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Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents

by William Beckford · English · Gutenberg #7258 · 481,782 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Dreams, Waking Thoughts, and Incidents

Author: William Beckford


        
Release date: January 1, 2005 [eBook #7258]
                Most recently updated: May 6, 2015

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7258

Credits: Transcribed from the 1891 Ward, Lock and Co. edition by David Price


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAMS, WAKING THOUGHTS, AND INCIDENTS ***


Transcribed from the 1891 Ward, Lock and Co. edition by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org

   [Picture: William Beckford.  From the original picture by Sir Joshua
                                Reynolds]





                                 DREAMS,
                             WAKING THOUGHTS,
                                   AND
                                INCIDENTS;
                                   IN A
                            SERIES OF LETTERS
                                   FROM
                         VARIOUS PARTS OF EUROPE.


LETTER I.


_June_ 19_th_, 1780.—Shall I tell you my dreams?—To give an account of my
time is doing, I assure you, but little better.  Never did there exist a
more ideal being.  A frequent mist hovers before my eyes, and, through
its medium, I see objects so faint and hazy, that both their colours and
forms are apt to delude me.  This is a rare confession, say the wise, for
a traveller to make: pretty accounts will such a one give of outlandish
countries: his correspondents must reap great benefit, no doubt, from
such purblind observations.  But stop, my good friends; patience a
moment!—I really have not the vanity of pretending to make a single
remark, during the whole of my journey: if — be contented with my
visionary way of gazing, I am perfectly pleased; and shall write away as
freely as Mr. A., Mr. B., Mr. C., and a million others whose letters are
the admiration of the politest circles.

All through Kent did I doze as usual; now and then I opened my eyes to
take in an idea or two of the green, woody country through which I was
passing; then closed them again; transported myself back to my native
hills; thought I led a choir of those I loved best through their shades;
and was happy in the arms of illusion.  The sun set before I recovered my
senses enough to discover plainly the variegated slopes near Canterbury,
waving with slender birch-trees, and gilt with a profusion of broom.  I
thought myself still in my beloved solitude, but missed the companions of
my slumbers.  Where are they?—Behind yon blue hills, perhaps, or t’other
side of that thick forest.  My fancy was travelling after these
deserters, till we reached the town; vile enough o’ conscience, and fit
only to be passed in one’s sleep.  The moment after I got out of the
carriage, brought me to the cathedral; an old haunt of mine.  I had
always venerated its lofty pillars, dim aisles, and mysterious arches.
Last night they were more solemn than ever, and echoed no other sound
than my steps.  I strayed about the choir and chapels, till they grew so
dark and dismal, that I was half inclined to be frightened; looked over
my shoulder; thought of spectres that have an awkward trick of syllabling
men’s names in dreary places; and fancied a sepulchral voice exclaiming:
“Worship my toe at Ghent; my ribs at Florence; my skull at Bologna,
Sienna, and Rome.  Beware how you neglect this order; for my bones, as
well as my spirit, have the miraculous property of being here, there, and
everywhere.”  These injunctions, you may suppose, were received in a
becoming manner, and noted all down in my pocket-book by inspiration (for
I could not see), and hurrying into the open air, I was whirled away in
the dark to Margate.  Don’t ask what were my dreams thither:—nothing but
horrors, deep-vaulted tombs, and pale, though lovely figures, extended
upon them; shrill blasts that sung in my ears, and filled me with
sadness, and the recollection of happy hours, fleeting away, perhaps for
ever!  I was not sorry, when the bustle of our coming-in dispelled these
phantoms.  The change, however, in point of scenery was not calculated to
dissipate my gloom; for the first object in this world that presented
itself, was a vast expanse of sea, just visible by the gleamings of the
moon, bathed in watery clouds; a chill air ruffled the waves.  I went to
shiver a few melancholy moments on the shore.  How often did I try to
wish away the reality of my separation from those I love, and attempt to
persuade myself it was but a dream!

This morning I found myself more cheerfully disposed, by the queer Dutch
faces with short pipes and ginger-bread complexions that came smirking
and scraping to get us on board their respective vessels; but, as I had a
ship engaged for me before, their invitations were all in vain.  The wind
blows fair; and, should it continue of the same mind a few hours longer,
we shall have no cause to complain of our passage.  Adieu!  Think of me
sometimes.  If you write immediately, I shall receive your letter at the
Hague.

It is a bright sunny evening: the sea reflects a thousand glowing
colours, and, in a minute or two, I shall be gliding on its surface.




LETTER II.


                                                    OSTEND, _June_ 21_st_.

T’other minute I was in Greece, gathering the bloom of Hymettus, but now
I am landed in Flanders, smoked with tobacco, and half poisoned with
garlic.  Were I to remain ten days at Ostend, I should scarcely have one
delightful vision; ’tis so unclassic a place—nothing but preposterous
Flemish roofs disgust your eyes when you cast them upwards; swaggering
Dutchmen and mongrel barbers are the principal objects they meet with
below.  I should esteem myself in luck, were the nuisances of this
seaport confined only to two senses; but, alas! the apartment above my
head proves a squalling brattery, and the sounds which proceed from it
are so loud and frequent, that a person might think himself in limbo,
without any extravagance.

Am I not an object of pity, when I tell you that I was tormented
yesterday by a similar cause?  But I know not how it is; your violent
complainers are the least apt to excite compassion.  I believe,
notwithstanding, if another rising generation should lodge above me at
the next inn, I shall grow as scurrilous as Dr. Smollett, and be
dignified with the appellation of the Younger Smelfungus.  Well, let
those make out my diploma that will, I am determined to vent my spleen,
and like Lucifer, unable to enjoy comfort myself, tease others with the
details of my vexatious.  You must know, then, since I am resolved to
grumble, that, tired with my passage, I went to the Capuchin church, a
large solemn building, in search of silence and solitude; but here again
was I disappointed.  Half-a-dozen squeaking fiddles fugued and flourished
away in the galleries, and as many paralytic monks gabbled before the
altars, while a whole posse of devotees, in long white hoods and
flannels, were sweltering on either side.

Such piety, in warm weather, was no very fragrant circumstance; so I
sought the open air again as fast as I was able.  The serenity of the
evening, joined to the desire I had of casting another glance over the
ocean, tempted me to the ramparts.  There, at least, thought I to myself,
I may range undisturbed, and talk with my old friends the breezes, and
address my discourse to the waves, and be as romantic and whimsical as I
please; but it happened that I had scarcely begun my apostrophe, before
out flaunted a whole rank of officers, with ladies and abbés and puppy
dogs, singing, and flirting, and making such a hubbub, that I had not one
peaceful moment to observe the bright tints of the western horizon, or
enjoy the series of antique ideas with which a calm sunset never fails to
inspire me.

Finding, therefore, no quiet abroad, I returned to my inn, and should
have gone immediately to bed, in hopes of relapsing into the bosom of
dreams and delusions; but the limbo I mentioned before grew so very
outrageous, that I was obliged to postpone my rest till sugar-plums and
nursery eloquence had hushed it to repose.  At length peace was restored,
and about eleven o’clock I fell into a slumber, during which the most
lovely Sicilian prospects filled the eye of my fancy.  I anticipated the
classic scenes of that famous island, and forgot every sorrow in the
meadows of Enna.

Next morning, awakened by the sunbeams, I arose quite refreshed by the
agreeable impressions of my dream, and filled with presages of future
happiness in the climes which had inspired them.  No other idea but such
as Trinacria and Naples suggested, haunted me whilst travelling to Ghent.
I neither heard the vile Flemish dialect which was talking around me, nor
noticed formal avenues and marshy country which we passed.  When we
stopped to change horses, I closed my eyes upon the whole scene, and was
transported immediately to some Grecian solitude, where Theocritus and
his shepherds were filling the air with melody.  To one so far gone in
poetic antiquity, Ghent is not the most likely place to recall his
attention; and I know nothing more about it, than that it is a large,
ill-paved, dismal-looking city, with a decent proportion of convents and
chapels, stuffed with monuments, brazen gates, and glittering marbles.
In the great church were two or three pictures by Rubens, mechanically
excellent, but these realities were not designed in so graceful a manner
as to divert my attention from the mere descriptions Pausanias gives us
of the works of Grecian artists, and I would at any time fall asleep in a
Flemish cathedral, for a vision of the temple of Olympian Jupiter.  But I
think I hear, at this moment, some grave and respectable personage
chiding me for such levities, and saying, “Really, Sir, you had better
stay at home, and dream in your great chair, than give yourself the
trouble of going post through Europe, in search of inspiring places to
fall asleep.  If Flanders and Holland are to be dreamed over at this
rate, you had better take ship at once, and doze all the way to Italy.”
Upon my word, I should not have much objection to that scheme; and, if
some cabalist would but transport me in an instant to the summit of Ætna,
any body might slop through the Low Countries that pleased.

Being, however, so far advanced, there was no retracting; and as it is
now three or four years since I have almost abandoned the hopes of
discovering a necromancer, I resolved to journey along with Quiet and
Content for my companions.  These two comfortable deities have, I
believe, taken Flanders under their especial protection; every step one
advances discovering some new proof of their influence.  The neatness of
the houses, and the universal cleanliness of the villages, show plainly
that their inhabitants live in ease and good humour.  All is still and
peaceful in these fertile lowlands: the eye meets nothing but round,
unmeaning faces at every door, and harmless stupidity smiling at every
window.  The beasts, as placid as their masters, graze on without any
disturbance; and I scarcely recollect to have heard one grunting swine or
snarling mastiff during my whole progress.  Before every village is a
wealthy dunghill, not at all offensive, because but seldom disturbed; and
there they bask in the sun, and wallow at their ease, till the hour of
death and bacon arrives, when capacious paunches await them.  If I may
judge from the healthy looks and reposed complexions of the Flemings,
they have every reason to expect a peaceful tomb.

But it is high time to leave our swinish moralities behind us, and to jog
on towards Antwerp.  More rich pastures, more ample fields of grain, more
flourishing willows!—a boundless plain before this city, dotted with cows
and flowers, from whence its spires and quaint roofs are seen to
advantage.  The pale colours of the sky, and a few gleams of watery
sunshine, gave a true Flemish cast to the scenery, and everything
appeared so consistent, that I had not a shadow of pretence to think
myself asleep.

After crossing a broad, noble river, edged on one side by beds of osiers
beautifully green, and on the other by gates and turrets preposterously
ugly, we came through several streets of lofty houses to our inn.  Its
situation in the “Place de Mer,” a vast open space surrounded by
buildings above buildings, and roof above roof, has something striking
and singular.  A tall gilt crucifix of bronze, sculptured by some famous
artist, adds to its splendour; and the tops of some tufted trees, seen
above a line of magnificent hotels, have no bad effect in the
perspective.

It was almost dusk when we arrived; and as I am very partial to new
objects discovered by this dubious visionary light, I went immediately
a-rambling.  Not a sound disturbed my meditations; there were no groups
of squabbling children or talkative old women.  The whole town seemed
retired into their inmost chambers; and I kept winding and turning about,
from street to street, and from alley to alley, without meeting a single
inhabitant.  Now and then, indeed, one or two women in long cloaks and
mantles glided about at a distance; but their dress was so shroud-like,
and their whole appearance so ghostly, that I was more than half afraid
to accost them.  As the night approached, the ranges of buildings grew
more and more dim, and the silence which reigned amongst them more awful.
The canals, which in some places intersect the streets, were likewise in
perfect solitude, and there was just light sufficient for me to observe
on the still waters the reflection of the structures above them.  Except
two or three tapers glimmering through the casements, no one circumstance
indicated human existence.  I might, without being thought very romantic,
have imagined myself in the city of petrified people, which Arabian
fabulists are so fond of describing.  Were any one to ask my advice upon
the subject of retirement, I should tell him,—By all means repair to
Antwerp.  No village amongst the Alps, or hermitage upon Mount Lebanon,
is less disturbed: you may pass your days in this great city without
being the least conscious of its sixty thousand inhabitants, unless you
visit the churches.  There, indeed, are to be heard a few devout
whispers, and sometimes, to be sure, the bells make a little chiming; but
walk about, as I do, in the twilights of midsummer, and be assured your
ears will be free from all molestation.

You can have no idea how many strange, amusing fancies played around me
whilst I wandered along; nor how delighted I was with the novelty of my
situation.  But a few days ago, thought I within myself, I was in the
midst of all the tumult and uproar of London: now, as if by some magic
influence, I am transported to a city equally remarkable for streets and
edifices, but whose inhabitants seem cast into a profound repose.  What a
pity that we cannot borrow some small share of this soporific
disposition!  It would temper that restless spirit which throws us
sometimes into such dreadful convulsions.  However, let us not be too
precipitate in desiring so dead a calm; the time may arrive when, like
Antwerp, we may sink into the arms of forgetfulness; when a fine verdure
may carpet our Exchange, and passengers traverse the Strand, without any
danger of being smothered in crowds, or lost in the confusion of
carriages.

Reflecting, in this manner, upon the silence of the place, contrasted
with the important bustle which formerly rendered it so famous, I
insensibly drew near to the cathedral, and found myself, before I was
aware, under its stupendous tower.  It is difficult to conceive an object
more solemn or imposing than this edifice at the hour I first beheld it.
Dark shades hindered my examining the lower galleries or windows; their
elaborate carved work was invisible; nothing but huge masses of building
met my sight, and the tower, shooting up four hundred and sixty-six feet
into the air, received an additional importance from the gloom which
prevailed below.  The sky being perfectly clear, several stars twinkled
through the mosaic of the spire, and added not a little to its enchanted
effect.  I longed to ascend it that instant, to stretch myself out upon
its very summit, and calculate from so sublime an elevation the influence
of the planets.

Whilst I was indulging my astrological reveries, a ponderous bell struck
ten, and such a peal of chimes succeeded, as shook the whole edifice,
notwithstanding its bulk, and drove me away in a hurry.  No mob
obstructed my passage, and I ran through a succession of streets, free
and unmolested, as if I had been skimming along over the downs of
Wiltshire.  My servants conversing before the hotel were the only sounds
which the great “Place de Mer” echoed.

This universal stillness was the more pleasing, when I looked back upon
those scenes of horror and outcry which filled London but a week or two
ago, when danger was not confined to night only, and the environs of the
capital, but haunted our streets at midday.  Here, I could wander over an
entire city; stray by the port, and venture through the most obscure
alleys, without a single apprehension; without beholding a sky red and
portentous with the light of fires, or hearing the confused and
terrifying murmurs of shouts and groans, mingled with the reports of
artillery.  I can assure you, I think myself very fortunate to have
escaped the possibility of another such week of desolation, and to be
peaceably roosted at Antwerp.  Were I not still fatigued with my heavy
progress through sands and quagmires, I should descant a little longer
upon the blessings of so quiet a metropolis, but it is growing late, and
I must retire to enjoy it.




LETTER III.


                                                   ANTWERP, _June_ 23_rd_.

My windows look full upon the Place de Mer, and the sun, beaming through
their white curtains, awoke me from a dream of Arabian happiness.
Imagination had procured herself a tent on the mountains of Sanaa,
covered with coffee-trees in bloom.  She was presenting me the essence of
their flowers, and was just telling me that you possessed a pavilion on a
neighbouring hill, when the sunshine dispelled the vision; and opening my
eyes, I found myself pent in by Flemish spires and buildings: no hills,
no verdure, no aromatic breezes, no hope of being in your vicinity: all
were vanished with the shadows of fancy, and I was left alone to deplore
your absence.  But I think it rather selfish to wish you here, for what
pleasure could pacing from one dull church to another, afford a person of
your turn?  I don’t believe you would catch a taste for blubbering
Magdalens and coarse Madonnas, by lolling in Rubens’ chair; nor do I
believe a view of the Ostades and Snyders, so liberally scattered in
every collection, would greatly improve your pencil.

After breakfast this morning I began my pilgrimage to all those
illustrious cabinets.  First, I went to Monsieur Van Lencren’s, who
possesses a suite of apartments, lined, from the base to the cornice,
with the rarest productions of the Flemish school.  Heavens forbid I
should enter into a detail of their niceties!  I might as well count the
dew-drops upon any of Van Huysem’s flower-pieces, or the pimples on their
possessor’s countenance; a very good sort of man, indeed; but from whom I
was not at all sorry to be delivered.

My joy was, however, of short duration, as a few minutes brought me into
the courtyard of the Chanoin Knyfe’s habitation; a snug abode, well
furnished with easy chairs and orthodox couches.  After viewing the rooms
on the first floor, we mounted a gentle staircase, and entered an
ante-chamber, which those who delight in the imitations of art rather
than of nature, in the likenesses of joint stools and the portraits of
tankards, would esteem most capitally adorned: but it must be confessed,
that, amongst these uninteresting performances, are dispersed a few
striking Berghems and agreeable Polemburgs.  In the gallery adjoining,
two or three Rosa de Tivolis merit observation; and a large Teniers,
representing a St. Anthony surrounded by a malicious fry of imps and
leering devilesses, is well calculated to display the whimsical
buffoonery of a Dutch imagination.

I was observing this strange medley, when the Canon made his appearance;
and a most prepossessing figure he has, according to Flemish ideas.  In
my humble opinion his Reverence looked a little muddled or so; and, to be
sure, the description I afterwards heard of his style of living, favours
not a little my surmises.  This worthy dignitary, what with his private
fortune and the good things of the church, enjoys a revenue of about five
thousand pounds sterling, which he contrives to get rid of in the joys of
the table and the encouragement of the pencil.

His servants, perhaps, assist not a little in the expenditure of so
comfortable an income; the Canon being upon a very social footing with
them all.  At four o’clock in the afternoon, a select party attend him in
his coach to an alehouse about a league from the city; where a table,
well spread with jugs of beer and handsome cheeses, waits their arrival.
After enjoying this rural fare, the same equipage conducts them back
again, by all accounts, much faster than they came; which may well be
conceived, as the coachman is one of the brightest wits of the
entertainment.

My compliments, alas! were not much relished, you may suppose, by this
jovial personage.  I said a few favourable words of Polemburg, and
offered up a small tribute of praise to the memory of Berghem; but, as I
could not prevail upon Mynheer Knyfe to expand, I made one of my best
bows, and left him to the enjoyment of his domestic felicity.

In my way home, I looked into another cabinet, the greatest ornament of
which was a most sublime thistle by Snyders, of the heroic size, and so
faithfully imitated that I dare say no ass could see it unmoved.  At
length, it was lawful to return home; and as I positively refused
visiting any more cabinets in the afternoon, I sent for a harpsichord of
Rucker, and played myself quite out of the Netherlands.

It was late before I finished my musical excursion, and I took advantage
of this dusky moment to revisit the cathedral.  A flight of starlings was
fluttering about one of the pinnacles of the tower; their faint chirpings
were the only sounds that broke the stillness of the air.  Not a human
form appeared at any of the windows around; no footsteps were audible in
the opening before the grand entrance; and, during the half hour I spent
in walking to and fro beneath the spire, one solitary Franciscan was the
only creature that accosted me.  From him I learnt that a grand service
was to be performed next day in honour of St. John the Baptist, and the
best music in Flanders would be called forth on the occasion.  As I had
seen cabinets enough to form some slight judgment of Flemish painting, I
determined to stay one day longer at Antwerp to hear a little how its
inhabitants were disposed to harmony.

Having taken this resolution, I formed an acquaintance with Mynheer
Vander Bosch, the first organist of the place, who very kindly permitted
me to sit next him in his gallery during the celebration of high mass.
The service ended, I strayed about the aisles, and examined the
innumerable chapels which decorate them, whilst Mynheer Vander Bosch
thundered and lightened away upon his huge organ with fifty stops.

When the first flashes of execution were a little subsided, I took an
opportunity of surveying the celebrated “Descent from the Cross,” which
has ever been esteemed one of Rubens’s chef d’œuvres, and for which they
say old Lewis Baboon offered no less a sum than forty thousand florins.
The principal figure has, doubtless, a very meritorious paleness, and
looks as dead as an artist could desire; the rest of the group have been
so liberally praised, that there is no occasion to add another tittle of
commendation.  A swinging St. Christopher, fording a brook with a child
on his shoulders, cannot fail of attracting your attention.  This
colossal personage is painted on the folding-doors which defend the
capital performance just mentioned from vulgar eyes; and here Rubens has
selected a very proper subject to display the gigantic coarseness of his
pencil.

Had this powerful artist confined his strength to the representation of
agonizing thieves and sturdy Barabbases, nobody would have been readier
than your humble servant to offer incense at his shrine, but when I find
him lost in the flounces of the Virgin’s drapery, or bewildered in the
graces of St. Catherine’s smile, pardon me if I withhold my adoration.
After I had most dutifully observed all the Rubenses in the church, I
walked half over Antwerp in search of St. John’s relics, which were
moving about in procession, but an heretical wind having extinguished all
their tapers, and discomposed the canopy over the Bon Dieu, I cannot say
much for the grandeur of the spectacle.  If my eyes were not greatly
regaled by the Saint’s magnificence, my ears were greatly affected in the
evening by the music which sang forth his praises.  The cathedral was
crowded with devotees and perfumed with incense.  Several of its marble
altars gleamed with the reflection of lamps, and, altogether, the
spectacle was new and imposing.  I knelt very piously in one of the
aisles while a symphony in the best style of Corelli, performed with
taste and feeling, transported me to Italian climates, and I was quite
vexed, when a cessation dissolved the charm, to think that I had still so
many tramontane regions to pass, before I could in effect reach that
classic country, where my spirit had so long taken up its abode.  Finding
it was in vain to wish or expect any preternatural interposition, and
perceiving no conscious angel, or Loretto-vehicle, waiting in some dark
consecrated corner to bear me away, I humbly returned to my hotel in the
Place de Mer, and soothed myself with some terrestrial harmony; till, my
eyes growing heavy, I fell fast asleep, and entered the empire of dreams,
according to custom, by its ivory portal.  What passed in those shadowy
realms is too thin and unsubstantial to be committed to paper.  The very
breath of waking mortals would dissipate all the train, and drive them
eternally away; give me leave, therefore, to omit the relation of my
visionary travels, and have the patience to pursue a sketch of my real
ones from Antwerp to the Hague.

_Monday_, _June_ 26_th_, we were again upon the pavé, rattling and
jumbling along between clipped hedges and blighted avenues.  The plagues
of Egypt have been renewed, one might almost imagine, in this country, by
the appearance of the oak-trees: not a leaf have the insects spared.
After having had the displeasure of seeing no other objects for several
hours, but these blasted rows, the scene changed to vast tracts of level
country, buried in sand, and smothered with heath; the particular
character of which I had but too good an opportunity of intimately
knowing, as a tortoise might have kept pace with us without being once
out of breath.

Towards evening, we entered the dominions of the United Provinces, and
had all their glory of canals, track-shuyts, and windmills before us.
The minute neatness of the villages, their red roofs, and the lively
green of the willows which shade them, corresponded with the ideas I had
formed of Chinese prospects; a resemblance which was not diminished upon
viewing on every side the level scenery of enamelled meadows, with
stripes of clear water across them, and innumerable barges gliding busily
along.  Nothing could be finer than the weather; it improved each moment,
as if propitious to my exotic fancies; and, at sunset, not one single
cloud obscured the horizon.  Several storks were parading by the
water-side, amongst flags and osiers; and, as far as the eye could reach,
large herds of beautifully spotted cattle were enjoying the plenty of
their pastures.  I was perfectly in the environs of Canton, or Ning Po,
till we reached Meerdyke.  You know fumigations are always the current
recipe in romance to break an enchantment; as soon, therefore, as I left
my carriage, and entered my inn, the clouds of tobacco which filled every
one of its apartments dispersed my Chinese imaginations, and reduced me
in an instant to Holland.

                         [Picture: Deleft Haven]

Why should I enlarge upon my adventures at Meerdyke?  To tell you that
its inhabitants are the most uncouth bipeds in the universe would be
nothing very new or entertaining; so let me at once pass over the
village, leave Rotterdam, and even Delft, that great parent of pottery,
and transport you with a wave of my pen to the Hague.

As the evening was rather warm, I immediately walked out to enjoy the
shade of the long avenue which leads to Scheveling.  It was fresh and
pleasant enough, but I breathed none of those genuine woody perfumes,
which exhale from the depths of forests, and which allure my imagination
at once to the haunts of Pan and the good old Sylvanus.  However, I was
far from displeased with my ramble; and, consoling myself with the hopes
of shortly reposing in the sylvan labyrinths of Nemi, I proceeded to the
village on the sea-coast, which terminates the perspective.  Almost every
cottage door being open to catch the air, I had an opportunity of looking
into their neat apartments.  Tables, shelves, earthenware, all glisten
with cleanliness; the country people were drinking tea, after the
fatigues of the day, and talking over its bargains and contrivances.

I left them, to walk on the beach, and was so charmed with the vast azure
expanse of ocean, which opened suddenly upon me, that I remained there a
full half hour.  More than two hundred vessels of different sizes were in
sight, the last sunbeams purpling their sails, and casting a path of
innumerable brilliants athwart the waves.  What would I not have given to
follow this shining track!  It might have conducted me straight to those
fortunate western climates, those happy isles which you are so fond of
painting, and I of dreaming about.  But, unluckily, this passage was the
only one my neighbours the Dutch were ignorant of.  To be sure they have
islands rich in spices, and blessed with the sun’s particular attention,
but which their government, I am apt to imagine, renders by no means
fortunate.

Abandoning therefore all hopes at present of this adventurous voyage, I
returned towards the Hague, and, in my way home, looked into a
country-house of the late Count Bentinck, with parterres and bosquets by
no means resembling (one should conjecture) the gardens of the
Hesperides.  But, considering that the whole group of trees, terraces,
and verdure were in a manner created out of hills of sand, the place may
claim some portion of merit.  The walks and alleys have all the stiffness
and formality our ancestors admired; but the intermediate spaces, being
dotted with clumps and sprinkled with flowers, are imagined in Holland to
be in the English style.  An Englishman ought certainly to behold it with
partial eyes, since every possible attempt has been made to twist it into
the taste of his country.

I need not say how liberally I bestowed my encomiums on Count B.’s
tasteful intentions; nor how happy I was, when I had duly serpentized
over his garden, to find myself once more in the grand avenue.  All the
way home, I reflected upon the economical disposition of the Dutch, who
raise gardens from heaps of sand, and cities out of the bosom of the
waters.  I had still a further proof of this thrifty turn, since the
first object I met was an unwieldy fellow (not able, or unwilling,
perhaps, to afford horses) airing his carcass in a one-dog chair.  The
poor animal puffed and panted,—Mynheer smoked, and gaped around him with
the most blessed indifference.




LETTER IV.


                                                            _June_ 30_th_.

I dedicated the morning to the Prince of Orange’s cabinet of paintings
and curiosities both natural and artificial.  Amongst the pictures which
amused me the most is a St. Anthony, by Hell-fire Brughel, who has shown
himself right worthy of the title; for a more diabolical variety of imps
never entered the human imagination.  Brughel has made his saint take
refuge in a ditch filled with harpies and creeping things innumerable,
whose malice, one should think, would have lost Job himself the
reputation of patience.  Castles of steel and fiery turrets glare on
every side, from whence issue a band of junior devils.  These seem highly
entertained with pinking poor St. Anthony, and whispering, I warrant ye,
filthy tales in his ear.  Nothing can be more rueful than the patient’s
countenance; more forlorn than his beard; more pious than his eye, which
forms a strong contrast to the pert winks and insidious glances of his
persecutors; some of whom; I need not mention, are evidently of the
female kind.

But really I am quite ashamed of having detained you in such bad company
so long; and, had I a moment to spare, you should be introduced to a
better set in this gallery, where some of the most exquisite Berghems and
Wouvermans I ever beheld would delight you for hours.  I do not think you
would look much at the Polemburgs; there are but two, and one of them is
very far from capital; in short I am in a great hurry; so pardon me,
Carlo Cignani! if I don’t do justice to your merit; and excuse me,
Potter! if I pass by your herds without leaving a tribute of admiration.

Mynheer Van Something is as eager to precipitate my motions as I was to
get out of the damps and perplexities of Soorflect yesterday evening; so
mounting a very indifferent staircase, he led me to a suite of
garret-like apartments; which, considering the meanness of their
exterior, I was much surprised to find stored with some of the most
valuable productions of the Indies.  Gold cups enriched with gems, models
of Chinese palaces in ivory, glittering armour of Hindostan, and Japan
caskets, filled every corner of this awkward treasury.  What of all its
baubles pleased me most was a large coffer of some precious wood,
containing enamelled flasks of oriental essences, enough to perfume a
zenana, and so fragrant that I thought the Mogul himself a Dutchman, for
lavishing them upon this inelegant nation.  If disagreeable fumes, as I
mentioned before, dissolve enchantments, such aromatic oils have
doubtless the power of raising them; for, whilst I scented their
fragrance, scarcely could anything have persuaded me that I was not in
the wardrobe of Hecuba,—

              “Where treasur’d odours breath’d a costly scent.”

I saw, or seemed to see, the arched apartments, the procession of
venerable matrons, the consecrated vestments: the very temple began to
rise upon my sight, when a Dutch porpoise approaching to make me a low
bow; his complaisance was full as notorious as Satan’s, when, according
to Catholic legends, he took leave of Calvin or Dr. Faustus.  No spell
can resist a fumigation of this nature; away fled palace, Hecuba,
matrons, temple, etc.  I looked up, and lo!  I was in a garret.  As
poetry is but too often connected with this lofty situation, you won’t
wonder much at my flight.  Being a little recovered from it, I tottered
down the staircase, entered the cabinets of natural history, and was soon
restored to my sober senses.  A grave hippopotamus contributed a great
deal to their reestablishment.

The butterflies, I must needs confess, were very near leading me another
dance: I thought of their native hills and beloved flowers, of Haynang
and Nan-Hoa; {110} but the jargon which was prating all around me
prevented the excursion, and I summoned a decent share of attention for
that ample chamber which has been appropriated to bottled snakes and
pickled fœtuses.

After having enjoyed the same spectacle in the British Museum, no very
new or singular objects can be selected in this.  One of the rarest
articles it contains is the representation in wax of a human head, most
dexterously flayed indeed!  Rapturous encomiums have been bestowed by
amateurs on this performance.  A German professor could hardly believe it
artificial; and, prompted by the love of truth, set his teeth in this
delicious morsel to be convinced of its reality.  My faith was less
hazardously established; and I moved off, under the conviction that art
had never produced anything more horridly natural.

It was one o’clock before I got through the mineral kingdom; and another
hour passed before I could quit with decorum the regions of stuffed birds
and marine productions.  At length my departure was allowable; and I went
to dine at Sir Joseph Yorke’s, with all nations and languages.  The Hague
is the place in the world for a motley assembly, and, in some humours, I
think such the most agreeable.

After coffee I strayed to the great wood, which, considering that it
almost touches the town with its boughs, is wonderfully forest-like.  Not
a branch being ever permitted to be lopped, the oaks and beeches retain
their natural luxuriance, and form some of the most picturesque groups
conceivable.  In some places their straight boles rise sixty feet without
a bough; in others, they are bent fantastically over the alleys, which
turn and wind about just as a painter would desire.  I followed them with
eagerness and curiosity, sometimes deviating from my path amongst tufts
of fern and herbage.

In these cool retreats I could not believe myself near canals and
windmills; the Dutch formalities were all forgotten whilst contemplating
the broad masses of foliage above, and the wild flowers and grasses
below.  Several hares and rabbits scudded by me while I sat; and the
birds were chirping their evening song.  Their preservation does credit
to the police of the country, which is so exact and well regulated as to
suffer no outrage within the precincts of this extensive wood, the depth
and thickness of which seem calculated to favour half the sins of a
capital.

                    [Picture: Amsterdam from the Quay]

Relying upon this comfortable security, I lingered unmolested amongst the
beeches till the ruddy gold of the setting sun ceased to glow on their
foliage; then taking the nearest path, I suffered myself, though not
without regret, to be conducted out of this fresh sylvan scene to the
dusty, pompous parterres of the Greffier Fagel.  Every flower that wealth
can purchase diffuses its perfume on one side; whilst every stench a
canal can exhale, poisons the air on the other.  These sluggish puddles
defy all the power of the United Provinces, and retain the freedom of
stinking in spite of their endeavours: but perhaps I am too bold in my
assertion; for I have no authority to mention any attempts to purify
these noxious pools.  Who knows but their odour is congenial to a Dutch
constitution?  One should be inclined to this supposition by the numerous
banqueting-rooms and pleasure-houses which hang directly above their
surface, and seem calculated on purpose to enjoy them.  If frogs were not
excluded from the magistrature of their country (and I cannot but think
it a little hard that they are), one should not wonder at this choice.
Such burgomasters might erect their pavilions in such situations.  But,
after all, I am not greatly surprised at the fishiness of their site,
since very slight authority would persuade me there was a period when
Holland was all water, and the ancestors of the present inhabitants fish.
A certain oysterishness of eye and flabbiness of complexion are almost
proofs sufficient of this aquatic descent: and pray tell me for what
purpose are such galligaskins as the Dutch burthen themselves with
contrived, but to tuck up a flouncing tail, and thus cloak the deformity
of their dolphin-like terminations?

Having done penance for some time in the damp alleys which line the
borders of these lazy waters, I was led through corkscrew sand-walks to a
vast flat, sparingly scattered over with vegetation.  To puzzle myself in
such a labyrinth there was no temptation, so taking advantage of the
lateness of the hour, and muttering a few complimentary promises of
returning at the first opportunity, I escaped the ennui of this endless
scrubbery, and got home, with the determination of being wiser and less
curious if ever my stars should bring me again to the Hague.  To-morrow I
bid it adieu, and if the horses but second my endeavours, shall be
delivered in a few days from the complicated plagues of the United
Provinces.




LETTER V.


                                                    HAERLEM, _July_ 1_st_.

The sky was clear and blue when we left the Hague, and we travelled along
a shady road for about an hour, then down sunk the carriage into a
sand-bed, and we were dragged along so slowly that I fell into a profound
repose.  How long it lasted is not material; but when I awoke, we were
rumbling through Leyden.  There is no need to write a syllable in honour
of this illustrious city: its praises have already been sung and said by
fifty professors, who have declaimed in its university, and smoked in its
gardens.  So let us get out of it as fast as we can, and breathe the cool
air of the wood near Haerlem, where we arrived just as day declined.  Hay
was making in the fields, and perfumed the country far and wide with its
reviving fragrance.  I promised myself a pleasant walk in the groves,
took up Gesner, and began to have pretty pastoral ideas; but when I
approached the nymphs that were dispersed on the meads, and saw faces
that would have dishonoured a flounder, and heard accents that would have
confounded a hog, all my dislike to the walking filth of the Low
Countries returned.  I let fall the garlands I had wreathed for the
shepherds; we jumped into the carriage, and were driven off to the town.
Every avenue to it swarmed with people, whose bustle and agitation seemed
to announce that something extraordinary was going forward.  Upon inquiry
I found it was the great fair at Haerlem; and before we had advanced much
farther, our carriage was surrounded by idlers and gingerbread-eaters of
all denominations.  Passing the gate, we came to a cluster of little
illuminated booths beneath a grove, glittering with toys and
looking-glasses.  It was not without difficulty that we reached our inn,
and then the plague was to procure chambers; at last we were
accommodated, and the first moment I could call my own has been dedicated
to you.

You won’t be surprised at the nonsense I have written, since I tell you
the scene of the riot and uproar from whence it bears date.  At this very
moment the confused murmur of voices and music stops all regular
proceedings: old women and children tattling; apes, bears, and show-boxes
under the windows; French rattling, English swearing, outrageous
Italians, frisking minstrels; _tambours de basque_ at every corner;
myself distracted; a confounded squabble of cooks and haranguing German
couriers just arrived, their masters following open-mouthed; nothing to
eat, the steam of ham and flesh-pots all the while provoking their
appetite; Mynheers very busy with the realities, and smoking as
deliberately as if in a solitary lusthuys over the laziest canal in the
Netherlands; squeaking chambermaids in the galleries above, and prudish
dames below, half inclined to receive the golden solicitations of certain
beauties for admittance, but positively refusing them the moment some
creditable personage appears; eleven o’clock strikes; half the lights in
the fair are extinguished; scruples grow less and less delicate; Mammon
prevails, darkness and complaisance succeed.  Good-night; may you sleep
better than I shall.




LETTER VI.


                                                    UTRECHT, _July_ 2_nd_.

Well, thank Heaven, Amsterdam is behind us!  How I got thither signifies
not one farthing; it was all along a canal, as usual.  The weather was
hot enough to broil an inhabitant of Bengal; and the odours, exhaling
from every quarter, sufficiently powerful to regale the nose of a
Hottentot.

Under these agreeable circumstances we entered the great city.  The
Stadt-huys being the only cool place it contained, I repaired thither as
fast as the heat permitted, and walked in a lofty marble hall,
magnificently covered, till the dinner was ready at the inn.  That
despatched, we set off for Utrecht.  Both sides of the way are lined with
the country-houses and gardens of opulent citizens, as fine as gilt
statues and clipped hedges can make them.  Their number is quite
astonishing: from Amsterdam to Utrecht, full thirty miles, we beheld no
other objects than endless avenues and stiff parterres scrawled and
flourished in patterns like the embroidery of an old maid’s work-bag.
Notwithstanding this formal taste, I could not help admiring the neatness
and arrangement of every inclosure, enlivened by a profusion of flowers,
and decked with arbours, beneath which a vast number of round unmeaning
faces were solacing themselves after the heat of the day.  Each lusthuys
we passed contained some comfortable party dozing over their pipes, or
angling in the muddy fish-ponds below.  Scarce an avenue but swarmed with
female josses; little squat pug-dogs waddling at their sides, the
attributes, I suppose, of these fair divinities.

But let us leave them to loiter thus amiably in their Elysian groves, and
arrive at Utrecht; which, as nothing very remarkable claimed my
attention, I hastily quitted to visit a Moravian establishment at Siest,
in its neighbourhood.  The chapel, a large house, late the habitation of
Count Zinzendorf, and a range of apartments filled with the holy
fraternity, are totally wrapped in dark groves, overgrown with weeds,
amongst which some damsels were straggling, under the immediate
protection of their pious brethren.

Traversing the woods, we found ourselves in a large court, built round
with brick edifices, the grass-plats in a deplorable way, and one ragged
goat, their only inhabitant, on a little expiatory scheme, perhaps, for
the failings of the fraternity.  I left this poor animal to ruminate in
solitude, and followed my guide into a series of shops furnished with
gew-gaws and trinkets, said to be manufactured by the female part of the
society.  Much cannot be boasted of their handiworks: I expressed a wish
to see some of these industrious fair ones; but, upon receiving no
answer, found this was a subject _of which there was no discourse_.

Consoling myself as well as I was able, I put myself under the guidance
of another slovenly disciple, who showed me the chapel, and harangued
very pathetically upon celestial love.  In my way thither, I caught a
glimpse of some pretty sempstresses, warbling melodious hymns as they sat
needling and thimbling at their windows above.  I had a great inclination
to have approached this busy group, but the roll of the brother’s eye
corrected me.

Reflecting upon my unworthiness, I retired from the consecrated
buildings, and was driven back to Utrecht, not a little amused with my
expedition.  If you are as well disposed to be pleased as I was, I shall
esteem myself very lucky, and not repent sending you so incorrect a
narrative.  I really have not time to look it over, and am growing so
drowsy, that you will, I hope, pardon all its errors, when you consider
that my pen writes in its sleep.




LETTER VII.


                                                        SPA, _July_ 6_th_.

From Utrecht to Bois le Duc nothing but sand and heath; no inspiration,
no whispering foliage, not even a grasshopper, to put one in mind of
Eclogues and Theocritus.  “But why did you not fall into one of your
beloved slumbers, and dream of poetic mountains?  This was the very
country to shut one’s eyes upon without disparagement.”  Why so I did,
but the postillions and boatmen obliged me to open them, as soon as they
were closed.  Four times was I shoved, out of my visions, into leaky
boats, and towed across as many idle rivers.  I thought there was no end
of these tiresome transits; and, when I reached my journey’s end, was so
completely jaded that I almost believed Charon would be the next aquatic
I should have to deal with.  The fair light of the morning (Tuesday, July
4th) was scarcely sufficient to raise my spirits, and I had left Bois le
Duc a good way in arrears before I was thoroughly convinced of my
existence; when I looked through the blinds of the carriage, and saw
nothing but barren plains and mournful willows, banks clad with rushes,
and heifers so black and dismal that Proserpine herself would have given
them up to Hecate.  I was near believing myself in the neighbourhood of a
certain evil place, where I should be punished for all my croakings.  We
travelled at this rate, I dare say, fifteen miles, without seeing a
single shed: at last, one or two miserable cottages appeared, darkened by
heath, and stuck in a sand-pit; from whence issued a half-starved
generation, that pursued us a long while with their piteous wailings.
The heavy roads and ugly prospects, together with the petulant clamours
of my petitioners, made me quite uncharitable.  I was in a dark,
remorseless mood, which lasted me till we reached Brée, a shabby decayed
town, encompassed by walls and ruined turrets.  Having nothing to do, I
straggled about them, till night shaded the dreary prospects, and gave me
an opportunity of imagining them, if I pleased, noble and majestic.
Several of these waning edifices were invested with thick ivy: the
evening was chill, and I crept under their covert.  Two or three brother
owls were before me, but politely gave up their pretensions to the spot,
and, as soon as I appeared, with a rueful whoop flitted away to some
deeper retirement.  I had scarcely begun to mope in tranquillity, before
a rapid shower trickled amongst the clusters above me, and forced me to
abandon my haunt.  Returning in the midst of it to my inn, I hurried to
bed, and was soon lulled asleep by the storm.  A dream bore me off to
Persepolis; and led me thro’ vast subterraneous treasures to a hall,
where Solomon, methought, was holding forth upon their vanity.  I was
upon the very point of securing a part of this immense wealth, and
fancied myself writing down the sage prophet’s advice how to make use of
it, when a loud vociferation in the street, and the bell of a
neighbouring chapel, dispersed the vision.  Starting up, I threw open the
windows, and found it was eight o’clock (Wednesday, July 5th), and had
hardly rubbed my eyes, before beggars came limping from every quarter.  I
knew their plaguy voices but too well; and that the same hubbub had
broken my slumbers, and driven me from wisdom and riches to the regions
of ignorance and poverty.  The halt, the lame, and the blind, being
restored, by the miracle of a few stivers, to their functions, we
breakfasted in peace, and, gaining the carriage, waded through sandy
deserts to Maestricht: our view, however, was considerably improved, for
a league round the town, and presented some hills and pleasant valleys,
smiling with crops of grain: here and there, green meadows, spread over
with hay, varied the prospect, which the chirping of birds (the first I
had heard for many a tedious day) amongst the barley, rendered so
cheerful, that I began, like them, my exultations, and was equally
thoughtless and serene.  I need scarcely tell you, that, leaving the
coach, I pursued a deep furrow between two extensive corn-fields, and
reposed upon a bank of flowers, the golden ears waving above my head, and
entirely bounding my prospect.  Here I lay, in peace and sunshine, a few
happy moments; contemplating the blue sky, and fancying myself restored
to the valley at F., where I have passed so many happy hours, shut out
from the world, and concealed in the bosom of harvests.  It was then I
first grew so fond of dreaming; and no wonder, since I have frequently
imagined that Ceres did not disdain to inspire my slumbers; but, half
concealed, half visible, would tell me amusing stories of her reapers;
and, sometimes more seriously inclined, recite the affecting tale of her
misfortunes.  At midday, when all was still, and a warm haze seemed to
repose on the face of the landscape, I have often fancied this celestial
voice bewailing Proserpine, in the most pathetic accents.  From these
sacred moments I resolved to offer sacrifice in the fields of Enna; to
explore their fragrant recesses, and experience whether the Divinity
would not manifest herself to me in her favourite domain.  It was this
vow, which tempted me from my native valleys.  Its execution, therefore,
being my principal aim, I deserted my solitary bank and proceeded on my
journey.  Maestricht abounds in Gothic churches, but contains no temple
to Ceres.  I was not sorry to quit it, after spending an hour unavoidably
within its walls.  Our road was conducted up a considerable eminence,
from the summit of which we discovered a range of woody steeps, extending
for leagues; beneath lay a winding valley, richly variegated and lighted
up by the Maese.  The evening sun, scarcely gleaming through hazy clouds,
cast a pale, tender hue upon the landscape, and the copses, still dewy
with a shower that had lately fallen, diffused the most grateful
fragrance.  Flocks of sheep hung browsing on the acclivities, whilst a
numerous herd were dispersed along the river’s side.  I stayed so long,
enjoying this pastoral scene, that we did not arrive at Liège till the
night was advanced, and the moon risen.  Her interesting gleams were
thrown away upon this ill-built, crowded city; and I grieved that gates
and fortifications prevented my breathing the fresh air of the
surrounding mountains.

Next morning (July 6th) a zigzag road brought us, after many descents and
rises, to Spa.  The approach, through a rocky vale, is not totally devoid
of picturesque merit, and as I met no cabriolets or tituppings on the
chaufée, I concluded that the waters were not as yet much visited; and
that I should have their romantic environs pretty much to myself.  But,
alas, how rudely was I deceived!  The moment we entered up flew a dozen
sashes.  Chevaliers de St. Louis, meagre Marquises, and ladies of the
scarlet order of Babylon, all poked their heads out.  In a few minutes
half the town was in motion; tailors, confectioners, and barbers
thrusting bills into our hands with manifold grimaces and contortions.
Then succeeded a grand _entré_ of _valets de place_, who were hardly
dismissed before the lodging letters arrived, followed by somebody with a
list of _les seigneurs_ and _dames_ as long as a Welsh pedigree.
Half-an-hour was wasted in speeches and recommendations; another passed
before we could snatch a morsel of refreshment; they then finding I was
neither inclined to go to the ball, nor enter the land where Pharaoh
reigneth, peace was restored, a few feeble bows were scraped, and I found
myself in perfect solitude.  Taking advantage of this quiet moment, I
stole out of town, and followed a path cut in the rocks, which brought me
to a young wood of oaks on their summits.  Luckily I met no saunterer:
the gay vagabonds, it seemed, were all at the assembly, as happy as
billiards and chit-chat could make them.  It was not an evening to tempt
such folks abroad.  The air was cool, and the sky lowering; a melancholy
cloud shaded the wild hills and irregular woods at a distance.  There was
something so importunate in their appearance, that I could not help
asking their name, and was told they were skirts of the forest of
Ardenne, amongst whose enchanted labyrinths the heroes of Boyardo and
Ariosto roved formerly in quest of adventures.  I felt myself singularly
affected whilst gazing upon a wood so celebrated in romance for feats of
the highest chivalry; and, Don Quixote-like, would have explored its
recesses in search of that memorable fountain of hatred, which (if you
recollect the story) was raised by Merlin to free illustrious knights and
damsels from the torments of rejected love.  So far was I advanced in
these romantic fancies, that, forgetting the lateness of the hour, I
wandered on, expecting to reach the fountain at every step; but at length
it grew so dusky that, unable to trace back my way amongst the thickets,
in vain I strayed through intricate copses, till the clouds began to
disperse and the moon appeared.  Being so placed as to receive the full
play of silver radiance, to my no small surprise, I beheld a precipice
immediately beneath my feet.  The chasm was deep and awful; something
like the entrance to a grot discovered itself below, and if I had not
already been disappointed on the score of the fount, I won’t answer but
that I should have flung myself adventurously down, and tried whether I
might not have seen such wonders as appeared to Bradamante, when cast by
Pinnabel, rather impolitely, into Merlin’s cave.  But no propitious light
beaming from the cavity, I concluded times were changed; and searching
about me, found at last a shelving steep, which it was just possible to
descend without goat’s heels, and that’s all.

In my way home, I passed the redoute, and seeing a vast glare of lustres
in its apartments, I ran upstairs and found the gamblers all eager in
storming the Pharaoh Bank: a young Englishman of distinction seemed the
most likely to raise the siege, which increased every instant in
turbulence; but not feeling the least inclination to protract or to
shorten its fate, I left the knights to their adventures, and returned
ingloriously to my inn.

        [Picture: The canal, Ghent, and Aix la Chapelle Cathedral]

All languages are chattering at the Table d’Hôte, and all sorts of
business transacted under my very windows.  The racket and perfume of
this place make me resolve to get out of it to-morrow; as that is the
case, you won’t hear from me till I reach Munich.  Adieu!  May we meet in
our dreams by the fountain of Merlin, and from thence take our flight
with Astolpho to the moon; for I shrewdly suspect the best part of our
senses are bottled up there; and then, you know, it will be a delightful
novelty to wake up with a clear understanding.

“Indeed, Sir, no Monsieur _comme il faut_, ever left Spa in such dudgeon
before, unless jilted by a Polish princess, or stripped by an itinerant
Count!  You have neither breakfasted at the Vauxhall, nor attended the
Spectacle, nor tasted the waters.  Had you but taken one sip, your
ill-humour would have all trickled away, and you would have felt both
your heels and your elbows quite alive in the evening.”—Granted; but pray
tell your postillions to drive off as fast as their horses will carry
them.

Away we went to Aix-la-Chapelle about ten at night, and saw the
mouldering turrets of that once illustrious capital by the help of a
candle and lantern.  An old woman asked our names (for not a single
soldier appeared); and traversing a number of superannuated streets
without perceiving the least trace of Charlemagne or his Paladins, we
procured comfortable though not magnificent apartments, and slept most
unheroically sound, till it was time to set forward for Dusseldorf.

_July_ 8_th_.—As we were driven out of the town, I caught a glimpse of a
grove, hemmed in by dingy buildings, where a few water-drinkers were
sauntering along to the sound of some rueful French horns; the wan
greenish light admitted through the foliage made them look like unhappy
souls condemned to an eternal lounge for having trifled away their
existence.  It was not with much regret that I left such a party behind;
and, after experiencing the vicissitudes of good roads and rumbling
pavements, found myself, towards the close of evening, upon the banks of
the Rhine.

Many wild ideas thronged into my mind, the moment I beheld this
celebrated river.  I thought of the vast regions through which it flows,
and suffered my imagination to expatiate as far as its source.  A red,
variegated sky, reflected from the stream, the woods trembling on its
banks, and the spires of Nuys rising beyond them, helped to amuse my
fancy.  Not being able to brook the confinement of the carriage, I left
it to come over at its leisure; and, stepping into a boat, rowed along,
at first, by the quivering osiers; then, launching out into the midst of
the waters, I glided a few moments with the current, and resting on my
oars, listened to the hum of voices afar off, while several little
skiffs, like canoes, glanced before my sight, concerning which distance
and the twilight allowed me to make a thousand fantastic conjectures.
When I had sufficiently indulged these extravagant reveries, I began to
cross over the river in good earnest; and being landed on its opposite
margin, travelled forwards to the town.

Nothing but the famous gallery of paintings could invite strangers to
stay a moment within its walls; more crooked streets, more indifferent
houses, one seldom meets with; except soldiers, not a living creature
moving about them; and at night a complete regiment of bugs “marked me
for their own.”  Thus I lay, at once both the seat of war and the victim
of these detestable animals, till early in the morning (Sunday, July
9th), when Morpheus, compassionating my sufferings, opened the ivory
gates of his empire, and freed his votary from the most unconscionable
vermin that ever nastiness engendered.  In humble prose, I fell fast
asleep; and remained quiet, in defiance of my adversaries, till it was
time to survey the cabinet.

This collection is displayed in five large galleries, and contains some
valuable productions of the Italian school; but the room most boasted of
is that which Rubens has filled with no less than three enormous
representations of the last day, where an innumerable host of sinners are
exhibited as striving in vain to avoid the tangles of the devil’s tail.
The woes of several fat luxurious souls are rendered in the highest
gusto.  Satan’s dispute with some brawny concubines, whom he is lugging
off in spite of all their resistance, cannot be too much admired by those
who approve this class of subject, and think such strange imbroglios in
the least calculated to raise a sublime or a religious idea.

For my own part, I turned from them with disgust, and hastened to
contemplate a Holy Family by Camillo Procaccini, in another apartment.
The brightest imagination can never conceive any figure more graceful
than that of the young Jesus; and if ever I beheld an inspired
countenance or celestial features, it was here: but to attempt conveying
in words what colours alone can express, would be only reversing the
absurdity of many a master in the gallery, who aims to represent those
ideas by colours which language alone is able to describe.  Should you
admit this opinion, you won’t be surprised at my passing such a multitude
of renowned pictures unnoticed; nor at my bringing you out of the cabinet
without deluging ten pages with criticisms in the style of the ingenious
Lady M—.

As I had spent so much time in gazing at Camillo’s divinity, the day was
too far advanced to think of travelling to Cologne; I was therefore
obliged to put myself once more under the dominion of the most inveterate
bugs in the universe.  This government, like many others, made but an
indifferent use of its power, and the subject suffering accordingly was
extremely rejoiced at flying from his persecutors to Cologne.

_July_ 10_th_.—Clouds of dust hindered my making any remarks on the
exterior of this celebrated city; but if its appearance be not more
beautiful from without than within, I defy Mr. Salmon himself to launch
forth very warmly in its praise.  But of what avail are stately palaces,
broad streets, or airy markets, to a town which can boast of such a
treasure as the bodies of those three wise sovereigns who were star-led
to Bethlehem?  Is not this circumstance enough to procure it every
respect?  I really believe so, from the pious and dignified contentment
of its inhabitants.  They care not a hair of an ass’s ear whether their
houses be gloomy and ill-contrived, their pavements overgrown with weeds,
and their shops with filthiness, provided the carcasses of Gaspar,
Melchior, and Balthazar might be preserved with proper decorum.  Nothing,
to be sure, can be richer than the shrine which contains these precious
relics.  I paid my devotions before it the moment I arrived; this step
was inevitable: had I omitted it, not a soul in Cologne but would have
cursed me for a Pagan.

Do you not wonder at hearing of these venerable bodies so far from their
native country?  I thought them snug in some Arabian pyramid ten feet
deep in spice; but you see one can never tell what is to become of one a
few ages hence.  Who knows but the Emperor of Morocco may be canonized
some future day in Lapland?  I asked, of course, how in the name of
miracles they came hither; but found no story of a supernatural
conveyance.  It seems the holy Empress Helena, as great a collectress of
relics as the D—s of P. is of profane curiosities, first routed them out:
then they were packed off to Rome.  King Alaric, having no grace, bundled
them down to Milan; where they remained till it pleased God to inspire an
ancient archbishop with the fervent wish of depositing them at Cologne.
There these skeletons were taken into the most especial consideration,
crowned with jewels and filigreed with gold.  Never were skulls more
elegantly mounted; and I doubt whether Odin’s buffet could exhibit so
fine an assortment.  The chapel containing these beatified bones is
placed in a dark extremity of the cathedral.  Several golden lamps gleam
along the polished marbles with which it is adorned, and afford just
light enough to read the following monkish inscription:—

    “CORPORA SANCTORUM RECUBANT HIC TERNA MAGORUM;
    EX HIS SUBLATUM NIHIL EST ALIBIVE LOCATUM.”

After I had satisfied my curiosity with respect to the peregrinations of
the consecrated skeletons, I examined their shrine; and was rather
surprised to find it not only enriched with barbaric gold and pearl, but
covered with cameos and intaglios of the best antique sculpture.  Many an
impious emperor and gross Silenus, many a wanton nymph and frantic
bacchanal, figure in the same range with the statues of saints and
evangelists.  How St. Helena could tolerate such a mixed assembly (for
the shrine was formed under her auspices) surpasses my comprehension.
Perhaps you will say it is no great matter, and give me a hint to move
out of the chapel, lest the three kings and their star should lead me
quite out of my way.  Very well; I think I had better stop in time, to
tell you, without further excursion, that we set off after dinner for
Bonn.

Our road-side was lined with beggarly children, high convent walls, and
scarecrow crucifixes, lubberly monks, dejected peasants, and all the
delights of Catholicism.  Such scenery not engaging a share of my
attention, I kept gazing at the azure irregular mountains which bounded
our view, and in thought was already transported to their summits.
Various are the prospects I surveyed from this imaginary exaltation, and
innumerable the chimeras which trotted in my brain.  Mounted on these
fantastic quadrupeds, I shot swiftly from rock to rock, and built castles
in the style of Piranesi upon most of their pinnacles.  The magnificence
and variety of my aërial towers hindered my thinking the way long.  I was
still walking with a crowd of phantoms upon their terraces, when the
carriage made a halt.  Immediately descending the innumerable flights of
steps which divide such lofty edifices from the lower world, I entered
the inn at Bonn, and was shown into an apartment which commands the chief
front of the Elector’s palace.  You may guess how contemptible it
appeared to one just returned from the court of fancy.

In other respects, I saw it in a very favourable moment; for the
twilight, shading the whole façade, concealed its plaistered walls and
painted pillars; their pediments and capitals being tolerably well
proportioned, and the range of windows beneath considerable, I gave the
architect more credit than he deserved, and paced to and fro beneath the
arcade, as pompously as if arrived at the Vatican; but the circumstance
which rendered my walk in reality agreeable, was the prevalence of a
delicious perfume.  It was so dusky, that I was a minute or two seeking
in vain the entrance of an orangery, from whence this reviving scent
proceeded.  At length I discovered it; and, passing under an arch, found
myself in the midst of lemon and orange trees, now in the fullest blow,
which form a continued grove before the palace, and extend, on each side
of its grand portal, out of sight.  A few steps separate this extensive
terrace from a lawn, bordered by stately rows of beeches.  Beyond, in the
centre of this striking theatre, rises a romantic assemblage of distant
mountains, crowned with the ruins of castles, whose turrets, but faintly
seen, were just such as you have created to complete a prospect.  I was
the only human being in the misty extent of the gardens, and was happier
in my solitude than I can describe.  No noise disturbed its silence,
except the flutter of moths and trickling of fountains.  These undecided
sounds, corresponding with the dimness and haze of the scenery, threw me
into a pensive state of mind, neither gay nor dismal.  I recapitulated
the wayward adventures of my childhood, and traced back each moment of a
period, which had seen me happy.  Then, turning my thoughts towards
future days, my heart beat at the idea of that awful veil which covers
the time to come.  One moment, ’twas the brightest hope that glittered
behind it; the next, a series of melancholy images clouded the
perspective.  Thus, alternately swayed by fears and exultation, I passed
an interesting hour in the twilight, ranging amongst the orange trees, or
reclined by the fountain.  I could not boast of being perfectly
satisfied, since those were absent, without whom not even the fields of
Enna could be charming.  However, I was far from displeased with the
clear streams that bubbled around, and could willingly have dropped
asleep by their margin.  Had I reposed in so romantic a situation, the
murmurs of trees and waters would doubtless have invited “some strange
mysterious dream” to hover over me, and perhaps futurity might have been
unveiled.




LETTER VIII.


_July _11_th_.—Let those who delight in picturesque country repair to the
borders of the Rhine, and follow the road which we took from Bonn to
Coblentz.  In some places it is suspended like a cornice above the
waters; in others, it winds behind lofty steeps and broken acclivities,
shaded by woods and clothed with an endless variety of plants and
flowers.  Several green paths lead amongst this vegetation to the summits
of the rocks, which often serve as the foundation of abbeys and castles,
whose lofty roofs and spires, rising above the cliffs, impress passengers
with ideas of their grandeur, that might probably vanish upon a nearer
approach.  Not choosing to lose any prejudice in their favour, I kept a
respectful distance whenever I left my carriage, and walked on the banks
of the river.

Just before we came to Andernach, an antiquated town with strange
morisco-looking towers, I spied a raft, at least three hundred feet in
length, on which ten or twelve cottages were erected, and a great many
people employed in sawing wood.  The women sat spinning at their doors,
whilst their children played among the water-lilies that bloomed in
abundance on the edge of the stream.  A smoke, rising from one of these
aquatic habitations, partially obscured the mountains beyond, and added
not a little, to their effect.

Altogether, the scene was so novel and amusing, that I sat half an hour
contemplating it from an eminence under the shade of some leafy walnuts;
and should like extremely to build a moveable village, people it with my
friends, and so go floating about from island to island, and from one
woody coast of the Rhine to another.  Would you dislike such a party?  I
am much deceived, or you would be the first to explore the shades and
promontories beneath which we should be wafted along.

But I don’t think you would find Coblentz, where we were obliged to take
up our night’s lodging, much to your taste.  ’Tis a mean, dirty
assemblage of plastered houses, striped with paint, and set off with
wooden galleries, in the beautiful taste of St. Giles’s.  Above, on a
rock, stands the palace of the Elector, which seems to be remarkable for
nothing but situation.  I did not bestow many looks on this structure
whilst ascending the mountain across which our road to Mayence conducted
us.

_July_ 12_th_.—Having attained the summit, we discovered a vast,
irregular range of country, and advancing, found ourselves amongst downs
bounded by forests and purpled with thyme.  This sort of prospect
extending for several leagues, I walked on the turf, and inhaled with
avidity the fresh gales that blew over its herbage, till I came to a
steep slope overgrown with privet and a variety of luxuriant shrubs in
blossom; there reposing beneath its shade, I gathered flowers, listened
to the bees, observed their industry, and idled away a few minutes with
great fascination.  A cloudless sky and bright sunshine made me rather
loth to move on; but the charms of the landscape, increasing every
instant, drew me forward.

I had not gone far, before a winding valley discovered itself, shut in by
rocks and mountains clothed to their very summits with the thickest
woods.  A broad river, flowing at the base of the cliffs, reflected the
impending vegetation, and looked so calm and glassy that I was determined
to be better acquainted with it.  For this purpose we descended by a
zigzag path into the vale, and making the best of our way on the banks of
the Lune (for so is the river called), came suddenly upon the town of
Ems, famous in mineral story; where finding very good lodgings, we took
up our abode, and led an Indian life amongst the wilds and mountains.

After supper I walked on a smooth lawn by the river, to observe the moon
journeying through a world of silver clouds that lay dispersed over the
face of the heavens.  It was a mild genial evening; every mountain cast
its broad shadow on the surface of the stream; lights twinkled afar off
on the hills; they burnt in silence.  All were asleep, except a female
figure in white, with glow-worms shining in her hair.  She kept moving
disconsolately about; sometimes I heard her sigh; and if apparitions
sigh, this must have been an apparition.  Upon my return, I asked a
thousand questions, but could never obtain any information of the figure
and its luminaries.

_July _13_th_.—The pure air of the morning invited me early to the hills.
Hiring a skiff, I rowed about a mile down the stream, and landed on a
sloping meadow, level with the waters, and newly mown.  Heaps of hay
still lay dispersed under the copses which hemmed in on every side this
little sequestered paradise.  What a spot for a tent!  I could encamp
here for months, and never be tired.  Not a day would pass by without
discovering some new promontory, some untrodden pasture, some unsuspected
vale, where I might remain among woods and precipices lost and forgotten.
I would give you, and two or three more, the clue of my labyrinth: nobody
else should be conscious of its entrance.  Full of such agreeable dreams,
I rambled about the meads, scarcely knowing which way I was going;
sometimes a spangled fly led me astray, and, oftener, my own strange
fancies.  Between both, I was perfectly bewildered, and should never have
found my boat again, had not an old German naturalist, who was collecting
fossils on the cliffs, directed me to it.

When I got home it was growing late, and I now began to perceive that I
had taken no refreshment, except the perfume of the hay and a few wood
strawberries; airy diet, you will observe, for one not yet received into
the realms of Ginnistan. {127}

_July_ 14_th_.—I have just made a discovery, that this place as full of
idlers and water-drinkers as their Highnesses of Orange and Hesse
Darmstadt can desire; for to them accrue all the profits of its
salubrious fountains.  I protest, I knew nothing of all this yesterday,
so entirely was I taken up with the rocks and meadows; no chance of
meeting either card or billiard players in their solitudes.  Both abound
at Ems, where they hop and fidget from ball to ball, unconscious of the
bold scenery in their neighbourhood, and totally insensible to its
charms.  They had no notion, not they, of admiring barren crags and
precipices, where even the Lord would lose his way, as a coarse lubber
decorated with stars and orders very ingeniously observed to me; nor
could they form the least conception of any pleasure there was in
climbing like a goat amongst the cliffs, and then diving into woods and
recesses where the sun had never penetrated; where there were neither
card-tables prepared nor sideboards garnished; no _jambon de Mayence_ in
waiting; no supply of pipes, nor any of the commonest delights, to be met
with in the commonest taverns.

To all this I acquiesced with most perfect submission, but immediately
left the orator to entertain a circle of antiquated dames and
weather-beaten officers who were gathering around him.  Scarcely had I
turned my back upon this polite assembly, when _Monsieur l’Administrateur
des bains_, a fine pompous fellow, who had been _maitre d’hôtel_ in a
great German family, came forward purposely to acquaint me, I suppose,
that their baths had the honour of possessing Prince Orloff, “_avec sa
grande maitresse_, _son Chamberlain et quelques Dames d’Honneur_:”
moreover, that his Highness came hither to refresh himself after his
laborious employments at the Court of Petersburg, and expected (_grace
aux eaux_!) to return to the domains his august sovereign had lately
bestowed upon him in perfect health, and to become the father of his
people.

Wishing Monsieur d’Orloff all possible success, I should have left the
company at a great distance, had not a violent shower stopped my career,
and obliged me to return to my apartment.  The rain growing heavier,
intercepted the prospect of the mountains, and spread such a gloom over
the vale as sank my spirits fifty degrees; to which a close foggy
atmosphere not a little contributed.  Towards night the clouds assumed a
more formidable aspect.  Thunder rolled awfully along the distant cliffs,
and several rapid torrents began to run down the steeps.  Unable to stay
within, I walked into an open portico, listening to the murmur of the
river, mingled with the roar of falling waters.  At intervals a blue
flash of lightning discovered their agitated surface, and two or three
scared women rushing through the storm and calling all the saints in
Paradise to their assistance.

Things were in this state, when the orator who had harangued so
brilliantly on the nothingness of ascending mountains, took shelter under
the porch, and entering immediately into conversation, regaled my ears
with a woful narration of murders which had happened the other day on the
precise road I was to follow next morning.

“Sir,” said he, “your route is, to be sure, very perilous: on the left
you have a chasm, down which, should your horses take the smallest alarm,
you are infallibly precipitated; to the right hangs an impervious wood,
and there, sir, I can assure you, are wolves enough to devour a regiment;
a little farther on, you cross a desolate tract of forest land, the roads
so deep and broken, that if you go ten paces in as many minutes you may
think yourself fortunate.  There lurk the most savage banditti in Europe,
lately irritated by the Prince of Orange’s proscription; and so
desperate, that if they once attack, you can expect no mercy.  Should you
venture through this hazardous district to-morrow, you will, in all
probability, meet a company of people who have just left the town to
search for the mangled bodies of their relations; but, for Heaven’s sake,
sir, if you value your life, do not suffer an idle curiosity to lead you
over such dangerous regions, however picturesque their appearance.”

I own I felt rather intimidated by so formidable a prospect, and was very
near abandoning my plan of crossing the mountains, and so go back again
and round about, the Lord knows where; but considering this step would be
quite unheroical, I resolved to attribute my fears to the gloom of the
moment, and the dejection it occasioned.  It was almost nine o’clock
before my kind adviser ceased inspiring me with terrors; then, finding
myself at liberty, I retired to bed, not under the most agreeable
impressions; and after tossing and tumbling in the agitation of
tumultuous slumbers, I started up at seven in the morning of July 15th,
ordered the horses, and set forward, without further dilemmas.  Though it
had thundered almost the whole night, the air was still clogged with
vapours, the mountains bathed in humid clouds, and the scene I had so
warmly admired no longer discernible.  Proceeding along the edge of the
precipices I had been forewarned of, for about an hour, and escaping that
peril at least, we traversed the slopes of a rude, heathy hill, in
instantaneous expectation of foes and murderers.  A misty rain prevented
us seeing above ten yards before us, and every uncouth oak or rocky
fragment we approached seemed lurking spies or gigantic enemies.  One
time the murmur of the wind among invisible woods of beech, sounded like
the wail of distress; and at another the noise of a torrent we could not
discover, counterfeited the report of musquetry.  In this suspicious
manner we journeyed through the forest which had so recently been the
scene of assaults and depredations.  At length, after winding several
restless hours amongst its dreary avenues, we emerged into open daylight.
The sky cleared, a cultivated vale lay before us, and the evening sun,
gleaming bright through the vapours, cast a cheerful look upon some
corn-fields, and seemed to promise better times.  A few minutes more
brought us safe to the village of Viesbaden, where we slept in peace and
tranquillity.

_July_ 16_th_.—Our apprehensions entirely dispersed, we rose light and
refreshed from our slumbers, and passing through Mayence, Oppenheim, and
Worms, travelled gaily over the plain in which Mannheim is situated.  The
sun set before we arrived there, and it was by the mild gleams of the
rising moon, that I first beheld the vast electoral palace, and those
long straight streets and neat white houses, which distinguish this
elegant capital from almost every other.

Numbers of well-dressed people were amusing themselves with music and
fireworks in the squares and open spaces; other groups appeared
conversing in circles before their doors, and enjoying the serenity of
the evening.  Almost every window bloomed with carnations; and we could
hardly cross a street without hearing the German flute.  A scene of such
happiness and refinement contrasted in the most agreeable manner with the
dismal prospects we had left behind.  No storms, no frightful chasms,
were here to alarm us, no ruffians or lawless plunderers.  All around was
peace, security, and contentment in their most engaging attire.

_July_ 17_th_.—Though all impatience to reach that delightful classic
region which already possesses, as I have often said, the better half of
my spirit, I could not think of leaving Mannheim unexplored; and
therefore resolved to give up the day to the halls and galleries of the
electoral palace.  Those, which contain the cabinet of paintings and
sculptures in ivory, form a regular suite of nine immense apartments,
about three hundred and seventy-two feet in length, well-proportioned and
uniformly floored with inlaid wood.  Each room has ample folding-doors
richly gilt and varnished.  When seen in perspective these entrances have
the most magnificent effect imaginable.  Nothing can give nobler ideas of
space than such an enfilade of saloons unencumbered by heavy furniture,
where the eyes range without interruption: I wandered alone from one to
the other, and was never wearied with contemplating the variety of
pictures which enliven the scene, and convey the highest idea of the
collector’s taste.  When my curiosity was a little satisfied, I left this
amusing series of apartments with regret, visited the library which the
present Elector Palatine has formed, upon the same great scale that
characterizes his other collections, and, after viewing the rest of the
palace, saw the opera house, which may boast of having contained one of
the first bands in Europe: from thence I returned home in a very musical
humour.

An excellent harpsichord seconded this disposition, which lasted me till
late in the evening; when growing drowsy, I yielded to the influence of
sleep, and was in an instant transported to a far more delightful palace
than that of the elector; where I expatiated in perfumed apartments with
yellow light, and conversed with none but Albano and Claude Lorrain, till
the beams of the morning sun entered my chamber, and forced my visiting
companions to fly murmuring to the shades.  I cannot say but I was sorry
to leave Mannheim, though my acquaintance with it was entirely confined
to inanimate objects.  The cheerful air and free range of the galleries
would be sufficient, for several days, for my amusement; as you know I
could people them with phantoms.  Not many leagues out of town, lie the
famous gardens of Schweidsing.  The weather being extremely warm, we were
glad to avail ourselves of their shades.  There are a great many
fountains inclosed by thickets of shrubs, and cool alleys which lead to
arbours of trellis-work, festooned with nasturtiums and convolvuluses.
Several catalpas and sumachs in full flower gave considerable richness to
the scenery; and whilst we walked amongst them, a fresh breeze gently
waved their summits.  The tall poplars and acacias, quivering with the
air, cast innumerable shadows on the intervening plats of greensward,
and, as they moved their branches, discovered other walks beyond, and
distant jets of water rising above their foliage, and sparkling in the
sun.  After passing a multitude of shady avenues, terminated by temples
or groups of statues, we followed our guide through a kind of arched
bower to a little opening in the wood, neatly paved with different
coloured pebbles.  On one side, appeared niches and alcoves, ornamented
with spars and polished marbles; on the other, an aviary; in front, a
superb pavilion, with baths, porticos, and cabinets, fitted up in the
most elegant and luxurious style.  The song of exotic birds; the
freshness of the surrounding verdure heightened by falling streams; and
that dubious poetic light admitted through thick foliage, so agreeable
after the glare of a sultry day, detained me for some time in an alcove
reading Spenser, and imagining myself but a few paces removed from the
Idle Lake.  I would fain have loitered an hour more in this enchanted
bower, had not the gardener, whose patience was quite exhausted, and who
had never heard of the Red-Cross Knight and his achievements, dragged me
away to a sunburnt, contemptible hillock, commanding the view of a
serpentine ditch, and decorated with the title of Jardin Anglois.  Some
object like decayed limekilns and mouldering ovens, is disposed in an
amphitheatrical form, on the declivity of this tremendous eminence: and
there is to be ivy, and a cascade, and what not, as my conductor
observed.  A glance was all I bestowed on this caricature upon English
gardens; I then went off in a huff at being chased from my bower, and
grumbled all the road to Entsweigen; where, to our misfortune, we lay
amidst hogs and vermin, who amply revenged my quarrels with their
country.

_July_ 20_th_.—After travelling a post or two, we came in sight of a
green moor, with many insulated woods and villages; the Danube sweeping
majestically along, and the city of Ulm rising upon its banks.  The
fields in its neighbourhood were overspread with cloths bleaching in the
sun, and waiting for barks which convey them down the great river, in ten
days, to Vienna, and from thence through Hungary, into the midst of the
Turkish Empire.  I almost envied the merchants their voyage, and
descending to the edge of the stream, proffered my orisons to Father
Danube, beseeching him to remember me to the regions through which he
flows.  I promised him an altar and solemn rites, should he grant my
request, and was very idolatrous, until the shadows lengthening over the
unlimited plains on his margin, reminded me that the sun would be shortly
sunk, and that I had still above fifteen miles to go.  Gathering a purple
iris that grew upon the bank, I wore it to his honour; and have reason to
fancy my piety was rewarded, as not a fly or an insect dared to buzz
about me the whole evening.

You never saw a brighter sky nor more glowing clouds than gilded our
horizon.  The air was impregnated with the perfume of clover, and for ten
miles we beheld no other objects than smooth levels enamelled with
flowers, and interspersed with thickets of oak, beyond which appeared a
long series of mountains, that distance and the evening tinged with an
interesting azure.  Such were the very spots for youthful games and
exercises, open spaces for tilts, and spreading shades to screen the
spectators.

Father Lafiteau tells us, there are many such vast and flowery meads in
the interior of America, to which the roving tribes of Indians repair
once or twice in a century to settle the rights of the chase, and lead
their solemn dances; and so deep an impression do these assemblies leave
on the minds of the savages, that the highest ideas they entertain of
future felicity consist in the perpetual enjoyment of songs and dances
upon the green boundless lawns of their elysium.  In the midst of these
visionary plains rises the abode of Aneantsic, encircled by choirs of
departed chieftains leaping in cadence to the mournful sound of spears as
they ring on the shell of the tortoise.  Their favourite attendants, long
separated from them whilst on earth, are restored again in this ethereal
region, and skim freely over the vast level space; now hailing one group
of beloved friends, and now another.  Mortals newly ushered by death into
this world of pure blue sky and boundless meads, see the long-lost
objects of their affection advancing across the lawn to meet them.
Flights of familiar birds, the purveyors of many an earthly chase, once
more attend their progress, whilst the shades of their faithful dogs seem
coursing each other below.  Low murmurs and tinkling sounds fill the
whole region, and, as its new denizens proceed, increase in melody, till,
unable to resist the thrilling music, they spring forward in ecstasies to
join the eternal round.

A share of this celestial transport seemed communicated to me whilst my
eyes wandered over the plain, which appeared to widen and extend in
proportion as the twilight prevailed.

The dusky hour, favourable to conjurations, allowed me to believe the
spirits of departed friends not far removed from the clouds, which, to
all appearance, reposed at the extremity of the prospect, and tinted the
surface of the horizon with ruddy colours.  This glow still lingered upon
the verge of the landscape, after the sun disappeared; and ’twas in those
peaceful moments, when no sound but the browsing of cattle reached me,
that I imagined benign looks were cast upon me from the golden vapours,
and I seemed to catch glimpses of faint forms moving, amongst them, which
were once so dear; and even thought my ears affected by well-known
voices, long silent upon earth.  When the warm hues of the sky were
gradually fading, and the distant thickets began to assume a deeper and
more melancholy blue, I fancied a shape like Thisbe {133} shot swiftly
along; and, sometimes halting afar off, cast an affectionate look upon
her old master, that seemed to say, When you draw near the last
inevitable hour, and the pale countries of Aneantsic are stretched out
before you, I will precede your footsteps, and guide them safe through
the wild labyrinths which separate this world from yours.  I was so
possessed with the ideas and so full of the remembrance of that poor,
affectionate creature, whose miserable end you were the witness of, that
I did not, for several minutes, perceive our arrival at Guntsberg.
Hurrying to bed, I seemed in my slumbers to pass that interdicted
boundary which divides our earth from the region of Indian happiness.
Thisbe ran nimbly before me; her white form glimmered amongst dusky
forests; she led me into an infinitely spacious plain, where I heard vast
multitudes discoursing upon events to come.  What further passed must
never be revealed.  I awoke in tears, and could hardly find spirits
enough to look around me, till we were driving through the midst of
Augsburg.

_July_ 21_st_.—We dined and rambled about this renowned city till
evening.  The colossal paintings on the walls of almost every
considerable building gave it a strange air, which pleases upon the score
of novelty.

Having passed a number of streets decorated in this exotic manner, we
found ourselves suddenly before the public hall, by a noble statue of
Augustus, under whose auspices the colony was formed.  Which way soever
we turned, our eyes met some remarkable edifice, or marble basin into
which several groups of sculptured river-gods pour a profusion of waters.
These stately fountains and bronze statues, the extraordinary size and
loftiness of the buildings, the towers rising in perspective, and the
Doric portal of the town-house, answered in some measure the idea
Montfaucon gives us of the scene of an ancient tragedy.  Whenever a
pompous Flemish painter attempts a representation of Troy, and displays
in his background those streets of palaces described in the Iliad,
Augsburg, or some such city, may easily be traced.  Sometimes a corner of
Antwerp discovers itself; and generally, above a Corinthian portico,
rises a Gothic spire.  Just such a jumble may be viewed from the statue
of Augustus, under which I remained till the Concierge came, who was to
open the gates of the town-house, and show me its magnificent hall.

I wished for you exceedingly when, ascending a flight of a hundred steps,
I entered it through a portal, supported by tall pillars and crowned with
a majestic pediment.  Upon advancing, I discovered five more entrances
equally grand, with golden figures of guardian genii leaning over the
entablature; and saw, through a range of windows, each above thirty feet
high, and nearly level with the marble pavement, the whole city, with all
its roofs and spires, beneath my feet.  The pillars, cornices, and panels
of this striking apartment are uniformly tinged with brown and gold; and
the ceiling, enriched with emblematical paintings and innumerable
canopies of carved work, casts a very magisterial shade.  Upon the whole,
I should not be surprised at a burgomaster assuming a formidable dignity
in such a room.

I must confess it had a somewhat similar effect upon me; and I descended
the flight of steps with as much pomposity as if a triumphal car waited
at my feet, or as if on the point of giving audience to the Queen of
Sheba.  It happened to be a Saint’s day, and half the inhabitants of
Augsburg were gathered together in the opening before their hall; the
greatest numbers, especially the women, still exhibiting the very
identical dresses which Hollar engraved.  My lofty gait imposed upon this
primitive assembly, which receded to give me passage with as much silent
respect as if I had really been the wise sovereign of Israel.  When I got
home, an execrable supper was served up to my majesty; I scolded in an
unroyal style, and soon convinced myself I was no longer Solomon.

_July_ 22_nd_.—Joy to the Electors of Bavaria! for planting such
extensive woods of fir in their dominions as shade over the chief part of
the road from Augsburg to Munich.  Near the last-mentioned city, I cannot
boast of the scenery changing to advantage.  Instead of flourishing woods
and verdure, we beheld a parched dreary flat, diversified by fields of
withering barley, and stunted avenues drawn formally across them; now and
then a stagnant pool, and sometimes a dunghill, by way of regale.
However, the wild rocks of the Tyrol terminate the view, and to them
imagination may fly, and walk amidst springs and lilies of her own
creation.  I speak from authority, having had the pleasure of
anticipating an evening in this romantic style.

Tuesday next is the grand fair, with horse-races and junketings: a piece
of news I was but too soon acquainted with; for the moment we entered the
town, good-natured creatures from all quarters advised us to get out of
it; since traders and harlequins had filled every corner of the place,
and there was not a lodging to be procured.  The inns, to be sure, were
like hives of industrious animals sorting their merchandise, and
preparing their goods for sale.  Yet, in spite of difficulties, we got
possession of a quiet apartment.

_July_ 23_rd_.—We were driven in the evening to Nymphenburg, the
Elector’s country palace, whose bosquets, jets-d’eaux, and parterres are
the pride of the Bavarians.  The principal platform is all of a glitter
with gilded Cupids and shining serpents spouting at every pore.  Beds of
poppies, hollyhocks, scarlet lychnis, and the most flaming flowers,
border the edge of the walks, which extend till the perspective meets,
and swarm with ladies and gentlemen in parti-coloured raiment.  The Queen
of Golconda’s gardens in a French opera are scarcely more gaudy and
artificial.  Unluckily, too, the evening was fine, and the sun so
powerful that we were half roasted before we could cross the great avenue
and enter the thickets, which barely conceal a very splendid hermitage,
where we joined Mr. and Mrs. T., and a party of fashionable Bavarians.

Amongst the ladies was Madame la Contesse, I forget who, a production of
the venerable Haslang, with her daughter, Madame de —, who has the honour
of leading the Elector in her chains.  These goddesses stepping into a
car, vulgarly called a cariole, the mortals followed, and explored alley
after alley and pavilion after pavilion.  Then, having viewed
Pagodenburg, which is, as they told me, all Chinese; and Marienburg,
which is most assuredly all tinsel; we paraded by a variety of fountains
in full squirt, and though they certainly did their best (for many were
set a-going on purpose), I cannot say I greatly admired them.

The ladies were very gaily attired, and the gentlemen, as smart as
swords, bags, and pretty clothes could make them, looked exactly like the
fine people one sees represented in a coloured print.  Thus we kept
walking genteelly about the orangery, till the carriage drew up and
conveyed us to Mr. T’s.

Immediately after supper, we drove once more out of town, to a garden and
tea-room, where all degrees and ages dance jovially together till
morning.  Whilst one party wheel briskly away in the valz, another amuse
themselves in a corner with cold meat and rhenish.  That despatched, out
they whisk amongst the dancers, with an impetuosity and liveliness I
little expected to have found in Bavaria.  After turning round and round,
with a rapidity that is quite inconceivable to an English dancer, the
music changes to a slower movement, and then follows a succession of
zig-zag minuets, performed by old and young, straight and crooked, noble
and plebeian, all at once, from one end of the room to the other.  Tallow
candles snuffing and stinking, dishes changing, heads scratching, and all
sorts of performances going forward at the same moment; the flutes,
oboes, and bassoons snorting and grunting with peculiar emphasis; now
fast, now slow, just as Variety commands, who seems to rule the
ceremonial of this motley assembly, where every distinction of rank and
privilege is totally forgotten.  Once a week, on Sundays that is to say,
the rooms are open, and Monday is generally somewhat advanced before they
are deserted.  If good humour and coarse merriment are all that people
desire, here they are to be found in perfection, though at the expense of
toes and noses.  Both these extremities of my person suffered most
cruelly; and I was not sorry to retire about one in the morning to a
purer atmosphere.

_July_ 24_th_.—Custom condemned us to visit the palace, which glares with
looking-glass, gilding, and cut velvet, most sumptuously fringed and
spangled.  The chapel, though small, is richer than anything Crœsus ever
possessed, let them say what they will.  Not a corner but shines with
gold, diamonds, and scraps of martyrdom studded with jewels.  I had the
delight of treading amethysts and the richest gems under foot, which, if
you recollect, Apuleius thinks such supreme felicity.  Alas! I was quite
unworthy of the honour, and had much rather have trodden the turf of the
mountains.  Mammon would never have taken his eyes off the pavement; mine
soon left the contemplation of it, and fixed on St. Peter’s thumb,
enshrined with a degree of elegance, and adorned by some malapert
enthusiast with several of the most delicate antique cameos I ever
beheld; the subjects, Ledas and sleeping Venuses, are a little too pagan,
one should think, for an apostle’s finger.

From this precious repository we were conducted through the public garden
to a large hall, where part of the Sleitzom collection is piled up, till
a gallery can be finished for its reception.  ’Twas a matter of great
favour to view, in this state, the pieces that compose it,—a very
imperfect one too, since some of the best were under operation.  But I
would not upon any account have missed the sight of Rubens’s “Massacre of
the Innocents.”  Such expressive horrors were never yet transferred to
canvas, and Moloch himself might have gazed at them with pleasure.

After dinner we were led round the churches; and if you are as much tired
with reading my voluminous descriptions, as I was with the continual
repetition of altars and reliquaries, the Lord have mercy upon you!
However, your delivery draws near.  The post is going out, and to-morrow
we shall begin to mount the cliffs of the Tyrol; but don’t be afraid of
any long-winded epistles from their summits: I shall be too well employed
in ascending them.  Just now, as I have lain by a long while, I grow
sleek, and scribble on in mere wantonness of spirit.  What excesses such
a correspondence is capable of, you will soon be able to judge.

_July_ 25_th_.—The noise of the people thronging to the fair did not
allow me to slumber very long in the morning.  When I got up, every
street was crowded with Jews and mountebanks, holding forth and driving
their bargains in all the energetic vehemence of the German tongue.  Vast
quantities of rich merchandise glittered in the shops as we passed along
to the gates.  Heaps of fruit and sweetmeats set half the grandams and
infants in the place a-cackling with felicity.

Mighty glad was I to make my escape; and in about an hour or two, we
entered a wild tract of country, not unlike the skirts of a princely
park.  A little farther on stands a cluster of cottages, where we stopped
to give our horses some bread, and were pestered with swarms of flies,
most probably journeying to Munich fair, there to feast upon sugared
tarts and bottle-noses.

The next post brought us over hill and dale, grove and meadow, to a
narrow plain, watered by rivulets and surrounded by cliffs, under which
lies scattered the village of Wollrathshausen, consisting of several
cottages, built entirely of fir, with strange galleries hanging over the
way.  Nothing can be neater than the carpentry of these simple edifices,
nor more solid than their construction; many of them looked as if they
had braved the torrents which fell from the mountains a century ago; and,
if one may judge from the hoary appearance of the inhabitants, here are
patriarchs who remember the Emperor Lewis of Bavaria.  Orchards of
cherry-trees impend from the steeps above the village, which to our
certain knowledge produce no contemptible fruit.

Having refreshed ourselves with their cooling juice, we struck into a
grove of pines, the tallest and most flourishing perhaps we ever beheld.
There seemed no end to these forests, save where little irregular spots
of herbage, fed by cattle, intervened.  Whenever we gained an eminence it
was only to discover more ranges of dark wood, variegated with meadows
and glittering streams.  White clover and a profusion of sweet-scented
flowers clothe their banks; above, waves the mountain-ash, glowing with
scarlet berries; and beyond, rise hills and rocks and mountains, piled
upon one another, and fringed with fir to their topmost acclivities.
Perhaps the Norwegian forests alone equal these in grandeur and extent.
Those which cover the Swiss highlands rarely convey such vast ideas.
There, the woods climb only half way up their ascents, and then are
circumscribed by snows: here, no boundaries are set to their progress,
and the mountains, from their bases to their summits, display rich
unbroken masses of vegetation.

As we were surveying this prospect, a thick cloud, fraught with thunder,
obscured the transparence of the horizon, whilst flashes startled our
horses, whose snorts and stampings resounded through the woods.  What
from the shade of the firs and the impending tempests, we travelled
several miles almost in total darkness.  One moment the clouds began to
fleet, and a faint gleam promised serener hours, but the next all was
gloom and terror; presently a deluge of rain poured down upon the valley,
and in a short time the torrents, beginning to swell, raged with such
fury as to be with difficulty forded.  Twilight drew on, just as we had
passed the most terrible; then ascending a steep hill under a mountain,
whose pines and birches rustled with the storm, we saw a little lake
below.  A deep azure haze veiled its eastern shore, and lowering vapours
concealed the cliffs to the south; but over its western extremities a few
transparent clouds, the remains of the rays of a struggling sunset, were
suspended, which streamed on the surface of the waters, and tinged with
tender pink the brow of a verdant promontory.

I could not help fixing myself on the banks of the lake for several
minutes, till this apparition was lost, and confounded with the shades of
night.  Looking round, I shuddered at a craggy mountain, clothed in dark
forests and almost perpendicular, that was absolutely to be surmounted
before we could arrive at Wallersee.  No house, not even a shed
appearing, we were forced to ascend the peak, and penetrate these awful
groves.

Great praise is due to the directors of the roads across them, which,
considering their situation, are wonderfully fine.  Mounds of stone
support the passage in some places; and, in others, it is hewn with
incredible labour through the solid rock.  Beeches and pines of a hundred
feet high, darken the way with their gigantic branches, casting a chill
around, and diffusing a woody odour.  As we advanced, in the thick shade,
amidst the spray of torrents, and heard their loud roar in the chasm
beneath, I could scarcely help thinking myself transported to the Grande
Chartreuse; and began to conceive hopes of once more beholding St. Bruno.
{140}  But, though that venerable father did not vouchsafe an apparition,
or call to me again from the depths of the dells, he protected his votary
from nightly perils, and brought us to the banks of Wallersee Lake.  We
saw lights gleam upon its shores, which directed us to a cottage where we
reposed after our toils, and were soon lulled to sleep by the fall of
distant waters.

_July_ 26_th_.—The sun rose many hours before me, and when I got up was
spangling the surface of the lake, which expands between steeps of wood,
crowned by lofty crags and pinnacles.  We had an opportunity of
contemplating this bold assemblage as we travelled on the banks of the
Meer, where it forms a bay sheltered by impending forests; the water,
tinged by their reflection with a deep cerulean, calm and tranquil.
Mountains of pine and beech rising above, close every outlet; and, no
village or spire peeping out of the foliage, impress an idea of more than
European solitude.  I could contentedly have passed a summer’s moon in
these retirements, hollowed myself a canoe, and fished for sustenance.

From the shore of Wallersee, our road led us straight through arching
groves, which the axe seems never to have violated, to the summit of a
rock covered with spurge-laurel, and worn by the course of torrents into
innumerable craggy forms.  Beneath, lay extended a chaos of shattered
cliffs, with tall pines springing from their crevices, and rapid streams
hurrying between their intermingled trunks and branches.  As yet, no hut
appeared, no mill, no bridge, no trace of human existence.

After a few hours’ journey through the wilderness, we began to discover a
wreath of smoke; and presently the cottage from whence it arose, composed
of planks, and reared on the very brink of a precipice.  Piles of cloven
spruce-fir were dispersed before the entrance, on a little spot of
verdure browsed by goats; near them sat an aged man with hoary whiskers,
his white locks tucked under a fur cap.  Two or three beautiful children,
their hair neatly braided, played around him; and a young woman, dressed
in a short robe and Polish-looking bonnet, peeped out of a wicket window.

I was so much struck with the exotic appearance of this sequestered
family, that, crossing a rivulet, I clambered up to their cottage and
begged some refreshment.  Immediately there was a contention amongst the
children, who should be the first to oblige me.  A little black-eyed girl
succeeded, and brought me an earthen jug full of milk, with crumbled
bread, and a platter of strawberries fresh picked from the bank.  I
reclined in the midst of my smiling hosts, and spread my repast on the
turf: never could I be waited upon with more hospitable grace.  The only
thing I wanted was language to express my gratitude; and it was this
deficiency which made me quit them so soon.  The old man seemed visibly
concerned at my departure; and his children followed me a long way down
the rocks, talking in a dialect which passes all understanding, and
waving their hands to bid me adieu.

I had hardly lost sight of them and regained my carriage before we
entered a forest of pines, to all appearance without bounds, of every age
and figure; some, feathered to the ground with flourishing branches;
others, decayed into shapes like Lapland idols.  I can imagine few
situations more dreadful than to be lost at night amidst this confusion
of trunks, hollow winds whistling among the branches, and strewing their
cones below.  Even at noonday, I thought we should never have found our
way out.

At last, having descended a long avenue, endless perspectives opening on
either side, we emerged into a valley bounded by swelling hills, divided
into agreeable shady inclosures, where many herds were grazing.  A
rivulet flows along the pastures beneath; and after winding through the
village of Boidou, loses itself in a narrow pass amongst the cliffs and
precipices which rise above the cultivated slopes, and frame in this
happy pastoral region.  All the plain was in sunshine, the sky blue, and
the heights illuminated, except one rugged peak with spires of rock,
shaped not unlike the views I have seen of Sinai, and wrapped, like that
sacred mount, in clouds and darkness.  At the base of this tremendous
mass, lies a neat hamlet called Mittenvald, surrounded by thickets and
banks of verdure, and watered by frequent springs, whose sight and
murmurs were so reviving in the midst of a sultry day, that we could not
think of leaving their vicinity, but remained at Mittenvald the whole
evening.

Our inn had long airy galleries, and a pleasant balcony fronting the
mountain.  In one of these we dined upon trout fresh from the rills, and
cherries just culled from the orchards that cover the slopes above.  The
clouds were dispersing, and the topmost peak half visible, before we
ended our repast.  Every moment discovering some inaccessible cliff or
summit, shining through the mists, and tinted by the sun with pale golden
colours.  These appearances filled me with such delight and with such a
train of romantic associations, that I left the table and ran to an open
field beyond the huts and gardens, to gaze in solitude and catch the
vision before it dissolved away.  You, if any human being is able, may
conceive true ideas of these glowing vapours sailing over the pointed
rocks; and brightening them in their passage with amber light.

When all were faded and lost in the blue ether, I had time to look around
me and notice the mead in which I was standing.  Here, clover covered its
surface; there, crops of grain; further on, beds of herbs and the
sweetest flowers.  An amphitheatre of hills and rocks, broken into a
variety of glens and precipices, guards the plain from intrusion, and
opens a course for several clear rivulets, which, after gurgling amidst
loose stones and fragments, fall down the steeps, and are concealed and
quieted in the herbage of the vale.

A cottage or two peep out of the woods that hang over the waterfalls; and
on the brow of the hills above, appears a series of eleven little
chapels, uniformly built.  I followed the narrow path that leads to them,
on the edge of the eminences, and met a troop of beautiful peasants, all
of the name of Anna (for it was her saintship’s day), going to pay their
devotions, severally, at these neat white fanes.  There were faces that
Guercino would not have disdained copying, with braids of hair the
softest and most luxuriant I ever beheld.  Some had wreathed it simply
with flowers, other with rolls of a thin linen (manufactured in the
neighbourhood), and disposed it with a degree of elegance one should not
have expected on the cliffs of the Tyrol.

Being arrived, they knelt all together at the first chapel, on the steps,
a minute or two, whispered a short prayer, and then dispersed each to her
fane.  Every little building had now its fair worshipper, and you may
well conceive how much such figures, scattered about the landscape,
increased its charms.  Notwithstanding the fervour of their adorations
(for at intervals they sighed and beat their white bosoms with energy),
several bewitching profane glances were cast at me as I passed by.  Don’t
be surprised, then, if I became a convert to idolatry in so amiable a
form, and worshipped St. Anna on the score of her namesakes.

When got beyond the last chapel, I began to hear the roar of a cascade in
a thick wood of beech and chestnut that clothes the steeps of a wide
fissure in the rock.  My ear soon guided me to its entrance, which was
marked by a shed encompassed with mossy fragments, and almost concealed
by bushes of the caper-plant in full red bloom.  Amongst these I
struggled, till, reaching a goat-track, it conducted me, on the brink of
the foaming waters, to the very depths of the cliff, whence issues a
stream which dashes impetuously down, strikes against a ledge of rocks,
and sprinkles the impending thicket with dew.  Big drops hung on every
spray, and glittered on the leaves partially gilt by the rays of the
declining sun, whose mellow hues softened the summits of the cliffs, and
diffused a repose, a divine calm, over this deep retirement, which
inclined me to imagine it the extremity of the earth, and the portal of
some other region of existence; some happy world beyond the dark groves
of pine, the caves and awful mountains, where the river takes its source!
I hung eagerly on the gulph, impressed with this idea, and fancied myself
listening to a voice that bubbled up with the waters; then looked into
the abyss and strained my eyes to penetrate its gloom, but all was dark
and unfathomable as futurity!  Awakening from my reverie, I felt the
damps of the water chill my forehead, and ran shivering out of the vale
to avoid them.  A warmer atmosphere, that reigned in the meads I had
wandered across before, tempted me to remain a good while longer,
collecting the wild pinks with which they are strewed in profusion, and a
species of thyme scented like myrrh.  Whilst I was thus employed, a
confused murmur struck my ear, and, on turning towards a cliff, backed by
the woods from whence the sound seemed to proceed, forth issued a herd of
goats, hundreds after hundreds, skipping down the steeps: then followed
two shepherd boys, gamboling together as they drove their creatures
along: soon after, the dog made his appearance, hunting a stray heifer
which brought up the rear.  I followed them with my eyes till lost in the
windings of the valley, and heard the tinkling of their bells die
gradually away.  Now the last blush of crimson left the summit of Sinai,
inferior mountains being long since cast in deep blue shades.  The
village was already hushed when I regained it, and in a few moments I
followed its example.

_July_ 27_th_.—We pursued our journey to Inspruck, through the wildest
scenes of wood and mountain that were ever traversed, the rocks now
beginning to assume a loftier and more majestic appearance, and to
glisten with snows.  I had proposed passing a day or two at Inspruck,
visiting the castle of Ambras, and examining Count Eysenberg’s cabinet,
enriched with the rarest productions of the mineral kingdom, and a
complete collection of the moths and flies peculiar to the Tyrol; but,
upon my arrival, the azure of the skies and the brightness of the
sunshine inspired me with an irresistible wish of hastening to Italy.  I
was now too near the object of my journey, to delay possession any longer
than absolutely necessary; so, casting a transient look on Maximilian’s
tomb, and the bronze statues of Tyrolese Counts and worthies, solemnly
ranged in the church of the Franciscans, set immediately off.

We crossed a broad noble street, terminated by a triumphal arch, and were
driven along the road to the foot of a mountain waving with fields of
corn, and variegated with wood and vineyards, encircling lawns of the
finest verdure, scattered over with white houses glistening in the sun.
Upon ascending the mount, and beholding a vast range of prospects of a
similar character, I almost repented my impatience, and looked down with
regret upon the cupolas and steeples we were leaving behind.  But the
rapid succession of lovely and romantic scenes soon effaced the former
from my memory.

Our road, the smoothest in the world (though hewn in the bosom of rocks),
by its sudden turns and windings, gave us, every instant, opportunities
of discovering new villages, and forests rising beyond forests; green
spots in the midst of wood, high above on the mountains, and cottages
perched on the edge of promontories.  Down, far below, in the chasm,
amidst a confusion of pines and fragments of stone, rages the torrent
Inn, which fills the country far and wide with a perpetual murmur.
Sometimes we descended to its brink, and crossed over high bridges;
sometimes mounted half-way up the cliffs, till its roar and agitation
became, through distance, inconsiderable.

After a long ascent, the shades of evening reposing in the valleys, and
the upland snows still tinged with a vivid red, we reached Schönberg, a
village well worthy of its appellation: and then, twilight drawing over
us, began to descend.  We could now but faintly discover the opposite
mountains, veined with silver rills, when we came once more to the banks
of the Inn.  This turbulent stream accompanied us all the way to
Steinach, and broke by its continual roar the stillness of the night,
which had finished half its course before we were settled to rest.

_July_ 28_th_.—I rose early to scent the fragrance of the vegetation,
bathed in a shower which had lately fallen, and looking around me, saw
nothing but crags hanging over crags, and the rocky shores of the stream,
still dark with the shade of the mountains.  The small opening in which
Steinach is situated, terminates in a gloomy strait, scarce leaving room
for the road and the torrent, which does not understand being thwarted,
and will force its way, let the pines grow ever so thick, or the rocks be
ever so considerable.

Notwithstanding the forbidding air of this narrow dell, Industry has
contrived to enliven its steeps with habitations, to raise water by means
of a wheel, and to cover the surface of the rocks with soil.  By this
means large crops of oats and flax are produced, and most of the huts
have gardens adjoining, which are filled with poppies, seeming to thrive
in this parched situation.

    “Urit enim lini campum seges, urit avenæ,
    Urunt Lethæo perfusa papavera somno.”

The farther we advanced in the dell, the larger were the plantations
which discovered themselves.  For what purpose these gaudy flowers meet
with such encouragement, I had neither time nor language to inquire; the
mountaineers stuttering a gibberish unintelligible even to Germans.
Probably opium is extracted from them; or, perhaps, if you love a
conjecture, Morpheus has transferred his abode from the Cimmerians, and
has perceived a cavern somewhere or other in the recesses of these
endless mountains.  Poppies, you know, in poetic travels, always denote
the skirts of his soporific reign, and I don’t remember a region better
calculated for undisturbed repose than the narrow clefts and gullies
which run up amongst these rocks, lost in vapours impervious to the sun,
and moistened by rills and showers, whose continual tricklings inspire a
drowsiness not easily to be resisted.  Add to these circumstances the
waving of the pines, with the hum of bees seeking their food in the
crevices, and you will have as sleepy a region as that in which Spenser
and Ariosto have placed the nodding deity.

At present, I must confess, I should not dislike submitting to his
empire, for a few months or years, just as it might happen, whilst Europe
is distracted by demons of revenge and war; whilst they are strangling at
Venice, and tearing each other to pieces in unhappy London; whilst Etna
and Vesuvius give signs of uncommon wrath; America welters in her blood;
and almost every quarter of the globe is filled with carnage and
devastation.  This is the moment to humble ourselves before the God of
Sleep; to beseech him to open his dusky portals; and admit us into the
repose of his retired kingdom.  If you are inclined to become a
suppliant, hasten to the Tyrol, and we will search together about the
mountains, traverse the poppy-meads, and look into every chasm and
fissure that excludes daylight, in hopes of discovering the mansion of
repose.  Then when we have found this corner (or I think our search will
be successful) Morpheus will give us an approving nod, and beckon us in
silence to couch, where, soon lulled by the murmurs of the place, we
shall sink into oblivion and tranquillity.  But we may as well keep our
eyes open for the present, till we have made this important discovery,
and look at the beautiful country round Brixen, whither I arrived in the
cool of the evening, and breathed the freshness of a garden, immediately
beneath my window.  The thrushes, warbling amongst its shades, saluted
me, the moment I awoke next morning.

_July_ 29_th_.—We proceeded over fertile mountains to Bolsano.  Here
first I noticed the rocks cut into terraces, thick set with melons and
Indian corn; gardens of fig-trees and pomegranates hanging over walls,
clustered with fruit; amidst them, a little pleasant cot, shaded by
cypresses.  In the evening we perceived several further indications of
approaching Italy; and after sunset the Adige, rolling its full tide
between precipices, which looked awful in the dusk.  Myriads of
fire-flies sparkled amongst the shrubs on the bank.  I traced the course
of these exotic insects by their blue light, now rising to the summits of
the trees, now sinking to the ground and associating with vulgar
glow-worms.  We had opportunities enough to remark their progress, since
we travelled all night; such being my impatience to reach the promised
land!

Morning dawned just as we saw Trent dimly before us.  I slept a few
hours, then set out again (July 30th), after the heats were in some
degree abated, and leaving Bergine, where the peasants were feasting
before their doors, in their holiday dresses, with red pinks stuck in
their ears instead of rings, and their necks surrounded with coral of the
same colour, we came through a woody valley to the banks of a lake,
filled with the purest and most transparent water, which loses itself in
shady creeks, amongst hills robed with verdure from their bases to their
summits.

The shores present one continual shrubbery, interspersed with knots of
larches and slender almonds, starting from the underwood.  A cornice of
rock runs round the whole, except where the trees descend to the very
brink, and dip their boughs in the water.

It was five o’clock when I caught the sight of this unsuspected lake, and
the evening shadows stretched nearly across it.  Gaining a very rapid
ascent, we looked down upon its placid bosom, and saw several airy peaks
rising above the tufted foliage of the groves around.  I quitted the
contemplation of them with regret, and, in a few hours, arrived at Borgo
di Volsugano, the scenes of the lake still present before the eye of my
fancy.

_July_ 31_st_.—My heart beat quick when I saw some hills, not very
distant, which I was told lay in the Venetian State, and I thought an
age, at least, had elapsed before we were passing their base.  The road
was never formed to delight an impatient traveller; loose pebbles and
rolling stones render it, in the highest degree, tedious and jolting.  I
should not have spared my execrations, had it not traversed a picturesque
valley, overgrown with juniper, and strewed with fragments of rock,
precipitated, long since, from the surrounding eminences, blooming with
cyclamens.

I clambered up several of these crags,

                         “fra gli odoriferi ginepri,”

to gather the flowers I have just mentioned, and found them deliciously
scented.  Fratillarias, and the most gorgeous flies, many of which I here
noticed for the first time, were fluttering about and expanding their
wings to the sun.  There is no describing the numbers I beheld, nor their
gaily varied colouring.  I could not find in my heart to destroy their
felicity; to scatter their bright plumage and snatch them for ever from
the realms of light and flowers.  Had I been less compassionate, I should
have gained credit with that respectable corps, the torturers of
butterflies; and might, perhaps, have enriched their cabinets with some
unknown captives.  However, I left them imbibing the dews of heaven, in
free possession of their native rights; and having changed horses at
Tremolano, entered at length my long-desired Italy.

The pass is rocky and tremendous, guarded by a fortress (Covalo), in
possession of the Empress Queen, and only fit, one should think, to be
inhabited by her eagles.  There is no attaining this exalted hold but by
the means of a cord let down many fathoms by the soldiers, who live in
dens and caverns, which serve also as arsenals, and magazines for powder;
whose mysteries I declined prying into, their approach being a little too
aërial for my earthly frame.  A black vapour, tinging their entrance,
completed the terror of the prospect, which I shall never forget.

For two or three leagues it continued much in the same style; cliffs,
nearly perpendicular, on both sides, and the Brenta foaming and
thundering below.  Beyond, the rocks began to be mantled with vines and
gardens.  Here and there a cottage shaded with mulberries made its
appearance, and we often discovered, on the banks of the river, ranges of
white buildings, with courts and awnings, beneath which vast numbers were
employed in manufacturing silk.  As we advanced, the stream gradually
widened, and the rocks receded; woods were more frequent and cottages
thicker strown.

About five in the evening, we had left the country of crags and
precipices, of mists and cataracts, and were entering the fertile
territory of the Bassanese.  It was now I beheld groves of olives, and
vines clustering the summits of the tallest elms; pomegranates in every
garden, and vases of citron and orange before almost every door.  The
softness and transparency of the air soon told me I was arrived in
happier climates; and I felt sensations of joy and novelty run through my
veins, upon beholding this smiling land of groves and verdure stretched
out before me.  A few glooming vapours, I can hardly call them clouds,
rested upon the extremities of the landscape; and, through their medium,
the sun cast an oblique and dewy ray.  Peasants were returning homeward
from the cultivated hillocks and corn-fields, singing as they went, and
calling to each other over the hills; whilst the women were milking goats
before the wickets of the cottages, and preparing their country fare.

I left them enjoying it, and soon beheld the ancient ramparts and
cypresses of Bassano; whose classic appearance recalled the memory of
former times, and answered exactly the ideas I had pictured to myself of
Italian edifices.  Though encompassed by walls and turrets, neither
soldiers nor custom-house officers start out from their concealment, to
question and molest a weary traveller, for such are the blessings of the
Venetian State, at least of the Terra Firma provinces, that it does not
contain, I believe, above four regiments.  Istria, Dalmatia, and the
maritime frontiers, are more formidably guarded, as they touch, you know,
the whiskers of the Turkish empire.

Passing under a Doric gateway, we crossed the chief part of the town in
the way to our locanda, pleasantly situated, and commanding a level
green, where people walk and eat ices by moonlight.  On the right, the
Franciscan church and convent, half hid in the religious gloom of pine
and cypress; to the left, a perspective of walls and towers rising from
the turf, and marking it, when I arrived, with long shadows; in front,
where the lawn terminates, meadow, wood, and garden run quite to the base
of the mountains.

Twilight coming on, this beautiful spot swarmed with people, sitting in
circles upon the grass, refreshing themselves with cooling liquors or
lounging upon the bank beneath the towers.  They looked so free and happy
that I longed to be acquainted with them; and by the interposition of a
polite Venetian (who, though a perfect stranger, showed me the most
engaging marks of attention), was introduced to a group of the principal
inhabitants.  Our conversation ended in a promise to meet the next
evening at a country house about a league from Bassano, and then to
return together and sing to the praise of Pacchierotti, their idol, as
well as mine.

You can have no idea what pleasure we mutually found in being of the same
faith, and believing in one singer; nor can you imagine what effects that
musical divinity produced at Padua, where he performed a few years ago,
and threw his audience into such raptures, that it was some time before
they recovered.  One in particular, a lady of distinction, fainted away
the instant she caught the pathetic accents of his voice, and was near
dying a martyr to its melody.  La Contessa Roberti, who sings in the
truest taste, gave me a detail of the whole affair.  “Egli ha fatto
veramente un fanatismo a Padua,” was her expression.  I assured her we
were not without idolatry in England, upon his account; but that in this,
as well as in other articles of belief, there were many abominable
heretics.

_August_ 1_st_.—The whole morning not a soul stirred who could avoid it.
Those who were so active and lively the night before, were now stretched
languidly upon their couches.  Being to the full as idly disposed, I sat
down and wrote some of this dreaming epistle; then feasted upon figs and
melons; then got under the shade of the cypress, and slumbered till
evening, only waking to dine, and take some ice.

The sun declining apace, I hastened to my engagement at Mosolente (for so
is the villa called), placed on a verdant hill encircled by others as
lovely, and consisting of three light pavilions connected by porticos:
just such as we admire in the fairy scenes of an opera.  A vast flight of
steps leads to the summit, where Signora Roberti and her friends received
me with a grace and politeness that can never want a place in my memory.
We rambled over all the apartments of this agreeable edifice,
characterised by airiness and simplicity.  The pavement incrusted with a
composition as cool and polished as marble; the windows, doors, and
balconies adorned with silvered, iron work, commanding scenes of meads
and woodlands that extend to the shores of the Adriatic; spires and
cypresses rising above the levels; and the hazy mountains beyond Padua,
diversifying the expanse, form altogether a landscape which the elegant
imagination of Horizonti never exceeded.  Beyond the villa, a tumble of
hillocks present themselves in a variety of forms, with dips and hollows
between, scattered over with leafy trees and vines dangling in continued
garlands.

I gazed on this rural view till it faded in the dusk; then returning to
Bassano, repaired to an illuminated hall, and had the felicity of hearing
La Signora Roberti sing the very air which had excited such transport at
Padua.  As soon as she had ended, and that I could hear no more those
affecting sounds, which had held me silent and almost breathless for
several moments, a band of various instruments stationed in the open
street began a lively symphony, which would have delighted me at any
other time; but now, I wished them a thousand leagues away, so melancholy
an impression did the air I had been listening to leave on my mind.

At midnight I took leave of my obliging hosts, who were just setting out
for Padua.  They gave me a thousand kind invitations, and I hope some
future day to accept them.

_August_ 2_nd_.—Our route to Venice lay winding about the variegated
plains I had surveyed from Mosolente; and after dining at Treviso we came
in two hours and a half to Mestre, between grand villas and gardens
peopled with statues.  Embarking our baggage at the last-mentioned place,
we stepped into a gondola, whose even motion was very agreeable after the
jolts of a chaise.  Stretched beneath the awning, I enjoyed at my ease
the freshness of the gales, and the sight of the waters.  We were soon
out of the canal of Mestre, terminated by an isle which contains a cell
dedicated to the Holy Virgin, peeping out of a thicket from whence spire
up two tall cypresses.  Its bells tingled as we passed along and dropped
some paolis into a net tied at the end of a pole stretched out to us for
that purpose.

As soon as we had doubled the cape of this diminutive island, an azure
expanse of sea opened to our view, the domes and towers of Venice rising
from its bosom.  Now we began to distinguish Murano, St. Michele, St.
Giorgio in Alga, and several other islands, detached from the grand
cluster, which I hailed as old acquaintances; innumerable prints and
drawings having long since made their shapes familiar.  Still gliding
forward, the sun casting his last gleams across the waves, and reddening
the different towers, we every moment distinguished some new church or
palace in the city, suffused with the evening rays, and reflected with
all their glow of colouring from the surface of the waters.

The air was still; the sky cloudless; a faint wind just breathing upon
the deep, lightly bore its surface against the steps of a chapel in the
island of Saint Secondo, and waved the veil before its portal, as we
rowed by and coasted the walls of its garden, overhung with fig-trees and
topped with Italian pines.  The convent discovers itself through their
branches, built in a style somewhat morisco, and level with the sea,
except where the garden intervenes.

Here, meditation may indulge her reveries in the midst of the surges, and
walk in cloisters, alone vocal with the whispers of the pine.  I passed
this consecrated spot soon after sunset, when daylight was expiring in
the west, and when the distant woods of Fusina were lost in the haze of
the horizon.

We were now drawing very near the city, and a confused hum began to
interrupt the evening stillness; gondolas were continually passing and
repassing, and the entrance of the Canal Reggio, with all its stir and
bustle, lay before us.  Our gondoliers turned with much address through a
crowd of boats and barges that blocked up the way, and rowed smoothly by
the side of a broad pavement, covered with people in all dresses and of
all nations.

Leaving the Palazzo Pesaro, a noble structure with two rows of arcades
and a superb rustic, behind, we were soon landed before the Leon Bianco,
which being situated in one of the broadest parts of the grand canal,
commands a most striking assemblage of buildings.  I have no terms to
describe the variety of pillars, of pediments, of mouldings, and
cornices, some Grecian, others Saracenical, that adorn these edifices, of
which the pencil of Canaletti conveys so perfect an idea as to render all
verbal description superfluous.  At one end of this grand perspective
appears the Rialto; the sweep of the canal conceals the other.

The rooms of our hotel are as spacious and cheerful as I could desire; a
lofty hall, or rather gallery, painted with grotesque in a very good
style, perfectly clean, floored with the stucco composition I have
mentioned above, divides the house, and admits a refreshing current of
air.  Several windows near the ceiling look into this vast apartment,
which serves in lieu of a court, and is rendered perfectly luminous by a
glazed arcade, thrown open to catch the breezes.  Through it I passed to
a balcony which impends over the canal, and is twined round with plants
forming a green festoon springing from two large vases of orange-trees
placed at each end.  Here I established myself to enjoy the cool, and
observe, as well as the dusk would permit, the variety of figures
shooting by in their gondolas.

As night approached, innumerable tapers glimmered through the awnings
before the windows.  Every boat had its lantern, and the gondolas moving
rapidly along were followed by tracks of light, which gleamed and played
upon the waters.  I was gazing at these dancing fires when the sounds of
music were wafted along the canals, and as they grew louder and louder,
an illuminated barge, filled with musicians, issued from the Rialto, and
stopping under one of the palaces, began a serenade, which was clamorous
and suspended all conversation in the galleries and porticos; till,
rowing slowly away, it was heard no more.  The gondoliers catching the
air, imitated its cadences, and were answered by others at a distance,
whose voices, echoed by the arch of the bridge, acquired a plaintive and
interesting tone.  I retired to rest, full of the sound; and long after I
was asleep, the melody seemed to vibrate in my ear.

_August_ 3_rd_.—It was not five o’clock before I was aroused by a loud
din of voices and splashing of water under my balcony.  Looking out, I
beheld the grand canal so entirely covered with fruits and vegetables, on
rafts and in barges, that I could scarcely distinguish a wave.  Loads of
grapes, peaches, and melons arrived, and disappeared in an instant, for
every vessel was in motion; and the crowds of purchasers hurrying from
boat to boat, formed one of the liveliest pictures imaginable.  Amongst
the multitudes, I remarked a good many whose dress and carriage announced
something above the common rank; and upon inquiry I found they were noble
Venetians, just come from their casinos, and met to refresh themselves
with fruit, before they retired to sleep for the day.

Whilst I was observing them, the sun began to colour the balustrades of
the palaces, and the pure exhilarating air of the morning drawing me
abroad, I procured a gondola, laid in my provision of bread and grapes,
and was rowed under the Rialto, down the grand canal, to the marble steps
of S. Maria della Salute, erected by the Senate in performance of a vow
to the Holy Virgin, who begged off a terrible pestilence in 1630.  I
gazed, delighted with its superb frontispiece and dome, relieved by a
clear blue sky.  To criticize columns or pediments of the different
façades, would be time lost; since one glance upon the worst view that
has been taken of them, conveys a far better idea than the most elaborate
description.  The great bronze portal opened whilst I was standing on the
steps which lead to it, and discovered the interior of the dome, where I
expatiated in solitude; no mortal appearing except an old priest who
trimmed the lamps, and muttered a prayer before the high altar, still
wrapped in shadows.  The sunbeams began to strike against the windows of
the cupola just as I left the church, and was wafted across the waves to
the spacious platform in front of St. Giorgio Maggiore, by far the most
perfect and beautiful edifice my eyes ever beheld.

When my first transport was a little subsided, and I had examined the
graceful design of each particular ornament, and united the just
proportion and grand effect of the whole in my mind, I planted my
umbrella on the margin of the sea, and reclining under its shade, my feet
dangling over the waters, viewed the vast range of palaces, of porticos,
of towers, opening on every side and extending out of sight.  The Doge’s
residence and the tall columns at the entrance of the place of St. Mark,
form, together with the arcades of the public library, the lofty
Campanile and the cupolas of the ducal church, one of the most striking
groups of buildings that art can boast of.  To behold at one glance these
stately fabrics, so illustrious in the records of former ages, before
which, in the flourishing times of the republic, so many valiant chiefs
and princes have landed, loaded with the spoils of different nations, was
a spectacle I had long and ardently desired.  I thought of the days of
Frederic Barbarossa, when looking up the piazza of St. Mark, along which
he marched in solemn procession, to cast himself at the feet of Alexander
the Third, and pay a tardy homage to St. Peter’s successor.  Here were no
longer those splendid fleets that attended his progress; one solitary
galeass was all I beheld, anchored opposite the palace of the Doge, and
surrounded by crowds of gondolas, whose sable hues contrasted strongly
with its vermilion oars and shining ornaments.  A party-coloured
multitude was continually shifting from one side of the piazza to the
other; whilst senators and magistrates in long black robes were already
arriving to fill their respective charges.

I contemplated the busy scene from my peaceful platform, where nothing
stirred but aged devotees creeping to their devotions; and, whilst I
remained thus calm and tranquil, heard the distant buzz and rumour of the
town.  Fortunately a length of waves rolled between me and its tumults;
so that I ate my grapes, and read Metastasio, undisturbed by
officiousness or curiosity.  When the sun became too powerful, I entered
the nave, and applauded the genius of Palladio.

After I had admired the masterly structure of the roof and the lightness
of its arches, my eyes naturally directed themselves to the pavement of
white and ruddy marble, polished, and reflecting like a mirror the
columns which rise from it.  Over this I walked to a door that admitted
me into the principal quadrangle of the convent, surrounded by a cloister
supported on Ionic pillars, beautifully proportioned.  A flight of stairs
opens into the court, adorned with balustrades and pedestals, sculptured
with elegance truly Grecian.  This brought me to the refectory, where the
chef-d’œuvre of Paul Veronese, representing the marriage of Cana in
Galilee, was the first object that presented itself.  I never beheld so
gorgeous a group of wedding garments before; there is every variety of
fold and plait that can possibly be imagined.  The attitudes and
countenances are more uniform, and the guests appear a very genteel,
decent sort of people, well used to the mode of their times and
accustomed to miracles.

Having examined this fictitious repast, I cast a look on a long range of
tables covered with very excellent realities, which the monks were coming
to devour with energy, if one might judge from their appearance.  These
sons of penitence and mortification possess one of the most spacious
islands of the whole cluster, a princely habitation, with gardens and
open porticos, that engross every breath of air; and, what adds not a
little to the charms of their abode, is the liberty of making excursions
from it, whenever they have a mind.

The republic, wisely jealous of ecclesiastical influence, connives at
these amusing rambles, and, by encouraging the liberty of monks and
churchmen, prevents their appearing too sacred and important in the eyes
of the people, who have frequent proofs of their being mere flesh and
blood, and that of the frailest composition.  Had the rest of Italy been
of the same opinion, and profited as much by Fra Paolo’s maxims, some of
its fairest fields would not, at this moment, lie uncultivated, and its
ancient spirit might have revived.  However, I can scarcely think the
moment far distant, when it will assert its natural prerogatives, awake
from its ignoble slumber, and look back upon the tiara, with all its host
of idle fears and scaring phantoms, as the offspring of a distempered
dream.  Scarce a sovereign supports any longer this vain illusion, except
the old woman of Hungary, and as soon as her dim eyes are closed we shall
probably witness great events. {156}

Full of prophecies and bodings, I moved slowly out of the cloisters; and,
gaining my gondola, arrived, I know not how, at the flights of steps
which lead to the Redenptore, a structure so simple and elegant, that I
thought myself entering an antique temple, and looked about for the
statue of the God of Delphi, or some other graceful divinity.  A huge
crucifix of bronze soon brought me to times present.

The charm being thus dissolved, I began to perceive the shapes of rueful
martyrs peeping out of the niches around, and the bushy beards of
Capuchin friars wagging before the altars.  These good fathers had
decorated their church, according to custom, with orange and citron
trees, placed between the pilasters of the arcades; and on grand
festivals, it seems, they turn the whole church into a bower, strew the
pavement with leaves, and festoon the dome with flowers.

I left them occupied with their plants and their devotions.  It was
midday, and I begged to be rowed to some woody island, where I might dine
in shade and tranquillity.  My gondoliers shot off in an instant; but,
though they went at a very rapid rate, I wished to fly faster, and
getting into a bark with six oars, swept along the waters, soon left the
Zecca and San Marco behind; and, launching into the plains of shining
sea, saw turret after turret, and isle after isle, fleeting before me.  A
pale greenish light ran along the shores of the distant continent, whose
mountains seemed to catch the motion of my boat, and to fly with equal
celerity.

I had not much time to contemplate the beautiful effects on the
waters—the emerald and purple hues which gleamed along their surface.
Our prow struck, foaming, against the walls of the Carthusian garden,
before I recollected where I was, or could look attentively around me.
Permission being obtained, I entered this cool retirement, and putting
aside with my hands the boughs of fig-trees and pomegranates, got under
an ancient bay, near which several tall pines lift themselves up to the
breezes.  I listened to the conversation they held, with a wind just
flown from Greece, and charged, as well as I could understand this airy
language, with many affectionate remembrances from their relations on
Mount Ida.

I reposed amidst bay leaves, fanned by a constant air, till it pleased
the fathers to send me some provisions, with a basket of fruit and wine.
Two of them would wait upon me, and ask ten thousand questions about Lord
George Gordon, and the American war.  I, who was deeply engaged with the
winds, and fancied myself hearing these rapid travellers relate their
adventures, wished my interrogators in purgatory, and pleaded ignorance
of the Italian language.  This circumstance extricated me from my
difficulties, and procured me a long interval of repose.

The rustling of the pines had the same effect as the murmurs of other old
story-tellers, and I slept undisturbed till the people without, in the
boat (who wondered not a little, I dare say, what the deuce was become of
me within), began a sort of chorus in parts, full of such plaintive
modulation, that I still thought myself under the influence of a dream,
and, half in this world and half in the other, believed, like the heroes
of Fingal, that I had caught the music of the spirits of the hill.

When I was thoroughly convinced of the reality of these sounds, I moved
towards the shore from whence they proceeded: a glassy sea lay full
before me; no gale ruffled the expanse; every breath was subsided, and I
beheld the sun go down in all its sacred calm.  You have experienced the
sensations this moment inspires; imagine what they must have been in such
a scene, and accompanied with a melody so simple and pathetic.  I stepped
into my boat, and instead of encouraging the speed of the gondoliers,
begged them to abate their ardour, and row me lazily home.  They
complied, and we were near an hour reaching the platform before the ducal
palace, thronged as usual with a variety of nations.  I mixed a moment
with the crowd; then directed my steps to the great mosque,—I ought to
say the church of St. Mark; but really its cupolas, slender pinnacles,
and semicircular arches, have so oriental an appearance, as to excuse
this appellation.  I looked a moment at the four stately coursers of
bronze and gold that adorn the chief portal, and then took in, at one
glance, the whole extent of the square, with its towers and standards.
So noble an assemblage never met my eyes.  I envied the good fortune of
Petrarch, who describes, in one of his letters, a tournament held in this
princely opening.

Many are the festivals which have been here celebrated.  When Henry the
Third left Poland to mount the throne of France, he passed through
Venice, and found the republic waiting to receive him in their famous
square, which by means of an awning stretched from the balustrades of
opposite palaces, was metamorphosed into a vast saloon, sparkling with
artificial stars, and spread with the richest carpets of the East.  What
a magnificent idea!  The ancient Romans, in the zenith of power and
luxury, never conceived a greater.  It is to them the Venetians are
indebted for the hint, since we read of the Coliseo and Pompey’s theatre
being sometimes covered with transparent canvas, to defend the spectators
from the heat or sudden rain, and to tint the scene with soft agreeable
colours, like the hues of the declining sun.

Having enjoyed the general perspective of the piazza, I began to enter
into particulars, and examine the bronze pedestals of the three standards
before the great church, designed by Sansovino in the true spirit of the
antique, and covered with relievos, at the same time bold and elegant.
It is also to this celebrated architect we are indebted for the stately
façade of the Proccuratie nuove, which forms one side of the square, and
presents an uninterrupted series of arcades and marble columns
exquisitely wrought.  Opposite this magnificent range appears another
line of palaces, whose architecture, though far removed from the Grecian
purity of Sansovino, impresses veneration, and completes the pomp of the
view.

                      [Picture: Grand Canal, Venice]

There is something strange and singular in the tower, which rises
distinct from the smooth pavement of the square, a little to the left as
you stand before the chief entrance of St. Mark’s.  The design is rather
barbarous, and terminates in uncouth and heavy pyramids; yet in spite of
these defects it struck me with awe.  A beautiful building called the
Loggetta, and which serves as a guard-house during the convocation of the
grand council, decorates its base.  Nothing can be more enriched, more
finished than this structure; which, though far from diminutive, is in a
manner lost at the foot of the Campanile.  This enormous mass seems to
promise a very long duration, and will probably carry down the fame of
St. Mark and his Lion to the latest posterity.  Both appear in great
state towards its summit, and have nothing superior, but an archangel
perched on the topmost pinnacle, and pointing to the skies.  The dusk
prevented my remarking the various sculptures with which the Loggetta is
crowded.

Crossing the ample space between this elegant edifice and the ducal
palace, I passed through a labyrinth of pillars and entered the principal
court, of which nothing but the great outline was visible at so late an
hour.  Two reservoirs of bronze, rich with sculptured foliage, diversify
the area.  In front a magnificent flight of steps presents itself, by
which the senators ascend through vast and solemn corridors, which lead
to the interior of the edifice.  The colossal statues of Mars and Neptune
guard the entrance, and have given the appellation of _scala dei geganti_
to the steps below, which I mounted not without respect; and, leaning
against the balustrades, formed like the rest of the building of the
rarest marbles, adored the tutelary divinities.

My devotions were shortly interrupted by one of the sbirri, or officers
of police, who take their stands after sunset before the avenues of the
palace, and who told me the gates were upon the point of being closed.
So, hurrying down the steps, I left half my vows unpaid and a million of
delicate sculptures unexplored; for every pilaster, every frieze, every
entablature, is incrusted with porphyry, verde antique, or some other
curious marble, carved into as many grotesque wreaths and mouldings as we
admire in the loggios of Raffaello.  The various portals, the strange
projections, the length of cloisters; in short, the noble irregularity of
these imperial piles, delighted me beyond idea; and I was sorry to be
forced to abandon them so soon, especially as the twilight, which bats
and owls love not better than I do, enlarged every portico, lengthened
every colonnade, and increased the dimensions of the whole, just as
imagination desired.  This faculty would have had full scope had I but
remained an hour longer.  The moon would then have gleamed upon the
gigantic forms of Mars and Neptune, and discovered the statues of ancient
heroes emerging from the gloom of their niches.

Such an interesting assemblage of objects, such regal scenery, with the
reflection that half their ornaments once contributed to the decoration
of Athens, transported me beyond myself.  The sbirri thought me
distracted.  True enough, I was stalking proudly about like an actor in
an ancient Grecian tragedy, lifting up his hands to the consecrated fanes
and images around, expecting the reply of his attendant chorus, and
declaiming the first verses of Œdipus Tyrannus.

These fits of enthusiasm were hardly subsided, when I issued from the
gates of the palace into the great square, which received a faint gleam
from its casinos and palaces, just beginning to be lighted up, and become
the resort of pleasure and dissipation.  Numbers were walking in parties
upon the pavement; some sought the shade of the porticos with their
favourites; others were earnestly engaged in conversation, and filled the
gay illuminated apartments, where they resorted to drink coffee and
sorbet, with laughter and merriment.  A thoughtless giddy transport
prevailed; for, at this hour, anything like restraint seems perfectly out
of the question; and however solemn a magistrate or senator may appear in
the day, at night he lays up wig and robe and gravity to sleep together,
runs intriguing about in his gondola, takes the reigning sultana under
his arm, and so rambles half over the town, which grows gayer and gayer
as the day declines.

Many of the noble Venetians have a little suite of apartments in some
out-of-the-way corner, near the grand piazza, of which their families are
totally ignorant.  To these they skulk in the dusk, and revel undisturbed
with the companions of their pleasures.  Jealousy itself cannot discover
the alleys, the winding passages, the unsuspected doors, by which these
retreats are accessible.  Many an unhappy lover, whose mistress
disappears on a sudden with some fortunate rival, has searched for her
haunts in vain.  The gondoliers themselves, though the prime managers of
intrigue, are scarce ever acquainted with these interior cabinets.  When
a gallant has a mind to pursue his adventures with mystery, he rows to
the piazza, orders his bark to wait, meets his goddess in the crowd, and
vanishes from all beholders.  Surely, Venice is the city in the universe
best calculated for giving scope to the observations of a devil upon two
sticks.  What a variety of lurking-places would one stroke of his crutch
uncover!

Whilst the higher ranks were solacing themselves in their casinos, the
rabble were gathered in knots round the strollers and mountebanks,
singing and scaramouching in the middle of the square.  I observed a
great number of Orientals amongst the crowd, and heard Turkish and Arabic
muttering in every corner.  There the Sclavonian dialect predominated;
there some Grecian jargon, almost unintelligible.  Had St. Mark’s church
been the wondrous tower, and its piazza the chief square, of the city of
Babylon, there could scarcely have been a greater confusion of languages.

The novelty of the scene afforded me no small share of amusement, and I
wandered about from group to group, and from one strange exotic to
another, asking and being asked innumerable ridiculous questions, and
settling the politics of London and Constantinople, almost in the same
breath.  This instant, I found myself in a circle of grave Armenian
priests and jewellers; the next amongst Greeks and Dalmatians, who
accosted me with the smoothest compliments, and gave proof that their
reputation for pliability and address was not ill-founded.

I was entering into a grand harum-scarum discourse with some Russian
Counts or Princes, or whatever you please, just landed with dwarfs, and
footmen, and governors, and staring, like me, about them, when Mad. de R.
arrived, to whom I had the happiness of being recommended.  She very
obligingly presented me to some of the most distinguished of the Venetian
families at their great casino, which looks into the piazza, and consists
of five or six rooms, fitted up in a gay flimsy taste, neither rich nor
elegant, where were a great many lights, and a great many ladies
negligently dressed, their hair falling very freely about them, and
innumerable adventures written in their eyes.  The gentlemen were lolling
upon the sofas or lounging about the apartments.

The whole assembly seemed upon the verge of gaping, till coffee was
carried round.  This magic beverage diffused a temporary animation; and,
for a moment or two, conversation moved on with a degree of pleasing
extravagance; but the flash was soon dissipated, and nothing remained
save cards and stupidity.

In the intervals of shuffling and dealing, some talked over the affairs
of the grand council with less reserve than I expected; and two or three
of them asked some feeble questions about the late tumults in London: as
much, however, through indolence and forgetfulness, I should conjecture,
as from any political motive, for I don’t believe all those wise stories,
which some travellers have propagated, of Venetian subtlety and profound
silence.  They might have reigned during the dark periods of the
republic, but at this moment the veil is rent in fifty places; and
without any wonderful penetration, the debates of the senate are
discoverable.  There doubtless was a time when, society being greatly
divided, and little communication subsisting among the nobles, secrets
were invariably kept; but since the establishment of casinos, which the
ladies rule, where chit-chat and tittle-tattle are for ever going
forwards, who can preserve a rigorous taciturnity upon any subject in the
universe?  It was one o’clock before all the company were assembled, and
I left them at three, still dreaming over their coffee and card-tables.
Trieze is their favourite game: _uno_, _due_, _tre_, _quatro_, _cinque_,
_fante_, _cavallo_ are eternally repeated; the apartments echoed no other
sound.

No lively people could endure such monotony; yet I have been told the
Venetians are remarkably spirited, and so eager in the pursuit of
amusement as hardly to allow themselves any sleep.  Some, for instance,
after declaiming in the Senate, walking an hour in the square, and
fidgeting about from one casino to another till morning dawns, will get
into a gondola, row across the Lagunes, take the post to Mestre or
Fusina, and jumble over craggy pavements to Treviso, breakfast in haste,
and rattle back again as if the devil were charioteer: by eleven the
party is restored to Venice, resumes robe and periwig, and goes to
council.

This may be very true, and yet I will never cite the Venetians as
examples of vivacity.  Their nerves, unstrung by disease and the
consequences of early debaucheries, impede all lively flow of spirits in
its course, and permit at best but a few moments of a false and feverish
activity.  The approaches of rest, forced back by an immoderate use of
coffee, render them, too, weak and listless, and the facility of being
wafted from place to place in a gondola, adds not a little to their
indolence.  In short, I can scarcely regard their Eastern neighbours in a
more lazy light; and am apt to imagine that instead of slumbering less
than other people, they pass their lives in one perpetual doze.

_August_ 4_th_.—The heats were so excessive in the night, that I thought
myself several times on the point of suffocation, tossed about like a
wounded fish, and dreamt of the devil and Senegal.  Towards sunrise, a
faint breeze restored me to life and reason.  I slumbered till late in
the day, and the moment I was fairly awake, ordered my gondolier to row
out to the main ocean, that I might plunge into its waves, and hear and
see nothing but waters around me.

We shot off, wound amongst a number of sheds, shops, churches, casinos,
and palaces, growing immediately out of the canals, without any apparent
foundation.  No quay, no terrace, not even a slab is to be seen before
the doors; one step brings you from the hall into the bark, and the
vestibules of the stateliest structures lie open to the waters, and level
with them.  I observed several, as I glided along, supported by rows of
well-proportioned pillars, adorned with terms and vases, beyond which the
eye generally discovers a grand court, and sometimes a garden.

In about half an hour, we had left the thickest cluster of isles behind,
and, coasting the Place of St. Mark opposite to San Giorgio Maggiore,
whose elegant frontispiece was painted on the calm waters, launched into
the blue expanse of sea, from which rise the Chartreuse and two or three
other woody islands.  I hailed the spot where I had passed such a happy
visionary evening, and nodded to my friends the pines.

A few minutes more brought me to a dreary, sun-burnt shore, stalked over
by a few Sclavonian soldiers, who inhabit a castle hard by, go regularly
to an ugly unfinished church, and from thence, it is to be hoped, to
paradise; as the air of their barracks is abominable, and kills them like
blasted sheep.

Forlorn as this island appeared to me, I was told it was the scene of the
Doge’s pageantry at the feast of the Ascension; and the very spot to
which he sails in the _Bucentaur_, previously to wedding the sea.  You
have heard enough, and if ever you looked into a show-box, seen full
sufficient of this gaudy spectacle, without my enlarging upon the topic.
I shall only say, that I was obliged to pursue, partly, the same road as
the nuptial procession, in order to reach the beach, and was broiled and
dazzled accordingly.

At last, after traversing some desert hillocks, all of a hop with toads
and locusts (amongst which English heretics have the honour of being
interred), I passed under an arch, and suddenly the boundless plains of
ocean opened to my view.  I ran to the smooth sands, extending on both
sides out of sight, cast off my clothes, and dashed into the waves, which
were coursing one another with a gentle motion, and breaking lightly on
the shores.  The tide rolled over me as I lay floating about, buoyed up
by the water, and carried me wheresoever it listed.  It might have borne
me far out into the main, and exposed me to a thousand perils, before I
had been aware, so totally was I abandoned to the illusion of the moment.
My ears were filled with murmuring undecided sounds; my limbs, stretched
languidly on the surge, rose or sunk just as it swelled or subsided.  In
this passive, senseless state I remained, till the sun cast a less
intolerable light, and the fishing vessels, lying out in the bay at a
great distance, spread their sails and were coming home.

Hastening back over the desert of locusts, I threw myself into the
gondola; and, no wind or wave opposing, was soon wafted across to those
venerable columns, so conspicuous in the Place of St. Mark.  Directing my
course immediately to the ducal palace, I entered the grand court,
ascending the Giant’s stairs, and examined at my leisure its bas-reliefs.
Then, taking the first guide that presented himself, I was shown along
several cloisters and corridors, sustained by innumerable pillars, into
the state apartments, which Tintoret and Paolo Veronese have covered with
the triumphs of their country.

A swarm of lawyers filled the Sala del Maggior Consiglio, and one of the
first advocates in the republic was pleading with all his might, before a
solemn row of senators.  The eyes and ears of the assembly seemed equally
affected.  Clouds of powder and volleys of execrations issuing every
instant from the disputants, I got out of their way; and was led from
hall to hall, and from picture to picture, with exemplary resignation.
To be sure, I was heartily tired, but behaved with decency, having never
once expressed how much I wished the chefs-d’œuvre I had been
contemplating, less smoky and numerous.

At last, I reached once more the colonnades at the entrance, and caught
the sea-breeze in the open porticos which front San Giorgio Maggiore.
The walls are covered in most places with grim visages sculptured in
marble, whose mouths gape for accusations, and swallow every lie that
malice and revenge can dictate.  I wished for a few ears of the same
kind, dispersed about the Doge’s residence, to which one might apply
one’s own, and catch some account of the mysteries within; some little
dialogue between the Three Inquisitors, or debate in the Council of Ten.

This is the tribunal which holds the wealthy nobility in continual awe;
before which they appear with trembling and terror: and whose summons
they dare not disobey.  Sometimes, by way of clemency, it condemns its
victims to perpetual imprisonment in close, stifling cells, between the
leads and beams of the palace; or, unwilling to spill the blood of a
fellow-citizen, generously sinks them into dungeons, deep under the
canals which wash its foundations; so that, above and below, its majesty
is contaminated by the abodes of punishment.  What other sovereign could
endure the idea of having his immediate residence polluted with tears? or
revel in his halls, conscious that many of his species were consuming
their hours in lamentations above his head, and that but a few beams
separated him from the scene of their tortures?  How ever gaily disposed,
could one dance with pleasure on a pavement, beneath which lie damp and
gloomy caverns, whose inhabitants waste away by painful degrees, and feel
themselves whole years a-dying?  Impressed by these terrible ideas, I
could not regard the palace without horror, and wished for the strength
of a thousand antediluvians, to level it with the sea, lay open the
secret recesses of punishment, and admit free gales and sunshine into
every den.

When I had thus vented my indignation, I repaired to the statue of
Neptune and invoked it to second my enterprise.  Once upon a time no
deity had a freer hand at razing cities.  His execution was renowned
throughout all antiquity, and the proudest monarchs deprecated the wrath
of ΚΡΕΙΩΝ ΕΝΟΣΙΧΘΩΝ.  But, like the other mighty ones of ancient days,
his reign is past and his trident disregarded.  Formerly any wild spirit
found favour in the eyes of fortune, and was led along the career of
glory to the deliverance of captives and the extirpation of monsters;
but, in our degenerate times, this easy road to fame is no longer open,
and the means of producing such signal events perplexed and difficult.

Abandoning, therefore, the sad tenants of the Piombi to their fate, I
left the courts, and stepping into my bark, was rowed down a canal over
which the lofty walls of the palace cast a tremendous shade.  Beneath
these fatal waters the dungeons I have also been speaking of are
situated.  There the wretches lie marking the sound of the oars, and
counting the free passage of every gondola.  Above, a marble bridge, of
bold majestic architecture, joins the highest part of the prisons to the
secret galleries of the palace; from whence criminals are conducted over
the arch to a cruel and mysterious death.  I shuddered whilst passing
below; and believe it is not without cause, this structure is named PONTE
DEl SOSPIRI.  Horrors and dismal prospects haunted my fancy upon my
return.  I could not dine in peace, so strongly was my imagination
affected; but snatching my pencil, I drew chasms and subterraneous
hollows, the domain of fear and torture, with chains, racks, wheels, and
dreadful engines, in the style of Piranesi.  About sunset I went and
refreshed myself with the cool air and cheerful scenery of the Fondamenti
nuovi, a vast quay or terrace of white marble, which commands the whole
series of isles, from San Michele’s to Torcello,

                “That rise and glitter o’er the ambient tide.”

Nothing can be more picturesque than the groups of towers and cupolas
which they present, mixed with flat roofs and low buildings, and now and
then a pine or cypress.  Afar off, a little woody isle, called Il
Deserto, swells from the ocean and diversifies its expanse.

When I had spent a delightful half-hour in viewing the distant isles, M.
de.  B. accompanied me to the Mendicanti, one of the four conservatorios,
which give the best musical education conceivable to near one hundred
young women.  You may imagine how admirably those of the Mendicanti in
particular are taught, since their establishment is under Bertoni’s
direction, who breathes around him the very soul of grace and harmony.
The chapel in which we sat to hear the oratorio was dark and solemn; a
screen of lofty pillars, formed of black marble and highly polished,
excluded the glow of the western sky, and reflected the lamps which burn
perpetually before the altar.  Every tribune was thronged with people,
whose profound silence showed them worthy auditors of Bertoni’s
compositions.  Here were no cackling old women, or groaning Methodists,
such as infest our English churches, and scare one’s ears with hoarse
coughs accompanied by the naso obligato.  All were still and attentive,
imbibing the plaintive notes of the voices with eagerness; and scarce a
countenance but seemed deeply affected with David’s sorrows, the subject
of the performance.  I sat retired in a solitary tribune, and felt them
as my own.  Night came on before the last chorus was sung, and I still
seem to hear its sacred melody.

_August_ 18_th_.—It rains; the air is refreshed and I have courage to
resume my pen, which the sultry weather had forced to lie dormant so
long.  I like this odd town of Venice, and find every day some new
amusement in rambling about its innumerable canals and alleys.  Sometimes
I go and pry about the great church of Saint Mark, and examine the
variety of marbles and mazes of delicate sculpture with which it is
covered.  The cupola, glittering with gold, mosaic, and paintings of half
the wonders in the Apocalypse, never fails transporting me to the period
of the Eastern empire.  I think myself in Constantinople, and expect
Michael Paleologus with all his train.  One circumstance alone prevents
my observing half the treasures of the place, and holds down my fancy,
just springing into the air: I mean the vile stench which exhales from
every recess and corner of the edifice, and which all the altars cannot
subdue.

When oppressed by this noxious atmosphere, I run up the Campanile in the
piazza, and seating myself amongst the pillars of the gallery, breathe
the fresh gales which blow from the Adriatic; survey at my leisure all
Venice beneath me, with its azure sea, white sails, and long tracts of
islands shining in the sun.  Having thus laid in a provision of wholesome
breezes, I brave the vapours of the canals, and venture into the most
curious and murky quarters of the city, in search of Turks and Infidels,
that I may ask as many questions as I please about Damascus and Suristan,
those happy countries which nature has covered with roses.

Asiatics find Venice very much to their liking, and all those I conversed
with allowed its customs and style of living had a good deal of
conformity to their own.  The eternal lounging in coffee-houses and
sipping of sorbets, agrees perfectly well with the inhabitants of the
Ottoman empire, who stalk about here in their proper dresses, and smoke
their own exotic pipes, without being stared and wondered at, as in most
other European capitals.  Some few of these Orientals are communicative
and enlightened; but, generally speaking, they know nothing beyond the
rule of three, and the commonest transactions of mercantile affairs.

The Greeks are by far a more lively generation, still retaining their
propensity to works of genius and imagination.  Metastasio has been
lately translated into their modern jargon, and some obliging papa or
other has had the patience to put the long-winded romance of Clelia into
a Grecian dress.  I saw two or three of these volumes exposed on a stall,
under the grand arcades of the public library, as I went one day to
admire the antiques in its vestibules.

Whilst I was intent upon my occupation, a little door, I never should
have suspected, flew open, and out popped Monsieur de V., from a place
where nothing, I believe, but broomsticks and certain other utensils were
ever before deposited.  This gentleman, the most active investigator of
Homer since the days of the good bishop of Thessalonica, bespatters you
with more learning in a minute than others communicate in half a year;
quotes Arabic, Greek, Hebrew, Syriac, etc., with a formidable fluency;
and drove me from one end of the room to the other with all the thunder
of erudition.  Syllables fell thicker than hail, and in an instant I
found myself so weighed down and covered, that I prayed, for mercy’s
sake, to be introduced, by way of respite, to a Laplander whom he leads
about as a curiosity; a poor, harmless, good sort of a soul, calm and
indifferent, who has acquired the words of several Oriental languages to
perfection: ideas he has, in none.

We went together to view a collection of medals in one of the Gradanigo
palaces, and two or three inestimable volumes, filled with paintings that
represent the dress of the ancient Venetians; so that I had an
opportunity of observing to perfection all the Lapland nothingness of my
companion.  What a perfect void!  Cold and silent as the polar regions,
not one passion ever throbbed in his bosom; not one bright ray of fancy
ever glittered in his mind; without love or anger, pleasure or pain, his
days fleet smoothly along: all things considered, I must confess I envied
such comfortable apathy.

After having passed a peaceful hour in dreaming over the medals and
rarities, M. de V. was for conducting me to the Armenian convent, but I
begged to be excused, and went to S. Giovanni e Paolo’s, a church ever
celebrated in the annals of painting, since it contains that masterpiece
of Titian, “The Martyrdom of St. Peter.”  It being a festival, the huge
Gothic pillars were covered with red damask, and the shrines of saints
and worthies glimmered with tapers.  The dim chapels on each side the
nave received a feeble light, and discovered the tombs of ancient Doges,
and the equestrian statues of many a doughty General.  I admired them
all, but liked nothing so much as a snug bas-relief I found out in a
corner, which represents St. Mark and some other good souls a-prosing,
whilst his lion and the old serpent squabble and scratch in the
foreground of the sculpture, like cat and dog by the fireside.  After
dinner, when the shadows of domes and palaces began lengthening across
the waves, I rowed out

                   “On the clear hyaline, the glassy sea,”

to observe the last sunbeams fade on the tufted gardens of the Giudecca,
and to contemplate the distant Euganean hills, once the happiest region
of Italy; where wandering nations enjoyed the simplicity of a pastoral
life, long before the arrival of Antenor.  In those ancient times, deep
forests and extensive pastures covered the shores {170a} of the Adriatic,
and innumerable flocks hung on the brow of the mountains.  This golden
period ended upon the incursion of the Trojans and Heneti; who, led by
Antenor, drove away the unfortunate savages, and possessed themselves of
their habitations. {170b}  The form of the hillocks is varied and
picturesque, and the sun, sinking behind them, suffuses their summits
with tints of the brightest orange.  Scarce one evening have I failed to
remark the changeful scenery of the clouds, and to fill my mind with
recollections of primeval days and happier ages.  Night generally
surprises me in the midst of my reveries; I return, lulled in my gondola
by the murmur of waters, pass about an hour with M. de R., whose
imagination and sensibility almost equal your own; then, retire to sleep,
and dream of the Euganeans.




LETTER IX.


_August_ 27_th_.—I am just returned from visiting the isles of Burano,
Torcello, and Mazorbo, distant about five miles from Venice.  To these
amphibious spots the Romans, inhabitants of eastern Lombardy, fled from
the ravine of Attila; and, if we may believe Cassiodorus, there was a
time when they presented a beautiful appearance.  Beyond them, on the
coast of the Lagunes, rose the once populous city of Altina, with its six
stately gates, which Dandolo mentions. {170c} Its neighbourhood was
scattered with innumerable villas and temples, composing altogether a
prospect which Martial compares to Baiæ:

                    “Æmula Baianis Altini littora villis.”

But this agreeable scene, like so many others, is passed entirely away,
and has left nothing, except heaps of stones and misshapen fragments, to
vouch for its former magnificence.  Two of the islands, Costanziaco and
Amiano, that are imagined to have contained the bowers and gardens of the
Altinatians, have sunk beneath the waters; those which remain are
scarcely worthy to rise above their surface.

Though I was persuaded little was left to be seen above ground, I could
not deny myself the imaginary pleasure of treading a corner of the earth
once so adorned and cultivated; and of walking over the roofs, perhaps,
of concealed halls and undiscovered palaces.  M. de R., to whom I
communicated my ideas, entered at once into the scheme; hiring therefore
a _peiotte_ we took some provisions and music (to us equally necessaries
of life), and launched into the canal, between St. Michael and Murano.

The waves coursed each other with violence, and dark clouds hung over the
grand sweep of northern mountains, whilst the west smiled with azure and
bright sunshine.  Thunder rolled awfully at a distance, and those white
and greyish birds, the harbingers of storms, flitted frequently before
our bark.  For some moments we were in doubt whether to proceed; but as
we advanced by a little dome in the Isle of St. Michael, shaped like an
ancient temple, the sky cleared, and the ocean subsiding by degrees, soon
presented a tranquil expanse, across which we were smoothly wafted.  Our
instruments played several delightful airs, that called forth the
inhabitants of every island, and held them silent, as if spell-bound, on
the edge of their quays and terraces, till we were out of hearing.

Leaving Murano far behind, Venice and its world of turrets began to sink
on the horizon, and the low desert isles beyond Mazorbo to lie stretched
out before us.  Now we beheld vast wastes of {171} purple flowers, and
could distinguish the low hum of the insects which hover above them; such
was the silence of the place.  Coasting these solitary fields, we wound
amongst several serpentine canals, bordered by gardens of figs and
pomegranates, with neat Indian-looking inclosures of cane and reed: an
aromatic plant clothes the margin of the waters, which the people justly
dignify with the title of marine incense.  It proved very serviceable in
subduing a musky odour, which attacked us the moment we landed, and which
proceeds from serpents that lurk in the hedges.  These animals, say the
gondoliers, defend immense treasures which lie buried under the ruins.
Woe to those who attempt invading them, or prying too cautiously about!

Not choosing to be devoured, we left many a mount of fragments unnoticed,
and made the best of our way to a little green, free from weeds or
adders, bounded on one side by a miserable shed, decorated with the name
of the Podesta’s residence, and on the other by a circular church.  Some
remains of tolerable antique sculpture are enchased in the walls; and the
dome, supported by pillars of a smooth Grecian marble, though uncouth and
ill-proportioned, impresses a sort of veneration, and transports the
fancy to the twilight glimmering period when it was raised.

Having surveyed what little was visible, and given as much career to our
imaginations as the scene inspired, we walked over a soil composed of
crumbling bricks and cement to the cathedral; whose arches, turned on the
ancient Roman principle, convinced us that it dates as high as the sixth
or seventh century.

Nothing can be well more fantastic than the ornaments of this structure,
formed from the ruins of the Pagan temples of Altina, and incrusted with
a gilt mosaic, like that which covers our Edward the Confessor’s tomb.
The pavement, composed of various precious marbles, is richer and more
beautiful than one could have expected, in a place where every other
object savours of the grossest barbarism.  At the farther end, beyond the
altar, appears a semicircular niche, with seats like the gradines of a
diminutive amphitheatre; above rise the quaint forms of the apostles, in
red, blue, green, and black mosaic, and in the midst of the goodly group
a sort of marble chair, cool and penitential enough, where St. Lorenzo
Giustiniani sat to hold a provincial council, the Lord knows how long
ago!  The fount for holy water stands by the principal entrance, fronting
this curious recess, and seems to have belonged to some place of Gentile
worship.  The figures of horned imps cling round its sides, more
devilish, more Egyptian, than any I ever beheld.  The dragons on old
china are not more whimsical: I longed to have it filled with bats’
blood, and to have sent it by way of present to the sabbath; I can assure
you it would have done honour to their witcheries.  The sculpture is not
the most delicate, but I cannot say a great deal about it, as but little
light reaches the spot where it is fixed.  Indeed, the whole church is
far from luminous, its windows being narrow and near the roof, with
shutters composed of blocks of marble, which nothing but the last
whirlwind, one should think, could move from their hinges.

By the time we had examined every nook and corner of this singular
edifice, and caught perhaps some small portion of sanctity by sitting in
San Lorenzo’s chair, dinner was prepared in a neighbouring convent, and
the nuns, allured by the sound of our flutes and oboes, peeped out of
their cells and showed themselves by dozens at the grate.  Some few
agreeable faces and interesting eyes enlivened the dark sisterhood; all
seemed to catch a gleam of pleasure from the music; two or three of them,
probably the last immured, let fall a tear, and suffered the recollection
of the world and its profane joys to interrupt for a moment their sacred
tranquillity.

We stayed till the sun was low, and the breezes blew cool from the ocean,
on purpose that they might listen as long as possible to a harmony which
seemed to issue, as the old abbess expressed herself, from the gates of
paradise ajar.  A thousand benedictions consecrated our departure;
twilight came on just as we entered the bark and rowed out upon the
waves, agitated by a fresh gale, but fearing nothing under the protection
of St. Margherita, whose good wishes our music had secured.

In two hours we were safely landed at the Fondamenti nuovi, and went
immediately to the Mendicanti, where they were performing the oratorio of
Sisera.  The composer, a young man, had displayed great fire and
originality in this performance; and a knowledge of character seldom
found in the most celebrated masters.  The supplication of the thirsty
chieftain, and Jael’s insinuating arts and pious treachery, are admirably
expressed; but the agitation and bodily slumbers which precede his death,
are imagined in the highest strain of genius.  The terror and agony of
his dreams made me start, more than once, from my seat; and all the
horrors of his assassination seemed full before me, so fatal was the
sound of the instrument, so just the conduct of the harmony.

Too much applause cannot be given to the Marchetti, who sang the part of
Sisera, and seconded the composer’s ideas by the most feeling and
spirited execution.  There are few things I shall regret more at Venice,
than this conservatorio.  Whenever I am musically given, I fly to it, and
hear the most striking finales in Bertoni’s and Anfosse’s operas, as long
and often as I please.

The sight of the orchestra still makes me smile.  You know, I suppose, it
is entirely of the female gender, and that nothing is more common than to
see a delicate white hand journeying across an enormous double bass, or a
pair of roseate cheeks puffing, with all their efforts, at a French horn.
Some that are grown old and Amazonian, who have abandoned their fiddles
and their lovers, take vigorously to the kettledrum; and one poor limping
lady, who had been crossed in love, now makes an admirable figure on the
bassoon.

Good-night!  I am quite exhausted with composing a chorus for these same
Amazonians.  The poetry I send you, which seems to be some of the most
picturesque and nervous an Italian ever produced.  The music takes up too
much room to travel at present.  One day or other, perhaps, we may hear
it in some dark grove, when the moon is eclipsed and nature in alarm.

This is not the last letter you would receive from Venice, was I not
hurrying to Lucca, where Pacchierotti sings next week, in the opera of
Quinto Fabio, of all operas the most worthy to excuse such a musical
fanaticism.  Adieu.




LETTER X.


_September_ 4_th_.—I was sorry to leave Venice, and regretted my peaceful
excursions upon the Adriatic, when the Euganean hills were lost in a
golden haze, and the sun cast his departing gleam across the waters.  No
bright rays illuminated my departure, but the coolness and perfume of the
air made some amends for their absence.

About an hour’s rowing from the isle of Saint Giorgio in Alga, brought us
to the shores of Fusina, right opposite the opening where the Brenta
mixes with the sea.  This river flows calmly between banks of verdure,
crowned by poplars, with vines twining round every stalk, and depending
from tree to tree in beautiful festoons.  Beds of mint and flowers clothe
the brink of the stream, except where a tall growth of reeds and osiers
lift themselves to the breezes.  I heard their whispers as we glided
along; and had I been alone might have told you what they said to me; but
such aërial oracles must be approached in solitude.  The morning
continued to lower as we advanced; scarce a wind ventured to breathe; all
was still and placid as the surface of the Brenta.  No sound struck my
ears except the bargemen hallooing to open the sluices, and deepen the
water.

As yet I had not perceived an habitation; no other objects than green
inclosures and fields of Turkish corn, shaded with vines and poplars, met
my eyes wherever I turned them.

Our navigation, the tranquil streams and cultivated banks, in short the
whole landscape, had a sort of Chinese cast, which led me into Quang-Si
and Quang-Tong.  The variety of canes, reeds, and blooming rushes,
shooting from the slopes, confirmed my fancies, and when I beheld the
yellow nenupha expanding its broad leaves to the current, I thought of
the Tao-Sé, and venerated one of the chief ingredients in their beverage
of immortality.  Landing where this magic vegetation appeared most
luxuriant, I cropped the flowers; but searched in vain for the kernels,
which, according to the doctrine of the Bonzes, produce such wonderful
effects.  Though I was deceived in this pursuit, I gained, however, in
another.  The bank upon which I had sprung presented a continual walk of
level turf, surrounded by vines, concealing the trees which supported
them, and forming the most delightful bowers.  Under these garlands I
passed, and gathered the ripe clusters which dangled around, convinced
that Noah had discovered a far superior beverage to that of the Tao-Sé.
Whilst I was thus agreeably employed, it began to rain, and the earth to
exhale a fresh, reviving odour, highly grateful to one who had been so
long confined to walls and waters.  After breathing nothing but the
essence of the canals and the flavours of the Rialto, after the jingling
of bells and brawls of the gondoliers, imagine how agreeable it was to
scent the perfume of clover, to tread a springing herbage, and listen in
silence to the showers pattering amongst the leaves.  I staid so long
amidst the vines, that it grew late before we rowed by the Mira, a
village of palaces, whose courts and gardens, as magnificent as statues,
terraces, and vases can make them, compose a grand, though far from a
rural prospect.

Not being greatly delighted with such scenery, we stayed no longer than
our dinner required, and reached the Dolo an hour before sunset.  Passing
the great sluices, whose gates opened with a thundering noise, we
continued our course along the peaceful Brenta, winding its broad full
stream through impenetrable copses, surmounted by tall waving poplars.
Day was about to close when we reached Fiesso; and it being a misty
evening, I could scarcely distinguish the pompous façade of the Pisani
palace.  That where we supped looks upon a broad mass of foliage, which I
contemplated with pleasure as it sank in the dusk.

We walked a long while under a pavilion stretched before the entrance,
breathing the freshness of the wood after the shower, and hearing the
drops trickle down the awning above our heads.  The Galuzzi sang some of
her father Ferandini’s compositions, with a fire, an energy, an
expression, that one moment raised me to a pitch of heroism, and the next
dissolved me in tears.  Her cheek was flushed with inspiration, her eyes
glistened; the whole tone of her countenance was like that of a person
rapt and inspired.  I forgot both time and place whilst she was breathing
forth such celestial harmony.  The night stole imperceptibly away, and
morning dawned before I awoke from my trance.  I don’t recollect ever to
have passed an evening, which every circumstance conspired so much to
improve.  In general, my musical pleasures suffer terrible abatements
from the phlegm and stupidity of my neighbourhood, but here every one
seemed to catch the flame, and to listen with reciprocal delight.  The C—
threw quick around her the glancing fires of genius: and, what with the
song of the Galuzzi, and those intellectual meteors, I scarcely knew to
what element I was transported; and doubted for several moments whether I
had not fallen into a celestial dream.  I loathed the light of the
morning star, which summoned me to depart; and, if I may express myself
so poetically,

                “Cast many a longing, ling’ring look behind.”




LETTER XI.


_September_ 5_th_.—The glow and splendour of the rising sun, for once in
my life, drew little of my attention.  I was too deeply plunged in my
reveries, to notice the landscape which lay before me; and the walls of
Padua presented themselves some time ere I was aware.  At any other
moment, how sensibly should I have been affected with their appearance!
how many ideas of Antenor and his Trojans, would have thronged into my
memory! but now I regarded the scene with indifference, and passed many a
palace, and many a woody garden, with my eyes riveted to the ground.  The
first object that appeared, upon lifting them up, was a confused pile of
spires and cupolas, dedicated to blessed St. Anthony, who betook himself
to the conversion of fish, after the heretics would lend no ear to his
discourses.

You are too well apprised of the veneration I have always entertained for
this ingenious preacher, to doubt that I immediately repaired to his
shrine and offered up my little orisons before it.  Mine was a disturbed
spirit, and required all the balm of St. Anthony’s kindness to appease
it.  Perhaps you will say I had better gone to bed, and applied myself to
my sleepy friend, the pagan divinity.  ’Tis probable that you are in the
right; but I could not retire to rest without venting some portion of
effervescence in sighs and supplications.  The nave was filled with
decrepit women and feeble children, kneeling by baskets of vegetables and
other provisions; which, by good Anthony’s interposition, they hoped to
sell advantageously in the course of the day.  Beyond these, nearer the
choir, and in a gloomier part of the edifice, knelt a row of rueful
penitents, smiting their breasts, and lifting their eyes to heaven.
Further on, in front of the dark recess, where the sacred relics are
deposited, a few desperate, melancholy sinners lay prostrate.

To these I joined myself, and fell down on the steps before the shrine.
The sunbeams had not yet penetrated into this religious quarter; and the
only light it received proceeded from the golden lamps, which hang in
clusters round the sanctuary.  A lofty altar, decked with superstitious
prodigality, conceals the holy pile from profane glances.  Those who are
profoundly touched with its sanctity may approach, and walking round,
look through the crevices of the tomb, and rub their noses against the
identical bones of St. Anthony, which, it is observed, exude a balsamic
odour.  But supposing a traveller ever so heretical, I would advise him
by no means to neglect this pilgrimage; since every part of the recess he
visits is decorated with the most exquisite sculptures.  Sansovino and
the best artists have vied with each other in carving the alto relievos
of the arcade, which, for design and execution, would do honour to the
sculptors of antiquity.

Having observed these objects with much less exactness than they merited,
and acted perhaps too capital a part amongst the devotees, I hastened to
the inn, luckily hard by, and one of the best I am acquainted with.  Here
I soon fell asleep in defiance of sunshine.  ’Tis true my slumbers were
not a little agitated.  St. Anthony had been deaf to my prayer, and I
still found myself a frail, infatuated mortal.

At five I got up; we dined, and afterwards, scarcely knowing, nor much
caring, what became of us, we strolled to the great hall of the town; an
enormous edifice, as large as that of Westminster, but free from stalls,
or shops, or nests of litigation.  The roof, one spacious vault of brown
timber, casts a solemn gloom, which was still increased by the lateness
of the hour, and not diminished by the wan light, admitted through the
windows of pale blue glass.  The size and shape of this colossal chamber,
the coving of the roof, with beams like perches for the feathered race,
stretching across it, and, above all, the watery gleams that glanced
through the casements, possessed my fancy with ideas of Noah’s ark, and
almost persuaded me I beheld that extraordinary vessel.  The
representation one sees of it in Scheutzer’s “Physica Sacra” seems to be
formed upon this very model, and for several moments I indulged the
chimera of imagining myself confined within its precincts.  How
willingly, could I but choose my companions, would I encounter a deluge,
to float whole years instead of months upon the waves!

We remained walking to and fro in the ark, till the twilight faded into
total darkness.  It was then full time to retire, as the guardian of the
place was by no means formed to divine our diluvian ideas.




LETTER XII.


_September_ 6_th_.—At Padua, I was too near the last and one of the most
celebrated abodes of Petrarch, to make the omission of a visit excusable;
had I not been in a disposition to render such a pilgrimage peculiarly
pleasing.  I set forwards from Padua after dinner, so as to arrive some
time before sunset.  Nothing could be finer than the day; and I had every
reason to promise myself a serene and delicious hour, before the sun
might go down.  I put the poems of Petrarch into my pocket; and, as my
road lay chiefly through lanes, planted on either side with mulberries
and poplars, from which vines hung dangling in careless festoons, I found
many a bowering shade, where I sat, at intervals, to indulge my pensive
humour over some ejaculatory sonnet; as the pilgrim, on his journey to
Loretto, reposes here and there, to offer his prayers and meditations to
the Virgin.  In little more than an hour and half, I found myself in the
midst of the Euganean hills, and, after winding almost another hour
amongst them, I got, before I was well aware, into the village of Arqua.
Nothing can be more sequestered or obscure than its situation.  It had
rather a deserted appearance; several of its houses being destitute of
inhabitants, and crumbling into ruins.  Two or three of them, however,
exhibited ancient towers, richly mantled with ivy, and surrounded with
cypress, that retained the air of having 

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