Church of St. Justina.--Tombs of remote antiquity.--Ridiculous
attitudes of rheumatic devotees.--Turini’s music.--Another
excursion to Fiesso.--Journey to the Euganean hills.--Newly
discovered ruins.--High Mass in the great Church of Saint
Anthony.--A thunder-storm.--Palladio’s Theatre at
Vicenza.--Verona.--An aërial chamber.--Striking prospect from
it.--The Amphitheatre.--Its interior.--Leave Verona.--Country
between that town and Mantua.--German soldiers.--Remains of the
palace of the Gonzagas.--Paintings of Julio Romano.--A ruined
garden.--Subterranean apartments.
Immediately after breakfast we went to St. Justina’s. Both extremities
of the cross aisles are terminated by altar-tombs of very remote
antiquity, adorned with uncouth sculptures of the evangelists, supported
by wreathed columns of alabaster, round which, to my no small
astonishment, four or five gawky fellows were waddling on their knees,
persuaded, it seems, that this strange devotion would cure the
rheumatism, or any other aches with which they were afflicted. You can
have no conception of the ridiculous attitudes into which they threw
themselves; nor the difficulty with which they squeezed along, between
the middle column of the tomb and those which surround it. No criminal
in the pillory ever exhibited a more rueful appearance, no swine ever
scrubbed itself more fervently than these infatuated lubbers.
I left them hard at work, taking more exercise than had been their lot
for many a day; and, mounting into the organ gallery, listened to
Turini’s[7] music with infinite satisfaction. The loud harmonious tones
of the instrument filled the whole edifice; and, being repeated by the
echoes of its lofty domes and arches, produced a wonderful effect.
Turini, aware of this circumstance, adapts his compositions with great
intelligence to the place. Nothing can be more original than his style.
Deprived of sight by an unhappy accident, in the flower of his days, he
gave up his entire soul to music, and can scarcely be said to exist, but
from its mediums.
When we came out of St. Justina’s, the azure of the sky and the softness
of the air inclined us to think of some excursion. Where could I wish to
go, but to the place in which I had been so delighted? Besides, it was
proper to make the Cornaro another visit, and proper to see the Pisani
palace, which happily I had before neglected. All these proprieties
considered, Madame de R. accompanied me to Fiesso.
The sun was just sunk when we arrived. The whole ether in a glow, and
the fragrance of the arched citron alleys delightful. Beneath them I
walked in the cool, till the Galuzzi began once more her enchanting
melody. She sang till the fineness of the weather tempted us to quit the
palace for the banks of the Brenta. A profound calm reigned upon the
woods and the waters, and moonlight added serenity to a scene naturally
peaceful.
We supped late: before the Galuzzi had repeated the airs which had most
affected me, morning began to dawn.
September 8th.
The want of sound repose, after my return home, had thrown me into a
feverish and impatient mood. I had scarcely snatched some slight
refreshment, before I flew to the great organ at St. Justina’s; but
tried this time to compose myself, in vain.
Madame de Rosenberg, finding my endeavours unsuccessful, proposed, by
way of diverting my attention, that we should set out immediately for
one of the Euganean hills, about six or seven miles from Padua, at the
foot of which some antique baths had been very lately discovered. I
consented without hesitation, little concerned whither I went, or what
happened to me, provided the scene was often shifted. The lanes and
inclosures we passed, in our road to the hills, appeared in all the
gaiety that verdure, flowers, and sunshine could give them. But my
pleasures were overcast, and I beheld every object, however cheerful,
through a dusky medium.
Deeply engaged in conversation, distance made no impression, and I found
myself entering the meadow, over which the ruins are scattered, whilst I
imagined myself several miles distant. No scene could be more smiling
than this which here presented itself, or answer, in a fuller degree,
the ideas I had always formed of Italy.
Leaving our carriage at the entrance of the meadow, we traversed its
surface, and shortly perceived among the grass, an oblong basin,
incrusted with pure white marble. Most of the slabs are large and
perfect, apparently brought from Greece, and still retaining their
polished smoothness. The pipes to convey the waters are still perfectly
discernible; in short, the whole ground-plan may be easily traced. Near
the principal bath, we remarked the platforms of several circular
apartments, paved with mosaic, in a neat simple taste, far from
inelegant. Weeds have not yet sprung up amongst the crevices; and the
freshness of the ruin everywhere shows that it has not long been
exposed.
Theodoric is the prince to whom these structures are attributed; and
Cassiodorus, the prime chronicler of the country, is quoted to maintain
the supposition. My spirit was too much engaged to make any learned
parade, or to dispute upon a subject, which I abandon, with all its
importance, to calmer and less impatient minds.
Having taken a cursory view of the ruins, we ascended the hill just
above them, and surveyed a prospect of the same nature, though in a more
lovely and expanded style than that which I beheld from Mosolente. Padua
crowns the landscape, with its towers and cupolas rising from a
continued grove; and, from the drawings I have seen, I should
conjecture that Damascus presents somewhat of a similar appearance.
Taking our eyes off this extensive prospect, we brought them home to the
fragments beneath our feet. The walls exhibit the _opus reticulatum_, so
common in the environs of Naples. A sort of terrace, with the remaining
bases of columns which encircle the hill, leads me to imagine here were
formerly arcades and porticos, constructed for enjoying the view; for on
the summit I could trace no vestiges of any considerable edifice, and am
therefore inclined to conclude, that nothing more than a colonnade
surrounded the hill, leading perhaps to some slight fane, or pavilion,
for the recreation of the bathers below.
A profusion of aromatic flowers covered the slopes, and exhaled
additional perfumes, as the sun declined, and the still hour approached,
which was wont to spread over my mind a divine composure, and to restore
the tranquillity I might have lost in the day. But now it diffused its
reviving coolness in vain, and I remained, if possible, more sad and
restless than before.
September 9th.
You may imagine how I felt when the hour of leaving Padua drew near. It
happened to be a festival, and high mass was celebrated at the great
church of Saint Anthony in all its splendour. The ceremony was about
half over when such a peal of thunder reverberated through the vaults
and cupolas, as I expected would have shaken them to their foundations.
The principal dome appeared invested with a sheet of fire; and the
effect of terror produced upon the majority of the congregation, by this
sudden lighting up of the most gloomy recesses of the edifice, was so
violent that they rushed out in the wildest confusion. Had my faith been
less lively, I should have followed their example; but, absorbed in the
thought of a separation from those to whom I felt fondly attached, I
remained till the ceremony ended; then took leave of Madame de R. with
heartfelt regret, and was driven away to Vicenza.
September 10th.
The morning being overcast, I went to Palladio’s theatre. It is
impossible to conceive a structure more truly classical, or to point out
a single ornament which has not the best antique authority. I am not in
the least surprised that the citizens of Vicenza enthusiastically gave
in to this great architect’s plan, and sacrificed large sums to erect
so beautiful a model. When finished, they procured, at a vast expense,
the representation of a Grecian tragedy, with its chorus and majestic
decorations.
After I had mused a long while in the most retired recess of the
edifice, fancying I had penetrated into a real and perfect monument of
antiquity, which till this moment had remained undiscovered, we set out
for Verona. The situation is striking and picturesque. A long line of
battlemented walls, flanked by venerable towers, mounts the hill in a
grand irregular sweep, and incloses the city with many a woody garden,
and grove of slender cypress. Beyond rises a group of mountains;
opposite to which a plain presents itself, decked with all the variety
of meads and thickets, olive-grounds and vineyards.
Amongst these our road kept winding till we entered the city gate, and
passed (the post knows how many streets and alleys in the way!) to the
inn, a lofty handsome-looking building; but so full that we were obliged
to take up with an apartment on its very summit, open to all the winds,
like the magic chamber Apuleius mentions, and commanding the roofs of
half Verona. Here and there a pine shot up amongst them, and the shady
hills, terminating the perspective of walls and turrets, formed a
romantic scene.
Placing our table in a balcony, to enjoy the prospect with greater
freedom, we feasted upon fish from the Lago di Guarda, and the delicious
fruits of the country. Thus did I remain, solacing myself, breathing the
cool air, and remarking the tints of the mountains. Neither paintings
nor antiques could tempt me from my aërial situation; I refused hunting
out the famous works of Paul Veronese scattered over the town, and sat
like the owl in the Georgics,
Solis et occasum servans de culmine summo.
Twilight drawing on, I left my haunt, and stealing down stairs, enquired
for a guide to conduct me to the amphitheatre, perhaps the most entire
monument of Roman days. The people of the house, instead of bringing me
a quiet peasant, officiously delivered me up to a professed antiquary,
one of those precise plausible young men, to whom, God help me! I have
so capital an aversion. This sweet spark displayed all his little
erudition, and flourished away upon cloacas and vomitoriums with
eternal fluency. He was very profound in the doctrine of conduits, and
knew to admiration how the filthiness of all the amphitheatre was
disposed of.
But perceiving my inattention, and having just grace enough to remark
that I chose one side of the street when he preferred the other, and
sometimes trotted through despair in the kennel, he made me a pretty
bow, I threw him half-a-crown, and seeing the ruins before me, traversed
a gloomy arcade and emerged alone into the arena. A smooth turf covers
its surface, from which a spacious sweep of gradines rises to a majestic
elevation. Four arches, with their simple Doric ornament, alone remain
of the grand circular arcade which once crowned the highest seats of the
amphitheatre; and, had it not been for Gothic violence, this part of the
structure would have equally resisted the ravages of time. Nothing can
be more exact than the preservation of the gradines; not a block has
sunk from its place, and whatever trifling injuries they may have
received have been carefully repaired. The two chief entrances are
rebuilt with solidity and closed by portals, no passage being permitted
through the amphitheatre except at public shows and representations,
sometimes still given in the arena.
When I paced slowly across it, silence reigned undisturbed, and nothing
moved, except the weeds and grasses which skirt the walls and tremble
with the faintest breeze. Throwing myself upon the grass in the middle
of the arena, I enjoyed the freedom of my situation, its profound
stillness and solitude. How long I remained shut in by endless gradines
on every side, wrapped as it were in the recollections of perished ages,
is not worth noting down; but when I passed from the amphitheatre to the
opening before it, night was drawing on, and the grand outline of a
terrific feudal fortress, once inhabited by the Scaligeri, alone dimly
visible.
September 11th.
Traversing once more the grand piazza, and casting a last glance upon
the amphitheatre, we passed under a lofty arch which terminates the
perspective, and left Verona by a wide, irregular, picturesque street,
commanding, whenever you look back, a striking scene of towers, cypress,
and mountains.
The country, between this beautiful town and Mantua, presents one
continued grove of dwarfish mulberries, with here and there a knot of
poplars, and sometimes a miserable shed. Mantua itself rises out of a
morass formed by the Mincio, whose course, in most places, is so choked
up with reeds as to be scarcely discernible. It requires a creative
imagination to discover any charms in such a prospect, and a strong
prepossession not to be disgusted with the scene where Virgil was born.
The beating of drums, and sight of German whiskers, finished what
croaking frogs and stagnant ditches had begun. Every classic idea being
scared by such sounds and such objects, I dined in dudgeon, and refused
stirring out till late in the evening.
A few paces from the town stand the remains of the palace where the
Gonzagas formerly resided. This I could not resist looking at, and was
amply rewarded. Several of the apartments, adorned by the bold pencil of
Julio Romano, merit the most exact attention; and the arabesques, with
which the stucco ceilings are covered, equal those of the Vatican. Being
painted in fresco upon damp neglected walls, each year diminishes their
number, and every winter moulders some beautiful figure away.
The subjects, mostly from antique fables, are treated with all the
purity and gracefulness of Raphael; the story of Polypheme is very
conspicuous. Acis appears, reclined with his beloved Galatea, on the
shore of the ocean, whilst their gigantic enemy, seated above on the
brow of Ætna, seems by the paleness and horrors of his countenance to
meditate some terrible revenge.
When it was too late to examine the paintings any longer, I walked into
a sort of court, or rather garden, which had been decorated with
fountains and antique statues. Their fragments still remain amongst
weeds and beds of flowers, for every corner of the place is smothered
with vegetation. Here nettles grow thick and rampant; there, tuberoses
and jessamine spring from mounds of ruins, which during the elegant
reign of the Gonzagas led to grottoes and subterranean apartments,
concealed from vulgar eyes, and sacred to the most refined enjoyments.