FEBRUARY 10, 1831--SEPTEMBER 12, 1831.
Historic events witnessed by Morse.--Rumors of revolution.--Danger to
foreigners.--Coronation of the new Pope.--Pleasant experience.--Cause of
the revolution a mystery.--Bloody plot foiled.--Plans to leave for
Florence.--Sends casts, etc., to National Academy of Design.--Leaves
Rome.--Dangers of the journey.--Florence.--Description of meeting with
Prince Radziwill in Coliseum at Rome.--Copies portraits of Rubens and
Titian in Florence.--Leaves Florence for Venice.--Disagreeable voyage on
the Po.--Venice, beautiful but smelly.--Copies Tintoret's "Miracle of the
Slave."--Thunderstorms.--Reflections on the Fourth of July.--Leaves
Venice.--Recoaro.--Milan.--Reflections on Catholicism and art.--Como and
Maggiore.--The Rigi.--Schaffhausen and Heidelberg.--Evades the quarantine
on French border.--Thrilling experience.--Paris.
It was Morse's good fortune to have been a spectator, at various times
and in different places, of events of more or less historical moment. We
have seen that he was in England during the War of 1812; that he
witnessed the execution of the assassin of a Prime Minister; that he was
a keen and interested observer of the festivities in honor of a Czar of
Russia, a King of France, and a famous general (Blücher); and although
not mentioned in his correspondence, he was fond of telling how he had
seen the ship sailing away to distant St. Helena bearing the conquered
Napoleon Bonaparte into captivity. Now, while he was diligently pursuing
his art in Rome, he was privileged to witness the funeral obsequies of
one Pope and the ceremonies attendant upon the installation of his
successor. In future years the same good fortune followed him.
His presence on these occasions was not always unattended by danger to
himself. His discretion during the years of war between England and
America saved him from possible annoyance or worse, and now again in Rome
he was called upon to exercise the same virtue, for the Church had
entered upon troublous times, and soon the lives of foreigners were in
danger, and many of them left the city.
On Thursday, February 10, there is this entry in the journal: "The
revolutions in the Papal States to the north at Bologna and Ancona, and
in the Duchy of Modena, have been made known at Rome. Great consternation
prevails." We learn further that, on February 12, "Rumors of conspiracy
are numerous. The time, the places of rendezvous, and even the numbers
are openly talked of. The streets are filled with the people who gaze at
each other inquisitively, and apprehension seems marked on every face.
The shops are shutting, troops are stationed in the piazzas, and
everything wears a gloomy aspect. At half-past seven a discharge of
musketry is heard. Among the reports of the day is one that the
Trasteverini have plotted to massacre the _forestieri_ in case of a
revolt."
While the festivities of the Carnival were, on account of these
disturbances, ordered by the Pope to be discontinued, the religious
ceremonies were still observed, and, going to St. Peter's one day--"to
witness the ceremonies of consecration as a bishop and coronation as a
king of the Pope"--Morse had this pleasant experience:--
"The immense area seemed already filled; a double line of soldiers
enclosed a wide space, from the great door through the middle of the
church, on each side of the altar, and around the richly enclosed space
where were erected the two papal thrones and the seats for the cardinals.
Into this soldier-invested space none but the privileged were permitted
to enter; ambassadors, princes, dukes, and nobles of every degree were
seen, in all their splendor of costume, promenading.
"I was with the crowd without, making up my mind to see nothing of the
ceremonies, but, being in full dress, and remembering that, on former
occasions, I had been admitted as a stranger within the space, I
determined to make the effort again. I therefore edged myself through the
mass of people until I reached the line of soldiers, and, catching the
eye of the commanding officer as he passed by, I beckoned to him, and, as
he came to me, I said, '_Sono un Americano, un forestiero, signore_,'
which I had no sooner said than, taking me by the hand, he drew me in,
and, politely bowing, gave me leave to go where I pleased."
From this point of vantage he had an excellent view of all the
ceremonies, which were much like the others he had witnessed and do not
need to be described.
He wanted very much to go to Florence at this time to fulfil some of the
commissions he had received for copies of famous paintings in that city,
but his departure was delayed, for, as he notes on February 13:--
"There are many alarming rumors, one in particular that the Trasteverini
and Galleotti, or galley slaves, have been secretly armed by the
Government, and that the former are particularly incensed against the
_forestieri_ as the supposed instigators of the revolution.... These
facts have thrown us all into alarm, for we know not what excesses such
men may be guilty of when excited by religious enthusiasm to revenge
themselves on those they call heretics. We are compelled, too, to remain
in Rome from the state of the country, it being not safe to travel on
account of brigands who now infest the roads.
"_February 15._ I have never been in a place where it was so difficult to
ascertain the truth as in this city. I have enquired the reason of this
movement hostile to the Government, but cannot ascertain precisely its
object. Some say it is to deprive the Pope of his temporal power,--and
some Catholics seem to think that their religion would flourish the
better for it; others that it is a plan, long digested, for bringing all
Italy under one government, having it divided into so many federative
states, like the United States....
"The Trasteverini seem to be a peculiar class, proud, as believing
themselves to be the only true descendants from the ancient Romans, and,
therefore, hating the other Romans. Poor from that very pride; ignorant
and attached to their faith, they are the class of all others to be
dreaded in a season of anarchy. It is easy by flattery, by a little
distribution of money, and by a cry of danger to their religion, to rouse
them to any degree of enthusiasm, and no one can set bounds to the
excesses of such a set of fiends when let loose upon society.
"The Government at present have them in their interest, and, while that
is the case, no danger is to be dreaded. It is in that state of anarchy
which, for a longer or shorter period, intervenes in the changes of
government, between the established rule of the one and of the other,
that such a class of men is to be feared.
"_February 17._ The plan said to have been determined on by the
conspirators was this: The last night of the Carnival was fixed for the
execution of the plan. This was Tuesday night when it is customary to
have the _moccoletti_, or small wax-candles, lighted by the crowd. The
conspirators were each to be placed, as it were by accident, by the side
of a soldier (which in so great a crowd could be done without suspicion),
and, when the cannon fired which gave the signal for closing the course,
it was also to serve as a signal for each one to turn upon the soldier
and, by killing him, to seize his arms. This would, indeed, have been a
bloody scene, and for humanity's sake it is well that it was discovered
and prevented.
"_February 20._ I learn that the Pope is desirous of yielding to the
spirit of the times, and is disposed to grant a constitution to the
people, but that the cardinals oppose it. He is said also to be prepared
to fly from Rome, and even has declared his intention of resigning the
dignity of Pope and retiring again to the solitude of the convent.
"_February 24._ It seems to be no longer doubtful that a revolutionary
army is approaching Rome from the revolted provinces, and that they
advance rapidly.... The city is tranquil enough; no troops are seen,
except at night a sentinel at some corner cries as you pass, '_Chi
viva?_' and you are obliged to cry, '_Il Papa_'; which one may surely do
with a good conscience, for he is entitled to great respect for his
personal character.
"_February 25._ Went to-day to get my passport viséed for Florence,
whither I intended to go on Tuesday next, but am advised by the consul
and others not to risk the journey at present, as it is unsafe."
I break the continuity of the narrative for a moment to note that while
Morse was making copies of famous paintings in Rome, and studying
intelligently the works of the old masters, he was not forgetful of the
young academy at home, which he had helped to found and of which he was
still president. On March 1 he writes jubilantly to the secretary, J.L.
Morton, that he has succeeded in obtaining by gift a number of casts of
ancient and modern sculpture which he will send home by the first
opportunity. Among the generous donors he mentions Thorwaldsen, Daniel
Coit, Esq., Richard Wyatt, Esq., Signor Trentanove, and George Washington
Lee, Esq. He adds at the end of the letter:--
"I leave Rome immediately and know not when I shall be allowed to rest,
the revolution here having turned everything into confusion, rendering
the movements of travellers uncertain and unsafe, and embarrassing my
studies and those of other artists exceedingly. I shall try to go to
Florence, but must pass through the two hostile armies and through a
country which, in a season of confusion like the present, is sure to be
infested with brigands. If I reach Florence in safety and am allowed to
remain, which is somewhat doubtful, you shall hear of me again, either
directly or through my brothers."
Mr. Morton, answering this letter on May 22, informs Morse of his
reëlection as president of the National Academy of Design, and adds: "By
the by, talking of coming back, do try and make your arrangements as soon
as possible. We want you very much, if it is only to set us all right
again. We begin to feel the want of our _Head Man_."
Reverting to the journal again, we find this note: "March 3. For some
days past I have been engaged in packing up and taking leave, and
yesterday was introduced by the Count le Grice to Cardinal Weld, who
received me very politely, presented me with a book, and sent me two
letters of introduction to London."
On March 4, Morse, with four companions, started from Rome on the
seemingly perilous journey to Florence. They passed through the lines of
both armies, but, contrary to their expectations, they were most
courteously treated by the officers on both sides. It is true that they
learned afterwards that they came near being arrested at Civita
Castellana, where the Papal army was assembled in force, for--"When we
took leave of the Marquis at Terni he told us that it was well we left
Civita Castellana as we did, for an order for our arrest was making out,
and in a few minutes more we should not have been allowed to leave the
place. Indeed, when I think of the case, it was a surprising thing that
we were allowed to go into all parts of the place, to see their position,
to count their men and know their strength, and then to immediately pass
over to their enemy and to give him, if we chose, all the information
that any spy could have given."
It is not within the province of this work to deal at length with the
political movements of the times. As we have seen, Morse was fortunate in
avoiding danger, and we learn from history that this revolt, which
threatened at one time to become very serious, was eventually suppressed
by the Papal arms aided by the Austrians.
Having passed safely through the zone of danger, they travelled on, and,
on March 9:--
"At half-past three the _beautiful city_ was seen to our left reposing in
sunshine in the wide vale of the Arno. The Duomo and the Campanile were
the most conspicuous objects. At half-past four we entered Florence and
obtained rooms at the Leone Bianco in the Via Vigna Nuova.
"_March 10._ We found to-day, to our great discomfiture, that we are
allowed by the police to stay but three days in the city. No entreaties
through our consul, nor offers of guaranty on his part, availed to soften
towards us the rigor of the decree, which they say applies to all
foreigners. I have written to our consul at Leghorn to petition the
Government for our stay, as Mr. Ombrosi, the United States Consul here,
is not accredited by the Government."
He must have succeeded in obtaining permission to remain, although the
fact is not noted in the journal, for the next entry is on April 11, and
finds him still in Florence. It begins: "Various engagements preventing
my entering regularly in my journal every day's events as they occurred,
I have been compelled to make a gap, which I fill up from recollection."
Before following him further, however, I shall quote from a letter
written to his brothers on April 15, but referring to events which
happened some time before:--
"We have recently heard of the disasters of the Poles. What noble people;
how deserving of their freedom. I must tell you of an interesting
circumstance that occurred to me in relation to Poland. It was in the
latter part of June of last year, just as I was completing my
arrangements for my journey to Naples, that I was tempted by one of those
splendid moonlight evenings, so common in Italy, to visit once more the
ruins of the Coliseum. I had frequently been to the Coliseum in company,
but now I had the curiosity to go alone--I wished to enjoy, if possible,
its solitude and its solemn grandeur unannoyed by the presence of any
one.
"It was eleven o'clock when I left my lodgings and no one was walking at
that hour in the solitary streets of Rome. From the Corso to the Forum
all was as still as in a deserted city. The ruins of the Forum, the
temples and pillars, the Arch of Titus and the gigantic arcade of the
Temple of Peace, seemed to sleep in the gravelike stillness of the air.
The only sound that reached my ears was that of my own footsteps. I
slowly proceeded, stopping occasionally, and listening and enjoying the
profound repose and the solemn, pure light, so suited to the ruined
magnificence around me. As I approached the Coliseum the shriek of an owl
and the answering echo broke the stillness for a moment, and all was
still again.
"I reached the entrance, before which paced a lonely sentinel, his arms
flashing in the moonbeams. He abruptly stopped me and told me I could not
enter. I asked him why. He replied that his orders were to let no one
pass. I told him I knew better, that he had no such orders, that he was
placed there to protect visitors, and not to prevent their entrance, and
that I should pass. Finding me resolute (for I knew by experience his
motive was merely to extort money), he softened in his tone, and wished
me to wait until he could speak to the sergeant of the guard. To this I
assented, and, while he was gone, a party of gentlemen approached also to
the entrance. One of them, having heard the discourse between the
sentinel and myself, addressed me. Perceiving that he was a foreigner, I
asked him if he spoke English. He replied with a slight accent, 'Yes, a
little. You are an Englishman, sir?' 'No,' I replied, 'I am an American
from the United States.' 'Indeed,' said he, 'that is much better'; and,
extending his hand, he shook me cordially by the hand, adding, 'I have a
great respect for your country and I know many of your countrymen.' He
then mentioned Dr. Jarvis and Mr. Cooper, the novelist, the latter of
whom he said was held in the greatest estimation in Europe, and nowhere
more so than in his country, Poland, where his works were more sought
after than those of Scott, and his mind was esteemed of an equal if not
of a superior cast.
"This casual introduction of literary topics furnished us with ample
matter for conversation while we were not engaged in contemplating the
sublime ruins over which, when the sentinel returned, we climbed. I asked
him respecting the literature of Poland, and particularly if there were
now any living poets of eminence. He observed: 'Yes, sir, I am happily
travelling in company with the most celebrated of our poets,
Meinenvitch'; and who, as I understood him, was one of the party walking
in another part of the ruins.
"Engaged in conversation we left the Coliseum together and slowly
proceeded into the city. I told him of the deep interest with which
Poland was regarded in the United States, and that her heroes were spoken
of with the same veneration as our own. As some evidence of this
estimation I informed him of the monument erected by the cadets of West
Point to the memory of Kosciusko. With this intelligence he was evidently
much affected; he took my hand and exclaimed with great enthusiasm and
emphatically: 'We, too, sir, shall be free; the time is coming; we too
shall be free; my unhappy country will be free.' (This was before the
revolution in France.)
"As I came to the street where we were to part he took out his notebook,
and, going under the lamp of a Madonna, near the Piazza Colonna, he
wished me to write my name for him among the other names of Americans
which he had treasured in his book. I complied with his request. In
bidding me adieu he said: 'It will be one of my happiest recollections of
Rome that the last night which I passed in this city was passed in the
Coliseum, and with an American, a citizen of a free country. If you
should ever visit Warsaw, pray enquire for Prince----; I shall be
exceedingly glad to see you.'
"Thus I parted with this interesting Pole. That I should have forgotten a
Polish name, pronounced but once, you will not think extraordinary. The
sequel remains to be told. When the Polish revolution broke out, what was
my surprise to find the poet Meinenvitch and a prince, whose name seemed
like that which he pronounced to me, and to which was added--'just
returned from Italy'--among the first members of the provisional
government."
Morse assured himself afterwards, and so noted it in his journal, that
this chance acquaintance was Prince Michael Jerome Radziwill, who had
served as lieutenant in the war of independence under Kosciusko; fought
under Napoleon in Russia (by whom he was made a brigadier-general); and,
shortly after the meeting in the Coliseum, was made general-in-chief of
the Polish army. After the defeat of this army he was banished to central
Russia until 1836, when he retired to Dresden.
Reverting again to the notebooks, we find that Florence, with her wealth
of beauty in architecture, sculpture, and painting, appealed strongly to
the artist, and the notes are chiefly descriptions of what he sees, and
which it will not be necessary to transcribe. He had, during all the time
he was in Italy, been completing, one after another, the copies for which
he had received commissions, and had been sending them home. He thus
describes to his friend, Mr. Van Schaick, the paintings made for him:--
"_Florence, May 12, 1831._ I have at length completed the two pictures
which you were so kind as to commission me to execute for you, and they
are packed in a case, ready to send to you from Leghorn by the first
opportunity, through Messrs. Bell, de Yongh & Co. of that city.
"As your request was that these pictures should be heads, I have chosen
two of the most celebrated in the gallery of portraits in the Florence
Gallery. These are the heads of Rubens and Titian from the portraits by
themselves. As the portraits of the two great masters of color they will
alone be interesting, but they are more so from giving a fair specimen of
their two opposite styles of color. That of Rubens, from its gaiety, will
doubtless be more popular, but that of Titian, from its sobriety and
dignity, pleases me better. In hanging the pictures they should be placed
apart. The styles are so opposed that, were they placed near to each
other, they would mutually affect each other unfavorably. Rubens may be
placed in more obscurity, but Titian demands to be more in the light.
"I have no time to add, as I am preparing to leave Florence on Monday for
Bologna and Venice."
Travelling in Italy in those days was fraught with many annoyances, for,
in addition to the slow progress made in the _vetture_, there seems to
have been (judging from the journal) a _dogana_, or custom-house, every
few miles, where the luggage and clothing of travellers were examined,
sometimes hastily and courteously, sometimes with more rigor. And yet
this leisurely rate of progress, the travellers walking up most of the
hills, must have had a charm unknown to the present-day tourist, who is
whisked unseeing through the most characteristic parts of a foreign
country. The beautiful scenery of the Apennines was in this way enjoyed
to the full by the artist, but I shall not linger over the journey nor
shall I include any notes concerning Bologna. He found the city most
interesting--"A piece of porphyry set in verd antique"--and those to whom
he had letters of introduction more hospitable than in any other city in
Italy.
From Bologna the route lay through Ferrara and then to Pontelagoscuro on
the river Po, where he was to take the courier boat for Venice, down the
Po and through a canal. To add to the discomforts of this part of the
trip it rained steadily for several days, and, on May 22, Morse paints
this dreary picture:--
"When we waked this morning we found it still raining and, apparently, so
to continue all day. The rainy day at a country inn, so exquisitely
described by Irving in all its disagreeable features, is now before us. A
solitary inn with nothing indoors to attract; cold and damp and dark. The
prospect from the windows is a low muddy foreground, the north bank of
the muddy Po; a pile of brushwood, a heap of offal, a melancholy group of
cattle, who show no other signs of life than the occasional sly attack by
one of them upon a poor, dripping, half-starved dog, who, with tail
between his legs, now and then ventures near them to search for his
miserable meal. Beyond, on the river, a few barks silently lying upon the
stream, and on the opposite bank some buildings with a church and a
campanile dimly seen through the mist. After coffee we were obliged to go
to the _dogana_ to see to the searching of all our trunks and luggage.
The principals were present and we were not severely searched. A
Frenchman, however, who had come on a little before us, was stripped to
his skin, some papers were found upon him, and I understand he has made
his escape and they are now searching for him....
"At 2.30, after having dined, we waded through the mud in a pelting rain
to the _dogana_ for our luggage, and, after getting completely wet, we
embarked on board the courier boat, with a cabin seven feet long, six
feet wide, and six high, into which six of us, having a gentleman from
Trieste and his mother added to our number, were crowded, with no
beds.... Rain, rain, rain!!! in torrents, cold and dreary through a
perfectly flat country.... At ten o 'clock we arrived at a place called
Cavanella, where is a _locanda_ upon the canal which should have been
open to receive us, but they were all asleep and no calling would rouse
them. So we were obliged to go supperless to bed, and such abed! There
being no room to spread mattresses for six in the cabin, three dirty
mattresses, without sheets or blankets, were laid on the floor of the
forward cabin (if it might so be called). This cabin was a hole down into
which two or three steps led. We could not stand upright,--indeed,
kneeling, our heads touched the top,--and when stretched at full length
the tallest of us could touch with his head and feet from side to side.
But, it being dreary and damp without and we being sleepy, we considered
not the place, nor its inconveniences, nor its little pests which annoyed
us all night, nor its vicinity to a magazine of cheese, with which the
boat was laden and the odors from which assailed us. We lay down in our
clothes and slept; the rain pattering above our heads only causing us to
sleep the sounder."
Continuing their leisurely journey in this primitive manner, the rain
finally ceasing, but the sky remaining overcast and the weather cold and
wintry, they reached Chioggia, and "At 11.30, the towers and spires of
Venice were seen at a distance before us rising from the sea." Venice, of
course, was a delight to Morse's eye, but his nose was affected quite
differently, for he says: "Those that have resided in Venice a long time
say it is not an unhealthy place. I cannot believe it, for the odors from
the canals cannot but produce illness of some kind. That which is
constantly offensive to any of our organs of sense must affect them
injuriously."
Several severe thunderstorms broke over the city while he was there, and
one was said to be the worst which had been known within the memory of
the oldest inhabitant. After describing it he adds: "I was at the
Academy. The rain penetrated through the ceiling at the corner of the
picture I was copying--'The Miracle of the Slave,' by Tintoret--and
threatened injury to it, but happily it escaped."
On June 19, he thus moralizes: "The Piazza of St. Mark is the great place
of resort, and on every evening, but especially on Sundays or _festas_,
the arcades and cafés are crowded with elegantly dressed females and
their gallants. Chairs are placed in great numbers under the awnings
before the cafés. A people that have no homes, who are deprived from
policy of that domestic and social intercourse which we enjoy, must have
recourse to this empty, heartless enjoyment; an indolent enjoyment, when
all their intercourse, too, is in public, surrounded by police agents and
soldiers to prevent excess. Hallam, in his 'Middle Ages,' has this just
reflection on the condition of this same city when under the Council of
Ten: 'But how much more honorable are the wildest excesses of faction
than the stillness and moral degradation of servitude.' Quiet is, indeed,
obtained here, but at what immense expense! Expense of wealth, although
excessive, is nothing compared with the expense of morality and of all
intellectual exercise."
On June 23, he witnessed another thunderstorm from the Piazza of St.
Mark:--
"The lightning, flashing in the dark clouds that were gathering from the
Tyrolese Alps, portended another storm which soon burst over us and
hastened the conclusion of the music. The lightning was incessant. I
stood at the corner of the piazza and watched the splendid effects of
lights and darks, in a moment coming and in a moment gone, on the
campanile and church of St. Mark's. It was most sublime. The gilt statue
of the angel on the top of the campanile never looked so sublime, seeming
to be enveloped in the glory of the vivid light, and, as the electric
fluid flashed behind it from cloud to cloud incessantly, it seemed to go
and come at the bidding of the angel."
This sounds almost like a prophetic vision, written by the pencil of the
man who, in a few years from then, was to make the lightning go and come
at his bidding.
"_July 4._ This anniversary of the day of our national birth found but
two Americans in Venice. We met in the evening over a cup of coffee and
thought and talked of the happiest of countries. We had no patriotic
toasts, but the sentiments of our hearts were--'Peace be within thy walls
and prosperity within thy palaces.' Never on any anniversary of our
Independence have I felt so strongly the great reason I have for
gratitude in having been born in such a country. When I think of the
innumerable blessings we enjoy over every other country in the world, I
am constrained to praise God who hath made us to differ, for 'He hath not
dealt so with any nation, and as for his judgments, we have not known
them.' While pestilence and famine and war surround me here in these
devoted countries, I fix my thoughts on one bright spot on earth; truly
(if our too ungrateful countrymen would but see it), truly a terrestrial
paradise."
This attack of nostalgia was probably largely due to atmospheric
conditions, for at least one thunderstorm seems to have been a matter of
daily occurrence. This, added to the noisome odors arising from the
canals, affected his health, for he complains of feeling more unwell than
at any time since he left home. It must, therefore, have been with no
feelings of great regret that he packed his belongings and prepared to
leave Venice with a companion, Mr. Ferguson, of Natchez, on the 18th of
July. His objective point was Paris, but he planned to linger by the way
and take a leisurely course through the Italian lake region, Switzerland,
and Germany. The notebooks give a detailed but rather dry account of the
daily happenings. It was, presumably, Morse's intention to elaborate
these, at some future day, into a more entertaining record of his
wanderings; but this was never done. I shall, therefore, pass on rapidly,
touching but lightly on the incidents of the journey, which were, in the
main, without special interest. The route lay through Padua, Vicenza,
Verona, and Brescia to Milan. From Vicenza a side trip was made to the
watering-place of Recoaro, where a few days were most delightfully spent
in the company of the English consul at Venice, Mr. Money, and his
family.
"Recoaro, like all watering-places, is beginning to be the resort of the
fashionable world. The Grand Duchess of Tuscany is now here, and on
Saturday the Vice-Queen of Italy is expected from Milan to visit her
aunt, the Grand Duchess.... Towards evening parties of ladies and
gentlemen are seen promenading or riding on donkeys along the brows of
the mountains and among the trees, and many priests are seen disfiguring
the landscape with their tasteless, uncouth dresses; most of them coming,
I was informed on the best authority, for the purpose of gambling and
dissipating that time of which, from the trifling nature of their duties
and the almost countless increase of their numbers, they have so much to
spare. Cards have the most fascination for them."
Another incident of the stay at Recoaro is worth recording. Referring to
the family of Mr. Money, he says:--
"In the afternoon took an excursion on donkeys with the whole family
among the wild and romantic scenery. In returning, while riding by the
side of Mr. Money and in conversation with him, my donkey stumbled upon
his knees and threw me over his head, without injury to me, but Mrs.
Money, who was just before me, seeing the accident, was near fainting
and, during the rest of the day, was invisible. I was somewhat surprised
at the effect produced on her until I learned that the news of the loss
of her son in India by a fall from his horse, which had recently reached
her, had rendered her nerves peculiarly sensitive."
Two days later, however, he joined them in another excursion.
"On returning we stopped to take tea at Mrs. Ireland's lodgings, an
English lady who is here with her two daughters, accomplished and highly
agreeable people. I was told by them that after I left Rome a most
diabolical attempt was made to poison the English artists who had made a
party to Grotto Ferrata. They were mistaken by the persons who attempted
the deed for Germans. They all became exceedingly ill immediately after
dinner, and, as the wine was the only thing they had taken there, having
brought their food with them, it was suspected and a strong solution of
copper was proved to be in it. I was told that Messrs. Gibson and
Desoulavy suffered a great deal, the latter being confined to his bed for
three weeks. Had I been in Rome it is more than probable I should have
been of their party, for I had never visited Grotto Ferrata, and the
company of those with whom I had associated would have induced me to join
them without a doubt."
Morse enjoyed his stay at Recoaro so much that he was persuaded by his
hospitable friends to prolong his visit for a few days longer than he had
planned, but, on July 27, he and his friend Mr. Ferguson bade adieu and
proceeded on their journey. Verona and Brescia were visited and on July
29 they came to Milan. The cathedral he finds "a most gorgeous building,
far exceeding my conception of it"; and of the beautiful street of the
Corso Porta Orientale he says: "It is wider than Broadway and as superior
as white marble palaces are to red brick houses. There is an opinion
prevalent among some of our good citizens that Broadway is not only the
longest and widest, but the most superbly built, street in the world. The
sooner they are undeceived the better. Broadway is a beautiful street, a
very beautiful street, but it is absurd to think that our brick houses of
twenty-five feet front, with plain doors and windows, built by contract
in two or three months, and holding together long enough to be let, can
rival the spacious stone palaces of hundreds of feet in length, with
lofty gates and balconied windows, and their foundations deeply laid and
slowly constructed to last for ages." This was, of course, when Broadway
even below Fourteenth Street, was a residence street.
Attending service in the cathedral on Sunday, and being, as usual,
wearied by the monotony and apparent insincerity of it all, he again
gives vent to his feelings:--
"How admirably contrived is every part of the structure of this system to
take captive the imagination. It is a religion of the imagination; all
the arts of the imagination are pressed into its service; architecture,
painting, sculpture, music, have lent all their charm to enchant the
senses and impose on the understanding by substituting for the solemn
truths of God's Word, which are addressed to the understanding, the
fictions of poetry and the delusions of feeling. The theatre is a
daughter of this prolific mother of abominations, and a child worthy of
its dam. The lessons of morality are pretended to be taught by both, and
much in the same way, by scenic effect and pantomime, and the fruits are
much the same.
"I am sometimes even constrained to doubt the lawfulness of my own art
when I perceive its prostitution, were I not fully persuaded that the art
itself, when used for its legitimate purposes, is one of the greatest
correcters of grossness and promoters of refinement. I have been led,
since I have been in Italy, to think much of the propriety of introducing
pictures into churches in aid of devotion. I have certainly every
inducement to decide in favor of the practice did I consult alone the
seeming interest of art. That pictures may and do have the effect upon
some rightly to raise the affections, I have no doubt, and, abstractly
considered, the practice would not merely be harmless but useful; but,
knowing that man is led astray by his imagination more than by any of his
other faculties, I consider it so dangerous to his best interests that I
had rather sacrifice the interests of the arts, if there is any
collision, than run the risk of endangering those compared with which all
others are not for a moment to be considered. But more of this another
time."
I have introduced here and at other times Morse's strictures on the Roman
Catholic religion, and on other subjects, without comment on my part,
even when these strictures seem to verge on illiberality. My desire is to
present a true portrait of the man, with the shadows as well as the
lights duly emphasized, fully realizing that what may appear faults to
some, to others will shine out as virtues, and _vice versa_.
From Milan, Morse and his companion planned to cross the mountains to
Geneva, but, having a day or two to spare, they visited the Lake of Como,
which, as was to be expected, satisfied the eye of the artist: "It is
shut in by mountains on either side, reminding me of the scenery of Lake
George, to which its shores are very similar. In the transparency of the
water, however, Lake George is its superior, and in islands also, but in
all things else the Lake of Como must claim the precedence. The palaces
and villas and villages which skirt its shores, the mountains, vine-clad
and cultivated to their summits, all give a charm for which we look in
vain as yet in our country. The luxuries of art have combined with those
of nature in a wonderful degree in this enchanting spot."
On August 4, they left Milan in the diligence for Lago Maggiore, and we
learn that: "Our coach is accompanied by _gendarmes_. We enquired the
reason of the conductor, who was in the coach with us. He told us that
the road is an unsafe one; that every day there are instances of robbery
perpetrated upon those who travel alone."
[Illustration: HENRY CLAY
Painted by Morse. Now in the Metropolitan Museum, New York]
It would be pleasant to follow the travellers through beautiful Maggiore
and up the rugged passes from Italy to Switzerland and thence to Germany
and Paris, and to see through the unspoiled eyes of an enthusiast the
beauties of that playground of the nations, but it would be but the
repetition of an oft-told tale, and I must hasten on, making but a few
extracts from the diary. No thrilling adventures were met with, except
towards the end, but they enjoyed to the full the grand scenery, the
picturesque costumes of the peasants and the curious customs of the
different countries through which they passed. The weather was sometimes
fine, but more often overcast or rainy, and we find this note on August
15: "How much do a traveller's impressions depend upon the weather, and
even on the time of day in which he sees objects. He sees most of the
country through which he travels but once, and it is the face which any
point assumes at that one moment which is brought to his recollection. If
it is under a gloomy atmosphere, it is not possible that he should
remember it under other form or aspect."
On Sunday, August 28, he watched the sunrise from the summit of the Rigi
under ideal conditions, and, after describing the scene and saying that
the rest of the company had gone back to bed, he adds:--
"I had found too little comfort in the wretched thing that had been
provided for me in the shape of a bed to desire to return thither, and I
also felt too strongly the emotions which the scene I had just witnessed
had excited, to wish for their dissipation in troubled dreams.
"If there is a feeling allied to devotion, it is that which such a scene
of sublimity as this we have just witnessed inspires, and yet that
feeling is not devotion. I am aware that it is but the emotion of taste.
It may exist without a particle of true religious feeling, or it may
coexist and add strength to it. There are thousands, probably, who have
here had their emotion of taste excited without one thought of that Being
by whom these wonders were created, one thought of their relation to Him,
of their duty to Him, or of admiration at that unmerited goodness which
allows them to be witnesses of his majesty and power as exhibited in
these wonders of nature. Shut out as I am by circumstances from the
privileges of this day in public worship, I have yet on the top of this
mountain a place of private worship such as I have not had for some time
past. I am alone on the mountain with such a scene spread before me that
I must adore, and weak, indeed, must be that faith which, on this day, in
such a scene, does not lift the heart from nature up to nature's God."
On August 30, on the road to Zurich, he makes this rather interesting
observation: "We noticed in a great many instances that wires were
attached to the electric rods and conducted to posts near the houses,
when a chime of bells was so arranged as to ring in a highly charged
state of the atmosphere (Franklin's experiment)."
Journeying on past Schaffhausen, where the beautiful falls of the Rhine
filled him with admiration, he and his companion came to Heidelberg and
explored the ruins of the stupendous castle. Here he parted with his
travelling companion, Mr. Ferguson, who went on to Frankfort, which city
Morse avoided because the French Government had established a strict
quarantine against it on account of some epidemic, the nature of which is
not disclosed in the notes. He was eager to get to Paris now and wished
to avoid all delays.
"_September 7._ I engaged my passage in the diligence for Mannheim, and,
for the first time since I have been in Europe, set out alone.... I learn
from the gentleman in the coach that the _cordon sanitaire_ in France is
to be enforced with great rigor from the 11th of September; I hope,
therefore, to get into France before that date.
"_September 10, Saarbruck._ We last night took our places for Metz, not
knowing, however, or even thinking it probable that we should be able to
get there. It was hinted by some that a small _douceur_ would enable us
to pass the _cordon_, but how to be applied I knew not.
"Among our passengers who joined me yesterday was a young German officer
who was the only one who could speak French. With him I contrived to
converse during the day. We had beds in the same room and, as we were
about retiring, he told me, as I understood him, that by giving the keys
of my luggage to the coachman in the morning, the business of passing at
the _douane_ on the frontier would be facilitated. I assented and told
him, as he understood the language better than I, I left it to him to
make any arrangements and I would share the expense with him.
"We were called sometime before day and I left my bed very reluctantly.
The morning was cloudy and dark and so far favorable to the enterprise we
were about to undertake, and of the nature and plan of which I had not
the slightest suspicion. We were soon settled in the diligence and left
Saarbruck for the frontier. I composed myself to sleep and had just got
into a doze when suddenly the coach stopped, and, the door opening, a man
touching me said in a low voice--'_Descendez, monsieur, descendez._' I
asked the reason but got no answer. My companion and I alighted. There
was no house near; a bright streak in the east under the heavy black
clouds showed that it was just daybreak, and ahead of us in the road a
great light from the windows of a long building showed us the place of
the hospital of the _cordon_.
"Our guide, for so he proved to be, taking the knapsack of my companion
and a basket of mine, in which I carry my portfolio and maps, struck off
to the left into a newly ploughed field, while our carriage proceeded at
a quick pace onward again. I asked where we were going, but got no other
reply than '_Doucement, monsieur_.' It then for the first time flashed
across my mind that we had undertaken an unlawful and very hazardous
enterprise, that of running by the _cordon_. I had now, however, no
alternative; I must follow, for I knew not what other course to take.
"After passing through ploughed fields and wet grass and grain for some
time a small by-path crossed from the main road. Our guide beckoned us
back, while he went forward each way to see that all was clear, and then
we crossed and proceeded again over ploughed fields and through the
clover. It now began to rain which, disagreeable as it was, I did not
regret, all things considered. We soon came to another and wider
cross-path; we stopped and our guide went forward again in the same
cautious manner, stooping down and listening, like an Indian, near the
ground. He beckoned us to cross over and again we traversed the fields,
passing by the base of a small hill, when, as we softly crept up the
side, we saw the form of a sentinel against the light of the sky. Our
guide whispered, '_Doucement_' again, and we gently retreated, my
companion whispering to me, '_Très dangèreux, monsieur, très
désagréable_.'
"We took a wider circuit behind some small buildings, and at length came
into one of the smaller streets in the outskirts of Forbach. Here were
what appeared to me barracks. The caution was given to walk softly and
separately (we were all, fortunately, in dark clothes), our guide passing
first round the corners, and, having passed the sentry-boxes, in which,
with one exception, we saw no person, and in this instance the sentinel
did not hail us (but this was in the city), we came to a house at the
window of which our guide tapped. A man opened it, and, after some
explanation, ascertaining who we were, opened the door and, striking a
light, set some wine and bread before us.
"Here we remained for some time to recover breath after our perilous
adventure, for, if one of the sentinels had seen us, we should in all
probability have been instantly shot. I knew not that we were now
entirely free from the danger of being arrested, until we heard our
carriage in the street and had ascertained that all our luggage had
passed the _douane_ without suspicion. We paid our guide eight francs
each, and, taking our seats again in the carriage, drove forward toward
Metz."
There were no further adventures, although they trembled with anxiety
every time their passports were called for. Morse regretted having been
innocently led into this escapade, and would have made a clean breast of
it to the police, as he had not been near Frankfort, but he feared to
compromise his travelling companion who had come from that city.
On September 12 they finally arrived in Paris.
"How changed are the circumstances of this city since I was last here
nearly two years ago. A traitor king has been driven into exile; blood
has flowed in its streets, the price of its liberty; our friend, the
nation's guest, whom I then saw at his house, with apparently little
influence and out of favor with the court, the great Lafayette, is now
second only to the king in honor and influence as the head of a powerful
party. These and a thousand other kindred reflections, relating also to
my own circumstances, crowd upon me at the moment of again entering this
famous city."