Whose fruit, burnished with golden rind,Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true,If true, here only, of delicious taste.
Whose fruit, burnished with golden rind,Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true,If true, here only, of delicious taste.
We could not stay long at Sorrento, and were four hours rowing across the Bay to Naples. Dined with Hill at the Villa Belvidere (a delicious villa on the Vomero), with a large, tiresome party, principally English.
Yesterday the miracle of the blood of San Gennaro was performed, and of course successfully; it will be repeated every morning for eight days. I went to-day to the Cathedral, where San Gennaro’s silver bust was standing on one side of the altar, surrounded by lights, and the vessel containing the blood on the other. Round the altar were ranged silver heads of various saints, his particular friends, who had accompanied him there to do him honour, and who will be taken this evening with him in procession to his own chapel. Acton and I went together, and one of the people belonging to the church seeing us come in, and judging that we wanted to see the blood, summoned one of the canons, who was half asleep in a stall, who brought out the blood, which is contained in a glass vase mounted with silver. It liquefies in the morning, remains in that state all day, and congeals again at night. A great many people were waiting to kiss the vessel, which was handed to us first. We kissed it, and then it went round, each person kissing it and touching it with his head, as they do St.Peter’s foot at Rome. San Gennaro and his silver companions were brought in procession from one of the other churches, all the nobility and an immense crowd attending. I had fancied that the French had exposed and put an end to this juggle, but not at all. They found the people so attached to the superstition that they patronised it; they adorned the Chapel of St. Januarius with a magnificent altarpiece and other presents. The first time (after they came to Naples) that the miracle was to be performed the blood would not liquefy, which produced a great ferment among the people. It was a trick of the priests to throw odium on the French, and the French General Championnet thought it so serious that he sent word that if the blood did not liquefy forthwith the priests should go to the galleys. It liquefied immediately, and the people were satisfied. Acton told me that nobody believed it but the common people, but that they did not dare to leave it off. It is what is called a false position to be in, when they are obliged to go on pretending to perform a miracle in which no men of sense and education believe, and in which it is well known they don’t any of them believe themselves. Miracles, if sometimes useful and profitable, are sometimes awkward incumbrances. Drove round the obscure parts of the town, and through dense masses of population, by the old palace of Queen Joan and the market place, which was the scene of Masaniello’s sedition. He was killed in the great church (in 1646).
To the Museum, and saw the mummies which have been unrolled; they are like thin, black, shrivelled corpses; hair and shape of face perfect, even the eyelids. The canvas fold in which they are wrapped quite fresh-looking; the best preserved is 3,055 years old. Amongst the bronzes there is a bust of Livia with a wig. Dined with Toledo, the Spanish Minister. The women put their knives into their mouths, and he is always kissing his wife’s hand—an ugly little old woman. Toledo was Romana’s aide-de-camp.
To Cumæ, and dined at the Lake of FusaroTHE BLOOD OF SAN GENNAROwith the Talbots and Lushingtons; not a pretty lake, but the country near it pretty enough. A splendid sunset, with real purple. ‘Lumine vestit purpureo.’
In the morning to the Chapel of St. Januarius, to see the blood liquefy. The grand ceremony was last Saturday at the Cathedral, but the miracle is repeated every morning in the Chapel for eight days. I never saw such a scene, at once so ludicrous and so disgusting, but more of the latter. There was the saint, all bedizened with pearls, on the altar, the other silver ladies and gentlemen all round the chapel, with an abundance of tapers burning before them. Certain people were admitted within the rails of the altar; the crowd, consisting chiefly of women, and most of them old women, were without. There is no service, but the priests keep muttering and looking at the blood to see if it is melting. To-day it was unusually long, so these old Sibyls kept clamouring, ‘Santa Trinità!’ ‘Santa Vergine!’ ‘Dio onnipotente!’ ‘San Gennaro!’ in loud and discordant chorus; still the blood was obstinate,[3]so the priest ordered them to go down on their knees and to say the Athanasian Creed, which is one of the specifics resorted to in such a case. He drawled it out with his eyes shut, and the women screamed the responses. This would not do, so they fell to abuse and entreaties with a vehemence and volubility, and a shrill clamour, which was at once a proof of their sincerity and their folly. Such noise, such gesticulations. One woman I never shall forget, with outstretched arm, distorted visage, and voice of piercing sharpness. In the meantime the priest handed about the phial to be kissed, and talked the matter over with the bystanders. ‘È sempre duro?’ ‘Sempre duro, adesso v’ è una piccola cosa.’ At last, after all the handling, praying, kissing, screaming, entreating, and abusing, the blood did melt,[4]when the organ struck up, theyall sang in chorus, and so it ended. It struck me as particularly disgusting, though after all it is not fair to abuse these poor people, who have all been brought up in the belief of the miracle, and who fancy that the prosperity of their city and all that it contains is somehow connected with its due performance. The priests could not discontinue it but by acknowledging the imposture, and by an imaginative people, who are the slaves of prejudice, and attached to it by force of inveterate habit, the acknowledgment would not be believed, and they would only incur odium by it; there it is, and (for some time at least) it must go on.
[3]I dined at Hill’s; sat next to the Duchess de Dalberg, talked of the miracle, which she told me she firmly believed. I fancied none believed it but the lowest of the people, and was (very foolishly) astonished; for what ought ever to produce astonishment which has to do with credulity in matters of religion?
[3]I dined at Hill’s; sat next to the Duchess de Dalberg, talked of the miracle, which she told me she firmly believed. I fancied none believed it but the lowest of the people, and was (very foolishly) astonished; for what ought ever to produce astonishment which has to do with credulity in matters of religion?
[4]Illarum lacrymæ meditataque murmura præstant,—Juvenal, 6.
[4]Illarum lacrymæ meditataque murmura præstant,—Juvenal, 6.
Went up to Craven’s villa (this is the villa at which the amour between the present Queen of Naples and Captain Hess was carried on), and sat there doing nothing in the middle of flowers, and sea breezes, and beautiful views. To comprehend all the luxury of thebel far nienteone must come to Naples, where idleness loses half its evil by losing all its enervating qualities; there is something in the air so elastic that I have never been at any place where I have felt as if I could make exertions so easily as here, and yet it is a great pleasure to sit and look at the Bay, the mountains, the islands, and the town, and watch its amusing inhabitants. At least half an hour of every morning is spent at my window, while I am dressing, watching the lazaroni, who fish, work, swim, dress, cook, play, and quarrel under it. At this moment the scene is as follows:—Half a dozen boats with awnings and flags moored off the landing-place, a few fishing-boats with men mending their nets, three fellows swimming about them, two with red caps on perched upon the wall playing at cards, two or three more looking on, one on the ground being shaved by a barber with a basin (the exact counterpart of Mambrino’s helmet), and two or three more waiting their turn for the same operation—always a certain number lounging about, others smoking or asleep.
Rode with a large party to Astroni, where they dined, but I did not. There were the Lushingtons, Prince and Princess Dentici (he is at the head of the Douane), Madame and Mademoiselle Galiati (she is remarkably pretty),ASTRONICount (I believe) and Countess Rivalvia, her uncle, Lord A. Chichester, Count Gregorio, and a Mr. Stuart. The park, or whatever it is called—for it is the King’s chase and full of wild boars—is one of the most beautiful and curious places about Naples. Milton’s description of the approach to Eden applies exactly to Astroni; if ever he saw it it is likely that he meant to describe it—
To the border comesOf Eden, where delicious Paradise,Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green,As with a rural mound, the champaign headOf a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides,With thicket overgrown, grotesque, and wild,Access denied; and overhead up grewInsuperable height of loftiest shade,A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascendShade above shade, a woody theatreOf stateliest view.
To the border comesOf Eden, where delicious Paradise,Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green,As with a rural mound, the champaign headOf a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides,With thicket overgrown, grotesque, and wild,Access denied; and overhead up grewInsuperable height of loftiest shade,A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascendShade above shade, a woody theatreOf stateliest view.
It is an immense crater of a volcano, the amphitheatre quite unbroken, and larger than that of Vesuvius, but covered with wood, and the bottom with very fine trees of various sorts and with fern—very wild and picturesque. There are several little hillocks, supposed to have been small craters; but although it is proved that this was a volcano from the lava under the soil and from its shape, there is no mention of it as an active volcano, and nobody can tell how many thousand years ago it was in operation. The King, with his usual good taste, is cutting down the finest trees, and has made a ride round the bottom, which he has planted with poplars in a double row, spoiling as much as he can all the beauty of the place. They dined in a shady arbour, made on purpose with branches of trees bound together, and on beds of fern, were very merry, pelting each other with oranges and cherries, and dealing about an abundance of manual jests.
Evening.—I have taken my last ride and last look at Naples, and am surprised at the sorrow I feel at quitting it, as I fear, for ever. Rode again to Astroni with Morier, and walked through the wood and tried to scale one of the sidesof the mountain, but lost the path, and could only get half-way up; it is the most beautiful place about Naples. Came back by the Strada Nuova, and saw for the last time that delicious Bay with its coast and its islands, which are as deeply imprinted on my memory as if I had passed my life among them. To-night I have stood once more by the shore, and could almost have cried to think I should never see it again—
The smooth, surface of this summer sea—
The smooth, surface of this summer sea—
nor breathe this delicious air, nor feast my eyes on the scene of gaiety, and brilliancy, and beauty around me. Nobody can form an idea of Naples without coming to it; every gale seems to bring health and cheerfulness with it, and appears ‘able to drive all sadness but despair.’
Naples, they tell me, does very well for a short time, but you will soon grow tired of it. To be sure, I have been here only three weeks, but I liked it better every day, and I am wretched at leaving it. What could I ever mean by thinking it was not gay, and less lively than Genoa? To-night, as I came home from riding, the shore was covered with lazaroni and throngs of people, dancing, singing, harping, fiddling—all so merry, and as if the open air and their own elastic spirits were happiness enough. I suppose I shall never come again, for when I have measured back the distance to my own foggy country, there I shall settle for ever, and Naples and her sunny shores and balmy winds will only be as a short and delightful dream, from which I have waked too soon.
Mola di Gaeta — Capua — Lines on leaving Naples — Return to Rome — The Aqueducts — ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ — St. Peter’s — The Scala Santa — Reasons in favour of San Gennaro — Ascent of St. Peter’s — Library of the Vatican — A racingex voto— Illness of George IV. — ApproachingCoup d’étatin France — The Villa Mills — The Malaria — Duc and Duchesse de Dalberg — The Emperor Nicholas on his Accession — Cardinal Albani — AColumbarium— Maii — Sir William Gell — Tivoli — Hadrian’s Villa — The Adventures of Miss Kelly and Mr. Swift — Audience of the Pope — Gibson’s Studio — End of Miss Kelly’s Marriage — A great Function — The Jesuits — Saint-making — San Lorenzo in Lucina — The Flagellants — Statues by Torchlight — Bunsen on the State of Rome — Fiascati — Relations of Protestant States with Rome — The French Ministry — M. de Villèle — The Coliseum — Excommunication of a Thief — The Passionists — The Corpus Domini — A Rash Marriage — Farewell to Rome — Falls of Terni — Statue at Pratolino — Bologna — Mezzofanti — Ferrara — Venice — Padua — Vicenza — Brescia — Verona — Milan — Lago Maggiore — The Simplon — Geneva — Paris.
Mola di Gaeta — Capua — Lines on leaving Naples — Return to Rome — The Aqueducts — ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ — St. Peter’s — The Scala Santa — Reasons in favour of San Gennaro — Ascent of St. Peter’s — Library of the Vatican — A racingex voto— Illness of George IV. — ApproachingCoup d’étatin France — The Villa Mills — The Malaria — Duc and Duchesse de Dalberg — The Emperor Nicholas on his Accession — Cardinal Albani — AColumbarium— Maii — Sir William Gell — Tivoli — Hadrian’s Villa — The Adventures of Miss Kelly and Mr. Swift — Audience of the Pope — Gibson’s Studio — End of Miss Kelly’s Marriage — A great Function — The Jesuits — Saint-making — San Lorenzo in Lucina — The Flagellants — Statues by Torchlight — Bunsen on the State of Rome — Fiascati — Relations of Protestant States with Rome — The French Ministry — M. de Villèle — The Coliseum — Excommunication of a Thief — The Passionists — The Corpus Domini — A Rash Marriage — Farewell to Rome — Falls of Terni — Statue at Pratolino — Bologna — Mezzofanti — Ferrara — Venice — Padua — Vicenza — Brescia — Verona — Milan — Lago Maggiore — The Simplon — Geneva — Paris.
I have dined here on an open terrace (looking over the garden and the delicious Bay), where I have been sitting writing the whole evening. The moon is just rising, and throwing a flood of silver over the sea—
Rising in cloudless majesty,Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless lightAnd o’er the dark her silver mantle threw.
Rising in cloudless majesty,Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless lightAnd o’er the dark her silver mantle threw.
We left Naples at half-past seven in the morning, went to Caserta, and walked over the palace, in which nothing struck me but the dimensions, the staircase, and a few of the rooms. The theatre is very well contrived; it is at one end of the palace, and the back of it opens by large folding doors into the garden, so that they can have any depth of stage they please, and arrange any pageants or cavalcades. Thiscould, however, only be at a theatre in a country house. Thence to Capua, and went over the Amphitheatre, which is very remarkable. It is said to be larger than the Coliseum, but the arena did not appear to me so vast. Here we are in the land of names again, and it is impossible for the imagination not to run over the grandeur, luxury, and fate of Capua, for on the very spot on which I was standing (for the chief places are ascertained) in all probability Hannibal often sat to see the games.[1]
[1]No such thing.HisCapua was nearly destroyed, and if it had an amphitheatre it would have been ruined. These ruins must have belonged to Capua the Second, which was restored by Augustus or Tiberius, and became as flourishing and populous as the first had been.—[C.C.G.]
[1]No such thing.HisCapua was nearly destroyed, and if it had an amphitheatre it would have been ruined. These ruins must have belonged to Capua the Second, which was restored by Augustus or Tiberius, and became as flourishing and populous as the first had been.—[C.C.G.]
The Italian postilions, it must be owned, are a comical set. They sometimes go faster than ever I went in England, then at others they creep like snails, and stop at the least inclined plane to put on thescarpa. The occasions they generally select for going fast are when they have six horses harnessed to the carriage, and so extend about ten yards, on slippery pavement, through very narrow streets, extremely crowded with women and children; then they will flog their horses to full speed, and clatter along without fear or shame. Nothing happens; I have remarked that nothing ever does anywhere in Italy.
I have walked over this garden [at Gaeta], which contains remains of one of Cicero’s villas, but they are only arched rooms like vaults, and not worth seeing but for the name of Cicero, and the recollection that he was murdered almost on this spot. He had good taste in his villas, for this bay is as placid and delicious as that of Baiæ. There is an ancient bath, which probably belonged to the villa; it is in the sea, and still available, when cleaned out, which just now it is not.
Left Mola at half-past seven and got here at ten minutes after seven. It was so kind as to rain last night and this morning, and lay the dust all the way. Stopped at Terracina, and went to see the ancient port, which is worth seeing. The road is pretty all the way, but the scenery in Italy wants verdure and foliage. The beautyLINES ON LEAVING NAPLESof these landscapes consists in the bold outlines, lofty mountains, abundant vegetation, and bright atmosphere, and they are always better to look at from a little distance than very near. Aricia is pretty well wooded. I found a parcel of letters with the London news; but the post is enough to drive one mad, for I got one of the 23rd of April and another of the 19th of March on the same day.
ON TAKING LEAVE OF NAPLES.(Written in a carriage between Naples and Mola di Gaeta.)‘Nascitur poeta.’Though not a spark of true poetic fireBeamed at my birth, or on my cradle fell,Though rude my numbers, and untuned my lyre,I will not leave thee with a mute farewell.I cannot see recede thy sunny shore,Nor ling’ring look my last upon thy bay,And know that they will meet my gaze no more,Yet tearless take my unreturning way.’Tis not that Love laments his broken toys,Nor is it Friendship murmurs to depart,Touching the chords of recollected joysWhich ring with sad vibration on the heart.Nor bound am I in Habit’s unfelt chain,Which o’er the fancy steals with gradual pow’r,Till local sympathy awakes in pain,That slept unconscious till the parting hour.But ’tis the charm, so great, yet undefin’d,That Nature’s self around fair Naples throws,Which now excites and elevates the mind,And now invites it to no dull repose.No exhalations damp the spirits choke,That feed on ether temp’rate and serene;No yellow fogs, or murky clouds of smoke,Obscure the lustre of this joyous scene.The God of Gladness with prolific rayBids the rich soil its teeming womb expand,While healthful breezes, cooled with Ocean’s spray,Scatter a dewy freshness o’er the land.No mountain billow’s huge uplifted crestLashes the foaming beach with sullen roar;The smooth sea sparkles in unbroken rest,Or lightly rakes upon the pebbled shore.The Ocean’s Monarch on these golden sandsSeems the luxurious laws of Love to own,[2]And yield his trident to Thalassia’s hands,To rule the waters from the Baian throne.Here the green olive, and the purple vine,The lofty poplar and the elm espouse,Or round the mulberry their tendrils twine,Or creep in clusters through the ilex boughs.A thousand flow’rs, enamelling the fields,Declare the presence of returning spring;A various harvest smiling Ceres yields,And all the groves with vocal music sing.Earth, air, and sea th’ enchantment of the clime,Revived that young elation of the breastWhen Hope, undaunted, saw the form of TimeIn Fancy’s gay, deluding colours drest,And though those visions are for ever fledWhich in the morning of existence rose,And all the false and flatt’ring hopes are deadThat vainly promised a serener close.I’ll snatch the joys which spite of fate remainTo cheer life’s darkness with a transient ray,And oft in vivid fancy roam againThrough these blest regions when I’m far away.
ON TAKING LEAVE OF NAPLES.(Written in a carriage between Naples and Mola di Gaeta.)‘Nascitur poeta.’
Though not a spark of true poetic fireBeamed at my birth, or on my cradle fell,Though rude my numbers, and untuned my lyre,I will not leave thee with a mute farewell.
I cannot see recede thy sunny shore,Nor ling’ring look my last upon thy bay,And know that they will meet my gaze no more,Yet tearless take my unreturning way.
’Tis not that Love laments his broken toys,Nor is it Friendship murmurs to depart,Touching the chords of recollected joysWhich ring with sad vibration on the heart.
Nor bound am I in Habit’s unfelt chain,Which o’er the fancy steals with gradual pow’r,Till local sympathy awakes in pain,That slept unconscious till the parting hour.
But ’tis the charm, so great, yet undefin’d,That Nature’s self around fair Naples throws,Which now excites and elevates the mind,And now invites it to no dull repose.
No exhalations damp the spirits choke,That feed on ether temp’rate and serene;No yellow fogs, or murky clouds of smoke,Obscure the lustre of this joyous scene.
The God of Gladness with prolific rayBids the rich soil its teeming womb expand,While healthful breezes, cooled with Ocean’s spray,Scatter a dewy freshness o’er the land.
No mountain billow’s huge uplifted crestLashes the foaming beach with sullen roar;The smooth sea sparkles in unbroken rest,Or lightly rakes upon the pebbled shore.
The Ocean’s Monarch on these golden sandsSeems the luxurious laws of Love to own,[2]And yield his trident to Thalassia’s hands,To rule the waters from the Baian throne.
Here the green olive, and the purple vine,The lofty poplar and the elm espouse,Or round the mulberry their tendrils twine,Or creep in clusters through the ilex boughs.
A thousand flow’rs, enamelling the fields,Declare the presence of returning spring;A various harvest smiling Ceres yields,And all the groves with vocal music sing.
Earth, air, and sea th’ enchantment of the clime,Revived that young elation of the breastWhen Hope, undaunted, saw the form of TimeIn Fancy’s gay, deluding colours drest,
And though those visions are for ever fledWhich in the morning of existence rose,And all the false and flatt’ring hopes are deadThat vainly promised a serener close.
I’ll snatch the joys which spite of fate remainTo cheer life’s darkness with a transient ray,And oft in vivid fancy roam againThrough these blest regions when I’m far away.
[2]The Temple of Venus stands upon the shore of the Bay of Baiæ.
[2]The Temple of Venus stands upon the shore of the Bay of Baiæ.
Walked about visiting to announce my return, and found nobody at home. Hired a horse and rode with Lovaine till near eight o’clock; rode byTHE AQUEDUCTSthe Via Sacra two or three miles along the Street of Tombs—very interesting and curious—and then cut across to the ruin of an old villa, where an apartment floored with marble has lately been discovered, evidently a bath, and a very large one; on to Torlonia’sscavoand under the arches of the Claudian aqueduct. Nothing at Rome delights and astonishes me more than the aqueducts, the way they stretch over the Campagna—[3]
As some earth-born giants spreadTheir mighty arms along th’ indented mead.
As some earth-born giants spreadTheir mighty arms along th’ indented mead.
[3]The Claudian aqueduct, which is the grandest, and whose enormous remains form the great ornament of the Campagna, was begun by Caligula, and finished by Claudius. The structure of the arches is exactly like those of the Coliseum. The first aqueduct was built by Appius Cæcus, the censor, the same who laid down the Via Appia, 310 B.C.
[3]The Claudian aqueduct, which is the grandest, and whose enormous remains form the great ornament of the Campagna, was begun by Caligula, and finished by Claudius. The structure of the arches is exactly like those of the Coliseum. The first aqueduct was built by Appius Cæcus, the censor, the same who laid down the Via Appia, 310 B.C.
And when you approach them how admirable are their vastness and solidity—each arch in itself a fabric, and the whole so venerable and beautiful. After all my delight at Naples I infinitely prefer Rome; there is a tranquil magnificence and repose about Rome, and an indefinable pleasure in the atmosphere, the colouring, and the ruins, which are better felt than described. We lingered about the aqueducts till dark, but there is hardly any twilight here; the sun sets, and in half an hour it is night. Almost everybody is gone or going, but the heat can’t have driven them away, for it is perfectly cool.
As we set out on our ride we passed a little church called ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ which was built on this occasion:—St. Peter was escaping from Rome (he was a great coward, that Princeps Apostolorum), and at this spot he met Christ, and said to him, ‘Domine, quo vadis?’ ‘Why,’ replied our Saviour, ‘I am going to be crucified over again, for you are running away, and won’t stay to do my business here;’ on which St. Peter returned to suffer in his own person, and the church was built in commemoration of the event. The Saint has no reason to be flattered at the character which is given of him by the pious editors of his Epistles. ‘Confidence and zeal form a conspicuous part of his character, but hewas sometimes deficient in firmness and resolution. He had the faith to walk upon the water, but when the sea grew boisterous his faith deserted him and he became afraid. He was forward to acknowledge Jesus to be the Messiah, and declared himself ready to die in that profession, and yet soon after he thrice denied, and with oaths, that he knew anything of Jesus. The warmth of his temper led him to cut off the ear of the High Priest’s servant, and by his timidity and dissimulation respecting the Gentile converts at Antioch he incurred the censure of the eager and resolute St. Paul.’
We returned through the Porta di San Giovanni, and by the Scala Santa. There are three flights of steps; those in the middle are covered with wood (that the marble may not be worn out), and these are the holy steps; the other two are for the pious to walk down. I had no idea anybody ever went up on their knees, though I was aware they were not allowed to go up on their feet, and with no small surprise saw several devout females in the performance of this ceremony. They walk up the vestibule, drop upon their knees, rise and walk over the landing-place, carefully tuck up their gowns, drop again, and then up they toil in the most absurd and ridiculous postures imaginable.
Weak in their limbs, but in devotion strong,On their bare hands and feet they crawl along.Dryden,Juv. 6.
Weak in their limbs, but in devotion strong,On their bare hands and feet they crawl along.Dryden,Juv. 6.
I suppose there is some spiritual advantage derivable from the action, but I don’t know what. Why, however, I should be surprised I can’t tell, after all I have seen here. Madame de Dalberg came to my recollection, and San Gennaro; she had owned to me that she believed in the miracle, and we had a long dispute about it, though I have since thought that I am wrong to regard her credulity with such pity and contempt. The case admits of an argument, though not that which she made use of. Many people are right in what they do, but without knowing why; some wrong, with very fair reasons. She, however, is wrong bothMODERN MIRACLESways, but she had been brought up in principles of strong religious belief, and she belongs to a church which teaches that miracles have never ceased from the days of the Apostles till now. Those who believe that a miracle ever was performed cannot doubt that anothermaybe performed now; the only question is as to the fact.Webelieve that miracles ceased with the Apostles, and we pronounce all that are alleged to have happened since to be fictitious. Believing as she does that miracles have continually occurred, it is more reasonable to believe in the reality of one she sees herself than in those which are reported by others. She sees this done; it is, then, a miracle or it is an imposture; but it is declared to be a miracle by a whole body of men, who must know whether it be so or not, and to whom she has been accustomed to look up with respect and confidence, and who have always been deemed worthy of belief. What is it, then, she believes? The evidence of her own senses, and the testimony of a number of men, and a succession of them, who are competent witnesses, and whose characters are for the most part unblemished, in her opinion certainly. The objection that it is improbable, and that no sufficient reason is assigned for its performance, is quite inadmissible, as all considerations of reason are in matters of revelation.
And when the event only is revealed, it is not for men to dogmatise about the mode or means of its accomplishment, for God’s ways are not as our ways, nor His thoughts as our thoughts, and His purposes may be wrought out in a manner that we wot not.—Keith.
And when the event only is revealed, it is not for men to dogmatise about the mode or means of its accomplishment, for God’s ways are not as our ways, nor His thoughts as our thoughts, and His purposes may be wrought out in a manner that we wot not.—Keith.
There is nothing of which we are so continually reminded as that we must not pretend to judge of the reasonableness and fitness of the Divine dispensations, and there may therefore be good cause for the San Gennaro affair, though we cannot fathom it. Still, as the generality of people of education have given it up, one wonders at the orthodox few whose belief lingers on. There are other bloods that liquefy in various places besides San Gennaro’s.
Walked to Santa Agnese, in the Piazza Navona,a pretty church, but hardly anybody in it; to Santa Maria sopra Minerva, empty likewise, but Michael Angelo’s Christ was there—a grand performance, though defective about the legs, which are too thick; he has one golden foot for the devotees, who were wearing out the marble toe, and would soon have had it as smooth as that of Jupiter’s in St. Peter’s;ci-devantJupiter, now St. Peter.
I went again to the Pantheon, and walked round and round, and looked, and admired; even the ragged wretches who came in seemed struck with admiration. It is so fine to see the clouds rolling above through the roof; it passes my comprehension how this temple escaped the general wreck of Rome. Then to St. Peter’s, and went up to the roof and to the ball, through the aperture of which I could just squeeze, though there is plenty of room when once in it. The ball holds above thirty people, stuffed close of course. Three other men were going up at the same time, who filled the narrow ascent with garlicky effluvia. It is impossible to have an idea of the size and grandeur of St. Peter’s without going over the roof, and examining all the details, and looking down from the galleries. The ascent is very easy; there are slabs at the bottom taken from the holy gates, as they were successively opened and closed by the different Popes at the Jubilees.[4]At the top were recorded the ascents of various kings and princes and princesses, who had clambered up; there was also an inscription in Latin and Italian, the very counterpart of that which is still seen on the wall in Titus’s Baths, only instead of ‘Jovem omnipotentem atque omnes Deos iratos habeat,’ &c. &c., it runs, ‘Iratos habeat Deum omnipotentem et Apostolos Petrum et Paulum,’ though I don’t see why Paul should care about it. Went afterwards and walked on the Pincian.
[4]The Jubilee was established by Boniface VIII. in 1300, and was originally a centenary commemoration, but reduced to fifty years, and afterwards to twenty-five, as it still continues. Hallam remarks that the Court of Rome at the next Jubilee will read with a sigh the description of that of 1300. ‘The Pope received an incalculable sum of money, for two priests stood day and night at the altar of St. Peter, with rakes in their hands, raking up the heaps of money.’—Muratori.
[4]The Jubilee was established by Boniface VIII. in 1300, and was originally a centenary commemoration, but reduced to fifty years, and afterwards to twenty-five, as it still continues. Hallam remarks that the Court of Rome at the next Jubilee will read with a sigh the description of that of 1300. ‘The Pope received an incalculable sum of money, for two priests stood day and night at the altar of St. Peter, with rakes in their hands, raking up the heaps of money.’—Muratori.
A RACING VOWThis morning went with the Lovaines and Monsignore Spada to see the library of the Vatican, which was to have been shown us by Monsignore Maii, the librarian, but he was engaged elsewhere and did not come. These galleries are most beautiful, vast, and magnificent, and the painting of the old part interesting and curious, but that which was done by Pius VI. and Pius VII. has deformed the walls with such trash as I never beheld; they present various scenes of the misfortunes of these two Popes, and certain passages in their lives. The principal manuscripts we saw were a history of Federigo di Felto, Duke of Urbino, and nephew of Julius II., beautifully illuminated by Julio Clovio, a scholar of Giulio Romano. I never saw anything more exquisite than these paintings. Amongst the most curious of the literary treasures we saw are a manuscript of some of St. Augustine’s works, written upon a palimpsest of Cicero’s ‘De Republicâ;’ this treatise was brought to light by Maii; the old Latin was as nearly erased as possible, but by the application of gall it has been brought out faintly, but enough to be made out, and completely read: Henry VIII.’s love-letters to Anne Boleyn, in French and English: Henry’s reply to Luther, the presentation copy to the Pope (Clement VII.), signed by him twice at the end, in English at the end of the book, in Latin at the dedication, which is also written by his own hand, only a line; the pictures representing St. Peter’s in different stages of the work are very curious. In the print room there is a celestial globe painted by Julio Romano.
Just before I went to the Vatican I read in ‘Galignani’ the agreeable intelligence that my mare Lady Emily had beat Clotilde at Newmarket, which I attribute entirely to myex votoof a silver horse-shoe, which I vowed, before I went to Naples, to the Virgin of the Pantheon in case I won the match; and, as I am resolved to be as good as my word, I have ordered the horse-shoe, which is to be sent on Monday, and as soon as it arrives it shall be suspended amongst all the arms, and legs, and broken gigs, and heads, and silver hearts, and locks of hair.
Everybody here is in great alarm about the King (George IV.), who I have no doubt is very ill. I am afraid he will die before I get home, and I should like to be in at the death and see all the proceedings of a new reign; but, now I am here, I must stay out my time, let what will happen. I shall probably never see Rome again, and ‘according to the law of probability, so true in general, so false in particular,’ I have a good chance of seeing at least one more King leave us.
I rode with Lord Haddington to the Villa Mellini last evening on a confounded high-going old hunter of Lord Lynedoch’s, which he gave to William Russell. On my return found Henry de Ros just arrived, having been stopped at Aquapendente and Viterbo for want of alascia passare.
This morning I have been dragging him about the town till he was half dead. The three last days have been the hottest to which Rome is subject—not much sun, no wind, but an air like an oven. The only cool place is St. Peter’s, that is delicious. It is the coolest place in summer and the warmest in winter. We went to St. Peter’s, Coliseum, gallery of the Vatican, Villa Albani, and Villa Borghese. The Villa Albani I had not seen before; it is a good specimen of a Roman villa, full of fine things (the finest of which is the Antinous), but very ill kept up. The Cardinal has not set his foot in it for a year and a half; there is one walk of ilexes perfectly shady, but all the rest is exposed to the sun. The post brought very bad accounts of the King, who is certainly dying. I have no notion that he will live till I get home, but they tell me there will be no changes. Gagarin told me last night that Lieven is to be governor to the Emperor of Russia’s eldest son, that for the present he will retain the title of Ambassador, and that Matuscewitz will be Chargé d’Affaires in London.
Again dragging Henry de Ros about, who likes to see sights, but is not strong enough to undergo fatigue. Yesterday I called on M. de la Ferronays, and had a long conversation about French politics; he is greatlyAPPROACHING COUP D’ETAT IN FRANCEalarmed at the state of affairs in France, and told me that he had said everything he could to the King to dissuade him from changing his Ministry and trying acoup d’état, that the King has always been in his heart averse to a Constitution, and has now got it into his head that there is a settled design to subvert the royal authority, in which idea he is confirmed by those about him, ‘son petit entourage.’ He anticipates nothing but disaster to the King and disorder in the country from these violent measures, and says that France was increasing in prosperity, averse to change, satisfied with its Government and Constitution, and only desirous of certain ameliorations in the internal administration of the country, and of preserving inviolate the institutions it had obtained. He thinks the success of the expedition to Algiers, if it should succeed, will have no effect in strengthening the hands of Polignac; says they committed a capital fault in the beginning by proroguing the Chambers upon their making that violent Address in answer to the Speech, that they should immediately have proceeded to propose the enactment of those laws of which the country stands in need, when if the Chamber had agreed to them the Ministry would have appeared to have a majority, and would thereby gain moral strength; and if they had been rejected, the King would have had a fine opportunity of appealing to the nation, and saying that as long as they had attacked him personally he had passed it by, but as they opposed all those ameliorations which the state of France required, his people might judge between him and them, and that this would at least have given him a chance of success and brought many moderate people to his side. He added that he had also said the same thing to Polignac, but without success, that he is totally ignorant of France and will listen to nobody. I told him that Henry de Ros had been at Lyons when the Dauphin came, and how ill he was received by the townspeople and the troops, at which he did not seem at all surprised, though sorry.
Went to Santa Maria in Trastevere to-day, the FarnesePalace, the Farnesina and Spada, Portico d’Ottavia and Mausoleo d’Augusto; this last not worth seeing at all. The last time I was at the Spada I did not see the pictures, some of which are very good, particularly a Judith by Guido, and a Dido by Guercino, which is damaged, but beautiful. Then to Santa Maria Maggiore and St. John Lateran, and a ride over the Campagna to the Claudian aqueduct and Torlonia’sscavo.
I breakfasted with Mills at his villa on the Palatine; Madame de Menon, Henry Cheney, Fox, and the Portuguese Charge d’Affaires; very agreeable: his villa charming; it formerly belonged to Julius II., and one room is painted in fresco by Raphael and his scholars, as they say.
The Portuguese is Donna Maria’s officer. The relations of the Holy See with Portugal are rather anomalous, but sensible. The Pope says he has nothing to do with politics, does not acknowledge Don Miguel, but as he isde factoruler of Portugal, he must for the good of the Church (whose interests are not to be abandoned for any temporal considerations) transact business with him, and so he does. This Envoy is very sanguine as to the ultimate success of the Queen’s cause.
Went to the Orti Farnesiani and to Livia’s Baths, where there is still some painting and gilding to be seen. Then to the Capitol; saw the pictures and statues (again), and called on Bunsen, who told me a colossal head of Commodus could not be Commodus (which stands in the court of the Capitol); he won’t allow anything is anything. He is full of politics, and thinks the French will get rid of their domestic difficulties by colonising Africa, and does not see why they should not as well as the Romans; but he seems a better antiquary than politician.
Some pictures in the Capitol are very fine—Domenichino’s Sybil and Santa Barbara, Guercino’s Santa Petronella (copied in mosaic in St. Peter’s) and Cleopatra and Antony. There are several unfinished Guidos, some only just begun. They say he played, and when he lost and could not pay,MALARIApainted a picture; so these are the produce of bad nights, and their progress perhaps arrested by better.
To the Borghese Villa. At present I think Chiswick better than any villa here, but they tell me when I get home and see Chiswick and remember these I shall think differently.
Found it absolutely necessary to adopt Roman customs and dine early and go out after dinner; one must dine at four or at nine. Went to Raphael’s house, which is painted by his scholars, and one room by himself; a very pretty villa, uninhabited, and belongs to an old man and an old woman, who will neither live in it nor let it. Though close to the Villa Borghese, which is occupied by the malaria, this villa is quite free from it. The malaria is inexplicable. If it was ‘palpable to sight as to feeling,’ it would be like a fog which reaches so far and no farther. Here are ague and salubrity, cheek by jowl. To the Pamfili Doria, a bad house with a magnificent view all round Rome; fine garden in the regular clipped style, but very shady, and the stone pines the finest here; this garden is well kept. Malaria again; Rome is blockaded by malaria, and some day will surrender to it altogether; as it is, it is melancholy to see all these deserted villas and palaces, scarcely one of which is inhabited or decently kept. I don’t know one palace or villa which is lived in as we should live in England; the Borghese Villa is the only one which is really well kept, but Prince Borghese has 70,000ℓ. a year; he lives at Florence and never comes here, but keeps collecting and filling his villa. The other morning the ground here was in many parts covered by a thin red powder, which was known to come from an eruption, and everybody thought it was Vesuvius, and so travellers reported, but it turns out to be from Etna or Stromboli. Naples was covered with it, and the sun obscured, but it is much nearer. Rome must be 300 or 400 miles from Etna.
Went to three churches—Nuova, San Giovanni del Fiorentini, San Agostino; in this latter is Raphael’s fresco of the prophet Isaiah, in the style of M. Angelo, but it did not particularly strike me. There is a remarkable Madonna here, a great favourite; her shrine is quite illuminatedwith lamps and candles, and adorned with offerings which cover the columns on each side of the church. Numerous devotees were kissing her gilt foot, and the Virgin and Child were decked with earrings, bracelets, and jewels and gold in every shape; the Child, which is of a tawny marble, looked like some favourite little ‘nigger,’ so bedizened was he with finery. She is a much more popular Madonna than my friend of the Pantheon, to whom I went, as in honour bound, and hung up my horse-shoe by a purple riband (my racing colour) round one of the candlesticks on the altar, with this inscription—C.C.G., P.G.R.N. A.27, 1830.[5]
[5][These letters appear to stand for the following votive inscription: ‘Charles Cavendish Greville.Pro gratias receptas nuper. April 27, 1830.’]
[5][These letters appear to stand for the following votive inscription: ‘Charles Cavendish Greville.Pro gratias receptas nuper. April 27, 1830.’]
Took H. de Ros to see the Cenci and the skeleton friars, not exactly birds of a feather; was obliged to squabble with the monk to get a sight of my old friends the skeletons, who at last let us in, but would not take any money, which I thought monks never refused, but mylaquais de placesaid, ‘Lo conosco bene, c’è molto superbo.’ Rode along the Via Appia and to Maxentius’s Circus.
Called on Sir William Gell at his eggshell of a house and pretty garden, which he planted himself ten years ago, and calls it the Boschetto Gellio. He was very agreeable, with stories of Pompeii, old walls, and ruined cities, besides having a great deal to say on living objects and passing events.
Dined with M. de la Ferronays—a great party—and was desired to hand out Madame la Comtesse de Maistre, wife to the Comte Xavier de Maistre, author of the ‘Voyage autour de ma Chambre’ and ‘Le Lépreux,’ to which works I gave a prodigious number of compliments. The Dalbergs and Aldobrandinis dined there, and some French whom I did not know. The Duc de Dalberg and his wife are a perpetual source of amusement to me, she with her devotion and believing everything, he with his airmoqueurand believing nothing; she so merry, he so shrewd, and so theyACCESSION OF THE EMPEROR NICHOLASsquabble about religion. ‘Qui est cet homme?’ I said to him when a ludicrous-looking abbé, broader than he was long, came into the room. ‘Que sais-je? quelque magot.’ ‘Ah, je m’en vais dire cela à la Duchesse.’ ‘Ah, mon cher, n’allez pas me brouiller avec ma famille.’
He had been talking to me about La Ferronays the day before, and said he was a sensible, right-headed man, ‘mais diablement russe;’ and last night La Ferronays gave us an account of the revolt of the Guards on the Emperor Nicholas’s accession, of which he had been a witness—of the Emperor’s firmness and his subsequent conversations with him, all which was very interesting, and he recounted it with great energy. He said that the day after the affair of the Guards all theCorps Diplomatiquehad gone to him, that he had addressed them in an admirable discourse and with a firm and placid countenance. He told them that they had witnessed what had passed, and he had no doubt would give a faithful relation of it to their several Courts; that on dismissing them, he had taken him (La Ferronays) into his closet, when he burst into tears and said, ‘You have just seen me act the part of Emperor; you must now witness the feelings of the man. I speak to you as to my best friend, from whom I conceal nothing.’ He went on to say that he was the most miserable of men, forced upon a throne which he had no desire to mount, having been no party to the abdication of his brother, and placed in the beginning of his reign in a position the most painful, irksome, and difficult; but that though he had never sought this elevation, now that he had taken it on himself he would maintain and defend it. When La Ferronays had done, ‘L’entendez-vous?’ said Dalberg. ‘Comme il parle avec goût; cela lui est personnel. L’Empereur ne lui a pas dit la moitié de tout cela.’
La Ferronays introduced me to Cardinal Albani, telling him I had brought him a letter from Madame Craufurd, which I did, and left it when I was here before. He thought I was just come, and asked for the letter, which I told his Eminence he had already received. He had, however, forgottenall about me, my letter, and old Craaf. We had a long conversation about the Catholic question, the Duke’s duel with Lord Winchelsea (which he had evidently never heard of), the King’s illness, &c. He is like a very ancient red-legged macaw, but I suppose he is a dandy among the cardinals, for he wears two stars and two watches. I asked him to procure me an audience of the Pope, which he promised to do. Escaped at last from the furnace his room was, and went to air in the streets; came home early and went to bed. This morning got up at half-past six, and went to look out for somecolumbariaI had heard of out of the Porta Pia, and near Santa Agnese. The drones at Santa Agnese knew nothing about them, but I met La Ferronays riding as I was returning in despair, and he showed me the way to them. They have been discovered about six years, and are in a garden. The excavation may be fifteen feet by about eight or nine, more or less, and is full of broken urns and inscriptions, some of which are very good indeed. One is upon C. Cargilius Pedagogus:—