it, and of its flocks and 
 steers, ages ago — and it sings itself also. The Via 
 riaminia again appears here ; and the town of 
 Montefalco is seen from the road, before we arrive 
 at Foligno — Foligno, the scene of so many earth- 
 quakes, and once the possessor of Kaphael's divine 
 Madonna (now in the Vatican), in which a thunder- 
 bolt is painted, descending upon the city. We 
 walked out, and visited the Cathedral. Itajeg"\ls 
 looked very bare, after being accustomed \o-^ the 
 richly-marbled walls of Boman churches. , p^^^e 
 were two half-ruined, red-marble lions at the en- 
 trance, and a sculptured Gothic front ; but the rest 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. GO? 
 
 of tlie edifice was painfully modernized and wliite- 
 wasbed. A little boy, witli one leg, followed us all 
 over the town, into all tlie churches, as if he were a 
 spy. He asked for nothing, but looked on and 
 grinned. We went into Santo Domenico, once cov- 
 ered with frescoes, also whitewashed nearly over noAv, 
 yet a few heads and groups are left of the ancient 
 paintings — heads of saints and angels. In Santa 
 Maria infra Portas we saw the ancient temple of 
 Diana, now a chapel, in which St. Peter and St. Paul 
 once said mass ; and on the wall is a very old paint- 
 ing, in a ruinous condition. It is beautifully arched, 
 and a deep-mullioned, small window remains on one 
 side. This, again, is another of those very small and 
 perfect temples of Greek design. All about the 
 church were frescoes saved from the general white- 
 wash, some of which were well worth study. 
 
 In this strange, weird, rambling old hotel, we are 
 to remain to-night. 
 
 Assist. 
 
 May 27th. — We left Foligno at six and passed the 
 town of Spello (Hispellum), whose treasures of art 
 we should have liked to go and see, but Gaetano 
 drove pitilessly by, as it was not in our contract to 
 stop there, and brought us to Assisi, so associated 
 with St. Francis. It is the native town of Metas- 
 tasio, and above all contains the works of Giotto, 
 in a large convent and church of St. Francis. xV 
 
a03 NOTES UT ITALY. 
 
 liorril^le, dirtj scout ran by the side of our carriage 
 for many miles ; and when we set forth to go and 
 see the town, he presented himself as guide. I told 
 him we did not want him, but he followed us just 
 the same, and went to the Cathedral with us and to 
 the Church of Santa Chiara. But then we made 
 the hostess dismiss him, and provide another guide, 
 who proved pleasant and intelligent, and was clean 
 and respectable. He went with us to the famous 
 convent and church. It has an upper and lower 
 part, beneath which is still a crypt, which contains 
 St. Francis' body. The middle part is deeply im- 
 pressive, with its Gothic vaultings and arcades, and 
 sombre light. It seemed perfectly dark w^hen we 
 passed from the sunshine into its nave, but after we 
 became more owlish, we could see a little. It is the 
 first specimen of Gothic architecture in this part of 
 Italy, and it is really delightful to see Gothic archi- 
 tecture after so much Greek and classic in Rome, 
 and elsewhere in Southern Europe. A Franciscan 
 priest was summoned by the guide, and he took us 
 first to the high altar, above which, on the ceiling, 
 are some of Giotto's masterpieces. There are four 
 compartments, illustrating the three virtues of St. 
 Francis — his poverty, chastity, and obedience — and 
 in the fourth is his apotheosis. We broke our necks 
 looking at these frescoes, but it was worth while. 
 They are astonishingly bright still, and full of beauty 
 and grace — especially the groups of angels round the 
 saint's throne. But it is impossible in such hurried 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 300 
 
 visits to immortal works, to give an adequate idea 
 of their character. Everything was gorgeous — all 
 the wood or stone work covered with rich, white 
 silk, embroidered with flowers, and every kind of 
 splendor — all culminating in the masterpieces of 
 Giotto above. We were not allowed much time to 
 stay, and followed the monk into some side-chapels, 
 of which I particularly remember one by Andrea del 
 Ingegno, and one by Dono Doni. That by Andrea 
 is covered by sibyls and prophets, grand and beau- 
 tiful, and so much admired by Raphael that he is 
 said to have imitated them in his sibyls of the Santa 
 Maria della Pace, in Rome. But it is a pretty bold 
 sa3'ing that Raphael imitated any one. Dono Doni 
 has illustrated the life and death of St. Stephen, 
 and I perfectly have in my mind the face of Stephen, 
 when he kneels to be stoned, with hands extended, 
 and turning a full, radiant countenance. It is in- 
 deed " as the face of an angel." With what won- 
 derful devoutness these ancient masters painted ! 
 They pray, they adore God, they deny themselves, 
 they live gloriously, — all with their pencil. They 
 painted religiously, and there is an expression in 
 the faces and figures nowhere else found, except- 
 ing in Raphael, who imbibed so deeply the spirit of 
 those men, and was their last expression. In what 
 is called the vestibule of the middle church, was a 
 chapel with locked gate, in which was a picture by 
 Perugino that seemed exceedingly beautiful, at tlio 
 distance we stood. I was surprised that the priest 
 
310 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 did not let us in, for we had apparently been ad- 
 mitted into all the holy places ; but perhaps they 
 are afraid of some sudden escapade, as it is a framed 
 painting, and not secure on the walls. In this ves- 
 tibule we saw some tombs, one reputed to be that 
 of the Cyprian Queen Ecuba, who gave a huge vase 
 of ultramarine to the church, for the painting of the 
 ceiling. The vase (which was there) is big enough 
 to hold sufficient ultramarine for the painting of the 
 sky itself, I should fancy. I should like to spend 
 weeks in looking at many frescoes that we could 
 only glance at. We then ascended to the upper 
 church, out of the crypt-like gloom of the middle 
 one, and it was like climbing into the New Jerusa- 
 lem, so light, so gorgeous, so lofty and airy is this 
 stately Gothic structure. The roof is painted by 
 Cimabue, and the walls by Giotto, Cimabue, and 
 Guinta da Pisa. Damp has very much injured a 
 great part of these frescoes ; but enough remains to 
 show how fine and brilliant they once were. The 
 life of St. Francis, and subjects from the Bible, are 
 represented. When I remarked upon the cheerful 
 splendor of the upper church, the priest said that it 
 was for festas, and the one beneath for prayer and 
 devotion. The windows are filled with painted glass, 
 which adds to the glowing effect. We did not go 
 down into the crypt. 
 
 In the Piazza of the town we saw the Temple of 
 Minerva, or rather its portico, with fiuted columns, 
 well preserved, and very beautiful — a little morsel 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 311 
 
 of Greece set down in tlie heart of the old Etruscan 
 town. We shall leave Assisi early, so as to go into 
 the great church of Santa Maria degl' Angeli, about 
 a mile from the town. 
 
 Peeugia. 
 
 May 27th. — We arrived in good season at this cel- 
 ebrated city, and Gaetano brought us to the Grande 
 Hotel de France, where we are very comfortable for 
 our two days* and nights' sojourn. Our journey 
 from Assisi was superb, as all our route has been. 
 We first drove to the vast Church of Santa Maria, 
 peculiarly interesting as associated with St. Francis. 
 In the very midst of it is the old, humble stone 
 chapel in which he established his order — once 
 frescoed all over, but now dimmed and faded, so that 
 scarcely a form can be made out. Fancy a defaced 
 hut built of stones, planted in the crossing of the 
 lofty arches of the transepts. Earthquakes have 
 once shaken down the vast superstructure (since 
 restored), but the lowly chapel remained unharmed. 
 Over the arch of its fa9ade, Overbeck has painted a 
 famous fresco of the vision of St. Francis, very bright, 
 and with one lovely face and figure. The old verger 
 took us into a tiny stanza, covered wath beautiful 
 majestic saints and seers by Lo Spagna, fellow-saints 
 of St. Francis ; but they are much faded and injured. 
 After we began to see in the dark little cell, divine 
 faces beamed upon us, with the usual sacred bend 
 of the devout heads and forms, so like prayers and 
 
313 NOTES IN ITALY, 
 
 praises, infinitely affecting and attractive. This is 
 preraphaelite painting, I suppose, as it was before 
 Raphael ; but what is called preraphaelite pain ting- 
 in England is not like this. Expression without 
 beauty, to be sure, we see in modern English pictures, 
 called by this name ; but all the religion is left out, 
 all the holy fervor, sincerity, and simplicity. Per- 
 haps I should not say the sincerity is left out ; but 
 the simplicity is — the single thought — the unselfish 
 aim. And the color in these ancient pictures is pure 
 and harmonious. It is a bouquet of flowers, a bit of 
 the rainbow, — a sunset, yet all flowing and blended. 
 It is also a carcanet of jewels. The holy artists did 
 not think it incumbent upon their truth and sincerity 
 to paint every hair on the skin, or the rough ferocity 
 of the weather-beaten, sunburnt comj)lexion — such 
 as I shrunk from in the galleries of England. In the 
 living subject. Nature contrives to avoid this shock- 
 ing bareness — but the prying modern artist seems 
 to take magnifying glasses to the human face, as well 
 as to the landscape — and bring to view what is veiled 
 from common sight. Oh, why does not some one 
 draw and engrave the divine creations of the old 
 masters in fresco, before they are all faded away ! 
 I should think Pio Nono would be better employed 
 in preserving such works from destruction than in 
 writing encyclical letters ; for I believe he would save 
 more souls by it. If any visible thing can win a soul 
 to Heaven, it is this embodied worship in spirit and 
 in truth. He wishes to take jewels from his tiara to 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 313 
 
 excavate treasures from Roman soil, and I should 
 be obliged to him if he would ; but I would thank 
 him more for sending the best artists all about Italy 
 to secure fi*om the walls these vanishing, irreplace- 
 able miracles of human genius, painted in awful 
 reverence and love and childlike faith, without a 
 thought of earthly fame. Lo Spagna, next to Ra- 
 phael, was the most eminent of the scholars of Pe- 
 rugioo. Andrea del Ingegno was another, he who 
 painted the sibyls and prophets, which Raphael so 
 much admired. Dono Doni painted the angelic face 
 of St. Stephen, which I lately saw, and Gentile da 
 Fabriano, whose picture of the Virgin with angels, 
 now in the Colonna Palace, we could not sufficiently 
 admire, was a predecessor of Perugino, and one of 
 the oldest masters of the Umbrian school. 
 
 After leaving this interesting church in a kind of 
 despair at its fading glories, our way lay through a 
 rich plain of Shinar, and during nearly the whole 
 route, we could see, on a lofty, distant mountain, the 
 city of Perugia, marked by a very high campanile 
 and a flush of red along the summit, caused by the 
 tiled roofs of the houses. I did not comprehend 
 how we were to attain this " city on a hill, which 
 could not be hid," unless our horses turned Pegasuses 
 or we became angels. Gaetano presently began to 
 prepare for the ascentby a deep and sonorous call, that 
 filled the air and the welkin ; and lie was responded 
 to by another far-reaching and powerful voice. He 
 called for oxen, and by the time we arrived at the 
 
 14 
 
314 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 farm-liouse, on the road, a man appeared with two 
 white steers — " milk-white steers" — which were at- 
 tached by strong cords to our carriage and horses. 
 All alighted and walked, excepting myself — though 
 one or two gave out before the end ; but three of us 
 actually climbed up to Perugia on their feet — R. 
 only failing at the very last, part of the way. We 
 entered Etruria over a bridge, Ponte San Giovanni, 
 and drove through the vale of the Tiber before we 
 began to mount ; on every side, endless splendors of 
 scenery. 
 
 We walked out as soon as we arrived, after de- 
 jeune. A guide accosted us, but we refused him for 
 this afternoon, and tried to find places ourselves. 
 We went to the Church of St. Domenic, pretty near 
 the hotel, where we found some great wonders. A 
 ferret-eyed sacristan seized upon us directly, and 
 accompanied us about, though I told him we had no 
 money with us. We began to think him quite un- 
 earthly, having little regard to the gold that perishes ; 
 but our visions of his heavenl^^-mindedness were dis- 
 pelled by his informing me that he would come to 
 our Locanda for payment. He first took us into the 
 chapel of St. Orsola, to show us some pictures of 
 Pra Angelico. One was a Madonna and Child — the 
 child such a glorified innocence as never was por- 
 trayed before. He sits upon the Virgin's knee, and 
 looks straight out of the picture, with a face that 
 might make the world sweet and holy, if it were 
 oft^n enough contemplated. A clear, pure, spiritual 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 315 
 
 radiance beams from it, with colors so delicate that 
 I can compare them only to those of a blush-rose, a 
 forget-me-not, and pale amber, gleaming through a 
 lily. Some injury to the cheek of Mary destroys tlie 
 effect of her once lovely face, but I saw that it was 
 once lovely, and it is turned upon the child. On 
 the side of this picture hangs one containing St. 
 Domenic and St. Anthony of Florence. St. Anthony 
 is one of the gi'andest and serenest of figures — ^its 
 grandeur showing that there was no lack of strength 
 ill Fra Angelico. He stands in superb robes, reading 
 a book with entire absorption of attention. Calm, 
 majestic, noble, benign, the repose of Eternity has 
 passed into his countenance and form. The very 
 folds of his gorgeous drapery have the grandeur 
 of mountain ranges, sweeping down into valleys. 
 Thought and prayer are the phylacteries upon his 
 brow. He looks as immutable, in his collected 
 Faith, as Soracte. Crimson, purple, and gold 
 throw around him all the prestige they can, but the 
 moonlight of peace about his closed Ups transcends 
 rainbows. There sat the baby Prince of Peace 
 close by, whose revelations were to evoke this sub- 
 lime content in St. Anthony — a content that neu- 
 tralizes all the great and petty trials of life — a con- 
 tent glorious enough to be embodied in the form of 
 an archangel Michael, holding in a leash of iron the 
 evil that opposes good. St. Anthony's foot was on 
 the dragon as effectually as that of the celestial 
 hierarch of Guido or of Eaphael. 
 
61Q NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 On the otlier side is St. Catliarine, queenly as 
 queen should be, but at the same time gentle and 
 sweet and devout, as queens not often are. 
 
 We then went into the sacristy, where were sev- 
 eral heads of saints, and two pictures by Giannicola. 
 One is of the Madonna and St. John. It is plain at 
 a glance that they have just come from Calvary, 
 after the Crucifixion, tliough there is no cross, and 
 nothing represented of the late sacrifice — merely the 
 two figures walking. Mary is a little in advance of 
 St. John. Her hands are tightl}^ clasped, with pro- 
 found, repressed agony. She looks out of the pic- 
 ture with a pale face that has seen death, and the 
 death of one who is life of her life. There is no 
 distortion of grief, though unspeakable grief is ex- 
 pressed. The head is slightly bent on one side — a 
 certain terror of sorrow is in her wonderful eyes, as 
 if she feared to know how bereft she is, and how 
 awful a scene she has witnessed. The sword is 
 cutting into her heart at this moment ; slie is feel- 
 ing its keenest pain. A mute appeal is in her gaze — 
 a desert of woe — the most heart-smiting pathos. 
 Both the figure and face are also noble. St. John 
 can do nothing for her yet. God alone can minister 
 to her vast dismay, which invests her with a heroic 
 dignity. John turns his countenance toward the 
 Cross, evidently, though none is visible. He finds 
 it hard to leave even the ruined Temple of his Lord ; 
 but there seems a marvellous light falling on his 
 features from afar, as if the love of Christ shone 
 
BOME TO FLORENCE. \][1 
 
 upon tliem. Like Mary, lie is of noble figure and 
 air, and a tender grace sways his movement. I am 
 sure liis face is bathed in tears. He extends his 
 hands toward Calvary, with impassioned, wild sor- 
 row. I think John is not now occupied with his 
 new care of Mary : he is only intent on his own loss, 
 and yet a cord already binds them together. 
 
 The pendant to this is Elizabeth and St. John the 
 Baptist, but I cannot recall its details now ; for 
 though admirable, it is yet far excelled by the other. 
 In the sacristy are other injured small pictures by 
 Fra Angelico, beautiful as far as they can be seen. 
 
 In a very dim aisle of the church, we were shown 
 a large painting of the Adoration of the Magi, 
 whose author was doubtful ; but it was a great w^ork. 
 Gentile da Fabriano or Bonfigli is supposed to be 
 the artist. Often these pictures are thought to be 
 composed by several artists together, and the verger 
 said this one was. 
 
 But the other treasure of St. Domenic is a small 
 masterpiece of Perugino, called St. Columba. Un- 
 derneath it is written a verse from the Canticles, 
 in Latin : " Show me thy face, my dove, my beloved, 
 at the threshold of the door," or something to that 
 effect. St. Columba stands in the Domenican habit, 
 holding a dove, and round her veiled head is a 
 wreath of white daisies. The Domenican habit is a 
 white under-vest, with a black chasuble that goes 
 over the back of the head, and falls in folds over the 
 figure. The face is divinely beautiful ; divine in ex- 
 
318 N'OTES m ITALY. 
 
 pression, and perfectly beautiful in feature, witli a 
 pure, silvery color, like that of the dove she holds 
 in her hands. The head inclines to the left a little. 
 It is entrancing beauty combined with heavenly 
 purity, and there is a something for which there are 
 no words, in the deeply religious pictures of that 
 age, before which we must bow in silence. It is 
 something that transcends mortal capacity, and 
 must have affected the artist as it affects us who 
 look at his work. I cannot doubt that PeiTigino 
 v/as awe-struck by this face and presence ; for his 
 prayer and his faith brought down from heaven into 
 it, what was not in pencil or palette, nor in his own 
 consciousness. To the great state of St. Columba's 
 innocence, let kings bow their crowned heads. She 
 is as inaccessible in her lily spotlessness as the 
 moon riding in the blue abysses. Let the stars 
 wait upon her as well. I am wholly baffled in try- 
 ing to describe her, for she is ineffable. 
 
 We tried to find San Pietro in Martire, said to 
 contain a famous Madonna of Perugino, but we 
 could not succeed, and so we went to a height over- 
 looking a grand sweep of mountain and vale, to 
 watch the sun set, before dinner. The clouds were 
 sultry, and we did not witness so fine a pageant as 
 we expected, though it was worth looking at ; and 
 the snow-crested Apennines carried me off into 
 dreamland. After dinner we thought we would go 
 and watch the moon rise, but it became so cloudy 
 wo gave it up. 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 319 
 
 May 28tli. — We tried to do Avitliout a guide to- 
 day, but finally were obliged to submit to one, after 
 several weary efforts to find places alone. We first 
 strayed to an outlook, different to the one Ave found 
 last evening, which commanded even a more magnifi- 
 cent scene ; and while solacing ourselves with it, a 
 young man saluted us, and asked if we wished to 
 see the Sala di Cambio. As this was the identical 
 " Sala" we had been seeking for an hour, we con- 
 cluded to let him take possession of us, at least to 
 the entrance of that. 
 
 I expected a very large hall, but it was a small and 
 low apartment, long ago used as an exchange, but 
 now left to the kings, prophets, sibyls, and gods of 
 Perugino and Raphael. One compartment of the 
 walls contains the six sibyls and six prophets, and the 
 Eternal Father above them. On another are heroes 
 and philosophers, with virtues enthroned over their 
 heads. Opposite the door of entrance are the 
 Nativity and Transfiguration. Cato is on one side 
 of the door. On the roof are exquisite arabesques, 
 and the gods, as the planets, in chariots drawn by 
 nymphs, birds, and animals, Apollo in the midst. 
 Among the prophets, Perugino has placed Raphael 
 as David, the sweet singer of Israel. It is one of 
 those portraits of Raphael which Perugino alone 
 could paint, and Raphael alone could inspire. An 
 infinite gi'ace in the head and movement, a wondrous, 
 princely beauty, — recalling his other portrait of Ra- 
 phael in the great picture of the Resurrection in the 
 
820 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 Pinacotlieca of the Yatican. In tliat, he is one of the 
 sleeping soldiers, his beautiful head reposing on one 
 arm, and the profile of his face given. As David, 
 he looks straight forward. A portrait of Perugino, 
 by himself, hangs on a pilaster, between the kings 
 and heroes. His Socrates is ideal. The beloved 
 old snub nose is omitted. Indeed, all are ideal ex- 
 cept Raphael, and he is ideal in his real beauty. A 
 rich, sweet fancy it was that brooded and traced such 
 forms and faces for these illustrious men — such as 
 they ought to have, according to their historic fame. 
 As to the roof, it is plain enough that Raphael 
 held the pencil there. After seeing the loggie of 
 the Vatican, I knew his cunning hand in those lab- 
 yrinths of grace, wreaths of wild arabesques encir- 
 cling the gods and goddesses — not Avild " beyond 
 the reach of art" and beauty of beauty. Who is like 
 Raphael? He is the perfect flower of the old 
 schools, the rose of past time, the opal of jewels. 
 As w^e were about leaving most reluctantly, the 
 custode of the hall invited us to enter what he called 
 the chapel. It is small and covered with frescoes 
 by Giannicola, and a Baptism of Christ by Peru- 
 gino. There saints and doctors, all living, with fine 
 expressions, and one sibyl of great beaut}^ — the 
 Persican, I think. A young artist was sitting there, 
 copying the groups and single figures with a lead- 
 pencil, in an extraordinary manner, and with the 
 utmost fidelity. He, and others as accomplished 
 and faithful, should be commissioned to save in 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. IJSl 
 
 imperisliable lines the vanisliing masterpieces of 
 fresco-paiDting, so that at least the designs and ex- 
 pression may not be lost, though the color elude 
 seizure. There was some wood-carving in the Sala, 
 but I do not know what it was, I was so absorbed 
 by the frescoes ; but as it was designed by Perugino, 
 it must be worth study. 
 
 We then went to Sant Agostino, where are a good 
 many oil-pictures by Perugino, but many of them 
 much injured. Two, however, are entirely preserved. 
 They hang on each side the entrance, one the Bap- 
 tism, and the other the Nativity of Christ. Both 
 are fine, but the Baptism pre-eminent. The figures 
 of Christ and St. John are of delicate proportions 
 and very graceful. John looks up to heaven as he 
 is about to pour the water upon the sacred head. 
 Christ looks down, with hands folded, I think, upon 
 his breast. One such picture only ought to be seen 
 in a day, and I have seen so many ! I remember 
 well the ecstatic reverence and joy of St. John as 
 Christ bids him " fulfil all righteousness." One has 
 *' a shade the more," but both have a divine expres- 
 sion, and both are in fresh, early manhood. The 
 holy dove opens the realms above, and behind each 
 kneels or stands an angel. The angel attendant 
 upon St. John is the most celestial of the two. 
 When Perugino painted angels, I am sure they must 
 have come down to him for portraiture, so wonder- 
 fully does he leave out time and sex, and give 
 *' Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Pow- 
 
 14* 
 
322 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 ers," in what can hardly be called human form, so 
 dimmed has become " God's own image" in man. 
 
 In the Nativity, the Joseph is fine, and Mary most 
 lovely, gazing in adoring wonder at the newlj^-born 
 babe lying on the ground before them. We looked 
 at all the works said to be by Perugino, or Pietro, 
 as the old sacristan called him ; for his name was 
 Pietro Yanucci, and the cognomen he goes by is as 
 if one said " the Perugian." 
 
 We tried to get into the Palazzo Staffa then, but 
 that and the Palazzo Baldeschi were shut, and so 
 wx came home to go again after lunch with Ada in 
 addition, as I felt very uneasy not to have her see 
 all that we did. We told the guide to be at hand at 
 half-past two — and he came duly, and we went first 
 to the Church of San Francesco dei Conventuali. 
 It was the hour of siesta, and the monks were so 
 fast asleep that our guide found it difficult to rouse 
 them ; and meanwhile we were occupied in looking 
 at a remarkable facade of the Confraternita of St. 
 Bernard, by Agostino della Robbia. It is all in 
 colored marbles, carved in figures of saints and 
 angels, with wreaths of flowers and fruits, and every 
 possible invention, as various as fancy could make 
 them. At last an evil-looking fi*iar appeared, and 
 admitted us. We saw a martyred St. Sebastian, 
 painted by Perugino when an old man ; but I can- 
 not characterize that, because all the pictures iu that 
 church are so completely extinguished by one on the 
 right of the chief entrance. It is a large composi- 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 323 
 
 tion of several saints, St. Sebastian being one, and 
 this St. Sebastian surpasses all other conceptions of 
 him within my present experience. He is not here 
 transfixed with arrows, but stands, in the prime 
 splendor of youth, a perfect heroic form, in a rich 
 corselet and sandals, like an archangel, and a marvel- 
 lous helmet of open tracery, which I cannot forgive 
 myself for not sketching, as it is altogether unique 
 for airy elegance, unlike any other device that was 
 ever put upon a head, — and now I have lost it for- 
 ever. It presses lightly on the fair golden hair, and 
 gives the crowning charm to a face so attractive and 
 winning in its princely state, that in my heart I pro- 
 nounced him the ideal cavalier, the gentlest, the 
 bravest, the truest ; while, added to all this, the hand 
 of the master has sanctified him with heavenly grace, 
 and he stands confessed a holy saint as well as a hero. 
 It is a transfiguring of human elegance into divine 
 beauty, such as I could not have conceived possible, 
 and such as a Co-Raphaelite or a Pre-Raphaelite only 
 could have delineated. I thought it must be St. 
 George of Cappadocia, and insisted upon it ; and 
 that what they called an arrow was a spear ; but the 
 monk and guide objected, and I now find that Mur- 
 ray calls him St. Sebastian also. It afflicted me so 
 much to know that I should never see him again, 
 that I gazed with a trembling eagerness, and took 
 no time to glance at the other saints. 
 
 There was, on the opposite side of the nave, an 
 admirable copy of Haphael's Entombment, which I 
 
824 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 could really bear to look at. The original belonged 
 to this church, and I think it an unpardonable rob- 
 bery of Paul V. to have taken it away, and put a 
 copy in its place. He was a Prince Borghese, and 
 stole it for his own palace, where I saw it in Rome. 
 Why should a Pope steal any more than a private 
 person ? Does his position as Head of the Church 
 make the crime less? I should think he, of all per- 
 sons, should obey the commandments. 
 
 We went into the Sacristy to see some curious 
 pictures by Pisanello of the life of St. Bernardin. 
 They are composed of small figures in the costumes 
 of Pisanello's times, which the guide said were 
 ** molte gentili." There was gi^eat spirit in the atti- 
 tudes and heads, and I should have liked to exam- 
 ine them minutely, as I would Hogarth's, but there 
 •was no time for it. 
 
 We also went to Santa Maria Nuova, and of all I 
 saw there, the archangel Gabriel, in an Annuncia- 
 tion, made most impression upon me. It is supposed 
 to be by Bonfigli, the master of Perugino. The 
 angel kneels, with hands folded upon the breast, in 
 one of which is the branch of lilies. The beautiful, 
 large lids are cast down, the face is very fair, the 
 bend of the head most stately and gxaceful. Its 
 presence makes a broad circle of light around, and 
 while the celestial messenger pays homage, he also 
 commands it, by the singular majesty of his bearing. 
 Two lesser Princedoms wait upon his state behind. 
 I see by this how Perugino was taught to paint arch- 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 325 
 
 angels and angels; but who taught Bonfigli ? and 
 must not religious faith have inspired both equally ? 
 After the mechanics and technics of the art Avere 
 learned, sincere devotion effected the rest, I believe. 
 
 An Adoration of the Magi by Perugino, in his 
 best manner, hangs beside this Annunciation, in 
 which he has painted himself, and our guide and the 
 priest had a fierce battle over it, disputing which 
 was the portrait of the artist. The priest had a long 
 pole in his hand to point with, and I began to fear 
 they would proceed to batter one another, in the very 
 presence of the infant Prince of Peace. The early 
 style of Perugino is not so simple as the later one. 
 
 We then went to San Severo, to find Eaphael's 
 first fresco. It represents Christ, with saints below, 
 and the Lord with angels above ; but it is so very 
 much defaced that we could not sec it well. All 
 that was visible showed the peerless hand, however. 
 
 This afternoon we found entrance into the Palazzo 
 Conestabili Staffa, where is the celebrated Staffa Ma- 
 donna of Raphael, a very small and exquisite picture, 
 as highly finished as a miniature. The Prince has 
 enclosed this most precious gem in a case, with 
 thick plate-glass over it, locked with a padlock. I 
 was well acquainted with it through a good copy 
 of it in Rome, by Mr. Thompson ; so good, that 
 the Prince himself was highly pleased with it, and 
 said it was the only worthy copy that had yet been 
 made, and that no one before had caught the pecu- 
 liar delicacy of the infant's head. Mary is reading. 
 
826 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 and the child turns to look on the book, and puts his 
 little hand on the open page. It is as perfect as a 
 work of art can be ; not one careless touch in it all. 
 Mr. Thompson's copy is good, but what can be said 
 of Raphael's creation ? How could wise and great 
 Mr. E. say such a preposterous thing as that it was 
 just as well iiot to travel as to travel ! and that each 
 man has Europe in him, or something to that effect ? 
 No, indeed ; it would be better if every man could 
 look upon these wonders of genius, and grow 
 thereby. Besides, after Mr. E. had been to Europe 
 himself, how could he tell ? Would he willingly 
 have foregone all he saw in Italy? It was mere 
 transcendental nonsense — such a remark. 
 
 A peace that passes all understanding breathes 
 from this little picture. The lovely head of the 
 young mother has the sky for background, and a 
 delicate landscape stretches far away, with a fairy 
 tree in the middle distance. The pure, noble, serene 
 brow, the downcast lids — half-moons, fringed with 
 shadows — the soft bloom of the oval cheeks, the 
 mouth, gently closed in full, rich curves, as fresh as 
 the dawn, all blended into an expression of earnest 
 thought, combine to make this Madonna the Regina 
 Angelorum. The wonderful face is crowned with a 
 high head-dress, encircled with a glory ; and the 
 robe is deep crimson embroidered with gold, with a 
 blue mantle. Tlie elaborate finish of the group re- 
 called to me the illuminated missal, of tiny size, 
 which the Countess of Waldegrave showed me at 
 
HOME TO FLORENCE. S37 
 
 Nuneliam Courtney, when we went to see her while 
 we were at Oxford. It was the cunning work of 
 Baphael, and the miniatures were as brilliant as 
 jewels. The missal was not more than three inches 
 square, and the pictures in it were in proportion. 
 The diligence of Eaphael seems superhuman, when 
 I think of all he accomplished in so few years, in 
 such a finished manner too — no hurry and no care- 
 lessness — and he himself so beautiful and sweet, 
 that his creations were the inevitable flowering of 
 his nature. He was the culmination of art. No 
 one would dream or pretend to excel him, and to 
 equal him who would succeed ? 
 
 We saw in the Staffa Palace a beautiful Santa 
 E-osa, by Sasso Ferrato. She is a Perugian saint, 
 and in the Domenican habit, I think. 
 
 Our guide also took us to the University, where 
 was nothing particularly interesting till we came to 
 the Pinacotheca, but it was worth any amount of 
 toil to see there the chef-d'oeuvre^ or one of the chefs- 
 d'oeuvre, of Pinturicchio, in which I saw at last a 
 head and face of Christ which I entirely liked. He 
 has bowed Himself and given up the ghost, but the 
 glory of the soul still sheds light on the body which 
 was so pure that it was almost spirit. In this, at 
 last, I found consummate beauty without feebleness, 
 noblest dignity with perfect grace, holiness with 
 majesty, peace with strength. The apostle says we 
 " are temples of the living God," but this was the 
 only form which was worthy to be completely filled 
 
328 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 with that Presence, and Pinturicchio has pictured it. 
 I wonder I have never heard it spoken of. Alas ! I 
 aiQ even now losing the vividness of it, and by and 
 by I shall not recall it, I fear ; but I will remember 
 that it struck to my heart with its divine power, 
 sweetness, and greatness. This is the artist who, in 
 Rome, frames his Madonnas in cherubic heads — 
 roses of God, whose calyces are wings ; but many 
 of the ancient masters were in the habit of em- 
 broidering the air with these flowers. They illu- 
 mine the clouds also, as if to show that Our Father 
 is present even in what seems to us to be shadows. 
 What a tender manner of teaching this eternal truth ! 
 They also enrich the glories round the heads of 
 saints, — beaming faces, that embody and make ap- 
 prehensible to human perception the encircling, 
 divine love that answers to faith and good works. 
 If painters now were holy men, and dedicated their 
 genius to heaven, perhaps angels and cherubs would 
 still live to their imagination, and so to our eyes, 
 through their pencils. But what water}^, theatrical, 
 unspiritual, impossible angels we have now-a-days ! 
 In the University halls we saw a very singular 
 work. I supposed it to be an engraving of Raphael's 
 Belle Jardiniere, but the custode told us that it was 
 all composed of almost microscopically small words, 
 written with a pen. 
 
 May 29th. — We went to Saint Domenico after 
 breakfast to see St. Columba, and to pay the sharp, 
 
ROME TO FLOREXCE. 320 
 
 ferret-ejed sacristan. The pilasters were hung with 
 crimson-damask, in preparation for the festival of 
 Corpus Christi, next Thursday. After looking long 
 at the sculptured tomb of Benedict XI., which is a 
 very celebrated work of the Eenaissance, the sacris- 
 tan, who had been assisting at mass, in St. Orsola's 
 chapel, came to unveil St. Columba. 
 
 ****** 
 
 We afterward found the Madonna of Perugino we 
 had been searching for, in a palace, where it had 
 been taken to be copied, and we were disappointed 
 in it. Mary sits with tlie infant, and six monks 
 kneel in white habits, ejicli side of her. Perhaps it 
 was not placed at advantage, but I could not find it 
 so exquisite as it is described. Ada and I then set 
 forth by ourselves to see the city, and suddenly wo 
 arrived at the Cathedral of St. Lorenzo, and thought 
 we would go in to rest. A great Function was pro- 
 ceeding. A Cardinal was on his throne, and several 
 prelates round him, and the altar was covered with 
 gold sacramental vessels, and the organ-thunder 
 was rolling through the great spaces, while a crowd 
 of people stood about. The prelates were gorgeous- 
 ly arrayed in crimson cloth of gold. As they moved 
 in the ceremony, at one instant they were flaming 
 in T}Tian splendor, and at another glowing in creamy 
 gold — so magically were their garments woven. I 
 believe Mrs. Browning somewhere describes cloth 
 of gold — but it is necessary to see it on moving 
 forms, to estimate its magnificence. The Cardinal 
 
330 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 Archbishop had a red and gold mitre on his head, 
 and a gold crozier in his hand. It was a superb 
 picture. There was a blessing of candles, as at Can- 
 dlemas, and high mass was performed at the altar. 
 The music was triumphant, and we did not under- 
 stand what it all meant ; but afterward we heard 
 that at Easter this Cardinal was ill, so that to-day 
 he was celebrating Easter ! He was probably also 
 ill at Candlemas, for he was celebrating that too. 
 
 Lake Thrasymene. 
 
 May 29th — Passignano. — Here is the battle-field 
 of Hannibal and Flaminius. We arrived at this little 
 town, on the immediate shore of the famous lake, at 
 about five, and took a walk before dinner. Boatmen 
 assailed us to row upon the water, but we thought 
 it too late. The little children began to beg, and 
 soon we counted forty beggars, all very merry and 
 dirty, importunate and inodorous. Nothing we could 
 do or say would disperse them. When we turned 
 to go back, they all turned, but finally some soldiers 
 drove them aside, so that we strolled beyond the 
 inn, the other way, with some comfort. The lake is 
 eight miles across in wide parts, and thirty miles in 
 circuit. Low hills, rising often into high mountains, 
 are on the shores for miles, and also extensive plains 
 stretch away, level with the water, on one of which 
 was the battle. Acres of olive-trees, emblems of 
 peace, grow in all directions. The olive and the 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. S31 
 
 grape, and waving fields of grain and grass, fill the 
 scene with verdure and beauty and promises of 
 plenty. We watched the sunset, and the soft tints 
 purpling the hills. U. sat down on a rocky beacli, 
 and sketched the old town, which pitches headlong 
 into the lake, a ruined castle making the background 
 and apex. We found lovely plants, and it all seemed 
 
 a dream of enchantment. J rushed to the beach, 
 
 as the hart to the brook, to find his beloved shells. 
 R. searched for her equally beloved flowers, and 
 discovered a spike of new purple blossoms, such as 
 we had never seen before. 
 
 We were served with a generous dinner, of which 
 the poetical part was the course of fish from the 
 classic lake, which we ate reflectingly. I felt as if I 
 were a person in an ancient history of Rome. Han- 
 nibal's elephants were close at hand. The tent of 
 Flaminius was pitched near by — alas for him ! Mem- 
 ories of war, defeat, conquest, alternated ^^'ith the 
 deep peace of the present moment, with the vines 
 and olives and fig-trees, the flocks and herds — the 
 undisturbed grain waving, the birds singing rounde- 
 lays, and the smooth waves lapsing to drown the 
 distant tumult of war ; so real and profound and 
 wide the peace, so more and more ghostly and van- 
 ishing the battle. While I dreamed over the purple 
 twilight, the moon rose opposite our windows. First 
 a heap of clouds took fiery hues, like the reflection 
 of a burning city, though rather more pink than 
 red ; and then the gold rim of the moon marked a 
 
332 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 clear arc of a circle over the mountain. When it 
 rose a little higher, a column of silver struck down 
 from its full orb into the depths of the lake, and 
 soon the whole atmosphere was flooded with white 
 radiance. A still vaster peace rose with the moon 
 to possess the earth. I will write to E. as the muse 
 of history, before I sleep. 
 
 Arezzo. 
 
 May 80th. — We left Passignano this morning at 
 six, and when we arrived at the Sanguinetto, the 
 small river that ran blood, we all alighted from the 
 carriage to look about us, and gather olive-branches 
 and oak to w^eave into garlands — emblems, as U. 
 happily said, of " Conquest sealed by Peace." On 
 this spot the battle raged. 
 
 " Far other scene is Thrasymene now — 
 Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 
 Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough," 
 
 as Byron so fitly sings. 
 
 We soon left the Papal States, and entered Tus- 
 cany, and stopped to show our passport. A fee of 
 ninety cents left our luggage reposing in its moun- 
 tains of dust undisturbed — so wise and courteous is 
 Tuscany ; and we drove merrily on — I might say 
 under Tuscan hats, for immediately these enormous 
 disks appeared, forming vast backgrounds to the 
 faces of the peasantry. While we were waiting 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 333 
 
 about the passport, I sketched the lake and one of 
 its three islands — Isola Maggiore. We passed Ca- 
 muscia and Cortona also, with its great church and 
 convent of Santa Margherita, and I caught its out- 
 line in my little book. We ought to have visited it 
 for its pictures and antiquities. It crowns a moun- 
 tain, like so many cities we have seen. This is pecu- 
 liarly interesting, and older than the siege of Troy, 
 and it is the Corythus of Virgil. So now we came 
 to Arezzo, the birthplace of a crowd of great men. 
 We have been to see Petrarch's house and the 
 Cathedral and Santa Maria della Piere, once the 
 Temple of Bacchus. Petrarch's house has no ap- 
 pearance of antiquity, being kept in excellent repair. 
 It is not a large edifice ; and when Ada and I went 
 to look at it a second time, a beautiful dove w^as 
 perched upon the upper step of the door, and so 
 tame that we approached quite near, without start- 
 ling it. I thought of Laura, haunting the spot. 
 Opposite, in the street, is Boccaccio's w^ell, the 
 scene of one of his stories. I sketched both, and 
 also the dove. The Cathedral is very grand, and 
 has the most superb painted glass — better than any 
 in England. One circular window over the west 
 front is particularly glorious ; but so are all. One, 
 "The Calling of Matthew," Vasari says, "must have 
 descended from heaven to console man, for it never 
 could have been painted on earth." Guillaume, of 
 Marseilles, a French Domenican monk, was the 
 artist. We saw also a shrine of marble, by Giovanni 
 
334 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 di Pisa, celebrated for its Avonderful beauty, illustra- 
 ting the life of St. Douato. A row of angels stand- 
 ing in Gothic arches were especially beautiful. 
 
 Santa Maria della Piere presents a very remark- 
 able facade to the street. There are three open 
 arcades, with columns that differed each from the 
 others — fifty-eight of them; and one column, for 
 lack of another form being possible, is a caryatid. 
 The Campanile is lofty, with five series of little 
 pillars. We intended to see Yasari's picture of St. 
 George, though I cannot believe he is a great artist ; 
 but it was veiled, and no sacristan appeared, and 
 mass was being performed. 
 
 The streets of Arezzo were paved with large, flat 
 stones of different shapes, but all nicely joined, like 
 those of the Flaminian Way, and it has been a rest 
 to walk upon them, after the long torture of the 
 pointed Eoman pavements. Honor to the Grand 
 Dukes for this ! The chief street has been thronged 
 all the afternoon with the citizens, in their best Sun- 
 day array, children especially dressed gayly and 
 trimly, like French children, with great bravery of 
 crinoline and pinched waists. The public prome- 
 nade, behind the Cathedral, is very pleasant, and 
 commands a fine view. 
 
 On Petrarch's house is a long inscription on a 
 slab, recounting his birth and fame, and so on many 
 other houses there are inscriptions concerning the 
 illustrious persons who were born and lived in 
 them. The air of Arezzo was wholesome, and crea- 
 
ROME TO FLORENCE. 335 
 
 tive of great men, according to Michel Angelo, who 
 was born at Caprese, near by. 
 
 This great hotel was doubtless once a fine palace, 
 by the relics of old grandeur which remain. There 
 is no end to ghostly corridors and unexpected doors, 
 sudden staircases and traps in the walls, arcades, 
 lofty apartments and covert nooks. But it is " faded 
 sj^lendor wan" now. And the style is also faded ; 
 for we are less well served here than at any previous 
 hotel on the route. Hitherto, we have been agree- 
 ably disappointed in the inns and the fare. We 
 have found them uniformly clean and comfortable, 
 and excellent food provided. Indeed, from London 
 to Rome, and from Rome to Arezzo, we have had no 
 annoyance from Dogano, or anything, or anybody. 
 There is not a thorn on the rose of our success. 
 
 ^^^ 
 
in. 
 
 FLOKENCE. 
 
 June 5tli. — We arrived here on the 31st of May, 
 leaving Arezzo at six in the morning. We drove np 
 the Yia Fornace, and stopped at this Casa del Bello, 
 "which we had requested Mr. Powers to take for us. 
 The portress said it was not taken yet, however, 
 and so we proceeded to a hotel. In the evening 
 Mr. Powers called to see us, and appointed an early 
 hour in the morning for us to go and examine the 
 apartment. We went to his studio, which is a suite 
 of six or seven rooms, and he came across the street 
 with us to the Casa del Bello (which is opposite his 
 house), and we agreed to take it at once. It is a 
 delightful residence. We have the first piano, which 
 opens at the back upon a broad terrace, leading 
 down into a garden full of roses, jessamine, orange 
 and lemon trees, and a large willow-tree, drooping 
 over a fountain in the midst. We have thirteen 
 rooms on the one ^9m?zo, besides four kitchen-rooms 
 beneath. The Casa is three rooms wide, and four 
 deep — {five in one of the rows) — and we are, each 
 one, perfectly accommodated, and each one can be 
 
FLORENCE. 337 
 
 alone and remote from the others. It is the very 
 luxury of comfort. I have selected the best of tlie 
 three parlors for the study. It is hung with crimson 
 velvety hangings, and the doors are draped in that 
 graceful way they have in Europe ; and the windows, 
 of course, are curtained, — for there is not a window 
 on this side the ocean undraped, I believe. It has 
 an ormolu table, two couches, four stuffed easy- 
 chairs, candelabras, chandelier, and a Turkey carpet 
 (an unusual grace). It gives upon the garden, and 
 there is no sound but " bird-voices" that can reach 
 it ; — the very ideal of a study, such as the " artist of 
 the Beautiful" ought ta have, but which till now he 
 has not found. ***** 
 
 I am sitting in an enchanting boudoir, a gabinetto, 
 * * * * The only light is through a glass door 
 which opens upon the terrace. Green trees and 
 shrubbery only can be seen as I sit, excepting small 
 glimpses of sky and gold sunshine, and four or five 
 busts, arranged along the side of the terrace. A 
 thatched rustic bower is constructed in one part, 
 with rustic chairs and tables, where one can read, 
 write, and meditate. Down in the garden are other 
 bowers, seats, and tables. A small, delicate rose- 
 vine is trained over the iron tracery that guards the 
 outer side of the terrace. In the centre of our piano 
 is a drawing-room that can never be too warm ; for 
 its only great window looks upon an inner court 
 where the sun never shines. And we have a star to 
 our servant ; for Stella is her name. 
 
 15 
 
338 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 On the first day I walked out, and saw the outside 
 of the Pitti Palace, — a vast prison of a palace, grim 
 and hard in its aspect. I saw also Benvenuto Cel- 
 lini's Perseus, in the Loggia de' Lanzi. I had seen 
 a fine cast of it at the Crystal Palace, and could 
 hardly conceive that I stood before the original. I 
 passed over a bridge, and saw other beautiful bridges 
 spanning the Arno, and the city rising around; but 
 I was very tired after the journey, and have stayed 
 at home, since we have had a home again. I was 
 amused to find I could rest in fifteen easy-chairs, 
 disposed about the rooms. There were so many, 
 that I was induced to count them. 
 
 Our approach to Florence, toward the sunset, was 
 perfectly lovely. It reposes in the hollow of many 
 mountains and hills ; and its glorious Dome and 
 Campanile, arched bridges and palaces, make a rare 
 picture. The atmosphere was so clear that we saw 
 the lofty Apennines pointing into the sky, and there 
 was a purply-gold splendor over all. 
 
 Mr. Powers is agreeably simple in his manners, 
 with wonderful great eyes. In his studio, that first 
 morning, I had hurried glimpses of a bust of Mr. 
 Sparks, California, and Mrs. Ward, and a Psyche, 
 Avith a butterfly as a jewel, clasping the bands of 
 her hair — Proserpine, and many more, all of which 
 I shall be truly glad to contemplate at leisure. 
 
 June 6th. — After tea last evening, just at set of 
 sun, we went out for a walk, and promenaded the 
 
FLORENCE. 339 
 
 whole length of the Via Fornace, and my soles were 
 greatly consoled by the broad flat pavement. All 
 the world was in the street in the warm, rosy twi- 
 light. At the end of the Via we came upon a bridge 
 w^hich crosses the Arno, and a scene of varied beauty 
 opened upon us. The river was smooth as plate- 
 glass, and all of Florence that was near it ascended, 
 or rather descended into the pure depths of the 
 heaven beneath. It was not possible to tell where 
 the immaterial city began and the material city 
 ended. All the arches of the bridges became com- 
 plete ovals. The thronging crowds, whether they 
 would or no, became spiritual beings, with bonnets, 
 hats, and crinolines ; and horses that could never be 
 whipped nor be weary — and carriages that never 
 would raise the dust — passed in glory below. On 
 the sunset side were golden tints; but our way 
 tended in the opposite direction, and we were soon 
 swallowed up between tall houses on our quest of 
 the Duomo. I had never happened to hear this 
 Duomo described, so that I had not the slightest 
 notion of it, and it struck me as an undreamed-of 
 wonder. First the Campanile ! Campanile and 
 cathedral both appeared to be covered with precious 
 marbles — vast mosaics. As the inside of the church 
 
 is quite plain, J declared that ''it was turned 
 
 outside in." It was so late, we merely glanced within, 
 but I had enough to do to look at the exterior. We 
 walked entirely round it, as it is in the centre of a 
 piazza, and so we gained an idea of its immense 
 
340 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 size, as we cannot of St. Peter's, which is seen only 
 on the front, and is also d^varfed by the vast square, 
 on one side of which it stands. It is, besides, built 
 of unornamented, buff travertine. This inlaying, or 
 rather outlaying of various marbles in patterns has 
 a gorgeously-rich effect. The forms of the building 
 have also a Gothic diversity, though perhaps there 
 is a certain regularity in the diversity which I did 
 not at once detect. The windows are of Gothic 
 shape, and full of painted glass, which U — , who 
 has been inside, says is superb. All the doors are 
 carved outside with heads of Bishops, Cardinals, 
 Popes, and perhaps Grand Dukes. The dome is 
 the largest in the world. I like to record the well- 
 known fact, that when Michel Angelo set forth for 
 Rome to build St. Peter's, he looked back at this, 
 and said, " Like it I will not — better I cannot." As 
 we walked round, the cathedral seemed to extend 
 indefinitely, like a city in itself, enabling me to per- 
 ceive its size most satisfactorily. 
 
 I should not have supposed that a square tower 
 could be beautiful ; but the Campanile is exceed- 
 ingly so, — all in mosaic, like the Duomo, and nearly 
 three hundred feet high. It rises alone, quite dis- 
 connected from the cathedral, and is at the same 
 time grand and beautiful. One of my peerless old 
 masters, Giotto, was its architect, and he designed 
 to have a flame-like spire on its summit. I do not 
 know why it is not there ; for I think it would be 
 better even than it is now, if it climbed into the 
 
FLORENCE. 341 
 
 heavens like fire — thongli to add to it would be like 
 "painting the rose," and certainly no one should 
 dare to finish Giotto's work. As he left it, so let it 
 remain. How can it have such indefinable grace — 
 a straight tower as it is ? Giotto must have diffused 
 his spirit through the stones and lines. One of its 
 bells rang out as we passed — a deep, round, liquid 
 sound, which immediately made me think of the 
 bulbul's note. It was music, dropped through water, 
 — a novel, peculiar, and a subHme tone, worthy of 
 Giotto's Campanile. It was as if the great dome 
 itself had rolled from the soul of its artist, a pure globe 
 of melody, and dropped singing into the sea of space. 
 
 The Baptistery is opposite the Cathedral, and I 
 looked a moment at the gate which Michel Angelo 
 said was worthy to be the gate of Paradise. I was 
 well acquainted with the design from the admirable 
 bronzed cast of it in the Crystal Palace ; but in the 
 deep twilight I could not see it distinctly. 
 
 We returned by the wa}^ of the Piazza del Gran 
 Duca, and passed the Palazzo Vecchio, with i'-s 
 strange old tower, bulging out near the top into a 
 balcony. In fi'ont of it are statues, all colossal, and 
 one of them is Michel Angelo's David, and there is 
 a noble equestrian statue of Cosmo de Medici. It 
 is a relief not to see P. M. after every name — ijost- 
 masteVf as some one used always to read it. The 
 Grand Dukes will be quite a pleasant change after 
 the Pontifex Maximus. 
 
 On another side of the Piazza are three lofty 
 
342 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 arches of a wide, liigli loggia, close upon tlie Uffizzi 
 Palace. Beneath it are statues. On the left of this 
 magnificent Portico we entered the court of the 
 Palace, through which the world passes to the Arno. 
 Stately open arcades extend along on each side, 
 which, by day, are filled with gay merchandise ; but 
 at this hour they were empty and solemn, and sen- 
 tinels were pacing up and down. It must be a nice 
 place to shop, on a hot or rainy day. Between the 
 arches are niches, in which stand marble statues of 
 Florentine heroes, artists, statesmen, and poets ; and 
 above are the halls, where we are to w^ander and 
 muse on masterpieces of genius. 
 
 As we issued from the dim shade of the court, the 
 golden light and the transparent mirror of the Arno 
 burst upon us like a symphony, and now our way 
 was toward the west, still glowing, with one star 
 brilliant over the central arch of a bridge, making 
 the apex of an invisible pyramid. All being re- 
 flected, there was also a pyramid below, each pointed 
 f-j the star, so that the ovals of the arches and the 
 pyramids were in a lovely struggle together. 
 
 The Lung-Arno was lighted with gas along its 
 whole extent, making a cornice of glittering gems, 
 converging in the distance, and the reflection of the 
 illuminated border below made a fairy show. No 
 painting, and scarcely a dream could equal the 
 magical beauty of the scene. Florence is as en- 
 chanting as I expected. It is a place to live ai.d be 
 happy in — so cheerful, so full of art, and so weU paced. 
 
FLOREXCE. J^fxi 
 
 It is delicious weather to-day, and the air is full 
 of the songs of birds. The merlins are in choir 
 over against our terrace, in a wood of the TorrigianI 
 Gardens. The marble busts, on their pedestals, 
 seem to enjoy themselves in the bosky shade. The 
 green lizards run across the parapet, and to exist is 
 a joy. J. is drawing Pericles, in his little study, 
 from a fine photograph of the marble of the Vatican. 
 U. is reading Tennyson, looking moonj^ in white 
 muslin. R. is playing with Stella, who is very good, 
 though not as bright as a star. Mr. H. is luxu- 
 riating down in the garden, buried up in roses and 
 jessamine. " If the air stirs, it can only be by two 
 contending butterflies," as Jean Paul says. 
 
 Generally, in these palatial houses, there is a rez 
 clmussce first, then an entresol, and then what is called 
 the first ^*a??o, and so on to the top. In this is no 
 entresol. We enter a great arched door into a hall, 
 along which pots of flowers are set, leading straight 
 into the garden, whose delicious green shrubbery we 
 see through an open iron gate. On the left of the 
 entrance is the lodge of the porter. Midway on the 
 right is the great staircase, and farther on there are 
 other rooms for servants and stores. The legend of 
 this Casa del Bello is, that there was a chief of the 
 house so beautiful — the handsomest man in Florence 
 — that he acquired the sobriquet of II Bello. 
 
 June 7th. — Yesterday I was interrupted in writing 
 by the announcement of Mr. Powers. He made us 
 
344 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 a deliglitful and edifying call, of more than two 
 hours. He expounded his ideas of form, and said 
 that color was nothing needful to expression. He 
 seemed to think there were no good busts, except 
 that of Caracalla, and he said Canova always mod- 
 elled himself. 
 
 June 8th. — "We have been to the hotel New York, 
 to call on the Bryants — 
 
 and afterward Mrs. Powers took me to see Casa 
 Guidi, and the palace of Bianca Capella, the bronze 
 boar, and other things. We crossed the Ponte de 
 St. Trinita, and the Arno was pale green, yery grate- 
 ful to the eyes after the yellow muddy color of the 
 Tiber ; but I should not like to hear any one speak 
 slightingly of the Tiber. 
 
 June 8ih. — This day has been memorable by 
 my seeing Mr. and Mrs. Browning for the first time. 
 At noon Mr. Browning called upon us. -^^ -J^- * * 
 His grasp of the hand gives a new value to life, re- 
 vealing so much fervor and sincerity of nature. He 
 invited us most cordially to go at eight and spend 
 the evening, * * * ^ * and so at eight we 
 went to the illustrious Casa Guidi. We found a 
 little boy in an upper hall, with a servant. I asked 
 him if he were Pennini, and he said " Yes." In the 
 dim light he looked like a waif of poetry, drifted up 
 into the dark corner, with long, curling, brown hair, 
 
FLORENCE. 1315 
 
 and buff silk tnnic, embroidered \\\\X\ white. He 
 took us through an ante-room, into the drawing- 
 room, and out upon the balcony. In a brighter 
 light he was lovelier still, with brown eyes, fair skin, 
 and a slender, graceful figure. In a moment Mr. 
 Browning appeared, and welcomed us cordially. In 
 a church near by, opposite the house, a melodious 
 choir was chanting. The balcony was full of flowers 
 in vases, growing and blooming. In the dark blue 
 fields of space overhead, the stars, flowers of light, 
 were also blossoming, one by one, as evening deep- 
 ened. The music, the stars, the flowers, Mr. Brown- 
 ing and his child, all isombined to entrance my wits. 
 Then Mrs. Browning came out to us — very small, 
 delicate, dark, and expressive. She looked like a 
 spirit. A cloud of hair falls on each side her face 
 in curls, so as partly to veil her features. But out 
 of the veil look sweet, sad eyes, musing and far- 
 seeing and weird. Her fairy fingers seem too airy 
 to hold, and yet their pressure was very firm and 
 strong. The smallest possible amount of substance 
 encloses her soul, and every particle of it is infused 
 with heart and intellect. I was never conscious of 
 so little unredeemed, perishable dust in any human 
 being. I gave her a branch of small pink roses, 
 twelve on the stem, in various stages of bloom, 
 which I had plucked from our terrace vine, and she 
 fastened it in her black-velvet dress with most lovely 
 effect to her whole aspect. Such roses were fit em- 
 blems of her. We soon returned to the drawing- 
 
 15* 
 
846 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 room — a lofty, spacious apartment, liung with gobe- 
 lin tapestry and pictures, and filled with carved 
 furniture and objects of vertii. Everything harmo- 
 nized — Poet, Poetess, child, house, the rich air and 
 the starry night. Pennini was an Ariel, flitting 
 about, gentle, tricksy, and intellectual — but it rather 
 disturbed my dream " of the golden prime of the 
 good Haroun Alraschid," to have a certain Mr. and 
 Mrs. E. come in, and then Mr. B. and his daughter. 
 Mr. B. is always welcome to the eye, with his snow- 
 drift of beard and hair, and handsome face ; but he 
 looked too inflexible and hard for that society. The 
 three poets, Mr. Browning, Mr. B., and Mr. Haw- 
 thorne, got their heads together in a triangle, and 
 talked a great deal, while Mrs. E. told me what an 
 angel Mrs. Browning is ; and Mr. E. talked to Ada, 
 who looked charmingly, in white muslin and blue 
 ribbons — her face a gleam of delight, because she 
 was so glad to be at Casa Guidi. Tea was brought 
 and served on a long, narrow table, placed before a 
 sofa, and Mrs. Browning presided, assisted by Mrs. 
 E. "We all gathered at this table. Pennini handed 
 about the cake, graceful as Ganymede. Mr. Brown- 
 ing introduced the subject of spiritism, and there was 
 an animated talk. Mr. Browning cannot believe, 
 and Mrs. Browning cannot help believiDg. They 
 kindly expressed regret that they were going to the 
 seaside in a few weeks, siuce we were to stay in 
 Florence, and hoped to find us here on their return. 
 Mrs. Browning wished me to take U. to see her, and 
 
FLOItEXCE. 347 
 
 Mr. Browning exclaimed, " You must send Pcnnini 
 to see their boy — such a fine creature ! with eyes 
 kindhng — Pennini must see him, and the little R., 
 a dearest little thing." This I record for my chil- 
 dren's sake, hereafter. 
 
 Uffizzi and Pitti Palaces. 
 
 June 9th. — To-day U., Ada, and I went to the 
 Uffizzi and Pitti Palaces. I have now taken my 
 first glance at the Yenus de Medici, Raphael's For- 
 narina, Titian's Yenus, Julius Second, the Madonna 
 della Seggiola and dell' Impannata. We were very 
 deliberately going through with the Uffizzi, when we 
 met Mr. Rothermel, who said that this was the only 
 day when the apartments of the Grand Duke could be 
 seen at the Pitti Palace, and he counselled us to go. 
 It was now one o'clock, yet, having no conception 
 what unheard-of splendors might be in store for us 
 there, we concluded to brave the noon sun, and go. 
 The loggie of the great court were hung with superb 
 gobelin tapestries, and crimson silk and gold, and 
 the balconies were draped with the same. One of 
 the tapestries was Raphael's Heliodorus, filling the 
 end of a loggia, as brilliant as color could make it. 
 The story of Esther was on one w^hole side, and on 
 the pilasters, between the open arches, were narrow 
 groups, all of the gobelin arras. 
 
 Besides the Great Cortile, there was another 
 smaller one, entered by a corridor, which was adorned 
 with tapestry of the same kind, and this little court 
 
34S NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 also blazed with reel and gold, and woven pictures. It 
 was all good to behold, but Mr. Eothermel was 
 mistaken about the ducal apartments, which cannot 
 be seen till to-morrow, and so w^e returned to the 
 picture galleries again. Yet no sooner were we 
 there, than Mrs. Mountford came up to say that 
 they were making a flower-carpet in the Great Court, 
 which we must see in its first freshness, and, very 
 grateful to her, we immediately hurried down. To 
 be sure, twenty or more men were at work, weaving 
 a wonderful tissue, composed of petals of flowers, 
 and leaves of box. The pattern was carefully chalked 
 upon the flat flag-stones, and the men were rapidly 
 filling in the forms with separate colors. Each of 
 their baskets contained petals of one hue, and they, 
 being perfectly instructed in what they were to ac- 
 complish, moved about, scattering blue, or red, or 
 purple, or yellow petals in each defined division, so 
 quickly and accurately, that Uke a vision, the gor- 
 geous carpet soon was spread over the stones. Its 
 life was preserved bright and fresh by the continual 
 sprinkling of water from many watering-pots, which 
 also made the petals heavy, so that the breeze would 
 not blow them out of their places. The fragrance 
 was delicious, and can anything be fancied more 
 preciously beautiful than such a carpet ? for its eva- 
 nescence, in this case, added to its value. Such pro- 
 digality of richness just for a few hours — at the ex- 
 pense of so much toil ! It w^as like carving and paint- 
 ing for the Lord, with the single purpose of worship ; 
 
FLORENCE. 849 
 
 for it was Corpus-Christi day, and tlie body of the 
 Saviour was to pass over it — and the procession would 
 inevitably destroy all tlie cunning workmanship. 
 Thousands of wax-candles, in prismatic chandeliers, 
 and in candelabras, placed in front of mirrors, with 
 crystal pendants, were to light up the scene. As 
 these chandeliers, composed of prisms, vibrated, they 
 reflected the crimson tints of the surrounding silk 
 hangings, and so looked like rubies flashing, even by 
 daylight. 
 
 I was sorry to find the Venus de Medici with so 
 many other sculptures and pictures. I always thought 
 it had been alone in the Tribune, or nearly so, with 
 only Kaphael's Fornarina and Titian's Venus. But 
 it is crowded, and its outline interrupted by all kinds 
 of background. Yet its beauty equalled my hopes, 
 and I can scarcely say more. It is not in such per- 
 fect, unsullied condition as the Apollo, but is evi- 
 dently an Olympian like him, and the dignity of a 
 goddess is in her air. By a cunning art in the mod- 
 elling of the eyes, a singular depth and in drawing 
 sweetness is given to the expression, and an effect 
 of motion, as from the action of long lashes, or the 
 glimmering of water, — wholly unprecedented in any 
 other sculptured eyes I have seen before. It gives 
 an irresistible attraction to the face. At the same 
 time the loftiness of her mien makes a too familiar 
 approach impossible. The slight bend of the figure 
 suggests the immortal curve of which Buskin speaks, 
 while the erect line of the brow gives a commanding 
 
350 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 aspect. Bernini has put on some of liis ranting 
 
 hands, and the fingers are singularly contorted, 
 
 bending in and out in an extravagant manner. He 
 
 should never have meddled with anything Greek — ■ 
 
 especially, he should never have touched the statue 
 
 that 
 
 " enchants the world." 
 
 No cast or copy conveys any idea of it to the eye 
 of one who has not seen it. Life, emotion, instant 
 thought, vary it every moment, — a movement in per- 
 petual rest. The soul of the artist must have been 
 of kindred delicacy, or he could not have so clothed 
 it with maidenly modesty. This modesty becomes 
 a complete veil, and it is an evidence that the inward 
 sentiment is all that is essential, and no outward 
 condition whatever, to show the character ; — character 
 — that mysterious entity that no covering can hide 
 and no nudity expose, for it is a presence that 
 nothing can modify. Now I have seen the most 
 beautiful Apollo, the most beautiful Minerva, and 
 the most beautiful Venus in the world. I have heard 
 that the Yenus of Milo is thought more noble. But 
 in the Yenus we want Beauty — not Nobleness — to 
 predominate. Pure nobleness is for Minerva. The 
 Goddess of Beauty certainly should win and enchant, 
 not strike with awe, except that there must always 
 be a degree of awfulness in such purity as this ex^ 
 presses. But I have seen the Yenus of Milo in the 
 Louvre, and she looks proud and not quite amiable. 
 There is grandeur in her mien and a noble beauty 
 
FLORENCE. 351 
 
 in her form ; but she has not an attractive, irresistible 
 fascination. I looked at it for hours, and having 
 heard that the motive of the design had not yet been 
 discovered, I set about trying to find it out. I tried 
 so vehemently, that for a long time I was wholly at 
 a loss ; but suddenly glancing at it without purpose, 
 I thought I plainly saw what the action was. As 
 both arms are gone, it was at first difficult to per- 
 ceive, but I am sure that she is taking the apple 
 from Paris. There is disdain in her air and curled 
 lips, that any question should have arisen concerning 
 the pre-eminence of her claim ; and an assurance, 
 also, that Paris would not hesitate. Easy, haughty 
 triumph is in the attitude and look — almost a scorn- 
 ful smile, which must have been highly exasperating 
 to the irascible Juno. The moment I saw it all, I 
 wondered that there could ever have been a doubt 
 about the intention of the artist, and now I wish I 
 could know, undeniably, whether I am right or 
 wrong. She seems to be drawing back a little, while 
 she extends her hand for the prize, as if she inwardly 
 despised to accept the proof of so self-evident a 
 thing as her superior beauty. The Yenus de Medici 
 has more winning sweetness and unconscious charm, 
 I think. 
 
 I next searched for Eaphael's Fornarina, which I 
 immediately found, and a man was attempting to 
 copy it. How worse than foolish it is for any one to 
 try to copy Raphael ! Always the touch divine is 
 omitted — the soul, the meaning are not seized, and 
 
3-}3 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 all are deceived by tlie copyists, wlio do not see the 
 origiDal picture. This Fornarina exceeds my ex- 
 pectations even, for, though I thought I should find 
 rich beauty, I did not suppose, from copies and en- 
 gravings, that there was such purity of expression 
 in the exquisite mouth. The Fornarina of the Bar- 
 berini Palace I never liked, as I have elsewhere re- 
 corded. She is bold, saucy, and earthly, though 
 not so full in form as this. This has a sumptuous 
 fulness. The eyes are sweet and arch, the cheeks 
 like pomegranates for richness of color, and it has 
 the depth of hues of Titian or Piombo ; yet, with 
 all the glory of tint and roundness of proportions, 
 there is the delicacy and vernal sentiment of woman- 
 hood, which Titian never attained, and Raphael 
 alone fully rendered. In copies, I have thought it 
 an entirely handsome person, rather robust and 
 buxom. In the original, the face transfigures the 
 rest. She is beautiful and lovable, spirited, warm, 
 tender, and strong, glowing with Italian sunshine in 
 perfect bloom. Of this wonderful picture the copy- 
 ist was making a vulgar woman. 
 
 After two nearly complete exhaustions upon these 
 masterpieces, I was arrested by another, a Madonna 
 with the Infant and St. John. It resembles Eaphael's 
 early manner. There is a trace of Perugino in its 
 color and expression, but it is Eaphael, and no 
 other possible person who painted the picture. It 
 is a sacred face of maternity — woman, without a 
 shadow of earth upon her, with something of the 
 
FLORENCE. 353 
 
 delicate tints of Fra Angelico's angels. The lids 
 are cast down ; for her eyes rest upon the blessed 
 Child. Her serene brow is like a cloudless dawn, 
 and her pale gold hair around it like a faint, amber 
 cloud, which the unrisen or invisible sun is suffusing 
 with light. Not even the first of her seven sorrows 
 has yet disturbed the peace of her lovely mouth. 
 Titian's Yenuses, after this and the marble Venus, 
 were really intolerable, positively disagi*eeable to 
 me — nay, really indecent ; for they are not god- 
 desses — not womanhood — not maternitv — not maid- 
 enhood, but nude female figures. 
 
 I did not really see anything in the Tribune this 
 morning excepting the Yenus de Medici, the For- 
 narina, Raphael's Madonna, and Titian's Yenuses. 
 Oh yes ; I saw the Slave Whetting his Knife — a 
 powerful, earnest, truthful form and face, but a 
 singular subject for sculpture. It must have a sig- 
 nificance not vet fancied or understood. 
 
 I remember particularly to-day a marble bust of 
 Lorenzo the Magnificent, which is monstrous in ugli- 
 ness ; and afterward I saw an oil picture of him, 
 equally repulsive. The face is clever, but very evil. 
 A bold, bad man he looks to have been. How my 
 dream of this prince is dispelled ! To be sure, the 
 Medici were no princes, but doctors originally, and 
 Sismondi gives no good character of Lorenzo ; yet 
 I supposed him grand and comely in appearance. 
 The degree to which ugliness culminates in these 
 old civilizations is fearful and suggestive. Ages of 
 
354 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 crime sometimes seem to be concentrated in one 
 countenance. The baby Nero, liowever, whom I 
 saw to-day, looked innocent, and opposite the infant- 
 bust was the full-grown Emperor, revolting to be- 
 hold, as if it needed but one life to develop the 
 depravity. The inherited tendencies of the babe 
 were doubtless downward, and his mother did not 
 win him upward, but drove him deeper into sin as 
 he grew older. Yet Nero, at his worst, looks like a 
 great self-indulgent, pampered boy, while Lorenzo 
 is, apparently, an incarnation of complicated, well- 
 planned wickedness, and when only a week old he 
 could hardly have had a sweet and guileless ex- 
 pression. 
 
 The Madonna della Seggiola surpasses entirely all 
 the copies in oil and all engravings. An artist was 
 at work before it, and had succeeded a little with 
 the infant Christ ; but had wholly missed the young 
 mother. In the faces of this masterpiece there is 
 a singular pensiveness — not so profound and sub- 
 lime as in the Dresden Madonna ; but a tender, 
 meditative, shadowed sentiment — delicate, fine, and 
 pathetic. Mary may be musing over the mysterious 
 words of Simeon ; and the loving caress with which 
 she bends her cheek to the child, and clasps him so 
 closely, seems to express, " He is mine — take him 
 not from me ! Let not that sword separate us, O 
 Lord !" Yet there is also an all-absorbing content 
 in the attitude and glance — a certainty of bliss sa 
 great that the fear may arise that it cannot last. 
 
FLORENCE. 355 
 
 There is far more prophecy of the worship of sorrow 
 in the face of Jesus than in that of Mary, and the rap- 
 ture of love in little John's eyes is suffused with tear- 
 fulness. The babe is grand. In the Madonna is a 
 penetrating sweetness that I believe I have seen in no 
 other, though I had thought there could be no more 
 complete expression of it than in some of his other 
 Holy Families. This is sweeter than the sweetest, 
 and distances all hope of imitation. Somewhere the 
 drawing, the color, the life, fail in all copies. So 
 many are the applicants to paint this picture that 
 they are five years deep. Every day I grow more 
 and more amazed at the genius of Haphael. It gets 
 to be miraculous. This work transcends any power 
 I possess of conveying it to the mind of another. 
 My words seem poor rags, with wliich I endeavor to 
 clothe the idea — heaps of rags — the more I trj^ the 
 larger the heaps. At each separate one of his 
 works I exclaim, " What ! another new face !" — 
 wliich I instantly perceive must be Raphael's, yet 
 as new as each separate soul is new, and unlike all 
 other souls. Color, form, expression, grace — each 
 equal to each, and all best. TMiat an eye, what a 
 hand, w^hat a heart, and what an intellect must his 
 have been, and how we know him at once, though 
 there is no mannerism in his style ! We know him, 
 because he is superior to all, and there is no fault. 
 We may find some lesser or greater shortcomings in 
 others ; but Raphael cannot be criticised. We only 
 must be thankful that we have eyes to see what he 
 
856 NOTES W ITALY. 
 
 has done, and some degree of capacity to appre- 
 ciate it. 
 
 Let me not forget to record, however, another 
 wonder I met with to-day — Fra Angelico's Madonna 
 a-nd Child, of life-size, surrounded with angels in 
 choir. It is in three parts — a tryptich — and on the 
 folding-doors are saints. The backgrounds are gold. 
 The wreath of angels, each one with a different in- 
 strument of music, and one, over Mary's head, with 
 hands folded in prayer, are worthy of the holy Friar. 
 I do not know in what he dips his pencil, unless in 
 the rainbow ; but the robes of this celestial band are 
 glorious in color : gold circles are round their heads, 
 fretted with points that catch the light — a brighter 
 gold than gold. Their hair is still another shade, 
 and their instruments also are gold, ^nd their wings 
 purple and crimson and azure, mingled with plumes 
 of shining gold. The hues of their faces have his 
 peculiar transparency and softness of tint ; and it 
 must be the complexion of celestial beings, for there 
 is no earth in it. The grace, splendor, and state of 
 this garland of divine choristers give an idea of the 
 heavenly world, which Fra Angelico alone reveals. 
 The Virgin Mary sits in the centre, with the babe 
 standing upon her knees, with both little arms ex- 
 tended in blessing. From his fair face and blue 
 eyes suns seem to radiate and actually dazzle. He 
 is the Sun of Bighteousness, delineated with the 
 pencil of a mortal saint, and this Sun is all made up 
 of Love — good- will to man. How can any one be- 
 
FLORENCE. 857 
 
 lieve in an angry, avenging Deity who looks upon 
 this true revelation of the Father? How paltry are 
 words in the presence of such an apocalypse of 
 boundless grace to all ! Two artists were each 
 copying an angel, and their backgrounds being fresh 
 gold just laid on, showed how gorgeous the original 
 picture must have been when first executed. When 
 Fra Angelico first unfolded the doors of the tryp- 
 tich, the beholder must have thought the heavens 
 opened upon him, with the sound of sackbut, psal- 
 tery, harp, and soft recorders, blown by the breath 
 and touched with the fingers of glorious angels, in 
 accompaniment to the world-wide blessing, that 
 blazes in starry beams fi^om the countenance of the 
 Express Image of his Father. 
 
 At the Pitti Palace I saAv two Holy Families of 
 Murillo, in his peasant style. One is quite the 
 peasant — the other is somewhat transfigured, and 
 the eyes are musing, absent, and dreamy — the ex- 
 pression most pure and sweet. The child is a lovely 
 little baby, but not the infant Christ. The " Bella" 
 of Titian is rich in color, with a neck and bosom of 
 exquisite beauty, but the Venetian school has, I 
 think, no spirituality. It is all sense, with whatever 
 sense can manifest of magnificence and sumptuous- 
 ness — not one ray from heaven, however, by any 
 chance. So my observation has been, thus far. 
 
 June 10th. — We went to the Pitti this morning 
 early, to see the tapestries in the great court, and 
 
358 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 the wrecks, perhaps, of the flower-carpet ; and also^ 
 if possible, the Grand Ducal private apartments. 
 Nearly all the arras had been removed, and the 
 flow^er-carpet was utterly gone ; but we gained ad- 
 mittance into the palace : — first, into the Entrance 
 Hall of Stuccoes, long, wide, and lofty — the walls 
 and arched ceilings covered with stucco figures and 
 ornaments of every device. In the centre, a door 
 upon the right admitted us into another ante-room, 
 equally lofty, and not so large, entirely painted in 
 fresco by Porchetti (or Porcetti) ; but the custode 
 did not tell us what subjects were illustrated. Now 
 the guard took out his keys, and unlocked a door 
 and ushered us into a bedchamber, high, but small, 
 — the w^alls hung with satin damask of deep dahlia- 
 red, illumined with lines of bright gold. The bed, 
 doors, and windows were hung with the same mate- 
 rial. It is a fine custom of these southern kingdoms 
 to drape the doors with sweeping folds. It probably 
 obtains all over Europe. 
 
 The next room was hung with gobelin tapestry — 
 one whole side a charming scene of gardening and 
 husbandry, carried on by a troup of little genii of 
 loveliest baby-forms and sweet faces, all full of earn- 
 estness, and as busy as so many bees. They made 
 labor soar and sing. The brilliant, fresh coloring, 
 the careful drawing, and living expression of these 
 tapestries amazed me ; for the softest, round cheek 
 is rendered as by enamel-painting. Several apart- 
 ments followed one another, filled with similar 
 
FLORENCE. 359 
 
 beautiful hangiiigs — sometimes landscapes ; and one 
 was particularly delicate in its aerial perspective. 
 In England, and even in Home, the arras we saw 
 was alwa3^s somewhat faded ; but these were as radi- 
 ant as if this moment woven. Every room con- 
 tained tables of Florentine mosaic, in pietra dura, 
 as well as of the most precious marbles ; and superb 
 cabinets of ebony, with small columns of oriental 
 alabaster and of lapis-lazuli, and of the rare Blue 
 John (which however is purple) — inlaid with flowers, 
 birds, and shells, composed of pearls and gems, in 
 infinitely varied devices, and with no end of beauty. 
 Each cabinet differed from every other in form, and 
 they -were of all varieties of substance. The flowers can 
 never fade that are composed of jewels and marbles 
 — lilies, passion-flowers, roses, jessamines, morning- 
 glories, trailing in long vines with lapis-lazuli petals, 
 forget-me-nots of turquoise, and other blossoms of 
 earth, together with birds of the air, involved in grace- 
 ful arabesques, winding and wreathing about. After 
 the tapestries ceased, velvet and satin -dam ask took 
 their place, so thick and solid that my hand could 
 scarcely clutch it. It had the thickness and richness 
 of Genoa velvet, with the sheen of the satin added — 
 woven into flowers and leaves, like embossed work. 
 Just fancy the walls made up of this gorgeousness, 
 and full, trailing curtains at all the doors and 
 windows. 
 
 At last we came to the chamber of the Grand 
 Duchess. The bed was hung with white satin, 
 
3G0 KOTES IX ITALY. 
 
 heavily embroidered with gold — the satin seeming 
 to be an eighth of an inch in thickness. The walls, 
 windows, and doors were draped with light-blue satin 
 and gold — as well as the chairs and couches. On 
 the toiletj were candlesticks entii'ely of flowers in 
 wreaths, in enamel. A chandelier of the same 
 design hung fi'om the centre of the frescoed ceihng. 
 A prie-dieu, near the bed, was inlaid with pietra dura 
 and gems, and cushioned with white satin rayed 
 with gold. But the dressing-room ! On a marble 
 table, of Greek form, stood a small gothic-shaped 
 glass, fi'amed in enamelled flowers. Tabourets of 
 white satin, embroidered with flowers, stood against 
 the walls, which were encased in azure damask. 
 And so we went on, in splendid mazes lost, till we 
 opened upon an ante-room or hall of audience, and 
 then I supposed we were at the end. But behold ! 
 the custode unlocked another door, and we began 
 upon a suite of winter-apartments, which were 
 caipeted. Oiu* feet seemed sinking in deep moss, 
 and we ciTished down fresh blooming flowers at 
 ever}- step. Hitherto we had walked over marble 
 and inlaid floors. Xow, each room showed a new 
 variety of cai'pet — a new color for gi'oundwork, and 
 new designs elaborated upon it. In each was also a 
 clock of some rare device. One was made entirely 
 of gold and Blue John. Some were of gold and 
 oriental alabaster, and all were clicking. One struck 
 while we were near by, and it was like faiiy music. 
 The cabinets seemed to become more and more 
 
FLORENCE. 361 
 
 superb, and the tables riclier, as we went on. In 
 the Grand Duke's bedroom hung the only oil j^aint- 
 ing we saw, a Madonna by Carlo Dolce, a replica of 
 the original one, in the Borghese Palace in Eome, 
 entirely different from any other Madonna, very 
 beautiful and highly finished. Wonderful eyes has 
 the Virgin, with tender, deep shadows, as from long 
 lashes. I liked it extremely at Rome, but this is 
 more lovely still. IlIiq pine-dieu here was particularly 
 exquisite, m Florentine mosaic, and one table in the 
 room had marvellous groups of faces and figures, in- 
 laid. Inlaying certainly can go no further than in 
 this Florentine work. The walls of all the winter- 
 suite were covered with satin and velvet damask — 
 one was again entirely azure. At the close, we en- 
 tered upon a hall surrounded with marble statues, 
 in niches, where, I think, the custode said the Acad- 
 emy of Arts hold meetings, and this opened upon 
 a cabinet of antique sculpture — one Apollo there 
 greatly resembling our friend the Count O'S. And 
 now we had really finished the circuit. ^ ->^ ^ * * * 
 At one o'clock I took U. and R. to Casa Guidi, to 
 see Mrs. Browning. She does not see people till 
 eight in the evening, but as B. is fast asleep at that 
 hour, she requested me to come at one with her. 
 "We rang a great while, and no one answered the bell, 
 but presently a woman came up the staircase and ad- 
 mitted us ; but she was surprised that we expected to 
 see Mrs. Browning at such a time. I gave her my 
 credentials, and so she invited us to follow her in. 
 
 IG 
 
363 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 We found the "wondrous lady in her drawing-room, 
 very pale, and looking ill, yet she received us affection- 
 ately, and was deeply interesting, as usual. She took 
 B. into her lap, and seemed to enjoy talking to and 
 looking at her, as well as at U. She said, " Oh how 
 rich and happy you are to have two daughters, a 
 son, and such a husband !" Her boy was gone to 
 his music-master's, which I was very sorry for, but 
 we saw two pictures of him. Mrs. Browning said 
 he had a vocation for music, but did not like to ap- 
 ply to anything else any more than a butterfly, and 
 the only way she could command his attention was 
 to have him upon her knees, and hold his hands and 
 feet. He knows German pretty well already, and 
 Italian perfectly, being born a Florentine. -^ * ^ 
 I was afraid to stay long, or to have Mrs. Browning 
 talk, because she looked so pale, and seemed so 
 much exhausted, and I perceived that the motion of 
 E.'s fan distressed her. I do not understand how 
 she can live long, or be at all restored while she 
 does live. I ought rather to say that she lives so 
 ardently that her delicate earthly vesture must soon 
 be burnt up and destroyed by her soul of pure fire. 
 Soon after five I took R. to the Boboli gardens. 
 They are open to the public two days in the week. 
 We soon found a lake with swans, and R. did not 
 wish to go a step farther, and so I sat down on a 
 marble seat, while she watched the majestic crea- 
 tures. The grounds extend for an immense distance, 
 and include hill, plain and valley, groves, avenues, 
 
FLORENCE. 36t 
 
 lawns, fountains, lakes, islands, statues, flowers, con- 
 servatories — impenetrable shades and sunny open 
 spaces — extensive views from the heights — temples, 
 bowers, grottoes — in short, " enormous bliss" of 
 every green, flowery, and bosky kind. They are the 
 gardens of the palace, and have an entrance from 
 the piazza in front, as well as this other entrance, 
 nearer to our Casa del Bello. In the swans' lake 
 was a rough rock, upon which sat a marble Ariadne, 
 stretching out her fair arms wildly for help against 
 a horrible green dragon, who was creeping out of 
 the water on one side, while an enormous frog — 
 probably antediluvian — was opening his jaws upon 
 her from the other. •?«•** ^ -^ * 
 
 June 12th. — We set forth for the Pitti Gallery this 
 morning, and first went into Mrs. Powers' to leave 
 B. for a visit. We found Mr. Powers, and had a 
 very interesting call. He took us into all his many 
 rooms, and gave us a great deal of instruction in the 
 human face and form. I was surprised to find that 
 he never models his ideal heads and statues in clay, 
 but cuts them out of plaster, so that his models 
 never crumble, and can be brought to any degree of 
 perfection he chooses. He had a figure of Milton's 
 Penserosa, with " looks commercing with the skies,'* 
 of the heroic size, and very majestic and impressive 
 — an extraordinary light in the eyes — a rai:)turous 
 gleam, which one would not have supposed possible 
 to give without the iris and the sheen of color. But 
 
364 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 his belief and theory is that every effect can be given 
 by pure form, and he seems to prove it very well. 
 He has studied anatomy, and observed nature most 
 carefull}^, and thinks he has found truth upon which 
 to stand and work and expound. He says he not 
 only can render the glance of the eyes, but indicate 
 the direction of the beam, so that one can put one's 
 self in the line of sight and meet the look. Perhaps 
 we thought the iris was only a part of the smooth 
 surface of the ball, and, to show us the contrary, he 
 closed his lids and moved the iris back and forth 
 beneath them, and we saw immediately that it was 
 raised from the ball and moved, a perceptible globe, 
 over it. Therefore, whenever the iris might be upon 
 the ball, it would slightly raise the lid in that spot, 
 and this should always be attended to in modelling, 
 for it indicated the position and direction of the 
 glance. He said, also, that the elevation or depres- 
 sion of the lachrymal gland showed the way the eye 
 turned, and he bade us look at his own. We saw 
 that if he looked to the right, the little gland in the 
 corner of the eye, next the nose, was higher in the 
 right eye and depressed in the left, and that very 
 seldom was this gland modelled at all, instead of 
 being carefully distinguished. His own ideal busts 
 proved his laws, all obeyed ; and, under the light of 
 his expositions, it was very interesting to examine 
 them anew. He told us also that the skin round the 
 mouth was knitted over the lips in its own cunning 
 way, separating the roseate color from the white 
 
FLORENCE. 365 
 
 cuticle. This lie found iu nature, but never found it 
 imitated in sculpture till lie did it himself. The ear, 
 also, he said, was generally neglected, while it was a 
 very beautiful part, when well formed ; and the ears 
 of his own heads proved how exquisite it could be. 
 W. S. had said that Mr. Powers had but one type, 
 and there was no variety in his ideal faces and forms. 
 I found this to be quite an unjust remark. There is 
 an entire difference between them. Prosperine has 
 a face tender and emotional, with the pure sentiment 
 of womanhood — a little pensive, with prophecy of 
 future sweet cares, blooming with changing rose- 
 hues, affectionate, ready for tears and for smiles, — 
 ideal girlhood, developing into higher experience. 
 It is dewy, blushing, tendril-like in affections. A 
 wreath of wheat is wound round her head, blending 
 with the bands of hair, which are gathered in a rich 
 knot, and then fall upon the neck. For such a 
 daughter Ceres might well search with an immortal 
 sorrow. 
 
 Near by this is Psyche, a conception of pure soul, 
 without relation to persons or time. It is eternal 
 youth, and one cannot determine the degree of youth- 
 fulness, because it is not young, but youth. The 
 eyes look straight forward with a clear, serene, self- 
 centred expression. They demand no sympathy 
 or responsive, loving glance, like the soft, liquid eyes 
 of Prosperine. They seem to look into the source of 
 light without surprise and without blenching, lofty 
 and steady. Her hair, folded on her brow in the 
 
8CG NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 Olympian style, is fastened there by a butterfly, like 
 a jewel — emblem of the soul. It is a face neither 
 pensive nor joyful, neither for smiles nor for tears, 
 but superior to our regards and content in itself: 
 not arrogant, but lofty ; not cold, but calm and col- 
 lected, and soft only through perfect beautj^ and a 
 plastic power. Such is Psyche. And Psyche differs 
 again wholly from Diana, which is in the same room. 
 Diana is of heroic size. She has the cold, distant air 
 of a queen and goddess. She is not soul, but 
 only a part of the soul — its chastity. A slight Hy- 
 perion scorn is in her mouth. She is plainly the 
 sister of Apollo, the Python-slayer. She has nothing 
 to do wdth mortals, but is accustomed to hold her 
 highw\iy among the courses of the stars, wdth the 
 constellations for her maids of honor. She steps 
 only on the adamantine floors of heaven, and her 
 brow is caressed only by the blue ether, in fathom- 
 less spaces above. Even now she turns aside her 
 face with a fine and delicate disdain of what may 
 meet her indifferent glance here below. She wears 
 a coronet wdth stars and a crescent, and a richly 
 sculptured baldric holds her drapery over her shoul- 
 der. Who can say that Diana is like the Proserpine 
 or the Psyche ? 
 
 Eve looks primal. There is not one hour's expe- 
 rience in her new soul, beaming out of her large, 
 innocent eyes. I am sure she has not yet tasted the 
 apple she holds in her hand, and knows nothing 
 whatever about good and evil. But I did not ob- 
 
FLORENCE. 3G7 
 
 serve Eve sufficiently to-daj^ and intend to see it 
 another time. 
 
 Mr. Powers showed us a machine in which he cuts 
 and finishes the separate parts of his statues. If he 
 wishes to elaborate a hand, he takes it off the arm, 
 and puts it in a vice, and turns it to every light 
 and point of view, and then fastens it again to tlie 
 figure ; and so with each portion. He is a genius 
 at mechanics as well as at sculpture, and has in- 
 vented and made various tools, and machines for 
 fashioning the tools, and for effecting manifold pro- 
 cesses. He has made an instrument for scooping or 
 punching a clearly cut hole in a thick piece of iron, 
 in which he has concentrated sixty thousand pounds 
 weight of power into his own individual amount of 
 power ; so that by leaning upon a spike or pivot for 
 a second, without perceptibly great effort, the hole 
 is punched. This saves the time used for drilling. 
 Enormous labor, expense, and time were all saved — 
 I forget in what proportions. He has also invented 
 a file or gTater, which frees itself perpetually from 
 the clogging of the substance grated, so as to work 
 clear, without trouble ; and this, he said, was " first- 
 rate for culinary purposes," as well as for grating 
 his statues. After exhibiting to us all his inventions 
 and productions visible round about, he asked us if 
 we had seen the little hand. No, we had only heard 
 of it. So he brought out " the little hand" — the 
 hand of his daughter Louisa, when five months old. 
 All the hands of babies are pretty, but Louisa's is 
 
8G3 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 peculiarly so. It bears the palm ; and lier father 
 has carved a perfect fac-simile. It is outstretched, 
 with lovely taper fingers, every nail rendered ex- 
 actly, and the effect of the delicate skin given, with 
 the folds over the knuckles, and the deep crease 
 round the plump wrist. This little hand comes forth 
 from a cuff, as it were — or ruffle of beautifully sculp- 
 tured leaves, which fall back from it. 
 
 I think we must have stayed more than an hour, 
 yet we were not tired of it, though the Pitti was in 
 store for us ; and it was after eleven when we arrived 
 at the Palace. 
 
 I saw to day, for the first time, the Madonna del 
 Baldacchino of Raphael. I do not like the face of 
 the Virgin so well as that of many others, but it is 
 lovely, and the whole picture is a superb one — with 
 saints and angels, and low in front the Chanting 
 Cherubs, which Greenough so exactly copied in mar- 
 ble. According to Mr. Mozier, of Home, Greenough 
 never originated the slightest thing, but copied the 
 antique, and embodied detailed descriptions of an- 
 tique statues, now not extant, and put into marble 
 painted figures, like these cherubs. Here are these, 
 at any rate, perfectly familiar to me through Green- 
 ough's group, which I saw so many years ago in 
 Boston, and always supposed his own conception. 
 No one ever told me they were copies. 
 
 Mary sits enthroned, with the child, beneath a 
 canopy or baldacchino, the folds of which are held 
 back by two angels, floating above. Four fathers of 
 
FLORENCE. i]G9 
 
 tlie Clnircli, two on cacli side, stand by the throne, 
 and the Httle choristers are in the foreground. In 
 tlie same saloon is a small and wonderful picture by 
 Raphael, of the Vision of Ezekiel : " He rode upon 
 a cherub and did fly." The Almighty is upborne by 
 the mysterious, complex shapes. The effect of the 
 whole is sublime, and I cannot tell how or why, ex- 
 cept that Eaphael has rendered what the prophet 
 saw, and we kindle to read. It is grand, vast, incom- 
 prehensible, yet all comprised in a space no larger 
 than this page (small letter-paper), showing that size 
 is no necessary element of grandeur. Both this and 
 the Baldacchino will be .good for study. 
 
 To-day I saw also Michel Angelo's Three Fates ; 
 and I needed more than one pair of eyes to gaze, 
 for I had all my life wished to see it. An artist was 
 copying it badly, which is a pity ; for his copy will 
 deceive somebody, who will suppose it like the origi- 
 nal. Mr. Emerson has a copy, but I cannot recall 
 that vividly enough to compare it with Michel An- 
 gelo's. The weird sister who stands in the middle, 
 seemed to me to have a slight compunction in her 
 mouth and eyes, but Mr. H. said she had not to him, 
 and that " if she had, she would not be a Fate, but 
 a Providence." I think the other two are pitiless 
 enough, however. They are as hard as metal. One, 
 she who holds the distaff, and has spun the thread, 
 is crying out. Or I think she holds the distaff, and 
 the central sister has spun the thread, which the third 
 one is about to clip. I cannot help seeing a little 
 
870 KOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 softness in the mouth of her who holds the slender 
 thread af life. It is the clipper who looks merciless 
 and stony. It seems as if the distaff-holder were 
 enraged that the substance she has supplied should 
 be wasted, and that the thread-holder regrets that 
 the cunningly twisted filament should be snapped 
 asunder. It is a work of mighty power and expres- 
 sion, rendered with the same single regard to truth 
 and indifference to comeliness, wiiich the great 
 artist so often manifested. It reminded me of the 
 statue of an old woman at the Capitol in Home — 
 thought to be Hecuba or a Sibyl — an antique, and 
 painfully like a despairing or oracle-mad old proph- 
 etess, opposed to the usual tranquil Greek sculp- 
 tures. 
 
 Raphael's Madonna del Gran Duca, never seen 
 out of the royal private apartments, except when 
 some one is copying it, was visible to-day. She 
 stands, holding the infant. Her face is fair, and 
 more like Perugino or Fra Angelico in form, color, 
 and expression, but yet unmistakably Raphael. 
 
 Just as I was about leaving the palace, I dis- 
 covered a Madonna adoring the Infant, by Perugino, 
 one of the divinest I have yet seen by him. I shall 
 have great profit and solace in that picture hence- 
 forth. 
 
 There is a large round table in one of the saloons 
 of fabulous magnificence. The ground of the mosaic 
 is lapis-lazuli, and on that rich substance every 
 graceful flower and fancy is inlaid with precious 
 
FLORENCE. 371 
 
 stones. So in a corridor running from one apart- 
 ment to another are closed cabinets full of Venetian 
 glass and ivory carvings of almost impossible deli- 
 cacy ; and on the wall hang pictures composed of 
 pietra dura — one the Pantheon at Rome — very su- 
 perb — and two, representing great beauty of expres- 
 sion and grace of form, in which the immitigable 
 stone is made to flow, apparently, at the determined 
 will of genius. 
 
 This afternoon T took a carriage to make calls on 
 the Lung'Arno, with Ada and the children ; but find- 
 ing no one at home, we drove to the Cascine, the 
 Hyde Park of Florence, and found it very delicious. 
 It is outside the gates, and consists of long carriage- 
 drives, deeply shaded with noble trees, lovely park- 
 like groves, sunny lawns, fountains, and shrubbery ; 
 and on one side afar mountains crowned with cities, 
 and fringed with villages, and a delightful odor of 
 flowers diffused through all. 
 
 June 14th. — This morning we spent at the Uffizzi. 
 We first sat down in the vestibule to look at the 
 marble busts of the Medici which surround it. Alas ! 
 what presentments ! Gaston, " smothered in his own 
 wig," as Mr. H. truly said, has also a face and air in 
 perfect harmony with the bravery of his wig — the 
 truculent mien of a turkeycock — the head thrown 
 back, the nose in the shape of a gallop — an immense 
 assumption of importance, not borne out by any 
 intellectual superiority. Lorenzo has none of this 
 
ST2 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 pomposity ; but a very broad head, and an equally 
 broad face, witli an expression of power, unscrupu- 
 lousness, and complexity — ambitious, ignoble, and 
 cruel. Leopold, son of Cosmo, is almost monstrous. 
 From an admirable economy in nature, what should 
 have been brain is, in Leopold, under lip, certainly 
 the biggest I ever beheld in a white man, and as 
 coarse as a negro's. There are two others who also 
 have an Afiican coarseness of contour, and there is 
 but one which is respectable in aspect — one Ferdi- 
 nand. Such men as these ruled my beautiful 
 Florence ! the flower of cities, the most highly- 
 cultivated of communities, the very rose of civiliza- 
 tion. Florence must have done very wrong to de- 
 serve so severe a punishment. 
 
 A few weeks ago the crypt of the Medicean chapel 
 was opened, and the dead bodies of these grim 
 prince-doctors were visible, because they had been 
 embalmed. Conceive the idea of trying to preserve 
 the dead bodies of such frightful-looking persons — of 
 being anxious to keep forever that under lip, for in- 
 stance ! I should have liked to see Lorenzo for a 
 flitting instant, because he w^as so famous ; but I 
 am glad, on the whole, that I escaped the ghastly 
 show. 
 
 The charming group of Silenus, with the infant 
 Bacchus in his arms, stands in the vestibule, on one 
 side the door. It is in bronze. I was acquainted 
 with it in marble in the Braccio Nuovo of the Vati- 
 can, and it is most beautiful, in whatever material — 
 
FLORENCE. 37} 
 
 one of the antique masterpieces. Very finely- cat 
 ancient bas-reliefs of marble are inserted in the 
 walls of the room — noble, heroic, draped figures of 
 Roman times. In an inner ante-room is the Medi- 
 cean boar, and dogs and a marble horse, and busts 
 of the Eoman emperors, old acquaintances of ours. 
 Then we entered the long gallery of marble busts 
 and groups, and specimens of the old oil-painters 
 from Cimabue. Here we paused before Era An- 
 gelico's Tryptich — the Madonna, surrounded by the 
 Choral Angels. I found that there are two in a de- 
 vout attitude over her head — one with hands joined 
 palm to palm, the other -with arms crossed over the 
 bosom. The artists were not arrived yet, and so we 
 could not see the splendor of the new gold. On our 
 return, however, they were painting, and they had 
 commenced two other copies, one of them exceed- 
 ingly beautiful. I should like to possess such good 
 copies as these, and set up an angel in each room of 
 our house. 
 
 We remained a long while in the Tribune, and I 
 saw there, for the first time, Michel Angelo's Holy 
 Family. Mary sits on the ground, and is lifting the 
 infant to Joseph, who is behind her. The child is 
 grand, and Joseph is fine, but Mary is too plain 
 and old. The noble Samian Sib}! of Guercino is 
 there also, with the head raised, and turned over 
 the right shoulder. A man was making a perfectly 
 incorrect copy of it. The lovely Venus de Medici 
 maintained her state, notwithstanding Mr. Powers' 
 
S:4 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 censure of her face and head. He says she has the 
 face of an idiot ! and certainly the casts seem to 
 have. But the marble is not so. The profile view 
 is sweet and delicate, and fitly surmounts the unsur- 
 passed beauty of the form. 
 
 The Madonna of Sasso Ferrato, with downcast 
 lids, and a blue nun-like mantle over the head — so 
 much copied and engraved — called the Virgin of 
 Sorrows, I saw at last as originally painted, as well 
 as the Magdalen of Carlo Dolce^ so much liked, 
 with upraised head, holding a vase to her breast. 
 But there is a singular metallic finish and tint in 
 Carlo Dolce's paintings, which I do not like. T]iey 
 are coppery, brassy, or silvery and golden, and 
 sometimes irony — but the shadows are not trans- 
 parent, and he is too Dolce generally. This Mag- 
 dalen, however, is not dolce, though dark and 
 metallic. I like nothing that I have seen of Carlo 
 Dolce entirely, excepting the Madonna in the Grand 
 Duke's bedchamber at the Pitti Palace. That is 
 rare and exquisite, with a noble expression. Titian's 
 celebrated Flora is in the same room — a maiden 
 with flowing auburn hair, a loose, white Greek dress, 
 and flowers in her hand. Her complexion is very 
 fair and luminous ; but the face is disagreeable, 
 like many of Titian's ladies' faces, while his por- 
 traits of men are gracious and agreeable. 
 
 To-day is distinguished by my first seeing Niobe 
 and her children, arranged round a vast hall — the 
 very original marbles. They were found just out- 
 
FLORENCE. . 375 
 
 side one of the gates of Rome. The dying son is 
 very beautiful, as well as the daughter, who is look- 
 ing down upon him — or who ivas — for they are sep- 
 arated now. The light in the hall is not good for 
 sculpture, and these noble forms are at great disad- 
 vantage, and we did not stay long to-day to study 
 them. 
 
 Two very large rooms are filled with portraits of 
 artists, where one can see face to face all who have 
 ever had a name. At this time I looked at Bubens, 
 Eembrandt, Raphael, Michel Angelo, Titian, and 
 Mengs. The portrait of Raphael shows the utmost 
 delicacy and grace of soul. All the copies and en- 
 gi'avings fail here as usual. It is said that Raphael's 
 eyes in this picture were once blue and the hair fair, 
 and that the cleaners have retouched them and 
 made them dark. This is proved true by the por- 
 trait of him by his contemporary, Pinturicchio, in 
 the library of the Siena Cathedral. That has golden 
 hair and blue eyes. So that this Florence picture, 
 by himself, has been shamefully spoiled, and we 
 see only his drawing, and none of his coloring. 
 Picture-cleaners are often the destruction instead of 
 the restorers of works of art. But the beauty of 
 these hues has not been interfered with. 
 
 In a small cabinet of sculpture, is an unfinished 
 head of Bnitus — Marcus Brutus — by Michel Angelo, 
 with a countenance of stupendous force of expres- 
 sion and careful thought. There is also here his 
 first attempt in marble at fifteen years — a satyr's 
 
87G NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 head or a mask — by no means lovely. Near by is a 
 colossal head of Alexander the Great — grand, and 
 expressive of wild grief and disturbance. " I think I 
 know his face w^ell now, for there are several busts 
 of him at Rome, and a resemblance runs through 
 all. In the hall of Portraits, stands the Medicean 
 vase, upon which is carved, in relief, the Sacrifice 
 of Iphigenia, which I so long ago admired in en- 
 gravings. It is a good deal injured, and much 
 larger than I supposed. 
 
 June 17tli. — We celebrated this day by going to 
 the Academy of Arts. We went into the first gal- 
 lery through a hall of casts, none of which detained 
 us long. The paintings of the Academy are all by 
 the great masters, except a few by Andrea del Sarto, 
 the Florentine. We first looked at an Adoration of 
 the Magi, by Gentile da Fabriano. The faces and 
 figures are all admirable, many of them beautiful, 
 the coloring gorgeous, and made actually to shine 
 by real gold embroidery, gold-hilted swords, em- 
 bossed gold crowns that glittered with gems, rings 
 and brooches and bracelets of gold, set with jewels ; 
 and the gold is gold and not a semblance. I sup- 
 pose this is a questionable license in art, but the 
 effect was sumptuous. 
 
 Mary is lovely, and the majestic babe stoops over 
 an aged king, who kneels to kiss his little foot, and 
 blesses the venerable potentate, bristling and crink- 
 ling with gorgeous brocade, by placing his hand 
 
FLORENCE. 377 
 
 upon liis head. Wonderful is the dignity and sweet- 
 ness of the grand infant's countenance. One of the 
 kings is young, and stands in the centre of the group, 
 with a handsome face — perfectly magnificent in cos- 
 tume, and with that expression of true devoutness, 
 found only in the old masters — a look of entire self- 
 surrender to an absorbing religious sentiment, ac- 
 companied with a peculiar bend of the head, in which 
 are worship, gentleness, submission, and serenity. 
 Behind the young monarch stands Gabriele da 
 Fabriano himself, in a red turban — a portrait — his 
 broad, earnest face expressive of much interest in 
 gazing at the kneeling king at Mary's feet. Gold 
 and jewelled cups, attendants and officers, crowd the 
 scene. In the upper part of the picture this splen- 
 did throng is represented winding its way up into 
 the town of Bethlehem, like a distant rainbow. 
 
 A Descent from the Cross, by Era Angelico, 
 highly finished — the colors as bright as if just 
 flashed from a prism — attracted me, like all his 
 works, by its delicacy of conception and reverent 
 feeling. An Assumption, by Perugino, called one of 
 his masterpieces, is distinguished by four figures 
 standing below — three saints and the archangel 
 Michael. St. John Gualberto is in the habit of a 
 Cardinal, the red hat upon his head, and tied under 
 his chin — the head bent a little. The face is full of 
 living thought and feeling, and a vast serenity — the 
 attitude exceedingly graceful, with a sort of heavenly 
 grace, rather than the grace of the drawing-room. 
 
3T8 KOTES US' ITALY. 
 
 St. Benedict is next, looking np in ecstasy. Both 
 these saints prefigure Raphael in expression, dig- 
 nitv, and sentiment ; but Baphael always went be- 
 yond his master in perfection of execution. His 
 outlines are never hard, nor his coloring opaque, as 
 Perugino's often are. The archangel stands, lean- 
 ing upon his shield (or rather resting his hands 
 upon it, for his figure is erect), looking out of the 
 picture. There is what Mr. Powers would call *'the 
 royal eye" — the glance that does not meet one — 
 that passes over, through and away — calm, closed 
 lips, an air of princely command, and the celestial 
 imponderability, which Perugino and his compeers 
 knew how to give to their angels and archangels so 
 astonishingly. He wears his heavenly corselet, and 
 his limbs are clasjDcd in ruby mail ; a helmet of 
 precious metal is upon his head — glorious — re- 
 sembling that of Perugino's St. Michael, in the Lon- 
 don National Gallery — and what a miracle is hero 
 accomplished ! The three mortal saints are heavy 
 with human experience and suffering, and, though 
 they are holy men, the weight of mortality presses 
 them down, while in the form and countenance of 
 St. Michael is no trace of care, and there is a bird- 
 like lightness and airiness of tread and motion, as 
 if he were the insubstantial breath of God. And 
 we cannot detect in any line or tint the manner in 
 which this is brought about. Genius alone could 
 not effect such a marvel, I think ; but Perugino, 
 through religious sympathy and aspiration, and un- 
 
FLOJIEI^TGE. 379 
 
 conscious simplicity and singleness of aim, always 
 won the heavenl}^ hierarchies to his studio, " in 
 order serviceable," for portraiture. 
 
 A Deposition, by Filippo Lippi and Perugino to- 
 gether, is also a grand picture. Two angels, one on 
 each side the Eternal Father, who appears above, 
 are in the noblest manner; their beauty is perfect 
 and grand. They look dovm, and fold their hands 
 before the Supreme Deity. What is remarkable in 
 these faces is a blending of mute, profound worship 
 with imperturbable quiet. Not even the presence of 
 God disturbs their repose. His effluence flows 
 through and through their transparent being, and 
 fills the pure chalices of their lily souls. One is in 
 a white robe, and I wish I could make this flower of 
 heaven bloom to eyes that cannot see it here ; but 
 language will not avail. Therefore, what am I to 
 do about an Entombment, still by Perugino, and I 
 am constrained to say more powerful to me in senti- 
 ment than any other, though I have already seen 
 so many that baffle my faculty of describing ? 
 
 Directly beneath an arch sits the Yirgin Mary ; 
 across her knees lies the dead body of Christ, his head 
 supported by St. John and his feet resting upon 
 Mary Magdalen's lap. Nicodemus stands on one 
 side, and Joseph of Arimathea on the other. It is 
 a long and rather narrow canvas. The head and 
 face of Christ rest directly against the head of St. 
 John, whose hands are beneath the arms of Jesus. 
 John looks out of the picture, with eyes full of a 
 
se-0 JSiOTES m italy. 
 
 mighty sorrow, as if they demanded of all the world 
 whether ever before on earth were so grievous and 
 sad a sight as this of his murdered Lord. His lips 
 tremble with the brimming woe. The expression is 
 a little startled, but amazement is overcome with 
 tender deprecation. The contrast between the 
 troubled gaze of John and the immovable calm of 
 the dead face, beautiful in death, with a broad light 
 on the brow and lids, is grand. Mary Magdalen 
 sits, her hands clasped, her eyes fixed upon the life- 
 less limbs, wholly absorbed in that piteous spectacle, 
 forgetful of the world, of the mother, and of John, 
 remembering only and seeing only that Jesus is 
 dead. I do not remember that she had beauty or 
 grace, or any entrancing golden hair, or rich robe ; 
 but her face draws the soul of the observer with 
 irresistible attraction, on account of the sentiment 
 pervading it. What can be said of Mary adolorata? 
 The grief of all the bereaved mothers since Eve is con- 
 centred in hers. She turns her head aside, for she 
 cannot look at her crucified Son, and she does not 
 care to look at anything else, so that her gaze is 
 impersonal. She is conscious of the heavy weight 
 of the beloved form ; but she cannot weep more. 
 Her grief is deeper than tears now, and she asks for 
 no sympathy and wishes to hear no word. The 
 sorrow of the others is measurable ; but this 
 mother's sorrow no plummet can sound, and no one 
 can comfort her. She becomes majestic from her un- 
 approachableness of emotion. Nicodemus lifts his 
 
FLORENCE. 381 
 
 ej'es upward. Joseph contemplates tlie rest ; and 
 the central point is the dead face, in sublime repose. 
 The Worship of Sorrow and the Triumph of Love 
 are both begun here. It is a divine poem on the 
 theme of Love faithful unto Death — of the heart- 
 writhing pain of bereavement, which is tribulation for 
 a time, though for an eternity there will be joj. 
 
 On the other side of the room is the Eternal 
 Father, by Carlo Dolce. Fancy a delicately colored, 
 feminine, weak, absolutely foolish head, more feeble 
 than the weakest attempts at the head of Christ, 
 appearing to sink through the clouds from help- 
 lessness. And this Carlo Dolce conceived as the 
 Almighty ! It is truly laughable — but exquisitely 
 painted. 
 
 In a small cabinet are many little pictures, from 
 which two come out eminent — an Entombment, by 
 Fra Angelico, and a Last Judgment, also by him. 
 The Entombment seemed to me his greatest work ; 
 Ijut I cannot describe it noAV. 
 
 June 19th. — This morning we went to the Church 
 of St. Lorenzo, to see Michel Angelo's monumental 
 sculptures. The church is undergoing repairs within 
 and without, and heaps of rubbish were all around. 
 Upon entering, I was very much disappointed in tlie 
 general effect of the interior. Indeed, it is difficult 
 to be reconciled to the plain walls, after being ac- 
 customed to the magnificent mosaics of marbles in 
 all Roman churches. But along our journe}^ from 
 
382 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 Home we found the walls bare; and in Florence 
 they are so likewise, so far as I have yet seen them. 
 On our return — no, on our way from the Academy 
 of Arts, the other day — we went into the Duomo. 
 It seemed very small and dismal after St. Peter's — 
 covered inside with pietra serena, a pale, brownish 
 stone, grave and sombre — with no mosaic pictures 
 to glorify the arches, and no chapels in the side- 
 aisles. The pavement is composed of beautiful 
 marbles, but is so dim and soiled that one can 
 hardly see them. It is a relief, however, to find 
 none of Bernini's tornadoes of saints, vexing the 
 quiet atmosphere at every point ; and there are 
 scarcely any monuments or statues. Behind the 
 high altar, in so dark a shadow that it is nearly im- 
 possible to see it, is an unfinished Pieta, by Michel 
 Angelo. It is very curious to see how he left his 
 works, after expressing the idea. It seems as if he 
 grew impatient at the slow process of chiselling the 
 marble, as he was of the slow process of painting in 
 oils. Fresco-painting, I suspect, suited him best, 
 because he could dash it off, and find an instant re- 
 sponse to his thought. I tried hard to see the Pieta, 
 but could only discern an outline of the design, 
 which was grand. 
 
 The dome is really larger than St. Peter's, but it 
 appears to me smaller. It is covered with frescoes, 
 which I could not distinguish ; but they are not con- 
 sidered good, and it is conjectured that the Floren- 
 tines will whitewash them, as Assisi whitewashes 
 
FLORENCE. 383 
 
 better things. The Duomo has, however, somethiii!:^ 
 that St. Peter's has not, and this is painted windows. 
 The}' are narrow, but very superb, and light comes 
 only througli the faces and forms of saints, angels, 
 and prophets, robed in rabies, sapphires, emeralds, 
 and gold, glowing — sparkling at one view Avitli 
 points of light, and at another wdth broad efful- 
 gence. There should never be a window in any 
 temple erected for worship, without painted glass, I 
 think. It ought to be as much a matter of course 
 as to have walls and roofs. It is poetically just that 
 the Life of Christ and its consequences, which are a 
 flowering out of blessed and holy men, should alone 
 be the medium of light, making it glorious. It is so 
 inspiring to look up and see a divine face, radiating 
 a splendor of love, praise, and tender devotion, 
 amidst prismatic hues ; as if the natural garments of 
 the ascended spirits were the pure colors of which God 
 makes the rainbows, or as if the White Bay, ema- 
 nating in concentrated unity from the countenance of 
 the Creator, had broken into the seven colors, in 
 flashes of rapture, to enrobe His obedient children. 
 
 There is an interesting picture of Dante on the 
 Avail, — an authentic portrait. He is standing, with 
 hell on his right hand, Florence on his left, and 
 Paradise behind him, — the seven heavens being 
 represented by seven circles, rising like steps, " very 
 much in the shape of a beehive," Mr. H. suggested. 
 
 Giotto is buried in this cathedral, and a bust of 
 him is placed over his tomb. 
 
384 NOTES IX ITALY. 
 
 Now I return to St. Lorenzo's. There is, on tlio 
 left of the high altar, a very large fresco, by Bron- 
 zino, of the Martyrdom of St. Lorenzo, a youthful 
 figure, surrounded by a throng. But I never care 
 to look twice at Bronzino's pictures. On each side 
 the altar are ancient, oblong pulpits, supported 
 upon columns of various marbles, and covered by 
 bronze bas-reliefs. 
 
 At last we found the chapel designed and adorned 
 by Michel Augelo, It is perfectly plain, ^vith white 
 walls and four arched recesses. In one is the tomb 
 of Lorenzo ; in another, of Giuliano ; in another, of 
 the father of the reigning Grand Duke, Ferdinand 
 III. ; and in the last, sitting statues of St. Damian 
 and St. Cosmo, and the Yirgin and Child, an un- 
 finished group by Michel Angelo. The statue of 
 Giuliano de Medici is very life-like and spirited, 
 and the grand Day and Night at his feet make his 
 monument illustrious ; but the chef-d'oeuvre of genius 
 is the figure of Lorenzo, sitting opposite. He is 
 resting his chin upon his left hand, the forefinger 
 on his upper lip. The right hand is upon his right 
 knee, and the palm is turned outward. There is a 
 wonderful expression of abandonment to profound 
 meditation in this position of the hand. His face is 
 deeply shaded by his helm, a most graceful and 
 heroic head-dress, and it is pressed down far over 
 his brow. He wears a sort of Greek armor, covering 
 his whole person, except a small portion of the knees ; 
 and Michel Angelo seems to have refrained, in this 
 
FLORENCE. 385 
 
 almost solitary instance, to mark tlie muscles in his 
 usual pronounced way. He lias transferred all that 
 expression of physical power and feeling to the ex- 
 pression of intellectual power and feeling, which is 
 certainly vast. It becomes no longer a marble 
 image, but a conscious heroic prince and leader, 
 absorbed in mighty purposes and cares of state, 
 anxious for his people. He breathes most thought- 
 ful breath, and his heart seems to throb with large 
 emotion. To me there is a look of terrible per- 
 plexity, fearful trouble ; but far beyond personal 
 considerations. Perhaps Michel Angelo had no re- 
 gard to the private character of Lorenzo, which 
 history says was excessively bad (he was the son 
 of Piero, grandson of Lorenzo the Magnificent), but 
 carved out an ideal father of his people. Or perhaps 
 Lorenzo w^as an archangel ruined, and not a weak 
 sinner, and could not err without an infinite remorse. 
 At any rate, there he is — the most potent, the most 
 fascinating, the grandest human life in marble yet 
 portrayed, in which the stone is no obstruction, but 
 only a fit medium of disembodied thought. The 
 helmet, and the recess in which he sits, make his 
 face very dark. It may add to the efi'ect of intro- 
 spection ; but I should like to see it more distinctly. 
 In the Crystal Palace there is an admirable cast of 
 it, which we liked better than anything else there, 
 though it was only in plaster. At his feet, upon the 
 sarcophagus, repose the colossal figures of Morning 
 and Evening, as they are called. Morning is not 
 
 17 
 
386 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 finislied, but, so far, is very serene and noble. There 
 is great anxiety and trouble in the face of the female 
 figure, and I do not know why Evening should look 
 disturbed, nor why it should be so old. Evening is 
 perfectly finished, as well as Night opposite ; while 
 Day is merely blocked out, and looks over his huge 
 shoulder dimly, like a clouded sun rising over a 
 mountain. 
 
 This plain, small chapel is called the Capella dei 
 Depositi. Up-stairs is the Medicean Chapel, which 
 Ferdinand I. intended for the reception of the Holy 
 Sepulchre, when he should obtain it from Jerusalem. 
 It is octagonal, surmounted with a dome, brilliant 
 with frescoes by Benvenuti. The walls are entirely 
 covered with the richest marbles ; and lapis-lazuli, 
 agate, chalcedony, and jasper, and even precious 
 stones, are inlaid in them also. The ducal coronets 
 of the several princes, glittering with gems, repose 
 upon cushions, embroidered with jewels, each upon 
 its sarcophagus of antique marbles. The escutch- 
 eons are magnificently elaborated with these pietre 
 commessi e dure^ of their natural colors, so that the 
 Florentine mosaic differs essentially from the Roman, 
 in which smalto is used, — a kind of hard enamel, 
 artificially composed. But with all this painfully- 
 wrought splendor, what a mere gewgaw is the Medi- 
 cean Chapel compared to the Capella dei Depositi ! 
 Genius and character make paltry all the shining 
 show, and, do what the Medici would, one looks 
 with more interest upon a half-formed, rough-hewed 
 
FLOEENCE. 387 
 
 limb by Michel Angelo tlian upon all tlie cold pomp 
 A\ itli which they have emblazoned their burial-place. 
 We did not stay long there, but returned to the 
 Sagrestia Nuova, where Lorenzo sits ; and after 
 another long contemplation of him, and of the 
 Virgin and Child, we looked again at the church. 
 The nave has two rows of noble pillars, which, I 
 doubt not, belonged to the original basilica, which 
 was ruined by fire. It is always a mystery to me 
 how these stone edifices were so often destroyed by 
 fire. What can burn ? We w^alked all round ; but 
 there was not one fine painting in the shrines, and 
 the sacred quiet of the cloisters is quite scared away 
 by modern and secular dwellings. 
 
 In the piazza is a sitting statue of Giovanni di 
 Medici, the founder of the family. It has a remark- 
 able head, and looks worthy to begin a race of 
 heroes. But his posterity was far enough from 
 heroic. 
 
 We then went to the Baptistery, a very small Pan- 
 theon, and once lighted by an open eye in the dome 
 like that, but now it is dark, till the eyes become 
 owlish. It was anciently the Temple of Mars, and 
 is surrounded with oriental granite, Corinthian col- 
 umns, the capitals gilded, supporting an arched 
 balcony, a beautiful arcade. The dome is covered 
 with old mosaics. On one side the Saviour, of 
 colossal proportions, sits as judge. The feet are 
 frightfully grotesque in all the details. The pave- 
 ment is of inlaid marbles, and in the centre of it 
 
388 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 once stood the font broken by Dante, when rescuing 
 a child from drowning. Marble saints stand round 
 in niches, and men were to-day arranging candelabra 
 at the feet of each one, to be lighted at the festival 
 of St. John, next week. That is a great day in 
 Florence, and there will be illuminations and pro- 
 cessions also. The Baptistery is the Church of St. 
 John, and all the baptisms in Florence are admin- 
 istered here still. Its chief charm to me is the Gate 
 of Paradise, by Ghiberti. The more I see it the 
 more enchantingly beautiful I discover it to be, and 
 I wish Westmacott would not twaddle so about bas- 
 reliefs as he does. I do not agree with him at all ; 
 but when Academicians get hold of a rule they stul- 
 tify themselves by holding to it, against all the in- 
 tuitions of genius. Each part of this peerless gate 
 surpasses the other parts. The single figures round 
 the framework, among whom I recognize Miriam 
 with her timbrel, Judith, and other well designated 
 persons, seem best of all ; and, outside of these, the 
 borders of flowers, fruits, and animals are so per- 
 fectly true and lovely that nothing can be so good 
 as they ; and then we come to the eight compart- 
 ments, containing sculptured events of the Old Tes- 
 tament. The Fall of Jericho is marvellous in force 
 of expression and grace of figure and movement. 
 Can anything be better? And so of each one. 
 Such delicate exactness and fidelity of finish satisfies 
 one's soul. After this, an hour and a half at the 
 Uffizzi concluded our pleasant labors for the day. 
 
FLORENCE 389 
 
 June 27tli. — I have not written here for a long 
 time, and now I must gather up my sheaf of memories 
 ■ — my golden sheaf — as well as I can. On that day 
 at the Uffizzi I particularly lingered in the Tribune. 
 I thought I recognized in one of Titian's Yenuses 
 the face of his " Bella" in the Pitti. It is a very un- 
 attractive face, with no delicacy nor tender sweetness 
 nor virgin modesty in either picture. Titian did not 
 seem able to paint innocence and purity, and ap- 
 parently had no acquaintance with those states of 
 being. The perfection of the coloring of that Yenus 
 of the Tribune, however, fascinates one's eyes. It 
 is life itself. It is such a' wonder how he did it, that 
 we gaze in the vain endeavor to discover his secret, 
 and I suppose we might almost as well succeed in 
 creating the petal of a flower as in imitating his 
 breathing tissues. 
 
 I do not know what is wanting in me, but I can- 
 not like Correggio's famous Adoring Madonna. Just 
 compare it with Perugino's in the Pitti ! One is 
 divine and the other earthly. A girlish rapture is 
 in the face and action of one, and in the other the 
 grave, ineffable tenderness of ideal maternity, the 
 sense of a priceless gift of God, the surprise at a 
 new soul, and a prophecy of something to come, not 
 yet fully comprehended — something heavy as the 
 conscience, but sweet, precious, and eternally dear. 
 There is more softness in the lines of that face 
 than is usual with Perugino. As regards Cor- 
 reggio, my eyes may be now holden, and I may 
 
390 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 in time see the cliarm of liis rendering, but now I 
 cannot. 
 
 I searched for the Bacchus which Michel Angelo 
 sculptured in imitation of the Greek, and then 
 buried, having first broken off a hand. The storj 
 is well known. The Bacchus is in a state of inebri- 
 ation. He holds up a cup and is crowned with 
 grapes, and his countenance is full of jollity and 
 folly. It is not the Olympian Bacchus, the fairest 
 of the gods, who stands with Ampelos in one of the 
 halls of the Uffizzi, all beauty, grace, benignity, and 
 gay, eternal youth ; but it is a strong figure, given 
 over to wine and fun ; though I have no right to say 
 anything about it till I have seen it more. 
 
 In the portrait-hall, I looked at the magnificent 
 Leonardo da Vinci. It is covered with plate-glass, 
 as very precious, and the painting has become quite 
 obscure. JBut the grand drawing of the head and 
 face is well visible still. The beautiful Baphael hung 
 in its place. He looked like a dove among crows, 
 side by side with those bearded, mustachoed, dark- 
 hued men. Such a pure, clear brow ; and cheek 
 and chin '^ clean as Apollo's" (as Mr. E. said of his 
 brother Charles's), and the graceful swan-throat 
 which no man ever had before or since — as I am well 
 persuaded — these the cleaners have not ruined, 
 though they have hidden the blue eyes and golden 
 hair beneath their black pigments. 
 
 An antique Bacchus in the cross-gallery I observed 
 for the first time. The delicate lithe figure is in a 
 
FLORENCE. ^91 
 
 fine strain of excitement, dancing with all his life — 
 light as a breeze and airily mad. The marble will 
 not hold it long, I thought. 
 
 On the 21st June it was sultry and threatened 
 rain, but we ventured to rush to the Pitti before the 
 storm broke loose, and it is so near us, that we ar- 
 rived safel3\ In five minutes came a tornado and a 
 thunder-crash, and it rained floods for more than 
 three liours. Part of the time the lowering clouds 
 made it too dark to see the pictures well ; but it 
 brightened enough to allow us a pretty good study. 
 A Holy Family by Rubens delighted me. It is not 
 at all Mary and the Christ, but it is, however, a most 
 beautiful group, more refined and soft than Rubens' 
 usual manner. The mother, a handsome Flemish 
 lady of brilliant complexion and matronlj^, benign 
 expression, stands in the centre, looking down upon 
 the two babies, an enchanting little pair. Christ 
 (or one baby) is in a cradle, just raising himself by 
 his left hand, while with the right he caresses the 
 cheek of the other child, meant for John — who, with 
 both hands folded, gazes upon him with a rapture 
 of love. The children are lovely peaches in color, 
 and not so rotund and bouncing in form as is usual 
 with Rubens. An unwonted delicacy then alighted 
 upon his pencil. Elizabeth holds John's little hands, 
 as she stoops behind him, and Joseph looks down 
 over the cradle. It is not the family divine, but it 
 is a noble, charming family, in Rubens' highest style. 
 
 I mused a long time over Perugino's Adoring Ma- 
 
393 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 donna, wliicli grows upon me tlie more I study it ; 
 and a Deposition by him, a very large picture, I saw 
 for tlie first time on Monday. I like it all exceed- 
 ingly except the face of Christ. The Marys are 
 w^onderful in varied expression. As to Titian's 
 Magdalen, a very large woman, quite nude, and 
 gathering about her a world of golden hair, amazing 
 as is the beauty of her hair, I do thoroughly detest 
 the picture. Such a woman would be incapable of 
 repentance. She is coarse and earthly in every fibre 
 of her frame, and in every recess of her mind. It is 
 a pity that such a woman should be painted so well. 
 I have no doubt it is a portrait, and I am sorry that 
 Titian knew such a person and contemplated her so 
 minutely. It seems to show a depraved taste and 
 nature. How could it have been ? 
 
 The dark, stately, most noble and I fear most ter- 
 rible Ippolito di Medici, attracted me as usual by 
 his beauty, his evil glance, and the princely state 
 with which he bears himself. It is one of Titian's 
 grand portraits, and recalls Raphael's Caesar Borgia 
 in Home. A Cardinal by Vandyke is also one of 
 the truly great portraits, with an air of consummate 
 elegance, high bred and quiet and a little sad. 
 Vandyke perhaps caught the trick of kingly pen- 
 siveness from the face of Charles I. of England, 
 whom he so often painted. This is Cardinal Benti- 
 voglio. 
 
 I saw a table to-day of extraordinary splendor. 
 The slab was oriental alabaster, almost transparent, 
 
FLOREXGBj 393 
 
 like liquid topaz or amber, and in this were inlaid 
 grapes of precious ametliyst, and birds and flowers 
 of other oriental stones, and they all seemed float- 
 ing in a golden sea. 
 
 One day I went to meet Mr. Browning and the 
 improvisatrice, Giovannina Milli, at Miss H.'s. Mr. 
 Browning and his little son were there ; bnt no 
 improvisatrice. An English Waterloo Major Greg- 
 orie was there too, and a Mr. Trollope, and Miss 
 Blagden, and Miss E., a literary, elderly lady, hor- 
 rent with plumes, who was very clever. All were 
 English excepting myself. The little Browning 
 played to us some of hi» sonatas admirably, though 
 he has only known how to play fourteen months ; 
 and I had a delightful talk with his father, who is 
 most fascinating, with his mobile life and his deep 
 earnestness. 
 
 On the 23d, we drove, in an open barouche, over 
 the Arno to see the illuminations that illustrated St. 
 John's Eve — the Eve of St. John, sung of in poetry. 
 It was a scene of enchantment. We paused on the 
 Ponte Yecchio, and looked toward the west, up the 
 river. The Ponte Santa Trinita and Ponte Carraja 
 were hung with globes of light, like huge bubbles, 
 and all were reflected in the water beneath. The 
 parapets, on both sides the river, were studded with 
 the same delicate globes, making a glittering cornice, 
 doubled beneath ; and lighted boats floated quietly 
 in every direction, each one a moving constellation 
 of stars, on the surface of the water, as well as in 
 
 17* 
 
0C4 KOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 the pictured world below. The palaces on the Lung' 
 Arno w^ere kmdled up over their fa9ades, and, afar 
 off, the mountains, a dark, waving outline ; and 
 above, a black sky, with heavy, windy clouds, were 
 the frame of this radiant pageant. Through thick 
 crowds of people, and in a long line of carriages, we 
 went on to the Piazza of the Gran Duca. But there 
 I was disappointed. I thought I should see the 
 tower of the Palazzo Yecchio a blaze of fire ; but 
 the lights had been blown by the wind, and a very 
 few only remained, looking very wild and restless. 
 The noble Loggia di Lanzi, with its statues, was 
 illuminated, though inadequately ; but we could see 
 the solemn priestesses standing, — the Poman, rush- 
 ing away with the Sabine woman, torn from her hus- 
 band, — the potent Hercules, just about destroying 
 the Centaur — the noble lions, reposing in reserved 
 might — the antique group of Ajax, dying or dead in 
 the arms of a soldier, — and a dim vision of the 
 heroic Perseus, with upraised arm, holding Medusa's 
 severed head. The light also struck upon Michel 
 Angelo's David, and the colossal group of Hercules 
 and Cacus, on one side the entrance of the Pa- 
 lazzo Vecchio, and brought into view the Neptune 
 of the fountain. Meanwhile a band of musicians 
 stood in the Loggia, performing symphonies of the 
 great composers, which made all the marble figures 
 seem to live and breathe and move. 
 
 TVe then drove to the Piazza of the Duomo. The 
 Duomo was kindled with little flames, and the gen- 
 
FLORENCE. 395 
 
 eral blaze of tlie Piazza fully revealed the beautiful 
 Campanile, climbing up into the inky sky, with its 
 bright marbles, — the stately outline perfectly de- 
 fined, as it could not be by day. Whether the lights 
 had been blown out on this bell-tower, or whether 
 it had been purposely left unlighted for better effect, 
 I cannot tell, but the effect was infinitel}' better so. 
 Another band was stationed here, enriching the air 
 wdth Beethoven's music, and by the potent conjura- 
 tion of "inweaved harmonies" the dome and the 
 Campanile both seemed to rise that moment into 
 space, — the vast dome swelling wdth triumphant 
 pomp, and piercing the darkness with its illuininated 
 Cross. We then came round to the Lung' Arno, 
 where still another band suddenly struck up Verdi's 
 opera of the Traviata, and we waited to hear it, 
 within sight of the river ; and, afterward, we re- 
 turned on our way, and reviewed all our pictures. 
 
 The 24th was St. John's Day, the chief day in 
 Florence. In the afternoon, Miss H. kindly took 
 us to the Palazzo Villa, where, from a balcony, we 
 could overlook the Corso, and where we were directly 
 opposite the Loggia of the Grand Duke, in which 
 the Court assembled to see the Eace. The race- 
 course reaches from the Porta Santa Croce to the 
 Porta al Prato, which, I believe, is the gate that 
 opens upon the Cascine. That day it was covered 
 with gravel, and very thoroughly wetted, because 
 the pavements here are so smooth that the horses 
 might slip upon them. All Florence was gathered 
 
803 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 on tlie sides of tlie Corso, — on foot, and upon tempo- 
 rary seats, raised in rows one above another, on 
 either hand, and at every balcony, window, and 
 roof — all in festal attire. Slowly moving over the 
 course were two lines of carriages, as at the Roman 
 Carnival ; but as it was not Carnival-time, no confetti 
 were thrown. Ladies, in ball-dresses, but with bon- 
 nets, sat quietly and looked and were looked upon ; 
 and every color of the rainbow, in stuffs, made^ 
 the scene gay. Beneath our balcony, opposite the 
 Ducal Loggia, two battalions of soldiers stood on 
 guard. Dragoons rested, statue-like, or pranced up 
 and down to marshal the throng. Fancy at the 
 corner of a block of houses, a square, lofty apart- 
 ment, open in front and on one side, and supported 
 at those openings by gray stone Corinthian columns, 
 and you have the royal Loggia. Our balcony was 
 on a level with it. It was richly carpeted, and a 
 crimson divan was arranged round two sides. In 
 the centre stood six crimson and ormolu arm-chairs 
 — thrones for the royal family. Over the solid bal- 
 ustrades, between the side-columns, crimson-damask 
 drapery, bordered with gold, was flung to lean upon ; 
 but between the central columns, heavy red velvet 
 and gold for the Grand Duke and Duchess, and the 
 Archduke and Archduchess, to rest their princely 
 arms upon withal, damask not being good enough 
 for royalty. Curtains of crimson silk with gold 
 fringe were festooned between the pillars ; and the 
 walls within were hung with white satin. 
 
FLORENCE. Z^l 
 
 After seeing euclless carriages go and return for 
 two hours, a sudden and most lugubrious sound of 
 tlie drum, monotonous and inharmonious, made me 
 look about, and I saw a carriage with six horses and 
 three footmen appear, and Avithin were laces, bro- 
 cades, pearls and diamonds, and military uniforms, 
 gold-laced ; but as this as well as all the court- 
 carriages was covered, we could see only half- faces, 
 as we were so high. Fair arms we saw, much be- 
 jewelled, however. There were the Prince PoniatoAv- 
 ski and his Princess. Many state-carriages, each 
 with six horses, followed, till a flourish of trumpets 
 announced a greater dignity — and this was the 
 Grand Duke himself. On his six horses were postil- 
 ions in green and gold. His coach was golden, and 
 on the top of it the ducal crown reposed. Behind 
 stood three footmen, one (he who was to lay his 
 hands upon Majesty), entirely in white velvet, with 
 yellow boots. Following this cortege rode the Guarda 
 Nobile, the noble guard, in scarlet uniform, with 
 white-plumed helmets, on fine horses — and then 
 came several more state-carriages, with the rest of 
 the court. Twice this splendid train passed up and 
 down the Corso for the benefit of the beholders ; 
 and to the bows and greeting of the crowd, the 
 noble personages perpetually raised half-way and 
 let fall again the carriage-windows, quite a novel 
 st3de of salute. 
 
 Finally, all this goodly company was gathered 
 into the Loggia. First came the Pope's nuncio, 
 
898 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 with purple legs, and a broad scarlet ribbon round 
 liis neck, meeting in a star in front — a youthful, 
 earthly, fat, round priest, very unprepossessing, and 
 attended by an attache. So came the other minis- 
 ters of foreign countries, with their ladies, and also 
 the maids of honor, designated by bows on their 
 left shoulders. Some were fair, with coronets of 
 pearls and diamonds, and clouds of illusion-lace, 
 and all, of course, with rich brocaded trains, which, 
 in the absence of pages, they held on their left arms. 
 Faintly and lovelily gleamed the pearls without 
 price, and, like fine, promethean fire, burned and 
 flashed the diamonds, certainly the royalest of gems. 
 I never till that day witnessed it in such full play, 
 and it certainly has a light that is nowhere else to 
 be seen on sea or land or sky. Such a delicate, 
 spiritual, soul of a flame, piercing like ten thousand 
 damascus-blades of an army of fairies ! such an in- 
 describable fineness of fierceness — so etherial and 
 so real — so fleeting — ah ! I have it ! — no ! I have it 
 not ! too celestial to hold. It is like the crossing of 
 wit in augels. It is the symbol of angelic intellects 
 in collision. It includes all light and all color. It 
 blinds like a ray from the " Sovereign Eye," or would 
 bliud, if it did not vanish as soon as it comes. What 
 a deep significance has this gem ! Nursed in utter 
 dark — of solid blackness — and then becoming in- 
 visible in purity absolute, were it not held ia sight 
 by combining all hues in its hueless substance. 
 Where is so perfect an emblem of the soul, in the 
 
FLORENCE. .309 
 
 concrete? All the precious jewels are symbolical, 
 and this is the secret of their charm, I think. Ah ! 
 the best of the show to me, on St. John's Day, were 
 the diamonds. 
 
 Presently the white-haired Grand Duke and Grand 
 Duchess arrived — the treacherous Grand Duke ! 
 Mrs. Browning has deprived him of his princeliness 
 by the deeds of his she has sung in " Casa Guidi 
 Windows." Yet she told me he is a kind, devoted 
 father to his young children, and even walks wdth 
 them in his arms at night, when they are ill ; and 
 so she thinks there must be good in him. He is 
 not tall, and his hair is very white. His dress was 
 embroidered richly with broad courses of gold. 
 Over one shoulder a wide scarlet ribbon passed, and 
 his breast was covered with orders and stars. He 
 held a white plumed hat flat beneath his arm, and 
 wore buff hose. I had seen a bust of the Grand 
 Duchess in Mr. Powers' studio, and in that she is 
 very handsome and regal-looking ; but this day she 
 was extremely red, and, though gracious and stately, 
 was not beautiful. Twelve years have passed, how- 
 ever, since the bust was taken. She wore a white 
 silk petticoat trimmed with lace — a pink damask 
 train, flowered with silver — a scarlet ribbon over 
 one shoulder — pink and white marabouts in her 
 hair, waving off from a coronet of flashing jewels. 
 But the young Archduchess was lovely. She also 
 was in white and pink, with pink marabouts and a 
 band of large pearls and scintillating diamond 
 
400 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 points round lier liead. The Archduke was most 
 repulsive in countenance, but with a good figure, in 
 military costume. The Grand Duchess walked 
 round her court, first speaking to the Ministers, and 
 then to all the ladies, with one of whom she talked 
 a great while. It was very nice to watch at will 
 this living picture of the royal group — to see them in 
 full dress, moving, courtesying, laughing, practising 
 le bel air — their ease and their grace. It was much 
 more full of life than the Court of Lisbon, which is 
 the only one at which I have been presented. There 
 was no queen there, which may have been one cause 
 of the excessive stiffness and formality. The ladies 
 sat round the walls of the saloons, like so many 
 statues, and when the King approached, six would 
 start up at once, with a sort of galvanic shock, to 
 receive him ; and when he passed on, these six 
 would sink down, and other six rise in their stead, 
 and they said little else besides " Yes, Sire" (Si, 
 Sire). 
 
 Presently the poor horses, goaded by leathers, 
 pricked with points, rushed by, and the Grand Duke 
 and Duchess leaned on their velvet to look at them. 
 It was all over in a twinkling. The Princess Bona- 
 parte meanwhile came into our balcony to see the 
 sights — a lady with a most singular countenance, 
 white as drifted snow, with not a particle of color. 
 She seemed hardly human — not alive — an image of 
 dead white wax. We then ate ice-creams, and were 
 exceedingly comfortable. 
 
FLORENCE. 401 
 
 June 25tli. — We spent this evening at Casa Guidi. 
 I saw Mrs. Browning more satisfactorily, and she 
 grows loveher on farther knowing. Mr. Browning gave 
 me a pomegranate bud from " Casa Guidi Windows," 
 to press in my memorial-book. He is full of vivid 
 life, like a rushing river. I should think nothing 
 could resist the powerful impetus of his mind and 
 heart ; and this effervescing, resplendent life — fresh 
 every moment, like a waterfall or a river — seems to 
 have a shadow over it, like a light cloud, as if he 
 were perplexed in the disposal of his forces. An 
 anxious line is on his brow. His voice is glad and 
 rich — a union of oboe and flute tones. 
 
 The finest light gleams from Mrs. Browning's 
 arched eyes — for she has those arched eyes so un- 
 usual, with an intellectual, spiritual radiance in them. 
 They are sapphire, with dark lashes, shining from out 
 a bower of curling, very dark, but, I think, not black 
 hair. It is sad to see such deep pain furrowed into 
 her face — such pain that the great happiness of her 
 life cannot smooth it away. In moments of rest 
 from speaking her countenance reminds one of those 
 mountain-sides, ploughed deep with spent water- 
 torrents, there are traces in it of so much grief, so 
 much suffering. The angelic spirit, triumphing at 
 moments, restores the even surface. How has any- 
 thing so delicate braved the storms ? Her soul is 
 mighty, and a great love has kept her on earth a 
 season longer. She is a seraph in her flaming wor- 
 ship of heart, while a calm, cherubic knowledge sits 
 
402 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 entLroned on her large brow. How she remains vis- 
 ible to us, with so little admixture of earth, is a mys- 
 tery ; but fortunate are the eyes that see her, and 
 the ears that hear her. 
 
 June 26th. — I stood long at the gate of the Bap- 
 tistery this morning, and I saw why Raphael studied 
 and copied those figures. He drew from them 
 some of his ineffable grace. In the afternoon we 
 drove to Bellosguardo, to take tea with Miss Blag- 
 den at her Villa Brichieri. The balcony commands 
 a magnificent view of Florence and the surround- 
 ing mountains. There blooms the Flower-City, 
 with the Duomo in its chalice. The soft heights 
 immediately around are crowned with castles, tow- 
 ers, and villas, like white and yellow lilies among 
 the green foliage. Galileo lived in one of them, 
 and in one Savonarola was imprisoned. Many il- 
 lustrious men make the landscape rich with heroic 
 memories. Day faded away over the Yal d'Arno 
 on the left of us, as we looked forth. After tea 
 we went out again, and a wonderful ceremony, 
 a "function," was then going on in the east, in 
 which the state-dress was cloth of silver. The same 
 cosily material was soon flung over the whole valley, 
 for the Queen of Night arose, without the thinnest, 
 slightest veil of illusion over the keen splendor of 
 her royal face, and Mr. Browning was talking to us ! 
 It seemed like a wonderful dream, and not a real 
 experience in this work-a-day world. On our return, 
 
FLORENCE. 403 
 
 tlie cit}" gate swung up in the air to let our carriage 
 pass under, and we might have smuggled Mazzini 
 into Florence ; for though they asked us a question, 
 they did not look into our midst, and the guard on 
 duty quietly stood aside. 
 
 June 28th. — This morning was very fine and cool, 
 and w^e went to Santa Croce, " the Westminster Ab- 
 bey of Florence" (says the book), because great men 
 are buried there. It is large and stately, with rows 
 of many-sided columns, clothed to-day in red and 
 yellow damask, because a Function was in process. 
 The high altar was lighted up with a multitude of 
 w^ax candles, and there w^as chanting and organ- 
 bursts, and genuflexions, and bells, and swinging of 
 censers. 
 
 Michel Angelo's monument is surmounted with 
 a faithful portrait bust of him, which was deeply in- 
 teresting to see. I know his face now perfectly well. 
 Figures of sculpture, painting, and architecture sit 
 mourning round the sarcophagus. Architecture is 
 the best. There was something tawdry about the 
 adornments over the bust, not respectful to the 
 mighty genius — a sort of daubing of mock drapery. 
 How could they do so, right before his face, and he 
 so true — a despiser of shams ? I felt ashamed. The 
 too late monument to Dante is not good at all. The 
 poet sits, leaning on his hand, with the w^ell-known 
 features and profile ; but they have put a laurel 
 crown on his head, in a sort of tiara fashion, which 
 
404 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 takes away from tlie likeness ; and lie is very stern, 
 as if sitting in judgment on liis beloved and ungrate- 
 ful Florence. Florence (I presume) stands on the 
 pedestal of the sarcophagus, and points to Dante, 
 sitting above, with an air of peculiar bravado, and 
 says, *' Quorate I'altissimo Poeta," indicating im- 
 periously those inscribed words with her finger. A 
 weeping figure is on the other side ; but I do not 
 know who. The wall-crown of the other showed her 
 to be a city. Farther on is Alfieri's monument, cut 
 by Canova and erected by the Countess of Albany. 
 It is not good for anything to me. One draped 
 mourner stands leaning on the tomb. Some of the 
 pictures of the chapels were by Vasari, wdio never 
 interests me, and some were by Bronzino, equally 
 indifferent to my fancy ; and finally we arrived at 
 the south transept, out of which opens the chapel 
 of the Holy Sacrament, which w^e entered. There 
 we found some good and curious old china statues 
 of saints, by Luca della Robbia. In the south 
 transept was a painting of the Coronation of the 
 Virgin, on a gold ground, by Giotto, with crowds of 
 saints and angels — beautiful heads. After seeing 
 so many ordinary altar-pictures, it was inspiring to 
 meet again a truly devout one. And on the left 
 side of the same chapel were frescoes by Taddeo 
 Gaddi — the Presentation at the Temple, the Mar- 
 riage of the Virgin, and an Assumption. One may 
 look at any number of Bronzino's or of Vasari's 
 pictures till one is blind, and not be moved or 
 
FLORENCE. 405 
 
 affected by a face or form or sentiment. But Gi- 
 otto or Taddeo Gaddi immediately rouses atten- 
 tion and reverence. I am never weary of tbem. 
 Mr. H. declared that Giotto would be the death of 
 him ; for he hates to see half-obliterated and pale 
 wrecks of these old masters. But I live better for 
 even pale Giottos, and the whole quaint, devout old 
 band, in any stage of ruin. 
 
 On the other side-aisle we found Galileo's tomb, 
 and that of Morghem, the famous engraver, and 
 finally we got into some chapels painted by Giotto 
 and Giottino. Here I was again glad and Mr. H. 
 desperate ; for they had all been whitewashed over, 
 and only lately brought to view by a zealous priest ; 
 and so they were injured and then repaired and 
 patched. There was an Entombment, and events in 
 the life of St. Francis. I found many noble expres- 
 sive faces and figures through all the broken surface ; 
 and when the services at the altar were over, I went 
 to a chapel on the right of it, entirely painted over by 
 Giotto. A queenly Elizabeth of Hungary is in one 
 panel, and the sides are illustrated with the life of 
 St. Francis, wonderful forms, which I must try to 
 record another time for my future delectation ; but 
 not now. Though vanishing into the past, I could 
 still catch the grand lines, the majestic repose an :1 
 religious solemnity of expression. Oh, where are 
 the artists to draw these departing glories, that 
 they may be engraved for a never-ending inspiration 
 to aU present and future time ! Can this child- 
 
406 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 like, unconscious grandeur ever again be found in 
 art? 
 
 In the piazza is a palace, whose fa9ade is covered 
 with fine but faded frescoes by the best artists of 
 the day. It is the Palazzo of Niccolo dell' Antella, 
 and a bust of one of the Medici is over the great 
 arched entrance. It was in this piazza that assem- 
 blies of the people were held, and the free institu- 
 tions of Florence first established. The short-lived 
 Liberty was born there, and it has a fountain from 
 which flows the only pure water in the city. 
 
 "We went through the Via dei Librai, where 
 frowns the palace of the former hateful Podesta — 
 a vast fortress, with a lofty tower at one end, now a 
 prison. In the court of the Duomo, we delayed 
 awhile by the " Sasso di Dante," where he used to 
 sit and look at the Campanile and the Cathedral, as 
 an inscription on a marble slab in the wall an- 
 nounces. Near by, sit also, in marble, Brunelleschi 
 and Arnolfo de Lapa, the illustrious architects — 
 one gazing, with upturned head, at the noble works 
 before him. Of course Ave lingered round the Gate 
 of Paradise. With what a breezy grace stand the 
 angels before the prostrate Abraham ! I have seen 
 no figures so much like Raphael's as Gliiberti's. 
 He was surely a kindred spirit. The heads in very 
 high relief round the framework are, I believe, all 
 portraits. At any rate, the perfectly bald one is 
 Ghiberti himself. The walls of Jericho will inevita- 
 bly fall flat at the blast of those trumpets, blown 
 
FLORENCE. 407 
 
 Avitli such vigor. Three women, just behind some 
 men who carry heavy stones to batter the city withal, 
 are wonders of stately grace. The beauty and ex- 
 pression of the countenances are very marvellous. 
 Indeed Ghiberti was one of the miracles of genius. 
 I wish the precincts of the Baptistery were not a 
 coach-stand, so that one could be more quiet Avhile 
 looking at this gate. It is so precious, too, that I 
 do not like to have it endangered by the accidents 
 of time. I think I would put it under plate-glass 
 within the eternal walls of the Pitti Palace. It 
 should not be out of doors. 
 
 We thought we would visit the Palazzo Biccardi. 
 Mr. Ware ventures to compare it to the Coliseum. 
 It is grand and high and majestic ; but it is no more 
 to be compared to the Coliseum than a mole-hill to 
 a mountain. Besides, it has an ever-enduring new- 
 ness of aspect. No ruin can be imagined of it. 
 Every one of those mighty stones of rough Tuscan 
 finish will look just as now when time shall be no 
 longer. They can never decay, and never appear old. 
 And the Coliseum could hide it away in one of its 
 own vast recesses — in one of its great pockets. When 
 I look at these dark, indestructible, gloomy palaces, 
 they terrify me with a sense of hopelessness. They 
 are defiant with strength, and like prisons from 
 which there is no escape. But always they seem to 
 be finished to-day, and not to belong to the past, 
 though they are half a thousand years old already. 
 This clear, bright atmosphere can never harm them. 
 
408 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 And the Coliseum, softened by the ages in tint, and 
 genial in the first place, being of buff tiaveitine, 
 looks hoary with the years that have passed ; and 
 flowers and moss and ivy, and even trees, grow upon 
 and out of its stones. It is the Ruin of Ruins. 
 Could a flower be persuaded to plant its delicate foot 
 in a crevice of the terrible Pitti, Riccardi, or Strozzi? 
 Could a crevice ever even be found in that nicely- 
 fitted, firmly-compacted, unsympathizing mass? No- 
 thing so soft as earth could rest there. When a 
 prince gets inside those walls, can he feel anj^ pit}^ ? 
 The Riccardi is now devoted to Government 
 oflices. Soldiers keep guard before the entrance ; 
 but we walked in without being molested. The 
 first court is surrounded with Corinthian columns of 
 oriental granite. The loggie behind the columns are 
 filled with sculptures — busts, statues, three antique 
 sarcophagi and bas-reliefs, and a beautiful large 
 porphyry vase of an oval shape. On the right-hand 
 side, as one enters, is a grand staircase, leading 
 from the loggia, with ancient marble statues, in 
 niches, on the way up. We were guided into a 
 glorious little chapel, paved with mosaics, and its 
 walls beautifully frescoed by Benozzo Gozzoli, and 
 as fresh as if painted just now, though they are 
 three hundred and eighty 3' ears old ! They have 
 caught the spirit of the eternal walls, and never 
 mean to fade. Lovely angels, kneeling in perpetual 
 prayer — hunters radiant for the chase, and the 
 famous foreshortened ass. I thought of Mr. Brown- 
 
FLORENCE. 409 
 
 ing's poem of the Statue and the Bust, and ques- 
 tioned whether the unfortunate Princess Biccardi 
 ever knelt down in this chapel, either in despair or 
 in penitence. 
 
 From the Chapel we went to the Gallery, probably 
 once a ball-room, and now used for the meetings of 
 the Delia Crusca Society. It is panelled with plate- 
 mirrors, upon which are painted Cupids and wreaths 
 of flowers, as in some of the Boman palaces. The 
 arched ceiling is covered with fi'escoes — in the centre 
 the apotheosis of the Medici ! ! Tough work have 
 the angels to lift the Medici above the world ! 
 There they are, with their ignoble faces, endeavoring 
 to rise through the an*. The aforementioned under 
 lip of Leopold alone might make an angel stagger. 
 All around are symbolical groups — the whole by II 
 Volteranno. It was a baby-house compared to the 
 magnificent gallery of the Colonna at Kome ; and I 
 was much disappointed to find no oil-paintings in it. 
 On the sides of the apartment were ranged innu- 
 merable tabourets of red damask, and no other 
 furniture. These are common in palaces, standing 
 in solemn rows. The furniture of palaces never 
 seems to be available. The chairs are generally as 
 large and ponderous as thrones ; and no one would 
 think of moving them into a companionable group. 
 The superb tables of ormolu, with tops of precious 
 marbles and jewels, must not be used to hold any- 
 thing ; for if anything were put upon them, some 
 exquisite flower, composed of amethyst, agate, coral- 
 
 18 
 
410 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 line, or sardonyx, witli leaves of malachite — or some 
 bird of Paradise, of chalcedony, diaspre, and pearl, 
 would be hidden. There is no inhabitableness in 
 halls of state, no place for the heart, no inducement 
 to live and unfold, so wonderful are the compensa- 
 tions of Providence ! 
 
 In the afternoon Miss Bla2[den came in her car- 
 riage to drive me to Bellosguardo, to look at a villa 
 which she hopes we will take for August and Sep- 
 tember, because she thinks we should not be safe in 
 
 Florence during the dog-days. J went with us. 
 
 The weather was brilliant, and we had a charming 
 excursion. I found a sumptuous villa for delight, 
 with multitudinous halls and chambers — with deeply 
 shaded avenues ; clear, smooth lawn and semicir- 
 cular terraces — a strong, old, gray-stone tower, at 
 one end, where owls do whoop and hoot and sit, " to 
 warm their wit," and in which Savonarola was im- 
 prisoned. But, above all, the view from it, who can 
 paint or describe ? From the tower Florence can be 
 seen, and from the windows of the villa we looked 
 upon a rich plain of great extent, Pistoia afar off, 
 and the lovely mountains keeping watch and ward ; 
 and, at that moment, receiving into their fastnesses 
 the sun, who was retiring to rest in great pomp of 
 gold. The air was nectar and elixir. I think we 
 must go there. 
 
 June 29th. — In the afternoon I took U. and E. to 
 the Kace, with Ada. "We had a much more favor- 
 
FLORENCE. 411 
 
 able situation for seeing the pageant tlian before, 
 and could sit all the time. It was not a day of such 
 state as St. John's Day, and it closed the festival. 
 The court came to the royal loggia, but not in full 
 dress. There were no trains nor coronets of dia- 
 monds and pearls, and no scarlet ribbons over shoul- 
 ders ; neither did the Grand Duke drive in his 
 golden coach, with the crown atop. As it luckily 
 chanced in the course, the royal carriage was obliged 
 to stop just before us, and we had three or four 
 minutes to stare straight into the faces of the Grand 
 Duke and Duchess. The Grand Duke looked like a 
 monkey, with an evil disposition, most ugly and 
 mean. The lady has not a ray of beauty left, but 
 amiably kept bowing to the people every instant. 
 But it was worth while to see the young Archduchess 
 who followed. She is most lovely — pale and sweet. 
 Her dark hair was rolled back and confined with a 
 band of pearls, and blue marabouts waved from it, 
 and her robe was azure brocade. All the maids of 
 honor wore wreaths of flowers round their heads. 
 The Grand Duke has that frightful, coarse, pro- 
 truding under lip, peculiar to the imperial race of 
 Austria and formerly of Spain. It is worth while to 
 extinguish the race, for the sake of expunging that 
 lip and all it signifies. No man with such a mouth 
 can love liberty or spiritual things. It got into the 
 Medici family somehow — probably by marriage, and 
 it plunges one into musing to see how inexorable is 
 nature in avenging broken laws ; while, also, she 
 
A12 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 " never did betray the heart that loved her," as 
 Wordsworth says. 
 
 The scene was very gay, and the crowd most 
 orderly and gentle, like all Tuscan crowds. We 
 could see the course even to the Porta al Prato ; 
 and after the court had arrived, the carriages left 
 the street, and a body of dragoons, slowly and 
 courteously, drove all the people off the Corso, in 
 preparation for the horses. Two men were killed 
 the other day, and therefore great precautions were 
 taken now. As soon as the poor steeds were let to 
 run, the six royal people leaned over their baluster 
 to see ; and then the Grand Duke threw a paper 
 to some privileged person, which caused immense 
 merriment, and the Duchess laughed very much. 
 I have yet to discover what this paper was. * * 
 We did not arrive home till nearly eight, and though 
 all Florence was in the streets, the city was as quiet 
 and safe as a drawing-room. 
 
 June 30th. — This morning, I went with the chil- 
 dren and Ada to the Academy of Arts, and to the 
 Pietre-dure Rooms. In the first of the latter are 
 specimens of all the pietre dure stones used in Flo- 
 rentine mosaic, in their rough state ; then specimens 
 of each, polished. I had no idea that there was such 
 a rich variety used in mosaics. Agates of all realms 
 and of exquisite beauty — chalcedony, coralline, mal- 
 achite, lapis-lazuli of all combinations of tints — the 
 oriental, of deepest and purest blue shades, and the 
 
FLORENCE. 413 
 
 French; mucli mixed with bright, gold veins ; green 
 and red porphyries, jaspers, many kinds of sardonyx 
 and onyx, nero, rosso, giallo and verde antico, ser- 
 pentine of Egypt (also green), granites of all coun- 
 tries, some very beautiful, of a rosy hue — which was 
 surprising to me (I having been accustomed to sup- 
 pose the gray New England granite the only one) — 
 terra di paese — a wonderful stone, whose markings 
 resemble ruins of temples and cities — amethysts, 
 crystal, alabasters, both oriental and occidental — 
 samples of all the marbles in the world, some 
 marked with mosses and ferns, some with lovely 
 shells — and a marble called " flowers of Persia," 
 from its gorgeous colors ; and another named " stel- 
 laria," from its starred appearance. I cannot recol- 
 lect a tenth part, however. Four rooms were sur- 
 rounded with cases filled with specimens, all num- 
 bered, and for each room were six or seven printed 
 lists, in the form of hand-screens, for visitors. It is, 
 as usual with the Grand Ducal treasures, free to the 
 public, not a crazia being required as fee. Guards, 
 in the royal livery, keep watch. After this suite of 
 precious-stone saloons came a gallery, with copies 
 in mosaic of oil paintings — and then another, Avitli 
 more of these, but, in addition, cabinets of the best 
 work executed there, in small articles — little land- 
 scapes, figures in groups, birds, fiowers, and ara- 
 besques. I saw on this wall the model for the ad- 
 mirable mosaic of the Pantheon, which I liked so 
 much in the Pitti Palace, and also models of some 
 
414 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 of the tables there. Then followed a large saloon, 
 "W'itli superb inlaid cabinets, vases, large and small 
 tables, and a great part of the ornaments for the 
 altar in the Medicean Chapel at San Lorenzo. Some 
 of these were high -reliefs in precious stones ! figures 
 of saints and angels and solid birds. Fancy an angel 
 arrayed in robes of real amethyst, chalcedony, jas- 
 per, topaz, and ruby, starred with crystals (perhaps 
 diamonds) and emeralds ! Petrified woods make 
 some of the most superb stones. 
 
 In the Academy of Arts we spent nearly two hours 
 in the first gallery. The Assumption of the Virgin, 
 the Pieta, and the Descent from the Cross, by Peru- 
 gino, the Adoration of the Magi, by Gentile di 
 Fabriano, the Deposition, by Fra Angelico, and a 
 few others, occupied us all that time. All were bet- 
 ter upon farther knowing. 
 
 July 1st. — To-day we set forth to see the house of 
 Michel Angelo, where he once lived, and where a 
 Buonarotti, minister of state, now resides, and allows 
 the palace to be shown every Thursday. But after 
 our long walk we were disappointed, because repairs 
 are going on in it. So we went into the Church of 
 Santa Croce, and looked at the beautiful marble 
 pulpit, cut in bas-relief, in the cinque-cento style, 
 which I did not examine before. But I am now 
 thinking of the Palazzo Vecchio, which we afterward 
 visited. The Cortile, with its sculptured columns, 
 fountains, and fi*escoed walls, is noble ; and from 
 
FLORENCE. 415 
 
 that we went up some right rojal staircases, — broad 
 and low steps, so low that, instead of using effort 
 to go up, they seemed to lift one along with a buoy- 
 ant bound. Not even those of the Barberini Palace 
 are equal to them. Up, up, and up we mounted, to 
 be sure, for on the continent nothing is down-stairs 
 worth seeing. We must climb near to the sky first. 
 At last we attained a large ante-room, " in faded 
 splendor wan" (for in this palace the Medici for- 
 merly displayed great state). The walls on three 
 sides were covered with gold fleurs-de-lis, and on the 
 fourth were frescoes by Domenico Ghirlandaio, the 
 master of Michel Angelo. From this we entered 
 the Hall of Audience, covered by frescoes of the 
 deeds of Camillus, by Salviati, and it had a gor- 
 geous ceiling of sunken panels and bosses, with 
 argosies of gold upon them. Three large cabinets 
 were there, containing carvings in ivory of the most 
 delicate beauty, and the custode said that some of 
 them were the work of Benvenuto Cellini himself. 
 One cabinet was filled with an altar-service of a 
 hundred or more pieces, carved out of the finest 
 amber, of both the transparent and opaque kinds — 
 cups, crucifixes, vases, many varieties of p^'x, and 
 other vessels, of which I do not know the names. 
 They were like lucid gold, or sunshine crystallized, 
 and polished like glass. This superb equipage once 
 covered the altar of the private chapel of the palace. 
 No doubt many of the figures and cups were cut by 
 Benvenuto Cellini ; but the custode did not say so. 
 
416 , NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 The chapel is small, but exceedingly precious ; foi 
 it is painted all over with frescoes by Ridolfo Ghir- 
 landaio — angels, cherubs, prophets, saints ; and the 
 Annunciation is at one end. The frescoes are very 
 grand — glorious little cherubs — grouped like bou- 
 quets of flowers in circles — and mighty old prophets 
 and evangelists, sitting in eternal repose — and 
 sacred heads, with the peace of heaven in them, 
 painted in medallions over the altar, as if they 
 beamed through the walls in answer to earnest 
 prayer, revelations of a future, happy world. What 
 a pity it is that any wall should remain a dead blank 
 when they might all blaze with glory in this way, 
 and wake the soul by touch of art divine ! Must we 
 not go back to this adornment again, since it arose 
 from the demand of the soul, and the soul demands 
 it still ? What were colors made for, if not to use for 
 the worship of God, and the culture of the spirit? 
 Are we more devout for bare walls ? Are we less 
 spiritually -minded when the plain plaster gives place 
 to rainbow-winged angels, holding dulcimer, cithern, 
 and harp, praising God — their faces refulgent with 
 His light ? We need more Era Angelicos to open 
 the doors of Paradise for us, and to crowed blank 
 space with seraphim and cherubim — also Ghir- 
 landaios and Michel Angelos to reveal the sublime 
 brows and forms of Propliets, Sibyls, Saints, and 
 Martyrs whenever we lift up our eyes. It is, to be 
 sure, a serious obstacle to the satisfying of such 
 needs that we now have no devout masters in the 
 
FLORENCE. 417 
 
 world. I try to fancy a function going on in this 
 chapel. A hundred waxen-tapers kindle into flam- 
 ing magnificence these amber implements. The 
 carved figures are diaphanous, as if they had put 
 on celestial bodies, which offer no obstruction to the 
 blazing light, but rather seem to organize it. Wings 
 sparkle and flow and wave with arrested, golden cur- 
 rents. Every vase seems filled with the wine of life 
 in its own substance. The pyxes look as if the 
 mysterious Host they had held had transfused itself 
 into a visible Sun of Righteousness, shining through 
 the amber ; — the Christ on the crucifixes has changed 
 into glory, and even transfigured the cross. The 
 priests who are administering here, robed in creamy 
 cloth of gold, add a living splendor as they move ; 
 and, turninGf from the radiance of the altar and its 
 ministers, behold the heavenly hierarchies, beaming 
 through the walls on every side, with love, joy, and 
 immutable peace, bringing blessings for sincere 
 worshippers, and remaining fixed assurances of 
 never-failing help in time of trouble. But how in- 
 explicable it is that, with all these appliances, even 
 the very priests themselves could continue as stolid 
 as stones, and receive not a single divine idea or im- 
 pulse from all that art could fashion and the mind 
 conceive. I must not omit the music from my func- 
 tion — the organ-thunders, and human voices, rising 
 and falling in tuneful adoration with tones that seem 
 to cause the pictured faces to flash with rapture — 
 and the wings of angels to plume themselves for 
 
 18* 
 
418 NOTES IX ITALY. 
 
 flight. The Medici were present at such services in 
 this chapel of theirs ; but beauty of soul and person 
 was not the result to them. 
 
 The custode, at my request, now took us into a 
 small room to show us Bianca Capella, a very rotund 
 and jollj^ dame — not at all distiDguished in aspect. 
 Francesco di Medici was her pendant, and between 
 them stood Cosmo II., in marble. The Empress 
 Helena was also there, and a fair little Carolina di 
 Medici, sweet and innocent, with pale, gold hair and 
 clear, azure eyes. It was a relief to see one inno- 
 cent looking di Medici. From this we were led into 
 a narrow corridor, and looked down into the grand 
 saloon, built for the consiglio pojndare. It was full 
 of workmen and in confusion ; but we could perceive 
 its stateliness. The walls are covered with fi'escoes 
 of the victories of Cosmo I., — conquests of Pisa 
 and Siena, by Vasari — besides others by Cigoli, etc. 
 Hound the vast hall, upon the floor, are marble 
 statues and gi'oups, by famous artists, and one by 
 Michel Angelo, left unfinished. This is Victory and 
 Captivity. The face of Victory is as clear and calm 
 and powerful as ideal Victory ought to be. It looks 
 like Day without a cloud. There is no expression 
 of humanity in it — I mean, of a man. It is a Prince- 
 dom. The attitude is almost indescribable. The 
 figure fronts toward the right ; but the head is turned, 
 looking over the shoulder, so that it faced me as I 
 stood before it. Beneath the hands and feet 
 crouches Captivity, an old man, half bowed on his 
 
FLORENCE. 410 
 
 knees, with a noble contour, only partly made out. 
 Michel Angelo struggled with the marble till the 
 idea was evident, and then left it, like so many 
 other of his half-evolved blocks. The limbs of Cap- 
 tivity have not fought their way out of the stone yet 
 — they are captive to it — though one can discern 
 indications, as if through an almost transparent 
 medium. Mr. H. thought the figure of Victory too 
 tall, and the head too small in proportion. Perhaps 
 it is, and perhaps Michel Angelo left it because he 
 was not content with it. Yet, in that case, I think 
 he would have given it one of his Cyclopean blows 
 and demolished the whole. The expression is so 
 fine, that I did not mind the discrepancies, if there 
 be any. 
 
 I saw one day in the cortile of the Academy of 
 Arts another ahozzo of the great artist. It is St. 
 Matthew. One can see the colossal form, sitting 
 with a book ; and yet one cannot tell how anything 
 is seen (except one limb), for nothing is distinctly 
 rendered. But somehow the design, shaped in the 
 brain of the sculptor, has passed into the stone — no 
 — rather, in the stone, Michel Angelo saw St. Mat- 
 thew sitting with his Evangel, and took up his 
 hammer and chisel to hew him out. He struck 
 away the marble till he obtained access to him, and 
 then, being assured he was there, he left him verj' 
 safe till he should be in the mood to release him 
 entirely. But he will never be released now, for 
 now there is no angel Michel to smite off his chains. 
 
4'30 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 I should have said that after taking a view of the 
 saloon from above, the custode took us down into it, 
 and that it was then I saw the sculpture. There 
 was also a fine heroic statue of Pietro di Medici, as 
 handsome as Achilles or Mars, and in the costume 
 of a Greek warrior. But history says that Pietro 
 (or Piero) di Medici was not distinguished for in- 
 tellect or character ; yet if this be a true portrait, he 
 must have been famous for his beauty, at least — and 
 is not he the father of the superb Lorenzo in the 
 Capella dei Depositi? Who was his mother — the 
 mother of Pietro — I wonder; for not from the di 
 Medici could such beauty come. 
 
 Clement YII., who played so like a cat with Henry 
 VIII. of England, sits in marble, with a King kneel- 
 ing before him — and there is a grand statue of Leo 
 X., resembling Raphael's portrait of him in the 
 Pitti. But the marble transfigures his earthliness 
 somewhat. 
 
 The ceiling of the Hall is divided into compart- 
 ments, richly carved and heavily gilded ; and in 
 these compartments are finished oil-paintings, ex- 
 tending over a hundred and seventy feet by seventy- 
 five of space ! The colors are deep and bright, and 
 the effect is sumptuous. The Florentines are very 
 proud of this saloon, and believe it the largest in the 
 world. The doors are hung with solid crimson satin, 
 fringed with gold, and when the rubbish is cleared 
 away and the workmen gone, I think Florence may 
 well be proud of it. 
 
FLORENCE. 4-31 
 
 When we left tlie Palazzo, wo saw the Lion, at 
 the end of the broad terrace, which the Pisans were 
 forced to kiss, after their defeat ; and Michel Ange- 
 lo's David, which I do not like, probably because I 
 do not yet understand it — and Hercules and Cacus 
 and two inexplicable figures. And we crossed to 
 the Loggia of the Lancers, by Orgagna, and looked 
 at the Perseus more carefully than I have done 
 before. It is one of those faces in which deepest 
 thought is expressed, earnest, sad thought, and 
 heroic beauty. There is not much taper to the 
 limbs, but immense strength in the arms. I hope 
 Benvenuto Cellini will not destroy me, in enraged 
 self-complacence, if I say that I wish they were 
 slenderer, to harmonize with the intellectual fineness 
 of the face. The irises of the eyes are cut out — 
 incised — which gives them a dark, intent look, which 
 I do not altogether like for sculpture. The winged 
 helmet is falling from his clustering hair; for he 
 need not be invisible any longer, now that the deed 
 is done. He holds out the terrible head dreamily, 
 almost unconsciously, as lost in thought. Canova's 
 Perseus is only a vain toy compared to this noble 
 creation. Canova was external, I think. He cut 
 the outside of the marble nicely, and never wrestled 
 after a profound idea, hidden in it. It is all very 
 neat, but who cares? 
 
 It was exceedingly interesting to see the statu- 
 ettes, placed round the pedestal of the Perseus, re- 
 ferring to the myth. For the Grand Duchess liked 
 
422 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 tliem so much, slie wislied to have them in her 
 boudoir, and Benvenuto was so determined she 
 should not, that he placed them in their proper 
 niches, in the night, while the Duchess was asleep. 
 The account he gives in his autobiograpliy of the 
 casting of the statue is very characteristic. After 
 loitering about the most beautiful of all Loggie for 
 a long time, we went into the Gallery of the Uffizzi, 
 and sat down in the first vestibule, to contemplate the 
 Medici. I must confess that Ferdinand III. has 
 quite a grand head, wherever he got it. Cosmo III. 
 is as repulsive and ugly as Philip II. of Spain. 
 Cosmo II. looks like a negro, with frightful, thick, 
 prominent lips ; and, indeed, they are a fearful set 
 of men. Oh, beautiful Florence ! how insane must 
 have been your conduct, to fall into the hands of 
 such keepers I ^- * * * ^ ^ 
 
 We passed on to the Tribune, for I wished to see 
 Michel Angelo's Holy Family, after reading Mr. 
 Ware's excessive eulogium of the Madonna. Mr. 
 Ware has gone mad on that Madonna, I believe, 
 for I am sure she is not what he describes her to 
 be. With all my faith in and enthusiasm for the 
 artist, I cannot see in it what he rages about. The 
 mother is looking up into the infant's face, and not 
 into the heavens in a prayer or dream or musing. 
 To me she is not noble nor particularly full of ex- 
 pression. The infant is grand and Joseph is benign 
 — only the Madonna disappoints me. 
 
 We did not stay long in the entrancing Tribune, 
 
FLORENCE. 423 
 
 because to-day I wished to see tlie pencil and pen 
 and ink drawings of the great masters. As we 
 came out of the southern gallery, however, we 
 found the door of the cabinet of gems open, and 
 were drawn in. There we saw splendors upon 
 splendors of precious jewels and stones. A toad, 
 made of one priceless, great pearl, with two jewels 
 in his head, was certainly a toad in glory. There 
 was a face of oriental jade, with dazzling diamonds 
 for eyes ; and a negro's head of paragon (a black 
 precious stone), with an immense pearl for head- 
 dress, and a tunic of one entire pearl, bordered 
 with rubies ! I think he was proba])ly the ancestor 
 of the negro-lipped Medici. There were innumer- 
 able vases of every form, size, and precious material 
 — columns of crystal, with bands of diamonds, eme- 
 ralds, and rubies round their capitals ; but I cannot 
 tell all that there was. The little cabinet was a gem 
 of itself, surrounded by columns of verde antique, 
 and paved with marbles. 
 
 So now we were too late for the drawings to-day, 
 and too tired also, and therefore we strolled into the 
 portrait gallery, where I sketched the beautiful Ra- 
 phael, and became better acquainted with Leonardo 
 da Yinci and Titian. Titian is handsome, but I 
 neither love nor reverence him, for some reason best 
 known to himself. In the hall of Bacchus, we looked 
 at the authentic Plato, as it is said to be, a most 
 noble, intellectual brow, and fine features, except 
 that the mouth is not firm and strong. Can this be 
 
424 KOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 true of the divine Plato ? As lie shares with Lv)rd 
 Bacon the highest human intellect, I am sure he 
 must be strong ; but it may be that this is a bust 
 of him when his mouth had lost its precision of line 
 from age. As I believe Lord Bacon and Shakspeare 
 to be one and the same person — or rather, as I be- 
 lieve Lord Bacon wrote what are called Shakspeare's 
 plays and sonnets, this will account for my leaving 
 him out of that lofty companionship. Now, no more. 
 What a day this has been ! Oh, yes — a little more. 
 When we came down into the Court, we saw the 
 statue of Benvenuto Cellini, very handsome, a noble 
 figure, holding lovingly on his arm his bronze Per- 
 seus. However profoundly one may admire and ap- 
 preciate Benvenuto, I think he goes beyond any one 
 in admiration of himself; yet in such a simple, gen- 
 uine way, that it is not offensive, but rather mnsome 
 than otherwise. I cannot thank him enough for his 
 entertaining autobiography, though it be somewhat 
 mendacious. His mendacity is a mixture of fun and 
 vanity ; but who ever had such cunning fingers ? I 
 do not wonder that the Prince loved to watch him 
 at work. It must have been like a glimpse into fairy 
 land, when he was upon his bijouterie. I should be 
 glad to know whether his hands were delicate and 
 taper. And, now again, no more — to-night. 
 
 July 2d. — The Brownings went to France yester- 
 day morning, and there seems to be nobody in 
 Florence now for us. 
 
FLORENCE. 425 
 
 We have been to tlie Duomo to-day. It was in 
 nice order, and the ugly chairs removed, and we 
 could see the beauty of the pavement, as not before. 
 We walked all round the chapels, and upon one, 
 dedicated to the Virgin, was an image of her, with 
 a necklace of large diamonds ; and she stands 
 upon a crescent moon, five or six inches in its 
 curve, made entirely of diamonds. As the altar 
 was blazing with lighted candles, the effect was daz- 
 zliug. 
 
 I had a better view of Michel Angelo's Pieta, and 
 the face and head of Christ are beautiful. Mary is 
 older than she is represented in the Pieta at St. 
 Peter's, but very grand— as is the whole group. 
 John and Mary Magdalen help support the body of 
 Jesus. It is lamentable that such a work should be 
 in so dark a place, where it is nearly impossible ever 
 to see it all, except the outline. The windows were 
 superb to-day on the eastern side, with the sun 
 shining through. The Cathedral is impressive and 
 noble ; but very small in comparison to St. Peter's, 
 and it somehow reveals the immensity of St. Peter's, 
 which never was large enough to meet my expecta- 
 tions, when I was in it. It is strange that the Flor- 
 entines do not fill the Duomo with superior works of 
 art ; but it is far better to have none than the pic- 
 tures and statues of medium merit that usually are 
 found in churches. 
 
 Afterward we long contemplated the Gate of 
 Gates of the Baptistery, and then endeavored to 
 
426 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 find the Via Faenza, and the building in wLicli is 
 the Cenacolo of Raphael. After some straying, we 
 found it, and then Mr. H. left me ; for he said he 
 could not look at a fresco to-day. A deplorable old 
 beggar rang the bell for me, for the sake of a 
 crazia, and a civil, respectable man opened the door, 
 and ushered me into a room, one end of which is 
 filled with the picture I wished to see. It has evi- 
 dently been cleaned, and that dangerous process 
 would take away the delicate finish and tints and 
 atmosphere of a w^ork of Raphael ; but it is a grand, 
 impressive, affecting design. John's head is exceed- 
 ingly beautiful. He is represented asleep or faint, 
 as he often is at the supper — I do not know whj^ 
 unless it were impossible to portray his grief and 
 amazement at the words, " one of you shall betray 
 me." There is lovely repose in the perfect features 
 and attitude. His head rests on his arm before 
 Christ, who, with upraised hand, looks directly and 
 deprecatingly, but with gentle majesty, at Judas, 
 w^io is alone on this side the table, and stares out of 
 the picture, with an uneasy and sinister glance, 
 grasping the bag in his left hand. St. James is, 
 like John, very young and beautiful, with a clear, open 
 brow, and an expression of calm surprise, as if he 
 could not readily conceive of such a crime. The older 
 apostles are noble, some of them with a most tender 
 sorrow, and all astonished, holding their knives and 
 bread and cups suspended at the fearful words. 
 Thaddeus is also represented as youthful. I was 
 
FLORENCE. 427 
 
 quite alone in the building. Not a sound broke tlie 
 profound silence. 
 
 The arched, vaulted room was the old Refectory 
 of the Convent of San Onofno, now repaired. 
 Antique red-cushioned chairs were ranged round 
 three sides ; and beneath the picture, on the fourtli 
 side, was a carved settle. Sitting there so still, I 
 seemed to be present at the very moment when Jesus 
 pronounced the sentence that struck such amaze- 
 ment and dismay into the hearts of his disciples, and 
 they all became living persons to me. The fresco 
 was very splendid in color once, with a great deal 
 of gold. The dishes on the table are of elegant 
 form, Hke Greek paterae ; but the whole effect is 
 simple, and centres upon Christ and Judas. Just as 
 Perugino's Pieta at the Academy made me more 
 truly feel than ever before that Christ was crucified 
 for man, so this assured me of that most affecting 
 last supper on earth of Jesus and his friends. So 
 powerful is the purpose and sentiment of the great 
 masters, that we become possessed of the same. I 
 often go round the chapels of the churches, and 
 look at the altar-pictures, and see and feel nothing, 
 as they usually are. But suddenly I am arrested, 
 and always by the devout, religious, and inspired 
 painters of the olden time, of whom Raphael was 
 the consummate flower. 
 
 Above, and far beyond the group at table, through 
 arches, we see a landscape, with the trees and rocks 
 and hills that drive Ruskin mad ; but I think they 
 
428 NOTES I2i ITALY. 
 
 are always in keeping witli the figures in Eaphaelite 
 and pre-Rapliaelite pictures, and I like tliem. They 
 give distance and scope, without overwhelming the 
 main design, and therefore have an artistic pro- 
 priety. 
 
 The Egyptian Museum is in the same building, 
 and I wished to see a war-chariot that was there. 
 There were mummies, in and out of mummy-cases, 
 innumerable carved objects in precious stones, fi'ogs 
 as big only as a pea, and large and small scaribsei 
 of various substances — gods, altars, shrines, bas- 
 reliefs, stele drawings on stucco, and one curious 
 portrait of a handsome, unamiable lady, with hair 
 dressed in the fashion of to-da3\ It has taken three 
 or more thousand years for this style to come round 
 again. In what a large orbit moves Fashion ! The 
 war-chariot is made of wood — a very light kind of 
 wood, with as little fi-amework and weight as .pos- 
 sible. The seat (or stand, rather) is woven of reeds 
 and straw. It must have flown like the wind, with 
 fleet horses. Two very large, airy wheels were on 
 each side ; and it was a Scythian chariot, after all, 
 and I beheve I expected to see an Egyptian one. 
 But if the chariots of Pharaoh were like this, they 
 certainly could not withstand the waves. Why 
 should our carriages be so ponderous? It is, at 
 least, a pity to load our horses with such unneces- 
 sary weight. Remote antiquity might teach us a 
 great deal, though we brag so perpetually of our 
 improvements. I laid my hand upon the woven 
 
FLORENCE. 429 
 
 stand, wondering whose brave feet had hekl their 
 place upon it in the thick of battle, three, or perhaps 
 four, thousand years ago. Just now I had been iu 
 the Holy Land, and now I was in Egypt ; for in 
 Egypt this chariot was found. 
 
 When I was about leaving the building, I offered 
 the custode a fee, but, with a pc^lite bow, he pro- 
 tested that I was " senza obligaziono," and I was 
 really obliged to put my silver back into my purse, 
 with speechless surprise. It is the first time in 
 Europe that I have known a custode to refuse the 
 money dropping into his hand, though attendants 
 do not always demand it. 
 
 On my way home I stopped at the Baptistery, and 
 looked at Ghiberti's other door, which is also beau- 
 tiful, and represents the Life of Christ. There is 
 perfect grace, and delicate, forcible expression in 
 the faces and forms ; and I think it would be con- 
 sidered a masterpiece, if the eastern gate were not 
 so peerless. The third one is the Life of St. John 
 the Baptist, by Pisano. Inside, I looked at a wooden 
 statue of Mary Magdalen, meagre, forlorn, and sad, 
 with abundant hair enveloping her nude and wasted 
 figure. I had come in, because, while gazing at 
 Pisano's door, I felt a great drop of water fall on my 
 nose, and instantly down poured a flood, and the 
 thunder rolled ; so I fled into the sanctuary, and sat 
 down. I could have stayed there contentedly for a 
 long time, but I had not my watch, and was afraid 
 I should be too late for dinner; so I summoned a 
 
430 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 carriage and drove home. For more than two hours 
 it continued to rain, thunder, and hghten ; then it 
 cleared lustrously, and R. and I walked out of 
 the Porta Eomana up the spacious avenue of the 
 Grand Duke's villa, about a mile long, close by the 
 city. It is a broad carriage-road, with nice foot- 
 walks beneath the shade-trees on each side, open 
 and free to all, in true Tuscan princely style. -^ * -^ 
 At the gate of the Yilla were two marble statues — 
 one, Jupiter hurling thunderbolts with the utmost 
 furor, — a strange figure to place at the entrance of 
 the ducal residence, though significant and appro- 
 priate, considering how the Florentine rulers behave. 
 The other is Atlas, I suppose, with the heavens on 
 his shoulders. A lovely lawn is witliin, surrounded 
 with rose-trees still in bloom, though it be now late 
 for roses : and beyond stretches out the palace, — 
 marble statues standing in niches in front. Even 
 into this strangers are admitted ; but it w^as too late 
 then for us. The view is extensive and rich from 
 the end of the avenue, which gently, yet constantly, 
 ascends all the way from the first gate. 
 
 * * * -x- * ^ * 
 
 Santa Maria Novella. 
 
 July 3d. — This morning we set forth for Santa 
 Maria Novella, Michel Angelo's Bride. It was the 
 church wdiere Boccaccio's ladies met at the time of 
 the plague, and agreed to go away together. I 
 
FLORENCE. 4;U 
 
 wished particularly to see the famous Maclomia of 
 Cimabue, which was so superior to previous paint- 
 ings of her, that it was borne through the streets in 
 triumphal procession, before being deposited in its 
 present chapel. The fagade of this church, one of 
 the few that is finished, is encrusted with black 
 and white marbles in mosaic. On the right ex- 
 tends an arcade, and in each arch is a tomb, a\ itli 
 the escutcheon of the person buried sculptured 
 or modelled in stucco above. At right angles, on 
 the left, is still another arcade, and on this side we 
 entered a cloister — the green cloister, so called be- 
 cause the frescoes which cover the walls are green 
 and brown in tint — a sort of chiar'oscuro. They 
 are curious pictures of events m the Old Testament, 
 by Uccello and Dello, with a good deal of force and 
 the utmost naivete. Beneath these designs are in- 
 numerable sepulchral tablets. We walked along till 
 we came to an open door, which we entered, and 
 found services going on in a large, lofty room, cov- 
 ered with frescoes by Taddeo Gaddi and Simon e 
 Memmi. It was the Chapter-house. On the east 
 side is the triumph of St. Thomas Aquinas. He sits 
 in the centre, holding an open book, which he turns 
 to the beholders to read. At his feet crouch three 
 promoters of heresy. On each hand, in a regular 
 line, sit saints, apostles, virtues, and angels. In two 
 even rows beneath are fourteen figures — popes, phi- 
 losophers, saints, orators, and personified abstrac- 
 tions, in rows ; many beautiful noble faces and forms. 
 
432 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 This was by Gaddi, and all the others are by Memmi. 
 Opposite St. Thomas Aquinas is a vast composition 
 called the Church Militant and Triumphant, contain- 
 ing a great many portraits — of Cimabue, di Lapo, 
 Petrarch and Laura, and Boccaccio, as well as 
 Popes and Kings. On the north side is the Cruci- 
 fixion, Christ bearing the Cross, and his Descent 
 into Hell. The famous Walter di Brienne is the 
 Boman centurion. Opposite are scenes fiom St. 
 Domenic's life, as this is a Domenican church, with 
 a convent attached. There are windows, beautiful 
 mullioned windows, and a great door, which would 
 effectually light the frescoes, but they were pro- 
 
 vokingly covered with dark cui'tains, so that it was 
 
 • 
 
 difficult to see them well. Glorious with color and 
 form must have been those walls in their first ages ; 
 for they are now more than five hundred years old. 
 The groined roof meets in a point above, with four 
 separate subjects in each compartment. From the 
 Chapter-house we returned to the Green Cloisters, 
 and were going down a corridor that seemed full of 
 paintings and tombs and sculptures, when a custode 
 accosted us, and asked if we wished to see the 
 Church. We followed him with his key, and he led 
 us directly to the sacristy, a lofty, Gothic apartment, 
 with the groinings of the roof richly ornamented ; a 
 superb window of stained glass, and mahogany 
 presses all round, as well as one in the centre of the 
 room. An artist was painting, and the custode in- 
 troduced us to the originals of his copies. They 
 
FLORENCE. 4G3 
 
 were three reliquaries by Fra Angelico, little Gothic 
 frames, with pictures in the centres, at the foot and 
 tops and sides ; and between the central pictures and 
 the outside wei'e shut recesses, containing labelled 
 relics. I saw small bones, hair, and undistinguish- 
 able bits, but I do not know their histories. Here I 
 found the Madonna of the Star, a celebrated work 
 of Fra Angelico — Mary, standing, in a blue robe, 
 holding the infant, with a star blazing over her brow. 
 All the faces were finished like miniatures, and the 
 drapery was brilliant with primal colors, making car- 
 canets of jewels, as Fra Angelico always does ; and 
 his ruby and sapphire robes and opaline faces were 
 set on a gold background. 
 
 After carefully examining these wonderful gems, 
 we went into the church, a dilapidated old place, 
 shorn of much glory, but with a sumptuous window 
 of painted glass — a rose-window over the principal 
 entrance, and a triple mullioned one over the choir. 
 A short flight of stairs leads into the Strozzi Chapel, 
 covered all over with fi-escoes, by Orgagna. On one 
 side is Heaven, and on the other is Hell. The last 
 has been injured and mended ; but Heaven is still 
 glorious. The Almighty is enthroned highest, Jesus 
 and the Virgin Mary are in the next rank, just be- 
 neath two beautiful angels ; and around and below 
 countless throngs of the ascended Just, their faces 
 glowing and beaming with happiness and peace — 
 thousands upon thousands. What a work for one 
 head and one hand! but what enjoyment Orgagna 
 
 19 
 
434 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 must have experienced in lifting up those m^-riad holy 
 brows and ecstatic eyes to the smile of the Eternal 
 Father, and the welcome of Christ and the Yirgin ! 
 
 Opposite is the Prince of Evil — no princely state 
 has he, however ; but he is a hideous monster, up to 
 his middle in a caldron, in which the damned are 
 boiling, and he eating them, as they are cooked to 
 his taste. This is the central group. Around are 
 separate punishments for each sin, which would not 
 be pleasant to describe. Behind the altar is the 
 Last Judgment, surmounted by a painted window. 
 In the Judgment the artist has amused himself with 
 putting many lordly personages who did not please 
 him, among the cursed ; and, out of a sepulchre, a 
 grinning fiend is pulling a poor soul, to torment it in 
 unseemly haste, not even waiting for it to come forth. 
 Doubtless this soul is a portrait; for painters, as 
 well as poets, put their enemies, or those whom they 
 believed wicked, into the Inferno without scruple. 
 On the other side is also a sepulchre, and from that 
 a lovely angel is gently assisting one of the " Blessed 
 of my Father" to ascend. Wonderful is the contrast 
 between these opposing groups. 
 
 The choir is the work of Ghirlandaio (Domenico). 
 One side is the Life of St. John the Baptist, and the 
 other the Life of the Yirgin, in a great many com- 
 partments. Various portraits are introduced — in 
 one group are several of the di Medici — in another, 
 artists, and among them Ghirlandaio himself. There 
 is the portrait also of a great beauty of that time, 
 
FLORENCE. 433 
 
 Ginovra de Bcnci. These frescoes are very splendid. 
 AVliat prodigies of genius were the masters of those 
 days — what patience, invention, and industry ! The 
 group of women round the new-born Virgin is grace- 
 ful and lovely, and one is robed in cloth of gold. 
 All the dresses are magnificent with gold and color, 
 and I perceive how splendid must have been this 
 choir, with the grace and state and dignity of the 
 figures — the true faces and the living movement — 
 lighted with prismatic hues from the large triple 
 Gothic window of painted glass — before the gold 
 was dimmed or the tints faded ; since, even now, it 
 is so much more than I can apprehend at one see- 
 ing. Above, in four pointed arches of the vault, sit 
 four Evangelists, presiding over their pictured gos- 
 pels, — grand old men, prefiguring Michel Angelo's 
 prophets ; for Ghirlandaio was his master. I have 
 not seen in anything of Ghirlandaio, however, the 
 tremendous muscular developments which Michel 
 Angelo delighted to render. That was " his own 
 music," and I cannot like it overmuch, because I do 
 not understand anatomy, and prefer the human 
 form rounded with " softer solids." 
 
 In the Gaddi Chapel, on the left, is the storied 
 Crucifix of Brunelleschi, which he carved in wood, 
 after seeing Donatello's, in Santa Croce. Brunel- 
 leschi told Donatello that he had cut a peasant and 
 not a Christ, and when he had finished his own, 
 Donatello was so astonished that he exclaimed with 
 generous admiration, " To thee it is granted to make 
 
436 NOTES ZzY ITALY. 
 
 the Christs, and to me the peasants." I could not 
 see the face distinctly enough on account of the dim 
 shade of the chapel ; but all I could see of the figure 
 was fine : and, at any rate, the magnanimity of Do- 
 natello has consecrated it. At last we visited the 
 Eucellai Chapel, where the celebrated Cimabue 
 Madonna is placed. It has the colossal face which 
 Cimabue and his compeers so often drew, on a 
 rather less colossal figure, while the infant and the 
 a.ngels are of the natural size. But the Virgin's face 
 is very much softer and more beautiful than any 
 other of Cimabue, without the hard outlines of that 
 age — a noble, sweet, and tender countenance, slightly 
 bent on a throat disproportionately slender — with a 
 hood almost covering the forehead. The fingers of 
 the hands are endless and inflexible ; but the baby 
 the}^ hold is one of the princely, divine infants, full 
 of gi*ace and majesty, and the six angels around, in 
 their gold settings, are heavenly jewels of rarest 
 beauty. In its first freshness of dazzling gold and 
 color, it must have cast an added glory upon the day 
 as it passed through the streets of Florence — the 
 Holy Child blessing all men with His uplifted little 
 hand, and the Madonna winning the worship of the 
 thronging crowds by her queenly state and benignity 
 of aspect. The angels are absorbed in the beatific 
 vision of the Mother and Son. This picture is hung 
 between two narrow windows in an unaccountably 
 stupid manner ; for the light, glaring into the eyes, 
 prevents one from seeing well any part of it. It ia 
 
FLORENCE. 4.7 
 
 disloyal to Cimabiie to hang his picture so, besides 
 being exasperating to any true lover of art. I begin 
 thoroughly to approve of the custom of Princes and 
 Popes, of which I have heretofore complained — of 
 taking masterpieces from churches and placing 
 them in galleries ; for in churches they are often 
 lost, and in galleries they are found. As Mr. Allston 
 once so wisely said, " What is the use of a picture if 
 we cannot see it ?" 
 
 The Martyrdom of St. Catharine covers the right- 
 hand wall. I looked at it with great interest, be- 
 cause some figures in it are said to be by Michel 
 Angelo. St. Catharine stands, raising her hands to 
 a descending angel, who seems to bring down the 
 retribution of heaven ; for the executioners are fall- 
 ing about in terror or faintness, and in these writhing 
 forms I recognized Michel Angelo. 
 
 Another chapel is painted by Filippo Lippi, with 
 traditional miracles on the sides, and the evangelists 
 on the ceiling. St. Philip is driving away a horrible 
 dragon from the Temple of Mars on one side ; on 
 the other, Drusiana is rising from the dead. These 
 frescoes were black and dismal, and had not the fi'ee 
 grandeur of the Orgagnas and Ghirlandaios ; but 
 yet they were very expressive. 
 
 Over the door, leading to the campanile, is a 
 Coronation of the Virgin, with glorified saints, by 
 Buffalmacco, each head set in its solid golden plate 
 — such sincerity and good faith in every line and 
 shadow that the attraction and efi'ect are irresistible. 
 
438 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 Sometimes I feel as if academies and rules of pro- 
 portion were nuisances, because tliey so often take 
 the place of all that is truly valuable in a picture. 
 It is like leaving the color out of the rose, and the 
 perfume out of the violet — and, indeed, the soul out 
 of the body. The inspiration of the old masters 
 was from within, a sacred, revered flame ; and with 
 it they painted love and prayer and praise and sor- 
 row with inevitable power, however strange and hard 
 their lines and shapes ; and finally grace and beauty 
 of form were added thereunto more and more, till 
 Kaphael, with his radiant finger, put the seal on all 
 endeavor. Was anything more possible ? Can any 
 one transcend him ? 
 
 The Gothic nave is lofty and spacious, and along 
 the aisles are small chapels in arches, once filled 
 v/itli frescoes, but now mostly in ruin. A marble 
 pulpit, richly carved in bas-relief, is built against 
 one of the columns of the nave, and over the great 
 door, beneath the rose-window, is a crucifix by 
 Giotto. The most entire dismantling is of the high 
 altar. There is nothing at all left in it but dust and 
 defacement, and the church looks desolate and for- 
 lorn, though it is one of the grandest in size and 
 proportion, and contains so many treasures. 
 
 In the green cloister was a man sitting in a stall 
 selling rosaries. He offered me " The Tears of St. 
 Job," each tear crystallized into a bead, with a httle 
 cross, and I bought them out of love for that patient 
 man, and in memory of Santa Maria Novella. 
 
FLORENCE. 4.b9 
 
 Uffizzi Gallery. 
 
 We then wandered to the Uffizzi. I looked long 
 at the Holy Family by Michel Angelo, and now I 
 am convinced that Mr. Ware is distraught on that 
 point of the Madonna. It is painfully uncomely, 
 and expresses nothing of what he so extravagantly 
 descants. It is a Madonna of his own fancy that he 
 writes about. 
 
 Luini's beautiful Herodias's Daughter is very 
 much in Leonardo da Yinci's style. When shall I 
 have seen all the chefs-d'oeuvre of the Tribune, I 
 wonder ? 
 
 In another room I met the cold, disagreeable, 
 handsome Alfieri, whose hard blue eyes are terrible 
 from lack of all human kindliness of sentiment. 
 Bousseau is much more genial, though by no means 
 attractive ; and Madame de Sevigne is lovely, by 
 Mignard. So we went on till we came to Sasso 
 Ferrato's Madonna of the blue hood. It is most 
 tender and sweet, yet cannot be called the Adolorata. 
 There is no sword in her heart, but only a pensive 
 thought. Her exquisite mouth has never quivered 
 with unutterable woe, and her shaded eyes have still 
 the capacity to weep — not like Perugino's Mary's, 
 drained of tears. 
 
 We were so fortunate as to find the Hall of Bronzes 
 open, and we saw at last John of Bologna's original 
 Mercury. It certainly is the Mercury of Mercury s. 
 Such an airy flight was never before or since repre- 
 
440 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 sented in bronze, marble, or whatever substance. 
 He is thrown upon the air completely, and is airier 
 for the bronze. A plaster cast carries a heaviness 
 with it, besides that casts do not often give a true 
 idea of the original. Sometimes they do. Michel 
 Angelo's Lorenzo di Medici, and his Day and Night, 
 and the noble Minerva Medica are really shadowed 
 forth by the Crystal Palace casts : but they are the 
 finest in the world. Ah, this Mercury ! He is a 
 winged Thought — fit messenger of the gods. The 
 little Zephyr, who puffs beneath his imponderable 
 foot, has no more work to do than if he were blow- 
 ing a bubble. He will be gone quite out of sight in 
 an instant — so exquisitely poised, with pointed finger, 
 and head thrown back, and form turned, like a 
 lovely, slender, voluted shell. 
 
 Benvenuto Cellini's first wax-model of Perseus was 
 beneath a glass shade. The statue is far better, 
 and the model is only a statuette. There is also a 
 bronze model. His superb helmet and shield, made 
 for Francis I., we saw, covered all over with the 
 most delicate arabesques, and medallions with small 
 figures, — the helmet surmounted with a dragon 
 chiselled witli finest finish, in all its scales and hor- 
 rors. It was deeply interesting, too, to see the 
 bronze bas-relief which Ghiberti executed for a spe- 
 cimen of his capacity to make the gates of the Bap- 
 tistery. It is the sacrifice of Abraham. Tliere is 
 also an exceedingly beautiful small statue of David, 
 by Donatello. He has killed Goliath, and stands 
 
FLORENCE 441 
 
 musing. On liis head is a slieplierd's graceful bon- 
 net, with a rather broad brim, and a wreath round the 
 crown ; and he has such a simple, stripling air, so 
 without triumph at his great exploit — he stands so 
 musically, so gently, that he pronounces himself the 
 sweet Psalmist of Israel, rather than the conqueror 
 of a giant. There is force in his delicacy, but it is 
 the force of genius, and not of physique. I have 
 seen nothing of Donatello that captivated me entirely 
 before. 
 
 In the inner hall of very ancient bronzes are rare 
 Etruscan treasures ; and among them a Chimera of 
 great antiquit}^ still perfect, except its tail, which is 
 modern and a serpent. The principal head is that 
 of a lion ; and a goat's head shoots up quite un- 
 seasonably from behind the lion's. 
 
 A statue of a youth found at Pesaro is fine, and 
 curious, from the puzzle it has proved to be to the 
 wise. No one can decide whether it be Bacchus, 
 Apollo, Mercury, or what. It is now called " The 
 Idol." A robed figure, found in the vale of the 
 Sanguinetto, on the shores of Thrasymene, has all 
 the interest attached to that spot, besides being an 
 admirable work. I saw there the very niellos from 
 which the art of engraving originated, and they 
 looked like dehcate etchings on silver — slightly 
 shaded outlines. In the same case were two enor- 
 mous rings, with the largest rubies that I think were 
 ever put in rings. They must have been for the 
 thumb. In the British Begalia there is one as large, 
 
 19* 
 
443 NOTES IX ITALY. 
 
 but not in a rinsj. There were a oreat many heads 
 of Roman standards, the most memorable of which 
 was the easfle of the twenty-fourth legion. We had 
 not seen half, when we were hurried out, because 
 the hour for shutting the gallery had arriyed un- 
 awares. But before we left the western side, we 
 went to see Michel xlngelo's Bacchus and Faun. 
 
 In the afternoon we yisited churches — first San 
 Spirito, close by us. The interior is grand, with its 
 rows of columns and lofty, arched aisles, extending 
 round the high altar. The high altar and choir are 
 contained within a superb balustrade of precious 
 marbles and bronze, surmounted by six angels in 
 marble, St. John, and the Madonna. The altar is 
 inlaid with pietre dure, in flowers and birds and ara- 
 besques, and the baldacchino is also ornamented 
 with mosaics. The church is the best work of 
 Brunelleschi. Entirely round the aisles are chapels, 
 and many good pictures in them, and near the en- 
 trance is a copy of Michel Angelo's Pieta of St. 
 Peter's, and one also of his St. John of Santa Maria 
 Sopra Minerya. I became acquainted there with a 
 new old painter, Piero di Losimo — new to me, of 
 course, I mean ; and I saw a Madonna and Saints, 
 by Filippo Lippi — the child Jesus reaching down to 
 touch a cross which Httle Jolm holds in his hands — 
 all yery noble and loyely ; also a Madonna and four 
 Saints by Giotto, the saints beautiful — the whole 
 picture worthy of study. An Annunciation, by 
 Botticelli, differs from all the paintiugs of his I haye 
 
FLORENCE. 44:3 
 
 known. The faces of the angel and Mary are round 
 and soft, instead of thin and meagre and hard, and 
 what is called the motive of tha picture is, as usual, 
 sincere and solemn. He allows himself here a little 
 beauty of form, instead of regarding the expression 
 of devoutness merely. 
 
 A Madonna and Saints, by Perugino, fascinated 
 me by the face of Mary — very like the adoring 
 mother in the Pitti Palace — a face he could not re- 
 peat too often, for it is of the noblest type. While 
 we were walking about, the priests and monks of the 
 order of St. Augustine, who have a convent attached, 
 came in a procession from the sacristy, and knelt 
 down in their sweeping black robes upon the marble 
 pavement, in two lines, one behind the other, and 
 chanted aloud their Ave Maria. It was a w^onderful 
 picture. We afterward went into the cloisters, in 
 the centre of which was an enchanting lawn, with 
 shrubbery and fragrant flowers, in profound quiet, 
 and wide, arched loggie around, in which to walk 
 and muse, and only the sky above for prospect. 
 What a chance and persuasion to be holy have these 
 men in outward appliances ; yet how signally it often 
 fails, and what a comment it is upon man's arrange- 
 ments, when he presumes to improve upon God's 
 plans ! What looks so wondrous, wondrous fair. His 
 providence teaches us to fear. The wondrous fair 
 that can alone be trusted meets neither the eye nor 
 the ear nor the touch. He has removed it from all 
 possibility of harm or change. Angels only are fit 
 
444 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 to live as monks pretend to live, and hence all the 
 sin and woe. The relations of husband, wife, father, 
 mother, brother, and sister must be filled by human 
 beings, because Infinite wisdom designed the family 
 as best for man. It is singular that in monasteries 
 and all communities strictly of men, one always has 
 a sense of a great want — an emptiness, and an ab- 
 sence of thorough order and nicety. They never 
 seem clean ; the beauty of holiness and cleanliness, 
 which is next to godliness, are lacking. I have a 
 shuddering perception of this whenever I am within 
 their precincts, though I cannot tell why or how. 
 
 7r w TT vv vr w 
 
 Santa Annunziata. 
 
 July 6th. — This morning we went to the Santa 
 Annunziata. It stands in a large piazza, adorned 
 by a noble equestrian statue of Ferdinand I., who 
 is gazing up at a palace with a most earnest ex- 
 pression — and both palace and statue are set to 
 music by Mr. Browning."^ It is the old Kiccardi 
 Palace, and what is now called the Riccardi in the 
 Yia Larga was then the Medici Palace, where the 
 Grand Duke Ferdinand lived and had his Feast, at 
 which the "one word" passed, heard only by the 
 bridegroom ; from which came all her misery. 
 There are two fountains in the piazza, and the 
 church extends along the whole of one side of it. 
 
 * " The Statue and the Bust." 
 
FLORENCE. 445 
 
 Another side is filled with the Foundling Hospital, 
 which has an arched loggia, and in the lunettes be- 
 neath are frescoes. There is also an arched loggia 
 to the building on the third side, giving the square 
 a very stately aspect. Entering the door of the 
 Santa Annunziata, we were in an open court, sur- 
 rounded by cloisters, in which were frescoes on the 
 walls, by Pontormo, Andrea del Sarto, and Eossi. 
 They are considered very precious, evidently, for 
 they are enclosed in plate-glass, to keep them from 
 the weather. Pontormo's I liked best. He is 
 grander than Andrea del Sarto ever is, and was his 
 pupil. The interior of the church is magnificent, 
 the roof exceedingly rich, and the gold upon it is in 
 the utmost sheen and splendor. There are no re- 
 markable altar-paintings, except two good ones by 
 Perugino, especially an Assumption, with lovely 
 angels. In the chapel of John of Bologna are six 
 bronze bas-reliefs, by him, and a bronze crucifix, 
 which are all admirable. 
 
 The high altar is of solid silver, with a great many 
 reliefs, and a silver tabernacle surmounts it. The 
 chapel of the Annunziata is as gorgeous as it can be 
 made. It holds the miraculous picture painted by 
 the angels, as the people truly believe. Eight thou- 
 sand pounds have just been spent for a new crown 
 for this angelic portrait ; but it is so sacred that it 
 is kept veiled, excepting on one or two particular 
 occasions in the year, and we could not see it to- 
 day. This shrine is erected in a corner of the nave, 
 
446 ^'OTES IX ITALY. 
 
 and climbs up into a Gotliic point, with a mnltitnde 
 of angels, and wreaths, and ornaments. As many 
 as fifty Tery large, ever-bnming lamps hung from 
 the roof above it, all of silver, and silver vases of 
 silver Hhes stand on the silver altar. The people 
 were kneeling within and around it in passionate 
 adoration. One man stood so loner kissincr the 
 shrine and pressing his brow upon it, that he seemed 
 fastened by some spell. Forlorn and 's^Tetched 
 creatures looked up at the veiled painting as they 
 would into heaven itself. There was no sham nor 
 lukewarm prayer-mumbling in all the throng. 
 Alongside the chapel is an oratory, very rich with 
 pietra-dura mosaics, emblems of the Virgin — roses, 
 lilies, stars — and the floor is of marbles. Little stalls 
 and tabernacles of beautiful forms surround it, and 
 in some of them stand vases of jasper and precious 
 stones. It is a wonderful oratory, and sanctified by 
 devout homage, I am sure. From one of the tran- 
 septs we found our way into the cloisters, in which 
 the lunettes are all painted in fresco with events in 
 the hves of the seven founders ; and between each 
 are portraits of distinguished members of this order, 
 which was that of St. Augustine. One of the fres- 
 coes in the cloisters is the Madonna of the Sack, by 
 Andrea del Sarto, quite famous ; but I was very 
 much disappointed in it. Mary sits upon the ground, 
 with the infant in her lap. Her face is round and 
 full, without any divine expression. Joseph is seated 
 on a sack, with a book. It has a certain free and 
 
FLORENCE. 447 
 
 flowing style ; but even before being injured by time, 
 I do not see how it could ever have been a great 
 picture. I cannot discover Andrea del Sarto's merits. 
 
 Coming home, we went to the Palace of the Conte 
 Cavaliere Giulio da Montauto, to inquire about his 
 villa, which we think of taking ; and then w^e returned 
 through the open court of the Strozzi Palace, sur- 
 rounded by stone columns and loggie. It looks 
 eternal, like the others. 
 
 This evening messengers came fi'om the Count, 
 to say we could have his villa. 
 
 July 7th. — This morning I went with J to the 
 
 Museum, and the rest of us to the Pitti Palace. By 
 
 and by Mr. H. and R. joined J and me. J 
 
 and I were faithfully looking at everything, and dying 
 of fatigue. We had been through all the precious 
 stones, marbles, quartzes, and granites. We had seen 
 the great Carbuncle, and no diamonds, because they 
 w' ere all put up on the highest shelves ; but spark- 
 ling garnets, mild, refreshing emeralds, gorgeous 
 amethysts, and endless varieties of opals and chale- 
 donies and onyxes. Then we saw specimens of all 
 the fishes in the seas — then of all the insects, many 
 of which were once living jewels — then of every 
 kind of butterfly that had burst out of a chrysalis. 
 Then we saw wax models of rare exotics and fruits, 
 and a collection of stuffed birds ; and the richest, 
 most blazing, fiery splendors of gems, I found on 
 throats of humming-birds. One had an amethystine 
 
448 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 breast, which I never saw before — others w^ere of 
 bright gold, going through all shades of orange to 
 deep dahlia crimson — passing through fire to get to 
 crimson — all gradations of blue, fi'om turquoise to 
 deep sapphire and midnight blue — and changes of 
 shining emerald. There was a bird-of-paradise of 
 rare beauty ; and the parrots in a corner looked like 
 a fierce autumnal sunset ; and for the first time I saw 
 here birds entirely of bright azure (not cobalt, like 
 our bluebirds). Then we had another show of beauty 
 and of color in the shells. There were two real pearls 
 still upon the oyster where they grew, more beautiful 
 than any in the British Museum, and lovely opally 
 nautili, besides specimens of every other that has 
 been created. We had stuffed animals also, and 
 their skeletons, and wax models of interiors of ani- 
 mals, very curious and very horrid. * ■«■ * ^ 
 
 This extensive museum adjoins the grounds of 
 the Pitti Palace, and is a part of the amusements of 
 the Grand Duke, which he hospitably shares with 
 the people ; for every man, woman, and child in 
 Florence can go in freely from ten to three o'clock 
 every day. His Grand Grace does not allow of any 
 chairs through the whole suite of rooms, and all who 
 enter must go into each room in regular order ; and 
 not retrace their steps, though they may remain 
 hours on the way. Being utterly weary, however, 
 I sat down upon some stairs, where no sentinel was 
 watching, as I could at the w^orst but be told to get 
 up and move on. I was not disturbed. 
 
FLORENCE. 449 
 
 BoBOLi Gaedens, — San Makco,— etc. 
 
 July 8tli. — This was a day when the Boboli Gar- 
 dens are open, and I took R. there to stay as long 
 as she Hked. She fetched her jump-rope, and her 
 doll Daisy m her little chair, and her fan. (It is 
 but a few steps from Casa del Bello.) She also 
 took some bread for the swans, and I took a book. 
 When we arrived at the Lake of Swans, they were 
 in high displeasure, striking out their snowy wings, 
 and actually groaning with unmelodious noise. 
 They were hungry, and scolding at a man who was 
 going upon the island, demanding food of him. He 
 threw them some green leaves, which they devoured, 
 and then they tiu'ned their magnificent state toward 
 K., who was leanins: on the balustrade. Thev ate her 
 bread with satisfaction and dignity, and then sailed 
 off, in full trim, and we proceeded to a lovely lawn, 
 where were many wild-flowers ; and after exhausting 
 that, we found still another, where H. jumped rope, 
 after tying up her bouquets with grass. Doll Daisy 
 sat radiant in her arm-chair, holding her little 
 mamma's fan and nosegays. We had all the rust- 
 ling, blossoming, fragrant garden of Eden to our- 
 selves, and seemed alone on a new earth, after we 
 left the lake. At last R. found a dead butterfly, 
 
 which she wished to give to J immediately, and 
 
 so we came home. In the afternoon we drove out to 
 Bellosguardo, to see Miss Blagden and tell her about 
 
450 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 our taking the Count Montauto's villa, and she went 
 with us to see it. It has forty rooms. 
 
 July 9th. — We celebrated our great day by going 
 to San Marco, the home of Fra Angelico, where his 
 finest pictures are kept. The church itself is not 
 handsome, outside or inside. In one of the chapels 
 there is a very ancient mosaic of the Virgin, with 
 extended arms, and saints around her. The face 
 and figure strangely reminded me of Mrs. Siddons. 
 Over the door is the famous crucifix by Giotto, 
 which established his fame above Cimabue ; but it 
 was difficult to see it in the dim light, it was so 
 " high up-hung," though I greatly desired to exam- 
 ine it minutely. As far as I could discover, the 
 expression of the head of Christ was very beautiful. 
 In the chapel of the Salviati are many bronzes, and 
 among them a St. John Baptist and some bas-reliefs 
 by John of Bologna. St. John is a powerful figure, 
 in the act of blessing. The reliefs are placed too 
 high to be seen — how unaccountably foolish ! I 
 could only discern admirable figures, but no faces. 
 
 The chapel of the Holy Sacrament is inlaid with 
 marbles, and contains paintings by Pocetti and a 
 new tomb to a Prince Poniatowski ; but except some 
 grand and expressive frescoes of saints, there was 
 nothing to interest us. The sacristan then took us 
 to the cloisters and Chapter-house, where were a 
 few of Fra Angelico's works. In the Chapter-house 
 is a very large Crucifixion by him, with a predella 
 
FLORENCE. ' 451 
 
 of saints, but it was not equal to many other of his 
 frescoes ; and I was told, to my chagrin, that the 
 very best of all no ladies could see ! not even the 
 illuminated missal. A French woman was copying 
 his great Crucifixion ; but I was so immensely dis- 
 appointed and really heart-smitten to find I could 
 not get at the inner treasures, that I hardly looked 
 at that, or at an}^ of Pocetti's frescoes. I was glad 
 to walk up and down the cloisters, exactly where 
 Fra Angelico himself had paced, while meditating 
 angels, virgins, and saints, and living his holy life. 
 He must have consecrated the stones. 
 
 In the church, near the entrance, was a wooden 
 image of Christ, sitting with bound hands, and the 
 crown of thorns upon his head, from which blood 
 was trickling over his figure. An expression of the 
 utmost pain is in both face and form. A great 
 many candles were burning around this distressing 
 object, and a crowd of people were kneeling before 
 it ; and the whole chapel was filled with ofi'erings 
 from the devout — silver and gold hearts without 
 number, chains and all kinds of trinkets ; and 
 watches (!) were hung round the neck and arms. 
 It was the most extraordinary, repulsive, and even 
 grotesque spectacle. Opposite, behind glass, was a 
 painted wooden group of the Nativity. The Virgin 
 was dressed in white silk, starred with gold, and a 
 blue cardinal, edged with gold lace : round her 
 neck were several strings of oriental pearls, and 
 in her bodice a heap of jewels and rosaries — on her 
 
453 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 fingers a dozen rings, and emerald and gold brace- 
 lets on her arms. The baby lay on cloth of gold, 
 and every appurtenance was in this gaudy st3de — 
 so unlike the manger and the unadorned young 
 mother. But these people hear of Mary only as 
 " Queen of angels" and " Mother of God," and as 
 they do not read the Bible, they know nothing of 
 her humble circumstances. 
 
 Finally, we went to the Uffizzi, and in the Tribune 
 I saw, for the first time, a picture by Rubens of 
 Hercules between Pleasure and Wisdom. The fig- 
 ure of Pleasure is as big as a hogshead, and as fat 
 as his Bacchus. It is truly laughable in itself ; and 
 as it is Yenus, the contrast between it and the Venus 
 di Medici, near by, makes it preposterous. One a 
 delicate dream of beauty, and the other a large 
 portion of the earth's substance. Bubens must 
 sometimes have taken beer-barrels for models, and 
 touched them off with arms and heads and legs. 
 But the picture is so admirable that one feels ex- 
 asperated. Titian's Venus is another conception. 
 The Madonna of Perugino is noble and affecting ; 
 and the child on her knee of the loveliest grace, 
 while St. John the Baptist is grand and pensive. 
 The expression of the whole picture is sad with 
 mighty prophecy and prefigurement of sorrow and 
 trial. Wonderful, wonderful is Perugino in mani- 
 festing this divine seriousness, and calm, grave 
 acceptance of the Cross. At the other side stands 
 St. Sebastian, pierced with arrows for the sake of 
 
FLORENCE. 4.-i3 
 
 the lovely and lioly babe, who is tuiTiing to St. John. 
 Again I looked earnestly at Michel Angelo's Holy 
 Family, and Mary remains to me entirely without 
 beauty, power, or charm of any kind. 
 
 The perfection of the form of the Venus di Medici 
 impresses me more and more, and the face loses its 
 first effect. From one point it is still sweet and 
 dignified, but from others it is simple and simper- 
 ing, I fear. It was evidently of secondary interest 
 to Cleomenes to elaborate the face ; or perhaps the 
 face is not his. 
 
 July 12th. — To-day I went to see a villa three 
 miles fi'om Florence, highly recommended for situa- 
 tion and convenience and elegance ; but I found it 
 had been misrepresented, though it had orange and 
 lemon trees, a vineyard, and delicious flowers. It 
 was altogether inferior to Montauto, and I concluded 
 I did not like it. I brought home a bouquet to Mr. 
 H., which taught him all that odors could about 
 Paradise ; and while we were feeling rich with this 
 nosegay, the bell rang, and a large gipsy-hat-shaped 
 basket was presented, filled with fragrant and glo- 
 rious flowers from the Villa Tassinari, with Miss 
 Howorth's card. There were long branches of noi- 
 sette rosebuds, half-bloomed ; every shade of double 
 carnations, each one an Arabia of sweetness ; helio- 
 trope in profusion, bringing the delicate, yet heavy 
 richness of the tropics ; rose and scarlet geraniums ; 
 spikes of the trumpet bignonia ; a white blossom of 
 
454 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 the texture of the magnolia, with a scent bewilder- 
 ing in delightsomeness ; oleanders, now in perfec- 
 tion ; and many others, whose names I do not know, 
 — all of them reposing upon a substruction of ver- 
 bena, the odoriferous, which has such a spirit in its 
 sweetness. Must not the Yilla Tassinari be Eden 
 itself? 
 
 Academy of Fine Arts, and othee places. 
 
 July 13th. — We went to the Academy of Arts this 
 morning. We wished to see the Peruginos again. 
 Mr. H. thought that, in the Pieta, the face of Mary 
 has more depth of expression than in the Deposition 
 of the Pitti. It certainly seems to express all ; but 
 this face appears to be of Mary after the first hours 
 have passed, and she no longer gazes in agony to 
 find if it be indeed true that he is dead — as in the 
 larger picture. She here knows it but too well. 
 The sword is deep in her soul, and there is no 
 anguish of inquiry. It is all still and hopeless — an 
 old and settled misery. They have all been sitting 
 and standing here a long time, and no more ask, 
 " Can it be?" It is, and they must bear it as they 
 best can. There is hardly a face in art to be seen 
 like this one of Mary. I think I said of the Mag- 
 dalen, when I saw it first, that she was not beautiful. 
 But she is beautiful. I felt the other da}^ so deeply 
 the overpowering sentiment of her face, that I really 
 quite disregarded her features. They are very noble, 
 and her hair is rich and golden. Vast and passion- 
 
FLORENCE. 455 
 
 ate is her sorrow ; but liow different from the inti- 
 mate sorrow of the Mother ! I am tempted almost 
 to say that no one equals Perugino, when I think of 
 these two pictures, added to many others of his 
 which I have now seen. In this hall of the Academy 
 is a Descent from the Cross, and on the left, a group 
 of Marys support the Madonna, who is fainting. 
 And now I am ready to exclaim, that never before 
 was painted such a form and face as the Virgin's 
 here, while every face and form around her are pre- 
 eminently lovely and powerful in expression. But 
 the fainting Mother ! She has seen the drooping 
 head of her Son, as Joseph gently deposes it, and 
 the sickness of death has come over her. She is 
 drooping too, and will fall directly. A mortal pale- 
 ness this instant spreads over her, and one perceives 
 the failing of her too agonized consciousness, and 
 the heavy, heavy weight of her form collapsing, and 
 drawing down the encircling arms of her fiiends. 
 It is a group that might make any artist immortal, 
 if he had done no more. The upper part of this 
 Descent from the Cross is painted by Lippi. It 
 seems to me that the adoring Mary in the Pitti, 
 folding her hands over the infant ; happy then, yet 
 with a prophecy in her heart of something unspeak- 
 able in the future of her baby — is the same Mary 
 who is fainting in the Descent, and upon recover- 
 ing, gazes with such searching, tearful dismay in the 
 Deposition — and finally, sits with the beloved form 
 extended upon her knees, in this Pieta, completely 
 
456 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 bereaved. It is the same person — the same noble, 
 grand, tender conception, which, I believe, has never 
 been equalled by any painter in the world. Raphael 
 is inimitable in happy Madonnas, lovely, pure, sacred 
 young virgins ; but Perugino, the old master, has 
 alone portrayed the pathos, grandeur, and religion 
 of beauty in the Adolorata. Raphael was not in- 
 clined to paint this subject, either because his gay, 
 unclouded nature naturally avoided themes so sad, 
 or because he saw that Perugino had accomplished 
 all that was to be desired in this kind. I cannot 
 now remember any sad picture by Raphael. 
 
 We looked at Gentile da Fabriano's wonderful 
 Epiphany, in which there is not one ordinary face 
 in all the gorgeous group ; and at Lippo Lippi's 
 Coronation of the Virgin, crowned by the Et^^nal 
 Father, with its exquisite predella, containing the 
 annunciation of the death of the Madonna, a miracle 
 of genius again ; and I should not wonder if it were 
 by Perugino, as he and Lippo Lippi did sometimes 
 paint in the same composition together. I scribbled 
 a miserable little sketch of it in my note-book. The 
 tender reserve of Gabriel, the majestic sweetness of 
 Mary as she takes the torch ! Whence could come 
 the inspiration of these men, if not straight from 
 heaven, where they sought it ! They must have 
 prayed before they drew a stroke, and then a host 
 of angels guided their pencils. Could any one but 
 an angel have painted his brother Gabriel in this 
 predella ? 
 
FLORENCE. 457 
 
 Now-a-clays tlie angels seem to be farther off^ driven 
 away by profane artists. 
 
 July 14tli. — In the afternoon I drove with U. 
 and R. and Ada to Bellosguardo to meet the young 
 Count and his steward at the Yilla Montauto, to 
 make arrangements. The Count was resolved to 
 speak English, and we had rather a confused inter- 
 view, because he did not speak it very well ; but I 
 made him understand that we would go to the Villa 
 on the fii'st of August. 
 
 July 15th. — This morning we went to the Bargello, 
 the old palace of the Podesta, hoping to get in to 
 see its treasures, especially Giotto's Dante. We 
 mounted its fine old staircase in the court, and, with 
 a grate between us, talked with an officer, who said 
 we could not go in without the custode, who was 
 then to be found at the Riccardi Palace. All round 
 the walls of the building were the arms of the various 
 persons who had held the power, cut in stone, other- 
 wise we were none the richer for our attempt. So we 
 got admittance into the Church of La Badia, opposite 
 the Bargello. The ceiling is of richly carved woods, 
 and it is in the form of a Greek cross. There are 
 two marble monuments by Miuo da Fiesole, and a 
 good china bas-relief of the Virgin by Luca della 
 Robbia, and Filippo Lippi's best easel picture of 
 the Madonna with angels, appearing to St. Bernard. 
 A beautiful light campanile belongs to La Badia, 
 
 20 
 
458 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 whicli is always a graceful feature of the views of 
 the city. 
 
 At the Uffizzi, we found the bronze room open, 
 and looked again at the Mercury of John of Bologna, 
 and Benvenuto Cellini's colossal head of Cosmo I. 
 The mngs on the cap and feet of Mercury are su- 
 perfluous, for he is absolute Wing. In the cabinet of 
 ancient bronzes we looked at the small Etruscan 
 groups which were mended by Benvenuto Cellini in 
 the presence of Cosmo I., who was so fond of seeing 
 him put on little legs, arms, and feet, that he hindered 
 the progress of Perseus, by constantly demanding 
 that he should work upon them at the Palace. 
 
 In the cabinet of gems, two crystal cups, with gold 
 covers, were his, — the crystal exquisitely cut, and 
 the covers enamelled, and adorned with gems. One 
 would think he must have had the finger-tips of a 
 fairy. How astonishing that the man who could 
 model a demigod in his fair proportions, tossing him 
 through the foundry in a thunder-gust, should also 
 so compose his hand and eye as to fashion tiny 
 figures for ladies' rings, brooches for Popes and 
 Princes, in designs as delicate and fine as frost-work, 
 with arabesques of spider-thread tenuity. 
 
 In the afternoon I took a drive with Miss Blagden 
 and U., and we went to the great silk establishment 
 of Lombardi, in the Piazza Maria Antonia, which 
 seemed a fine palace, and not a house of merchan- 
 dise. Upon entering, what was my surprise to find 
 ourselves in a room hung round with the original" 
 
FLORENCE. 459 
 
 drawings of Raphael, Michel Angelo, Murillo, and 
 other masters ! We bought silk, and then the grand 
 Lombardi invited us up-stairs, " to see," he said, " his 
 little Baphael." Here were three fine drawing- 
 rooms, adorned with oil-paintings, and among them, 
 under a golden caoop^^ a Yirgin and Child by 
 Raphael — a simple, pure, lovely picture, in his first 
 style. This was a wonder, to be sure ! Where 
 could he have obtained them all, and how ! He 
 asked us for " our revered names^'' and begged us to 
 call at any time to enjoy his treasures. It is plain 
 enough, I suppose, that he has money, and that 
 for money, enough of it, one can purchase even a 
 Raphael. Princes are often rich only in masterpieces 
 of genius, while merchants are rich in the gold that 
 princes need, and so the exchange is made. Happy 
 is Lombardi to know so well what money is good 
 for. He has made a shrine for his precious " little 
 Raphael" — a tabernacle, perhaps of pure gold, which 
 shows his appreciation of it. After this most un- 
 expected delight, we drove to the Cascine, where all 
 the beauty and fashion of Florence were abroad, 
 walking and sitting in various splendid equipages, 
 listening to a glorious band of music. It Avas a 
 scene one dreams of, but seldom sees. 
 
 * # -x- * -se * 
 
 PiTTi Palace. 
 
 July 19th. — We went to-day to the Pitti Palace. 
 I find that there are two portraits of Ippolito di 
 
460 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 Medici, one by Titian and one by Pontormo. 
 Titian's is superb. He is in a Hungarian dress, 
 buttoned up to the throat, which is very becoming, 
 when a handsome head and face are shut off in that 
 way. He stands with a wonderful dignity and 
 grace, and his features and style of head are of 
 fascinating beauty, though I am sure he is not a 
 good man. He looks dark and treacherous, with a 
 princely state, worthy of a higher character. The 
 Madonna della Seggiola is a sumptuous flower of 
 rainbow colors, all softened and blended. The child 
 is grand, with his wonderful gray eyes looking into 
 the future, pure and limpid as the twilight sky. 
 And his mouth is the richest blossom of innocence, 
 peace, and charity that ever bloomed fi'om the 
 palette. This is in Raphael's third style, and the 
 Madonna of the Grand Duke is in his second style, 
 with reserved mouth and lily lids, half closed, like 
 curved petals over the soul of her beauty. She has 
 an air of having nothing more to do with the world, 
 and so she does not look out upon it ; henceforth 
 pondering over her own heart. The soft, prophetic 
 splendor of the Seggiola infant's eyes is not seen in 
 this babe's. These are harder ; but the head is 
 noble. 
 
 While we were occupied with the pictures, the 
 military band struck up in the Piazza before the 
 Palace, as usual at that hour, and glorified the com- 
 mon day, and added life to the painted forms and 
 faces. We came down and went into the magnifi- 
 
FLORENCE. 4G1 
 
 cent cortile of tlie Palace, wliicli Liica Pitti said 
 might hold within it the Palazzo Strozzi ; and walked 
 round it, listening to the music. 
 
 In the afternoon, J and I went to the Carmine, 
 
 where the frescoes of Massaccio and Lippi fill one 
 chapel. Michel Angelo and Eaphael considered 
 them worth studying and copying. St. Paul visit- 
 ing St. Peter in prison, on a pilaster, resembles 
 Kaphael's St. Paul preaching at Athens, though 
 Massaccio's stands with his back to the on-looker. 
 Nero, commanding the death of St. Paul, is a perfect 
 Nero, an epitome of all the marbles of him. The 
 grandeur, force, expression, and fire of these faded 
 old frescoes are marvellous, while the outlines are 
 hard. The drawing, also, is siiperb. The light was 
 
 not good, and J was impatient, and could not 
 
 conceive what I wished to stay in such a dismal 
 place for. So I deferred my study of them, and we 
 crossed the Arno by the Santa Trinita bridge, and 
 went into the Church of the Santa Trinita to see 
 Ghirlandaio's frescoes. But a priest came to tell 
 me that the morning was the only good time for 
 them, and I found I could distinguish nothing ; so I 
 looked at a singular wooden statue of Mary Magda- 
 len, near the entrance. She is nude ; but clothed in 
 the torrents of hair, which flow round and envelop 
 her figure like a mantle, excepting her w^asted arms 
 and feet. The face is profoundly woful, hollow, and 
 worn ; with large, cavernous eyes of piteous apj^eal, 
 and a mouth of great humility and contrition. Yet 
 
463 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 tlie features are perfectly beautiful, tliougli so wasted. 
 I could fancy tlie countenance, and build it up from 
 these wrecks — fresh, round, happy, and brilliant. 
 Now it is a shadow. It was a bold thought of the 
 sculptor to venture such a statue, but it was evi- 
 dently executed when an inward religious sentiment 
 inspired artists, with no regard to outward comeli- 
 ness. J was very naturally astonished that I 
 
 could look a moment at anything so ugly, he said ; 
 for what could he, in the early morning of life and 
 experience, have within him, to interpret such a face 
 and figure ? I should have lamented, if he had been 
 attracted or impressed with it. One must at least 
 live and love and fail to reach the ideal, to under- 
 stand such a conception. J understood better 
 
 the glorious sunset over the Apennines, which was 
 changing the Arno into jasper and chalcedony, and 
 sending isles of the blest of purest gold, to float 
 over the blue sea of space above ; while San 
 Miniato, toward the east, with its grove of solemn 
 cypresses, became soft in a veil of rose-purple, 
 which floated down over the palaces at the base of 
 the transfigured hill, upon which the church stands. 
 During one precious half-hour before the great al- 
 chymist disappears, there is no end of the splendors 
 his parting glance throws over every object. He 
 has gone, and in a moment the mountains are no 
 longer " the Delectable," the isles of the blest are 
 blots of ink, the domes and palaces dull stones and 
 not jewels, and all is gray, except a deep radiance 
 
FLORENCE. 4G3 
 
 just above the bed of state. That remains, and 
 often sends out rays of pale color that lose them- 
 selves in the purple black abysses, through which the 
 stars, one by one, and suddenly in innumerable hosts, 
 gleam out upon their watch. 
 
 July 22d. — To-day I took the children v^dth Ada 
 to see the plate at the Pitti Palace, because wo 
 heard that some of it was designed and cut by Ben- 
 venuto Cellini and John of Bologna. We saw an 
 entire service of gold, and another of silver, with 
 plates, knives, forks, and spoons, and dishes enougli 
 for a dukedom, and epergnes of lovely design, chased 
 and jewelled. But all these were merely costly. 
 There were, however, a few exquisite goblets and 
 vases and cups enamelled and gemmed by Benve- 
 nuto Cellini, and a great many salvers covered with 
 figures by eTohn of Bologna, as well as a large niello 
 by him, and crucifixes in gold, silver, bronze, ivory, 
 and precious stones, by both. For gorgeousness, 
 merely, there was a shrine three feet high, made en- 
 tirely of gold, pearl, and precious stones, with little 
 figures of coralline and jasper and amethyst ; but 
 we were hurried by the guard, and my memory of it 
 all is only a confused sort of glory. 
 
 We went into the gardens after leaving the pal- 
 ace, to look at four unfinished statues by Michel 
 Angelo, now in a grotto with other old marbles 
 and busts. These unfinished works of Michel An- 
 gelo give me a more vivid sense of his mighty powder, 
 
464 - NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 than even liis finished statues. In them we see him 
 struggling T\dth the stone, and wrenching from it the 
 forms imprisoned within. Bjron sings of " his chisel, 
 driven into the marble chaos, bidding Moses stop the 
 waves in stone," and so we seem to see it plunging 
 and delving in these Pitti blocks. It is more hke 
 Milton's description of creation than anything else. 
 
 July 23d. — To-day Louisa and Annie Powers ac- 
 companied, us to the Guadagni and Corsini galle- 
 ries. That of the Guadagni is very small. There 
 are many portraits by Sustermans, and one lovely 
 Madonna by Raphael in his second style ; pure, sa- 
 cred, serene, without the deep richness of his thii^d 
 manner. But the gallery is particularly famous for 
 its two very large landscapes by Salvator Eosa, to 
 which a separate cabinet is assigned. There are 
 groups of small figures in them, and the scene is a 
 great wilderness with mighty trees. I had not time 
 to become at all acquainted with them, for the young 
 people did not feel interested ; and so we proceeded 
 to the Corsini, on the Lung' Arno. It is the richest 
 private collection in Florence. We found the sa- 
 loons covered with carpets — an unprecedented cir- 
 cumstance in galleries. There were beautiful pic- 
 tures, and quite a crowd of " Sweet Charleses" (as 
 Mr. H. calls Carlo Dolce), and I do not like his 
 works, with one or two exceptions. His famous 
 Poesie I do not fancy at all. Everything feminine 
 is too sweet, except the Madonna in the Grand 
 
FLOHENCE. 465 
 
 Duke's chamber in the Pitti, but some of his saints 
 are fine, though too metallic. It was worth while to 
 come here, if only to see Raphael's cartoon in pen- 
 cil of his portrait of Julius II. It has all the im- 
 mense power of will and thought of the oil-painting, 
 and so far verifies Mr. Powers' assertion, that color 
 is not needful to expression. This drawing is of the 
 size of life, and finished with the utmost nicety and 
 truth. It is a wonder and a beauty and a lesson to 
 observe how the greatest masters carefully and 
 faithfully and patiently elaborated their work, never 
 disdaining an exhaustive perfection in each item. 
 "What a vast labor is here, and not a line is omitted 
 or hurried ! It w^ould seem as if Raphael had an 
 eternity to work in, for he was never in haste ; yet 
 what an enormous amount he accomplished — dying 
 too in early manhood ! Michel Angelo, to be sure, 
 did not show patience always, though he has left 
 careful drawings. His genius seemed an Ate, lash- 
 ing him with her brand often. Yet there sit the sub- 
 lime prophets and sibyls in infinite calm ; and the 
 lovely form of Eve is the ideal of woman, delicate 
 and new from the hand of the Creator, as if she 
 peacefully dawned upon bis mind, as he sat musing 
 on primal beauty. There was a small copy of his 
 Last Judgment, in brilliant color, as it originally 
 blazed on the walls of the Sistine Chapel, before 
 some of the figures were draped by order of the 
 pseudo-modest Pope, who insisted upon the resur- 
 rection of jackets and breeches. The hues of this 
 
 20* 
 
4G6 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 copy are a revelation to me of the dazzling splendor 
 of all those Sistine frescoes, in their first freshness. 
 How stupid and short-sighted to smoke and spoil 
 such divine productions with candles and incense- 
 vapors, instead of reverently learning from them how 
 to worship ! Their deepest significance seems to 
 have been lost upon the age that produced them. 
 Through the mist and smutch of centuries we grope 
 for them, almost in vain. I shall like to see what 
 is to supply their place. 
 
 As I think now of a picture of the Resurrection, 
 by Perugino, in the Vatican, and recall the perfectly 
 beautiful and noble face of Raphael in early youth, 
 as one of the sleeping soldiers, I perceive that Peru- 
 gino must have taken him for a model for the 
 noblest of his Madonnas — that of the Pitti Palace. 
 I see the strong resemblance in the contour — the 
 exquisite bow-like mouth, the moony eyelids, and 
 the serene, smooth brow, so compact with mind. I 
 wonder if any one ever noticed this. 
 
 In one of the saloons we saw a vase of marvellous 
 beauty of design and execution — bronze, about two 
 feet high. I exclaimed that it must be by Ben- 
 venuto Cellini, and the custode said it was so. It 
 represents, in bas-relief, the triumph of Bacchus. 
 
 Ada tried to draw it on the spot, but in the midst 
 the custode told her she must not do it, for it was 
 forbidden. I suppose the Prince Corsini is afraid 
 that some artist will attempt to imitate it, and then 
 he would not have the only one in the world. But 
 
FLORENCE. 4G7 
 
 why slioukl he ? He cannot prevent my remembering 
 it, however, so distinctly that I can sketch it here at 
 home. The figures are of enchanting grace — and 
 the baby Bacchus on the panther and the whole pro- 
 cession as perfect as possible. 
 
 After tea we took a walk to the Ducal Villa, going 
 out of the Porta Romana, and making a great cir- 
 cuit, so that we entered the city again by the Porta 
 San Miniato. The avenue of cypresses and other 
 trees leading to the Yilla itself was very pleasant, as 
 E. and I experienced the other day, with the beauti- 
 ful hills on each side. U. undertook to be our guide, 
 but misled us between endless stone walls, from one 
 opening of which, where a church stood, we caught 
 a glimpse of the Val d'Arno, and then were again 
 swallowed up, till we arrived unexpectedly at the 
 gate of San Miniato. The moon rose during our 
 walk, and wrapped us in silver-fire — which odd com- 
 bination of words alone can convey an idea of the 
 glowing splendor of Italian moonlight. Upon enter- 
 ing the city, we crossed the Ponte Vecchio, so as to 
 see the Arno flooded with light. Upon any one of 
 the bridges over the Arno, at sunset, moonrise, or 
 starlight, all poetry and visible art combine to make 
 the scene wondrous, besides that nature lends a hand 
 in the river, the mountains, and the cypress-crowned 
 heights, immediately around Florence. 
 
 I wish I could seize something elusive and un- 
 satisfactory in the divine loveliness of this Italy, so 
 as to express what I always feel when I look upon 
 
468 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 it. There is a clream-like quality in my enjoj-ment, 
 and I cannot bring it home to a sober certainty. It 
 is like the ghost of a very precious reality. It is 
 something that has been, even while it is note that I 
 have a sense of it. Italy is a land of monuments ; and 
 those who builded them have long passed away. A 
 mighty silence succeeds them. Even the people in 
 the streets of to-day seem like puppets galvanized 
 into motion, and the real, living, grand beings are no 
 more. There is a pause in all rare achievement. 
 The cunning hand, the unerring eye, are nowhere 
 to be met with, though marvellous works attest their 
 former existence. It would not be surprising, but 
 far less strange than the present state of things, if 
 all the masters in Art, in State, and in Science, who 
 stand clothed in white marble in the Court of the 
 Uffizzi, were to descend from their pedestals and 
 walk the streets of their beloved Florence. They 
 would be more fitting and proper to the place than 
 those persons whom we meet to-day. The latter 
 are, as it were, empty chrysalids — deserted shells. 
 Something has scared away souls — and only automa- 
 tons remain. Perhaps the Medici were the cause of 
 this death and void — the Medici, and then this 
 present race of Grand Dukes. When a prince takes 
 the form of a monkey, he ought to be deposed. The 
 land seems catching its breath. It is not dead, but 
 oppressed and suffocated. I cannot put my feeling 
 into words, and I may as well not try to do so. 
 
 4f * * * * * 
 
FLORENCE, 400 
 
 Or San Michele. 
 
 July 28tli. — To-day we went again to Or San 
 Michele, and very exactly scrutinized the wonderful 
 Tabernacle by Orgagna. It was built to contain a 
 miracle-working picture of the Virgin. Or San 
 Michele is one of the glories of Florence. It was 
 once an open loggia, — large arches, supported on 
 pillars, a sort of mart. In one corner hung this 
 picture, which was of such repute and efficacy, that 
 there was a perpetual throng about it. Then Or- 
 gagna raised for it this magnificent shrine; and 
 finally the loggia was closed up, and became a 
 church, and windows were put in of the richest 
 painted glass, and the pillars were covered with 
 frescoes, lately again brought to light. The various 
 Guilds of the city have a hall over the church, and 
 the building is lofty and noble ; and outside, around 
 it, are arched stalls, containing masterpieces of 
 sculpture. Above the niches are medallions by 
 Luca della Robbia, and, at this moment, all these 
 niches and medallions are undergoing a thorough 
 cleansing and repairing, in gorgeous style. Six are 
 already finished, and each is different from the 
 others in its mosaic of marbles, precious stones, and 
 gold. One of them is of lapis-lazuli, with golden 
 stars — like a midnight starry sky. 
 
 The tabernacle is of white marble, and bas-reliefs 
 are sculptured over it. Some of them have back- 
 
470 -^ NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 groimds of lapis-lazuli, upon which the figures are 
 well defined, and there are borders to the separate 
 groups of inlaid pietre dure and gold. It is Gothic 
 in form, and every pinnacle flames with the fire of 
 genius, held fast by cunning workmanship ; and 
 statuettes throng about it, angels, saints, virtues, 
 prophets, all rising to one central point, upon which 
 stands the archangel Michael, the power of God, 
 embodied, fit apex to such a shrine. The subjects 
 of the reliefs are the never-wearying incidents in the 
 life of the Madonna and of Christ, and behind is a very 
 large sculpture of the death of the Virgin, wdth her 
 Assumption above. This death and the Assumption 
 are among the most beautiful of the Catholic legends, 
 and give the noblest field for the display of art. 
 The dying holy mother — the grave and stately apos- 
 tles — the angels in waiting for the passing spirit — 
 the reverent, sad silence — and then the sudden burst 
 of joy — the rush of wings and flutter of robes, the 
 glorified, enraptured ascended one — the trumpets, 
 viols, dulcimers, and harps, weaving the air into an 
 involved web of melodious ecstasy — the Eternal 
 Father opening the heavens to look down, and the 
 Dove, with outspread wings — or Christ in his own 
 form, ready with the crown for Mary's brow — what 
 more could mortal artist wish for the inspiration of 
 his genius and for its expression ? 
 
 I wish now that all the masterpieces of the past 
 could be thoroughly restored in the way in which 
 the Florentines are now restoring the exterior of 
 
FLORENCE. 471 
 
 Or San Micliele. For now it is wortli wliile, because, 
 probably, no more barbarians will come to ravage 
 Italy, and no more mad and stupid fanaticism will 
 demolish works of art. Everything in architecture 
 might be completely renovated in all old countries, 
 though the divine frescoes and paintings must 
 graduall}^ vanish. But if we could only retain the 
 Temples and Cathedrals, and renew their ruined por- 
 tions while enough remains sound to indicate what 
 they once were, what a glory it would be ! The 
 Campanile must never crumble away, and the 
 Duomo must never lose one of its bits of inlay, and 
 presently it must show a fagade worthy of its heaped 
 up grandeur in all other parts. Is there anything 
 significant in the singular fact that scarcely one of 
 the churches puts on a fair face ? I sometimes wish 
 I could clear away all modern Home, and set out 
 again the temples and palaces of the ancient city. 
 But we cannot hold on to those marvellous produc- 
 tions, and I doubt not there is a good reason why 
 not. I should like to see what is to follow that will 
 be better than they. A better comprehension of 
 Beligion and Life may develop a hidden power of 
 art ; though, really, if I would see more divine faces 
 than those of Perugino and Raphael, I think I must 
 ascend to another world, and not look into the 
 future of this. 
 
 Toward sunset we drove out to the Yilla Mon- 
 tauto, to take the inventory and keys. We found 
 everything in order, all the muslin curtains in the 
 
472 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 bedrooms snowy and fresh, and an inhabitable air 
 in the house. Without, the grounds and prospect 
 were in princely state and beauty. 
 
 BeLLOSGUARDO. — YlLLA MONTANTO. 
 
 August 6th, 1858. — We came to this delightful 
 Villa on the 1st of August. ****** 
 
 This evening there has been a superb sunset. At 
 the northwest, over the mountains was a wonderful 
 cloud, shaped exactly like a wing, of downy gold 
 and purple and crimson tints, and of gigantic size, 
 as one might fancy an archangel's to be. A truly 
 feathery fleeciness pervaded the mighty pinion. As 
 the twilight deepened, storm-clouds accumulated 
 about the mountain, and presently vivid lightning 
 flashed beneath the wing, which still, liowever, 
 brooded in immovable calm over all the tumult, 
 like the Spirit of God over chaos. In contrast to 
 the rage and confusion of the elements in that 
 quarter — toward the southeast, opposite, was a 
 broad, golden Peace, which, by degrees, seemed to 
 concentrate and bloom into a large star, a flower of 
 light (as I have heretofore called stars) — and it 
 gleamed, undisturbed and unflickering, like the eye 
 of a seraph ; and was not that his wing on the other 
 side? 
 
 August 7th. — The dawn was broken by a violent 
 wind, which sounded like the ocean in fiercest anger. 
 
FLORENCE. 473 
 
 We seemed not on tlie crest of a gentle Val d'Arno, 
 but on the shores of the northern seas. Upon 
 looking out, I found it did not rain, and the atmos- 
 phere became quiet enough after breakfast for U. 
 to go to her drawing lesson in Florence with Miss 
 Bracken. 
 
 A Magician's Treasures. 
 
 August 11th. — To-day Miss Blagden took us to 
 see Mr. Kirkup, the antiquary, artist, and magician. 
 He lives directly upon the Arno, in an old palace of 
 the Knights Templar. He is of the age of the 
 Wandering Jew, with snow}^, silken hair and drifting 
 beard ; a delicate, elegant figure, handsome features, 
 and fair, taper hands. He lives with only a tiny 
 daughter, a little dark-eyed fairy, just fit to be a 
 daughter of a magician. She was dressed in white 
 muslin, and so delighted to see visitors that she 
 kept up a continual musical laughter, varied with 
 shrill shouts, as she played about us with her kitten. 
 The kitten was very pretty and in wonderful har- 
 mony with the scene — a kind of familiar spirit of 
 Mr. Kirkup. There were two large apartments, 
 filled with pictures, books, and curiosities, em- 
 broidered with the dust of a century. The gentle- 
 man had known Byron and many notable persons, 
 of course, and on his walls are portraits of famous 
 people, and sketches innumerable. He is rich in 
 old manuscripts and missals, illuminated. A manu- 
 
474 K0TE8 US' ITALY. 
 
 script of tlie Divina Commedia lie showed Mr. H. 
 with great pride, and I peeped at it too. It was on 
 fine vellum, delicately written in black-letter by some 
 learned monk, and brilliantly painted with pure 
 colors, in that perfect way which it seems hopeless 
 to try to imitate now-a-days. The unerring finish 
 of these miniatures gives an idea of preternatural 
 powers, and though the drawing is sometimes in- 
 correct, it does not matter, for it is a part of the 
 character of illuminations to have the quaint figures 
 of not exact anatomy, just as stained glass becomes 
 impertinent and vulgar, if one finds careful academic 
 rules followed. These things are triumphs of color, 
 not of form. A cathedral window must look like a 
 jewelled ephod, at the first glance — a bewildering 
 blaze of splendor. By and by, with earnest looking, 
 the various tints unfold themselves into blessed faces 
 and shapes of rudest lines, or rather of no lines, but 
 bright blurs and passionate daubs of ruby, sapphire, 
 and gold. What seemed a gem becomes an im- 
 23ossible foot or hand. An ecstasy or a sadness or a 
 devoutness is somehow conveyed into the expression 
 of the features, and the drapery is designed for 
 color to lavish itself upon. When we hear of the 
 angels being arrayed in light, we probably fancy a 
 silver, white light. But it is no doubt light broken 
 into the seven different hues rather, and these stained 
 windows and missal paintings shadow those rai- 
 ments. Somewhere in England I saw a painted 
 window by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and it was an en- 
 
FLORENCE. 475 
 
 tire failure, for lie liad designed a regular picture of 
 some scene. Who 'wishes to have a cathedral 
 lighted by an elaborated, correct, academical com- 
 position ? We do not feel patient to observe a set 
 purpose, because then form intrudes, and we must 
 have prisms, and, in the oldest colored glass, the 
 forms are sharp-sided, like prisms. Dear me ! how 
 I have wandered from Mr. Kirkup ! He was 
 very curious in relics of Dante, and he was one of 
 those two persons who discovered the beautiful 
 young Dante in the chapel of the Bargello, beneath 
 the plaster, painted by Giotto, and he showed us his 
 original tracing from it. The eye is wanting, for the 
 workman found a nail driven through it, and instead 
 of filing it down, or gently driving it in, he ruthlessly 
 pulled it out, and the eye with it. But it is a deli- 
 cately fine profile view of his face, with an aquiline 
 nose, a mouth of pure curves and infinite melan- 
 choly, and clear, arched brow — stately, proud, but 
 sweet also, then. The lips look ready to curl in 
 scorn, however, and it is a wonderfully haughty face. 
 Mr. Kirkup has also the very cast taken of his face 
 after death. The long, heavy bitterness of exile has 
 drawn down the curves of his mouth in the plaster 
 head. The cheeks are furrowed with pain and in- 
 dignation. The angelico riso of the divine Beatrice 
 has not been able to smooth out of his countenance 
 the stern anguish of his heart at the very last even. 
 Perhaps he did not love quite enough and hated too 
 much, and so his fate mastered him, and not he his 
 
476 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 fate. It seems as if nations made a point of putting 
 all their greatest men to despair — completely deso- 
 lating the earth for them ; and then, when fame 
 can be nothing to them, when they can no longer 
 suffer, or feel joy or favor, worldly wrong or neglect, 
 at the safe distance of a century or two, behold 
 how thickly fall the honors ! How the heavens are 
 fretted with pinnacles raised to their memories, and 
 over their remains ; their remains indeed ! How 
 cathedrals are crowded with their monuments ! how 
 cities fight for their bones ! how Genius prays to cut 
 out their glory in marble, or emblazon it upon can- 
 vas, or fresco it on walls ! It would seem as if the 
 illustrious were obliged to compromise the matter, 
 and that the account stood in this way : 
 
 For a given quantity of postli unions homage I must submit 
 to pay, 
 
 One starved, houseless body — 
 One broken, desolate heart — 
 A life \vretch(;d from calumny — 
 An indefinite amount of utter neglect — 
 A total want of appreciation — 
 Imprisonment in cells and madhouses — 
 Subjection to the Torture, and 
 Dreary, prolonged, exile I 
 
 How costly, then, is earthly renown ! Often just 
 when every heart and purse are open, the kind 
 angel of death removes the sufferer " beyond the 
 utmost scope and vision of calamity." There is 
 doubtless a meaning in this, and it is best for 
 
FLORENCE. 477 
 
 the victim, tliougli not for those who wrong him, 
 certainly. 
 
 We saw a portrait of Trelawny in his eastern 
 dress — a handsome man, but not trust-inspiring ; 
 and a youthful head of Leigh Hunt, and many pic- 
 tures and portraits which I should like to have 
 known about. But Mr. Kirkup is excessively deaf, 
 and I could not shout at him, nor request any one 
 else to scream for me. There was a bust of Machi- 
 avelli, a horrid head and face, though it is now said 
 he has been much traduced. But his own head tra- 
 duces him worst of all. 
 
 The magician had also a mystical, magical con- 
 trivance, with a lady inside, not then in working- 
 order, reminding me of the conjurations of the 
 wizard Cornelius. Mr. Kirkup is also a magnet- 
 izer, and his little Imogen is a medium, so that he 
 converses through her with dead emperors, and dis- 
 covers how they have been poisoned and otherwise 
 ill-treated while on earth. 
 
 August 13th. — To-day I went to Florence alone, 
 quite early, so as to go to Santa Trinita, while the 
 light was good for Ghirlandaio's frescoes. Our 
 villa is but fifteen minutes from the city gate. I had 
 a very nice chance ; for the morning sun poured 
 through a window of the clerestory, directly into the 
 chapel. But the frescoes are excessively defaced. 
 The Death of St. Francis is better preserved than 
 the rest. I saw the youth, in the group behind the 
 
478 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 child raised from the dead, who was called " II 
 Bello" on account of his eminent beauty. In the 
 upper compartment there are other portraits, which 
 I could not well see, so high up as they are. 
 
 There is passionate grief and also grave sorrow 
 in the many figures round the dying saint. Some 
 kneel to kiss the hands, and one the feet, and a 
 group of solemn priests stand at the head, folded in 
 their mantles, grand in sentiment and expression. 
 There is never a superfluous line in the old master- 
 pieces. It is all a matter of conscience, and a perfect 
 unity of purpose commands the conception. Here 
 it is the mystery of death. The ineffable peace that 
 pervades the face and form of St. Francis is draw- 
 ing all emotions into itself. A ti uly awful majesty 
 wraps the gi'oup at the head of the bier. So, in the 
 composition of the child brought to life by the saint 
 appearing in the heavens, there is wonder, rever- 
 ence, and faith in all who are present. The little 
 child rises upon its death-bed with devout, folded 
 hands. After looking at the scene a few minutes, a 
 powerful influence comes from it which Ghirlandaio 
 left there. There is hope and joy in the upturned 
 faces, but they have become so dim now, that there 
 is an inconsolable feeling caused by the conviction 
 that they will soon be invisible ! How can it be 
 borne ! And on the left of the chapel, the damp 
 has nearly obliterated everything. 
 
 I looked again at the Magdalen in wood, of which 
 I have written before, the truly repentant Magdalen, 
 
FLORENCE. 479 
 
 and it was more affecting to me than at the first 
 seeing even. The sincere sorrow of the eyes pene- 
 trates the heart, and I stood a long time drawn to it. 
 
 Afterward, at the Uffizzi, I got so very tired that 
 I can recall no impressions, except from a small copy 
 in crayon which a young artist was making from the 
 large Nativity, by Gherardo della Notte. His work 
 had the finish of the finest engraving, and far more 
 richness. He was evidently making a model for 
 photography or engraving. The needle-point of his 
 crayon effected touches as delicate as those of a 
 graving instrument, and the light and shade were 
 consummate. The darkness had the depth of an 
 abyss in it, and the dazzle of light from the Holy 
 Child was truly spiritual, far finer in effect than that 
 of the original picture. The young man was thin and 
 pale, as if he were himself four-fifths soul. I dare 
 say his eyes were like great deep nights, but I did 
 not see them. Oh, if he would only rescue the fading 
 frescoes for mankind with his pencil ! 
 
 To rest, I went to the Church of Santo Spirito, so 
 beautiful with its majestic colonnades and ruby 
 lights forever burning at the superb altar of Floren- 
 tine mosaic ; and I sat there in peace and quiet for 
 an hour. Meanwhile the priests came in, as once 
 before when I was there, and chanted their evening 
 service, but I could not see them from my seat. 
 There were several persons, saying their prayers, 
 with their rosaries, in the nave, and acolytes were 
 crossing in the distance, with lamps and salvers and 
 
480 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 copes, but witli no sound. All was still, except the 
 voices of the chanters, rising and falling like waves 
 in a summer sea. If there were always heart and 
 truth in these monks and prelates, real, rehgions 
 worship, how deep would be our emotions during 
 these imposing functions ! But I am always sensible 
 of hollowness and emptiness in every ceremony I 
 see ; and especially with the ennui and inward dis- 
 gust of the priests themselves, who seem very 
 anxious to get through the endlessly repeated task, 
 so as to go and eat and drink and be merry. Yet 
 there are doubtless many among them truly devout. 
 The appearance of the clergy in Florence is almost 
 invariably repulsive and gross, and they are said to 
 be peculiarly depraved. They are mostly fat, with 
 flabby cheeks, chins, and throats, of very earthly 
 aspect. There is nothing to compare them to but 
 hogs, and they merely need to stoop upon their 
 hands to be perfect likenesses of swine, so that the 
 encounter of one of them in the street gives one a 
 faint sensation. It is shocking that such men are in 
 holy garb, set apart for the constant worship of God, 
 and, under cover of superior sanctity, becoming the 
 most corrupt of human beings. Such blasphemy of 
 the Holy Spirit seems to blot out the sun, and poison 
 the air ; but I think there must be good persons 
 enough among them to bear witness — or how could 
 these monasteries uphold themselves ? "A lie can- 
 not stand," says our great philosopher. 
 
 The stately architecture of Brunelleschi, the rich 
 
FLORENCE. 481 
 
 gloom and repose, the saints and angels in marble 
 and picture, all lacked something to me to-day. I 
 could not define what, but I came away dissatisfied, 
 and walked home quite miserable about priests and 
 the Catholic services. I slowly mounted Bello- 
 sguardo, and my first relief was the sudden voice 
 and appearance of lovely Miss Bracken, who came 
 hastening after me, as I entered the lofty gate of 
 our Villa Montauto. By this time I could not talk 
 to Annette, being at the acme of my fatigue and 
 headache ; but it was pleasant to see her while 
 others were talking to her. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Drawings of Great Masters. 
 
 September 2d. — To-day we have been to Florence 
 to see the original drawings of the great masters, at 
 the Ufiizzi. These have an immeasurable interest for 
 me. Among Perugino's, I saw the first sketches of 
 his grand Deposition in the Pitti Gallery. The only 
 face in the painting which I do not entirely like is 
 that of Christ ; but in the drawing it is beautiful. 
 Joseph of Arimathea is not comparable to the 
 painted one, and the Madonna and St. John are 
 alike in both. There was a divine pen-and-ink 
 drawing of St. Catharine, and a few delicate and 
 careful sketches by Fra Augelico. Among Raphael's, 
 were first ideas of a group in his fresco of Helio- 
 dorus, and the release of Peter from prison, both 
 
 21 
 
482 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 finished pictures in the Stanze of the Yatican. Also 
 the Madonna of the Grand Duke, a different plan of 
 face to the oil-painting, but the same in every other 
 respect — the Staffa Madonna also, and a few others, 
 but none of them highly elaborated, like many I saw 
 in Oxford, England, and in the Louvre, Paris. There 
 were sketches of his sister, who was the original 
 type of many of his Virgin Marys. Of Michel An- 
 gelo were some carefully-finished heads, and the 
 whole figure of Fortune, delicately wrought : also 
 parts of the Last Judgment — one incredible demon. 
 Three rooms were hung with these precious relics. 
 About two thousand are put ap at one time, but 
 there are twenty thousand in all. Some of them 
 are so highly perfected that they look like engrav- 
 ings, and some are monochromes, touched with 
 white chalk, wonderfully expressive and effective. 
 I felt as if I were in the private studios of these 
 great men, and a confidante of their secret thoughts, 
 while looking at their sketches, made only for them- 
 selves. It is also encouraging to less potent seig- 
 niors and signoras, to perceive that when an idea 
 seized so consummate a master as Raphael, the 
 form and face did not come to his pencil perfect, at 
 the first effort, but was scrawled off in unaccepted 
 lines often, like attempts of meaner mortals. In 
 this kind of misery one loves such illustrious com- 
 pany, and it is no lack of charity to love it. After 
 a certain time, I can look at pencil and pen-and-ink 
 drawings not a moment longer, and I think two hours 
 
FLORENCE. 483 
 
 ended my power in this direction. Then I went to 
 see the dying Alexander. In all the heads called 
 Alexander I see a similarity, and I think I know the 
 face of the very hero now. This is colossal, and a 
 grand expression of despair — the head thrown back, 
 with rolled eyes, appealing to the gods. I always 
 look at what they call the authentic head of Plato, 
 in the Hall of Inscriptions. I gaze till I can see 
 nothing, and close my eyes and then gaze again. 
 It is so wonderful that I really see Plato, that I can 
 never be satisfied with looking. I think a drawing 
 of him that I once made from an engraving is this 
 same head. There is refinement, refinement of the 
 highest civilization and delicacy, and an imaginative 
 intellect in every line, but not exactl}^ the certainty 
 of a keen understanding in the mouth. This want 
 of strength, however, may be owing to the cause I 
 heretofore suggested. 
 
 Bacchus, ever fair and young, stands in the centre 
 of the same room, the loveliest, gladdest, gentlest 
 smile of all-bounteous Nature that was ever em- 
 bodied. The grace, the onward movement, the 
 sweetness, the waving lines, like sunny fields of 
 corn swept over by a southwestern breeze, radiant 
 with promise of plenty — the light step of the feet — 
 the loving ease with which the beautiful figure rests 
 upon the faun Ampelos, in a charming nonchalance 
 and repose (characteristic of the Olympian family 
 always, when properly rendered) — the benignity of 
 the brow, and delicacy of the features, render this 
 
184 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 THE Bacchus. Mr. Gibson's, at Kome, is so inferior, 
 that it is not at all worth while for him to have done 
 it. For, though Mr. Gibson's is a perfect form, it is 
 evidently not a portrait of the god, like this. The 
 scul23tor of this caught a glimpse of the genial Power 
 as he passed in the purple sunshine of the Attic 
 plains, and crystallized him forever in stone, in 
 which he pauses, and yet ever seems to move on, 
 with an immortality of gay, soft life. It is astonish- 
 ing how the expression is sensuous as Nature, and 
 yet enthely free from earthliness. Bacchus here 
 suggests the idea of the Paradise in which man was 
 first placed, before there had been any blight or 
 decay or death, and when the atmosphere was so 
 pure that angels alighted for social converse, and 
 " the voice of God walked in the cool of the garden." 
 He is indeed the divine Dionysus, coming from the 
 plains of far Asia, where he has been civilizing the 
 nations ; for he is not guilty of the misused grape. 
 The Apollo, the Minerva, the Mercury, the Venus, 
 and now the Bacchus of the Greek Olympus and the 
 Juno, I have seen already ; and I have seen gi-and 
 Joves, but not yet a Jove that commands my mind. 
 I do not suppose, however, that one could ever be 
 satisfied with a Jupiter. I wish I had seen that of 
 Phidias. When the command was given to make no 
 graven image of the Lord God, it might have been 
 " thou canst not" instead of " thou shalt not." 
 
 On our return toward the Porta Romana, we 
 went into the Museum of Natural History to see the 
 
FLORENCE. 485 
 
 Tribune of Galileo, a sort of temple erected to Gali- 
 leo by tlie present Grand Duke Leopold — Galileo's 
 heart being long ago thoroughly broken. In the 
 centre of a circular apse stands his colossal statue, 
 and around him in niches are busts of his pupils, 
 and glass cases of his instruments ; and one of his 
 fingers, pointing upward, is preserved in a crystal 
 vase. Another of his fingers is in the Laurentine 
 Library. How little he dreamed, when he sat in 
 prison, that even his fingers would become precious 
 relics for posterity! But I wish he had kept firm, 
 and not denied the truth he had discovered. That 
 is an endless grief to me. The lunettes round the 
 whole temple are painted in fresco, with incidents 
 of his life, and the walls and floor are inlaid with 
 precious marbles and precious gems, and the white 
 marble pilasters are sculptured with his discoveries 
 and inventions. The very telescopes are there with 
 which he searched for and found stars. Galileo is 
 not handsome, but has a tower of a head. Near the 
 entrance, his Grand Grace has placed himself in 
 marble, and several others of the ducal family keep 
 him in countenance, and a very ugly countenance it 
 is. He looks to have intellect, but a fearfully caheza 
 dura, and he has an unpardonable under-jaw. 
 
 I retired to the Boboli Gardens to sit till toward 
 sunset ; and I had a peaceful and refreshing session 
 in those royal shades. I found a secluded stone 
 couch near the lake, where I could see the majestic 
 and unamiable swans, who were again in anger, and 
 
488 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 growling at all who went empty-handed to the brink 
 of the water. Anger made them very superb — 
 striking out with their whitest wings, and proudly 
 rearing their heads in scorn. Their voices, however, 
 broke the charm, just as the peacock's scream dims 
 the rainbow splendors of his tail, so wonderfully 
 exact is the poise of checks and balances in the 
 Divine economy. The nightingale in his slaty gray 
 coat needs no purple and gold to add to the effect 
 of his melodious sorrow. Over the delicious dulci- 
 mer in his breast he wraps a twilight mantle, and no 
 one asks for a coat of many colors for him. He 
 warbles forth the one divine plaint, just as from 
 the gloom of the Sistine rises the penetrating single 
 voice of tuneful prayer for pity. His choral power 
 is his beauty. And the skylark might say, " If you 
 would have the fire of the ruby, the prismatic light 
 of the diamond, the sunshine of the topaz, and the 
 changing lustre of the opal, do not look at me ; but 
 shut your ej^es, and I will pour from the cunning 
 crucible of my throat such a gush of liquid gems as 
 no alchymist ever melted in his crucible. You may 
 look at the humming-bird, for he wears his jewels 
 ^^'Oven into a jacket. I transmute mine into raptures 
 of thanksgiving and praise, which make the air il- 
 lustrious and rich ; but we both, in our several way, 
 bear witness to the Father." And the skylark is 
 dressed in brown. 
 
 In about an hour the clouds gathered over the hot 
 sun, and I set forth for Montauto. I thought I 
 
FLORENCE. 487 
 
 would come home a shorter way than my usual route, 
 and so I went astra}^, and, being enclosed in high 
 walls for a long distance, I could not see where I 
 was, till suddenly, glancing through an opening, I 
 found myself skurrying off to the Apennines, entirely 
 wide from our villa. For three hours I wandered, 
 wearily, wearily, and finally took the right turn. I 
 have long been lying down in Ada's study, upon a 
 sofa which commands a distant view from the case- 
 ment, opening to the floor. The beautiful hills, 
 crowned with castles and villas, wave along the 
 horizon, and as I was looking, suddenly a great 
 piece of rainbow dropped down among them. What 
 a land ! where rainbows are broken up, and tossed 
 among the mountains and valleys, just for beauty. 
 In such a vast expanse of view as we have here, 
 there are many private little showers going on round 
 the heights, while the sun is shining, and rainbows 
 may often be found among them by the careful 
 watcher. 
 
 September 10th. — To-day Ada and I went to Flor- 
 ence. We took refuge for a while in Santo Spirito, 
 always so desirable to see, for the sake of resting. 
 The stately pillared nave, and lofty side-aisles, car- 
 ried all round the apse in a lovely bewilderment of 
 arches and columns, and all in spherical order, are 
 noble proofs of the poetical genius of the great 
 Brunelleschi. The high altar is a glorious centre of 
 the wheel of beauty. There was a Function going 
 
488 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 on before one of the side chapels — the burial-ser- 
 vice of a child. The coffin was covered with a white 
 satin pall, embroidered wdth purple and gold. The 
 officiating priests were in robes of white satin 
 and gold, and the altar was alight with candles, be- 
 sides those borne by young boys in white tunics. 
 This scene in the aisle was a splendid picture in the 
 soft gloom -of the church ; and when the organ burst 
 forth in a kind of tender rapture, rolling pearly 
 waves of harmony along the large spaces, and filling 
 the dome with the foam and spray of interlacing 
 measures, it seemed as if angels were welcoming the 
 young child to heaven. 
 
 We walked round the Tribune to look at the 
 pictures in the chapels, and saw a wonderful Peru- 
 gino, which I had not discovered before. "What 
 a happiness ! It seemed to be the Madonna ap- 
 pearing to St. Domenic, who sits reading at a table, 
 and starts and lifts his hands in an ecstasy of 
 worship at the vision. Mary stands with a great 
 majesty and pensiveness, her head slightly bent, 
 attended by a group of angels. It has been told me 
 that there is deeper feeling in the Sienese school 
 than is found in Perugino ! I should like to see 
 whether it be so. 
 
 September 11th. — This evening we went to a re- 
 ception at the Villa Brichieri, to meet the British 
 Minister, the Honorable Mr. Lj'ons, son of Lord 
 Lyons, Admiral at the Crimea ; and a Greek gen- 
 
FLORENCE. 489 
 
 tleman and lady. The lady was a queenly woman, 
 with glorious eyes and brow, and shining black 
 hair, curling, from a coronet of braids, down her 
 cheeks, like flexible paragon (a brilliant black pietra 
 dura). Her husband was also very handsome — 
 having the same eyes, like deepest night, with stars 
 in the abysses. Oriental eyes they must be, for the 
 like are not to be found in the Occident. I did not 
 talk with them, but with the Honorable Mr. Lyons, 
 who was very agreeable, and amiable, and genial. 
 Mr. H. talked with the Greeks ; but I believe he 
 did not find them Pericles and Aspasia in intellect. 
 
 FlESOLE. 
 
 September 14th. — To-day I drove to Fiesole with 
 Ada and the children. Fiesole is the " Cradle of 
 Florence," and the birthplace of Fra Angelico. 
 We passed out of the Porta a Pinti, and drove on 
 till we arrived at the Church and Convent of St. 
 Domenic, into which we hastened to see a picture by 
 the angelic Friar in the Choir. We were well re- 
 warded, for we found it one of his divinest Madonnas ; 
 indeed, by far the most beautiful of any Madonna I 
 have seen by him. She is enthroned, with the infant 
 Christ, and Domenican saints stand on each side, 
 and a wreath of angels surrounds her throne. The 
 colors are much dimmed, perhaps by dust, but the 
 attitude, expression, and loveliness remain. U. 
 thought it the most celestial Madonna she had ever 
 
 21* 
 
490 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 seen by any artist. It has ineffable grace and dig- 
 nity, and a gentle pensiveness that is irresistibly 
 pathetic. A 3- oung monk unveiled the picture for us. 
 He was very courteous, and had an air of unusual 
 goodness and sincerity. He is one of those yf\\o 
 bear witness. As a matter of course, I offered him 
 a fee for his trouble, but he made a sad and decided 
 gesture of refusal, that was very surprising and re- 
 markable ; for it was impossible to gainsay him, and 
 I felt embarrassed that I had even thought of the 
 gold that perishes, in the presence of the heavenly 
 picture and the holy youth. I wish I knew his 
 history. 
 
 We then climbed up to the mountain city, along 
 perfect roads, smooth as marble, and winding as 
 commodiously as possible. This admirable road 
 from the Porta a Pinti was made by money accumu- 
 lated from the sale of titles of nobility. The Fesu- 
 lans have a Book of Gold, in which very foolish 
 people get their names and bought titles inscribed 
 for three or four hundred pounds each ! and even 
 Englishmen have purchased ghostly dukedoms and 
 earldoms and baronetcies there ! As neither revenue 
 nor honor nor long descent can be bought too, it is 
 an empty farce indeed. But the consequence of 
 this human folly is a superb road. In a little more 
 than an hour we drove into the piazza of Fiesole. 
 Florence razed her mother city to the ground after 
 she grew up, and why — I cannot tell ; but all that 
 now remains is this piazza and the Duomo, the Hall 
 
FLORENCE. 491 
 
 of the Podesta, and a college. On a lofty eminence 
 once stood the Acropolis ; and on its site is a con- 
 vent. It is a conical hill, a thousand feet above 
 Florence, and exceedingly symmetrical, as we see it 
 from the Villa Montanto. 
 
 We first visited the Dnomo, a curious, rude old 
 cathedral, with a crypt beneath, and a choir above 
 the main church. The funniest old man in the 
 world came to show us the wonders of his temple. 
 I think he could never have been' young, and that 
 he never can die. Such a thoroughly embalmed old 
 man (embalmed while alive), and one so sparkling 
 with gleeful fire, and cheerful, crackling little flames, 
 could nowhere else be seen. His small eyes shot 
 sparks as from electric jars. He bustled and rustled 
 about without a moment's rest, and he had no sooner 
 attracted our eyes to one thing than he was off, 
 calling "Yenga," " Venga," "Venga," with the 
 utmost vividness and rapidity of utterance, to some- 
 thing else. Now he darted to a work of Mino da 
 Fiesole, which we would gladly have examined ; but 
 the moment we got to it he hurried us to a column 
 of the Roman period ; and then snatched us away 
 to a font, once in the Temple of Bacchus, which I 
 desired to investigate especially, but the grass- 
 hopper instantly hopped over to a fresco of Saint 
 Homulus. It was the queerest annoyance and the 
 most amusing that ever was, and he was himself the 
 greatest curiosity and the ancientest thing in all the 
 city. The best work of art I saw was a marble bust 
 
492 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 by Mino, of Bishop Salutati. After trying to see the 
 cathedral, for the little grig prevented any reposeful 
 or satisfactory enjoyment of it, we descended a road 
 behind it to find the well-preserved Kne of oldest 
 Etruscan wall. Enormous blocks of stone of various 
 sizes, but of parallelopiped form, compose the wall, 
 and we climbed up and gathered some ivy from it 
 for a memorial. On this north side of the city is 
 the valley of the Mugnone, well cultivated. On the 
 south spreads the lovely Yal d'Arno, in which Flor- 
 ence reposes, and we look along the course of the 
 river to the Gonfolina gorge. Beyond rise the hills 
 and mountains. The day was transcendent, and we 
 saw the view in the best light and atmosphere — 
 
 " The haughty day 
 Filled her blue urn with fire," — 
 
 and the heights were vn-apped in veils of transparent 
 illusion, just to be a little magical and mystical, 
 without being at all hidden, and the vines and fig- 
 trees and pale olives and waving corn made the 
 sumptuous plain laugh with plenty and gladness and 
 peace, which yet, in Italy, is no gladness nor peace. 
 The wonderful song that Byron sings of Greece, be- 
 ginning, 
 
 " He that hath bent him o'er the dead," 
 
 may be sung of Italy as well. An inward persua- 
 sion that the faii*ness we see is not genuine pros- 
 perity and joy, comes at every turn in this enchant- 
 
FLORENCE. A^Z 
 
 ing country. There is no " sober certainty of bliss" 
 here. How mysterious are these old civilizations, 
 which culminate and vanish, leaving ruin, desolation, 
 and emptiness, shells of dead beauty, all over the 
 earth ! It is said that England has now commenced 
 her downward course ; but I believe that England 
 is only changing her course. Hitherto, it seems as 
 if there had indeed been cause enough for decay 
 and for bitter ashes in place of rich pnlp ; because 
 sin has gnawed at the heart of each empire's glory, 
 as a worm at the heart of the flower or the fruit. 
 It is the lack of love, of St. Paul's charity, which is 
 the difficulty. Cannot a nation be based on that 
 and live forever ? America might try it, but has 
 made no sign yet. Italy, however, is not dead — 
 only faint, and Italy alone is thoroughly civilized 
 through and through, since immemorial ages. This 
 I deeply feel, now that I am here ; but something 
 has soiled it. In its cities, especially, I have an 
 irrepressible desire to ivash them cleans and make 
 them comfortable and fresh. I wish to have every 
 stone scoured ; but I am afraid it is the corruptions 
 of the Eoman Church which have defiled the land, 
 and that water cannot purify it. It is sufi'ering 
 under an incubus. 
 
 Michel Angelo's Marbles. 
 
 September 16th. — We Avent to Florence this fine 
 day, and visited San Lorenzo to see the marbles 
 
494 XOTES ly ITALY. 
 
 of Michel Angelo. I s^Dent nearly a whole hour in 
 looking at Lorenzo di Medici. I cannot understand 
 wliY the fissures at his feet are called Morning: and 
 Evening. I saw, at Lombardi's, Michel Angelo's 
 original sketch of the Morning, in which the face is 
 more finished than in the marble, so that perhaps 
 the unfinished state was not designed in either Day 
 or Morning. Day has the effect of a dazzling sun 
 rising, too bright to look at steadily ; and I wonder 
 whether this was the purpose of the sculptor. But 
 no one will ever know, and it is very puzzling ; for 
 Evening and Night are entii'ely completed, yet one 
 would suppose they would be more indistinct than 
 Morning and Day, instead of less so. Michel An- 
 gelo will never speak, and the marble is forever 
 dumb, and we may as well submit to the facts. 
 
 From this chapel we went to the Laurentian 
 Library, which is over the cloisters. We were 
 guided to a Vestibule, planned by Michel Angelo, 
 in which a staircase leads up into the Library. It 
 was much smaller than I expected, but yet big 
 enough to hold the nine or ten thousand precious 
 manuscripts deposited there. It is a long apart- 
 ment, with a great many windows on each side, 
 painted in bright arabesques. The ceiling is carved 
 in oak, I think — as it is brown — though I should 
 suppose it would be stone for safety, and the pave- 
 ment is a mosaic of red, brown, and yellow terra- 
 cotta. A broad aisle in the centre runs the whole 
 length, between long, pew-like seats, with desks, 
 
FLORENCE. 405 
 
 upon wliicli the manuscripts are chained. In the 
 aisle are tables at intervals, at many of which men 
 were copying manuscripts. We were first shown 
 the earliest manuscripts of the Pandects of Justi- 
 nian, in clear, large characters. It was the very 
 copy which had been held in such exceeding ven- 
 eration by the Pisans, who burnt tapers before it as 
 before the Host, when it was solemnly visited by 
 the magistracy from time to time. We saw also, 
 in the same case, the famous earliest manuscript of 
 Virgil ; and the Decameron, much interlined, with 
 many notes on the margin ; Cicero's epistles, copied 
 by Petrarch ; Aristotle, in a dozen folios ; Horatius 
 Flaccus, with an autograph of Petrarch, showing it 
 to have been his property ; an old Evangel from 
 Trebizond, and beautiful colored contemporaneous 
 portraits of Petrarch and Laura, as illuminations in 
 the Canzoniere. Laura is beautiful, with a very 
 stately head, and proud, refined expression, entirely 
 satisfactory. Opening from the Library, is a Rotun- 
 da, surrounded by glass cases, in which are placed 
 all the first books printed after the invention of 
 printing — Plato, Aristotle, Cicero, Horace, and all 
 the other classics in all languages. Many of the 
 manuscripts were richly illuminated ; and we saw the 
 first map b}' Ptolemy, with ultra-marine seas, of the 
 Eastern Hemisphere, then the whole of the known 
 world. This collection is the most valuable there is, 
 except that of the Vatican. But we ought to have 
 had some one with us who could command the exhi- 
 
49G NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 r 
 
 bition of all tlie chief treasures, for the custode did 
 not show us even what is usually seen, and I hope 
 we shall go again under better auspices. 
 
 In the evening, the Greek lady called with her 
 little daughter and a Signore Yilleri, and when I took 
 the child's hand and said, " Tell me your name, that 
 we may talk together," she replied, " Aspasia !" As 
 we were sitting out in the moonlight, on the terrace 
 that commands the Val d'Arno, in a kind of poetic 
 dream, this name took me still more out of prosaic 
 life. Were we on the Acropolis of Athens ? The 
 comet appeared in the northwest, in abysses of blue 
 pearl, as I held little Aspasia's hand. 
 
 September 20th. — To-day was my last visit to the 
 Uffizzi. I took my sketch-book to draw an outline 
 of Plato ; but my pencil had no point at all, and we 
 had not a penknife, so I could do nothing. I looked 
 so long at the head that I see it distinctly in my 
 mind, and I hope to draw it from memory in future. 
 
 There were in the Gallery two Englishmen, one a 
 tall red-faced squire and fox-hunter, I fancy, with a 
 loud, lumbering voice, like a sledge-hammer, slightly 
 modulated by a certain amount of civilization : the 
 other a small, slender, delicately organized, polished, 
 trim, regular-featured, conceited, cautious gentleman, 
 with silver hair, resembling a shining little minnow 
 in the wake of a porpoise. The porpoise was the 
 introducer of the minnow to the wonders of art before 
 them, and it was a rare spectacle to see how he 
 
FLORENCE. 497 
 
 managed it. He plainly liad no perception of art at 
 all, but he was quite sure he had, and that he was 
 an accomplished connoisseur, as he knew the names 
 and reputations of the pictures. He desired a large 
 audience, or more exactly, he felt that he deserved 
 one, and looked about to observe who heard his 
 remarks, as much as to say, " Listen all who can." 
 To all his dogmatical assertions in heavy slodgy 
 voice, the silver minnow responded in thin tones of 
 assent, holding his perfectly brushed hat on his bent 
 thumb, with consummate skill and nicety. Such a 
 precise, immaculate little nonentity of a person ! for 
 there was no intellect in his face — he was only well 
 arranged ; but the small parlor of his mind was in 
 exact order, and all its minute objects of vertU laid 
 out to the best advantage. The two friends con- 
 sulted together about going to the Pitti. The silver 
 minnow said to the red porpoise, in his fine, wee 
 voice, " It confuses one to see too many things at 
 once." " It DOES so," replied the other in heavy 
 boulder-tones. They were then in the Tribune, and 
 they were extremely diverting, yet there was so much 
 for us to see that I could not spend any more time 
 observing them. 
 
 September 27th. — I drove to Florence with Miss 
 Blagden and Annette, and met the rest of us in the 
 Duomo. Going in without intending to see the 
 Cathedral, it had an effect of vastness and majesty. 
 We all sat down near the high altar to enjoy the 
 
498 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 painted windows of the transepts and Tribune, so 
 superb as tbey are. The pietra serena of which the 
 interior of the building is made, sets off the glory of 
 the colors admirably. A church that has such lii^hts 
 need not be encrusted with varied marbles. In this 
 last visit to it, I seemed to comprehend it better 
 than ever before. 
 
 To-day we chose a Florentine mosaic brooch, a 
 brilliant bird pecking at a cherry. The cherries are 
 red and white chalcedonies, and the bird is made up 
 of lapis-lazuli, malachite, sardonyx, and coralline. 
 After this very pretty shopping we parted, and U. 
 and I took a carriage and drove to San Miniato. It 
 was toward sunset, and when we arrived at the 
 summit, by the aid of a donkey fastened to our 
 horses, I was enchanted with the view of Florence, 
 which is better than any other. The Duomo, Cam- 
 panile, and Tower of Palazzo Yecchio, and the 
 delicate Badia, take a beautiful relation to one 
 another, grouping themselves in stately wise. I saw 
 the grand proportions of the Duomo to advantage 
 for the first time, and I have not before confessed to 
 myself that it is the grandest Dome in the world. 
 The fair campanile rose like a spirit at its side — or 
 as Miss Blagden so happily said, " like the lovely 
 Una by the side of her Lions ;" and the Palazzo Vec- 
 chio asserted its supremacy entirely. Far off the 
 Arno gleamed between wooded banks, winding off 
 to the mountains, which were now becoming ame- 
 thystine in hue. The rows of straight, solemn, dark 
 
FLORENCE. 409 
 
 cypresses, forming tlie avenue of San Agostino, made 
 rich contrast to the Val d'Arno's bright level beauty, 
 and the undulating hills on the horizon. So glorious 
 was this picture, that we could not bear to go into 
 the church, and lose its changes. The facade is 
 covered with marbles, and it is very noble and lofty 
 within, having three ^3/a?20.s, a crypt, a middle floor, 
 and an upper Tribune or apse, like the old Duomo of 
 Fiesole. In the apse is a pulpit, elaborately carved, 
 and there is cinque-cento work all about the gallery. 
 Ancient frescoes are fading and crumbling on the 
 walls, and I discerned some grand old saints fast 
 vanishing away, alas ! alas ! and alas ! Workmen 
 filled the nave, and it w^as in so great confusion, that 
 we had no comfort in looking at anything, and so we 
 returned to the prospect, and watched the pomp of 
 the sunsetting, though not to the end ; because 
 we were obliged to come home to Bellosguardo 
 before dusk. 
 
IV. 
 KETUENING TO KOME. 
 
 SIENA. 
 
 On the 1st of October we left the Villa Montanto 
 for Siena, and arrived at this Aquila Nera in about 
 three hours by rail. We saw a square castle of the 
 middle ages, and we passed Certaldo, the birthplace 
 of Boccaccio, where he lived most of his Hfe. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Story called immediately to see us, 
 and drove us about the city, to the Cathedral, and to 
 the picturesque Palazzo Pubblico, with its remark- 
 able tower, which Mr. Story prefers to that of Flor- 
 ence. The piazza in which it stands is very large 
 and hollow, like a scallop-shell, with a sculptured 
 fountain in its midst. There were endless palaces 
 of the Piccolomini, that family being the principal 
 one of Siena. After our pleasant excursion, we 
 found an apartment at Manini's, and established 
 ourselves there in the afternoon. 
 
 On the 3d October we spent the day delightfully 
 at Mr. Story's villa. We wandered through a vine- 
 yard, festooned with luscious grapes, and we gazed 
 into a deep well, with trailing maiden-hair draping 
 
RETUnmNG TO ROME— SIENA. 501 
 
 the rongli stones witli its delicate beauty ; and in 
 the evening, as we sat looking down an avenue of 
 dark cj^presses to the clear sky beyond, the comet 
 suddenly appeared, more distinctly and brilliantly 
 than we had seen it before, even at Moutanto. It 
 shone in the deep sapphire depths of space with an 
 awful splendor. 
 
 On the 4th we visited the Cathedral for awhile, 
 and found it gorgeous inside, entirely inlaid with 
 black, w^iite, and red marbles, and filled with sculp- 
 tures at every point. The pavement is of black, 
 Avhite, and purple marbles also, and ornamented 
 with the finest designs in a sort of niello style — 
 sibyls, prophets, saints, events of the Old Testament, 
 and symbolical subjects, each subject enclosed in 
 exquisite borders of great variety. Sometimes they 
 were arabesques and leaves only — sometimes birds, 
 grifiius, horses, lions, sphynxes, and flowers. The 
 stalls of the apse are delicately carved, and the 
 backs of the tabernacles are inlaid with two shades 
 of woods. At every turn, angels, apostles, and 
 martyrs stand in marble or bronze in grand, grace- 
 ful, and devout forms, peopling the spaces. A 
 pulpit of incredible richness, by Nicolo da Pisa, is 
 on one side of the Tribune. It is raised on eight 
 slender columns, four of which rest upon white 
 marble lions and lionesses, sporting with their cubs, 
 and there is also a central column, supported by a 
 group of figures, highly finished. The capitals of 
 these pillars are wrought into foliage, among which 
 
502 NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 birds, in every lovely attitude, are pecking and turn- 
 ing. Trefoiled arches, enclosed in one Gothic arch, 
 surmount the columns, and upon each capital stands 
 a lovely figure, with angels looking over its shoul- 
 ders, while other angels fill the rest of the space 
 behind. Above is a cornice, delicately embossed, 
 and over that, compartments of bas-reliefs, repre- 
 senting the life of Christ, separated from each other 
 by stately figures of prophets ; and above the whole 
 is another rich cornice. The stairway is covered 
 with arabesques, curved on the marble, and every 
 one of the balusters is of a different design from 
 every other. It is gorgeous beyond description, 
 and all patiently and faithfully worked out of the 
 stone, without one careless touch. 
 
 [This ends my rapid survey of our first four days 
 in Siena, w^hen I could make no record in my journal, 
 as events occurred.] 
 
 October 5th. — We went to the Institute of the 
 Fine Arts to-day. We saw pictures in tempera from 
 1200 to those in oils in 1500. Yery quaint Madon- 
 nas and holy Infants, all evidently from some sacred 
 type, perhaps Greek — with long noses, low foreheads, 
 small eyes, and interminable fingers, and the babe 
 always mature in expression. Presently, the Ma- 
 donna began to be more comely, and the young 
 child infantine and sweet. But all that went before 
 were put out of mind by Sodoma's fresco of Christ 
 bound to the column. It is of life-size, and a little 
 
RETURNINO TO ROME— SIENA. 503 
 
 more tliau half-length. He looks toward the left, 
 the head slightly inclined, with an introspective ex- 
 pression of the eyes. It is the first representation 
 of Christ which I have seen that gives me any satis- 
 faction. The figure is of the ideal proportions of 
 manhood, and the face and head are of perfect and 
 delicate beauty, while they are grand with strength 
 and intellectual power. There is a w^eariness unto 
 death in the large lids, half cast down in heavy 
 reverie over wonderful, deep eyes, tender, depre- 
 cating, and infinitely pathetic in their eloquence. 
 There is a love in them far beyond Torture and 
 Time, a sweetness illumined by celestial fire — flaming 
 through a mist as of tears — a profound, unquench- 
 able, spiritual light, which is the Resurrection and 
 the Life. The cords alone seem to keep him erect, 
 so spent with agony and fatigue is the finely organ- 
 ized frame. The lips are parted, as if there were 
 not physical power left to keep them closed. The 
 mouth is ideally beautiful, and expressive of gener- 
 ous sensibility and of suffering, such as the imagi- 
 nation cannot compass. The face is flushed : the 
 crown of thorns presses savagely, and over the 
 divine brow heavy gouts of blood drop upon the 
 breast, shed with patient, immortal love. The line 
 of the nose is of the most refined delicacy, while the 
 nostrils dilate with a spirit and a pride so angelic, 
 so superb, that one feels that he submits not through 
 weakness, but through conquering might. From the 
 noble head the long, brown hair flows down with 
 
504 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 wonderful grace. Sodoma excels all tlio gi-eat mas- 
 ters in tlie painting of the eyes. These eyes are 
 introspective, as I said, looking downward. But 
 one feels that if the large lids were lifted, the 
 glory of the eyes would dazzle and command. 
 Christ has always been represented feebly — beauti- 
 ful, without force or manliness. Sodoma finds that 
 he is beautiful, yet most princely, most strong. And 
 this unequalled conception of Christ is peeling off 
 the wall, and is already very much injured ! 
 
 In another room was a Gethsemane, which is 
 generally disagreeably pictured. I had never yet 
 seen one that I liked at all. But Sodoma has 
 painted one at last. I did not have time to contem- 
 plate this so long as I had done the other ; but I 
 saw the deep, large eyes raised in prayer, and a 
 sovereign beauty radiating from every line. I can- 
 not recall it minutely now, however, but see better 
 the Judith at this moment. AUori's Judith in the 
 Pitti is superior to any I have before seen ; but this 
 infinitel}^ transcends Allori's. This is not the splen- 
 did woman, the lover of Holof ernes. It is a maiden, 
 pure as a lily, and gentle and tender as a dove, with 
 a deep soul, and a resolution, a will made immutable 
 and irresistible by having united wdth God's will. 
 She is one who, believing she sees ^^'hat is right, 
 does it, and having done so fearful a thing as this, 
 begins to comprehend the worship of sorrow, and at 
 this moment is lost in the sudden revelation opened 
 to her by her action. She is nobly beautiful, pale 
 
RETURNINO TO ROME— SIENA. HOj 
 
 like a pearl, and her great dark eyes are veiled by 
 tlie mighty shadow of thought, as with a transparent 
 cloud, — sad thought, — and her mouth is also sad. 
 She suddenly feels her soul to be very heavy, and 
 yet, over all is a large tranquillity, as if God were 
 with her. The pride of life is in the Judith of 
 Allori, but Sodoma's Judith has the majesty of truth 
 and guilelessness. It is a face of which one could 
 never tire ; and how different it is from his Eve ! 
 Eve is the richest blossom of young womanhood, 
 dewy and rose-tinted, with a fresh creation thrilling 
 in her veins, and the symphonies of the spheres 
 tuning her pulses ; the new sunshine shining in her 
 hair, new auroras dawning in her eyes — lilies, moon- 
 light, and pomegranates striving in her tissues for 
 mastery, all just made, and in full potency. How 
 she curves toward Adam, and beams with all the 
 witchery of woman ! She is not divine, but arch and 
 earthly, before the stain of crime had mingled with 
 earth to make it foul. She is made of Virgin earth, 
 — dust transfused with the breath of God, and a 
 boundless joy of existence animates her whole form. 
 Her "bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne," in 
 vast contrast to the heavy soul of Judith. Eve is 
 the embodied smile of the unworn world, an ecstatic 
 sense of life. 
 
 There was a Holy Family by Kubens, but I really 
 could not look at it after Sodom a. The absence of 
 spirituality in him contrasts painfully with these 
 Italian masters. Pvubens wore his two wives on his 
 
 23 
 
508 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 eyes, and all his female figures and faces are liis 
 wives, sometimes modified and sometimes not, and 
 all representations of his childi-en are his own 
 bouncing babies, not at all divine. Sodoma was 
 after Perugino, and broke free from the hard line of 
 the previous schools. His pencil is genial, soft, and 
 blending, and no longer suggests parchment and 
 cords. 
 
 October 6th. — This morning I went to the Baptis- 
 tery to draw Ghiberti's lovely Angels of the Font. 
 I had a pencil which proved to be like the lead chil- 
 dren melt into nondescripts, and could not produce 
 an eloquent line, but I got the groups and the atti- 
 tudes. All the bas-reliefs of the font are by great 
 artists. The gilding of the bronze is still quite 
 bright. We went afterward into the Cathedral, and 
 I sketched the right aisle, and the antique font 
 (which was once a Roman candelabrum), and a por- 
 tion of the gorgeous pulpit. 
 
 In the afternoon I saw at San Francesco's church 
 the Deposition of Sodoma. I was very jealous lest 
 I should like it better than that of Perugino, but I 
 did not. Mary has quite fainted away, and her face 
 has deep pathos beneath the shadow of death thrown 
 over it. It is foreshortened, but perfectly drawn, so 
 that the beauty of contour is not lessened. Her 
 features are very delicate, and even the contraction 
 and the pinching of her agony do not take fi'om her 
 beauty. Under the hood which partly veils her 
 
RETURNma TO ROME— SIENA. 507 
 
 brow lier lids have closed on a sight which a mother 
 cannot bear. I think all the power of the picture 
 centres in her face. She lies on the ground, attended 
 bj another Mary and John. Joseph and Peter are 
 taking down the body. Mary Magdalen, very fair, 
 with light golden hair, stands at the foot of the cross, 
 uttering a cry. Another Mary supports the feet. 
 Two Roman soldiers, one with a halberd and one 
 with the spear that pierced Christ's side, stand talk- 
 ing together in an indifferent way. He of the spear 
 is particularlj^ nonchalant, as if he were looking at a 
 puppet-show. Over the Madonna kneels the figure 
 of an elderly woman in black, who spreads out her 
 hands in dismay at the fainting. 
 
 While I was engaged with this, the custode un- 
 veiled another picture by Beccafumi, of the Holy 
 Fathers in Limbo, and Christ descending to them. 
 I was immediately struck with the wonderful spirit- 
 ual beauty of the figure, face, and action of Christ. 
 His face seems composed of a transparent substance, 
 through which his pity and tenderness beam. It is 
 "the celestial body," of which St. Paul speaks. He 
 bends to the upraised countenance of one of the 
 Fathers, like a benignant, sympathizing friend. 
 Thin blue drapery floats about him like slightly- 
 condensed air, and he touches with his hand the 
 shoulder of the old man. One feels the thrilling 
 influence that penetrates the whole being of the 
 saint, from those caressing fingers. Other spirits 
 crowd around, gazing with hope and longing at the 
 
608 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 divine visitant. The contours have the delicacy of 
 Venetian glass, and there seems an inner light, 
 which shows the perfect tracing of the lines, and 
 above all, Pity and Love. Love itself is the light 
 that illumines him. Here is something more won- 
 derful than Titian's color. He paints the splendid 
 material tissues, but Beccafumi paints the spiritual 
 body. It is singular that we had come to Siena to 
 see Christ made manifest ; for the Christ of Bapha- 
 el's Transfiguration is not equal to Sodoma's and 
 Beccafumi's, as it seems to me. I wonder I have 
 not heard more about the Sienese school ; and how 
 I rebelled against the idea of its being so great ! 
 
 I saw in the Institute a figure by a very early 
 master, like Michel Angelo's Judge in the Sistine 
 fresco. Could he have appropriated it? Michel 
 Angelo and Baphael took with royal hands what- 
 ever they pleased, from right and left, and then 
 made their spoils entirely their own ; and they were 
 so rich, and their genius so plastic, that they could 
 do this without invading their originality. As Mr. 
 Story said, "It is only the weak who fear to be 
 helped." It was from San Francesco that Sodo- 
 ma's Christ bound to the column, was taken. 
 
 Palazzo Pubblico. 
 
 October 7th. — We went to the Palazzo Pubblico, 
 this morning, to see frescoes and paintings in 
 oil. A ceiling by Beccafumi, of Boman stories, 
 
RETURNING TO ROME— SIENA. 509 
 
 freshly brilliant. I did not fancy mucli, after Laving 
 seen liis Limbo. But a Madonna by Sodoma — dear 
 me ! I suspect it surpasses all others ! I have not 
 yet seen the Dresden Madonna, which doubtless is 
 the divinest ever pictured, but all the innumerable 
 rest of them must be ranked below this one in the 
 old Public Palace of Siena. She is sitting just at 
 the entrance of an open manger, with " the Wonder- 
 ful," the " Prince of Peace," on her knees. Her 
 expression is that of joy and amazement, her right 
 hand lifted with an action of surprise. It is the 
 noblest, loveliest face of earliest womanhood, with 
 large, liquid eyes, every contour queenly yet girlish ; 
 not a shade of pensiveness — only pure delight and 
 rapture at a heavenlj' miracle illumine her aspect. 
 Her mouth of richest curves is tremulous with 
 happ3^ emotion ; and the great eyes have a misty 
 gleam, as with glorious tears. The Infant is sub- 
 lime and sweet, and raises his little hand to bless. 
 Mr. H. thought him particularly beautiful. In 
 Mary's face is that indescribable look of no age, 
 W'hich the old masters, and Baphaol also, give to 
 their angels. It combines youth and painless expe- 
 rience, such as cycle beyond cycle in heaven coald 
 impart ; and perhaps it is angelic wisdom. Sodoma 
 has given this look to his Madonna, and if Mary sym- 
 bolizes the Church, it is most appropriate. She is 
 so unconscious, that the sword will pierce her heart 
 before she knows that she is personally concerned 
 in this Saviour of the world. 
 
510 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 In another hall are three Saints, by this artist — 
 Saint Ansano, Saint Ambrogio, and — I forget the 
 name of the other. Saint Ansano is the divine one. 
 He stands, with a radiant light breaking from his 
 presence as from a Dawn. He is performing some 
 benign act, and the " good-will to man" in his soul 
 is what causes this effulgence. But he is not of the 
 angelic type, for one sees that it has been through 
 tribulation and anguish that he has become the 
 saint he is. His day before has been stormy with 
 thunder and rain, and this morrow of peace and 
 glory is the result of a cleared atmosphere. In his 
 eyes and cheeks and mouth are the genial warmth 
 and flush of trial and conquest, and his hair glitters 
 as if angels, whom we cannot see, were shining upon 
 him. The other two saints are also fine ; but I had 
 time for only one, and cannot describe them. The 
 old custode was impatient, and I nearly destroyed 
 him, as it was, with my pertinacity of delay. He 
 preferred to show us a casket which once contained 
 the arm of John the Baptist, he said ! An immense 
 picture, called the Madonna of the Baldacchino, by 
 Simone Memmi, he would not let us stay to see. 
 One might spend weeks in this Palazzo alone, study- 
 ing with unweariable satisfaction ; and Siena is so 
 fall of priceless treasures, that I wish we could 
 remain here a month, at least. 
 
 October 8th. — I went with Ada and the children 
 to St. Agostino, to see Perugino's Crucifixion and 
 
RETURNING TO ROME— SIENA. 511 
 
 Sodoma's Nativity. Perngino's design is as regular 
 as a mathematical figure : Christ upon the cross — 
 an angel on each side, holding vases beneath the 
 hands, to catch the precious blood that drops: at 
 the foot of the cross two Marys, kneeling opposite 
 one another. Behind one Mary stands the Madonna, 
 and behind the other, St. John. A wonderful quiet 
 is produced by this order. The sentiment of the 
 scene is an awed silence, in the presence of the 
 dread event. Even his mother does not faint, but 
 looks down, pale and still. All are hushed by an 
 emotion and apprehension too great for expression. 
 It is different to any representation of the subject I 
 have seen. The faces are all characteristic, and 
 some are beautiful, and every part is carefully 
 finished. 
 
 In the Piccolomini Chapel is an Epiphany, by 
 Sodoma. Here again is the noblest beauty in Mary. 
 She is so absorbed in gazing upon the infant, that 
 she does not observe the old . king kneeling to kiss 
 his little foot, or the splendid young king who, with 
 a royal step and gesture, is coming forward to offer 
 a delicate vase of pearl. Ideal kingliness is in this 
 figure. An African potentate, bearing a cup of 
 purest gold, Joseph, angels, superb horses, camels, 
 and attendants, fill up the scene. Sodoma is more 
 like Raphael than any other painter, I think. 
 
 In the evening we walked out to a pleasant prom- 
 enade, where were law^ns and statues and avenues, 
 and sat down to watch the comet descend for an 
 
513 JS^OTES IN ITALY. 
 
 hour. We heard that it would be particularly mag- 
 nificent to-night (8th) ; but it was not brighter than 
 we had found it at Montauto and Marciana. 
 
 October 9th. — "We went to San Francesco's church 
 to see Sodoma's Deposition and Beccafumi's Limbo 
 again, and to the Oratory of St. Bernardino for the 
 frescoes of Sodoma and Beccafumi. In a Nativity 
 by the latter, the infant Christ reminded me of 
 Murillo's Good Shepherd, in its lovely grace and 
 spiritual beauty. It stands beside Mary, with its 
 hand in the attitude of blessing, and its face turned 
 to its mother. The coloring is so pearly, that he 
 seems already transfigured. A wonderful angel 
 hovers near, pausing in the air, in a haze of golden 
 glory. It does not float, but rests, with a dreamy, 
 blissful expression. Mary stands also, and looks 
 upon the child. She has a slender figure, and an 
 oval, beautiful face. The Mary in the Visitation, by 
 Sodoma, satisfies, like all his Madonnas. 
 
 This morning we saw Sodoma's Nativity, in San 
 Spirito ; an immense picture over the high altar. 
 The Madonna is different from all his others ; not 
 so extremely young, and the motive of the face is 
 unlike the rest. Here she is stately. There is a 
 queenly carriage of the head, and she is conscious 
 of her dignity. A most noble Joseph responds to 
 her royal bearing, and angels and cherubs beam out 
 on every side. One descends, as we look, pressing 
 tlirough the air like a radiant dove, and a shining 
 
RETURNING TO ROME—SrEKA. 513 
 
 group stand round tlio infant, ready to serve him ; 
 and the shade, as well as the light, is filled with ser- 
 aph faces. A dead lamb is dropped by a shepherd 
 in the foreground, with a direct and pathetic signifi- 
 cance. We had the church to ourselves ; and an 
 hour passed like a moment, when a nun came to tell 
 us that the doors must be closed. So we proceeded 
 to the Oratory of St. Bernardino, and then at last 
 to the Library of the Cathedral, which is covered 
 with Pinturicchio's greatest frescoes. In one is the 
 authentic full-length portrait of Raphael : so now I 
 have really seen him, painted by an eminent con- 
 temporary artist. Two eyes were not enough to see 
 it — I needed all Argus's to gaze quickly and thor- 
 oughly. It is a princely figure of early youth, and 
 the face is exceedingly beautiful. He is assisting at 
 the obsequies of St. Catharine, and stands, holding 
 a wax-candle. On his head is a black velvet cap, 
 looped with gold, and light-golden hair flows from 
 beneath it in rich curls to his shoulders. So the 
 Uffizzi picture is untrue, with its dark hair and eyes, 
 for these eyes are lustrous blue, and large, with a 
 musing, absent expression, and the complexion is 
 fair and blooming. So would look an ideal Prince 
 Arthur or St. George. He is the very darling and 
 beauty of the world, just as I should know he must 
 be. A graceful cloak or mantle falls behind, and his 
 right hand rests on his right hip in a dainty fashion, 
 and the action of the limbs is gallant and noble. It 
 has an individual character, as a faithful portrait 
 
 22^ 
 
5U NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 would liave, and how Pinturiccliio enjoyed painting 
 him, any one may fancy. Pinturicchio himself 
 stands near, and a youthful Leonardo da Yinci and 
 PeiTigino. Probably Raphael was the painter of 
 Pinturicchio. Perugino looks like a serious-minded 
 rustic, and I knew him well before, for Raphael 
 has put him into the great picture of the Resurrec- 
 tion in the Pinecotheca of the Vatican, where Peru- 
 gino put Raphael, asleep as a soldier. How charm- 
 ing it must have been for them to paint one another ! 
 but particularly what glorious pastime for all the rest 
 to seize with their brushes Raphael, that vision of 
 beauty and grace ! The colors of all these frescoes 
 are still brilliant, and many of them represent 
 events in the life of Eneas Sylvius Piccolomini, after- 
 ward Pope Pio II., I think. In one scene, Raphael 
 officiated as the page of the Doge, holding the 
 Doge's cap, who kneels in sumptuous golden robes 
 by his side, in prayer. It was pretty nice, methinks, 
 to have Raphael for a model. Pinturicchio was a 
 happy man. The ceiling of this library is covered 
 with arabesques and cunning devices, in rich color 
 and gold. Fifty huge missals lie on desks round 
 the room. Their thick covers are mounted with 
 brass (or gold), and within they were superbly illu- 
 minated by the monks of St. Domenic, four hundred 
 years ago. The black-letter is traced on fine vel- 
 lum in characters three-quarters of an inch tall, and 
 they are enormous folios. The custode showed us 
 two of them, and it would have taken weeks to go 
 
IlETURXIXG TO ROME— SIENA. 515 
 
 through them all, for we could merely glance at two. 
 At last I sat down to try to sketch Raphael ; but the 
 guard gave me no peace, and I only made an inef- 
 fectual scratch. It will, however, recall the original 
 attitude and action to myself. The floor is inlaid 
 with mosaic — crescent moons in polished tiles. It 
 is a glorious apartment, worthy of the Cathedral. 
 
 October 10th. — We spent this Sunday morning at 
 the Cathedral. The music was like the morning 
 stars singing together, while the organ thundered in 
 a grand undertone, and a soft flute-voiced human 
 strain rose up, up into the dome, and through it, 
 away to the heavens, reminding me of the Sistine 
 Miserere. But it was not sad like that. It was 
 triumphant with hallelujahs. Life seemed to ani- 
 mate all the statues ; especially the wings of the 
 angels waved as if for flight, while they held the 
 vases of ever-burning lamps, in the choir. The saiots 
 raised their hands and eyes with new ardor, and the 
 wilderness of arches lifted themselves every moment 
 like swelling billows of harmony, softly rolling. The 
 Cathedral itself soared and sang. Little R. kept 
 asking me " What does it say ?" and I replied, " It 
 praises the Lord." The organ was not visible, and 
 so the gorgeous temple seemed uttering itself through 
 all its marble forms. We stayed till the service was 
 over, and every one had gone, except the sacristan, and 
 then the profound silence had also its own grandeur. 
 
 In the afternoon, we walked to the Lizza with 
 
510 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 the cliildren, to see tlie city from a promontory 
 at the close of the avenue ; and Ada and I sat down 
 on a bank to sketch. I drew the church of St. Do- 
 menic and the Campo Tower, and the Cathedral roof 
 
 and dome, and J was very earnest to do the same, 
 
 but lost his sketch-book. 
 
 October 11th. — To-day we went to St. Dominic 
 to see Sodom a's frescoes. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Kadicofani. 
 
 October 13th. — "We left Siena at six o'clock this 
 morning, and we have travelled about forty-five 
 miles to this lofty wilderness, two thousand seven 
 hundred and more feet high, " where vegetation 
 almost ceases," says the guide-book. It was cloudy 
 when we started, and rained hard in a short time ; 
 but afterward cleared, and we had fine weather till 
 the middle of the afternoon, when a pelting hail- 
 storm came on, and clattered and poured furiously 
 on our carriage roof for awhile. Finally a rainbow 
 sprang over the sky before us, and the violet band 
 was very distinct and beautiful, though it is usually 
 faint ; and now, at eight o'clock, the new moon is 
 shining. 
 
 The first interesting place we passed was Buo- 
 nonventOj a town crowned by a great castle, famous 
 as the castle in which Henry the Seventh of Ger- 
 many was supposed to be poisoned with tlie Host, 
 
BETURXIXG TO liOME—RADICOFANL 517 
 
 by a monk : but I think it is incredible ; since the 
 Host is believed to be the real body of Christ by all 
 good Catholics — and to poison the body of Christ 
 for the purpose of poisoning a man, is altogether too 
 monstrous a thing to be believed. The castle extends 
 widely, like a small city. We then drove through a 
 very little but walled town, called Torrenieri. It con- 
 sisted of but one narrow street and two towers, and I 
 conjecture that, originally, the towers were alone ; but 
 afterward, as usual, people who needed protection 
 built their houses within the enclosure of their walls. 
 We passed on to San Qaerico, where w^e had 
 dejeune d la fourclieite, and remained two hours. It 
 had a Gothic church, a huge palace built by the 
 Piccolomini, perfectly square, and without comeli- 
 ness ; and a tall castle of Roman work. We walked 
 to the church, and found no interest inside, because 
 repau's have spoiled it ; but it is picturesque out- 
 side, and the two principal doors are very fine. One 
 has columns composed of caryatids, figures of forci- 
 ble expression, each standing on lions, which are 
 quite grand. This door is ornamented with scu>[:)- 
 tures of birds, animals, flowers, and arabesques. 
 The other door has clustered columns, tied with a 
 ribbon of marble, as it were, in a knot, each one 
 resting on tigers, sporting wdth kids. There are 
 lovely string-courses of sculpture round this also. 
 We were surrounded by beggars and gazers as we 
 stood to sketch ; but we had not time to get a com- 
 plete drawing of any part. 
 
518 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 The Emperor (mj sobriquet of our vetturino 
 Costantino) ordered for us an abundant dejeune^ 
 and we left the strange little town of San Querico 
 just after noontide, with seven horses to our carriage, 
 instead of the usual six (though sometimes we have 
 but four), and came on to Radicofani. For hours 
 we had seen, far off on the horizon, a bold and 
 abrupt eminence, with a castellated summit, the 
 castle having the exact outline of a double tooth, 
 and the whole rock not unlike one, rising out of a 
 plane of mountains. The tower is much below the 
 lofty castle, which was once the residence of a rob- 
 ber-chieftain, and later was garrisoned with lawful 
 soldiers, till it was jarred to ruin by the explosion 
 of a powder-magazine near it, and has since lain in 
 decay. It is the wildest, rudest culmination of the 
 most desolate portion of the country, possible to 
 conceive. There seems to have been a battle of 
 giants ; for the barren land is covered with great 
 rocks and boulders tossed about, and a sort of dry 
 stubble drearily fills the spaces. Round the base 
 of the steep cliff upon which the castle stands, clings 
 the stone town. The hotel is at a much lower level, 
 and is a vast palatial building, formerly a hunting- 
 palace of the Grand Duke of Tuscany. Over great 
 arches which make the ground- plan, is a wide log- 
 gia, also arched in its whole length. We ascended 
 a broad staircase, leading from the court, into a 
 vast saloon, and out of that we were guided along a 
 broad, high corridor to our apartments. Large 
 
J^ETUnXIXG TO ROME—RADICOFAXL 519 
 
 coiiclies and tables are placed against the walls on 
 each side the corridor. When dinner was ready, 
 we went down-stairs, through a lobby, on one side 
 of which is the kitchen. A roaring fire of logs 
 looked very warm and inviting there, for we were 
 cold in this elevated situation. Dinner was served 
 in a saloon frescoed with grapevines, owls perched 
 on the trellises, and birds flying through them. It 
 is the most rambling, ghostly, endless, fearful house 
 I was ever in. The wind howling round, the im- 
 mense distances in the rooms, which swallow up the 
 candle-light, the fierce bandit-looking man who 
 comes to ask us what we want, the old witches who 
 arrange the beds, all combine to compose a resi- 
 dence that I could not live in without going mad 
 or melancholy. 
 
 Immediately after our arrival, we went out to visit 
 the city above. A perfectly straight road from the 
 hotel climbs up to it. But when we were half-way, 
 I saw a pelting shower hastening over the moun- 
 tains, and I ran back to the hotel to escape drown- 
 ing, while J and his father kept on their course. 
 
 Finding the rain did not reach so far as Radicofani, 
 I tried again, and got up into the town — alas ! such 
 a dirty, horrid place ! I had wished very much to 
 wash Siena, but it would have been useless to at- 
 tempt to cleanse this. The streets were so narrow, 
 I could almost stretch across them, and they were 
 crowded with men, women, and children, and don- 
 keys. A shabby little fellow accosted me, and 
 
530 NOTES IK ITALY. 
 
 asked if I wished to see " una bellissima cliiesa." 
 I told liim that all I wished was to find a gentleman 
 and a boy who had come up a few moments before. 
 Did he know where they were? He said he had 
 seen them, and would lead me to them ; for they 
 were in the church. So I toiled along in the dusk, 
 everybody making way for me in the most cour- 
 teous, graceful manner, but taking their fill of 
 gazing at the strange lady. The child took me to 
 the church, and we lifted the door-curtain, and were 
 lost in the gloom of the nave. I went about, prying 
 into the dark for my people, simply believing the 
 tale I had been told. It was the Ave Maria, and 
 the floor was full of praying folk ; and now and 
 then a twinkle of a candle could be discerned in 
 some chapel. What, after all, would these poor, 
 ignorant people do without their open churches, 
 where they can go and pray at stated hours in per- 
 fect faith — in the midst of all their squalor and 
 hopelessness in regard of earthly weal ? It seems 
 to be the only thing they have to raise them an 
 instant out of the mire. They could not compre- 
 hend an invisible Deity, perhaps, but they can 
 worship the Virgin and the Crucifix, which they see 
 before their eyes. They must have symbols. 
 
 It finally struck me that the little Radicofinian 
 had told me a fib, so as to get me into the church 
 and earn some crazie. I therefore rushed out again, 
 and came home another way, instead of grazing 
 through the intolerable streets, where I could with 
 
RETURNING TO ROME—VITERBO. 521 
 
 great difficulty avoid contact with citlier donkeys or 
 my fellow-creatures, neither of whom were agree- 
 able to the senses, though the latter had beautiful 
 eyes and perfect lines to their noses, as well as 
 polite manners. 
 
 I came round the hill, down a road that winds 
 into the straight ascent from the hotel. The boy 
 kept at my side, and a little girl joined him, each 
 begging for " qualchecosa" every minute. I had no 
 small moneys, and told them so, and advised them 
 to go home. They would not believe me, of course, 
 for did they not find it easy to say what was not 
 true ? but finally I said I certainly should give them 
 nothing to-night or to-morrow. Then the boy 
 stopped, though the girl came all the way into the 
 court, like an inevitable fate. 
 
 VlTERBO. 
 
 October 14tli. — We left Kadicofani at six o'clock 
 this morning, a golden morning, before sunrise. I 
 must not omit, however, to record that last evening, 
 at dinner, an old man came in and presented a 
 printed paper to us, and a tray of medallions. They 
 were made by the falling of the waters of the baths 
 of San Felippo upon the moulds of medals or casts. 
 These waters leave a precipitate which petrifies into 
 fine impressions, semi-transparent, like alabaster, 
 perhaps a little more opaque. The printed paper 
 described and commended them. I bought two — 
 
522 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 one of Pio Nono, and one of Yenus. It is a perfect 
 likeness of tlie Pope, who has a sweet, benign 
 countenance. 
 
 We descended our mountain height through the 
 gold of the dawn, the picture of the Robber's fast- 
 ness making a grand outline on our left. The poor 
 Abbot of Cluny, once imprisoned there by the re- 
 no'SNmed Ghina di Tacco, the lawless knight, must 
 often have gazed down our road with longing eyes. 
 It is very funny to know that the slender diet he 
 ^vas put upon by his captor restored his broken 
 health so effectually that he had no need of the 
 baths, to which he was proceeding to recruit, when 
 he was stolen and conveyed aloft. 
 
 We soon entered the Papacy at Ponte Centino, 
 where we had to present our passport and bribe the 
 Dogana. For eighteen pauls we saved our luggage 
 from invasion and bowled merrily on, with a flourish 
 of whips, if not of trumpets ; for we had six hoises 
 and a postilion, who was an artist in snappmg his 
 whip, as well as the Emperor. They sounded like a 
 line of muskets popping off. As Ave approached 
 Acquapendente the country lost its barren, desolate 
 character, and woods and vegetation enriched the 
 landscape. We passed a very deep and green vale, 
 above which the town towers, in a fine situation ; 
 but we did not see any of the cascades which 
 tumble into the vale at some seasons, and give the 
 town its name. Alas, it is a very dirty city, though 
 it has an abundance of water to wash itself with ; 
 
RETUnXIKO TO ROME—YITERBO. 523 
 
 and once the Episcopal See was establislied there. 
 But bishops do not necessarily make a city or a 
 people clean, and priests and monks are sometimes 
 causative of both spiritual and material defilement. 
 
 After leaving Acquapendente (it is a pity that the 
 acqua does not pour through the streets, instead of 
 off the precipices), we began to see caves in the 
 tufa rocks. They were old Etruscan tombs, and 
 sometimes the shepherds live in them, for they were 
 long since rifled of their treasures and their dead. 
 
 We drove through San Lorenzo Nuovo, a brave, 
 new place, built by the people who had to flee from 
 the old San Lorenzo on account of the malaria. 
 We soon came to the site of San Lorenzo Vecchio, 
 and the ruins of a tower marks the spot where the 
 Etruscan city stood. In the old wall that still sur- 
 rounds it are very many sepulchres. We could look 
 down into some of them, and I should have liked 
 much to explore ; but the air is deadly thereabouts, 
 though it looks as lovely and innocent as possible. 
 The richest groves and meadows spread out from the 
 shores of the beautiful great lake of Bolsena ; yet it 
 is so pestilential, that no one dares to build a house 
 for many miles, and though the shepherds tend their 
 flocks in the pastures and on the banks, they never 
 venture to sleep in the neighborhood. It seems so 
 exquisitely fair and verdant that one would fancy it 
 the first Eden ; but not a dwelling is on the land, 
 and not a boat is on the wide expanse of water. All 
 is still and alone, dead-alive. In the lake are two 
 
524 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 islands. On one, the Queen of the Goths was mur- 
 dered by her cousin, Theodosius. Leo X. used to 
 go to the other to fish, for the lake was famous for 
 its fish, especially its eels, and is now, I suppose, 
 unless the water is also poison as well as the land. 
 What a singular, voiceless curse is this mysterious 
 malaria ! It waves its invisible sword, and cuts 
 down all Avho approach within its reach. There is 
 something appalling in its quiet, tyrannous sover- 
 eignty. We fancied that the herdsmen were sickly 
 in their aspects as we passed them along the shores 
 of the lake, which was gleaming like the silver shield 
 of Abdiel, leader of the heavenly hosts. 
 
 We reached the town of Bolsena (Yolsinii), piled 
 up on the acclivity of a hill. There is an upper 
 and lower town, and our hotel was in a still lower 
 position than either, all by itself. As soon as we 
 alighted, we walked off to see the towns. No words 
 can ever describe the disgustfulness of the streets 
 and of the people. I do not think they ever touch 
 water. We, of the other side of the Atlantic, have 
 not the remotest idea how dirty a person can be, 
 who has not been washed for nearly three thousand 
 years ! This is the state of the Bolsenian, formerly 
 the Volsinian. It is only in Europe that one can 
 see a dirty face, and it is necessary to come to 
 Europe to comprehend it. Description will not 
 avail. Alas and alas ! we picked our way through 
 infinite — no — finite abominations in the city once so 
 luxurious and rich as to possess more than two 
 
BETUBNING TO ROME—VITERBO. 50.5 
 
 thousand statues ! We wished to find traces of 
 Etruscan art, and Roman art (for the Romans lived 
 here, after conquering the Etruscans) ; and we found 
 cohimns and arches, but our eyes and noses could 
 not withstand the sights and odors many minutes. 
 We found it to be a fancy of the Bolsenians to 
 fasten their black hogs by one leg to the walls, and 
 each hog burrowed for himself a hole, wherein he 
 delighted to wallow when he was not eating. His 
 food was placed around him. Through the centre 
 of streets a yard or two wide, flowed a stream of 
 horror. At one great palace-door we stood and 
 looked into the hall. Human beings swarmed about 
 it like noisome insects. It was bare and grimy, 
 merely a shelter, while probably masterpieces of art 
 once adorned it, in the far-off times. If it had been 
 possible to endure the atmosphere, I should have 
 liked to go up the regal stairway, and see the style 
 and arrangements of the saloons ; but it could not 
 be thought of. Nothing but an earthquake can 
 destroy Etruscan work, and these stones are fixed 
 for ages and ages ; so that the only thing to be done 
 is to burn them out with fire, that everything perish- 
 able might fall into ashes, and the walls become 
 purified. But even the stones must be impregnated 
 with evil, which could not be burnt out. It is a 
 hopeless case ; and besides, the stealthy demon of 
 malaria is stealing up the heights; and soon the 
 people will all fall victims to it, and then " the 
 abomination of desolation" will possess Bolsena, 
 
536 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 *' But the cormorant and the bittern shall possess it ; 
 the owls also and the ravens shall dwell in it, and 
 He shall stretch out upon it the line of confusion, 
 and the stones of emptiness : — none shall be there, 
 and all her princes shall be nothing. And thorns 
 shall come up in her palaces, nettles and brambles 
 in the fortresses thereof ; and it shall be a habitation 
 of dragons, and a court for owls." "And the glori- 
 ous beauty which is on the head of the fat valley 
 shall be a fading flower, and as the hasty fruit be- 
 fore the summer." 
 
 We climbed up innumerable steps to the castle, 
 and its surrounding upper town. The castle is 
 Roman, perhaps. It has square towers at each 
 end, beautifully machicolated. After a painful ex- 
 ploration, we descended by the side of the hill, 
 along an avenue of trees, to the arched gate of the 
 lower town ; for near this gate are very interesting 
 ruins of an Etruscan temple to the goddess Norcia. 
 There are capitals of columns and sepulchral monu- 
 ments, forming quite a road from the gate outward. 
 A double pillar, broken off, was very curious ; for 
 one half differed fi'om the other. One half was 
 square, and the other round ; one plain, and the 
 other richly carved in leaves. One bit of column 
 was delicately cut with a grapevine. Perhaps an 
 earthquake toppled over this exquisite temple. I 
 wish the ground could all be dug over, around the 
 site ; for treasures may be hidden beneath the soil. 
 
 After lunch we went out to sketch. I was soon 
 
ItETURNlNG TO ROME—YITERBO. 527 
 
 beset with interested spectators — men, women, boys, 
 girls, and babies in arms, all trying to look over my 
 book. They were more nasty than I can by any 
 means tell, with foulness inherited from the Romans 
 probably, and at any rate very ancient. I could 
 scarcely breathe such an atmosphere as they cre- 
 ated, and armies of fleas attacked me besides. Yet, 
 so potent is the human soul, that this beggarly crowd 
 of Italians gave an impression of refinement and 
 civilization, very old and settled civilization, by their 
 manners and bearing. They were quiet and gentle 
 and exceedingly courteous. They spoke in whis- 
 pers, and were deeply interested in my work, from 
 an innate love of art, woven into their members and 
 being. Their glorious eyes (which were clean) shone 
 with delight at every line I drew which they recog- 
 nized as true. I sketched the castle and the town 
 beneath it, and they called by mellifluous names 
 each house and wall. I told them I liked their 
 castle very much, and they repeated to each other 
 with pride that I said so. How infinitely pathetic 
 and wonderful that they should enjoy their old stones 
 for their beauty, when they have them instead of 
 bread and raiment — only stones ! I talked with them 
 about my great interest in the city, and they re- 
 sponded with intelligence. Whenever any one hap- 
 pened to obstruct my view, the rest commanded him 
 to move from the signora's eye, and a vista was kept 
 for me most jealously all the time. I showed them 
 a few other sketches in my book, and at the Campo 
 
538 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 Tower of Siena they exclaimed, " O bellissima ! bel- 
 lissima !" but always in subdued tones. Not one of 
 them begged money. When I was obliged to leave 
 off, because our hour of departure was come, they 
 all stood aside in a crowd, four or five handsome 
 boys on the outskirts, and as I cordially bade the 
 beautiful, dirty creatures " addio," they smiled, and 
 bowed, and waved their hands, like so many princes. 
 Those who had little caps on their clustering hair 
 raised them, and stood uncovered. It was wonderful. 
 
 And there was the Emperor Coustantine leading 
 little R. by the hand out of the gate of the lower 
 town, her sunny goldness contrasting with his dark- 
 ness in a most picturesque way ; for the vetturino is 
 a man mounted with blackest ebony, in hair, eye- 
 brows, moustache, and eyes, besides a swarthy skin. 
 He is not tall, but he has an air of ease, and a smile 
 like stormy lightning, and behaves in all waj^s as an 
 emperor should, besides having the name of one. 
 
 At half-past two we bade, I suppose, an eternal 
 farewell to Volsinium or Yolsinii, and stretched to- 
 ward Rome many a rood with our carriage and six 
 horses. After a pretty long post, the domed city 
 of Montefiascone suddenly burst upon us, very im- 
 posing with its walls, towers, and duomo, high up 
 upon a rock. We drove to the gate, and paused a 
 few moments to look up its principal street ; but we 
 did not enter, because we were to spend the night 
 at Viterbo. I must not omit to chronicle that we 
 passed marvellous basaltic formations — columns of 
 
BETURNINO TO ROME—VITERBO. 529 
 
 perfect symmetry, and hexagonal as well as other 
 'gonals, wliicli seemed to have been made by art, 
 and then thrust into tlie earthy banks on the side of 
 the road. Instead of standing up, they were lying 
 horizontally, with their summits presented to us, 
 like so many cannon placed for action. The love- 
 Mest cyclamens also grew on the waj'sides — white, 
 embroidered with pink — and rose-pink convolvuli. 
 We arrived at Viterbo after five, and, while dinner 
 was in preparation, walked through the town. It is 
 stately, compared to the small cities we have lately 
 passed through. On the way to the Cathedral we 
 saw Roman arches, a sculptured sarcophagus, beauti- 
 ful fountains, campaniles, a busy market-place, and 
 soiled, though comfortably flat pavements. It was 
 so dusky in the Cathedral that we could hardly see 
 anything. Its campanile has lovely mullioned win- 
 dows, and there is the ruin of a grand archiepiscopal 
 palace on the right. 
 
 At dinner we ordered some of the very famous 
 Montefiascone wine, the Est, Est, Est. I do not 
 know how to describe its etherial fire, unless I say it 
 was like dissolved sweetened diamonds, — it had such 
 a delicate, flashing, penetrating fierceness. It was 
 ecstasy, keen, delicious, and flitting. It came in 
 small flasks, for after the cork is drawn the tricksy 
 spirit vanishes speedily — and the second glass has 
 lost its piercing eflicacy. The poor Bishop was 
 certainly much tempted ! 
 
 This morning we went to the Cathedral again. 
 
 23 
 
530 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 There was a richly carved white marble vase for 
 holy water, probably of Greek workmanship ; and 
 an historically interesting high altar ; for it was at 
 that altar that Prince Henry of England was mur- 
 dered by Guy de Montfort, in stupid revenge for the 
 murder of his father by the Prince's father. Then 
 he dragged him by the hair of his head through the 
 dust of the piazza, — the memorable piazza, in which 
 Pope Adrian Fourth made Frederic Barbarossa hold 
 the stirrup for him, while he mounted his horse, in 
 revenge for the Emperor having made him ride with 
 his face to his horse's tail. Such Christian forgive- 
 ness practised the Head of the Church, the Vicar 
 of Him who said, '* Forgive your enemies !" We 
 sketched a little, and then went up into the Palace, 
 and saw the vast hall, where the conclave of Cardi- 
 nals sat for so long to elect a Pope, that the people 
 finally took off the roof to hasten their decision. It 
 is entirely empty now, not an atom of any man or 
 furniture in it. A great door at one end led out to 
 an open court, in which we found such a beautiful 
 and stupendous vase (once a fountain), that we all sat 
 down on the stone seats surrounding it, to take its 
 likeness, little R. as well as the rest of us. It was 
 circular in form, with superb lions' heads sculptured 
 upon it. When the clear water was rising and fall- 
 ing within its enormous margin, what an enchant- 
 ment to sit in its music, and look out of an open 
 arch of the wall at the loveliest view ! Afar, the 
 pale blue mountains waved along the horizon. 
 
RETURNING TO R0ME—8ETTE VENE. 531 
 
 Nearer, tlie city of Montefiascone crowned an emi- 
 nence, topped by its dome and its towers. Nearer 
 still were the picturesque walls of Viterbo, with tall 
 turrets, wreathed with ivy ; and a great part of the 
 town was heaped up beneath us — one stately, domed 
 and towered church, the Chiesa dell' Eternita, emi- 
 nent among all other buildings. We drew a turret 
 of the wall, but there was not time to do much, as 
 we were to leave Yiterbo at eleven. 
 
 The sarcophagus that we had seen on our way 
 in the street, by a church- door, contains the body of 
 the most beautiful woman of Italy (in her time), so 
 beautiful, that there was a battle fought for her by 
 the Viterbans and the Romans, and the Viterbans 
 gained the victory ; and this new Helen was shown 
 to the conquered Romans, at their request, from a 
 balcony, that they might have a parting gaze. 
 
 " And so another Helen fired another Troy." 
 
 Viterbo is the ancient Fanum Yolumnise, a place 
 of assembly of the Etruscans ; and, in continuation, 
 the Roman conclaves have often met there to choose 
 Popes. The columns of the nave of the Cathedral 
 are doubtless the same that adorned the Temple of 
 Hercules, which stood on that site, and the superb 
 marble vase must have also belonged to it. 
 
 Sette Vene. 
 
 October 15th. — We arrived at this pleasant spot 
 before five o'clock. It is smooth meadow-land of a 
 
532 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 lovely green, golden green, and the afternoon was 
 so clear and quiet that every thing looked glorified. 
 At each side of a broad road, slender trees stand, 
 almost as spiritual in their appearance as the trees 
 which Raphael and Perugino paint behind their 
 Madonnas. No doubt, Mr. Ruskin, they copied 
 nature in those trees which so exasperate you. 
 
 The hotel is very rambling. There is but one 
 interesting object in the spot that we knew about ; 
 and that is an old Eoman bridge over the Treja, a 
 sluggish stream. It should not, however, be called 
 a stream, as it does not stir, but slumbers heavily in 
 
 its mud. We went out to see it, while J and 
 
 R. were off on the meadow with the Emperor. 
 It was truly refreshing to stop at an inn not sur- 
 rounded by a dirty town. All about there it looked 
 as if it had been clean and nice since creation. We 
 found the beautiful old one-arched bridge in a field, 
 close by a new bridge, now erected in a more direct 
 line with the highway. I made a sketch on the 
 spot ; for it is as picturesque and perfect as an old 
 arched bridge can be ; and there is a marvellous 
 charm in all Roman work, partly from its being so 
 well done, and partly from its being Roman. How 
 astonishing it is that Rome should still rule the 
 world — not by its Pope — he is a mere puppet ; but 
 by an impalpable, indescribable power of classical 
 association, and an irresistible recognition of its 
 sovereignty. Not all her monstrous sin and crime 
 can displace the right royal pre-eminence of the 
 
RETURNmO TO ROME—SETTE VENE. rj;3:3 
 
 Queen of Nations. Hoav long lier Might socmcd 
 HigLt ! No longer ruling peoples externally, liow she 
 still rules them through the imagination and intel- 
 lect ! Among all Byron's really inspired utterances 
 about Italy, no one is more exactly true, than his 
 calling Home " the city of the soul." The yellow 
 waters of the Tiber look as if the sins of Helioga- 
 balus had dissolved in them, when he was thrown 
 into it ; and yet the Tiber is the imagination's dear- 
 est river, and flows through the mind as pure as a 
 mountain torrent, lucid as air. What a world of 
 delight one loses here, who has not classical memo- 
 ries ! How precious to one is one's Yirgil and Ovid 
 and Caesar, and Livy and Tacitus, and even Viri 
 E,om?e ! and what must be the enjoyment of the 
 profound scholar and archaeologist, to whom every 
 stone tells an immortal story ! I wish no one would 
 come to Home before reading and studyiDg all that 
 poets and historians have sung and written about 
 it, for then their profit and pleasure will be increased 
 a thousand-fold. 
 
 But I have wandered away from my bridge. It 
 was not very safe to stand over the still water to- 
 ward sunset in this malaria region, and so I did not 
 finish the sketch, but returned to the hotel. The 
 Emperor was making a picture of himself, Ij'ing 
 on a low parapet, with his dark face and ebony 
 trimmings relieved against a clear, gold sunset, 
 while his dog capered over him ; and R. stood 
 watching the group and the fun. He lifted his 
 
534 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 dark-green little cap from his black locks as we 
 approached. 
 
 We took the children into the hotel, out of the 
 dangerous twilight ; and now I must note down our 
 drive to-day. 
 
 It was after eleven before we left Yiterbo, not very 
 pleasantly ; for the waiter wished for higher fees than 
 we paid him, though we had given him as much as 
 had contented every other waiter on our route. But 
 perhaps because he was a w^aiter in " The Imperial 
 Hotel of the Black Eagle," he thought he ought 
 to have more than a servant in an inn in a smaller 
 city than Yiterbo. As he was the most inattentive 
 and discourteous of all the waiters who had served 
 us, I would not give way to his importunity ; and it 
 made the Emperor very sad to go off under such a 
 cloud. He lost his spirits entirely, and did. not 
 snap his whip, nor coo to his horses, nor talk to B. 
 
 and J , both of whom were on the box with him, 
 
 while Mr. H. and I were in the coiqje behind them. 
 He was relieved when I told him that the waiter 
 was surly and careless ; though it took a great 
 many miles to disperse the depression of his mind ; 
 and it was really pleasant when he commenced his 
 extraordinary sounds again. For the Italian vettu- 
 rino not only coos to his steeds, but grunts and 
 groans to them : yet not either of those ; but a sound 
 one would make if a nail were thrust suddenly into 
 one — a sort of " ugh," as if he were sympathizing 
 with their efforts to tug along. The Emperor is 
 
RETURNING TO ROME—SETTE VENE. 535 
 
 YCYj generous — open-lianded, — wliicli was one cause 
 of his distress that the Signora should seem other- 
 wise. He gives to the beggars, and pays harge fees 
 to our postilions, and shows a great nature in every 
 way. For his sake I wished I had paid more pauls ; 
 but on no other account, for it was not just. It 
 was good to see his care of the children. He 
 wrapped E. in shawls, and put his own thick mantle 
 
 behind for her and J to lean against, and amused 
 
 them with his discourse to his horses, and with the 
 extraordinary musketry of his enormous whip. He 
 gracefully accepted little R.'s offering of two grapes 
 in a cup made of a big chestnut-shell. He compre- 
 hended instantly the piquante fun of the thing, and 
 his face flashed with the stormy lightning of the 
 smile (aforementioned), and his manner was as 
 finished as a cavalier's. He also received from me 
 some cigars, which he woidd not smoke on the box, 
 till he had asked whether it would be offensive to 
 the Signora. When he alighted to walk up the 
 steep hills, he often took down R. at her request, 
 and trudged along with her, holding her little white 
 hand in his huge brown one ; while she was as meek 
 as a lamb, quite adoring him. When he had recov- 
 ered his spirits this morning, he resumed his inter- 
 course with the children, and his cordial deep-voiced 
 "Si, Signora," "Si, Signore," were reviving to hear 
 again — with the accompaniment of a beam from his 
 lustrous eyes. 
 
 He put J on one of the leaders of our horse- 
 
536 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 power, when the postilion was off, to please him with 
 riding for a few minutes, pretending to drive full 
 speed, and taking the real postilion on the box, for 
 a change. In every way he was genial and also 
 creative, carrying a sense of power with him ; a 
 much higher order of person than our rustic old 
 Gaetano, also good and kind, however. I dare say 
 the Emperor thought us rather scrimping to the 
 waiter of the Imperial Hot^l, and therefore he felt 
 that unease which a generous person always feels 
 when he thinks there is any meanness around him. 
 But after my remark about the Yiterban, he settled 
 his thoughts and feelings, and comforted himself, 
 as he saw no other sign of close bargaining. 
 
 Now we came in sight of a small and lovely lake, 
 the Lago di Yico, and a mangificent panorama 
 spread out before us. The lovely lake, almost sur- 
 rounded by dense, rich woods, but at our height 
 (3,000 feet above sea-level) quite revealed in its 
 pale, gleaming beauty, lay below us, very near. 
 Far beyond, stretched in every dii^ection a vast 
 plain, commingling all soft tints of green, melting 
 into bluish tones near the mountain ranges : on 
 the horizon, the entire chain of the Apennines, the 
 Alban hills, and the remotest Volcian line. The 
 vast plain was the ever-memorable Campagna, 
 wearing an air of innocence and peace, yet holding 
 beneath its emerald turf the mysterious talons of 
 death for those who were beguiled to its charms. 
 *'Lone Soracte's height," precisely like a mighty 
 
RETURNING TO ROMESETTE VENE. 537 
 
 " wind-swept wave," rose immediately from tlie level 
 land, " pausing in its curl," as if suddenly turned to 
 stone. It is only on this road from Florence tliat 
 Byron's perfect truthfulness of figure can be appre- 
 ciated ; for it was the route he followed. So im- 
 mense is the Campagna, and the distances and our 
 elevation also, that Soracte did not appear very high 
 as we looked dow^n upon it. It was not till we 
 approached nearer to it that the remoter mountains 
 no longer overtopped it. But in all relations or in 
 any relation it is a grand object, rushing up in a 
 curve from the wide plain. I have a pencil-sketch, 
 but the turquoise sky, the emerald turf with its 
 tourmaline changes, and the golden air taking ame- 
 thystine tints on the remoter hills — these I cannot 
 sketch. And the vastness, the poetry, the history, 
 the fascination cannot be sketched. They cannot 
 be put into the nib of a diamond-pointed pen, nor 
 into the finest camel' s-hair pencil. These all per- 
 sons must come and see and feel. 
 
 The azure lake holds down in its depths the city 
 of Succiuium, swallowed up by a convulsion of na- 
 ture long ago, like so many other Italian cities, and 
 the water takes the place of the former crater of a 
 volcano. Ancient writers say that, on a clear day, 
 one can see the domes and towers of the city at the 
 bottom of the lake. Why not? If I were the 
 Pope I would drain off the water and find my city. 
 It might reveal even antediluvian secrets and treas- 
 ures. How short-sighted and dull are Popes, to put 
 
 23* 
 
538 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 into their tiaras the millions that might be spent in 
 draining seas away from drowned kingdoms ! 
 
 But I was not thinking of Popes, as " I drank the 
 beauty of that spectacle" this morning ; for though 
 Home can sometimes be seen from that point of 
 view, yet I did not then see it, and I suppose the 
 purple mists blurred it out of the landscape. 
 
 We passed through the old town of Eoncigiione, 
 placed on a rock, clustering round a castle as usual, 
 with a rich dell on one side. As we drove along we 
 saw ruined palaces, and many relics of grandeur, 
 but all dilapidated and begrimed. An Etruscan 
 city once stood there, and there were sepulchral 
 chambers in the sides of the ravine. With what a 
 carefulness men buried their dead in the ancient 
 times ! What efforts to countervene the Eternal 
 word that we must return to dust, and what tender 
 love for the deserted body ! Now it is too much the 
 reverse here. In Home there is something frightful 
 in the way the dead are disposed of, unless it be a 
 dead prince or millionaire. 
 
 Between Bonciglione and Monterosso I thought 
 B. had better go inside the carriage, and, looking in, 
 we found that Ada and U. were not there. Mr. H. 
 
 and J hastened back to search for them, for it was 
 
 impossible to turn round a carriage and horses that 
 reached nearly from one post to another. B. and I 
 drove slowly on to Monterosso, and drew up there 
 
RETURNING TO ROME—SETTE VENE. 539 
 
 in its one narrow street to wait. In half an hour they 
 came to us. 
 
 At Monterosso the air was black with flies, which 
 tumbled about my hands and face in heaps. A 
 really clean man stood at the door of a cafe, by the 
 side of a comfortable-looking prelate, in fine broad- 
 cloth. Otherwise I could see nothing clean there. 
 But at the end of the vista of the street opened out 
 the campagna and the mountains. There certainly 
 are disadvantages in building eternities of stone 
 houses, which cannot decay, so that the grime of 
 Eons remains. If they were wood they would now 
 and then be burnt ; but, as it is, there is nothing for 
 them but to be swallowed up like Succinium. How 
 easy it is to see the cause of depopulating plagues 
 in these foul old towns, so pressed into a mass, 
 and cleanliness and godliness having centuries ago 
 taken flight together, leaving not even their idea be- 
 hind ! Every one of them needs a Hercules to its 
 Augean stables. It would take a demigod's nose, 
 at least, to endure such odors as vilify their atmos- 
 pheres, and a hand powerful enough to turn the 
 Mediterranean in upon them. Faugh ! for Monte- 
 rosso ; and faugh-er for Bolsena, where the people 
 had nothing clean but their eyes. I wish I could 
 cease to speak on this subject. 
 
 Here, at Sette Vene, however, it is very nice, be- 
 cause there are no houses except the hotel, and no 
 people to be seen. This night is of a clearness that 
 no person can conceive who lives anywhere else than 
 
olO NOTES m ITALY. 
 
 in Italy or Syria. The stars do not sliine pretty 
 brightly : they pierce the pellucid air with diamond 
 rays in a glow of splendor wonderful to behold. 
 Jupiter is like a wheel of prisms, each spoke a living 
 beam, restlessly burning, and each one of a different 
 hue, but changing one into the other in a lovely con- 
 fusion of crimson, violet, and gold, as if it were a 
 bonfire of jewels, blazing with a beautiful fierceness. 
 Jupiter bears the palm ; but there is every degree of 
 glory from that to lesser dignities. The half-moon 
 also shines without the thinnest veil over the dazzle 
 of her radiance. And this is the atmosphere of the 
 fatal Campagna. 
 
V. 
 
 EOME. 
 
 October 18tli. 
 We left Sette Yene on the 16th, and soon arrived 
 on the nearest rim ol an enormous crater of an ex- 
 tinct volcano, several miles in diameter. In the 
 centre is the small town of Baccano, so called from 
 a temple to Bacchus once standing there. We 
 passed through it, and when we mounted the farther 
 edge, then at last we saw Bome afar off, its towers, 
 pinnacles, and the Dome — which, however, at such a 
 distance was not so proudly pre-eminent as it be- 
 came on nearer approach. I felt a keen delight at 
 seeing again the city of cities. It was a singular 
 sense of going home that I had, a sense, too, that 
 everything was there, in the dream-city, as it looked 
 in the pale mist that half veiled it and its lovely sea 
 of mountains beyond and around. On my mind it 
 had risen in stupendous grandeur before I left Flor- 
 ence, looming up far over all other places inhabited 
 by man. I can now understand the irresistible at- 
 traction it has to those who return a second time, 
 and how it must become a sort of necessity of the 
 
543 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 soul to live here — either to remain or constantly to 
 return. 
 
 All have been out to walk excepting myself, and 
 all testify to the surprising stateliness and majesty of 
 the temples, palaces, and piazzas, so that now they 
 seem first really to see Rome. I have yet to experi- 
 ence this. Now I go back. We bade the Emperor 
 bring his horses to a pause on the outer rim of the 
 crater, so that those of us within the carriage might 
 alight and see the whole circle of mountains, and the 
 broad expanse of Campagna at one glance. Costan- 
 tino took off his cap and said, " Eoma !" for he is a 
 Roman, and probably felt exultant at seeing it again. 
 
 J gave a shout, and then we all gazed in silence 
 
 for some time. I thought I saw the tower which 
 marks the site of Corioli, which brought to mind 
 that heroic story of Coriolanus as Shakspeare ren- 
 ders it. I tried to find the place of Veii, and of other 
 renowned old cities, all wiped off the plain by the 
 terrible and desolating hand of Rome, who grasped 
 every body and thing, and drew into itself what it 
 wanted of them, and pitilessly destroyed all the rest 
 utterly. Its power of appropriation, doubtless, ex- 
 ceeded that of any other known state. It builded 
 with the world's best architects, adorned itself with 
 the world's masterpieces in the arts, and fought 
 with yie world's strongest and bravest. Wherever 
 it would go, it constructed such roads that time has 
 no effect upon them, with the skilfullest heads and 
 hands that the conquered world could furnish. 
 
ROME. 543 
 
 Genius, Beaiitj, Efficiency — wherever the Imperial 
 Eagle could see them — were pounced upon and 
 swooped up into the possession and service of this 
 absorbing domination. I well remember, as a 
 youthful student, how the Koman legions, with 
 which I always sided and fougiit, seemed to me 
 the sole rightful victors, so fascinating to the 
 imagination is success. I then devoutly believed 
 that a Roman was a cunning composition of per- 
 fect honor, bravery, and virtue (not virtue in a Latin 
 meaning, but Christian). I thought a Roman never 
 ate, or rather I did not think of his eating. I sup- 
 posed he lived on glory, a kind of whip syllabub 
 which I now know could never make sinews. The 
 Conscript Fathers stood with me for all majesty, 
 patriotism, and wisdom. A sort of diffused Julius 
 Caesar perpetually dictated to the known world. 
 Roman matrons were ideal womanhood, " without 
 suspect." My eyes were holden, so that I could not 
 see the sin or the shame ; or a prism was over them, 
 through which the Empire flashed Avith the seven 
 colors with which light paints rainbows. I review 
 history now, and perceive the truth better, and the 
 six thousand crucified men of Crassus, whom it 
 pleased him to put in agony all at the same moment, 
 would forever throw into black eclipse my flashing 
 Empire, were no other of its countless crimes to be 
 brought into the account. Yet history might never 
 have destroyed my fancies, if I had not come to 
 Rome. Here I both feel how it all was, and, strange 
 
oU XOTES Zy ITALY. 
 
 to say, I am also magnetized with tlie power tliat 
 hovers invisibly in this air, like the spirit of the 
 eagle that never stooped in the hand of the Roman 
 standard-bearer. What, then, is this Rome that 
 zcill hold sway over mankind, whether or no, in past 
 and present time ? I have an idea, but it is folded 
 up in a veil, and I cannot take this moment to 
 answer my question. 
 
 So we paused, and gazed from the edge of the 
 Crater, in profound silence, upon the silvery vision 
 of sovereign Rome, reposing alone in the midst of 
 the vast desolation it has made ; and, in return for 
 slain millions, receiving, for poetically just guerdon, 
 the fatal breath of this malaria, which, it is said, will 
 eventually make the city itself uninhabitable. I 
 thought of this ; but yet I exulted, with all my heart, 
 that I w^as again looking upon it, and again hasten- 
 ing to it. 
 
 The Emperor broke my spell by suddenly asking 
 if he might drive on, and, with a salvo of small ar- 
 tillery fi'om his whip, we nished forward, J de- 
 claring that " the horses knew they were going to 
 Rome, and pricked up theu' ears and struck out 
 accordingly." We were, indeed, all so glad that I 
 think the very carriage must have sympathized, to 
 say nothing of the generous steeds. We saw soli- 
 tary towers in the plains, and short, stout columns 
 that seemed eternal memorials of some events, of 
 such a girth, that, with their rounded tops, I am 
 sure Time may try at them in vain, till Time shall be 
 
ROME. 515 
 
 no longer. If fire can dissolve stone, earth's central 
 lieart might liquefy them, were they swallowed up by 
 an earthquake. Otherwise, they stand forever. We 
 passed the traditional tomb of Nero, whose piteous, 
 wretched death always makes me feel unhappy when 
 it is brought to mind, and even makes me wish to 
 forgive and solace him. What a hell he suffered in 
 those moments ! He certainly atoned for all his 
 sins, while he listened to the tramp of those horses, 
 at the same time in mortal, cowardly fear of his own 
 sword. 
 
 Seven miles from Eome, at a sudden turn, St. 
 Peter's burst upon us with perfect distinctness, very 
 grand, and brought me back from classic Rome and 
 its horrors and enchantments for awhile. Many 
 lesser domes and campaniles came to view, but no 
 Coliseum and Claudian arches on this side. We 
 crossed the Ponte Molle, very memorable for the 
 battle between Constantine and Maxentius, fouglit 
 upon and near it, when it was the Milvian bridge. 
 Hereabouts in the Tiber, still lies imbedded the 
 seven-branched golden candlestick brought by Titus 
 from Jerusalem — a likeness of which we see sculp- 
 tured on his triumphal arch. Then we proceeded 
 along the Flaminian Way, into the Porta del Popolo, 
 and paused half an hour at the Dogano, duriug 
 which time I joyfully greeted the oldest obelisk in 
 the world, which Moses looked upon in Egypt ; now 
 standing in the centre of the piazza, with its fountain 
 and four lions, uttering continual ye^5 d'eau. 
 
546 NOTES IX ITALY. 
 
 Tlience we drove to oiu' apartments in the Piazza 
 Poli. 
 
 I must not close my notes of ti-avel without ex- 
 pressing how perpetual wonder and admii-ation were 
 excited in me by the superb roads over which we 
 drove in both routes. Not a roughness or break in 
 the smooth marmoreal sui'faces from one end to the 
 other. Xot one single jar in all the miles we have 
 voyaged, excepting the jar on the paved Cassian 
 TTay, inevitable over actual stones, how smooth so- 
 ever they may be. We went to not one intolerable 
 inn even in the smallest town ; and I can conceive 
 of no more delectable mode of exploration than this 
 vettura plan. 
 
 "We hii'e a private carriage built for such uses. 
 The body of it is hke a piivate coach, with seats 
 inside for four persons. Ours was larger, nicer, and 
 easier than usual. In front is a comfortable coupe 
 for two, open to all the prospect, but capable of 
 being entfrelv closed fr'om rain or wind bv a skil- 
 fully-contrived glass folded window, that can be let 
 down when desired. Still in front of the coupe is the 
 vetturino's box, which is large enough for two per- 
 sons ; and the stout Emperor, J , and E., all sat 
 
 together on it sometimes. At the summit of this 
 large building is a mighty receptacle for bags and 
 all '' piccola roba," and behind it safe and ample 
 harborage for tninks and clumsy luggage ; and be- 
 neath is a suspended tray or large basket for dogs, 
 or other pet beasties, to rest in — or for any " roba" 
 
ROME. 647 
 
 that can take dust and shaking. Over all the lug- 
 gage are canopies of india-rubber and leather against 
 wet, and inside the carriage are bands or straps of 
 leather net-work, for shawls and umbrellas, and 
 books and knick-knacks for constant use, affixed to 
 the roof, and pockets at the sides. Plenty of room 
 also in the coupe and under the vetturino's box for 
 carpets and sacks. Fancy all this, drawn along by 
 six and sometimes seven horses stretching out be- 
 fore, often with two oxen in addition for steep hills ! 
 Then we make a written contract with the vetturino, 
 that he shall order our meals and apartments of 
 suitable quality at all the inns; and, besides being 
 our commissary of provisions and rooms, we make 
 him our purser — all this for a certain amount agreed 
 upon. Thus we have no care, no bills, no bargain- 
 ing, and no imposition. The vetturino is our coach- 
 man, our major-domo, and our steward, and strives 
 to do well for the sake of the huon memo at the end, 
 which varies with his behavior. It is the most com- 
 plete system, especially with men so remarkable as 
 ours were, and all goes merry from morn to dewy 
 eve. The only payment we make is to the table- 
 w^aiters, and the Yiterban was the only one who gave 
 us any annoyance. I cannot conceive of a more 
 charming way of travelling, especially when one can 
 have an emperor like our Costantino, or a good old 
 Gaffer like Gaetano for master of ceremonies. We 
 write in the contract what places, and for how long, 
 we wish to stop at, and thus have everything fixed 
 
548 NOTES IN ITALY. 
 
 our own way. Those persons who care for very 
 dainty and peculiar dishes prefer to order their own 
 meals ; but they have much trouble, and are obliged 
 to spend precious time discoursing with innkeepers, 
 besides being obliged to pay thrice as much as the 
 vetturino pays for sufficient and excellent food, quite 
 satisfactory to lovers of art and landscape, rather 
 than of Apician feasts. 
 
 October 20th. — This morning to the Palazzo Cor- 
 sini, whose gallery we did not once visit last winter. 
 We went into Saint Andrea delle Palle, on the way 
 to see Domenichino's frescoes. The church stands 
 on the site of. the Curia of Pompey, where Caesar 
 feU. 
 
 At the four corners of the dome are the four 
 Evangelists, reminding one of Michel Angelo's pro- 
 2)hets. There is wonderful fire and tone in their 
 expression, and lovely little cherubs surround them. 
 In one compartment are several of these baby-forms 
 playing with a lion as with a pet-dog or a kitten. 
 That prophecy of Christian love and i:)eace has not 
 yet been fulfilled ; but the genius of Domenichino 
 presents it hourly here for consideration and imita- 
 tion. It is amazing how slow we are, though the 
 divinest forms, in marble and color, forever speak to 
 the eye, in all degrees of beauty and truth ; and 
 incredible it is that where these most abound, there 
 seems not to be more of the spirit and practice of 
 good than in less favored lands. In Italy, architec- 
 
HOME. 
 
 549 
 
 ture, sculpture, painting, music, all do tlieir utmost. 
 Thousands of Gothic pinnacles and arches point to 
 heaven. On every church-wall Christ dies for us — 
 is mocked and scourged, and bears his Cross, and 
 also rises in glory. To his written words we do 
 not listen, and to his pictured life and ideas men 
 are blind, though they blaze in splendor on every 
 side. 
 
 P. S. — ]My journal was suddenly interrupted by illness — even 
 in the midst of a sentence, and was never resumed ; wliich will 
 account for the abruptness of the close. 
 


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