Chapter II: Part 2

As soon as I was a little rested after my journey I began to see the wonderful environs, both of natural and artificial curiosities. The English society was composed of many of my friends; the Palmerstons,[26] Miss Carter, Sr. Charles Blagden, Dss. of Ancaster, Ly. Plymouth with whom I became intimate. Soon came the Bessboroughs (the old Father died), Ly. Spencer, Dss. of Devonshire, Ly. E. Foster, Mr. Pelham. In January the French fleet came and menaced Naples with a bombardment.[27] They were moored in front of my house on the Chiaia. I was brought to bed of my son Henry, on ye 10th Feb., 1793. I made my _grossesse_ a pretext for staying at home in the evening. I went out every morning to see the objects most worthy of notice, and the evening I always passed with friends who came to see me, Drew, Mr. Pelham, and Italinski,[28] a Russian who grew much attached to my society.

[Sidenote: ROAD TO PAESTUM]

_March 22nd._--We set off for Paestum. Our party consisted of the Palmerstons, Miss Carter, a Mr. Poor (a very eccentric man), and Mr. Pelham. About two miles from Pompeia the country begins to be pretty, and we got more amongst the Apennines. The road is excellent, it being made by ye King to go to a _chasse_ of his at Eboli. La Cava and Vietri are charmingly situated in their different styles; the first has all the beauties of social life, small neat cottages interspersed amongst vineyards, olives, and myrtles, upon the side of a hill inclining towards a small torrent. The whiteness of the houses contrasted with the verdure of spring vegetation in the foreground, and the boldness of the scraggy rocks behind make a lovely picture and fill the mind with pleasing sensations at the sight of comfort and tranquillity, a lot that rarely befalls the peasantry of France and England. There is an aqueduct traditionally called Abelard’s bridge; why, the learned must determine, for I never knew that victim to love left his native France. Vietri is situated upon a rock above the sea, into which it abruptly ends; it commands a noble view of the bay of Salerno. With a glass from hence one may discern the temples of Paestum on the opposite coast. Salerno is a pretty little town upon the edge of the sea; the detail of the country is charming. On the right side of the bay is Amalfi, remarkable for being the spot where the Justinian Code was discovered. The Cathedral at Salerno is curious; in it are many sarcophagi brought by Robert Guiscard from Paestum, and various columns of fine marble and granite, which are placed to form a corridor in the court of the Cathedral, but being of different sizes the whole has an awkward appearance. From Salerno ye country is less interesting; excepting a few Baronial castles perched upon the tops of scraggy, isolated rocks there is little worthy of notice.

At Eboli we were obliged to change our carriages for smaller ones on account of the roads, which to Paestum were called abominable. We crossed ye Sele in a ferry; it is a torrent frequently impassable. Here the wretched inhabitants by their emaciated and squalid looks indicated the beginning of the malaria. Their habitations were such that one could easier imagine oneself in Siberia than in delightful Italy! Delicious country! as their homes, if they deserve such an epithet, were an exact counterpart of a Tartar hut. Circular mud walls raised about three feet from the ground, thatched with reeds forming a conical summit; the only aperture a door, which answered ye double purpose of admitting the wretched owners and letting out the smoke, which was very abundant from a fire lighted in the centre of the hut. But even in this disconsolate dwelling there was an attempt to drive away the melancholy which disease and penury must naturally inspire, for on one of the poles which supported the roof and came across the interior of the dwelling there hung a guitar. I persuaded one of the peasants to strike it: I immediately perceived an illumination of joy upon the haggard countenances of his auditors. Happy instrument! to suspend for a moment the sensation of misery, and banish by its tones the anguish of want from the breasts of the forlorn inmates. As we approached Paestum the dreariness of the country quite oppressive; plains filled with buffaloes, the most hideous of animals, stagnant ditches, and stinted myrtles, were all the objects that met the eye.

[Sidenote: PAESTUM]

Paestum itself is situated in a plain about a mile from the sea, dedicated to Neptune and built by ye Phoenicians about 250 years after the foundation of Rome; 500 years before Christ. Near the amphitheatre (which is much ruined) is the remains of a building with fluted columns nearly as large as those of the temples, more upright marks still existing of their bases; the capitals much worked in extraordinary designs. Parts of the frieze lying about; figures of men from 24 to 30 inches high worked on the frieze between the triglyphs. The stone of this building is more of the colour of grey limestone, and appears less porous than that of which the temples are built, _that_ is a stone formed by incrustation of water. Paestum formerly was famous for roses, the sweetness of which is celebrated by several of the Latin poets; now alas! brambles and malaria have extinguished the fragrance of ye rose.

Our accommodation was but indifferent: I slept upon a table, the repelling points of which rather annoyed my limbs and would have convinced Boscovitch,[29] had he been in my place, of the existence of hard matter. However, I tried to sleep, tho’ its ancient inhabitants, ye Sybarites, would not have rested, if the story is true that one of them complained that a curled rose leaf destroyed their rest. The first view I had of ye temples was in ye dusk of ye evening; their appearance was majestic, but precisely what I had conceived them to be from the drawings I had seen. They are the only remains in Italy of early Grecian architecture. The Doric, to my taste, is too uneven. The columns are _squat_ and clumsy. The inhabitants are savage and ignorant.

Fix’d like a plant on his peculiar spot,
To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot,

seems exactly their state. The _cicerone_ assured us that in one of the temples there was a prodigious treasure inaccessible to men, as the Devil kept guard over it.

We saw the temples again in the morning, and then proceeded to Salerno, where we slept. I walked upon the terrace before my window and enjoyed the beauty of the night; the moon shone bright, which added to the lulling sound of the waves filled me with every pleasing and melancholy recollection. Tho’ separated by land and sea from some objects too dearly cherished, yet I was tranquil. Prudence satisfied me that all was for the best. I could not help casting an anxious thought towards my dear father stretched upon a bed of sickness, perhaps to rise no more, but the reflection of never having done anything that could disturb his peace, or render his last moments painful from my misconduct, was a relief that God grant my children may feel when they think of me in a similar situation.

Delicious as Salerno is, yet like all the goods of this life it is counterbalanced by a portion of evil, as half the year it is untenable on account of the malaria. We dined in the Temple of Isis at Pompeia, on which day I completed my 22nd year; so old and yet so silly.

On ye 1st of April, 1793, we set off for Beneventum, Lady Plymouth,[30] Italinski, Mr. Pelham, and Mr. Swinburne. Aversa is the first town of any consequence. The polichinello of the Neapolitan stage, which resembles the harlequin of the Italian, derives its origin from this town, and the dialect of this place belongs to him, as the Bergamesque does to the harlequin--which harlequin is, bye the bye, a burlesque on Charles Quint. Arienzo is the next town, only remarkable for the strange costume of the women, their dress being only two aprons tied behind and before, which leaves a considerable aperture on each side equally unpleasant and indecent. The country is a dead flat to within three miles of Arpaia.

[Sidenote: AN ITALIAN MÉNAGE]

Between Arienzo and Arpaia is the valley which is supposed to have been the scene of the disgrace of the Romans, when they were compelled by the Samnites to pass under ye yoke. The weather towards evening grew bad, and we could not get out and examine the defiles with the attention and accuracy Italinski required. The Marchese Pacca, to whom we were recommended, received us with that hearty kind of hospitality, which unfortunately for the good fellowship of society is totally banished from our _would be_ refined country. His time, himself, and all he possessed, were at our disposal. The interior of an Italian _ménage_ I only knew from buffa opera; it is worth seeing. Himself, his old palace, his antiquated _volantes_, his equipages, his stubborn mules, all were sights. The old Marchesa was also delightful, not to the eye, for she was hideous, nor to the ear, for she squalled, nor to the nose, for she was an Italian; yet, from her unbounded desire of pleasing, the _tout ensemble_ created more agreeable sensations than many more accomplished could have inspired, as there is something infinitely gratifying to our predominant sentiment of self-love to see another solicitous to please, even tho’ the attempt should prove unsuccessful. Fruitless as it was, the goodwill supplied the failure.

In consequence of the birth of a son to the Empress there was a brilliant _appartamente_ at the Queen’s.[31] I went with joy.

_1st May._--The whole proceeding was conducted with the utmost magnificence.

The post of ye 2nd brought the melancholy news of the death of one of my warmest friends, poor Ly. Sheffield! She loved me most tenderly, nor did the great disparity of years prevent me from returning with cordiality her affection.

On ye fourth of May I went to see the celebrated miracle of the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius.[32] The Duc de Sangro, in whose house we saw the miracle, gave us afterward a ball. The composition of the material puzzles the chemists. The miracle, such as it is, requires the vigour and warmth of a young hand to reduce it from its concrete state to fluidity.

_Sunday, 5th May._--Prince Esterhazy, the Imperial Ambassador, gave a splendid fête in honour of the young Archduke. The King, Queen, and Prince Royal were present: the Queen came and sat by me the greater part of the evening. She is lively and entertaining in conversation. It was whispered about the room that the atrocious Marseillais were marching upon Paris to destroy the Queen.

_6th May._--Rode out as usual; a very pretty retired ride towards the Camaldoli.

_7th._--Infamously bad weather, which made us delay our project of passing the day at Baia. We therefore confined ourselves within hail (?) of land, and dined at Pollio’s villa upon Posilippo. We rowed by the side of the charming Colline. The whole detail of the country is delightful; the bright green of the vine contrasted with the brilliant yellow of the tufa produces the most pleasing effect. Pollio’s villa is on the East side of the Colline, from whence it commanded a fine view of the chain of Apennines with the high point of St. Angelo lowering above, the towns of Pompeia, Stabia, the promontory of Minerva, and the whole of the bay including an oblique view of Capri. We attempted to row round Nisida, but a threatening storm prevented us. We rowed to the Porto Pavone, a lovely little harbour formed like a peacock’s tail, which figure gave rise to the name. We dined at Pollio’s villa during a violent thunderstorm. I conquered my fears and behaved with great intrepidity.

[Sidenote: BAIA]

The next day we embarked at Pozzuoli for Baia. At Pozzuoli, a tolerable statue of Tiberius, ornamented with bas-reliefs representing 14 cities destroyed by an earthquake and restored by him; monster as he was he could sometimes be betrayed into a good action. We passed Mons Gaurus, on which grew the Falernian wine so much praised by Horace, who either did not know what good wine was or the quality of the grape has changed, as the wine it now yields has no claim to encomium. The next summit is Monte Nuovo, raised by a terrible earthquake and eruption out of the Lucrine Lake within the space of 24 hours; its elevation destroyed a small town situated on its banks. The crater of Monte Nuovo gives one a very good notion of a volcano: the hill composed of light volcanic ashes which will soon become compact enough to be called tufa. We passed by Nero’s baths and villa.

On landing at Baia, the first object is the Temple of Venus, an octagon building; above it is a circular building dedicated to Mercury and another to Diana, of which only half remains, like the section of a building in architectural drawing. In the centre it had a cupola not unlike the form of the Pantheon. The present castle of Baia is upon the spot where Julius Caesar had a villa. Every atom of this once favoured spot was either highly decorated with fine gardens, fountains, porches, and terraces, or adorned with luxurious villas. Marius was reproached in the Senate for living in a spot so much the seat of pleasure. Sylla, Cicero, Lucullus, Pompey, Caesar, Hortensius, all had villas. The baths of Nero are between Baia and the Lucrine Lakes; the heat of the water is so great that an egg is boiled in two minutes. The sand under the sea is so heated that one could not with convenience hold it for any time. This all proves the vicinity of that powerful agent so destructive to this beautiful country: hourly may one expect some dreadful explosion that may perhaps lay the very spot I am now on many hundreds of feet below its present level, or raise it to the height of Vesuvius. The sea was rough, and the periodical storm came on an hour later than the preceding day. It is singular the degree of accuracy with which the people foretell the approach of bad weather, and even the duration of it. We returned by land. We passed the ruins of Cicero’s academic villa. How grand it must have been in its days of splendour. Atticus procured from Greece the pictures and statues; that they must have been excellent one cannot doubt, both from his fine taste and the facility with which he could obtain the finest subjects.

We went next day from Pozzuoli to Misenum: Lady Spencer declined going from a reason which I did not know till afterwards, or it doubtless would have operated in retaining me, viz., the length of the sea excursion, and the probability of a storm. The sea was very rough, and I, of course, was very nervous. We passed through pieces of what are called Caligula’s Bridge, but more likely to have been a mole beyond which he carried a bridge of boats over which he rode to fulfil a prophecy, which was, “That it was as unlikely that he should come to the Empire, as that he should ride across the Bay of Baia on horseback.”

[Sidenote: PLINY’S DEATH]

We landed at Bacoli, a place which receives its name from the oxen brought by Hercules from Geryon, King of Spain. Bacoli in Greek (if I spell it right) signifies _ox stall_. Remains are shewn of a tomb of Agrippina, Nero’s mother, but antiquaries say it has a stronger resemblance to a theatre than to a sepulchre. We wandered amidst the Elysian fields, but saw no blessed souls. All my gloomy cogitations at the prospect of futurity, brought to my mind by the fiction of poets, vanished at the sight of present danger, and the lowering black clouds menaced a fierce storm. Nor was the threat in vain, for shortly it was followed by the severest thunder, lightning, rain, and hail I had ever witnessed. We crossed the Stygian Lake in the height of it, and Charon might have expected some passengers for his infernal wherry. We landed and dined upon the ruins of Misenum close to the port. It was from this spot Pliny the elder beheld the burst of smoke from the mountain, and even felt the cinders. What a magnificent but dreadful sight it must have been. Unfortunately curiosity impelled him to approach the yawning volcano; he endeavoured to land at Herculaneum, but was prevented by the smoke and ashes, he tried Pompeia, and from thence went to his friend Pomponius at Stabia, near which he was overwhelmed and suffocated by the cinders. Near Misenum Tiberius breathed out his gloomy soul.

The next day we made an excursion into the country on horseback to see the Convent of the Camaldoli. Unfortunately the late hours of Devonshire House are transferred to the Chiaia, so we did not begin our expedition till six o’clock; when just as we arrived at the Convent the last fiery rays sank behind the promontory of Circe. What a view lay stretched at our feet! Objects that would rouse torpor itself, and call forth the energy of the poet, philosopher, painter, historian. The Campania Felix backed by the bold ridge of Apennines, with the Lake of Patria, Linternum, etc., the distant islands of Ponza and Ventotene, the nearer ones of Ischia and Procida, Baia, Misenum, Capri, and Cape Minerva. I cannot enumerate all the grand and pleasing objects. We exhausted the patience of two planets; the sun first shunned us, and then palefaced Cynthia left us, before we got home.

I never in my life experienced the degree of happiness enjoyed: it was the gratification of mind and sense. The weather was delicious, truly Italian, the night serene, with just enough air to waft the fragrance of the orange flower, then in blossom. Through the leaves of the trees we caught glimpses of the trembling moonbeams on the glassy surface of the bay; all objects conspired to soothe my mind and the sensations I felt were those of ecstatic rapture. I was so happy that when I reached my bedroom, I dismissed my maid, and sat up the whole night looking from my window upon the sea.

This frolick was unusually absurd, as I was to go early with ye D. of Devonshire, etc. to dine at Belvedere[33] with the King. I was ready at seven, but ill and faint, and obliged to eat _diavoloni_ to keep alive. We arrived too late: the King waited _an hour_. The King was very pleasant and conversable; he shewed us the whole manufactory, the mechanical part I did not much comprehend. He was so gallant to me that they joked and said I should be sent to Calabria, the common way the Queen takes to remove her rivals, tho’ she allows him to _people_ his own colony of manufacturers. Before we quitted him he insisted on our promising to dine at Carditello, and the Sunday after at St. Leucio to see the wedding. From the Belvedere we went to the English garden, which is very beautiful from being in many respects unlike one. There is one of the prettiest thoughts for an ornament I ever saw; a large building representing ancient baths, supposed to have been dug out from a stratum of tufa which covered them. It is done with the best taste and judgment possible, and is as complete a thing as can be. I returned home at night more dead than alive from fatigue.

[Sidenote: 1793 VESUVIUS]

The next day after, we went to the mountain. I invited poor Italinski. I would not go higher than the Cross, that is, I would go no further than my mule could carry me; the others went to the running lava. We all wrote our names at the Hermitage, a retreat inhabited by a man clothed in a holy garb,[34] but whom report says is not sanctified in his deeds; many rendezvous are kept in his neat, trim cell, and but for his paying he would be expelled from his nominal solitude.

Saturday was the last morning I passed in Naples. I quitted those scenes of tranquil pleasure and harmless gratification with unfeigned regret. But ah me! what can please or cheer one who has no hope of happiness in life. Solitude and amusement from external objects is all I hope for: home is the abyss of misery! I am but as a zero in society, attached to none, belonging to none I esteem. We passed the evening at Caserta with the Hamiltons; their house was not large enough to hold us all, and I lodged in Hackhert’s[35] house. _Mullady_ sang _Nina_, Paisiello’s music; her vile discordant screaming took off the whole effect of his simple melody.

On Sunday morning we went to the Belvedere to see the ceremony of the St. Leucio marriages;[36] as I went with the Duchess I was, of course, too late. They were over. The King as soon as he heard of our arrival came and met us upon the _perron_, and conducted us upstairs, where we found the Queen: her coming was an unexpected condescension on her part. The sight of the manufacturers enjoying the Festival was very pretty and gratifying. A thousand people were enjoying themselves among their families in their gala clothes, dining under the prettiest rustic arcades ornamented in the best possible taste: this number all fed, even existing, by the bounty of the King, and each pouring out the sincerest benediction upon him for his bounty. I wished this picture of happiness of his own creation might excite the disposition to extend the blessings of ease and security by encouraging industry in Calabria and other parts of his dominions, where the wretched peasant is ferocious from ignorance and sloth. He conversed with them with familiarity, and enquired into their family details, all of which he seemed perfectly acquainted with; scandal says their establishment answers the double purpose of seraglio and nursery. The Queen was, as she always is, very conversable and clever, but appears to have a most impetuous temper. We dined at 12, a very good dinner, all off his own farm; the wines were from his vineyard. The evening was not tedious, tho’ long; she brought all her children to us and shewed off their talents. At night the Court was illuminated, and the happy colonists danced tarantulas. We stayed till the Queen withdrew about 10 o’clock. She was very flattering in her compliments to me, and shook my hand with cordiality; her reason for liking me that I had been at Vienna and knew many of her old friends.

[Sidenote: A ROYAL FARM]

The next day we dined at Carditello with the King; it is a small hunting palace in the centre of his farm. The dinner was served upon a table of Merlin’s construction. No servants attend, but by pulling a bell your plate is pulled down and a clean one sent up; so with the dishes, and all you ask for. In short, it is exactly like a trap-door at a theatre. He showed us all his cows, hogs, and pigs, and his breed of stallions. He occasionally favours ladies with a sight of a strange operation to be performed upon them before women; but this we escaped. His carriages conveyed us to Capua, where we found our own. The Devonshires went on to Rome. Some arrangements required my return to Naples; Lady Plymouth drove me in her phaeton home.

The evening previous to my quitting Naples, 22nd May, I walked in the Villa Reale after supper with Ly. Plymouth, Ld. Berwick,[37] and Italinski. The latter was much dejected at my approaching absence, and I really was affected by his sorrow, as he is not a man to say lightly things he does not feel. He said when I went he should imitate Mark Antony, who after his defeat retired to Alexandria and wrote _Timoleon_ [_sic_] over his door, thereby declaring he was become a misanthrope. I was sorry at leaving Ly. P., because, tho’ I am not very prudent, I think she is less so, and I might have kept her out of the scrape she is on the brink of falling into, for Ld. Berwick remains the whole summer. Lord Palmerston, comically enough, calls them ‘Cymon and Iphigenia,’ for till their attachment began Ld. B. was never heard to speak: love roused him.

On the 23rd the Websters left Naples for Capua, ‘the
antidote to all pleasure at present from its filth and
dulness,’ and continuing their journey crossed the River
Garigliano.

The gayest scenes until Mola di Gaeta, the verdure, the festoons of vines hanging between the trees, with the glow of a crimson sun sinking into the Mediterranean. Upon my arrival at Mola I dined, and in the evening was tempted by the beauty of the moon to row upon the sea within the bay for a short time. Early in the morning, by seven, I was again in the boat, and examined the extensive remains of Cicero’s Formian Villa. The bath is the principal object; it is beautiful. It is in a covered recess _dans le fond d’un beau salon_, with columns on each side: adjoining to it there are many rooms, high and narrow, and very like those at Pompeia. The fishponds are large.

I did not go to Gaeta, distant about three miles: I regretted the impracticability of the disposition of him who invariably checks all I wish to do. There are still preserved unburied the bones of the Connétable de Bourbon, his adherents not venturing to inter in consecrated ground one who had perished in a sacrilegious act. He was killed in 1527, in the assault of Rome. Benvenuto Cellini in his entertaining Life of Himself assumes the honour of marking him with his _scoppietto_ and killing him, but this _glory_ rests upon his own assertion. There are few characters in history more deserving of compassion and indulgence than this high-spirited and unfortunate Constable. The caresses and revenge of Louisa de Savoie offended and urged him to be a traitor; the one he rejected (?), the other he resisted. Thus he became her victim beyond her wishes, for by deserting his country and adding infamy to his name, he deprived her of her hopes of making him yield to her desires.

At the extremity of Mola, in a vineyard, they show a circular tower, which is called the tomb of Cicero. Beyond it are many sepulchral monuments on each side of the road, which is made on the Appian Way. The ancients always placed their tombs on the highway, whence the common inscription ‘Siste viator.’

[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO ROME]

Fondi and Terracina were the next places of interest on the
road.

The Turks under Barbarossa made a descent on Fondi. The prize they coveted was the haughty beauty Julia di Gonzaga, wife of the Count of Fondi. She escaped their designs by hiding amongst the rocks; in revenge they pillaged and burnt the town, in 1534. From Fondi we soon reached Terracina, the ancient _Anxur_. The situation is remarkably gay and pleasing. The town is close upon the sea; just above it rises an abrupt rock on which are the ruins of a Gothic palace forming a very picturesque view. The islands appear very close. Ponza is the largest and most celebrated.

Stopped at Gensano to make Mrs. Hippisley[38] and her sister, Mde. Ciciaporcia, a visit. The road from Gensano to l’Aricia is most beautiful, through thick woods of chestnut trees, rich in foliage, and fine ilexes of an immense bulk. The freshness and luxuriance of the spring in Italy is far beyond anything we can have a notion of in England.

Just at the Villa Barberini we met Jenkins,[39] who came to meet me to beg I would dine with the Devonshires, etc., at his villa at Castel Gondolfo. The Villa Barberini stands upon the site of Domitian’s villa, the remains of which are very great. Porticoes extending above a mile, and substructions of three different rows serving as a terrace to those above. The Lago di Albano is excessively pretty: it is formed very evidently in the crater of a sunken volcano. Ly. Duncannon ill, and obliged to stay at Jenkins’. Got to Rome rather late. Very good lodgings at the English tailor’s in the Piazza di Spagna. Mr. Hippisley came as soon as I arrived, and we walked about the streets. I became impatient for daylight, and was so full of curiosity that I got no sleep the whole night. I could only think of the moonlight peeps I had enjoyed of the Coliseum, so stately, so awfully majestic.

On Sunday morning, 26th of May, I arose with alacrity, and under the ciceroneship of old Morrison began my course of _virtu_. The first place was the Colonna Palace.... _Raphael_, ‘Holy Trinity,’ for a church at Perugia, mentioned in his life. Its pendant, the _Gaspar Poussin_, is preferable to it in every respect. _P. Veronese_, ‘Venus and Cupid,’ in his very best manner.... _Salvator Rosa_, ‘St. John in the Wilderness.’ The idea is taken from Raffaelle’s at Florence: the face is very ugly and mean, the whole figure mean. Naked figures ought to elevate the subject and give an idea of sublimity beyond any drapery. This St. John looks like a man stripped of his clothes.

We dined with the Palmerstons. In the evening Morrison took us to the top of the Capitol that we might have an idea of the topography of the city and adjacent country. The view from thence is very grand.

[Sidenote: VILLA BORGHESE]

_May 28th._--Went to see some drawings in the possession of a Mr. Greaves, a person who accompanied Messrs. Berners and Tilson in their expedition into Greece, Asia Minor, and Egypt. The drawings are most accurately executed, and are assured to be faithful portraits. It was the opinion of those gentlemen after minute examination that the Pyramids are works of art, and not huge masses of rock polished and shaped into their present form. They met a young man of the name of Browne,[40] who flatters himself that he has discovered the long-sought for Temple of Jupiter Ammon, situated in an oasis in the dusts of Libya. He describes it as an oblong building like the cell of a temple, ornamented inside with bas-reliefs of ram’s horns and the other attributes of that Divinity. The remains inspire no idea either of richness or badness. Cambyses was the last who attempted to explore the sandy deserts in search of this splendid shrine; he and his army perished in the enterprise. Mr. Browne is now at Alexandria learning Arabic.

Mr. Hippisley dined with us and brought Count della Walsh, an earl made by James III., the Palmerstons, etc. The same dreadful derangement. I shall soon become mad myself if I much longer witness his paroxysms. All human miseries must have a termination; this consoles, tho’ at 22, it is a melancholy consolation. I am almost choked, suffocated by my sorrow, I have sobbed myself sick, I must to bed.

The Villa Borghese is a most delicious spot just out of the city gates. The gardens are crowded with buildings. The saloon is about the size of that at Blenheim, fitted up recently in excellent taste, excepting that gold tissue curtains are put in the niches behind the statues. In this Hall is the famous bas-relief of the _Dancing Hours_. The Borghese vase is here; the form is beautiful, but the sculpture is but moderate. _The Gladiator_ is the finest statue in Rome: his exertion is well contrasted to the grace and composure of a pensive Muse, who is placed near him.... It would be impossible to enumerate half or even a tenth part of the different objects of my admiration.

The Devonshires are arrived, Ly. Bessborough ill, very ill. I met there Santa Croce;[41] she is a singular woman of her age, as she even possesses still some remains of beauty. She has contrived to attach to her, without any share of cleverness, many distinguished men, Florida Blanca, Bernis, Azara, etc. She was instrumental in assisting the Pope to become pontiff. She speaks abominable French, and to this day calls Bernis ‘Ma chère Cardinal.’

_The Vatican._--First court built by Bramante, reviver of architecture in Italy; the appearance too light. The museum is too extensive to detail, and one is so over-powered by the beauties of perfection that there is no leisure for accurate observation, especially the first six times of going. The _Laocoon_ is _terribly_ fine. Some have objected that he appears more occupied by his own sufferings than in those of his children, but the only expression is that of a man writhing in the last agonies of a painful death. It is one of the finest specimens of the Greek school whilst at its best, supposed about Alexander’s time. His pursuits in the East left Greece in peace, and the arts flourished. The _Apollo_ deserves its reputation. It was found at Hadrian’s villa at Antium. _The Nile_ with 16 boys, very fine. _Paris_, with a Phrygian bonnet on, reckoned very like _me_. There is in the gallery at Florence a bust of Livia which is reckoned to bear a most striking resemblance to _me_.[42]...

[Sidenote: CARDINAL BERNIS]

I dined with the Senator, upon the Capitol, in his palace. He is a Rezzonico, nephew to the late Pope. Papal nepotism is suspicious. He possesses a fine portrait of the late Pope,[43] done by Mengs; it will bear comparison with many of the old pictures. The gold-flowered curtain which forms the background is a _tour-de-force_ to show his skill in making a bad thing _not_ spoil a good one, but it offends the eye, and like most difficult things surprizes without pleasing. I went often to see old Bernis,[44] a veteran in the school of political intrigue and love. He is a phenomenon, for age has not impaired his faculties or misfortune subdued his liveliness. He lodges the Mesdames, aunts of the unfortunate Louis XVI. Madame Victoire[45] is so strikingly like him that it makes one start, and a paralytic affection, keeping her head perpetually moving, fills me with painful sensations. I declined going into any society, that my time might not be too much taken up, but I went occasionally to the Santa Croce’s. Prince Augustus, a pleasing young man, very like the Prince of Wales. Lady Augusta Murray had just ensnared him: she is reported to be with child.[46] The Royalists have got Nantes, it is said.

My evening walks were delicious, wandering over the scenes of classical events.

_Vatican._--Went to see the pictures. Loggia di Raphaello. History of Old and New Testament, executed by his scholars from his designs. ‘Lot’s wife turned into a pillar of salt, finely conceived: her whole figure is a dead white,’ which sufficiently tells the story. A _Dutch_ painter would have made her a _pillar of salt_.

The _Stanze_ were occupied after the assault of Rome by Bourbon’s soldiers, and they treated the walls as they would have treated those of the commonest barracks. On them may now be seen holes in which they placed hooks to suspend their kettles, and the trace of smoke is even visible. In the garden of the Vatican the Pope takes the only exercise he can with decency; he rides early in the morning on a little ambling mule. The extent of the building is prodigious; I have heard the number of rooms called 7000, if not more.

_Borghese Palace._--The best collection of Old Masters in Rome. ‘Virgin in the clouds’: the best _Tintoret_ in Rome. Leonardo da Vinci, known generally by his swarthy hue, sharp chins, high cheek bones, and drawn-up mouths. ‘Adoration of the Shepherds,’ _James Bassano_, good picture; he understood both perspective and colouring. Titian sent his son to study under him; his green drapery remarkably fine. There is always something homely and disgusting in his compositions. A ‘Last Supper’ by him offends from unpardonable anachronisms, as it generally consists of pickled herrings or Dutch cheese.... _Titian_, ‘Holy Family’: fine, sober light. Modern artists are too fond of contrasting their lights. The light of the sun being yellow, all objects illuminated by it ought to partake of its hue. A fine _Andrea del Sarto_, a very favourite painter of mine; his outline is so soft and his expression exquisite.... The _good_ pictures are so numerous that it would require pages to enumerate them all.

The _Doria Palace_, very fine mansion, and very full of fine pictures.

[Sidenote: ROMAN COLLECTIONS]

_4th June, 1793._--_Villa Ludovici_, on the Pincian Hill. The collection consists chiefly of marbles.... _Mars reposing_, I admired extremely, though it is not in the purest manner. The figure represents the action (if it is not an Irishism) so well of being perfectly _at rest_. A group called _Papyrius and his mother_. The expression of inquisitiveness in the mother is admirable; curiosity with a tender sort of maternal authority is happily united. The expression of Papyrius is deficient. _Pætus and Arria_, so called: a beautiful, expiring, languid figure: the action of the man turning his head is well conceived. A fine ceiling by Guercino.

_Farnesina._--The ceiling of the hall is painted by Raphael, but having suffered very much the ground or sky was painted by Carlo Marat in order to give greater effect to the figures, in which it is supposed that he has succeeded, but the contours of many of the figures have suffered in the attempt. It represents the story of Cupid and Psyche. Nothing can exceed the composition and variety of expression in most of the groups. This ceiling and that at the Farnese would warrant a decision that Raphael and A. Carracci are the first masters at Rome.

_Capitol._--In the court there are many fragments of statues. A statue of _Julius Cæsar_ in the military dress. A group of a lion devouring a horse; the flesh appears in the act of being drawn by the teeth of the lion from the ribs. The countenance of the horse is deficient; it does not express the anguish he should feel. A beautiful bronze statue of the _Boy picking out the thorn in his foot_; a simple action, very justly expressed. _The Wolf belonging to the Capitol_, which Cicero mentions among the ominous portents as being struck by lightning when the Republic was in danger. The traces are still visible of the lightning upon it. _Hecuba_, very fine, the exact portrait of a withered scold....

A fine collection of pictures. ‘The Sibyll,’ of _Guercino_, the composition is not simple, the drapery clumsy. ‘Fortune,’ by _Guido_, pretty subject, prettily treated, the colouring very feeble. ‘St. Sebastian,’ by the same, and with the same defect; the countenance placid and beautiful. An old witch, by _Salvator Rosa_, which might be mistaken for a portrait of Lady Knight.[47]

In all the collections much escapes me, as I am always accompanied by one whose impetuosity compels me to hasten from objects I would willingly contemplate, and whose violence of temper throws me into agitations that prevent me distinguishing the objects when they are before me. Much as I endure now, yet it is infinitely more bearable than formerly; experience and a better knowledge of the world makes me laugh at menaces that used to terrify me out of my senses. These threats have been again and again held out; they follow the slightest difference of opinion between us.

The present reigning grievance is the being from home, and my determined love for being abroad. The truth is I suspect some great derangement in his affairs, as his means are not proportioned to his expenses. Lady Palmerston, who abhors him and sees his conduct to me, is remarkable for speaking well, even to a fault, of everybody; she says that there are three people in the world who prove that the common saying of, ‘None are so bad but have some portion of good,’ is not true. The charming trio are Mrs. North, Duchess of Marlborough, and Sir G. Webster.

[Sidenote: TIVOLI]

I set off alone with old Morrison to see Tivoli. I was to join Ly. Bessborough, etc., there. Saw the ruins of Zenobia’s villa; Adrian’s villa, which must have been the grandest work in his dominions; the Temple of Vesta, which is in the garden of the inn; the cavern of Neptune. In the morning early I set off upon a _somarello_ to see the Cascatelle. The villa of Mæcenas is a picturesque object above them, but the present Pope is doing all to destroy it, as it is to be converted into a gunpowder manufactory. A beautiful group of cypresses in the gardens of Este.

I have omitted making notes of _more_ than half the things I saw, Pantheon, Castle of St. Angelo, etc., etc., without end.

On the 14th of June, 1793, we quitted Rome: our route was to Florence. The Perugia road is not furnished with post horses, we therefore went with _vetturini_, a very slow, wearisome mode of conveyance, but not without its advantages in a pretty country. We crossed the Tiber on the Milvian Bridge,[48] on which the ambassadors from the Allobroges (Savoy) were arrested; and their papers seized discovered the Catiline conspiracy. The Campagna on this side of Rome exhibits much variety of hill and dale, but it is wretchedly cultivated. In ancient times it was well shaded with groves and forests; towers and tombs and various remains of Roman buildings are seen here. We crossed a bridge about nine miles from Rome built upon a stratum of lava. We then ascended the crater of a very large volcano, descended into it, and traversed it, by an old house thrown down about five years ago by an earthquake. On the right of the road to Monte Rosa are seen the remains of the Æmilian Way, made by Paulus Æmilius after his conquest of Greece, about 150 years before the Christian era. Soracte we left greatly to the right; it appears an isolated mountain in a plain.

About sunset I got out and walked: delicious evening. I partook of the serenity around, tho’ my heart felt the want of some object to open itself into; for in spite of my cold maxims of solitary comforts, I often detect my wishes wandering to some imaginary happiness. I strive to repress, but often feel, a strong desire to be dependent upon another for happiness; but circumstanced as I am the thought must be checked and selfish independence alone encouraged. The want of passion in my constitution will always save me from the calamity of letting my heart run away with my reason, but what will be my resource if both head and heart accord in their choice? Hitherto the only foible I have been drawn into was of too short a duration to be alarming; besides absence interposed and drew me from a danger I might have fallen into then, but could not now. A revolution has happened in my whole system; my opinions are more formed, and tho’ I am conscious they retain still a portion of absurdity, yet I have adopted some that will be useful.

[Sidenote: SUNSET EFFECTS]

We met an Abbé with his pupils, who advised us to take some water from the neighbouring town, as the spring was famous for excellent water. Nepe, the name of the town, showed itself through some trees; a fine ruined tower covered with thick ivy peeped thro’ the festoons of vines, a pretty foreground to the picturesque ruin. The tower is part of a castle built by the Farnese family, now fallen into decay. The wealth of that house has sunk into the Spanish branch of Bourbon; the vixen Princess of Parma conveyed it by her marriage with Philip V. It is at present vested in the King of Naples. A modern aqueduct, not unlike the Pont du Gard. Charming view up the bed of a river, in which there are large spacious caverns grown over with rich foliage. The contrast of the luxurious verdure of the leaves with the bright yellow of the soil produced a charming effect. This lovely prospect was terminated by Soracte, rising majestically behind some tall elms; the purple tinge from the last rays of the sinking sun was strongly dyed upon it. The whole Western horizon glowed with its lustre--a more glorious sight nature never yielded to the eye of man. I remember, one evening at Dresden, being enraptured by the beauty of a pretty circumstance of the two lights. One fine evening in August upon the bridge we walked to enjoy the freshness: from the West the last rays of the sun were darting upon the water, to which it had imparted its glowing tints; on the other side the moon had risen from a pink cloud and her pale, silvery light was beaming upon the glassy surface of the Elbe. There could not be a more beautiful combination of lights.

Arrived at Civita Castellana at about nine o’clock. It is situated on a steep rock, inaccessible on three sides. It is by some supposed to have been the ancient city of Veii in Etruria. Alexander VI. built a palace, which has more the appearance of a fortress than a habitation in peaceful times.

I got up at half-past five to examine the bridge and castle. The morning was delicious; the vapours were still low, but the genial beams of the sun dissipated them shortly. The luxury of a fine morning at that hour is very great, and has the additional charm of singularity to me, as I sit up in melancholy solitude too late at night to be in the habit of tasting the dews of the morning. Crossed the Tiber over the Ponte Felice, the boundary of Latium. We soon got amongst the hills, very beautifully covered to their summits with brushwood and forest trees. At Terni we took _calèches_ to see the cascade. We first went to the top; in our way we passed the little village Papigno, which in ’86 was very near demolished by an earthquake; there were three shocks, which successively destroyed the houses and church. From the top of the Monte del Marmore the fall is very grand; it is reckoned the grandest in Europe and scarcely yields to that of Niagara in America.[49] Caius[50] Dentatus, a Roman Consul, increased the cataract by turning the waters from the country of Rieti into the Lake Luco, by which the mass of water in the Velino was increased. We saw several rainbows in the spray. The Velino like the Anio has the property of incrustation, vulgarly called _petrifying water_. All the roots of the trees are petrified by this deposition of selenite. The Velino is very rapid. Just above the fall there is a ferry; two intrepid _Cappuccini_ would cross when the flood was roaring; they paid the forfeit of their lives for their temerity. The stream impelled the fragile bark to the brink, and they were dashed to pieces speedily; their cowls, rosary, and patron saint could not save them. We went to the foot of the mountain to look up at the cascade, a magnificent sight. We rode upon _somarelli_ through a delicious grove of orange and lemon trees, and afterwards through a small wood filled with nightingales. I was enchanted: the melody of the birds, the tranquillity and perfume of the air, and the beauty of all the objects around, suspended for a moment my habitual discontent, and I felt even happy. We dined in a little wood of myrtle and ilex, but when we assembled together the illusion of happiness vanished. How far preferable is solitude to the society of those who are too nearly connected to be objects of indifference. Love or hatred must be bestowed upon habitual inmates! Alas! Alas! Would it were true what I say in public, that my heart is shut to social affections. Every occasion that calls forth _épanchement_ proves the _besoin_ I have to belong to something that I can cherish. Mr. Hodges[51] travels with us as far as Florence. He is a good-tempered, gentlemanlike man, and full of readiness to do any little services; were he odious, I should rejoice at the society of a _tiers_.

[Sidenote: ST. FRANCIS]

The road from thence begins to ascend the Apennines, and
oxen were hired at La Strettura. The travellers dined
at Spoleto, and crossed the river Trevi, ‘the ancient
Clitumnus,’ where ‘there is a singular temple, very
perfect, upon the margin of the rivulet; it is not in the
purest taste and is probably a fabric erected in the lower
ages.’ They reached Foligno late that evening.

_Monday, 17th June._--The morning was so rainy that I imprudently indulged in a prolonged nap, which threw us back on our journey. The road lay through a rich and highly cultivated country, neither hilly nor flat, abounding in trees. Assisi, the birthplace of the celebrated St. Francis, whose fame is confined to the legend that records his miracles, etc. At the age of 25 he, by his eloquence and example, induced multitudes voluntarily to renounce the enjoyments of life and enter a system of abstinence and self-denial in every shape. All the mendicant orders owe their origin to him, as Franciscan is the generic term for Capuchins, Carmelites, Carthusians, etc. There is a new church built over his humble dwelling. We crossed a torrent over a very steep bridge.

We reached this place (Perugia) very late. I had a letter to Mr. Molloy, an Irish priest at St. Augustin: he was of use in showing me the town. This was the birthplace of Pietro di Perugino, more known by the works of his disciples than from his own merits. The town is adorned by his first and finest works. In the Convent of St. Augustin many paintings, but in a hard, stiff manner. Four heads in crayons, by _Raphael_, charmingly executed. They preserve a letter from Pietro di Perugino, written to the Prior of the Convent, begging him to send him some grain: the writing is execrable, which tempted a wag to write:--

Fu restaurator della pittura
Ma guastator della scrittura.

A fine view from the church of St. Peter’s out of the city walls. The town is situated upon a very steep hill, and is exposed to the fury of the winds.

_Tuesday, 18th._--The road from Perugia to the Lake[52] very rough; the jolts were insufferable.

A very fatiguing journey of 9 hours brought us to Comania, which is composed of a few scattered houses at the foot of Cortona. Cortona is _en l’air_, at the top of a high, bleak, black, desolate hill composed of schistos interspersed with sandstone and mica. Cortona is one of the most ancient towns in Etruria; there are still slight remains of the Etruscan walls. We set off from Comania upon _somarelli_. Our entry was in a grotesque style, a drunken _cicerone_ conducted us to a mad _chanoine_.

[Sidenote: CELARI]

Aforesaid _chanoine_, Celari, is the master academician of Etruscan antiquities; he himself is the rarest and greatest curiosity in the collection. In person he resembled Gil Perez,[53] but was inferior in _charms_. His dress was characteristic of the oddity of the wearer; a triangular hat squatted as flat upon his head as a Prussian soldier’s and about as greasy and rusty, under which a cotton night-cap vied in colour with it, jointly setting off the features of a jaundiced, paralytic visage; his head tottering from disease and imbecility. The rest of his person in unison with his upper story; a dropsical paunch gave him an uncouth waddle, his scabby hands disgusting from their leprous indication. A more disgusting assemblage I never met with before in a single object. He showed nothing remarkable but a bronze vase found in a sepulchre, a curious bas-relief round the rim. When I escaped from his clutches, I went to a very learned and civil advocate who has many chosen antiquities. A pretty Cupid in terra cotta, a shield embossed with figures, elephants’ tusks found at Trasimene probably Carthaginian, a medal of Porsena, etc., etc.

We were too late to see anything in the cathedral. I believe Pietro di Cortona was disgusted with his native city, and preferred painting for Roman palaces.

Very late when we set off in the morn. Road rough and uncomfortable. We arrived at Arezzo at 12. I was in an agony for two hours and half after my arrival, as my children did not come. I fancied every terrible accident in the catalogue of travelling disasters, and had got into a post _calèche_, _alone_, to set off and meet them, when, God be praised, just as I was getting out of the town I met their carriage and found them safe and well.